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#but i am curious which one smells better

spider999sposts · 10 months

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Rapture — Miguel O'Hara

🕸synopsis: miguel's powers come with consequences, ones that only you can handle.

🕸warning: filthy smut. lots of biting, fangs and claws. I won't spoil more than this.

🕸tags: fem!reader × Miguel O'Hara

🕸authors note: not proof read. I wrote this at 5 am instead of going to bed.

Miguel's powers always freaked you out a little bit.

He was one of the most power—if not the most powerful of the other spidermen in the Spider-Soceity. The radioactive spider that bit him was not like the rest. Yes, he had the agility and strength of the rest, he had organic webs like some of his variants, but something you've always been curious about was his fangs and his claws.

There were jokes running around the HQ that he was bit by a radioactive cat instead, and at how animalistic he got when he was angry. And while that was true, there was a side to him no one knew about but you.

Once a month, the same occurance. You've gotten used to it, but the first time it happened, you never expected it to be this way.

You had went back to your universe earlier than usual, a little too tired to keep handling missions for the day. You had not taken a break in so long, so you thought it would be okay to log out for just a day. You sent Miguel an alert that you'll be out of the office for a day, but he did not reject nor did he accept. You weren't going to wait around so you decided against your better judgment and just went home.

The first thing you did was get into the bathtub. You needed to relax, you've been overworking yourself, fighting off anomalies in other universes, filling stacks of paper work, helping out with malfunctioning machines. You were doing so many jobs that you forgot to pass by the cafeteria sometimes. Even Miguel was telling you to not burn yourself out.

Unknown to you though, that as soon as you walked into your bathroom, your gizmo went off.

Alot.

A flood of calls and alerts and notifications. Miguel was trying to get ahold of you in any way he could. You were unaware of it, but back at HQ, stuff was getting hectic.

And not in the regular sense.

"Uh, boss, your heart rate.."

"¡Chingado!" He gripped the desk, his fangs were protruding. There was nothing that stupid vile of the Rapture drug could do now. "¿A dónde fuiste?"

[Fuck, where did you go?]

"Um, back home." LYLA mumbled, zapping infront of him. "Boss, maybe you should just—"

"Open a portal to universe 9897." He grumbled lowly. "Tell everyone I'm out of office for the day. For two days." LYLA just nodded, avoiding his gaze and opening a portal just as he demanded. It was better not to even tease him in this state.

Back in your bath, you were enjoying the relaxing music you'd put on, and taking in the smell of vanilla coming from the bath water.

Then you heard something crash into your window. Startled, you jump out of the water, the water splashed onto the ceramic as you scrambled to cover yourself with a towel. Once you had it wrapped tightly around you, you ran out, expecting some kind of villian to have broken into your home. Instead, the sight infront of you was not the one you expected.

Miguel had crashed into your balcony window, evident by the cracks and breaks on the glass. It seemed like he was launched queit powerfully into your universe by the portal, but still, it was odd how he did not compose himself like he usually did. He just let himself crash into your window. He'd let himself in as well, which was odd, since you had the balcony door locked after you'd used it to enter. What you couldn't see, were the large claw marks that slashed the lock and door handel from outside.

Moreover, Miguel -himself- was a strange sight. Chest heaving, yet he breathed slowly. His body trembled. His talons cut through the molecular fabric of his suit, and the way he held himself was odd. He stood up straight, stiff like a board. He did not speak, but you could hear a low, deep growling noise.

"Back so soon? Did something happen at—"

"Why aren't you picking up.."

You glanced at your gizmo. It was vibrating with notifications still, but now they're from LYLA. "I–I was taking a bath." You replied, hesitant. His mask evaporated from his head, revealing his face. "Did something happen, Miguel? Did you need my help? I'm sorry, I needed a break and I didn't—"

He raised his head, and that's when you realised something was very off.

Nothing was wrong with HQ. Something was wrong with Miguel.

The darkness of your living room contrasted with the light coming out from the yellow street lights. His eyes were a dark shade of crimson, a mix of emotions swirled through his irsis. Ones that you couldn't put your finger on. His eyebrows were knit tight, his jaw clenched shut.

"Miguel?"

He was holding himself together by a thread. He knew he wouldn't have to in a minute, but he did not want to scare you, or rather, he couldn't really move. The sight of you in that little towel, your wet hair. The droplets of water making their way from your neck to your collar bone, or that extremly, sweet and strong scent that he got a whiff off from the balcony. It drove him mad, it made his body heat up more than it already has.

But oh, when you moved towards him, he could feel his knees tremble. Everything in his body wanted him to pounce on you, to take you until you were a crying, trembling, babbling mess underneath his weight. His mind was telling him to be rational and wait. He did not want to force this upon you.

"Miguel, are you okay?" Your hand touched his forehead, and he let out a loud groan. That vanilla scent was making him high. He was getting drunk off of your scent alone. The buldge in his suit was becoming painfully sore. "You're burning up, you need to sit—"

"No." He rasped out, his hand wrapping tightly around your wrist. "I need you."

"Need me—"

"I need to touch you. Or I'm going to lose my mind."

"Has it been that stressful at work–"

"It is not work."

That's when you noticed it. Between his dark eyes, his long claws or his thick fangs. That look in his eyes was that of a man who was in a dire need of being touched. His life depended on it. You found yourself nodding, you've lost your words once you've taken a glimpse at his fangs. Miguel didn't wait, his arms hooked around your waist, as he pressed his entire body against yours and pushed you against your wall. You hit your head slightly, but before you could even register the pain, he was kissing you. He'd never kissed you like this before. His tounge forced itself into your mouth, and you let him, not fighting for dominance as you would sometimes. There was no point in trying to assert yourself over him in this state.

"Me estoy volviendo loco.." He mumbled, catching your lips in another kiss, breaking it just to bite on your lower lip. "We can't do this on the wall." He grumbled, sounding inconvenienced. He crashed his mouth to yours again as he led you to your bedroom door. He wrapped his hand around the handel and pushed, the door flew open, but the door handel came out in his hands. "My land lord is going to—" You were pushed onto your bed, and it was now that you realised your towel was no where to be found. You were bare naked underneath a feral, irritated, 6'9 man in heat. Miguel took off his gizmo, his entire suit dissipating as soon as he threw the watch away. It looked like that relieved his sorness a little. He got ontop of you, his hips locking yours in place, his arms on both sides of your head. His eyes glanced at your body for a moment, and an animalistic growl irrupted out of his chest. He leaned down to your neck, his fangs grazing against the space between your neck and shoulder blade. A loud squeal was the noise you made when you felt his teeth sink into the delicate skin, breaking it to the point where the puncture wounds drew blood. His tounge swished around the area multiple times, collecting any liquid that might've escaped.

"Miguel.." You whimpered. He bit into your neck, alot. Each time made you more and more lightheaded. His talons were grazing against your sides. His palms felt big, and rough against the soft skin of your tummy. He ran his hands across your sides before resting one of them on your chest, squeezing the plushy parts of you. He kneaded your breasts, before taking one of them into his mouth, sucking and lapping at your nipples like a starved animal. His eyes never left yours, that man got off just from the faces and sounds you made.

"You smell good." He moved his mouth to your other breast, "I showered with a vanilla scented—"

"That's not what I meant."

Your eyes widened at the sensation. His fingers circled your entrance. He collected the liquid on his fingers, and put them in his mouth. His eyes changed from crimson to bright red, and then back to crimson again. "You taste even better." He was getting impatient. Miguel threw your legs over her broad shoulders, and pulled you up, his nose poking against your clit. "Miguel, wait—" He was not listening. His mouth came in contact with your lips, his fangs poking your folds, his tounge licking and twirling at your bundle of nerves. "Wait, I'm going to—"

"Don't you dare." His voice was hoarse, he spoke against your thigh, sending vibrations up your legs. "Not until I say you can."

"But—"

"I've had enough of this." He doesn't let go of your legs. He falls next to you on the bed, pulling you on top of him. You're launched forward, putting both of your hands on his chest to stabilise yourself. "What...what do you want me to do?" Your head was spinning and you could not focus on anything but that burning sensation in the core of your stomach. A pit has started to form when he touched you, and now it was an ever-growing bomb about to explode.

Miguel's more playful nature shone through, as he said one word.

"Ride."

If your face was not flushed from earlier activities, it was now. Miguel always liked being the one on top, always. So why the change?

"I want to see your face." came his answer, as if he was reading your mind. "Get on with it." He slapped your thigh, and you nodded, lining yourself up with him.

It wasn't hard, he was rock solid. His tip was the same shade as his eyes.

You lowered yourself onto him, and the sound Miguel made made you unable to move. A growl so guttural, so loud, that you felt the entire bed shake. You started to move slowly, trying to push all the way in. "You're too big, Miguel, I—"

"—You'll take it, mi amor."

He pushed himself up, and you arched your back. Miguel held your arms up, surprised you so you wouldn't fall. Just the feeling of being filled up was enough to make you feel like you were going to burst. Your lips quivered as you tried saying his name. "What is it, preciosa?" He hummed, thrusting upwards. Your arms gave out, he held you. "Can't take it?"

"You—I can't—"

"You will." He kissed you, before laying back down. You realised he was being dead serious, and if you didn't do as he asked, he was going to make this so much harder on you.

You rocked your hips, and Miguel's hands instantly dug into your thighs, his talons pressing against you. The sting from their sharpness was not painful, if anything it made this all the more erotic. "Mi querida, estás haciendo el bien..." Miguel's eyes were fluttering, each time you moved, he would let out a moan or a groan, or a string of Spanish words you couldn't decipher. His hand found your rear, slapping it, telling you to go 'Faster'. You did as he asked.

That didn't seem enough.

He dropped you underneath him, holding both your hands above your head as his thrusts became faster than anything you've experienced before. He was going inhumanly fast. You grabbed onto his hair, tugging at his brown tufts. "Miguel, Please, I'm going to—" He nodded, slamming harder onto you, like your words only encouraged him. "Te aprietas, amor." He croaked out, "Quieres tener mis bebés, ¿no?"

"Miguel, I—" Your nails dug into his back, and your eyes shut tight as you reached the highest of highs.

Miguel didn't stop. He kept thrusting faster, until you felt a hot liquid fill you up. When he pulled out, you were already too exhausted to say anything, overstimulated in all the best ways.

When you looked at him, he looked a little more satisfied than he was when he came in.

Then you noticed it.

His tip was as red and angry as it was before you did any of this.

"Miguel—"

"You didn't think we were done, did you?" He purred, pulling you in again.

"But I'm—"

"I don't want to hear it."

It was going to be a long night for you.

----

What hour was it now? You could hear the birds chirping outside. You were on your fifth —No, sixth round now.

Miguel had gotten calmer after the third round, but he was just enjoying himself now. Your entire body had markings on it. There were more punctures from his fangs on your inner thigh and neck. Your nipples were sore from his sucking, and you could not for the life of you conjure up one word. He fucked all the letters out of you. You were a mumbling, tearful mess under this man. The pleasure he made you feel is one that no one could ever replicate. Not that Miguel will let them anyway.

His tounge sucked off your mixed liquids from your entrance, he'd filled you up a couple of times now. This was his method of 'cleaning' you up. But you knew him better, he loved the way you tasted.

"There.." He was out of breath, his stamina seemed to have worn out now. He moved next to you, pulling you into his chest. His hand ran through your hair, untangling it. "You took me so well." He hummed, wiping the few tear drops on your cheek. "I might've went a little overboard. Lo siento, gorgeous."

He did not sound sorry, he did not look sorry. He definitely did not regret any of this.

" 'tis okay." You replied weakly, "Are..you better?"

"Yes." He mumbled, "It's just this thing that comes to me. Rapture does nothing to stop it. I usually handel it myself, but now that I have you.." He chuckled darkly, "We can make this our little routine, every month."

"Mm'kay.."

He chuckled. "You'll get used to it." Miguel kissed the top of your head. "I'll get the bath ready for us."

"How sweet of you." You reply sarcastically.

"Watch the attitude," He grinned, that hungry look never really left his eyes. "Or I'm going to fuck that out of you."

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ladyinwriting18 · 7 months

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A Gift For A Hound (Sandor Clegane x Reader)

Summary: Joffrey gives his faithful Hound a gift---you.

Words: 5,277 Warnings: PIV, Oral sex, Master/Slave,

The Hound walks down the long stone corridor that leads to his room. In his right hand he carries a wineskin filled with the first thing he could get his fucking hands on. Being the personal bodyguard to a cunt like Joffrey is no easy task. The little shit is ruthlessly cruel. Which is saying something coming from him. Sandor Clegane isn’t known for being kind hearted but he’s no Joffrey. The boy is sick in the head. He does his best to push it from his mind. The day is done, meaning he can forget the shit from the day and drown himself in wine alone until the numbness of sleep takes him. This is Sandor’s nightly ritual. One that he honestly looks forward to. But when he opens the door, he isn’t greeted by the usual solitude. Instead, there’s a naked woman kneeling on the floor beside his bed.

It takes him a moment to get over the initial shock, but when he does, his voice booms throughout his chamber. “What the fuck is this? What are you doing here?” You lift your head to look at him, keeping your hands palms up on the tops of your knees. You’re as naked as your nameday, all except your neck. Tied around it is a yellow ribbon with three black dogs down the front—the colors and sigil of his house. “Hello, My Lord Hound.” “I’m no lord. So you can keep those meaningless titles to yourself.” You nod but stay silent. Sandor growls, nearly barking at you. “Well? Are you going to tell me what the fuck you’re doing in here?” You don’t even flinch at his raised voice, just answer him softly with a voice as warm as honey. “I belong to you. I am yours to do with as you please.” His brows pull together, not understanding the words that just left your mouth. “What?” You smile and patiently repeat yourself. “I belong to you now, for as long as you want me.” Your words have his eyes roam over your body for the first time. Every curve, the smoothness of your skin, and the way the chill in the room already has your nipples hard makes his cock twitch. “I’m a gift from King Joffrey.” That catches his attention. Joffrey barely spared him a glance. Now he was giving him gifts? “You’re…my gift.” You smile warmly. “Yes. Master.” That was new. No one had ever called him that before. He isn’t sure how to feel about it, but it’s far better than being called ‘my lord’. He steps over the threshold and lets the door shut behind him before moving closer. At his approach, you once again bow your head. There’s a gentle air about you. It’s something that isn’t a typical trait to the women found on the Streets of Silk. Not that Sandor was a frequent visitor. Most women couldn’t stomach looking at his scarred face. Even when he paid them, they struggled. What was the point of wasting coin on that?

You, on the other hand, are almost intoxicatingly feminine. It makes him want to press his nose to your cunt and breathe in your scent. He looks down at you, feeling more curious and less irritated than when he first walked in. “You said you belong to me?” You nod. “So, you’ll do anything I ask you to?” You keep your eyes downcast but respond without hesitation. “Yes, Master Hound. It will bring me great pleasure to fulfill your every request.”

A tension builds through his frame. Not out of anger, but anticipation. Anticipation to feel release that he often doesn’t get unless he takes his cock in his hand. “Look at me,” he commands. You do so eagerly, looking at him without a speck of fear. He searches your eyes for the lie, determined to find it. He is the Hound afterall. Usually he could smell a liar from yards away, but with you, he only sees devotion. As if you truly wish to serve him. Most were intimidated or afraid of him, but this is something different. It’s submission. It awakens his more animalistic needs. The part that wants nothing more than to fuck and claim and breed. His unscarred eye twitches as his hand moves to your cheek—to see if you’ll flinch at his touch. But, fuck, you lean into his palm and press your lips to the pad of his gloved tumb. Never once averting your gaze. He lets out a breath that he wasn’t aware he was holding. You’re all his. He starts to pull his armor and clothes from his body. You sit up on your knees, helping where you can. You manage to pull the gauntlets from his hands and unbuckle his sword belt. But the rest he does. His fingers move too fast and he knows the armor like the back of his hand. You find other ways to make yourself useful, taking items from him and gently placing them down while he throws the rest on the floor. When he’s left in nothing but his pants and boots, your hand lightly runs over the bulge in the front of his pants. Involuntarily, he bucks into your touch, wanting more. However, you make no move to continue past teasing touches. He grunts impatiently, catching your attention. Your eyes meet, your head tilting to the side as you whisper the words…. “Command me, Master.” Command? Why the fuck would he need to do that? Any other whore he’d ever slept with always took matters into their own hands and rushed to get things over with. “Tell me how to please you. I just want to please my Master.” Your pleading tone shoots right to his already hardening cock. The corners of his mouth twitch into a grin while his hand moves to the back of your skull. He pulls you in, guiding you closer to his groin.

“Kiss it.” Immediately, you obey, leaving kisses along his clothed cock. Only the linen of his pants separates you, but still he can feel the warmth of your mouth. Sandor lets out a rough growl while undoing the knot at the front of his pants. “Don’t stop.” You coo as sweetly as a dove and your kisses become more passionate as moans escape your parted lips. You hold eye contact with him without fear, without disgust, without judgment. He can’t recall a time when even his fellow King’s Guard was able to look at him, let alone a woman. Everything about this is different. You are different.

You look at him with desire. It only makes him more eager to sink his cock into you. However, once the cloth falls away to reveal his fully naked form, you sit back on your heels with your feet folded beneath you. You sit with your spine perfectly straight and your hands resting on your knees. You look more like a high born lady than a common whore. So submissive and pretty. “You’re waiting for my command, aren’t you?” His hand comes down to wrap around the length of his aching cock. Your eyes dart to the movement of his hand. You seem transfixed but still manage to respond, “My sole purpose is to give my Master pleasure. I’m your property to do with as you please.”

“My property?” he breathes and starts to slowly stroke himself. He does this more to tease you than himself. It clearly works because you only seem able to nod. A sly grin comes across his features. “You’re my property,” he repeats, louder to refocus you. “A beautiful…little thing…that belongs to me.” Sandor pants between words, stroking himself with a firmer grip.

“Yes, Master,” you moan with a lick of your lips. “I belong to you and only you.”

“Then be a good girl and come suck your Master’s cock.” You rise onto your knees so fast that you almost take him by surprise. Within moments, you’re pushing his hand away and wrapping your own around the base while your tongue traces over the veins in his shaft. “Your cock is so thick,” you moan out. Sandor isn’t sure if you meant to say that out loud but it hardly matters once you wrap your lips around the head of his cock. Your hand and mouth work in tandem—tugging firmly while lovingly sucking. That is…until you drop your hand away and swallow his cock whole. “Fucking Hells,” he swears and involuntarily bucks his hips forward. You hum, tightening your lips around his thickness as you pick up the pace and bob your head up and down. He watches you intently. Dark brown irises burn with lust as you suck him off like your life depended on it. “Filthy thing is enjoying this, isn’t she?” he pants, dick stiffening and pulsing in your mouth.

You nod with a happy little hum, and Sandor can’t fight the smile that tugs at the corners of his scarred lips. Your mouth is warm and so fucking inviting, like his cock was always meant to be there. He wants more. His hand shoots out to grip the back of your head as thick fingers tangle in the locks of your hair. He moves you up and down at just the right pace. You obey his physical command, allowing him to fuck your mouth while you drool all over him. Sandor is by no means a small man and his cock is no different, but you handle it with skill. The sloppy, wet sounds of you sucking with such enthusiasm makes him feel drunk. The pleasure courses through him, all the way down to his toes. It’s almost too much. And your big, beautiful eyes don’t make it any easier. They’re full of affection while unshed tears prickle at the corners of your eyes from how wide your mouth is stretched open. He slams his cock into your throat, hitting as deeply as you can possibly take him. Your hands and nails dig into his thighs to hold yourself steady. “That’s it,” he grunts, “take it.” You moan and gag with your brows knit together. He would have thought you were in pain if it wasn’t for the blissed expression on your face.

Sandor takes all of you in, wanting to commit the image of you gagging on his cock to memory. So that when you were gone, he’d at least still have that. But that’s when he catches sight of you pressing your thighs together. The blood in his veins sings. You’re getting off on this.

On pleasing him. On having his cock in your mouth. On obeying. Suddenly, having you down on the ground isn’t enough. He forcefully pulls away, slipping his cock out of your mouth. You whine at the loss and lean forward to try and get him back in your mouth, but not even your alluring mouth will keep a man like The Hound from getting what he wants. Bending at the waist, he shoves his hands under your armpits and lifts you up from the ground before throwing you onto his bed. You yelp when your back hits the mattress. Sandor simply grins at your shock from being so easily manhandled. “Is that cunt as pretty as your face, girl?” Blood rushes to your cheeks, coloring them, but still you open your legs, baring yourself. You’re a soaking, dripping mess. He’s certain he’s never seen a cunt as wet as yours is right now. It makes his throat feel dry…and in desperate need of a drink. Not willing to wait any longer, Sandor sinks to his knees and dives his face between your thighs. His tongue drags along your folds before it grazes your clit. Even at the slightest touch, you sigh and arch into his mouth. “More. Please, give me more.” Your pleas are sweet. So sweet that he’s no longer interested in teasing. He repeats the movement of his tongue but this time uses the flat of it to press firmer against your sensitive bud. You cry out, thighs closing tightly around his head. Sandor grunts, his arms sliding under your legs. He curls them around your thighs and uses his hands to keep your legs apart. With your movements restricted, he smashes his mouth against your clit. His lips wrap around it and suck. You buck and manage to throw a leg over his shoulder. Your foot presses against his broad back, using it as leverage to grind your hips towards his mouth. He smirks, proud that he’s the one eliciting such a response from you. While it’s true he rarely spends his coin on whores, this skill was something he learned long before his days at King’s Landing. In his youth, there had been a servant girl who worked in the kitchens. They had grown up together and thus she hadn’t ever feared his burned face. Exploring one another's bodies had felt natural. That’s how Sandor became acquainted with the taste of women. Once upon a time, they might have been married…if Gregor hadn’t found out and killed her in a jealous rage. Sandor forces the past from his mind. There’s no use in it when he has your cunt filling his senses. He savors the taste on his tongue, using it to flick your clit while sucking on it. You continue to buck and cry out, the pleasure clearly building for you. But he doesn’t want you reaching your peak just yet. He moves away, only slightly. His saliva mixes with your slick. They drip together making you all the more wet. It’s a delicious sight.

“Messy thing,” he praises, and he can feel the way your toes curl against his back. “You know,” he continues, “I usually spend my nights drinking but you’ve interrupted that.” Purposely, he pauses, letting you think he’s actually upset. You whimper, ready to apologize but Sandor speaks over you, his voice huskier than before. “Are you going to make it up to me, girl? And give me something else to drink?” You stumble over your words but still manage to speak, “Y-Yes Master, anything.”

Sandor hums from the back of his throat and swipes your clit with his tongue before answering. “Then be a good little slut and cum on my tongue.” Not bothering to wait for a reply, he runs his tongue to your slit, gathering more juices along the way. He probes your entrance before letting it fill you. You gasp in time with his moan. No longer can he taste the wine he was previously drinking. His taste buds are filled with nothing but your cunt. He vigorously pumps his tongue in and out of you. Your hands find his head, fingers tangle in hair in an attempt to tug him in deeper. “Fuckkkk, you’re so good with your tongue, Master!” Usually Sandor hates being touched without permission, but you’re so desperate it feels like he’d be committing a sin if he stopped you.

Besides, you’re dripping down his chin and giving him exactly what he wanted—a drink. But like a man starved, he wants more. He presses his thumb to your clit to stroke it. You throw your head back and sing. It’s the purest music he’s ever heard.

The louder you moan, the harder his cock throbs.

For the next few moments, the only sounds are your cries of pleasure and his grunts against your core.

It isn’t long before you start trembling, to the point that even your inner thighs shake.

“I…I’m going to–”

You don’t need to finish your sentence for Sandor to know that you’re about to cum. He doesn’t let up the movements of his tongue or the pressure to your clit but still you try to force words out of your mouth. “P-Please. Please can I–?” Realization flashes through him. You were asking for permission to cum. Why you think you needed to ask, Sandor doesn’t know, but Gods if it isn’t the most erotic fucking thing. He moves away just enough to speak. “Go on, girl. Give me what I want and cum.” His tongue plunges back into your depths and you spasm around it. When your orgasm hits, your entire body goes rigid and breathy, unrestrained moans bleed from your throat. His cock twitches wildly in response, precum surely dripping onto the stone floor he’s kneeling on. You’ve coated his tongue with your juices, making Sandor wonder if you’ll do the same to his cock. He works you through your aftershocks while drinking from you, licking up every drop he can. It's only when you fall limply back onto the mattress that he stops and removes his tongue and fingers from you. He sits back to look you over. You’re even more beautiful with a flushed face and glossed over eyes.

“Thank you for letting me cum, Master,” you murmur politely.

And just when he thought you couldn’t be any more perfect. Rising onto the bed, he grabs you by the back of the neck and hauls you towards him. His mouth crashes onto yours, forcing his tongue past your parted lips.

You return the kiss in a flurry of passion while your hands roam freely over his body. Starting from his shoulder, you trail your hands down his bare chest to his hip bones. He moans into your kiss, enjoying the feeling of your soft hands and the way you gently suck at his tongue.

Your hands continue downward until your fingertips brush against his still very hard cock.

He breaks the kiss with a smirk. “Something you want, Little One?” You brush your lips against his with a nod. “Make me belong to you.” “I thought you already did,” he teases gruffly with his hot breath in your face. “You’re my property, remember?” Color blooms across your cheeks, but whether it’s in satisfaction or embarrassment, Sandor isn’t sure. “I am. I belong to you, Lord Hound. I’m your—” He barks over you, cutting you off. “What did I say about that ‘my lord’ shit?” You instantly close your mouth, lips pressing into a thin line at your mistake. Fucking hells. He wanted to fuck you, not scold you. Sandor lets out a breath and forces himself to soften his tone. “I don’t need fancy titles, my name is good enough.” Your expression falls, the color draining from your cheeks. “King Joffrey only referred to you as ‘The Hound’. Is…Is that not your name?” You look upset, bordering on mortified but Sandor can’t stop the gruff laugh that bubbles from his chest.

“I should have known that slimy little bastard would pull something like that.” You look thoroughly confused. His dark eyes look you over, your once pliable body now stiff as stone. However, it’s the ribbon of his house sigil that catches his attention. It doesn’t have the same appeal now that he knows you don’t know what it means. “And I’m guessing he didn’t tell you the meaning behind this?” he questions bitterly and starts untying it from around your neck. You shake your head ‘no’. “Just that it would please you to see me wear it.” He pulls the ribbon free, but before he can toss it away, you grip his large hand with both of yours. “Tell me? Please, Master, I want to know.” You ask so sincerely that it halts his movements. Your eyes meet, and all his willpower leaves him. “It’s the sigil for my house.” “House?” you prompt in hopes he’ll continue.

“Clegane.” You smile bright, repeating after him so you could lock the information away forever. Sandor, on the other hand, is too distracted by the new rush of blood that pumps down to his groin. When he doesn’t say anything else, you squeeze his hand gently. “And my Master’s given name?” “Sandor.” “Sandor.” You take your time saying it, as if tasting his name on your tongue. “Sandor Clegane,” you whisper with a smirk, noticing how he starts leaning in closer. He doesn’t stop, forcing you to shift your position and slowly lay back onto the bed. “Master Sandor.” You moan and he growls. Your legs part to accommodate him and he places a hand beside your head, trapping you beneath him. “You don’t need to call me Master.” Your smirk widens. “But you like it when I do.” He huffs because you’re right. “Fucking vixen,” he snarls and kisses you hard. Your arms wrap around his broad shoulders and your legs hike up to his hips, allowing his cock to press against your core. You’re still so warm and wet that it’s almost painful to not plunge himself inside. And maybe he would have if you hadn’t been so smug just now. “Beg,” he commands, while the hand not holding him up grips your neck. “And tell your Master what you want.” His fingers wrap effortlessly around your throat. He doesn’t do this to hurt you, just to apply enough pressure so you know who’s in charge. To his surprise, you moan and tilt your head back to give him better access. “That’s better,” he coos and rewards you by running his tongue from your jawline to the shell of your ear. “Brat just needed to be put back in her place, didn’t she?” His hot breath in your ear gives you goosebumps. “Yes, Master. I’m sorry, Master.” “Then prove it.” He gives your throat another squeeze before releasing it. “I’ll behave, I swear.” Your hands run from his forearms, over his muscular shoulders and down his chest until the swell of your breasts are pressed against him. “I just want my Master to claim me. Want to feel him inside.” You pause and rock your hips forward to grind your cunt against his length. “Please, Sandor? Please fuck me.” It’s his name that does him in. He isn’t used hearing it, let alone someone saying it while asking him to fuck them. He straightens his back and guides your legs to fully wrap around his waist. You continue pleading but instead of giving you a verbal reply, he plunges balls deep inside of you. You both instantly tense. He, because of the tightness of your walls clinging around him, and you, because of the sudden intrusion of his cock demanding to be taken. “That’s it. Taking me so well,” he breathlessly praises, slowly moving out, then back in so you’d have time to adjust. He breathes out, watching his cock glisten from your juices when he pulls out a bit. Your head lulls to the side with a moan, feeling beyond stuffed full but also whole.

“Is this what you wanted, girl? To be speared on my cock and used?” “Yes!” you cry, trying to arch back to get his cock deeper. “Please use me. Ruin me for anyone else.”

At that, he slams into you, not being able to wait any longer. You yelp at the pressure, screaming and twisting your fists into the bedsheets. There’s no way he could keep his pace slow, not when you feel this good melting around his cock.

You had said you wanted to be ruined. Sandor Celegane might not be a lord, or a knight, or a gentleman, but he could most certainly ruin you with his cock.

He repositions your legs, throwing them over his shoulders so that your feet are by his ears. He’s able to fuck you even deeper now, his balls smacking against you with every brutal thrust.

His rhythm is rough and steady. And with how tightly he holds your legs in place, you can do nothing but lay there moaning and clenching around him.

“You’ll never forget this. When the next flimsy little knight comes along to fuck you, it’ll be my cock you think about.”

Your eyes screw shut, the pleasure building in your lower belly. It feels like he’s everywhere, filling your cunt and taking over your mind and body. How you manage to nod in response is beyond you. But a nod isn’t good enough.

“Say. It,” he snarls, punctuating his words with even deeper thrusts. You curl your toes with a whine. “It’ll be your cock, Master! Only your cock.” “Mhmm, good girl.” He looks down at where your bodies are joined and sees his cock, hard, ribbed with veins and coated in your juices as it thrusts in and out of your wet hole. It’s a glorious sight and it has his orgasm threatening to hit, but there’s something he has to do first. And that’s making you cum. He reaches between your bodies and easily finds your clit. He rubs it, strokes it, and draws circles on it until he finds the touch that has you babbling in broken, indecipherable sentences.

“I want you to cum,” he speaks in labored breathing, rubbing your clit while still spearing you on his length. “I want you to cum for me now. ”

For a moment, you fall completely silent, but then it hits. The unfiltered, beautiful howls that accompany your climax. All the while your inner walls close around him in the most delicious way.

He curses, lurching forward as you gush and spasm all over him. It’s too much and he’s quickly following you over the edge, filling you with his cum. Like a cat having their head scratched, an almost purring like sound leaves you at the feeling of him filling you with his seed. It has Sandor feeling dazed as to why that would please you, but his focus is on steadying his breathing as he comes down from cumming for the first time in fuck knows how long. Your breathing is also labored, while your eyes struggle to stay open. It’s clear you’re fighting off sleep. He carefully slips out of you, even more careful not to jostle you as he sits on the edge of the bed. He finds his wineskin from earlier by the foot of the bed. Greedily, he drinks from it until his throat no longer feels dry. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches sight of your naked form. If he was this thirsty, then your throat must be raw after all that screaming. He reaches for you, tugging you into his arms to help you sit up. You whine, eyes fluttering open, but relax when he pulls you to sit between his thighs and leans you against his chest. “Here, this will help soothe your throat.” He hands you the wineskin, which you graciously take. Sandor watches you take long, slow sips. A drop slips past your mouth and drips down your chin to land on your breast. He grins. He likes a woman who doesn't mind getting dirty. You’re just as beautiful now as you were when he first walked in to you demurely sitting on the floor. “Will you tell me your name?”

You lower the wineskin from your lips and say it with a smile. This time it’s he who repeats you, liking the way it rolls off his tongue. You nod, smiling at him before taking another drink. He stands and starts making his way to the basin of water set on a small table in the corner of the room. “Drink as much as you like. I can get more,” he says from over his shoulder as he starts washing away the sweat on his chest and the slick that you’ve managed to coat even his balls in. Afterwards, he puts on a pair of lightweight sleep pants. When he turns back to you, he expects to find you still drinking or dressing, but instead he finds you sitting on his bed and watching him. “Where are your nightclothes?” You fidget uncomfortably, looking away. Sandor grunts under his breath, he should have known this wouldn’t last. “If you don’t wish to stay, then just say so.” The bite in his voice is evident and you snap your head up in his direction. “I-It’s not that!” you protest. “I want to stay. I just…don’t have any clothes.” His brows pull together in confusion, “Joffrey didn’t leave your clothes here for you?” You shake your head ‘no’. That angers him. Joffrey was a callous shit but to leave you with nothing was just cruel. “No personal belongings? How the fuck did he expect you to get home after this?” You flinch, once again looking away. “The King said….” you trail off. “Nevermind, Master.” Your discomfort radiates off of you. Quietly, he fishes out a clean shirt out of a trunk at the end of the bed and makes his way over to you. “Arms up, Little One.”

You lift your head and see the shirt in his hands. You obey and he slips the shirt over your head and helps you dress. “This damn thing is going to look more like a dress on you, but it’ll do until morning.” You pull your knees to your chest while muttering a ‘thank you’. There’s still something bothering you and Sandor is determined to figure out what it is. “Look at me,” he commands, knowing you’ll obey. You do and he continues. “Do you know why they call me ‘The Hound’?” You stare at him in fascination and shake your head. “Because I can smell a lie as easily as I can breathe. So out with it. What’s upsetting you?”

You gnaw on your bottom lip before responding. “King Joffrey told me I didn’t need to pack anything because he bought me from the keeper of the pleasure house. He…” You falter, trying to find the bravery to continue. “He said that if you didn’t wish to keep me once we were through, that he’d pass me around to his other guards until they used me up. Or that maybe he’d kill me himself.” Rage boils in his blood. Not only because Joffrey put you through hell, but because he suddenly can’t bear the thought of another having you. “No one is going to touch what’s mine.” The threat of his words hangs in the air but you look relieved. “You…You mean you’ll keep me here with you?” Sandor nearly chokes because he hadn’t thought that far ahead. All he knew is that he didn’t want Joffrey or any other to get their hands on you. “Is…Is that what you want?” You smile bright, brighter than the summer’s sun. “Nothing would make me happier, Master.” As beautiful as you are, and as lovely as it sounds to have a warm cunt to bury himself in each night, the cold blade of reality cuts through. “Well don’t go making it sound like it’ll be all sunshine and lemoncakes. I’m not by any means a joy to live with and—” But you aren’t listening because you’re too busy crawling into his lap. You straddle him and nuzzle your face into the side of his neck. “Thank you, Sandor,” you whisper against his skin, melting against his body as you make yourself comfortable. No one had ever thanked him in his entire life. He isn’t sure how to handle it. The longer you lay against him, the more a warmth blooms inside his breastbone. He likes the way it feels having you close. It makes him feel things. Things he doesn’t have a name for. You let out a small sigh, seemingly starting to fall asleep while sitting up. He shifts and lays down on the bed with you still tucked against his chest.

There was no way of knowing what the future held, but Sandor Celange did know one thing….. This was the best damn present he’d ever received.

#lady in writing #sandor clegane #sandor x reader #sandor the hound clegane #sandor clegane smut #rory mccann

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runnning-outof-time · 1 year

Note

embracing them from a sudden hug from behind but this time it's tommy!! <3

Ahh!! I’m so happy you sent another request in! 🥰 I’m sorry it took a little bit for me to get to writing it. I hope you enjoy!

You Do So Much For Us

Tommy Shelby

Warnings: none

Tommy surprises (Y/N) a few times in one night.

(Y/N) had just put the baby down to sleep after nursing and rocking him for the last half hour. She was also tired, but just couldn’t bring herself to step away from his crib. He always looked so peaceful when he slept, and it made her look at him with wonder; amazed at how she and Tommy created something so beautiful.

She was so immersed in thought that she didn’t hear the nursery door open, or the footsteps sound off the hardwood. In fact, she didn’t hear anything at all, which made her jump when two arms wrapped around her waist from behind. The sudden hug made her gasp, but her heart was quickly calmed when the smell of cigarettes and cologne filled her nostrils.

“You should know better than to sneak up on me like that, Thomas Shelby,” she scolded him quietly, being mindful not to wake the baby.

“Did I sneak up on you?” he asked her, his voice husky right next to her ear. She couldn’t stop the chills that coursed through her body upon hearing it.

“You did!” she whisper yelled, twisting her neck as best as she could in order to give him an incredulous look.

“Well for that I am truly sorry, Mrs. Shelby,” he said, nuzzling his face into her neck as he swayed her gently, his arms tightening around her abdomen as he pressed his lips to her skin.

“No you’re not,” she jokingly stated, her hands falling onto his forearms, gently running along them. “I’m surprised that you’re home so early,” she commented then, making sure to keep her voice low.

“It’s half past nine, love,” he pointed out, lifting his face enough so that he could talk without his words being muffled.

“That’s early for you, love,” she countered, using the same term of endearment that he’d just said as she spoke in a matter of fact tone. Tommy only chuckled against her skin, knowing this was a losing battle for him. “Loosen up,” she said to him then, pressing gently on his arms so that he’d get the hint and loosen his hold on her. He listened, letting go of her just enough so that she could spin in his arms to face him. “How was your day?” she asked, her hands rising so that she could fiddle with the clip that he wore on his tie.

“Fine,” he responded simply, and (Y/N) nodded, knowing that that was the extent of what she was going to get from him. “I had a talk with Pol…”

“You did?” (Y/N) answered, her eyebrows raising as surprise filled her voice. She was instantly curious as to what was talked about.

“Yeah…” Tommy trailed off, pursing his lips as he looked down at her, “she told me what it is that would make you happy.”

(Y/N)’s heart started thundering in her chest as dozens of scenarios started rushing through her mind, spurred on by Tommy’s veiled statement. “Wha…what did she tell you?” she hesitantly asked him, her eyes wide as she waited intently for his answer, knowing full well that Polly could have told him anything.

“She said that you want to go on holiday. So I figured I’d make that happen. We’ll go somewhere nice; just the two of us…”

“Tommy,” (Y/N) gasped, stopping him mid-sentence.

“She offered to take Charlie; said we can go for as long as we want,” his grin grew as he shared more details with her.

“She really said all that?” she checked to make sure this was really happening before reacting.

“I wouldn’t lie to you, love,” he answered her, watching as a wide smile formed on her face.

“That’s amazing!” she exclaimed, sucking her lips against her teeth as she realized that they were standing feet away from their sleeping son. A quick peek over Tommy’s shoulder made her relax; Charlie was still sleeping. “I can’t believe she suggested that,” she whispered this time, smiling at Tommy again.

“What did you think she told me?” he questioned, his one eyebrow quirked in curiosity.

“You’d be surprised what I share with Polly,” she paused, watching surprise fill his features, “but don’t you worry about that,” she made sure to add, patting on his chest for extra effect. Tommy only chuckled at her statement, shaking his slightly at his wife’s antics. She smiled up at him, excitement coursing through her. “We’re really going to go on holiday?” she checked with him again after a few moments had passed. It was like she wanted to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.

“Yes,” he nodded his head, his smile returning, “we are. Anywhere you choose. You do so much for us, love, it’s only fair that I show you how much I appreciate you.”

“I love you,” (Y/N) smiled at him, squeezing his biceps lightly as she leaned in to press a kiss to his lips.

“I love you,” Tommy repeated the sentiment, mumbling it against her lips before he kissed them again. “I think we ought to go to bed…before Charles wakes up,” he suggested once they’d pulled away from each other.

(Y/N) peered over his shoulder again to see that the baby had, thankfully, slept through his parents’ entire conversation. “I think we should,” she agreed, frowning slightly when she realized that that meant Tommy would have to let go of her. She was quite content in his arms.

“C’mon…let’s go to bed,” he nodded towards the door, taking hold of her hand so that he could lead her out and to their bedroom.

It didn’t take long until (Y/N) was smiling again, content in Tommy’s arms as he hugged her to his body from behind. She closed her eyes, her mind full of the possible holiday destinations. She was surprisingly able to push them aside and get to sleep rather quickly…something told her that Tommy’s presence was to thank for that.

———

Tagged: @mgcldydrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21 @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @notyour-valentine @shelbydelrey @december16-1991 @onlydeadcells @peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl @stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @midnightmagpiemama @cillmequick @rangerelik @dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @itscheybaby @gypsy-girl-08 @insanitybyanothername @depxiety @raincoffeeandfandoms @dragons-are-my-favorite @acewritesfics @forgottenpeakywriter @cilliansangel @cljordan-imperium @areyenotfondofmelobster @little-diable

MASTERLIST

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby blurb #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby fanfiction #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders x y/n #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders blurb #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic

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yandere-romanticaa · 2 years

Note

Capitano darling being his pen pal and poor dear has no idea of his identity

I'm very sorry, I don't know if your requests are open but I can't get enough of Capitano content.

For the Harbingers, I'm open for anything. Also, @bye-bye-sunbird, come and get him! 👀😼

Exchanging letters with your mysteries pen pal became the absolute highlight of your week. You'd pour your heart and tears into the words your hand would oh so excitedly write down, sometimes even actually crying with the sheer excitement of knowing that somewhere out there, there was a person, an actual person, who cared about you. This person cared about you, they liked you, that is why they sent you their first letter to begin with. The letter itself was short, curt and simple but that did not stop you from writing back and hurriedly giving your reply to the mysterious messenger that appeared on your doorstep one fine summer morning.

Hours upon hours would be spent constructing the letters, sometimes you'd say whatever was on your mind while on other occasions you'd stop yourself and fix your choice of words, promptly going for something much more eloquent and refined, a quality that your mysterious partner seemed to exude in spades.

Their handwriting was neat, clean and proper, you imagined they must be singing papers often if they had such pretty handwriting. You would let your curiosity sway you and there were times when you wanted to know what your dear stranger did for a living but they were oddly mysterious about their occupation, which was strange considering just how intimate and open they were about other matters such as what kind of tea they drank in the morning, general preferences and hobbies, silly things like that made you even more curious about your darling stranger. You did manage to get somewhat of an answer out of them one day though, but it was still as vague as it possibly could be.

"I feel bad about hiding things from you, but to put it in the best way I can, I work for the military. That is the best answer I can give to you at the moment."

Ah, so you were talking to a military personnel? How interesting!! Again, curiosity got the better of you and you persisted with your questions, but more careful as you fared you'd offend them. You were under the impression that your dear stranger wanted to say more to you but was holding back for whatever reason.

Months flew by, almost a year, you were done holding back yourself.

It was time for everything to come out into the light, you thought to yourself.

You wanted to meet the person who made you feel so good, you wanted to see them, him, in the flesh.

It wasn't hard to decipher that the sender was a man. The smell of sharp cologne and pine wood still lingered on the letters you kept hidden in the drawer of your desk and the strong choice of words at time were a strong indication that this man was not willing to deal with anyone's nonsense, aside from indulging himself in yours.

Under the moonlight and with a flickering candle right next to you as your only light source, you wrote to him, you wrote to him your longest letter by far. Mistaking your curiosity and infatuation with the beautiful feeling of love you proclaimed your feelings to him and boldly announced that you wished to meet him, to see him for who he was.

"When you see me, I wish for you to kiss me, kiss until I am sick of it."

Never before had he replied back with such downright monstrous speed. He sent you but a piece of paper, with just one sentence on it, blood red ink sticking in your memory as you read it out loud in the comfort of your room.

"You wish is my command."

Overjoyed would be an understatement with how you were feeling at that moment. As you danced around your room while clutching the letter tightly to your chest, you never stopped to consider just how the two of you were going to meet or how he was even going to find you, let alone kiss you breathless. Alas those worries never even crossed your starstruck mind as you eagerly awaited to be swept off your feet by your Prince Charming. Living in a fairytale is charming but it would have done you well to stay intact with the real world too.

Whispers of lingering shadows and Fatui soldiers started to plague your village, several of your neighbors constantly felt the need to remind you to keep vigilant and to lock your doors at night, do not ever trust the Fatui.

Never open the doors for anyone, never.

Looking back on it, you regret spacing out in the middle of their monologues.

The seasons had passed and winter had come, a thick layer of pure white snow decorated the earth below you as the strong wind and harsh snowflakes found their way inside of your home due to the powerful wind that was bellowing all around you. A few snowflakes even managed to lose themselves inside of your clothing and hair but their icy chill was nothing compared to the large, gloved hand that lovingly caressed your chin.

Standing in front of you was a man, a man with whom you had never crossed paths with in your whole entire life. His entire aura, his being was radiating absolute control and calm. The dozen of men behind him kept their distance but it was obvious that they were ready to charge in if need be.

What was a Fatui Harbinger doing at your doorstep?

His face was much closer to your own now and it was Impossible to read him. His entire body language was rigid and firm, it left no spaces for speculations, especially the daunting mask that he wore on his face. Aside from the few strands of ebony black hair on the sides this man revealed nothing about himself to you, cornering you not only in your own house but in your own mind too.

What was he going to do to you?

A sigh escaped him, hot air came out of his mouth as he stepped closer, his feet nearly crossing the threshold of you home.

You didn't even see that you were shaking like a leaf.

"How long do you want us to stand here in the cold, dear?"

He spoke, he said something to you but your brain hardly registered it. But his next words were something you could most definitely not ignore:

"I came here to fulfill my promise to you..."

The lower part of his mask had been removed, his pale lips on full display. They hovered over your own for a few moments.

"How about we finally share that kiss?"

Before you could even think about answering, he pressed his lips on yours, claiming them for himself as he made sure to swallow every single little sound you made.

You always dreamed of living in a fairytale, of finding your own prince. But how could you have forgotten that not all fairy tales have a happily ever after?

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thewritetofreespeech · 12 days

Text

Tressym can be Fickle

WORDS: 692 RATING: G PAIRING: Gale x Tav SUMMARY: based on a very real arguement between my husband & I on who our cat likes more.

It had been a long, arduous, grueling day at the academy.

Though Gale loved his new role as a professor and educator, teaching the young minds of witches & wizards all across Faerun to harness their magic, induction week was the worst. He felt his life was in less peril fighting the Elder Brain or any of their other enemies & cohorts along the Sword Coast than he was now. Testing the new inductees to file them accordingly to their skill. ‘Skill’ being a very loose word tossed around this week.

He returned home that evening with a heavy sigh through the door, an even heavier thud of his satchel filled with books, and a desperate need to be tended to by his spouse. The whole day had been about soothing the egos, feelings, and on occasion literal wounds of new students that Gale thought he deserved some tending to now.

“Tav?” He called out as he put his cloak away. Usually, they greeted him at the door. Or at least acknowledged him when he came home. Curious, Gale walked through the house to try and find them. His search not long as he came upon Tav in the living room. On the couch by a low fire, with Tara on their lap. “Well….don’t you two look cozy.”

“Hmm, we rather are Mr. Dekarios.” Tara agreed. “Or at least we were, until someone started shouting.”

“Apologies for shouting in my own house.” Gale snipped at Tara. Taking his own plush armchair across from them. “Since when did you become a lap cat? And, before you get too ruffled under the feathers, it’s a figure of speech.”

Tara hummed. Seeming to debate about not letting it go but was perhaps indeed to comfortable to make a fuss. “Very recently I suppose. I never had an interest until now.” The tressym purred with her eyes closed as she tilted her head up towards Tav and her head scratches.

“You never took an interest with me.” Gale said with a deep frown.

“You do not have nails, Mr. Dekarios.”

The wizard growled and stood up. Unable to watch his dearest friend and lover betray him like this in front of his own eyes. It was still early for dinner but he stalked off towards the kitchen to focus his frustrations on what to eat.

A few moments later, Tav came in. Looking confused on why he was so upset. “Sorry.” He apologized quickly. “It’s just been a long day. And I am glad that you and Tara are getting along now. Guess I’m being….overly sensitive at being shut out. Tressym can be fickle, but I’ve never known Tara to change her mind about anyone. Again, not that I’m not pleased you two are getting along. I just never thought I would suddenly be second in her estimation.”

“Suddenly second? Please Mr. Dekarios.” The couple turned to see Tara trot in. Seeming interested in their conversation. “I wouldn’t say that you were suddenly second. Not given my high esteem of your mother. A better estimate is which one of you is second on the day, and who is third.”

“Really Tara? Kick a man while he’s down??”

“But, I’m a reasonable creature. Perhaps my estimations can be over swayed. Perhaps with a bit of chicken? Fried pigeons if you have any?”

“So a creature of reason but not honor, eh?” Gale stated, with a wave of his hand as if he wish to brush away this whole conversation.

Before he could leave, Tav wrapped their arms around his waist. Pulling him close. The smell of their hair in his nose. Something like ‘you’ll always be number 1 to me’ muffled into his chest, which causes him to smile and hold them back.

They tell Gale to go upstairs and relax. Take a bath if he liked, while they made dinner. That sounded heavenly, so he did just that.

When he came back down, he was not amused by the roast chicken on his plate. Nor the grinning little tressym in the corner, licking her chops like she’d just swallowed a canary. Or, perhaps, her bribery chicken.

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finniestoncrane · 26 days

Text

Portrait Session

Capullo!Riddler x GN!Reader, word count: 1k commission: artist reader is propositioned by edward nygma to paint a portrait of him showcasing all his best features... 💚 commission me here! request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: non-consensual nudity from eddie but is that really a negative? plus some suggestive stuff

Usually, the end of the day was your favourite time in the studio. There was something soothing about tidying up and cleaning things away. It provided that sense of completion, even if you hadn’t manage to get very far in any pieces through the hours you’d spent there. So it was more irritating than anything else when you were suddenly interrupted as you washed your brushes in the sink. You could smell the overly fragrant cologne before you could feel the hand over your mouth, feel the warmth of the breath before the words were whispered into your ear.

“Ok… don’t do anything stupid… because we know how this goes… just, turn around slowly and I might uncover your mouth, ok?”

You nodded, rolling your eyes as you placed the voice. Nothing surprised you much in Gotham anymore, and very little scared you. But there was one thing that you found annoying, more than anything else, and now you were face to face with it.

“Edward Nygma, The Riddler, but of course, you know who I am.”

He flashed a grin and let go of your mouth.

“Yep. Very aware of you.”

“Oh, a fan, hm?”

He raised his eyebrows a few times, smiling at you with a lewd grin.

“Hardly. How did you get in here?”

“I’m The Riddler, idiot. That’s what you’re wondering? Not why I’m here, or what I might do to you?”

He winked and you felt your eyes roll again. Everything about him bothered you, and to be perfectly honest you would rather he killed you or knocked you out to steal whatever he might need, anything to stop him from talking.

“Ok, fine. Enlighten me.”

“Well, you never replied to my email enquiry. So I thought I’d stop by in person.”

“Oh! Yes! I remember that…”

A few weeks ago, you had received a curious email regarding the potential for you to capture the likeness of him in a portrait. You had initially thought it might be a scam, or a prank, but the ludicrous amount of compliments regarding his own features, and the horribly self-indulgent signature which was filled with riddles and more compliments, assured you that it might be genuine. And of course, if it was, you wanted nothing to do with it.

“So you did read it. And you chose not to respond to me?”

“Yep. Don’t get told ‘no’ often, huh?”

“Not by anyone that matters. And ordinarily, you definitely wouldn’t matter. But… your art is… different. Better. I like it. And I really, really want you to paint me.”

You shook your head silently, but he kept pleading.

“Come on! I can make it worth your while. Very worth your while.”

“I doubt that very much.”

Ignoring the suggestive grin on his face, you chose to take a look down his body, letting your gaze linger on his crotch as you served your cutting response.

“Ouch. But I was actually thinking monetarily, for once.”

Taking a quick look around the studio, you considered what a little bit of extra cashflow could do for you. New paints, new materials, restock the cabinets. Maybe add a skylight if he was feeling extra generous.

“Ok… fine. I’ll paint your portrait. Let me get my things set up and we can bash this out as quickly as possible.”

“That’s usually how I operate.”

Scoffing at him, you turned to grab your supplies, some brushes, a canvas, some paints, and when you returned your gaze to Edward Nygma, you found him shirtless and removing his pants.

“Hey! What are you doing?”

“Uh… duh?”

He spread his arms out to the side, displaying his undressed form to you as his pants slid down his waist, leaving him in just his underwear.

“You’re gonna paint me nude.”

“I am?”

He threw his head back, sighing in exasperation.

“It really is me looking at my best, and I’m sure you’ll agree once you’ve seen me in all of my glory.”

You covered your eyes with your hand and turned your head slightly as Eddie removed his underwear, but you stole a quick glance at him before he told you to open your eyes. Facing him completely, you blinked a few times to adjust to the view.

“Well… see anything you like?”

Annoyingly, you did. He was slim, not toned, with a soft patch of red chest hair, and another patch of the same bright hue around his flaccid cock. And as he grinned, the self-satisfied smirk that usually irritated you, you found yourself blushing slightly.

“Let’s just get started now, come on.”

“Ah, ah, ah! Not quite yet, still got one more thing to do.”

He reached down to his cock, gripping it in his hand, and began to stroke it.

“Woah! Hey! What are you doing?”

“Well, I’m not going to have a portrait painted where I’m not looking my best or biggest.”

“Oh my god.”

“I’ll just be a second. Maybe you could… help me out?”

You let out an incredulous laugh, and he shrugged his shoulders.

“Suit yourself then.”

It was hard to take your eyes off of him as he stroked his cock, and you could see in your peripheral that he was staring intently back at you. Eventually though, the pleasure had taken precedent, and his eyes were closing as he let his mouth fall open. Soft sighs spilled out as his hand moved up and down his swiftly growing length quicker. You could tell he was reaching climax, which definitely wasn’t the point of this at all. And you knew, unfortunately, you should step in to prevent this from going any further.

“Ok… are you ready to start now, Mister Nygma?”

“Sure am, and I’m ready for some other things too.”

With another wink, he looked down to his cock, smiling back at you, a hopeful tone to his words. If he kept this up, you’d be here a lot longer than it would take you just to finish the painting.

#finnie writes #riddler #the riddler #riddler x reader #riddler x you #edward nygma #zero year riddler #zero year!riddler #capullo riddler #capullo!riddler #riddler smut #x reader

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flowersandbigteeth · 5 months

Text

Meeting your Changeling BF: Part 4

General Plot: You wake up somewhere else, and you and Clark continue on your journey to explore a new land

Changeling (Clark) x f flower nymph reader

Word Count: 4.5K

TW: kidnapping, unhinged plotting against society, p in v sex, NSFW smut, oral sex, heavy yandere behavior, and possessive themes, biting and marking, monster fucking, sneaky manipulation, light mind control

Find other parts here

You woke alone again. Instead of Clark’s spicy scent, you smelled flowers.

“Hmm?” you murmured, opening your eyes.

The room you were in was dark.

“She’s waking up,” you heard a familiar voice say.

“Rosalie?” you asked, squinting your eyes in the dark.

Someone lit a candle and you were surrounded by the curious eyes of the clutch of nymphs you’ve met before.

“Where- where am I?” you asked, getting frightened.

Where was Clark?

“Don’t worry,” Daisy assured you. “You’re still on the ship..we’re just…hiding until we land.”

“Hiding?” you asked, sitting up. “Why? Where is Clark?”

“The changeling?” Rosalie sneered. “He’s probably searching the ship over looking for his conquest, but he won’t find us!”

That snapped you to attention.

“What? Why? What am I doing here?” you asked.

Daisy gave you a sympathetic smile.

“We talked it over and we decided it’s better for you to come with us,” she explained. “You’re too new and naive to understand the danger you’re in.”

“I’m not in any danger!” you snapped. “I tried to tell you!”

“Hush,” Rosalie, hissed. “You have no idea what you’re saying. Changelings are baby stealers and spies. He’s probably going to sell you when we get to port. We’re doing you a favor!”

“But-” you started, but Rosalie gave you a bitter look that shut you up.

“Well…where are you taking me?” you asked, which seemed like a more amenable question.

“We’re returning home to the old wood,” Daisy said brightly. “That’s where nymphs belong. We were summoned by the lord of Merida for some stupid plan of his.”

“More like kidnapped,” Rosalie spat. “But we got away, we always do. So we’re going home to Ilirion. The old wood is safe. Only pure souls and nymphs can venture through it.”

“Pure souls?” you asked, confused.

“Children,” Daisy explained. “The old wood will tolerate children.”

“Once we arrive we can go back to our lives. Frolicking in the forest, drinking dew from leaves,” one of the other nymphs who you assumed was named Lily if the flowers in her hair were anything to go by, sighed wistfully.

“I was told nymphs were good for villages,” you ventured. “You don’t want to be of service?”

Rosalie laughed.

“No, not at all,” she snorted. “The people of this world are crude and cruel. I won’t lift a finger to help one of them. It’s her fault we’re this far away from home anyway.”

She pointed at Daisy who looked embarrassed.

“I thought like you,” she admitted. “I thought flitting through the woods was a waste of our time, so I convinced us all to respond to the lord of Merida’s request. It turned out…poorly. We had to lure them into a sense of security and then escape in the night. It was an ordeal finding money for the ship back home.”

“But that’s all behind us now,” Rosalie said, putting an assuring hand on Daisy’s shoulder. “We learned a lesson, no?”

Daisy nodded meekly.

“What was the lord of Merida’s plan?” you asked, curious about their journey.

Rosalie sighed and frowned.

“He thought we could spoil wells to defeat his enemy,” she huffed. “A foolish idea. Nymphs are creatures of purity. We don’t wage war. We make things thrive and bloom. We have our own ambitions, anyway.”

“Which are?” you asked.

Daisy brightened.

“We want to spread the old wood!” she beamed. “This world is cursed. The creatures crawling around have soiled and defiled it…but if we work together…we can make it pure again!”

You swallowed hard.

“Pure again?” you repeated, shakily.

A dark look passed over Rosalie’s face.

“We’re going to gather as many nymphs as we can and start doing what we do…grow things. We’ll grow the brambles in their logging camps, cover the fields the outsiders have tilled with wild foliage, flood the towns with pure water, let the forest retake the cities! The world will be pretty again, covered in flowers and fruit trees. No more outsiders to ruin things…no one will chop down our trees, no one will pull up our weeds. No one will hunt our animals!” she explained.

Your eyes widened as Rosalie’s smile grew unhinged in the flickering candlelight.

“But isn’t that..wrong?” you asked. “You’re talking about wiping all the other species out!”

She shrugged.

“They had their chance,” she snarled. “Nature has suffered too long for their ambitions! It’s time to take action. We are the old wood!”

“We are the old wood!” the other nymphs cheered in unison.

“I-I don’t want to hurt anyone,” you muttered.

Rosalie put her arm around you.

“Don’t soften your heart to outsiders. The world follows a cycle,” she said. “Creatures live and die. It’s natural. They belong to the old wood, yet they do not know it. Their still bodies will decay and the land will thrive again. You honor them using their sacrifice to purify the realm.”

You were quite sure then that you had to escape. These nymphs had lost their minds.

“Couldn’t you just go home and forget about the outsiders?” you asked, but she shook her head.

“The lord of Merida dared to ensnare us in his machinations,” Daisy offered. “The outsiders have grown too bold. They no longer respect the land. We are to do the whisperer’s will.”

You blinked.

“The whisperer wills this?” you asked and she smiled, her face also taking on an almost hysterical mask.

“The whisperer gave us our strength,” she said. “It has always been our duty to grow…so grow we shall.”

“We will grow and grow until there are no sharp corners left! No metal tools ripped from the womb of the mountains! No buildings made of the flesh of our brothers the trees!” Lily agreed. “We’ll free the rivers from the dams that block them! Free the gourds from the trellises they’ve built to bind them! Once the old wood has spread the ents will be our army!”

You shook, frightened, your eyes jerking around seeking an exit.

“Um…that all sounds…gooood…” you said, placating them. “Where are we?”

Daisy seemed delighted by your apparent acceptance of their plan.

“We’re in a crate in the storage,” she said. “When they unload the ship, we’ll make our escape. Don’t worry. That changeling won’t get to you.”

“Ah…” you said, trembling.

You had no idea how to escape the nymphs. Something had clearly made them go mad.

“Here have something to eat,” Daisy, said handing you a bit of fruit.

“Thanks,” you murmured, chewing on it.

While you ate the nature spirits reviewed their plans. They intended to take the cities one by one. As Lily had mentioned, they planned on letting the living trees destroy the dams, flooding the towns. Then they’d grow brambles on the farms so their was no food but what grew wild.

It seemed they were less intent on murdering anyone as getting rid of the sorts of things that made cities civilized. The “outsiders” as they called them could live if they foraged for fruit, slept in caves, and didn’t hunt. The nymphs were openly hostile to any sort of cultivation or attempt to tame the wild.

You wondered where Clark was…if he was frantically searching the ship or if he’d even realized you were gone yet. You had no idea what time it was in the dark box.

It could have been hours listening to the nymphs, but suddenly you heard a spooky scraping.

SKKK, SKKK, SKKK.

The nymphs didn’t seem to notice, too caught up in planning civilization’s downfall. There was a loud BANG and one side of the box fell open, light pouring in, blinding you all.

“Wha-?” you heard Daisy say.

As you blinked trying to get your eyes to adjust to the light, a massive form appeared in front of you. It's claws scratched the wood floor and as your eyes focused you saw a massive beast, snarling and spitting flames.

Screams pierced your ears as the beast thrashed its head, revealing massive, dripping fangs. You were frozen in place, shivering. You'd never seen a creature like this. The nymphs scattered, slipping on the creatures drool as they made their escape. You should have run or hid or something but you were stock still. You squeezed your eyes shut, ready to die, when suddenly a warm body pressed against you.

“(Y/N)!” Clark’s voice hummed in your ear.

You tried to look up, but he pressed your face to his chest.

You were so relieved to be in his arms, you didn’t fight him, simply leaning into his warmth, letting the scent of incense fill your lungs.

“You found me,” you gasped.

You felt soft kisses on your head as he floated in his true form out of the storage deck.

“Of course I found you,” he hummed. “I would have torn this boat apart board by board to find you.”

When you reached an area where there were other guests, he let your head up, transforming to the humanoid form he used for the public.

“What happened to the nymphs?” you asked, but he didn’t answer right away, only looking at you, frowning.

“Why? Do you wish to return to them?” he snapped.

“No! No! Of course not,” you gasped, confused by his anger.

“Then don’t worry yourself over it,” he said sharply.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,” you whimpered. “I was only scared. They were kidnapping me. I don’t want them to grab me again.”

His face softened and he smiled, patting your back.

“You are safe,” he said. “We will be landing soon. Don’t spare any more of your thoughts for those kidnappers.”

“O-okay,” you hummed, leaning your head into his chest again.

Clark was safety and comfort in a world you didn’t understand. Those nymphs were bent on world domination. They were insane. Whatever happened to them was not your business. You glanced up at Clark’s handsome face as he carried you back to your room. Your business was the changeling that had taken you in and saved you time and time again. It was best to leave it at that. So you let him lay you down on the bed, unwilling to let you out of his grasp.

—

The past was easy to forget when faced with the thriving port where you arrived. Ilirion was a far richer province than Merida. Large buildings cut from white stone stretched up to dizzying heights. There were people dressed in colorful clothes everywhere you looked.

Street vendors lined the avenues selling food and trinkets, while performers begged for gold coins as they did acrobatic tricks and played instruments. Every business had flower boxes full of blooms and elaborate window dressings.

Clark had relaxed once you were off the ship and seemed enamored by your bright eyes taking in the pretty city.

“Ehylin, is beautiful, no?” Clark asked as you walked the streets. “It’s a pity we can’t stay longer. I have a carriage chartered to leave this afternoon. Our luggage is on it’s way, but we need to buy some things before we take off.”

“Where are we going?” you asked.

“Another city to the north named Leatolos,” he said. “I have a surprise for you.”

You blinked at him, squeezing the elbow he’d offered you to hold. He turned you into a clothing store and you marveled at all of the beautiful dresses and shoes.

A small woman with wings appeared.

“How can I help you?” she asked, smiling.

“I need a coat warm enough for Leatolos for my partner,” he said and she beamed.

“Oh you’re headed north?” she asked while she gathered coats from hangers. “How lovely. Leatolos is the diamond of Ilirion. Have you been?”

Clark nodded.

“I have, but it’s my partner’s first time,” he explained and her eyes twinkled.

“Oh, you’re in for a nice surprise,” she said.

You tried on coats while Clark watched, his face holding a bemused smirk as you twirled in them for him.

“Pick what you like,” he insisted. “Don’t worry about the cost.”

You finally decided on a baby blue coat with a white fur lining. Clark bought you some gloves and a scarf as well before the little woman wrapped up your packages and sent you on your way.

“There’s one more thing we must do before we set out,” he said, guiding you to a very grand building that looked like it had something to do with the government.

Though when you’d soul swapped you could speak their native language, you couldn’t read their writing which was a little frustrating.

Holding the door open for you, he shuffled you inside and approached a counter manned by a bored looking fellow with only one eye in the middle of his head.

“What’s your business?” he huffed, seeming annoyed.

“I’d like to register my wife,” Clark said and your eyes widened at him.

You opened your mouth to correct him, but the wink he gave you said you ought to keep your thoughts to yourself.

“Does she have an ID?” the one eye’d man asked.

“She’s a nymph,” he explained. “Can’t you see? Why would she have an ID? She’s from the old wood!”

The cyclops blinked at you as if he were seeing you for the first time.

“So you are,” he said looking back at Clark. “Allright, your ID then.”

Clark passed a document that looked like a passport book to him and the man turned his attention to it, pulling out some papers and stamps.

“State your name miss,” he said to you.

“(Y/N),” you said, unsure what was happening.

“That’s an odd name for a nymph,” he commented, lazily stamping something then passing a paper to you, you couldn’t read.

“Sign here,” he said handing you a pen.

You scribbled your name and he examined it before stamping it again.

“You’re now bound by the laws of Ilirion,” the cyclops explained. “There is a thirty day provisional period. As long as you don’t get into any trouble for the next month your citizenship will be official upon the new moon. If you’re found guilty of a crime, due to your nature spirit status, you’ll be deported to the nearest old wood. After the thirty day period you’ll be eligible for prosecution and can be interned in prison under the laws of the province. Understand?”

You nodded.

“Good,” he grunted passing Clark a little book similar to the one he’d presented. “That is your identification. I know you little nymphs aren’t good with documents so best let your husband keep it, hm?”

You nodded again.

“Best to you,” he said, waving the two of you away.

When you were outside you stared at Clark.

“You lied!” you gasped. “We aren’t married!”

He shrugged.

“We are now…It’s safer this way,” he assured you.

You wrinkled your brow.

“Nature spirits aren’t usually declared citizens of any realm,” he explained. “You exist in a bit of a bureaucratic gray area because so few leave the old wood to live life among the civilized. If I declare you my wife here, you are as long as you sign the form, which you did. If you’d like we can have a ceremony.”

You frowned at him, wondering what the circumstances were that Clark had convinced the old Y/N to give up her life in the woods. The nymphs you’d met so far all seemed adamant that living in the city was unnatural.

“Are you mad?” he asked, looking a little nervous, but you only sighed.

“No,” you pouted. “But it would have been nice if you asked.”

He nodded, sensible enough to at least look contrite.

“I promise I’ll make it up to you,” he said. “Consider this our honeymoon. We can do whatever you like once we arrive in Leatolos. Come, I’ll get you something special right now to commemorate the day.”

He tugged you down the avenue to a jewelry shop and pulled you inside.

“Oh Clark! You don’t have to-” you gasped, looking around at all the glittering jewels.

“I do though,” he said, interrupting you. “I at least owe you a proper ring.”

“What can I help you with?” the naga shopkeeper asked.

“I need a ring for my new bride,” Clark declared, making you blush.

The naga smiled at the prospect of a big sale and hurried around to gather rings for you to look at. You were overwhelmed by all of the options. There were rings big and small, some gold, some sliver and a rainbow of stones. As you looked, your eyes kept being drawn to a certain one. Clark followed your gaze and picked it up.

“You like this one?” he asked and you had to nod.

It was rather simple, but very pretty with gold leaves surrounding a heart shaped stone.

“We’ll take it and a gold band for me,” he informed the jewler.

When he’d paid and the rings had been sized, Clark bent on one knee right then and there.

“Will you accept this ring and be my wife?” he asked.

Your cheeks burned and you nodded your head. He grinned, showing his sharp teeth and slid the ring on your finger. The naga wished you both traditional blessings and with all your business done, Clark shuffled you to where you would meet the carriage.

“It’s somewhat of a long trip,” he warned you, “but the countryside of Ilirion is pretty.”

He was correct, as you sat holding his hand, you watched the fields full of flowers and jewel toned forests slip past. Something was bothering you, however. You hated to ask again about the old (Y/N) but there was something about their story you were dying to know.

“Clark,” you said. “How did you convince the old (Y/N) to move into town?”

He paused for a moment before answering you.

“Are you sure you want to know?” he asked and you nodded.

“When I met her I was a little boy, maybe eight, and she was just a toddler,” he explained. “The old wood cared for her. The vines of the trees rocked her to sleep and the does fed her milk.That’s pretty normal for nature spirits.

I first saw her when I was hiding from Harri and Neia and I ran too deep into the old wood. They used to bully me, the whole town did, really, but they were the worst. I couldn’t fight back or I would have been booted out of the village.

The doctor gave me a bed to sleep in and meals, but she was busy so I spent most of my time wandering. Other than the doc, no one smiled at me. No one praised me or taught me lessons. They all assumed I’d move on when I was old enough and had stretched the doctor’s kindness as far as it would go.

So when (Y/N) smiled at me and toddled over to me as if she wasn’t the least bit afraid…I took her. I carried her back to the doctor and she fell asleep in my arms.

The doctor told me to put her back, that nature spirits belonged in the old wood, but Harri had seen me with her and told his father. The mayor wanted a nymph in town for obvious reasons so he insisted that we keep her.

He even gave me praise for capturing her, which made me happy. The town treated me like a real citizen after that. When she was little (Y/N) would only let me hold her. It took time for her to get acclimated to the village, so my position was secured. Eventually, maybe to get rid of me, or maybe out of kindness, I’ll never know, they sent me to Ilirion to learn to be a mage.

Only, when I came back…things were different.”

He stared out of the window, sadly.

“Anyway, after everything that happened as we all grew up, I wondered if what I did was wrong…I lived up to the stereotypes about my kind. I stole a baby and Harri never let me forget it, though it was due to me he and (Y/N) ever even met.”

He looked down at you, brushing your cheek.

“I hope you’re not disappointed in me,” he sighed.

“How could I be?” you asked. “It doesn’t sound like you ever really harmed the other (Y/N) and you were just a lonely little boy.”

He hummed and smiled at you.

“You’re so incredibly understanding,” he sighed, before leaning down and pressing his lips to yours.

His kiss wasn’t delicate. It was needy and bruising. He clutched you to him as if he could become one with you. His tongue licked your lips and his sharp teeth nibbled the flesh, willing you to let him in. When your lips parted his tongue moved against yours as if he planned to devour you.

There was the sound of tearing fabric and you felt cool air against your chest as he ripped the dress he’d bought for you open to get to your skin.

“Clark,” you hummed between kisses, but he didn’t stop.

“I need you (Y/N)” he almost whined, but mostly demanded.

His hands were all over your body, stroking and squeezing the flesh. He pulled his head back, turning his attention to tearing your clothes to shreds.

“I need to fill you,” he hissed. “I need to claim you.”

He tossed you against the cushioned coach bench, pulling your legs open with his claws and burying his face in your cunt. His long tongue roughly forced its way into your channel and you squealed from the intrusion. Your squeal quickly shifted to a moan as he worked his way inside you, licking and lapping up your juices.

“I’m already yours,” you sighed as his claws pricked the soft skin of your thighs.

“Show me you love me,” he demanded. “Show me you’ll never leave me. I don’t want to live if you’re going to leave me.”

You cupped his chin in your hand, gently guiding the blank mask of his face up to you.

“Why would I leave you?” you assured him. “You’re all I have in this world, no?”

The red slash of his mouth crashed into yours. The part of you that still clung to the old world you knew was aware that Clark’s obsession with you was…not healthy. You knew he shouldn’t love you the way he did. You’d only been together for a few days and he made you his wife without even asking…but you were alone. You knew very little of the world around you and you were frightened. So you let yourself be his. Any therapist would have called it toxic. Your friends and family wouldn’t approve, but just as he wanted to cling to you, you wanted to cling to him too.

“Bite me,” you whispered and his cherry red eyes met yours.

“What?” he asked and you pulled the rest of the fabric at your shoulder away.

“Bite me here,” you said, letting a finger run down a long sharp tooth. “I’ll carry your mark. Will that convince you that I’m not going to leave?”

He smiled and his eyes glinted. What you were doing was madness, but you barrelled forward anyway.

“It won’t hurt,” he said in that lilting tone he took sometimes. “I’ll make it good for you.”

Instead of digging his teeth in right away, his head dropped to your breasts to lick and suck your nipples. Your back arched and you gasped at the attention.

“Yes, yes, Clark, please!” you whined as he formed his claws back into fingers to stuff them inside of your weeping slit.

When you were writhing in front of him, so close to reaching your end, he replaced his fingers with his thick cock. Spearing you, he pounded you into the cushion. His strokes were ragged and desperate, while his clawed hand wrapped around your neck.

You spiralled towards an orgasm you couldn’t stop, screaming his name as he bit into your shoulder. It didn’t hurt at all, just a bit of pressure as your body came unraveled around him. His cum filed your pussy, mixing with your own fluids. He licked the wound, reveling in the taste of your blood in his mouth. He wanted every inch of you to be marked for him, but would be satisfied with this bit.

“Mmm,” you hummed, curling into his embrace.

While you drifted to sleep, he carefully cleaned your wound and wrapped it with a bandage. By morning it would stop bleeding and you’d be left with a scar the shape of his teeth. He smiled down at your dozing form, so pleased with you.

How could he have ever torn himself apart over the other (Y/N)? You were so far superior. You loved him. You accepted him. You trusted him.

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ghostflowerhotpotch · 9 months

Text

Growing pains

Summary: How did Jeff and Rio feel knowing Miles was sneaking out with a girl?

Jeff's rant became background noise as she lifted the sweater in confusion.

It wasn't Miles, not just because it wasn't his size (she had needed to buy so many new clothes with his growth spur that she would know) but it was...feminine, she could even smell faintly some perfume.

Whoever left it was using it recently.

"-Babe are you backing me up in this one or what?"

Rio snapped back to reality as she felt her husband's hand on her shoulder, he looked at her still kind of upset yet more curious as to why she hasn't moved from that spot.

"Jeff, where is this from?" She asks immediately, not paying attention to whatever he has been insisting on her.

Arching an eyebrow, he didn't look too much into the item before shrugging with disinterest "I don't know, I normally let him choose whatever he wants as long as the price is okay; a better question is why his room is such a mess, maybe we should ground him an extra month for that-"

"Jeff" She called him again, trying to distract him from his authoritative-dad ideas "This isn't his, it has to belong to a girl."

The moment the word 'girl' came out of her mouth he seemed even more puzzled. Giving an actual look at the item from his wife's hands, he was trying to remember if he has seen it before "Does it belong to one of your nieces maybe?"

"I didn't remember seeing any of them using this, why it would be here anyways? We let the guest put their coats in the entrance, and I don't think either Ana or Camila would just leave this in Miles's bed for no reason."

As they both realized they couldn't recall anyone who could have this sweater, finally the other possible explanation popped into their minds. Not because it wasn't obvious, but more like-

"Is this happening now? It isn't too soon?"

"No, no no no, no way that boy brought a girl to our house, to his room, all while he is grounded." Just as quickly, Jeff was getting worked out again about this outrage.

Miles comes late (again,) with cakes that are falling apart, refuses to talk to them, and now he is hearing how he left his room to be with a girl?

Rio couldn't believe it either.

"This can't be right- He is too young to think of that!" She replied in disbelief.

She felt her husband's gaze rest on her as she stopped looking at the item (who could belong to? Maybe one of Miles's old friends from the neighborhood? As far she knew he stopped hanging out with everyone around here,) and saw the face Jeff always puts when he isn't sure how to tell her something.

"What?"

And her snappier response didn't seem to make him more confident about saying it.

"I mean- Look, don't get me wrong, we are both on the same side here" He prefaces, he needed to reserve all his energy to think how to get to that boy's skull that he couldn't do whatever he wanted, not to mention that when Rio got angry even he got scared. "But, he is fifteen honey."

"Yeah! A baby!"

"Well, not so baby, I mean at his age I was-"

The pointed look of Rio was all the information he needed to know he SHOULDN'T end that sentence.

"What I am trying to say, is that he is getting to a certain age mi amor, we cannot stop that."

Rio's shoulders fell, realizing how tense she was getting and this wasn't even going into how disobedient her son has been getting lately. As she looked towards the room (which was indeed a mess,) she saw the toys laying around, notebooks of old drawings pilled over the new ones that show his progress, she could almost see him as a toddler running around with a cape.

That felt like it was yesterday.

And now she had the sweater of a girl she doesn't know in her hands, in Miles' room.

Where did her little boy go?

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Since the Wip poll won, I decided to post this little thing that was actually, my first fic for this fandom.

I never got to publish it because it was missing two other scenes, but I decided to scrap it since the third one felt a bit too crazy, so I would do that idea for another thing.

So now while this is technically not a wip, I decided to publish it since I don't have any works in progress I can give sneak peaks for now.

Thanks for reading!

#atsv #across the spiderverse #ghostflower #rio morales #jeff morales #fanfics #gwiles

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yomogi-mogi-mochi · 4 months

Text

Honey Lemon Crescendo

Pairings: Trey Clover/Vampire MC

Summary: The gods should have made you better, so that they could love you.

The days you pray for the abolishment of your abhorrent form are rare in the centuries you have lived since your family's death, and your turning. Sharpened claws and teeth, the hellfire of your gaze are concealed for your own convenience, you tell yourself, especially as you enroll into NRC. The tonic of human affairs rarely interested you, yet when you find the truly curious case of Trey Clover, someone who is made only of that plain sort, you cannot help but to promise yourself one conversation, some several hours of the thousand thousand you have lived to taste what it is like to be treated, and be human again. But you're a fool, and a hypocrite‒ you find yourself breaking that promise over, and over, and over. Your fragile resolve frays at every sunbeam smile, every ringing laughter of his.

MC is a vampire, unique magic is telepathy, being able to unconsciously hear everyone's thoughts

Notes: Once again I am alive lol. Barely. Just finished my first semester in my Master’s program so I’ve been experiencing a bit a burn out, so I apologize if this isn’t my best work. Also, every time I'm like "hm is this too much trauma?" But then I remember the child murder, kidnapping, and child endangerment that's canon in twst and I'm like ooh wait right nvm I’m good. Fits within the canon. Anyways, I would have liked to explore the concept of BPD and its allegorical connections to Vampirism more in depth, especially due to the social sigma associated with it‒ but I feel that it would be waaaay too long for a one-shot if I did so.

Also, all stand alone quotes that are in italics represent inner thoughts (with some exceptions depending on your personal interpretations)

TW: References to depression, references to religious trauma, exorcism, and cults; references to child abuse; survivors guilt; referenced to verbal abuse; anxiety; panic attacks; slight mentions of eating disorders/disordered eating (suppressing appetite); BPD

GN Terms for MC

AO3 Link Here

Masterlist

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

“There is no sin within this child. Only the devil which lives within them.”

Those were the words that had prevented your burning during the trial, among other things.

Perhaps it was also the way you would keep your claws obscured under thickset leather gloves, conceal your crimson gaze under obsidian shades, or the terror that seized you every night that left you so evidently unraveled in all of your unforgiving guilt and abhorrence for your new form. The pity that could be provoked by the wetness and flush of a child’s face was something many adults in the future instructed was a bias you should have been more grateful for‒ as it triumphed over whatever horrors people held when you spoke a decibel too loudly to show your sharpening fangs, moved too swiftly to confirm the power that swelled within you like simmering, spoiled blood‒ pungent, and nauseating.

It reminds you of the smell at the state of decomposition you found your family in when you returned home from a several day trip with your cello instructor‒ and the smell of its mouth when its sharpened teeth lurched towards your neck, before you felt the metallic taste drip cold into your gasping mouth.

It was first the elongated fangs. Then came the claws, the lack of reflection, the original color of your eyes draining, replaced with a bright vermillion. The enhanced senses and physical power were less noticeable‒ but the subtle power that swelled in your hands when you broke skin and meat with your own grip upon your arm did not go unnoticed by the Supreme Leader who examined your body and soul during your trial.

“This thing should be useful to me, I hope. I was right to send that “Cello Instructor” with them to take care of business here. I’ll continue my divine plan as usual.”

The words themselves terrified you. Should you run? Hide? Die? Where would you go‒ with your small feet and hands? What could you do? The more oppressive horror lay in the confirmation of the whorling suspicion inside of your small, ten-year old mind that your new form allowed for telepathy‒ the exact “usefulness” the Supreme Leader had suspected lapped inside of you. You were absolutely sure of it, days later, when you read the color of the townspeople faces‒ their leering eyes and curled lips, squeezing their children close behind them‒ back towards your home, set ablaze by their torches and oil. The scramble of noise wasn't needed to confirm their disgust of you, but it came anyway.

“Hideous.”

“Demon. Probably killed that poor family.”

“That disguising appearance‒ must be the child of the devil.”

“Murderer. Things like you deserved to be burned. Supreme leader is truly a blessing to take care of such vile things.”

You cowered at their stares‒ but you remember considering it distantly for a moment, even in the midst of your situation. That night you had been found by shaking candlelight, your mouth drenched with blood and fear, palming numbly at your family's cold bodies. You couldn't blame them, you supposed. The townspeople feared you. You feared you. Stay with me . The Supreme Leader told you. And you did.

He defended you during your trial with a kind smile, tying the rope around your wrists loosely with gentle hands, spoke softly of good deeds, good gods, all forgiving and loving. When he convinced the council to graciously join his family , you didn’t run.

“Don’t you want to be loved by god?”

You shakily rolled the breath that seized in your lungs, your small hands clutched in a prayer against the heartbeat that thundered against your bones.

“How pitiful child, that you choke on your sorrow. You, abhorrent creature, abomination of god‒ let me love you .”

“Let me be your god.”

He held a copy of Dissertations Upon the Apparitions of Angels, Daemons, and Vampires of Wonderland in his hands‒ he pressed a finger onto each part of your body, comparing it with his‒ what made him human, and what made you not. He gifted you your own room‒ different from all the other children, deep at the belly of the earth. The cobblestone walls reached high into the heavens where you could not see, even with your enhanced vision‒ the light falling just where your vision could reach. One of his attendants presented him with a pair of cuffs, made specially for your size. The ones they had did not yet fit you. However, he placed them on the ground‒ crescent smile and blackened eyes. You would not escape.

You kept your secrets for a while‒ despite the unquenchable jealousy, festering sin, and violence that sprouted abundantly in the minds of his chosen advisors, who pinched your skin and snaked their cold hands under your shirt. In your ever dwindling, coastal town‒ you'd seen denial was the first reaction to loss. You'd felt a modicum of humanity in your ruthless rejection, letting the inner noise of others curdle in your mind.

Their words on the surface stuck of cheap, saccharine perfume, ones you recognized in the town's alleys and such. Yet you swallowed your nausea down, digesting their words one by one. You still had faith then, capable of religion . So easy to fool back then‒ you think now‒ children rarely doubt the material world. Why would people hurt you on purpose?

You were still a child then‒ an infant in vampiric years.

“ Don’t you want to be loved by god?”

“To be useful to god?”

"Useful to me?"

“They’ve done so much for you.”

“I’ve done so much for you.”

“Don’t you want to repay that?”

You revealed it all, in your childish trust, and his soft hands. You thought perhaps, that adults, despite their true intentions, would help you somehow. Belief in good will. Faith. It grips you with force.

It wasn’t all violence at first. But you began to fear the day where their actions would finally twist into something reflective of their actual intentions. That day came rather quickly, or so you think. Time did not matter in the small confines of your chambers below ground. The bloodletting, lashings, the vivisections were then all to vanquish the spirits that germinated inside your sinking flesh, possessing you to reveal such “impure things” in front of the people. Purification , he called it, no matter how many times you dried your throat from apologies, or promised you would do better next time. Next time I will speak your truth. God’s truth . You say the way their desires for a monster began to shape every laceration, every break of the bone.

Still, you couldn’t be their monster, nor a human. It seemed that the seeds of sacrilege had been sown firmly into you, and flourished each passing decade in its grotesque power.

The gods should have made you better, so that they could love you.

You’d beg through a dried throat and spinning vision for forgiveness and to appeal your usefulness‒ you knew the moment the priest resumed his kind smile, gentle hands, and his flowery voice‒ that he had found a use for you. Work for me , he said‒ and you obliged. He held your hand again, with a firm grip, and brought you to trials, his grand meetings with thousands of his followers‒ and you’d do his bidding, pointing a shaking finger at “non-believers” and spies‒ watching closely, where the supreme leader’s eyes leered and narrowed in order to anticipate your next move of survival . By then, you had learned to tune out a significant portion of the noise of people, to live in ignorant bliss for the few hours he would spend mending your gashing wounds, let you fiddle around with your cello that had survived the angry mob that burned down your family’s bakery, and home. Soft touches, sweet voice, he spoke.

"Good child, one of god, of forgiveness, of love. "

And you could tell he had meant it‒ knowing that when he lied to you‒ he always clasped his hands unconsciously in prayer. If there were opposing intentions twisting below his perfumed words that you had somehow failed to pick up with your trained senses‒ you couldn’t be bothered to unravel them. It was just nice. To be held again‒ forgiven . By someone at least, if not yourself. You were good. You were good again.

Decades pass‒ the people and the landscape move and breathe. It was only a matter of time your hometown would dwindle into a ghost city, being built on scrappy mines and poor fishermen, controlled by a con-man and his desperate believers. Even with nothing to lose, the remaining residents exiled you. Perhaps it was their humanity that they grasped onto with that final action.

You stand against the passing aches after aches‒ drinking it all from your chalice‒ vessels gilded with gold and hammered with human desire, sitting high to the heavens on altars to hold the blood and wine offered to the gods. You’d been hollowed much like that grail, gouged from the sharpened image of your still, immutable face against the shifting harmony of the world you could not enter. You have no reflection, no face, no name people would call out to take shape as your own, no proof of your corporeal form but your own, cold touch. And the hunger. The hunger seized you at every moment‒ aching through the gums of your fangs, and pounding your heart with the lifeblood that chased it. You were at least alive in your

You'd fashion something from the use you'd have to other people. A frankenstein skin stretched over your bones. You still feel the Supreme Leader’s gaze hollowing your senses.

"It's like they're reading my thoughts."

"Those sunglasses and gloves, what are you trying to stand out? So annoying."

"Why don't you read the atmosphere for once?"

"Arrogant asshole."

"What are you, pretending to be all high and mighty."

"Liar."

The noise never stops completely. But you've learned to shut the world out, better now with the advancements on potions and ear plugs‒ courtesy of the Night Raven College’s curriculum‒ hands free to grasp at every opportunity to prove you had existed in some way‒ a being that was real enough to feel the light of gods' love and forgiveness. Useful. Good.

“How did you know I used browned butter?”

Light‒ feather soft, honey sweet music that streams into your mind.

You always sat alone in the end. There was a composition to everything, as you saw it. And you had perfected the score of distance‒ being able to orchestrate a friendly, carefree facade, an absolutely stupid and undoubtedly shallow passion, pruning the space between you and the world. A gothic mirror to parody themselves, so they could not truly look at your monstrous, yet absent form‒ something you were sure would absolutely rupture the thick skin you've fashioned together out of pieces of the real people unlike yourself. You'd break apart into nothing but dust.

It was like the volume, moods, and rhythms created in the scores you played‒ you charged the room with boisterous laughter and directed the eyes at that, instead of your fervent efforts in composing the most fantastic detachment. In the end, you were almost giddy to see that no one saved you a seat, or spared you a glance when you slipped outside for a cigarette wedged hungrily between your fingers. The nicotine was enough to starve off the ache beginning to turn swiftly to nausea between your wobbling footsteps, and you were glad, you think, to have served your use in the social spiral to be afforded a moment of peace.

Or, you thought.

“Huh?”

“You forgot your prize.” The boy in front of you thrusts a frosted cupcake towards you, prompting you to switch the cigarette to your other hand to receive it. In the subtle moonlight, you see the sugar melted into the cream glitter a bit when you inspect the pastry.

He adjusts the hat on top of his green head of hair as he continues. “The competition to see who could guess all the ingredients in the cake correctly‒ you won, it was perfect, actually.”

You stare at him dumbly and you find yourself scooting over to make space for him. His eyebrows are tilted in a way that made his face a little sorry, a little roguish‒ a combination you found curious raised above those soft honey lemon eyes that hung like that summer fruit above the lush curve of his lashes.

“So‒ how did you know? I’m curious.”

You exhale the rest of the smoke resting in your lungs. “I…used to know people who were bakers. Their secret ingredient in their famous brownies was browned butter. I’ve eaten so many trays I’ve come to know the taste. The rest is just luck.”

He laughs. Not like you had seen out of the corner of your eye when he had been talking to all those people, but a loose, genuine chuckle. “I’d hardly call it luck‒ you got the measurements down pretty close. Impressive, if you ask me. May I ask‒ are you a baker?”

“I…” You find yourself smiling through the cigarette pushed to your lips, careful not to show your teeth. “I used to be. I used to spend a lot of time there, they must have rubbed off me.”

How long has it been since you’ve thought about them? You could remember the distinct nutty smell from the pounds of brown butter your sister was in charge of making‒ the click click click of your mother’s footsteps as she worked from the counter to the rack of trays, preparing the bread dough for proofing. Your father in the background, fiddling with the radio, beaming when he heard a recording of your cello performance on the morning radio. Warmth, sunlight. The beat of your heart, and the heat of your blood.

“You’ll have to give me the recipe then. I’ve been looking for a good brownie recipe.”

A moment to contemplate if you should end this conversation here. Something switches inside of you, perhaps a remnant of that warmth you remembered.

“You have something to write with?”

His face flowers gently into a brightened expression before he pulls out a small notebook from his breast pocket.

“...Thank you.”

You hum apathetically to work through the dreadful loom of warmth you feel when you hand the paper back to him with the recipes you’ve committed to memory from your laborious days at your family’s seaside bakery. The smoke still hanging in the air shifts sharply when you stand, and you flick the cindering cigarette to the pavement to stomp it out. You can tell there is more he wants to say that sits bubbly on his tongue, but you turn towards the door leading back to the Heartslabyul dorm before the words can take form through his smile.

There’s a moment that you stand by the door where you reflect on what you saw of him while he was inside, mingling with other humans.

“You should loosen your shoulders more when you smile, like that." Under his hat, you see his eyebrows raise up in slight surprise. Surprise isn't enough, you decide, and add, "If you want to convince people."

You hope those words leave him a bit cold, a bit cruel that he doesn’t come seeking after you anytime soon, feeling the scramble of thoughts threatening to pool into your ears through the plugs. It’s all noise to you. You step inside once more‒ feeling a little less sick, a little less raw to be able to orchestrate again.

Trey finds your handwriting as pretty as you were in the noise of the room, inspecting all the curls and loops of each word. It takes him a moment before he notices what you left behind.

“They forgot their prize…”

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

The next time you meet him is during band practice. Or, more precisely, hear him would be a better descriptor.

"Have you seen (Name)?"

The thick walls of the storage room muffles his voice, but you still hear it loud and clear as you lean against the door, cello in hand.

"I just saw them a minute ago. I think they went to run a few errands or something since the school festival is soon." Carter replies.

"Ah it seems like I'm on a wild goose chase. I'm starting to wonder if such a person even exists…"

“They’re everywhere and nowhere all the time.” Carter chuckles. "I didn't even know you two were like that."

"Hm. I guess. We only really talked once." He hums.

"But I'd like to get to know them better ."

The sharp inhale you suck in makes an audible sound when you hear those words brush the back of your neck. You press the palm of your hands flat against your ears in panic to prevent any sound‒ voices, noise, the world‒ all of it, from entering your mind.

Quiet, quiet, quiet, quiet‒

You time his steps, the pleasantries he's likely throwing at the rest of the members, the time it takes for him to get far from your radius of power. Slowly, you release your hands from your head, and take a few moments to gather yourself before exiting the room.

Carter is the first to notice you. "Eh? (Name)? Since when were you there?"

"Since 10 minutes ago, dear. I told you we were going to take a break from group practice today and do individual practice today didn't I? We've been rehearsing so much for the festival I figured we could take a break for today."

"Really?? How did I miss this? I totally just sent Trey to the wrong place."

Lilia continues to tune his bass. "You were on your phone when (Name) briefed us on the schedule 3 weeks ago, Carter."

"I wanted to do a group rehearsal today! I feel like I finally got the hang of the last couple measures this time!" Kalim interjects.

"Don't pout, my dear president." The hand you place on his head is as gentle as ever. "You can practice without a vocalist for today, can't you? I have a lot to catch up on the Monstero Lounge gig I have coming up."

You bid your fellow members goodbye, dragging the instrument all the way to one of the empty classrooms.

Finally, a moment of peace.

You shuffle through your folder, fishing out the piece you had picked to play for a talent night that Azul had insisted you come and play at, excitedly chattering about how it was going to be brilliant for business.

Chopin's Cello Sonata in G Minor, Largo .

The cello sonata was one of the composer's last pieces. It was spectacular to you. A final, dazzling eruption before dwindling to the mere echoes of what had once been there‒ a fantastical piece with a pressure combed through every measure that would well an incomprehensible rawness that began at your chest, and would weave through the fibers of your throat that clenched in its emptiness.

But perhaps it was not so incomprehensible‒ humans in your life had been much the same. The ones you held dearly would rupture from this world, leaving you empty, aching with the sharpened, receding fragments.

When you slip off your gloves to press your bare fingers against the strings, you try not to let this thought consume you.

"But I'd like to get to know them better."

Bitterly, it seeps.

You know it's wrong‒ the piece is supposed to be for a simple, ten minute performance‒ a monotonous activity of human affairs that you would be pleased to check hastily off the list with a presentable smile and lightness. However, the decades you have lived until this day weigh upon you at once, spinning your hands in such a way that threads your grief heavily into the mellow air. The murky rust of the setting sun swells with the florid volume of your own misery, and the silence of the world that ripostes it.

The song falls softly, a slow stroke that gradually quiets until there is nothing. A diminuendo‒ to shatter, to finish. There's a small comfort, that unlike living things, the scores that stood on the iron music stand could be revived time after time, on trembling strings and resin scented maple. But, not much.

The flesh at the back of your eyelids are sparked with purple and blue stars as you squeeze your eyes shut, head leaning against the body of the cello to steady your breaths. It may have been the dizziness steadily climbing from the ache of your empty stomach to your head, but you felt like you were swaying in that concoction of color and bursting light.

"Don’t you want to be loved by god?”

You're afraid that if you open your eyes, the world may still be there. The noise, it will still exist, and reel you in‒ tangling you among its grotesque allure until the moment you reach towards it. Then, it will furl inwards, somewhere far from where you could detect it. The air feels sharp in your lungs‒ you feel like if you take too much in, you’d burst. The bow splinters in your hand, drawing blood.

"Pretty ."

A voice strikes through your bleakness, a gentle, but clear sound.

Trey stands at the center of your view. His face holds a glossy look for a moment, before he shakes his head and apologizes.

"Sorry‒ I just‒ I just heard you in the hallway, I thought you sounded really…" He laughs, shifting his gaze to the side. " Pretty ."

You look down at your instrument, and notice your bare hands, you remember you don't have your sunglasses on either. The cello echoes when you lean it against the desk, turn away from him to slip on your gloves and glasses.

You clear your throat, feeling each word stumble in staccato breaths. "Ah. Well. Um. Thank you. It's all, rather, very wrong though."

"Wrong? But it was incredible."

"Pretty."

The thoughts that enter his mind that churn into yours are ignored best you can before you swivel, veiling yourself in your disguise once more. "Perhaps wrong is not the best term. It's not tasteful for the audience, I suppose. There was no control."

"Control?" He parrots.

"Yes, you know." You wave your hand in flutter movements. "If someone like me performed like I just did‒ ha! I’d become the laughing stock of the entire school. " You clasp your hands together. "Now, darling. I must get going. Did you want to marvel at my music some more, or is there anything else you needed?"

You work quickly to gather your things, expecting Trey to leave after you've dismissed him. But when you drag your cello case around to leave, you see him still standing in the doorway, leaping towards your hand that rests on the cello case.

"Can I help you? It seems heavy."

"I'm alright. I've dragged this thing around this school, I am perfectly capable‒" When you go to lift the full weight of the instrument however, a dizziness digs into your temples, nausea quickly following suit.

"Oh‒ are you alright? Are you not feeling well? Let me at least help you with your instrument back to your dorm."

You stare at him, feeling your power rise within you, waiting for his thoughts to flood through your system‒ a confirmation to your suspicions you filter every person through, to pick them apart.

“You’re hurt.” He goes to examine your hand, you pull back.

"They don't look so well. Maybe they need something to eat? I should whip them up something after I help them carry this back to their dorm. Hm. Yeah. That sounds good. Something hearty."

Those words are inspected with great skepticism in your mind before the dizziness takes over, muddling your brain to a jumbled mess. Whatever, you think. He seems harmless enough.

“Fine” As soon as that curt response slips from your lips, you cringe internally. You clear your throat, attempting to redeem yourself. “I’ll take up your offer if that's alright with you. Pretty boy .”

He seems to hold the air in his throat when you give him that name, before he releases it in a puff of laughter. "Pft. Alright, yeah. Let's get you back to your room before you spout any more nonsense."

"Me?"

You're a bit taken back from his internal response. But you trail behind him, the weight of the nausea lifting slightly off your steps.

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

"What kind of cocoa powder did you use?"

"I think…just the regular brand stuff."

"Use Dutch processed next time. If you activate it correctly, the alkalizing process gives the batter a richer color and flavor."

He had somehow used his devilish charm to string you into this, you tell yourself, sipping on the tea you brewed for the both of you. But it would be rude to kick him out of your quarters without a proper thanks. You're no longer human, but you'd at least act civilized.

The tea has run a bit cold from the two whole hours he's managed to rope you into a conversation on baking techniques‒ slipping out the same notepad and pen he pulled out that night you met, and a box of various pastries and baked goods that he seemingly prepared out of nowhere. Truthfully, you weren't supposed to eat human food without proper sustenance from blood‒ however the look he gave you had absolutely pleaded that you do. So, how could you refuse?

You clear your throat to break through your endless flood of doubts and excuses. "I heard you were looking for me during band practice. Now that you've wormed your way into my life by bribing me with sweets‒ what did you want from me?"

"Oh!" He pulls another, smaller box from the bag you saw him rummaging through for the sweets laid out before the two of you. "Ah‒ I forgot about this. It might be a bit melted since there's ermine cream on the top."

The simple white box is opened, revealing a similar cupcake that you (purposefully) forgot the night you met him.

"It's not the same thing‒ it might be better actually‒ I used buttercream last time but it's pretty heavy so I substituted with ermine cream this time." He remains composed but you can tell something is bubbling below it. "Tell me what you think."

" I'm so excited to see what they think…I worked hard on this recipe since it seems it wasn't up to their tastes last time."

You make a face when you hear his thoughts, wondering how absolutely normal someone can be. “You mean to say you came all the way here to deliver me…this cup cake?”

"Yes I mean‒ I don't mean to pressure you into eating it, obviously." His eyebrows bunch upwards in his usual sorry expression. "I just. Wanted to hear your thoughts. Since I haven't met someone this knowledgeable on baking techniques at this school."

People usually had ulterior motives when approaching others with gifts, kindness, words slathered in polite niceties and compliments. You eye him suspiciously as he calmly sips his tea, scribbling away in his little notepad.

Drawing a little closer to him, you lean against the table, feeling the heat of your crimson eyes when you concentrate your magic to wade through the noise‒ pulling the thread of his thoughts from it all. It requires a bit of power through your ear plugs and rising nausea, but you manage to unravel it.

" I'd really like to get to know them better. Friends, maybe . Cater says I should get out there more, this is what he meant, right? "

It was impossible to ignore the truth of the matter‒ that the person sitting in front of you is so absolutely unbearably bare, plain. You'd thought you'd seen clarity before, in how salient the cruelty of people was, but you had been wrong. No doubt this was true clarity‒ the candor of normal, mundane life that you normally blocked out with the rest of the noise of the world. The tonic of human lives rarely interested you, but it seemed like all this person was, and it seeped deeply into his treatment of you. Normal, bare, plain.

Human .

It was so baffling you could not suppress the smile that spread on your lips.

Ah, maybe just for today, you think. Just this one conversation. Just one moment, and I'll forget the taste of human life again.

"Hm, alright. Just this once, pretty boy ."

The sugary cream melts instantly in your tongue, and the airy sponge is sweet when you swallow your determination to forget this honey sweetness he brings. A hint of vanilla, cinnamon, sugar, spice, and everything nice. You let it settle deep in the dark of your belly, feeling the warmth still lacing through your blood from the tea you've sipped with him slowly cool under your flesh. You devour it all, with his words and smile, hiding it deep inside so you can’t remember its sweetness.

But the honey you've added at his request still runs golden sweet on your tongue. You roll it through your mouth, trying to extinguish the taste, but it spreads further, coating your throat as you swallow it. Unlike the contents of the cupcake, it runs raw against your flesh, and you must wait until it seeps deeply into the fibers of your throat before it dissolves.

The hours pass as you talk with him, but the sweetness does not fade.

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

"You alright?"

The silvery tone of your voice breaks through Trey's thoughts. He had been lagging behind the Heartstlabyul group to take a break from all of the frenzy of today. The responsibility, the pressure. You'd been with them a moment ago, mingling as you always did, but now you've slowed your footsteps to match the slight drag of his own‒ something he's sure you've noticed. Heat tingles at his cheeks‒ he doesn't know whether it's from the way you've broken his image so swiftly with your keen eyes, or if it's from, simply, your thoughtfulness. For him, of all people. For him.

"Yeah, fine. Just tired. Today has been such a long day with these underclassmen."

His laughter rings clearly, even though the obstruction of your ear. With each note emanated from his lips, you feel it slipping through the cracks of the foundation of your feeble resolve, crumbling so endearingly that you smile sincerely when he speaks. It had been disgust, revolt at first, feeling the distance between your world and his inching closer and closer‒ but before you could notice the absence of nausea stinging through your chest and stomach, you felt the feather-lightness of your own smile chiming with his own, completely eclipsing the discomfort you had felt previously in the proximity to other lives. To him.

"You need to relax more. Stop fussing over these no good children." You massage his shoulders in a playful manner.

He feigns pain then quirks that smile on his face‒ you know the one, the one where he bunches his eyebrows and laughs with the back of his throat. In that moment, you're as confident as ever, charging him with laughter‒ letting your inhibitions lose. Control didn’t matter, for a moment. The world doesn’t seem so sharp at that moment, like you were going to tip over the edge.

When the pads of his fingers brush against your fingers, all that sense you had withers so easily in your chest. Through his shoulders, you can feel the vibration of the hum he emits in agreement, a musical accompaniment to the warmth that radiates from his hands.

"Maybe. They're good kids. You're right‒ maybe I do need to relax." You retract your hands from him, allowing him to toss his head over his shoulder. "Any tips?"

The seconds you weigh out whether to lie or not seem to shorten with every moment you spend with him. "I guess…music. I like to sing some of the warm-up pieces I used to know.”

"Warm up for what?"

"Ah for the…church choir."

Liar .

He makes a face, an airy laugh escapes your nose. "What?" You ask.

"...you just don’t look like a religious person.”

You look down at your feet, a slight smile as a comfort to him. “I haven’t been in a while. I don’t think I’ve had faith in anything in a long time.” A quiet lull in your words.

Your stomach turns. It's always a look of pity, or some casted look that drags you as some pathetic creature, cold and inhuman. The words die in your throat, you quiet your breaths, feeling then stick to the prickly flesh of your lungs and throat.

“I get it.”

But the look Trey gives you as he digests your words is a sadness as sincere and clear as water. It was not such a clawing, dried look that transformed you into something you didn't want to be. Instead, he swallows your words whole, as they were, his gaze reaching far beyond the pain. His sound‒ clear as a summer's day, dotted prettily with the honey lemon droplets of his gaze‒ finds you.

“I got you.”

A tranquil, silvery symphony‒ each sweetened thread weaving itself magnificent, deep within your nerves. It takes everything to pull yourself from it.

"Now, I have the perfect blend of tea for you then, darling. It goes wonderfully with those lemon shortbread cookies you made yesterday‒ absolutely divine."

Quick to shake the feeling off, you mask the dread of warmth with your usual stupid passion and fire that carves an expression of slight surprise into Trey's face, just for a moment. But it surprised you, instead, to see that it dissolved completely, and replaced with an elated burst of laughter. It takes him a moment to gather himself, and many more for you to do the same with the words he says.

"You're actually a really good person, (Name)."

The feeling returns, swiftly.

You don’t want to breach into the borders of his mind, but you found yourself reaching for the silvery thread of his sound from the noise, picking apart the gray mess of things to find that glimmering thing. Your mind had learned the scent, the exact hue and melody of his inner voice to be able to pluck it so naturally from everything else, and you were growing fearful that you had committed yet another thing to memory that would eventually be lost to time. But the words that you hear from him‒ you think it will consume you for the rest of your eternity.

"God. You're wonderful."

It nearly chokes you to hear such clarity in that declaration. Foolish . You think. Only a fool would say such a thing. You fix the shades slipping down your face, turning your energy to block out any sound and voice.

"You flatter me, my dearest."

Lucid, pure. His voice. His laughter. It wasn't just noise to you anymore. You think of what chord his voice would be, how it would sing against your fingers on your cello. Or perhaps a heavenly instrument would be more befitting.

"But you've got me all wrong."

You smile. Perhaps you were the fool.

A few weeks later, he admits: "Truthfully, I tried to avoid you best I could before we officially met. Because of your blase attitude and the rumors about you‒ I thought I wouldn't mesh well with people like you."

"Is that so?" A wolfish smile curves onto your lips, eyes turning crescent. You fiddle with the flier for the monstero lounge show coming up, debating whether or not you should have really accepted Azul’s request. "It seems most people think I'm that way."

"Yeah. But I'd like to think you opened up to me a bit, and I discovered something about you that made me want to talk to you. You're real strange, you know that?"

"Oh, I'm the weirdo? I'm not the one whose hobby is brushing their teeth."

"Dental health is important." He states matter-of-factly, before his hardened look is broken with a breathy laughter. "But really. I would have liked to be friends earlier in my life if I had just known you were the way you actually are."

You remember his words, turning your eyes downwards. "I'd really like to get to know them better."

Hesitation curdles in your mind, but the words come instantaneous, eager to his statement. "Which is?" Perhaps too eager, you shrink.

He hums, thinks for a minute. "Just‒ kind ." He says. "I never noticed before, but you're always making sure people are included, checking on people. It's like a sixth sense‒ you can easily pick up what people are thinking, but also feeling. Like a guardian angel or sorts."

You stare at him with a blank look, a breath in your lungs that doesn't make it past your parted lips. Then, gaze downwards, again.

"I wish more people would know how much good you have."

It takes great effort not letting his words sink deeply into your heart, constricting it. Sometimes, when you replay the scene in your head at night‒ an inevitable occurrence when he's on your mind‒ you try your hardest not to let it well something inside you so floridly that it bleeds heavily in your chest, and sprouts the salt in your eyes. But, it does. Idiot , you think, if only you knew what I really was.

You make a noise, unclear yourself as to your response to his statement, crushing the flier in your hand. Attempting to redeem yourself, you casually begin rolling the balled up paper in your hands, giving Trey an exasperated expression.

“What’s that?” He points to the paper.

“Oh‒ nothing. An Azul thing. Or a Monstero Lounge thing. Whatever, I’m probably going to bail on it anyways.”

“An Azul thing?” The hint of disappointment in his tone confuses you. “Oh! the Monstero Lounge show that’s coming up? I’ve been looking forward to it‒ you’re bailing? Don’t let Carter hear you say that‒ he’s been talking about wanting to be in it for weeks.”

A smile quirks on your face. “Has he now?”

Trey nods. “Why are you bailing? I thought you had a real passion for playing?”

“Performance is another matter. You know, the difference between baking for yourself, and baking for other people.” Trey nods in understanding. “Besides, what makes you say that?” You make a face which fails to fully contain the disgust towards yourself. Passion. It curdles on your tongue.

“How do I put it…You…” He pauses, thinking. In a moment, his words flood forth. “Your expression seems heavier when you’re playing. But, maybe a good kind of heavy. You always seem light and bubbly, but now that I think about it, you never talk about yourself.”

“I don’t.” You confirm, a sweet smile.

“You don’t.” An averted gaze. “I never asked.”

“How unusual of you‒ mother of Heartslabyul.”

“So,” His gaze pulls you in. “What’s your favorite color?”

You take a moment to reply, a bit surprised that he would actually follow through with his words. You’re reminded of the reason why you were so taken with him in the beginning‒ despite his sheepish deflection of compliments, despite the playful smirk that curved on his face‒ his words always matched his actions, his gaze, his expression.

“Yellow. A lemony, summery yellow. Reminds me of the flowers my sister used to grow.”

“You just have one sister?”

“One and only. My older sister.”

“I’m envious. I’ve always wondered what it was like being the younger sibling.”

You chuckle, searching the vast landscape of memories stored inside you. “You know‒ teasing, fighting, hand-me-down clothes, the like. But I love her, especially when she makes her brioche bread.”

“You’re close with her?”

Time, space‒ the difference between you and the world, him. It comes in waves as always, flooding you, and your hands which search for distant memories. You’re not sure if it was his ignorance towards your nature, or plainly his presence that seemed to pull your discorporated humanity closer to you once more.

“Very. She’s my rock. She was the first to encourage me to pursue music.”

“Do you play other instruments?”

“Of course. Cello, piano, guitar, accordion, harp, violin, flute…” You trail on.

The conversation goes on, until the two of you notice you’ve been walking around the campus, completely separated from the others. You laugh about it.

When you separate, you watch him walk across the hills, his form roaring against the sunset. There’s a twinge in your stomach, which you swallow with great effort. The distance between you and him seemed like it didn’t matter for the vivid moments you spent conversing with him‒ but now with his back towards you, as he headed towards the light‒ the feeling wades back. You search through the flood as you always do, but you cloud your own vision when you look back to the things you said, the faces you made, the memories you shared. Blackened, like yourself. The sun hisses against your skin. At times like this, you’re reminded of your stunted development‒ you had forgotten what the sun does to creatures of the night.

It scorches your retinas as you look at the heart of the sun, but you let it‒ reminded of the sweetness of his honey lemon eyes.

Bitterly, it seeps.

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

Every time Trey stands by your door, for some reason, his nerves rise to the surface, tingling at his feet and the hand that raps at wood. He doesn't understand why his body gets this fussy every time‒ he's seen you a dozen times before. That crooked, fanged smile; the delightful way your hands move in conversation, the charming little way you hum when pouring him tea (2 sugars, a touch of cinnamon, just the way he likes it)‒ these are all things he's almost gotten used to that he doesn't feel near faint when you grace him with such pleasures.

" Pretty boy ."

He remembers the nickname you call him, along the standard " darling "s and " my dear "s you seem to call everyone else. Just for him, you've fashioned something that can instantly unravel him, much like now, as he waits in front of your door with fresh pastries. He feels special when you call him that‒ but it feels good, unlike the times he tries to undermine himself under a barrage of flattening statements that stomp out every potential for expectations . Like he could make a difference, a change in anyone or anything. He’s just a normal guy. Nothing more. Riddle was a vivid reminder of that.

Except when he’s with you‒ it feels extraordinary.

The millions of things that seem to arise out of conversation‒ the sheer possibility of what wonderful things he can share with you beats like thunder in his chest, reaching the tips of his ears where they flush. That fullness he felt before returns‒ the only way to alleviate it it seems is to converse and spend time with you. He hopes the redness at least dies down when he's around you, all his senses seem to fly out the window when you're by his side.

We're just studying together. That's all. He tells himself.

He secretly holds his breath when you open the door with the creak‒ but he releases it when his lips part in surprise at your state.

"O-oh. Hello, Trey." Rather than your usual, slurry, elegant demeanor, your voice scrapes against your throat‒ the sound coming small and frail, something Trey had never associated with you before. Elegant, honey-like, and sure of yourself‒ it was never like this. Diminuendo , he remembers from you, and his favorite piece that you play. Like you'd depart from him, where he could not follow.

You fix your glasses, feeling them slipping on your nose, before you run your hand through your knotted hair. The cigarette wedged between your fingers weaves smoke between the two of you, mixing with the smell of alcohol on your breath. "I'm afraid something came up, darling. I have to cancel today, I'm sorry I didn't ring you in advance." You go to close the very small gap you've allowed yourself to open‒ Trey stops you before you can. The bold move surprises even himself.

"...You're sick? In that case I could‒"

" D-don't touch me." A crackle in your voice, fear striking your expression. "A-apologies. No. It's fine. You musnt do anything for me."

"But I want to?"

The prickly air that had been kindling on the inside of your lungs flares all at once at that moment, puncturing something inside.

"You don't know what you want." You spit.

" Oh‒ what?"

"I said you don't know what you want. But allow me to make it easier for you. You don't want this. So go away‒ get out of my sight ."

Hellfire. It stains you.

"I‒" He swallows the lump in his throat. "I-I don't understand?"

"I said . Get away from me, Trey ." His name comes cold on your tongue. He feels it coil around his spine.

What are you saying?

"But‒"

You launch the door open, almost breaking it off the hinges. The crimson of your eyes glow in your power as you bare your fangs, clawing the wood of the door with your sheer grip. A lurching feeling wells inside you, as you grow in size, in power, in sharpness. All the qualities that separate you, from him.

"I SAID GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME."

You don't recognize your voice. Trey's feet crumble from underneath him as you tower over his form. With the fear that seeps into his eyes, you decide it's enough, and shut the door with a slam.

You swallow the breaths that come faster than you can handle, looking down at the chips of wood that embed into your nails and fingers, beginning to bleed. You lean on your table, raising one hand to grasp at the root of your hair, catching a glimpse of the crimson glow that emanates off your eyes. The hair that falls in front of your face cages you in that bloody vision‒ red, and violent.

This is what you are, it's what you've always been and always will be. A monster . Fanged, clawed, hideous‒ thick, violent strokes of inky black on one of those books the priest used to carry around with him. Swirling into a void so corroded of color‒ the truest black‒ immortalizing your revolting form, permanently baring your fangs, carrying hellfire in your eyes and throat that you’d swing senseless with an animal violence. Fixed in that abstracted abyss, forever‒ eternal as you are. How pitiful that you choke on your own sorrow.

You fall into a rage, your body dragging itself by the spine‒ swinging your hands and legs throughout the room. A sound tears from your throat, far from a human cry. Music scores from missed practices fly, used plates and cups tumble to the ground, chipping. Your ashtray falls heavy on the grand piano that sits at the center of your room, slamming down the heavy lid, reverberating the strings, hammering into the air a chaotic symphony of ash and disorder.

For a moment you think to pick everything up, tidy yourself up and make amends with Trey‒ but you know the drill by now. In a week, you'd come to terms with yourself again‒ all the things you make and destroy‒ and sever yourself from this place, and its people. In just seven days you'd swallow the bitterness of your own self as you always had, clean your mess, throw the pieces you'd broken away. It ends all the same.

Before you know it, you have a half empty bottle in hand, the days old wine weighing heavily in your palm. You twist your body furiously in attempt to rupture the surfaces of rage you have rising like fire inside of you, to at least reach to the gnawing feeling inside your chest. But it grows even restless, even hungrier‒ eating away at the breath in your lungs and the beat of your heart when you come face to face with your reflection. Nothing.

What sort of monster doesn't have a face?

You couldn't have even be given that, to be remembered and touched‒ even if it was fear and abhorrence‒ to exist as a creature who is seen, and heard on their own. You were merely an image created by others.

Control‒ you never had any of it, ever since your mouth was held open by its hinges and forced to down that creature's blood. It was laughable to even call yourself a musician, a conductor, a person. There was not a moment in your life where you had genuinely orchestrated the fullness of musicality, or anything. When you plucked on the strings of your cello‒ it was always just that. Noise. There was nothing inside of you that could transfigure that dead noise from the strings into something meaningful, something that could exist in the realm of adoration. Loved .

Don't you want to be loved?

How could you be? You're just‒ this .

Crumbling to the ground, you sob, remembering the fear laid plain on Trey's face.

Surely‒ he’s gone. If you had ever held him in that way, at least. Arm’s length, prickled air‒ you had been weaving this inevitable goodbye yourself. Regret curdles heavily in your stomach as you bring your knees to your face on the floor.

I was doing so good. I was good again‒ I am good. You clench your jaw, imagining those portraits of violence from the Supreme Leader’s book. A realization‒ fuck . Nausea rises to your throat.

You want to sleep. Or drink. Or smoke. Something to sedate you out of this emptiness clawing itself all over your insides.

A knock startles you out of your daze. You assume the door is broken by the sound of the rusty hinges creaking open, the light of the hallway pouring behind you. A silhouette‒ but you don’t want to be found, or seen. You stay quiet, hoping he just leaves. Forever, maybe.

“(Name)?”

His footsteps creak against the floorboards, inching closer and closer. You wish you had the energy to tell him to leave again. Instead, you bury your face in your hands.

You hear him shuffle a bit, close to you on the floor.

His breath tickles the hairs on your arm, his voice reaching far into your head, the vibration from his throat rippling to your empty chest. “I’m not leaving.”

With some kind of divine courage, you speak. “Why won’t you?”

He shuffles closer, lacing his fingers through your tangled hair. “Because it seems I like you too much.”

“You’re a fool.”

You were the fool.

“Birds of a feather flock together.” He says, matter of factly. “Because you’re an idiot if you think I’m just going to leave you here. You…”

You feel him swallow, pausing his hands to hold your head at the crook of your neck. “You’re special to me.”

“I’ve got you.”

It feels like you're being enveloped completely by him‒ his smell, his sound. It smells faintly of candied violet, vanilla, and your honey lemon blend of tea. Trey thinks it complements well with your smell. Old books, and well-read letters tucked preciously into cookie tins. Faintly, iron.

In a shaky voice, you apologize. Over and over. "I-im so sorry.There's something wrong with me." He rubs your shoulder, measuring his movements carefully so as not to overwhelm you. "I'm sorry I'm this way. I-I didn't mean to yell. I didn't mean to send you away. I want you here. I-I'm sorry. I lied. I’m a liar.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s okay. We all have our things‒ we’re human, right?”

You cry harder. "No, you don't understand."

"Are you fae?" He asks, looking at your pointed ears and teeth he'd seen in the students in Diasmonia. "There's nothing wrong with that. You're still‒"

Wonderful .

He chooses his words with care in your state. “- my friend.”

You swallow the bitter taste in your mouth. "N-no. I'm nothing of the sort. I-I…" Everything is so unbearable‒ you're unbearable . Your fangs pierce into your lips when you bite down, suppressing the wailing pressure that threatens to leak from deep inside your throat. It burns all the way down when you swallow it, only leaving you with a portion of your dwindling volume.

" I'm a monster ." You spit, looking directly into Trey's eyes‒ like you did moments before‒ hellfire stirring within them. The palms of your hands face him, framed with the sharpened claws of your hands that spot with blood from the splitters still embedded within them. Slowly, you furl them onto yourself, drawing red upon your palms when they ball into fists. "A vampire‒ like the ones you know from books and stories. That's me ."

That is all I am.

Your vision blurs, and you tuck your limbs into yourself as if you brace for impact.

Instead, softness‒ honey lemon eyes, sweetness, golden.

"You're hurt."

You make a sound through your sobs when he takes your hands. Impossibly soft, feathery under your own, he picks the sharpness out of them. The blood is wiped away with his handkerchief, staining the light clover green fabric with blots of red. Now it's dirty , you think. I’ve poisoned it.

"You're not a monster." He says, unfurling your hand further, prying apart your sharpened fingers from your palm. They twitch at his words.

"I tried to hurt you‒ send you away.” You feel like your throat is going to collapse.

He’s quiet for a moment, you can see him roll his saliva through his mouth, and the doubt and anxiety which passes across the movements of his downwards eyes. A barbed look‒ you feel it prickle familiarly against yourself‒ so you ever so slightly inch your pinky towards his hand that rests near your own, making a small gesture with your pinky to intertwine it with his‒ I’ve got you .

A heavy breath pushes past his lips. “People do that all the time. I get it‒ I mean‒ I know how it feels to be anticipating the color and tone of people’s faces. I grew up doing the same. From a certain point‒ you can kind of sense when people begin to tear themselves away from you‒ like you thought they would do eventually‒ it’s kind of a relief, isn’t it? To confirm that the distance you were placing between people at least did something .”

You nod, giving him a small quirk on the lips to agree. He continues. “I’m really just a normal guy‒ you know? I don’t really have the power to change things, or have an effect on people. Like you do.”

“Me?”

He hums, rounding his expression with a small curve on his lips. “You light up the room. You charge everyone with a certain energy. A je ne sais quoi .” He jokes‒ you laugh. “It’s probably a lot of pressure, a lot of fear. But you face it. I like that about you.”

“ I’m not like you .” You hear from him. You want to remind him‒ you're a fool.

“You-” You gulp. “You do that for me too. You light up my day. But‒ I don’t know. I feel bad feeling these things. It’s like I can’t wait, you know?”

Trey scrunches his eyebrows in confusion. “Can’t wait for what?”

“I can’t wait. For the moment you‒ or people‒ leave, like you said. I’m always anticipating it. I digest people inside of me‒ pick them apart. I’m really not a good person. Sometimes there’s just something inside of me that switches when I’m faced with anything pointing to people confirming my suspicions‒ like I’m always tipping off the edge. I don’t know‒ people are…” A baited breath. “Bad. And I’m something a lot worse.”

Trey takes your hand again, drawing circles with his thumb.

“I don’t know who I am. I have no reflection, no substance, no form‒ nothing . All I know is that I’ve been emptied to carry this filth that terrorizes me‒ and whenever I lash out at it, I end up hurting other people.” The afternoon light that weaves in between the curtains illuminates a streak of dust and smoke in the room. “My story ends all the same. Like any good fabled monster.”

“What if this time it ends differently?”

A weary smile wobbles onto your lips. “That would be nice, wouldn’t it?” You stand, dust yourself off, and offer a hand to him. He accepts.

“It will.” His assertiveness almost surprises himself, but he reminds himself why‒ it’s you .

“Why‒ aren’t you certain?” Bitterness seeps your tongue.

“You’re the reason for it. You’re all that.”

There’s a feeling that wells inside you that replaces the tension that slips from your shoulders‒ something a tinge sour, sweet, and warm. You don’t search for the underlying tones and clandestine beats of his words. Clear as day‒ you accept this feeling. Hesitantly, you lean against him, soaking with the feeling that seems to also radiate from him.

“You’ll stay today?”

Trey feels you relax against him.

“For as long as you'll have me.”

He doesn’t let you go.

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

"I've never seen snow before I came here." You watch the soft speckles of white float gently down from the skies. "I'll never get tired of this scene."

Trey slows his pace a bit, so you can linger on the white landscape. "Really? Not even in the Queendom of Roses?"

You nod. "The island I lived on before I was exiled was exceptionally warm. I wasn’t allowed‒ ”

Quickly, you shift your words. Control.

“-I wasn’t much of an outside kid, on account of the whole sun thing before potions could handle it. And after I had left I hopped from one island to another‒ most of them were too warm to have snowy weather. And when I visited the main island it was always during the warmer seasons.”

You remember the supreme suggesting warm climates‒ quiet, sunny peaks in the outlands, away from people. Those suggestions grew on you with time. You liked warmer climates anyways, . The room you had at the temple had always been cold and damp, the only light that would peek through snuck in through the stone that had eroded over years of negligence. You shiver.

"I don't like the cold, too much. But the snow is beautiful."

You suddenly feel wool, warmth on your neck. Trey fixes his scarf on you, you almost jump away, but after the initial moment of surprise, you relax into his scent that has melted into the wool. Lavender . He always smells like sweet floral, you note. It reminds you of the patches of grass and wildflower that would sprout sparingly in the parts of your room where the sun would kiss‒ the dew that would form on them like opals would be sweet like the fragments of light that wove in soft petals on the hard stone flooring. When you touched that light refracting in honeyed rays in those small drops of water the morning chill brought, you could remember a fraction of your humanity. Summer like a warm blanket and the crickets that chirped outside while you and your sister sat beside the window sill, giggling at the lantern light. The verdant coolness that swept the bakery while you helped your papa prepare the bread rolls for proofing. Silly, small things. It could make you cry, even now, as Trey diligently wraps the scarf around your neck.

“...You were exiled?” He chooses his tone, his words very carefully, softness like velvet honey.

You smile, a shape meant to comfort him. “I was. My hometown was very poor. People needed something to believe in, and they already had their hero.” Supreme leader, in his gilded cloak. "You're going to catch a cold‒ and this scarf‒ it's from your siblings, is it not? I feel bad, you shouldn't give stuff so easily to people." Despite your words, dive your nose deeper into the yarn, threading your claws carefully within the chunky pattern.

"I’m warm enough‒ besides, you wear things like this well.” He finishes fussing with the scarf. The warmth that had welled into the wool from his skin melts into you like cotton candy‒ sweet and soft. “And you’re cold, aren’t you? If I catch a cold I’ll just have you take care of me.”

You press your cold fingers onto his bare neck to hide the rosy heat coloring your cheeks. With a shiver and a smile, he yells "Hey!" while laughing.

"Well I guess I have no choice then.”

A moment of silence after your laughter dies down‒ Trey hardens his expression. “You’re still shivering. The blood supplements haven’t helped?”

A sigh pushes through your nose. “Yeah. I guess. I don’t feel too keen on asking hospitals for donations either. I’ll be fine, pretty boy.” A curt smile curves onto your lips to reassure him.

Trey makes a face. “What if you get sick again?”

The smile you wear tightens. “I’ll be fine .”

“It’s worrying.”

“I don’t need it.”

The silence of the snowfall roars against your ears when he says‒ “What if you fed off of me?”

The dense crunch of your footsteps packing the snow stops as your chest rises and falls with a thickened rhythm.

“Don’t joke about such things.”

“I wasn’t.”

"Then don’t say stuff like that. I said I don’t need it."

"But you do! Look at you! You're emaciated‒ a few days ago you were barely standing!"

"That's‒"

"It’s not healthy, you know. You need blood to survive."

“It’s scary to see you like that.”

You’re genuinely taken back from his internal voice, a slight treble which rings against your ears. “I don’t understand. Why would you be scared?”

His answer is instantaneous, exasperated. “Because you’re my friend.”

You bite the words climbing your throat. As much as it pained you to see Trey like this, you could not swallow that thought threatening to simmer through your lips, a burning notion that had engraved itself into every piece of yourself.

I don't need you I don't need you I don't need you I don't need you I don't need I don't need‒

"Why won't you accept this offer? Accept me?" It chokes you to hear him like this‒ but the familiar nausea that seizes your throat overpowers it.

Because I could never make up for it. Make up for it being me that you choose.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.”

“ Fuck‒ yes I will!” You hiss. Quieter, you muster. “I don’t want to hurt you. But I will. I’m made that way.”

His silence drives a hot coal down your throat‒ prompting you to push down that blackness that gnaws at you.

“Sorry‒ I‒” A release in the tension of your shoulders. “I apologize. I was just…overwhelmed. It’s a serious proposition‒ you really shouldn’t take it so lightly. I haven’t interacted so much with my own kind but from what I heard, it would be almost a lifelong commitment. At least for you that is. When you die, I will..." You attempt to swallow the tightness in your throat- a hunger. "I will not forgive myself."

“I’m sorry‒ I didn’t mean to overwhelm you. We should talk about it more‒ alright?” He rubs circles with his thumb across your skin, and you feel the ridges of his fingers drawing shapes. “But if it’s regret you worry about‒ know that I would never regret spending my life with you. At any capacity.”

There were stories you heard of centuries after you were reborn as a vampire about beautiful things spun by poets and artists. To reach to the monster‒ approaching it with gentle softness rather than stakes and silver. Risking sharpened teeth with lethal maws, defying the hardwired fear and repulsion against something that has tremendous capacity for violence. Saintly, divine touch. You had deemed it one of the most beautiful things‒ sublime, and completely unfathomable to you.

But when Trey reaches to you in that moment‒ in your moments‒ you think‒ this is what it is. This is what it must feel like to be touched by something beautiful. This is what it must feel like to be touched by god. You almost understand the Supreme Leader, in a way. You understand faith ‒ it’s a terrible thing.

He cools the tindering hellfire in yourself with his touch. It burns as a searing stake through your chest.

He doesn’t let go as you walk through the ashen landscape.

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

He makes you promise you’ll talk about it. And you do‒ hesitantly accepting his proposition with a box in hand.

“I think it’s a good time to give you this.”

The smell of oak flushes his nose when Trey draws closer to inspect the intricate honeysuckles that weave through the wood.

It’s an old, tattered thing‒ something given to you when you were young by your parents. The flowers were meant to be a gesture of nostalgia and deep affection‒ and you manage to remember the fragments of your mother’s many sayings‒ something about always been meant to be with you, how she felt a strange sense of reunification when she had bore you and your sister.

A bitter taste spreads on your tongue when you move the box towards Trey, and the contents inside clack against the wood. How furious she would be if she knew what you had done.

"What is it?"

“ Insurance .” you answer, quickly.

He gives you a confused look before taking the box into his hands, opening the rusted latch on it. You only hear the eroded hinges creak as he cracks open the chest, the speckles of rust falling onto the table.

You made sure there would be enough to pack the box‒ but it seems that there is still some air when they rattle against the walls of the box. Sharpened to perfection‒ you hope they won’t wear down too much from this motion.

After a minute, there’s the same sound again, then the closing of the box before it’s shoved towards you‒ back fully in your vision once more.

“I don’t need this.” Strained, his voice comes thickly between his constricting throat ‒ a similar feeling proceeding to his chest, flaring at the ends of his fingers which tuck tightly into his palms.

The face he makes worries you.

For him, of course, but for yourself as well. You're afraid you're going to break right then and there, throat etched in silent shame‒ but you pull yourself together with a sharp, willow breath sucked into your lungs. You feel the air settle cold on your tongue, and it almost shakes.

"It's just insurance ." You say, opening the box. A wooden stake is rolled across the table to him. He averts his eyes as if it burns him. "If the time ever comes‒"

"If it comes?" The voice pounding heavily at the back of his throat raised with his breaths. He parrots your words angrily. " If the time comes? Then what‒ I have to kill you? I have to be the one?"

"I would like it to be you, yes."

He gathered his eyebrows further into the center of his forehead. "Me?"

"Only you. It could only be."

You hear his shaky breath. No‒ you feel it press deeply into your bones, a vibration that makes its way from the tremble of his fingers, through the table, into your own flesh, far inside you that its precise throb stretches the growing cracks he's made in your resolve.

"I can't."

"You must ." You feel your claws scratching against the leather of your gloves. "To protect yourself."

He feels terribly selfish, childlike for the quiet volume of his voice. "From who?”

You feel the hungry thing inside of you flourish at your own words. “From me.”

He calls out to your name. “I don’t think I could ever be afraid of someone who is so afraid of themselves.”

You have no response to that.

An inhale‒ before he continues. “You’re the reason to the certainty in my words‒ that’s not really something I had before. Nothing feels normal with you‒ but it’s the good kind. You‒” despite the situation, he laughs, cracking the expression you love. “-you really don’t know what you do to me, do you?”

A sharp finger presses against your palm to confirm this is truly‒ really‒ actually real. You doubt yourself, telling yourself that you somehow tricked him into thinking you were this good. It must have been all those pet names‒ the saccharine composition that had somehow trapped him into your siren spell.

He faces you with all his sincerity‒ revealing the sharpened claws of your hands when he slips the leather off of them. He holds them softly, hoping if his words don’t reach you‒ at least this language that you had both curated against each other, might. You feel that it does, unable to find a trace of deceit, doubt, or anything besides the honey lemon hue that basks you in all its sweetness.

For the first time in centuries‒ you feel the blood inside you churn warmly in your cheeks, your eyes avoiding his gaze.

“I suppose I didn’t.”

So of course, when he first allows you access to his blood‒ the first action you do is to cover his eyes above all else. He makes a small noise when your cold fingers fall softly on his eyelids.

Without even thinking, he reaches towards your hand‒ he sees the crimson light that weaves through your hands that eclipse into pitch darkness when he lays his hand on top of yours. In the darkness, his voice seems louder when he calls out to you.

"Can you move your hand?"

The fibers of his neck tickle against your stiffened breath.

"Not yet."

He feels your teeth open his flesh, his skin parting like a ripened fruit. The curve of your soft lips that cup warmly around the wound, leaning deep into his scent‒ to dive further into the sweetness of his blood. He groans as a moment of pain passes, but his sound relaxes‒ slurry‒ in his throat when he feels sweet pleasure, thick as honey, feathering from where he feels you feeding. His breath quickens, and you feel the warmth of his exhales. As close as a lover’s breath.

He lets out a shameless sound of pleasure‒ a whisper you drink in with his sweet ambrosia.

"Ah, this isn't so bad."

He feels the fingers you keep firmly on top of his eyes twitch.

"Sorry. 'M sorry." You mumble against his skin. His senses feel so jumbled, flooding as thick and raw syrupy mountains. He blindly accepts them‒ unlike your words, which he makes sure to affirm should not be so. I am not sorry, he thinks. You do not have to be either . There’s a tremble in your lips when he slips those words into the air, humming sweetly against his skin.

He doesn't trust his voice, but the heaviness that clouds his mind barely filters his thoughts.

"A-are you done already?"

"Mhm. Sorry, are you alright?"

"I'm fine. I just need a minute." His chest slowly rises and falls. He notices he's gripping your hand. "Can you move your hand now?"

"Let me see you. I want to see you."

"Just a moment." Even in the sensory deprivation, your voice feels particularly far off. "Not yet."

Trey closes his eyes, waiting for the tight pleasure that still prickles under his skin to pass. When he opens his eyes again, he finds your hand gone, the sun seeping through his fingers. You're facing away from him, sitting at the edge of the bed, bloody handkerchief in hand, unnervingly quiet.

"I'm sorry if I caused you any pain. I'll go get bandages and some pain killers for you."

You turn a bit towards him, but he doesn't see your face. He grabs your hand before you could walk away‒ calling your name.

A beat of silence. "Yes?"

"..."

It seems his senses have returned to him when he confirms the weight of your trembling hand‒ how it feels a fraction of a degree warmer than before.

"Why can't you look at me?"

" Why won’t you show me your face?

Your expression?

You?

Are you smiling? Are you mad?

Why can't you show me?

Am I‒ "

"No ." Your back gives out as you press all your force into that word, making the bed creak when you fall into it. "No. It's not you. It's not you. I just‒" A breath. "I don't want you to look at me. While I’m like this. It is a mercy. ”

Waves of scrambled noise crash through you. You want to squeeze your hands over your ears, shut your eyes until all you can feel is the vast darkness, and your fading form within it. You’d congeal with that void, rot until there is truly nothing left of anything you had‒ to to the dust as dead and far as the remains of your home.

"I don't want to just look at you. I want to see you."

You don't trust your voice, so you shake your head. When you swallow the lump lodged in your throat, it tangles in your shaky breath when you feel his hands wrap around yours.

"I want to see you." He repeats.

The noise parts with the lightness of his voice. Slowly, you turn towards him. Instantly, his hands are molded to the curve of your shape, as if they were forged by the decaying whispers of your labyrinth heart. In secret, they were cast by your hearth, and now they are cooled, and formed around the salt and tears that etch florid down your face. These hands are made for you, you think. Only the starlight has come this close to your monstrous form. Only the starlight.

"I'm sorry‒ I shouldn't be so‒ this right now. But I just can't‒ I'm so sorry." The apologies bubble from your trembling lips, as you try to form a coherent thought. But the softness of which he touches the cruel sharpness of your form‒ it wells a crescendo symphony of desire that you withheld, lurching upon you all at once.

He pulls you in, tighter.

This was home. You had always stood at the edge of it, drawing a line before the entrance to remind yourself‒ you had not been welcomed yet. But he had always welcomed you. It felt as if some speck of his soul had always done so, with the relief you feel when you step within it. The room inside your heart when you merge your warmth with his does not feel so full‒ nor so empty. It is filled with potential. Future. Something that had risen from him, infinitely.

"Don't‒" you place your fingers over your mouth. "Not while I taste like this."

He breaks your lips with his words. “Trust me?”

The warmth that folds over you feels like a prayer. Have faith . When you open your mouth, flesh is at your mercy, but you do not bite down as you expected the thirst inside you would have. Stars, the world stripped of its layers until it was only you, and him. For once infinity does not seem so much of a curse.

You must be intoxicated by the sweetness of his blood. Bittersweet‒ it seeps.

"I'm not…" You gulp down the swaying warmth. "I'm not supposed to like you."

"But…?" His smile curves so high the whites of his eyes are almost completely eclipsed by his honey lemon hue.

You intwine your hand with his. Another prayer. "Foolishly, I do."

“It isn’t foolish at the slightest.”

“It’s alright.” You smile. “I’d like to be the fool for once.”

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

You fidget with your suit steps away from the spotlight, holding your cello with your other hand.

“Stop fidgeting.” Trey instructs you, flattening the creases you’ve made to your suit jacket. He smiles. “It’s just nerves, they’ll pass when you get up there‒ you’ve told me so before..”

“I don’t‒ I don’t know if I’ll be able to play it right. I haven’t been this nervous in ages.” You still straighten the tie around your neck. “Maybe I should tell Azul‒”

The cloth is straightened again, before he glides his hands to your shoulders, bringing you an inch closer to feel the warmth that radiates off his skin. “You’re going to be amazing.”

Your eyebrows crease. “How can you be so certain?”

“You’re all that.”

His hand guides you towards the curtains, lingering when his fingers reach yours before you step into the spotlight. Azul finishes your introduction as you look towards the audience, searching for a familiar face. You find his eyes, and there is no need for any magic, any power‒ for you to find the faith in his eyes. You let it guide your bow, and the strings vibrate like golden hair gleaming in the sunlight, marrying sweetly‒ your internal harmony guided by his sweetness.

The music swells, breaks, heaves‒ before it dies out once more. The lounge fills with the sound of applause, and you sheepishly smile again the few whistles and whoops your club-mates send your way. Each and every thread of sound resonates within your body, vibrating with color.

Once you get off the stage into the crowd, you see Trey march towards you, before almost knocking you down with the force of his embrace. You allow a bit of your power to spin him off his feet, before you separate‒ wanting to see the look on his face.

"Will you come with me?" You pull his hand away from the crowd, breathless in your excitement.

"Where?" He asks, similar in his bursting fruition.

"Out there. Here. Over there. Wherever."

He smiles, the warmth moves the beat of your heart to the tip of your fingers, back into his palm when you lace your other hand with his. You think‒ I'd be a follower, a devotee, a dog for this. Have faith. I've got you. It’s terrifying, and it shakes you with excitement.

"I can't wait."

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

Notes:

The book I mentioned the priest had is based on the real Dissertations Upon the Apparitions of Angels, Daemons, and Ghosts, and Concerning the Vampires of Hungary, Bohemia, Moravia, and Silesia that 18th-century Benedictine monk and distinguished biblical scholar Antoine Augustin Calmet wrote. It was actually a large source of inspiration to Bram Stoker's dracula. Basically a collection of reports and examinations of vampire/monster attacks emerging in eastern Europe during the late 17th to early 18th century. The accounts of the undead rising and infecting whole villages, reaping of their health and blood that were recorded in this compendium of monster attacks formed a lot of the imagery and characterizations associated with vampires.

Historically, bloodletting was a popular method during the 19th century to cure medical conditions, especially psychological‒ as it was based on the concept of humors. Fun fact, this is why there is a distinction between surgeons (“barbers”) and physicians, and is why the striped barber sign is red and white‒ red symbolizing blood and white the bandages. This method was used from everything from hysteria, insanity, and heartbreak, to things like scurvy and epilepsy.

Bloodletting, transfusions, and vivisections (experimental surgery) both appear in Dracula because they were the hot new science of the Victorian era. Stoker's father was actually a physician so a lot the medical cures and information in the narrative frame the work very closely to the social, religious, and medical attitudes during the period.

Though Victorians still believed the world of humors (ie blood, yellow bile, black bile, and phlegm, or more commonly known by their four counterparts: sanguine, choleric, melancholic, and phlegmatic)- the era began to see a rise of Heroic medicine which sought to shock the body of its ills (ie bloodletting, drinking blood, etc etc)

During the New England vampire panic of the 19th century Victorian era, it was believed that consumption (Tuberculosis) had a strong connection with vampires and the “rise of the dead”, because of the seemingly unexplained rapid spread of this disease that would “consume” its victim and its family at an alarming rate (this was mostly just due to general hygiene issues and the cures for TB being syrups and elixirs of like literally just morphine and cocaine). TB victims usually had pale, emaciating skin, and in combination with how to identify a suspected vampiric corpse (ie grown fingernails = sharp claws; plump skin = immortality/fast healing); the common cures to TB other than those concoctions during the period such as bloodletting, blood drinking, and the “climate cure” (spending a lot of time outside in sunny, warm climates = aversion to the sun); as well as the spread of TB (highly infection, if one person got it in the home, it would spread rapidly to other members of the family = seems like that originally infected person was “consuming” the rest of the family members) kind of makeup the symptoms, physical aesthetic, and indicators of vampires we know today. Pre-Christian notions believed that a body could be “infected” by evil spirits, the concept of evil, etc.. if not buried properly, which translated into the Christian context as demonic or satanic influences entering the body. And because Churches were often the ones dealing with burials, and setting the precedent for burial rituals‒ they had a lot of influences in setting the precedent for burial rituals, how dead bodies should be handled, etc

Because of the strong religious influences during this Victorian romantic period, and the seeming “failings” of empirical science and thought‒ a lot of people turned to the church

Historically, during the New England vampire panic in the 19th century Victorian era, it was believed that consumption (Tuberculosis) had a strong connection with vampires and the “rise of the dead” because it would “consume” the entire family, beginning with one of the family members, then spreading to everyone else because it was highly infectious. This is why things like pale skin, and vampires needing to feed off of blood is a thing because it is connected to the symptoms and infection of TB (blood drinking was also a cure at some point??)

Everytime I'm like "should I add this ultra specific detail with an irl artist's name??? Does it make sense with the twst universe?? Ah whatever‒"

Anyway I choose Chopin for a lot of reasons. The primary reason was that his music moves me deeply (please listen to the piece if you haven't heard it before). He also suffered from TB (aka consumption), and most likely suffered through a chronic version of it his whole life, which caused a lot of suffering and medical complications through his youth, and into adulthood when rising to fame as a composer. This cello piece was the only sonata that wasn't on the piano, and was played at his very last public concert in Paris. He also had kind of a miserable love life because of his weak health (a condition he could not fix), I thought it would be an interesting connection with MC along with the emotional value the song has on its own.

BPD is very misrepresented and incredibly stigmatized in media especially but also the mental health and treatment spheres in general so I did a lot of not only personal introspection but also research on it as well. I thought vampirism would be a good metaphor for BPD because I imagine the concept of eternity and also having to physically drain someone of their life source would cause a lot of attachment and abandonment issues in addition to the feelings of shame and guilt that often come with having BPD (“why am I this way?”). The monstrous appearance described and often visualized in Dracula/vampire related films and media, as well as the myth that vampires don’t have a reflection also not only conceptualizes BPD and its affect on self image, but also visually narrates the aspects of mentioned shame, guilt, and self hatred that come with BPD and the emotional regulation issues that affect relationships. Anyways I not only wanted to do BPD justice because I feel like its very rarely represented in media accurately and with a happy ending, but I also wanted to explore

I didn’t want to go too in-depth with the cult stuff because I feel that could veer off track. I drew from my own experiences (I have a close family member in a cult), as well as some research + some inspiration from a game series called Faith: The Unholy Trinity. But of course the central ideas of isolation, salvation (under a specific pretense), and dependency are there.

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danurso · 10 months

Text

A new opportunity

(Good god i can't remember the last time i spent so long in such a long post, hope you enjoy)

Another day began at Beacon, and just like always, teams RWBY and JNPR gathered for breakfast at the cantina.

Nora: -which is why i believe that a monetary system based on Maple syrup would be the best solution to an economic crisis.

Ren: . . . . . .

Pyrrha: . . . . . .

Ruby: . . . . . .

Blake: . . . .worst thing of all? that kinda makes sense.

Jaune: *sits down with his tray* Hey guys, what did I miss?

Ruby: Nora was explaining to us how using maple syrup instead of lien would improve the economy.

Ren: If she spent as much time studying as she does thinking about these things, her grades would be better than Weiss'

Pyrrha: Speaking of her, where is she?

Blake: At the headmaster's office.

Ren: Did something happen?

Ruby: Honestly? We have no idea, she's been acting a bit off since she woke up.

Yang: *sits down with her tray* We're talking about Ice queen?

Ruby: Yeah.

Yang: Wonder what's got her panties on a twist. Did you try to serenade her again vomit boy?

Jaune: Of course not, i haven't tried anything since the ball.

Ruby: It's been just a week so….maybe those are still on her head?

Blake: maybe she had a dream with him again, or a nightmare as she calls it.

Jaune: Why am I the only possible reason why Weiss is having mood problems?

Yang: Because no one can push her buttons as far as you vomit boy.

Jaune: I don't. . . . . .*sigh* Fair enough.

Ruby: Hey don't be like that, she hasn't cursed at or ridiculed you ever since the ball, that's some progress.

Jaune: I guess. . . . .though at this point i don't wanna try anything anymore, if she ever wants to talk or try and be friends i'll be here but. . . . .i'll sit in my corner until then, i already pushed her more than enough.

Blake: That's probably for the better.

Nora: Speaking of the devil.

They turned their heads to see the heiress they were just talking about walking towards them with her own lunch tray, her gaze wandering around the cantina with a tranquil expression, until her eyes landed on their table.

The group wavered at her, all of them including jaune who gave a small wave with an awkward smile. He locked eyes with her and expected the usual nasty look before she looked away with a "hmph", but instead he got a warm smile from the usually cold heiress, there was. . . . .something more to it, but he couldn't exactly put his finger on it.

Yang: About time ice queen! Did Ozpin end up talking your ears off?

Weiss: Not quite, he did go on a long ramble, but his words always have a lot to offer.

Yang: What? Wanting to upgrade from teacher's pet to headmaster's pet?

Weiss didn't reply with the usual glare, instead letting out a short chuckle, which was odd enough as it was, but before any comments could arise, they watched in a mix of shock and surprise as the heiress took a seat, and of all places, she took a seat specifically next to the blonde knight.

There was a small moment of awkwardness at that, they all looked at her in disbelief, until Jaune made his move.

Jaune: *hops a little away from her*

Weiss: *hops closer to him*

Everyone: ???

Jaune: ??? *Hops away again*

Weiss: *hops closer*

Everyone: !?!?!?

Jaune: *staring flabbergasted*

Weiss: What? *Sniff, sniff* Do i smell?

Jaune: Erm. . . . .n-no.

Weiss: Then why are you backing away from me?

Jaune: Oh, well, i just. . . .figured you wouldn't want me to sit next to you.

Weiss: *snorts and smiles* Why would I sit next to you if I didn't want you next to me silly?

Jaune: . . . . . . .

Everyone: . . . . . . .

Nora: *whispering* Who's that and what did she do to Weiss?

Ren: *shrugs*

Weiss: What are you all staring at me for? Let's eat.

They all exchanged looks and followed suit, they were still curious about Weiss' sudden mood change, but the topic was readily forgotten once Nora started to ramble again. Well, forgotten to most at least.

Jaune was quite aware of the snow white beauty next to him, it made him really nervous, it was quite the strange situation to be honest. He tried to act normal, but every now and again he would glance at her and she would glance back, he would look away as fast as possible and pretend he didn't see anything, but he was sure she noticed, and was almost certain those exchanges made her giggle.

Jaune: *quickly glances at her*

Weiss: *staring*

Jaune: *pink, looks away as fast as possible*

Weiss: I'm not gonna hit you for looking or anything like that y'know?

Jaune: S-sorry, i didn't mean to stare.

Weiss: Pretty sure those were too short to be called "stares", but I don't mind either way.

Jaune: Uhm, okay. . . . .are. . . .are you okay?

Weiss: Better than ever.

Jaune: Are you sure? I never saw you-!?

Weiss: *sighs, resting against his arm* That was a good lunch, I haven't felt this full in years.

Jaune: *red* Erm. . . .Weiss? W-what are you doing?

Weiss: Resting, I think I ate a little too much. Am i bothering you?

Jaune: N-no! Not at all.

Weiss: *snuggles* Hmm. . . .Good.

Jaune: *extremely confused*

Everyone: *staring* !?!?!?

Jaune: *redder* I have no idea either.

Lunch was over and classes soon began, confusion was still high amongst the group but they didn't have much time to question since Oobleck had just arrived to begin his lecture, and once again, Weiss was found sitting next to Jaune.

Jaune: Ugh, This thing again. . . . .

Weiss: Having problems?

Jaune: O-oh, no, not at all! *Puffs chest* I just. . . .y'know, like to think a lot before writing down an answer.

Weiss: Uh huh. . . .so, what are you having trouble with?

Jaune: I'm not-

Weiss: *stern look*

Jaune: *deflates, depressed sigh* Alloying calculations.

Weiss: Ahh, I remember those. *Leans closer, looking into his paper*

Jaune: *pink* . . . . . .W-Weiss-

Weiss: Ah, I see the issue. You're using the wrong formula, This one is used to calculate the weight of the materials during the process, what you want is the formula for density. All you need is pick is the value of the metal and the area times. . . . .

At some point Jaune's mind turned off from most things around him, he couldn't remember ever being this close to Weiss, especially when she wasn't ready to knock him out, the way her eyes scanned through the material, her soft yet serious expression as she patiently explained it all to him was mesmerizing to say the least, Jaune knew Weiss was pretty but. . . . .wow, he feels like he might fall for her all over again if this keeps up

*Snap*

Jaune: H-huh?

Weiss: Remnant calling Jaune, are you there?

Jaune: *pink* S-sorry, i was thinking about something.

Weiss: I figured, you've been staring pretty intensely at me for some time.

Jaune: *red* . . . . .i'm really sorry.

Weiss: Don't be *small smile* I like the way you look at me.

Jaune: *redder* . . . . . . .

Weiss: I wrote the formula on the corner of your notes, just try and memorize it and you won't have any issues, Okay? *Goes back to her notes*

Jaune: O-okay. Thanks.

Jaune didn't know how to feel, confused? Shocked? Overjoyed? It was a mix of all of those, and Jaune wondered until when this was going to last, would she wake up tomorrow and start hating him again? It was something worth asking, though in all honesty, he really didn't want to know the answer. And so, instead of letting that question eat away his mind, he moved on with his day, and soon enough combat classes started, where he once again found himself in a fight against cardin of all people.

And of course, it didn't end well for him.

Glynda: Match is over, Victory goes to mister Winchester.

Cardin: Hah, what a surprise. 'till next time arc.

Jaune groaned in pain, Cardin's last hit broke his aura and his face took most of the damage, he held his bruised cheek and left the arena, whatever was left of his pride being the most damaged thing in this fight

Nora: You'll get him next time.

Pyrrha: Shouldn't you go to the infirmary?

Jaune: My aura is gonna kick in an hour or so anyways, it's fine. *Sits down, groaning and rubbing the ugly bruise in his cheek.

Weiss: *sigh* You're so stubborn.

Jaune: It's fine, i-

He stopped halfway into his sentence, watching as she pulled out a handkerchief, picked up Yang's water bottle to soak it up and used a glyph to freeze it, sitting close to him and reaching out for his cheek. Jaune reflexively moved away which seemed to be the wrong move, she gave him an angry look and held his face, pulling him really close.

Weiss: Stay still you dolt. *Starts gently applying the ice* if you move i'm gonna give your other cheek a matching mark

Jaune: *flinches and stays still.*

Weiss: Better.

She then held the frozen handkerchief to his bruise, gently pressing against it while using a glyph to keep it cooled

Jaune: You don't need to do this, my aura is gonna kick in a little while.

Weiss: I don't care, you're in pain right? so zip it and let me take care of you.

Jaune: I can handle a little pain.

Weiss: I don't doubt it, but you don't need to handle it. Stop trying to act tough, it's okay to let people help you.

Jaune: . . . . . .

Weiss: There. Feels better?

Jaune: A lot. Thanks Weiss.

Weiss: Don't thank me, just make sure to kick his butt next time.

Jaune: Hah. . . . .as if that is ever going to happen.

Weiss: It will, maybe not in the next match, or the one after that, but it will eventually.

Jaune: You sound awfully sure about that.

Weiss: Because I am. Do you know what's the worst thing about You jaune?

Jaune: I think i can come up with an entire list of things i-oww!

Weiss: *pinching his good cheek* The worst thing about you is this, you have no faith in yourself, despite how hard you work, despite your visible talents, despite all of your friends telling you otherwise, you insist on the idea that you are worthless, when you obviously are not.

She stopped pinching his cheek, instead, she gently stroked it.

Weiss: You are much, much stronger than any of us could ever hope to imagine, there's someone deep down in there that will one day save many lives and protect many people, someone all of us can look up to and that can carry a burden that would crush most of us ten times over, someone worthy of being called a true hero, so don't let your fears and doubts stop you from letting that someone come out.

Jaune: *speechless* . . . . .i. . . . . .i'll try.

Weiss: *smiles* That's a good start.

And once more, Jaune was left wondering what happened to the Weiss he knew yesterday, there was no way to tell how long this would last, and the worst thing of all? Is that after everything that happened, after he finally decided to move on, she suddenly does all of this and jaune finds himself completely and utterly head over heels for her again, probably even more than before.

Was she playing with him? Was this some sort of revenge plan? He doubted it, he couldn't see Weiss sinking to such a low, and even if she tried the others would've intervened, but they were clearly just as shocked as he was.

Weiss: Hey, erm. . . . .i've been meaning to get some things in vale after class is over, would you like to come with me?

Jaune: !?!? You mean. . . .you need someone to help you?

Weiss: No, I mean that I would like to go out with you after class is over.

Jaune: I. . . . . . . .you. . . . . . .you mean. . . . . .

Weiss: *chuckles* Just a yes or a no will suffice you dolt.

Jaune: Y-yes, I would really like that.

Weiss: It's a date then.

Date. . . .Jaune lost count of the amount of times he imagined having one of those with Weiss, never in his life however did he expect this to be how it happened, once again he felt the fear of this being too good to be true, that Weiss would change her mind back how it was before as fast as she changed to how it is now, or that he'll just wake up on his bed all of this would have been a dream, but he couldn't control it either way, all he could really do is enjoy his time with Weiss for as long as he had left.

And so classes ended for the day, and soon enough, the heiress was Found in her room, wearing much more casual clothes and ready to leave, before her team blocked the way.

Weiss: You girls need something?

Blake: Yeah, we do. What's going on?

Ruby: Spill the beans!

Weiss: I assure you I have no beans in my mouth to spill.

Yang: See! This is what we mean! Since when do you do jokes like that!?

Weiss: I've developed a sense of appreciation for silly jokes like that.

Blake: Since when?

Weiss: Since yesterday.

Yang: What's going on with you? Is everything okay?

Weiss: Yes, why? Is my behavior bothering you?

Ruby: No way, you've been really nice all day, especially to Jaune, we just wanted to know where all that is coming from?

Yang: You couldn't stand the guy not too long ago, yeah you tell us what he did on the ball and that definitely earns him some good points, but for you to act like this? Like you're his girlfriend or something? It seems off for you.

Weiss: *sigh* I figured you girls would question. So, do you want the truth?

R_BY: Yeah.

Weiss: The whole truth?

Blake: Of course.

Weiss: For realsies.

Yang: just spill it!

Weiss: Alright then, the truth is that I am not the same Weiss you knew from before, I'm actually from eight years in the future. The world was collapsing and there wasn't any hope left as we got stomped by the queen of grimm, that was until I figured out how to mix the magic I received from four magical women with my time dilation glyphs to send my mind back in time, which allows me to try and prevent the disaster before it even has a chance to strike.

R_BY: . . . . . .

Weiss: As for Jaune's case, he's been my lover for the past three years, well, was at least. I had to watch him getting crushed by the weight of responsibility and the things we had to constantly go through, we didn't have time to go on dates, for romance or much of anything else aside from some rare occasions, his mind was constantly haunted by his own mistakes and even the ones he had no fault of, yet he pushed through everything despite how broken he was on the inside. . . . . .that was, until a year ago, where i had to watch him lay down his life to save mine and give me this opportunity to come back and make things right. . . . .So I intend to make use of every last second of this new opportunity he gave me, and I'll make sure to cherish and love him. Jaune will grow into a formidable man, that much i know, and i know the road ahead won't be easy, but this time i'll be there for him, and i'll be damned if i let this world break him a second Time.

R_BY: . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Yang: Y'know. . . . . .you could just tell us if you didn't want to say what's going on.

Blake: Did you just come up with that? Cause that sounds like a really compelling narrative.

Weiss: Would you believe it if I also told you him he's the rusted knight from your favorite fairy tale?

Blake: Heh, that's a funny one. You should write for a living if you ever give up on Being a huntress.

Weiss: *shrugs* I only gave you the answer you asked for.

Ruby: Ohhh, I wonder what a grimm queen would look like. Maybe a giant spider lady with a biiiig head to control other grimm around her with her thoughts.

Weiss: *chuckles* Of course you'd think that.

Yang: *sigh* Well, nevermind all of that, if you don't wanna tell us what's going on we'll give you some space. Just. . . . .try not doing anything stupid, alright nICE-queen?

Weiss: I'll try my best.

She leaves the room, closing the door behind her only to see Jaune in the corridor wearing more casual clothes, looking through his scroll's selfie camera and nervously fiddling with his hair while mumbling something unintelligible. Many things passed through her mind at that moment, most weren't exactly pleasant, but as she stared at the boy whose biggest concern right now was trying to make himself not look stupid for a date, she couldn't help but feel an incredible warmth building up inside her chest.

Weiss: *giggles*

Jaune: W-Weiss!? *Pink* H-how long have you been there!?

Weiss: I don't know, how long have you been playing with your hair?

Jaune: I-i just. . . . . Y'know. . . . .it's getting a little too long and i-

He stopped as Weiss reached out for his head, brushing his hair with her hand and putting it the way it was normally.

Weiss: I like the longer hair. Also, don't try too hard to style it, it already looks perfect like this.

Jaune: W-well. . . .if you say so. You look really nice.

Weiss: Thanks, you look quite good too.

Jaune: hehe, thanks. Well. . . . should we-

"Miss schnee"

Jaune was cut by none other than the headmaster, who joined them shortly after with his mug in hand as always.

Weiss: Yes?

Ozpin: We looked into the matters you warned us about, and you'll be happy to know we got to isolate the little "surprise" they had hidden in the system for us. As of now me and a few others are going to miss Fall's room to. . . ."discuss" some matters, would you like to join us?

Weiss: It won't be necessary, I'm sure you're already doing what's necessary.

Ozpin: Very well, there's still more I would like to discuss but you seem to be busy at the moment. Please contact me once you're free.

Weiss: Will do.

Ozpin: A good evening for you, and for you as well mister Arc. *Leaves*

Jaune: . . . . . .what was that?

Weiss: Nothing much, don't worry about it.

Jaune: Uhmm. . . .okay. Should we go-!?

Weiss: *hugging his arm and smiling* Let's go.

And off they went to their date, the first of many more to come, Jaune didn't think this day would ever come but every glance at the ivory beauty hugging his arm proved him wrong and made his heart race inside his ribcage, he didn't know what he did to deserve this, but he knew he was going to thank the gods for it for the rest of his life

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madisonwritesstuff · 7 months

Note

heyyyy how are you? im here for a hannibal x vampire reader where hannibals victims blood gets drained and he gets curious(and a little mad because his design is getting ruined). After he kills somebody again he acts like he leaves the crime scene but hides in reality then reader comes out and just does what a vampire does 😊💕

★ ; bloodsucker. -------------------

Hannibal Lecter x Vampire! Reader.

LIVE LAUGH LOVE HANNIBAL 😫😫

Tags ; fem! reader, tw! syringe, mentions of drugging, mentions of dead bodies, hannibal kidnapping reader (but like idm bbg u can kidnap me 😏)

There was no blood anywhere. Yet the body was drained. Every artery, vein, organ, drained of its blood. Yet no gash, wounds, or anything.

Just a bite mark on the neck of the victim.

He had specifically wanted to keep this one alive, tied to a chair in an abandoned shed. He had plans for this one, it was going to be his best design yet.

He's not mad though, he's intrigued. He's never seen anything like this before. And he hasn't heard Will say anything about someone reporting a body in the forest, meaning whoever did this didn't intend to tell anyone.

Or it wasn't human, which is likely. Due to the fact a human can't possibly drain the blood from another human being this cleanly.

Now he's definitely intrigued.

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

It was night time, he was finishing up the binds on the dead woman. Same shed, same chair, same ropes.

He made a cut on the woman's arm, the smell of blood strong to him. He made sure to leave the door just a teensy bit open.

Then he hid, he made sure to cover his own smell by rubbing the leaves on his wrists and neck.

And then he waited. He waited for what seemed like hours, crouching behind some bushes. It was silent, except for the sound of crickets chirping and the rustling of leaves from the wind.

Then It happened, he heard it.

The faint footsteps, the sound of leaves being stepped on. It seemed like whatever was out there was so sure that nobody would be here that they're walking while making that much noise.

He was excited, he'd waited this long so he'd better get something worth the wait.

A person walked out from behind the trees, wearing a large cloak to cover themselves. Which intrigued Hannibal, do they know he's here? That's why they're hiding their identity? That wouldn't make sense, they were walking while making a lot of noise before.

He watched as the person walked into the shed. Hannibal slowly creeped closer, wanting to get a better look. They pulled their hood down, and Hannibal was completely taken aback.

An ethereal woman, beauty beyond compare to any goddess. Her skin shining under the moonlight.

He watched as the woman took a closer look at the dead body in the shed, walking closer to it and leaning down, her face meeting the dead woman's neck.

Then she bit down.

He watched as the color slowly drained from the woman's face, leaving nothing but an empty husk of a body.

“What are you?” He abruptly spoke up, stepping out from the shadows, which in turn startled the woman.

She jumped a little, pulling away from her meal and starting at Hannibal. “Where the hell did you come from?” She retorted back.

“You can't really expect to find a dead body in the middle of nowhere by itself now can you? I did that.” He pointed to the body. Now it was her turn to be intrigued. “So what, you're a serial killer?” She raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms.

“Aren't you one as well?” Hannibal argued back, leaving the woman silent for a minute. “What do you want from me?” She finally spoke up.

Hannibal took a step closer, which in return made the woman take a step back. “I want to know what you are.” He spoke, walking closer, while she kept walking backwards, until her back hit the wall of the shed.

“Isn't it obvious? What I am?” She questioned. “It is, but I want to hear you confirm it.” She rolled her eyes, sighing. “I am the infamous bloodsucker, what you like to call vampires.”

Hannibal smiled at that revelation. “You could come in handy for my design.” He though out loud. “Excuse me? What makes you think I would help you with whatever murderous ideas you have?” He smiled, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “I never said I would care for your opinion darling.” She was taken aback, her mouth opening to threaten him.

But just as she opened her mouth, she felt a sting in the side of her neck, looking down to see a syringe. “What did you?...” The world around you began spinning a little, his face contorting as well as the scenery around you. “Goodnight.” He leaned down and whispered against the shell of your ear, watching as you passed out.

#hannibal nbc #nbc hannibal #hannibal lecter #hannibal lecter x fem reader #headcannons #fem reader #female reader #hannibal #hannibal lecter x reader #vampire #vampire reader #hannibal lecter x vampire reader

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moodymisty · 5 months

Note

The fungus. The fungus! THE FUNGUS! THE F- but in all honesty, your honor, my wubby little blorbo shit man is so cute and those headcanons are on point.

Now, indulge my brain rot for just a second. Just imagine the other primarchs finding out that Mortarion had not only found a partner, but that they’re completely normal-looking and super kind. They’re pleasant smelling, friendly, talkative; everything Mortarion is not. I also like to imagine his partner talking about him like he’s a stray cat they picked up off the side of the road. Like,

“Yeah, he has his moments. Sometimes he can be a little cranky but I still love him. Sure he tried to kill Gulliman, but that’s just how he shows love!”

“Oh no I can’t wash that sweater. If I do Mortarion will freak out! He sleeps on that thing every night. Now, I have to go. If I’m not in his chambers at exactly 5 pm he’ll get lonely and cry so hard he’ll throw up”

Jesus christ that last sentence nearly made me piss myself laughing. Mortarion in a nutshell. The man is incapable of expressing himself in any productive way, so to have a beloved that is like, normal? Insane. No one thought Mortarion had any pull. Hell, they thought he had negative pull.

Also. I'm sorry but I got inspired by this so I hope you don't mind a drabble. No warnings apart from it being very rough and I only revised it once. 'She' is used once, but I can change it if you want.

Sanguinius walks into the massive room and makes a line right for the desk, of which Guilliman sits behind. He takes one glance upward at him, and notices the way he seems to be holding back a smile, and his wings are almost twitching. His eyes return to the parchment underneath his pen.

"I am busy. It better be quite important." Sanguinius tilts his head slightly to the side.

"You are always busy. But I can assure you that you'll want to hear this."

Eyes cast upwards at him, Guilliman looks at him with a furrowed brow. It would be quite odd for urgent news to be delivered with such a positive disposition, so he wonders what Sanguinius could possibly need to say. He waits on less so bated breath, and more so slight irritation.

"Mortarion has returned to Terra," Guilliman glances upward, and for a second Sanguinius sees the unfettered rage of a man on his wits end flash through his eyes.

"That is not urgent news." The angel has more words on his lips as he smirks and gently waves his hand. "I know, but let me finish." Guilliman puts the tip of his pen to parchment and continues writing while he waits for him to finish.

"And he has brought his lover with him."

The Primarch of the Ultramarines almost has to ask Sanguinius to repeat himself, even though he knows he hear it correctly. He pulls the tip of his pen lest it begin to drop too much ink, setting it into the well and looking up fully.

"Mortarion is courting someone?"

He would've been less surprised if it had been Ferrus.

Sanguinius' smile cracks through his withheld expression just a bit more. Guilliman wonders if he fought for the honor of surprising him with this news.

"Believe me, we were just as surprised. But she's here in the palace now. I believe Fulgrim got to her first. He seemed completely distraught afterwards, so I wanted to go take a look for myself."

Guilliman hears in his tone that there's an invitation to join him on his lips. And while Roboute knows that he has work to do, as he always does, he can't say this isn't a tempting offer. After only a moment of internal deliberation he sighs, and rises from his seat.

"Very well. I can't say I'm not curious."

The two of them walk side by side down the myriad of halls that only make up a tiny section of the palace, Sanguinius leading. He seems to have an idea as to where Mortarion and his supposed lover is. Guilliman doesn't quite know why he hesitates to fully believe this is even true. He doubts Sanguinius would ever lie but,

Mortarion?

While it takes a bit of searching, eventually the Primarch of the Death Guard is found, and his lover with him. Him and Sanguinius stay back, intent to watch the scene for a moment. And even though the two of them are silent, if anyone had been close they might've been able to hear the two of them thinking.

You seem, normal.

Guilliman thinks you wouldn't look out of place in a shopping district on Macragge. You wear the regalia of your Primarch's legion as decoration on your clothing, fabric a pallid purple, but nothing else seems out of place.

But unlike Mortarion who stands behind you sulking, you are all smiles- speaking to Vulkan with what seems like pleasant conversation. Where Mortarion seems unkempt, cast in a sour, near depressive moue, you seem nothing but clean and polite. Your smile is warm, as you compliment Vulkan about something as simple as the unique embellishments of his legion's armor, and Vulkan takes it with a signature humbleness. Though if he had to guess, Vulkan was also quite surprised that Mortarion's choice in lover has proven so, unlike him.

Guilliman watches, and when he looks to his right, he sees Sanguinius watching his expression closely. Guilliman looks back to the scene ahead of him.

"Hmm. Odd."

#Great now I need to think of a fitting title for Mortarion's s/o that isn't just queen of the stank #mortarion simp club meetup #mortarion x reader #primarch x reader #warhammer 40k x reader #reader insert #reader #mywriting

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bibbityboppitybillyharvgrove · 5 months

Text

Always There - Chapter Twelve: S.Snape

Summary: Y/N Potter was left with a baby to care for after her brother and sister-in-law were murdered by Voldemort. One person was there for her, a person she didn’t expect but soon became her comfort person, Severus Snape. During Harry’s third year at Hogwarts and her third year as Herbology professor, a few old friends come around again. Y/N has to handle the feelings of these old friends being around again as well as handle her feelings for a certain potions master all while she tries to hide these things from her godson.

Series Masterlist

My full Masterlist

Pairings: Severus Snape x Female Professor Reader, Potter!Reader x friend!Remus, Sister!Reader x James Potter, Potter!Reader x Friend!Sirius

Chapter Warnings: Female Reader, Potter Reader(No physical description of reader) probably shitty writing, Harry growing up in a loving home, death, mentions of sad Snape, Voldemort, death eaters, profanity, sad reader, mentions of reader not taking care of herself, mentions of not eating, reader is not sleeping, crying, flashbacks, not proofread

Series Warnings: Female Reader, Potter Reader (No physical description of reader) probably shitty writing, OOC Snape, Harry grows up in a loving environment, mentions of death and murder, poorly written angst, Remus is a shitty friend, poorly written pining,

Please let me know how I can improve my writing and being more inclusive to POC as I am whiter than white. Please also let me know if I have to add more to the warnings! My messages are open as well as my asks!

I am starting a taglist so leave either a comment or something in my asks if you would like to be tagged in any of my works or just this series!

Author's Note: Not much Severus in this one but next chapter we will begin the beginning of Harry's fifth year.

Please let me know how I can improve or if you find any errors! Correct me, don't be afraid to! I want to improve my writing and become a better writer so any feedback or advise is welcomed!

Word Count: 1342

My asks are open for questions, suggestions and feedback!

Feedback is welcomed and encouraged!

Enjoy!

not my gif

Severus and Remus were standing outside of the room on either side of the door, listening in to see if they could hear anything. They couldn't, which made them more concerned, they both thought that they would hear crying or pacing or even just shuffling around, but they heard nothing. Y/N was in the room, by herself, on the bed just staring at the wall, she was trying to cry but she couldn’t. She tried thinking about things that made her sad like her brother, but still, not a single tear to be shed. She was starting to think that something was wrong with her, that something was seriously wrong with her.

When Harry walked past the room, he was curious as to why the two men were standing outside, not moving and not talking, just standing. “What’s going on? Is Aunt Y/N okay?” the boy asked.

“She wants to be left alone at the moment, we’re just standing here to make sure she’s okay,” Remus replied, trying to ease the boy’s concern. Instead of answering, Harry opened the door and walked into the room, closing the door behind him. He saw his aunt on the bed, just blankly staring at the wall, the smell of cigarettes looming behind in the room despite the open window. The boy decided not to talk and to join his aunt on the bed, climbing in beside her.

“It’s okay that I lay with you, right?” Harry asked the woman.

“Yeah,” She replied quietly, opening her arms for her nephew to fall into. Harry did just that, laying in his aunt’s arms, his head resting on her shoulder as they laid there quietly.

“Are you okay? I know this summer has been a lot and you’re always making sure that I’m okay but I never see if you are,” He asked her, rambling slightly which made her chuckle lightly.

“I’ll be okay, my love. Maybe not now, but I will be,” She told him, turning her head to plant a gentle kiss on his forehead.

“Can you tell me more stories about your time at Hogwarts with dad?”

“Of course I can, have I ever told you about the time Sirius asked me out?”

“What? No, tell me!”

It was well into her fourth year, everything was going exceptionally well. She had the highest marks in her year, she had her friends and her brother and she had quidditch. Now she wasn’t as good at quidditch as her brother but she still excelled at the sport. She had a bet with Sirius, if she had scored over 60 points during their game against Slytherin, he had to chop his hair but if Sirius had scored over 60 points, she had to go on a date with him. This was right before Sirius realized that he had a massive crush on Remus but was still playing into the straight thing.

As the game went on, the two of them were scoring points left and right, however, Sirius was 20 points ahead of her and James was zooming after the snitch. As Y/N went for the quaffle, that was when James decided it was the perfect time to catch the snitch and win the game for Gryffindor. Sirius had a big smile on his face as he flew over to her, shooting a wink her way.

“Looks like I won, dove. Guess we get to go on a date then, huh?” Sirius teased.

“Just wait until Jamie hears about this one, he’s gonna kill you,” She sing-songed the end of her statement before landing her broom and walking off of the pitch.

Later that night in the common room, the party had finally died down, most of the students going to bed, the marauders and a few others lingering around. Everyone was a few drinks deep other than the two Potters, James was usually the one who drank the most but he decided to stay sober with his sister for once.

“Hey, Prongsy! Guess who has a date with Dove?” Sirius asked loudly, his words slightly slurring together.

“Oh, Dove has a date? Who is this unfortunate bloke?” James teased his sister, who covered her face with her hands.

“It’s me! Haha! I’m going on a date with Dove!” Sirius laughed drunkenly.

“What?”

“We had a bet, if I scored more than 60 points, he had to chop his hair but if he scored over 60 points, I had to go on a date with him. And he ended up scoring 60 and I scored only 40. Trust me, I don’t want to go,” Y/N explained to her brother.

“Oh come on Y/N, you totally want to go! All the girls want me!”

“Correction, some girls want you and I am not one of them. I’d rather go on a date with Lucius, than go on a date with you.”

“Yikes, that’s unfortunate for you mate,” Remus chimed in with a chuckle.

“You’d go on a date with Snivellus?” Sirius and James asked in unison.

“Okay, one, that was freaky, two, his name is Severus and three, he’s a nice guy so yes, I’d go on a date with him. You guys are just a bunch of assholes to him,” She defended the Slytherin boy.

“You’ve got a crush! Y/N Potter has a crush on Severus Snape!” Sirius shouted.

“Shut up you buffoon! I do not have a crush on Severus,” Her face was hot and she was avoiding eye contact, that was her tell.

“You’re such a liar! Snivelly of all people! Y/N!”

She groaned loudly and hid her face in her knees as she went through relentless teasing from her friends and her brother.

“So you’ve had a crush on Uncle Sev since your fourth year? And you guys only just got together?” Harry asked his aunt.

“Well you know how he is, it’s hard to get a read on his emotions. Herminone says that Ron has the emotional range of a teaspoon? Has she met your uncle?” Y/N let out a giggle at her teasing. Harry grinned widely at the sound which made her tilt her head in confusion, “What?”

“I haven’t heard you laugh all summer. It was nice to hear,” He said, bringing a tear to her eye. Harry was quick to wipe the tear from under her eye before it made its way down her cheek.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been as present lately. I haven’t really been sleeping because I want to keep you safe. I can’t lose you, Harry, you’re my boy. I don’t think I’d be able to handle losing you,” She admitted to her nephew.

“You won’t lose me. I have so many people around me protecting me from Voldemort and keeping me safe. You don’t have to do this alone, Professor McGonagall and Dumbledore will help keep me safe at Hogwarts. Here there are so many more that will keep me safe, so you can take a break. Let someone else keep me safe for once and you relax and rest. We’re all worried about you.”

It was then that the floodgates opened, endless tears streaming down her cheeks as she tried to calm herself down but nothing worked. Harry knew to just let her cry it out, hugging his aunt tight and letting some of his own tears fall. As she cried, the weight on her chest lessened, it felt like she could breathe for the first time since the summer began. She clung to her nephew, keeping him close, his presence alone helping her feel better. Just as she thought she was about to hit rock bottom, her nephew was the one that was helping her back up. They two both knew that it would take a while but she’d get back to where she was eventually. She’d be back to the bubbly and happy-go-lucky person she once was with a little bit of time, some patience and a lot of love and support from her family.

taglist (if your user is crossed out it means I can't tag you)

@acupnoodle @chxelsxaa @fluffyrat365 @fanficwriter5 @atanukileaf @v3lv3tvampir3 @jspidey5 @mija-novella @leo4242564 @crazyunsexycool @livillain00

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roosterforme · 2 years

Text

Sounds Ideal | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Having you in his living space makes everything seem better and brighter to Bradley.

Warnings: Fluff and smut, lots of sex and sweet lovin'

Length: 1400 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You?

Check my masterlist.

Bradley noticed how much the house had changed over the weekend, and it thrilled him. Friday morning he looked around at his sparse belongings; his whole one drawer of clothing in the massive dresser, his row of Hawaiian shirts in the closet.

Then you came in and filled the space. He reassembled your bed frame in the master bedroom while you hung dress after dress next to his shirts. His shoes even looked better with your much smaller ones next to them. The room finally felt like somewhere he wanted to spend some time. Mostly because you were there, with your voice and your smile and your laugh.

The kitchen drawer of takeout menus and the freezer full of microwave dinners were unrecognizable by Friday evening. You had unpacked real pots and pans into the space, and you had all these cool kitchen gadgets that he didn't know the purpose of. But he loved them all.

Even the bathroom had taken on a new life with your fluffy yellow towels hanging along the wall next to the shower. When you asked him on Friday night which side of the bathroom sink he wanted, he almost laughed. He didn't need a side, he only needed about six square inches for his toothbrush and toothpaste.

"Sweetheart, you can take up as much space in this house as you want to. Go wild. Make a mess."

"But Bradley, it's your house-"

"Y/N, please stop saying that. It's your house too. I invited you to be here with me. I want you here. I want all your stuff everywhere. Everything is already better with you around, and you've only been living here for three hours."

You licked your lips and climbed into his arms. And that's how you ended up having sex for the first time on Friday night on the bathroom floor. It was really kind of sweet too, the way you straddled his lap while he sat with his back against the sink vanity, whispering how much you loved him while you rode him. And that was the thing that always tugged at Bradley's mind and heart; even when the sex was dirty or you were arguing with each other or you made each other mad, there was always a fundamental undercurrent of sweetness in everything. And he needed that forever.

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

Bradley woke up to an empty bed on Saturday morning, but he could smell something delicious cooking.

He hopped out of bed and made his way into the main living area, past what was left of your unpacked boxes and bins. He found you cooking an omelet in one of his oversized tees while you talked on the phone. A little trail of hot sauce bottles was lined up along the counter, and he smiled fondly at them.

He stood still in the doorway, your back turned to him as you said, "I probably sound happy, because I am happy, mom..... Yeah, all my stuff is moved in, I just need to unpack today and tomorrow..... Maria's new roommate is moving in today, so Bradley and I had to move fast last night..... Yeah, he's great, mom. The house is so tidy, I feel bad messing it up!... Mmhmm, we're still coming for Christmas. I just bought the tickets. I'll email you the info so dad can pick us up from the airport..... I don't know what to tell you to get him for Christmas. I don't even know what I should get him!"

You turned and jumped a bit when you saw him standing there before you shuffled over and leaned against his chest. "Yeah, mom, sounds good. I'll call back tomorrow when dad's home, okay? Love you."

"Morning, Sweetheart."

"Were you eavesdropping, Roo? Trying to figure out what I'm getting you for Christmas?"

Bradley pulled you into his arms. "While I must admit I am curious about that, I woke up and you weren't in bed and I missed you."

You smiled brightly up at him. "I'm making you breakfast. You need to stop eating those frozen meals and picking up takeout all the time."

He leaned down and kissed you softly. "If you cook me something, I will eat it, no questions asked. I love everything you make. And I will clean up the kitchen every time."

"Jesus, Roo, that's some panty dropping shit right there," you groaned. "I love watching you clean the kitchen, it's so fucking sexy, I could get off to it."

Bradley's head tipped back and he laughed, holding you against him.

"I'm not even kidding, because half the time you do it in just your underwear. It's hot as hell."

He looked down at you and smiled. "Let's eat, Sweetheart. Then you can watch me clean up, and then we can see how sturdy the new table is."

Turns out, the table was very sturdy. Bradley picked it out, in part, because it looked like it could take a bit of a beating. He had you splayed out naked on your back, with your ankles on his shoulders. You were shaking your head back and forth, moaning his name over and over as he stroked your clit with his thumb. He hadn't even entered you yet, and you were soaking wet and ready to come for him. God, you looked so fucking pretty as he slipped his fingers inside you and bent them at just the right angle before fucking you with them.

Your hands went to your breasts, and he was mesmerized as you squeezed and fondled yourself, your pussy clenching around his fingers as you arched your back. "Bradley," you whined. "Fuck me."

This couldn't really be his life. There was no way. Homemade breakfast? Cooked by a sinfully hot woman wearing just his shirt? And then sex on the dining room table? He loved this, loved you.

"Bradley! Please! I want you to fuck me," you literally begged as you looked up at him and bit your lip.

"I'll never get tired of hearing you say that, Baby Girl," he whispered, leaning down to place a gentle kiss on your lips before he fucked you until you screamed.

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

You had him completely sidetracked again. He was supposed to be putting a coffee table together, but you had lured him into the shower with you. He was helpless to turn you down, especially when you offered to wash his hair for him.

"We should make a grocery list. And later, after we finish shopping, I'm going to let you help me cook Marry Me Rooster for dinner."

"Sounds ideal, Sweetheart" he agreed, practically panting as you ran your shampoo covered fingers slowly through his hair and pressed little kisses to his collarbone.

"It will be. And don't forget, you agreed to let me pay for all of our groceries while I'm living here."

Bradley's brow scrunched up. "I don't remember agreeing to that."

"Well you sure did, Roo. You agreed with me when I mentioned it directly after I gave you a blowjob last weekend."

Bradley met your smirking gaze and gulped as he thought back to that particular encounter. "Are you referring to the blowjob you gave me where I titty fucked you halfway through before you finished me off with your mouth?"

"Mmhmm," you hummed, rinsing the shampoo from his hair and trailing your fingers down the back of his neck. "Pretty sure I could have made you agree to anything in that moment, so be thankful it's just the groceries, yeah?"

"Yeah," he agreed, knowing he'd been beaten on this particular topic.

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

On Sunday night, when you had finished reheating the leftover Marry Me Rooster for dinner, Bradley was standing behind you kissing your exposed neck.

"I'm so happy you're here, Sweetheart."

"Me too, Roo," you told him, taking his hand in yours and leading him toward the table that he would always associate with making love to you.

"I'm gonna love you forever. You know that, right?" he whispered, pulling you into his arms.

You snuggled against his chest and smiled up at him. "Yeah, I know."

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

Thanks for reading along! Several more one-shots of these two beauties, and then another series filled with smut, fluff and angst.

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#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster fanfic #rooster x reader #top gun fanfiction #bradley rooster x reader #rooster #bradley bradshaw imagine #rooster x you

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sweetismyaddiction · 18 hours

Text

Part 1 | Fic masterlist | Masterlist

SUCROSE

Chapter 2: Sugary

Paring: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Word account: 2005

Summary: Where the nicknames came from, how they meet, starts. (They live in the same building, in the same corridor, just in front of one another… which helps the friendship but couldn't stop Dr. Reid from falling in love)

Warnings: Fluff, friends to lovers, anxiety, mentions of menstruation and coffee facts?

A/N: English is not my first language. Reblog, like and comment. I am accepting suggestions for next parts. Please be nice. Past in italic. Gif is not mine, credits to the owner.

Spencer’s point of view

It has been weeks since Morgan met my neighbor and he can’t just drop it aside. At least he has capited a secret so far.

“I am just curious. That 's all. The girl has the key of your place and you never mentioned her.”

“I did talk about her…”

It's a murmur, Morgan almost can't hear it, maybe things were better when no one knew she existed besides me.

“She called you Sugarpout… Does Pretty Boy have a Lady?”

There is mocking in his tone, and a little of happiness.

“What exactly are you asking Morgan?”

“Are you two dating?”

“She is my friend, we ain't dating”

“Oh, pitty, she is beautiful, maybe I should gave a shot, she is very talkative”

“Leave the girl alone Derek.”

“Why? Are you jealous? Worried that I stil her? We could be your couple's best friend. Me and her would make cute babies”

“I am not jealous. Just shut up”

He leaves me be, we take care of paperwork, but he can't stop, it's like I can hear the engineers of his brain thinking.

“Ok, I just really got to know, where Sugarpout came from? I can't stop thinking about that”

“Why? Is just a nickname”

“A special nickname”

“Why does it matter to you?”

“Why so much secret?”

The truth is, I don’t really know why, where, when it all started. Is if we have being knowing each other even before we existed.

—----------------------------------------------------------

It was a rainy day, and I was just getting to my building when a strange woman got under my umbrella tugging herself at me.

“My savior. Could you leave me there? To that building?”

Was my building… is she a stalker?

“Sorry for just throwing myself at you. Is just I am made from sugar, so I could have melted with the rain”

Ok, she gots a weird sense of humor. Doesn’t she know about the danger of talking with strangers? That is one of the reasons I get so much work to do. She smells nice though… What am I thinking? Why is she staring at me? Say something Spencer!

“Ahn… yes… I was just going that way too.”

We walk together to the building and she opens the door, almost closing it in my face.

“Sorry. Why are you coming in?”

“I live here”

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t know that. I am a new resident. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too”

She didn’t try to shake my hand… so she respects boundaries and personal space the same way she doesn’t do that? She is so confusing, she seems like a very complex human being.

We both get to the elevator and she presses the button… is my floor button… How I didn’t know about someone moving to my floor? Maybe because I spent the last three days away in a case. The elevator stops and she gets out with me behind her, observing her body language. Wait a minute, that’s… she lives just in front of me.

“Are you following me?”

“Ehn…” she catch me staring, I am probably very red and more awkward then the normal me. “No, no. It's just, we are neighbors, I live here, just across the hall.”

She keeps looking at me, like if she is not sure to believe me or not, just open your damn door Spencer, and prove you ain't lying.

“See?”

“Nice place, very organized…”

When she ends up beside me? Her eyes run across my place, making quick analysis scanning what she can see by the door.

“Ok, I will live you be, sorry for being so intrusive, and thanks for the umbrella ride.”

“You’re welcome. Also, welcome to the building”

She smiles, her smile is pretty.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------

There is a nock on my door. Weird, I basically don’t get visited. I open it slowly and there she is the rain day girl, and she has something in hands.

“Hi, I made some cookies, and decided to give you some, since you were so nice to me that day”

“Oh, thanks.” I was very surprised. “You didn’t have to.”

“No problem, it is a pleasure. I hope you like them. It is the classic one, with chocolate drips.”

“It was very thoughtful of you. I really appreciate it.”

I take it from her hands, every time I see her there is that warm feeling, she is always so nice to me.

“How is the moving going?”

“Slow, I'm still putting things in place. The kitchen is almost ready. I am not in a rush to finish it to be honest. Just, baby steps, one day at a time…”

“Well, it is your space, your stuff, it is alright going slow, its you, it should go in your pace”

“Thanks. Well, when you finish the cookies you can return the ball.”

—--------------------------------------------------------------

The cookies were the most delicious ones I have eaten in my life. I made sure to compliment her, and the way she smiles and giggles, makes my heart beat faster in my chest.

Today I discovered that I am out of sugar, so why don't I go to the new girl? She made cookies and other delicious stuff she is always happy to share with me, for sure she has sugar.

“Just a cup? Sure Sweetie, I will go grab it for you, make yourself comfortable.”

I shyly enter her house, the first thing that hits me is the smell, I think haven smell exactly like it, I can see she still has a few boxes, but all the essentials are displayed, a kindle, books, a lot of types of books, fantasy, biography, history, classics… she also has a few plants, no much decoration… Why is that hard profile her?

“Here you go, a cup of sugar to my sweet boy”

I asked her sugar a lot of other times after that, just to see her, to feel my blood run in my veins, the fast piece of my heart, the smell invading my nose, that warm feeling.

—----------------------------------------------------------------

“Hi, so, do you have plans for today?”

She was standing outside my door, smiling at me, eyes glowing. How can she always be so beautiful?

“No. I did not plan anything for today.”

“Great. What do you say about taking me to a coffee shop? Any coffee you do like to go. Wanna know more about my neighbor.”

“Hm… Yeah, sure. I will just grab my things”

We go to a nearby coffeehouse and order our drinks while we have small talk.

“I love those cloudy and rainy days, so calm…”

Our orders get to the table and she points out when I drink my full of sugar cup of coffee

“Someone really likes sugar.” She smiles and is like electricity running me. “I can't drink black coffee, it gives me an awful headache.”

“Actually. Caffeine withdrawal could be an important but often overlooked cause of headache.”

She nods in agreement.

“People say that I am just being silly or have an infant paladar. I have tried a lot of types of black coffee, but nothing worked. So i decided just to drink my milk coffee, tha latte”

“Caffeine or 1,3,7-trimethylxanthine is totally, actually 99% and rapidly absorbed; it reaches the highest plasma concentrations after 30-60 minutes of ingestion, but this duration can be shorter or longer due to the variation in gastric emptying time. The half-life of caffeine fluctuates between 2.5 and 4.5 hours in young individuals but can be longer in elderly. Caffeine can cross all biological membranes including blood-brain barrier because of its lipophilic character. Only a very small amount of caffeine is excreted in the urine. It is metabolized in the liver, mainly by the cytochrome P450 1A2, to paraxanthine, theobromine, theophylline, and further to urates. Caffeine acts on the brain and the heart by blocking adenosine receptors and inhibiting phosphodiesterase. It is considered the most common psychostimulant, it enhances concentration, improves mood and energy, induces wakefulness, and enhances exercise performance. It can also trigger anxiety, tachycardia, and hypertension. Caffeine is known to cause dependence and withdrawal symptoms such as fatigue and headache.”

Oh, no, no. She is going to think I am such a weirdo now. Couldn't I just keep my mouth shut? Things were good, where nice, and now I ruin it all.

“I have heard that coffee was addictive, but I didn’t know it was absorbed that fast, or that it didn't get expelled out of our body by urine like most of the other drinks. Maybe one of those things causes my headache every time I try to drink black coffee”

“Caffeine also narrows blood vessels that surround the brain. That is its link to headache. In some types of headaches, the blood vessels in the brain dilate, or swell. They expand into the surrounding tissues, which triggers pain.”

Why can’t I shut my mouth, she is lookin at me. She will avoid me like the plague. Why am I like that? Can’t have anything nice, ever! It is like I can’t stop, and she does not stop me, so I just keep rumbling.

“Headaches in general are a common problem for reproductive age women. Migraine headaches are 3 times more common in women than men in this age group with the difference believed to be the result of hormonal fluctuations. In women with spontaneous ovulatory cycles, headaches have been documented to occur more frequently immediately before and during the first few days of menses. Approximately half of women with migraine headaches report their occurrence associated with menstruation, with decreasing estradiol levels hypothesized as the etiologic factor. Today's low-dose oral contraceptives all contain the same estrogen component (ethinyl estradiol [EE]) but vary in the progestin component. Until recently, all progestins in OCs, the oral contraceptives (norethindrone, levonorgestrel, desogestrel, and norgestimate) were derivatives of 19-nortestosterone. A novel OC with the progestin drosperinone (DRSP) is not derived from 19-nortestosterone, but instead derived from spironolactone. This DRSP-containing OC has been shown in a large placebo-controlled trial to significantly improve the physical and behavioral symptoms of premenstrual syndrome (PMS) and premenstrual dysphoric disorder (PMDD) attributed to its unique antimineralocorticoid activity. This improvement in symptoms has been attributed to the antimineralocorticoid activity of the spironolactone-derived DRSP. Spironolactone is the only diuretic shown in randomized placebo-controlled trials to improve the behavioral and physical symptoms of PMS. While studies using validated instruments have shown improvement in PMS/PMDD with DRSP-containing OCs, headaches have not been specifically addressed.”

I managed to hold myself for a few seconds and she finally speaks something.

“Are you trying to mansplain my menstruation cycle to me?”

“No, no… that's not it, I was just…”

“It is ok, I believe you”

She smiles, how her chicks don’t hurt with how much she smiles? Why, how is her smile always so captive.

“Spironolactone. I didn’t know about the diuretic in the OCs. It is interesting to know that, I have noticed that when I drink more water my period of blood in the menstrual cycle feels less worse than normally does.”

She… she paid attention, and… interacted? My heart hammers as a symphony in my chest. It seems the whole word is more worm, as if I had been in the cold dark without releasing it until she showed up illuminating everything and involved me with a cozy blanket proofing there is more, what truly could my life be, how good could it be.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------

From that day, I knew I was different, happier, she became a constant thought, always making everything better, the world more supportable. I felt the butterflies, the tingling, that stupid and uncontrollable happiness, the craving of being in contact with her, the maximum and anyway I could. It just happened, little by little. With no rush, never.

“Hey, Kid.”

Morgan snaps his fingers in front of my eyes.

“Where did this pretty brain of yours was?”

The teasing again, but we hadn’t had time, JJ passed rushing calling for a case, urgent.

A/N: Did you guys like the dades I insert? I had to read a few articles, I have the links, they will be right below. Thanks for the support. If you like the little facts let me know so then maybe I will bring more (cause in my opinion is a very Spencer Reid thing to do, talk about the facts.)

Links:

https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC1663116/

https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/abs/pii/S1051227621000339

https://www.uclahealth.org/news/caffeine-connection-between-coffee-and-headaches#:~:text=Caffeine%20also%20narrows%20blood%20vessels,surrounding%20tissues%2C%20which%20triggers%20pain.

https://headachejournal.onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/full/10.1111/j.1526-4610.2007.00650.x

#criminal minds #criminalminds #doctor spencer reid #dr spencer reid fluff #spencer reid #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfic

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