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#but slowly he became way more intelligent with his choices

baldursgate3tempobsessed · 6 months

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Okay so thought would Astarion just be uber happy if tav is just clinging to him and is like let me stay here where it is safe for just a little longer pleaseee

I think I'm feeling the energy. And it's an actual drabble instead of a novel! Cw: In-game references, spoilers, but this is just some fluffy fluff fluff.

When Astarion made the decision to seduce you, it had been based in cold rationality. In the short time he had known you, you had proven to be intelligent, capable, attractive enough for sex to not feel like a total burden, and extremely hard to kill. Using a falsified relationship to wrap you around his finger was the easy choice for survival. And it did work, with varying results.

Because you provided many, many complications. Like the unfortunate reality that Astarion quickly had grown sincerely fond of you. Not only were you impressively competent, you were fun. Hilariously bitchy in a way that never failed to make him laugh. But you were still kind, kind in a meaningful way that Astarion was simply not used to.

It had felt like a shock when you were so adamant about his right to be his own person. When you didn't make him bite that drow cretin he was struck with the realization that you actually cared about him. What that thing had been offering in return would no doubt have been useful to your journey, but you didn't even give it a second thought. And Astarion wouldn't soon forget how you saying, "He said no," with so much conviction had sent a shiver up his spine.

Perhaps the whole event sent him into a tailspin that ended with him admitting his, in-hindsight, horrible plan, but it had been worth it in the end. Gods knows why, but you didn't abandon him when he revealed the truth. You just listened. You listened and opened up your mind for him to see just how much you cared for him. A care he perhaps didn't deserve, but one he would take. Even if he had no idea what the two of you were doing anymore.

But he did know that something shifted in your relationship after that, the birth of a new kind of trust. Apparently, Astarion hadn't been the only one holding back.

Because seemingly overnight, you got a lot more touchy. A facet of yourself that he really had not seen coming. Not sexually, no. You had been nothing but a dream when it came to understanding the hang-ups he had with that particular topic. But you did suddenly decide that you loved holding hands. You loved hugging him, for no reason at all. The two of you went from the occasional night together before parting ways to simply sharing a tent. And gods were you a cuddler. Every morning he would wake up with you wrapped around him, peaceful and at ease as you slept in his arms.

And... it was nice. Really, really nice. Astarion had always assumed that he would loathe being with someone who was so tactile. But it turned out when every little touch wasn't leading to mediocre and/or horrifying sex they were actually quite enjoyable. It felt good to have you so close, to know that you felt safe and comfortable with him of all people. Nice enough for Astarion to slowly get addicted to it. He wasn't quite sure when his favorite past time became reading while you laid on top of him, but he knew it claimed to top spot with startlingly speed.

Even now, with Cazador still looming, the tadpoles still squirming behind your eyes, worries and responsibilities abound, Astarion felt completely at peace. He was laying flat on his back on his bed roll, a book in one hand and the other carefully petting your hair as you dozed off; your body completely draped over him. He'd have to wake you sooner than later. Baldur's Gate was only a day's journey away now, and if you wanted to make it there before nightfall then everyone would have to get moving. He could already hear the sound of the others shuffling about.

He snapped his book shut, setting it to the side before he gently shook you, "It's time to rise and shine darling, Baldur's Gate won't be saving itself."

You mumbled as you buried your face into his chest, your words slurred, "Don't wanna. Too early."

That was another change with this newfound phase of trust. Astarion had become the only person who knew your little secret of not being a morning person. In the first few moments of wakefulness, you were at your clingiest, your whiniest, surprisingly your most honest, and arguably your most adorable state of the day. A fact that you actively hid from the rest of the group out of sheer embarrassment, but Astarion thought it was cute.

Not to mention that it made him feel special, oddly enough. That he was the only one who was allowed to see you like this; who could take care of you like this.

Astarion laughed at your response, "Tell that to the sun sweetheart. It's high-time we got going."

Despite his own words, he wasn't really doing much to move the process along. If anything he was hindering it when he wrapped his arms around you, only helping to make you more comfortable instead of less.

But then again, maybe he wasn't quite ready to let you go yet either.

You shook your head against him, your hands tightening on the fabric of his shirt, "Le'mme stay, just a little longer."

"That's easy for you to say when you're not the one to get Lae'zel's wrath," Astarion lightly argued, still making no moves to actually hurry this process along. But it was true, Lae'zel always blamed your lateness on him, her favoritism towards you blatantly obvious. The bitch. But at least she was a bitch with good taste, "I would prefer not to be murdered by a gith for being tardy."

But you were already back to being half-asleep, your internal filter completely disintegrated as you mumbled, "Feels safe here, with you. Don't wanna let it go yet. Please?"

Gods, how the in the nine hells was Astarion supposed to say no to that? He didn't. Instead the grip he had on you only tightened, the happy little sigh you let out at the movement striking him straight through the heart. He felt so... happy in that moment, through nothing more than the simplicity of holding you. Because you trusted him. You felt safe with him, which might as well have been a love confession in Astarion's world. It felt so good to have this, an intimacy that he'd been denied for centuries.

Astarion settled back, letting his own eyes close as he smiled. The others would get the two of you eventually, but until then he wasn't going anywhere. No, the two of you would be staying right here.

#astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #baldur's gate 3 #astarion ancunin #asks #eight more to go~#so much fluff recently #im gonna need to get some angst in here soon

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netherfeildren · 3 months

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Honey, Stomach, Mine ; 2. More Intelligent Than a Face

Series Masterlist ; Part 1. ; Part 3.

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics; Dystopian Society; Outbreak not Cordyceps AU; Angst & Yearning™️; Slow Burn; Sexual Inexperience; Cock Riding; Size Difference; Size Kink; Sex Ed for Omega’s 101; Power Dynamics; Creampie; Discussions of Heats and Knots and Slick, Oh My!; Virginity; Emotional Hurt/Comfort; Young and Needy Omega; Possessive Behavior; Age Gap

A/N: FYI I do mention that she has small breasts in this one only because I usually write big boobs and thought it was time for some itty bitty titty committee representation.

Word Count: 13.9K

Read on AO3

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2. More Intelligent Than a Face

Existence is a strange thing, a needful thing. Something to be sated, filled, satisfied, this ordeal of being a living, breathing person. And to be an unusual sort of person, someone with needs extra to what the regular sort would require, doubly strange.

You had always thought, in different ways, that the mating program, although a choice thief, a freedom thief, was also benevolent in its control in some ways. After all, it gave those of you who were of the not usual sort, alphas and omegas, that such thing that you needed so badly.

Each other.

A bad, terrible, devastating thing that in turn gives you something necessary, life changing, life fulfilling, even, perhaps.

When your aunt had died and you’d been taken away and then put away and then shut away for what seemed would be forever, it had not, at first, in your child’s mind, seemed so terrible. But with the years, that existence you bore that needed, it began to hurt. It eventually became a very terrible thing that in turn, had taken away your ability to recognize yourself, as well. The reality that you’d been caged because of what you were, perhaps not particularly who, but certainly, what, was, at first, difficult to see. And then, when you did see it, even more difficult to look at.

A thing caged because of what it is. And again, existence is a strange and needful thing. Caged because of what you exist as; caged because of what you need because of what you are. Caged because they can give you what will sate you.

You open your eyes slowly, the bright, waning golden light of dusk shooting over the edge of the end of the world; bleeding pinks and violets feeding the fire. And he’s there, in a deeply set arm chair pulled up by the hearth, staring into the flames, and you realize, like you’d never truly considered before, that the cage was in part also his fault. That in ways, you’d been put away also because of what he is. You wonder if this should make you angry, resentful. If it should mean you should not want to be here, langoring so comfortably in his home that he’d brought you to. This man who you do not know, who does not so much even look like he wants to know you. In ways, your caging is his fault. And certainly, concretely, the prolonging of that caging was entirely of his doing. So why is there no resentment?

Once, one of the other omegas had said that they were brainwashing all of you. Preparing you, ripening you for slaughter. He’d come in later than the rest of you, when he was more grown, more mature, when he’d seen more things in his before life. He had lots of opinions, lots of thoughts, said that your before life, those ten years of living with your aunt, of only being a child like all the rest of them and not an omega, did not count. He said you’d been too young to understand all you’d lost. A boy named Leo. He was kind, but he was angry. And his anger frightened you. It was something you did know, in the sense that you could recognize it, for you’d seen anger before, but you could not understand it. For some reason, maybe you were built wrongly, and Leo was right, and you should have been angry like him, but you could never find it within yourself to muster it. Maybe there was nothing wrong about it. Maybe everyone was simply built and made and felt differently and that was fine too. But you knew that he was wrong on some accounts, particularly, that your before life had counted, that your aunt, who you remembered with so much love, had counted. And most of all, what he was most painfully wrong about, was that you did, and deeply, understand all you had lost.

After all, you could only see the sky for one hour a day, every other day, now, and that one hour made your understanding of everything around you, everything happening to you, keen and painful and humiliating in a very clear way.

The last rays of the sun wash Joel in vibrant orange reds now. A slash of glowing vermillion across his face, something almost violent about the streak of light, something possessive, and you focus your eyes intently on the sight of his face. This man, this alpha, who for all intents and purposes would or could own you as declared by the government or nature or even Leo and all he’d said would happen once you’d been claimed.

But there was one last thing he’d been wrong about, that young, angry boy, and what you felt was the greatest chasm between the way the two of you had existed within your new designations, which was that, at one very recent point in Leo’s memory, he had belonged to someone, to somewhere. He’d had a place and a home and a family, and he had belonged, and you had never had that. Your aunt, despite her love for you, had been too old and tired to want you, truly want you. You had never been wanted in any soft, true way by anyone before. And looking at him now, you don’t think Joel could ever be capable of wanting anything in a soft way, but you do think he could want something in a true way, and you’re certain that could be more than enough for you.

“Why didn’t you come for me?” Your voice, scratchy and small from sleep, floating away from you towards him. He jerks, the twitching returned, head snapping towards you, eyes wide, moving forward in his seat as if he’d spring out of it and towards you without thought. His scent seems to be heightened somehow now. As if your sleep had awakened your senses in new, keener ways. You can feel him tickling the back of your throat, threading his way through your hair, beneath your clothes, between your legs.

“Are you hungry?” He asks, ignoring your question. “When was the last time you ate? You need to eat.” And again that frown, too many fast words.

“Why didn't you come for me?” You press. “They told me you didn’t know if you wanted to come, that you wouldn't answer. I want to know why.”

He sighs a heavy, heaving thing, falling back in the chair, and turns back to the fire, and you want to whine and cry until he puts his attention back on you. You feel so… so– you don’t know. Little, unmade, with a need to be big, to grow and grow and grow so that all the things you feel and want might fit inside of you, so that he might fit inside of you. You feel hungry as if your gums ache and sting with a desire you’ve never tasted before. But also, and despite all of these conflicting, churning things, you also feel so inexplicably at ease. He’s just there, and you are just here, and you’ll make him answer, you know you have it in you to make him do the things you want, and you can’t say how, you don’t know how, but you understand that you do.

There’s power in that – even as you are, all you are not, you can see it – the ability something small possesses to make something big move, do, be. There’s power in that.

You whine low in your throat, and he turns back to you, something dark and tumultuous in his eyes, brow crooked sternly, but he opens his mouth. “I was going to leave you there,” he says, and you immediately wish he’d shut it. Never mind, you want to tell him, you say all the wrong things.

“But why? I was waiting for you.” Whine, whine, whine.

“I didn’t want this. I never have.”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t want me?” You ask again, just to be absolutely certain you’re understanding that you’ve once again found yourself in a place where you are not wanted for, or despite of, the thing that you are. The logistics, the intricacies of it don’t seem to matter as much anymore, after everything, the before life, the not life, all that matters now is the yes or no.

But he goes silent again, attention back toward the fire, the sun set, no more glowing vermillion slash, very little hope now too.

He ignores your question again. “Tell me about the place they kept you,” he says instead.

“There’s nothing to tell.” You want to cry now, for the first time, besides the tears of initial happiness when he’d finally walked into your white box, you want to cry. You dig stubby nails into the round of your knee, hard as you can, trying to make it hurt and distract. “It was very calm and very quiet.”

“Did you have friends?” He won’t turn back to look at you, and it makes you feel very lacking. Very much like the nothing they tried to make you feel you were before.

“No. They wouldn’t let us.”

“They wouldn’t let you have friends?”

“No. They said it would agitate us – too much socialization. Really, they just didn’t want us realizing, becoming angry and aware”

This makes him turn, makes you feel, within yourself, the anger you’re telling him of, like oh, now, when I’ve been shocking and honest, you look at me – after I waited all that time for you. There is no resentment about the cage, only for the waiting. You should stick your tongue out at him, make him an ugly face, turn over and go back to sleep and ignore him the way he’d ignore you. But no, you think, let him see that you do understand, and you do know some things, that you are angry, and Leo was right.

“What did you do then?” He asks.

“I read. I learned about myself, about you. About what we are.”

His gaze is so intense now, a ricochet, a scream, something very persistently sad. “And what are we?”

“People just like all the rest of them. But with more necessity.”

“How do you mean?”

You tip your head side to side, bright fire eyed gaze to bright fire eyed gaze. Your cheeks feel molten, sweltering, sweat at your nape, the fire in the hearth so bright, but not as bright as you; your belly glows. This is what you are, this is what you’d been made into. “There is so much necessity in existing, don’t you think?”

He tips his chin, he doesn’t understand.

“We need so many things. We require so much to be alive, to be what we are, to be satisfied and content.”

“Do we?”

“The things we are, yes. I think so.”

“You don’t seem like you spent years in that place,” he says, voice slow, molasses in the notes. There’s something hypnotized slumbering in him that forces something satisfied to swell within you. Your belly glows.

“I had a before life. People forget that.”

“I read in your file — you lived with an aunt.”

You wait for the: only for ten years, but the diminishing does not come. “Yes. She was kind, and I remember all of it, even if the rest of the world forgets it happened.”

“Did they ever mistreat you? At the facility–”

“No. Never. There was nothing.” You’re the one to turn away now. The sun has entirely gone away, a single glowing sliver just at the drop off of the end of the world. You stick your hand out straight ahead of you, fingertip following that line of fading light through air and space and sea.

He watches you unblinkingly, and asks, “What do you mean?” The far off light glows through your skin, through your fingernail; he follows the path of your hand.

You can pretend in your mind that you feel the warmth of it against your fingertip, that it scorches the way it glows, heats the length of your limb, feeds the same glow in your belly, but there’s no more possessive streak of light to wrap around you; now, the heat only lives within you. This is what you are, this is what they said would happen, and now it’s finally happening. You let your arm fall back to your lap, limp, and turn to look at him again. He looks so angry, and you feel so incredibly sad for him. This cold perch, this cage that is not white like your box, but dark and struck right on the edge of peril, this place he chose to exile himself to. They were honest, in the things they'd told you all, the truth of the way alphas exist out in the world. Lonely and ostracized and feared, brainwashed to your reality maybe, sure, the way Leo claimed. But in certain things, they’d been honest, and you’re glad for it, that you have the ability to understand him now from this vantage point. The reality of how he exists, the reason for that look in his eyes, it all makes sense to you.

“I suppose that can be a kind of bad thing… a mistreatment. Making nothing of us, of our lives, taking the whole world away until someone chooses to come and give it back to us.”

He flinches, the look shutters, clicks and flashes, a camera capturing the truth of what the two of you have already done to each other without even really knowing one another at all. “I’m sorry I waited. I’m sorry I took so long.” The words cost him something the way all truths cost something. “That I wasn’t there for you as soon as I should have been.”

“Why weren’t you?” You ask, although you know.

“I couldn’t. I can’t. I’m not– I’m not right. I’m not well.” And this costs him more than the rest, you can see. The thump, thump, beat of his heart in his throat. You should tell him to stop, mercy is power, but you think, feel, that this pound of flesh you’re demanding via his truths is what you’re owed for your life and a year of waiting. And anyways, you’ll pay your own pound of flesh in kind eventually, and it’ll cost, even if it’s freely given, it’ll still cost. Everything is equal here, it’s only that it takes a certain kind of eye to realize the truth of that.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Everything, what I am, the whole thing of it and this. It’s all wrong.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t know.” And he looks suddenly angry, aged, wearing all his years and all his very obvious loneliness, teeth bared but on the verge of falling out.

“No…” you say slowly, thinking, rationalizing, a rolodex of truths in your mind. What you are, what I am, what we all are and all the honesties that compromise us. “I don’t, but I understand anyway. They make you all nothing, as well, don’t they? They take it all away, all nothing until you have one of us. It’s a terrible way to live.” And you don’t ask him, it’s not a question, only a very obvious thing.

Your words upset him, put him right at the mouth of madness, all those shakes and jitters returned, but you only lay your head back down on the soft pillow he’d tucked beneath you, hands folded undercheek to wait for the explosion that does not come. There’s something in you that wants to see him angry, angry like Leo, like the boy who’d said you didn't have to be what they told you to be, that reminded you that you could choose for yourself. One of the few things you’d agreed on, despite and inspite of the friendship that they would not let you have but that would have blossomed anyways if they’d given you the time. They wanted to make you nothing, but you didn’t want to be nothing. You wanted very much to be alive and to belong.

You realize, watching Joel muzzle his nature before your very eyes, wondering if the truth of him would have him springing up out of the chair to smother you with his weight and temper you with his knot, subdued with his teeth sunken into the gland at the back of your neck, that you want to see him angry. You realize that you want to see him break, that you want to hear that truth no matter what it costs the either of you. You want to see him honest.

He struggles, a dog fight right before your eyes, but when he wins, it changes the game, turns the truth chimeral. Makes you see him in a different way, and all at the same time, makes you aware and even more comfortable than you’d already been. You’re safe here. He is safe. Most importantly, you want to be here.

“Let me show you your room,” he says after a deep breath.

“My room?” A little seedling of dread and sadness and disappointment.

He shows you to a bedroom hued in soft blues. The sea when it is gentle, the sky when it’s joyous. Everything comfortable, nothing white, like he’d known already.

He stands awkwardly at the mouth of the entry, as if scared to step foot into this serene pool of azure and marr it’s peace. You watch him out of the corner of your eye as you move around, no shoes, no socks, slowly running your fingers over all the soft surfaces, sweaty little toes sunken into the deep pile of the rug underfoot.

“I wanted you to have somewhere to adjust– where you’d have privacy. I’m sure this– that I– that it’s all a shock…” he stutters.

One of his boots inches forward, snaps back, like he wants to follow, like he needs to follow, like nature is right here in the room with the two of you, but he wins that dog fight again, holds back. Frustrating.

“I’m not shocked. But I– I won’t stay with you?”

“No,” he says with a finality that makes that seedling bloom in full. “I also got you clothes. And– and soft things. I know your sort–”

You give a soft huff of air through your nose, my sort… our sort.

“Like things like that. And I also… I also put some of my own things in the drawers,” he nods towards a dark mahogany dresser shoved up against the wall; shy and boyish and hesitant all wrapped into a package that would seem to be none of those things. “They say that helps.”

“Okay… thank you.”

“Went into town to get it,” he says of the robin's eggshell blue duvet, a more dove gray blue wash for the silk soft sheets beneath. It’s all beautiful and delicate and lace trimmed and looking at him, huge and rough and something like a lonely mountain, you can’t believe he’d chosen this for you. “Lady at the store said you’d like it when I picked it out.” And that makes satisfaction smother the seedling, yes, he’d chosen it for you. A good sign.

“You went into town to get me things?”

“I told you I want you to be comfortable while you’re here.” Something about the sentence tickles your mind, but then you’re lowering yourself onto the cloud soft bed, cool silk and cotton beneath your skin, sliding against his clothes, your belly glows bright. You’re full of distractions and truth. “There’re a couple of young women that live down aways.” Young women? You perk up at the thought. Friends? “Ellie and Dina. Two young alphas, and they’re good people. I’ll take you down to meet them soon, when you’re ready.”

“Two alphas?”

“They’re a couple.”

“Like– like in love?”

He hovers at the edge of the rug with that strange look in his eyes again, the one from before – I’m only an omega, you don’t have to be afraid of me – and a palpable desperation to cross the border you don’t think he’s even aware he’s letting you in on, but that you can see nonetheless. Two fingers tucked into the line of his belt, twisted there as if grasping for restraint.

“Yeah, they’re together.”

“I didn’t know alphas could do that… that they’d let you.”

“Reckon it’s why they came all the way out here, to be honest, for freedom. But ‘course they can – be together, that is. We can do what we please, despite what they’d have us believe.” And Leo’s words ring in your mind again. Perhaps everyone sees the truth of what you are except for you. The seedling grows vines, suffocates. All the hope you’d thought would live here seems to have never even existed at all. You feel, for the first time, heavy with all the things you do not know, all the things you lack, all the inexperience and naivety like ignorance thick and cloying in your blood. “From what I understand, Dina presented late, after they’d already gotten together. And by that time it was a done deal, they were in love, no going back. And anyway, they make it work, make it look easy as nothin’, to be frank.” He runs a big hand over the back of his skull, and the way he lifts his arm has the thick of his bicep bunching, fat ball of muscle just there for your teeth to sink into. You shift restlessly on the bed.

“Easy as nothin’,” you say slowly, trying to imitate the dip and pitch of his drawl. Your fingertip follows the line of stitching in the duvet, petting at the seams holding it together. “Is that how we’ll be too?” And although you mean the words, intend the question, you’re suddenly awash with shy regret for asking, even though you can’t say exactly why. Probably for the look on his face, which goes immediately dark and serious, and even yet, you persist. “Will it be easy for us too?” And you’re sure your voice must sound like you’re begging.

“No. It won’t. It won’t be like that between us. You’ll stay here as long as it takes for you to acclimatize to being out of that place,” that place, he says like a curse, and it makes you angry, “To bein’ out in the world, and then we’ll find somewhere for you. Somewhere that’s safe and comfortable where you’ll be able to make your own life.”

“I don’t– I don’t understand,” you tell him, but it’s a lie. You do understand, you see, and very clearly, that all you’d waited for during your life, the before, the not life, the extra year, it had all been in vain, for nothing. It would not be given to you here.

“What don’t you understand?” And his tone is cruel and spitting, making you flinch. “I’m sending you away soon. This is what I’m saying.”

“But I don’t– No–” You’d waited so long. He’s being so mean, and you tell him so.

“Yes. You need to be with people your own age. You need to see the world and grow up,” and what a horrible thing to say, you think – to grow up. As if it were not a thing you’d been forced to do already all on your own, without anyone to help you.

“Well then what do you care about what I need? You make no sense!” And you bare your teeth at him. “If you don’t want me–”

But he cuts you off, broad palm held up in a staying gesture, and it’s so incongruous with all the rest of it, that you want to laugh in his face. “Didn’t say I don’t want’cha.” And that frown again, he makes no sense, the tip of his boot makes landfall in the high piled rug, halfway in, hypnotized and compelled in full. You settle on the bed and feel very calm despite the too fast beat of the thing that moves and lives within you, despite your anger and confusion.

And through the beat and the heat and the sweat on your neck, despite the shyness you’ve forgotten is shyness right at this moment, but that you’re sure will return later because this is what you are and this is what you were made for: him. You ask, “Then are you going to knot me now?” Because if he’s going to send you away, then surely he’ll give you that before you go, surely he’ll still want that from you.

He splutters, going all red in the face as if the notion of a young omega asking the experienced alpha she’s been presented with to do that most basic thing his nature demands, is something out of the ordinary. “What? No– no.” But despite his supposed refusal, he takes two steps forward towards you. Venturing further onto the soft piled rug, leaving large crushing footprints in his wake.

“Later then?” You ask very pragmatically.

“No. Absolutely not. There will be no knotting.”

You shake your head at him, small frown between your brows, but still feeling calm despite the tragedy. Forcing that horrible seedling down into submission, the vines smothering all your hope. “But what do you mean?” And you feel like a child.

“I’m not going to fuck you. We aren’t doin’ any of that. You’re too– you’re too young, practically a girl.” A child. He has an accent that thickens with agitation, the ends of his words sluicing off between his tongue and teeth and anger while he hurts you.

“You don’t want me,” you say, and it isn’t a question anymore, only an obvious thing.

His eyes go very dark, and you want to turn away, look back at the edge of the world and the bright glow of the sun being swallowed by it. “I don’t want that.” And the way he spits the words hurts, making you a thing impossible to desire.

“You don’t want me,” again, repeated, so the both of you can bask in the truth of it.

But it snaps something in the room, or in him, or amidst the honesty being brought out here and now. He takes two ground-eating steps forward to loom over you aggressively, forcing you to fall back on your elbows, looking up at him wide eyed but still inexplicably not afraid, only a greater thing than what can be called merely disappointed. And yet, not disappointed enough to not notice the way one of his knees presses against the inside of one of yours. “I should get to have a fucking choice too, shouldn’t I? Like you, locked away in that horrible place–”

“It wasn’t horrible,” you try and say, but you don’t think he hears.

“The way you had all your choices and freedoms stripped. Shouldn’t I also be allowed to have one single goddamn thing?” Where else would I have gone if not there? “A choice – to say, no, stop, I don’t want this.” He’s so angry, and it is all suddenly so clear, and he finally grabs you, pulling you up by the bend of your elbow, the small joint almost crushed in his massive fist to pull you halfway up off the bed and towards him, getting in your face with all his anger.

Leo’s voice again, you don’t have to be what they tell you to be, you can choose for yourself. This is what Joel wants too.

“You can’t end up stuck out here at the end of the world with some washed up old alpha who can’t give you a quarter of what you need and deserve. I won’t let you. I won’t,” he snarls.

But despite your greenness, your naivety or your ignorance or your youth, you think: how dare he? “And what about what I want? What about my choices? Or are you going to be just like all the rest of them? Like the whole world telling me I’m too insignificant and too stupid to decide for myself? Just locked away in another cage–” You spit at him, trying to claw and shove at him, stubby nails digging at the sun pebbled skin of his throat, yanking at his too long hair and patchy beard, inadvertently pulling yourself closer to him. He grunts, struggling to take you in hand, slippery thing you can make yourself into when you really want, and you, trying your mightiest to hurt him any way you can as he’s already decided he’s going to hurt you with his rejection. “Is that what you are? Just like all the rest of them?” You cry amidst your struggle, choked with tears and being too little to be effective but too big for your own skin.

You shove at his jaw, trying to scratch at his cheek, but he grips you full around either arm, locking you in place and gives you a swift but measured jerk, jostling you into submission, trapping your hands bent as they are up by his neck so that one small palm is sliding to the back of his nape, over the gland behind his ear, at that soft vulnerable hollow, and coming to rest at the one in back, at the base of his neck beneath his collar. Both of you go still as stone, frozen by the truth of what you both are and how inescapable it all is, reality held in the palm of your hand.

Obvious: a designation is not a thing you can ever hide. Alphas and omegas wear it on their bodies like markers. Glands scattered at different places: behind the ears, at the base of the neck, inside the wrists and ankles; vulnerabilities that when acknowledged, bitten, seal a mating bond. Places that if handled properly, turn you into nothing but what you are at your basest nature. And you can’t help yourself – at the feel the spongy patch of skin, slightly raised and slightly rougher than the rest of him, a place that when in rut or in heat, would become, will become, extra sensitive, extra swollen, extra ripe – when you slowly slide your fingers against it, feeling the texture of it, the way it’s even hotter than the already sweltering rest of him.

He growls low and rumbling in his chest, that sound again, and he’s so angry, it’s painted all over his face in shades of defiance; coming off of him like radiation, angry at you, angry at the truth of what you both are, angry at himself and the world and all of it, but he pulls you closer anyways, tugging your forward by his grip on your arms which is starting to mimic the ache you’re suffering at that place between your legs you long to show him, pulling you in so that the tips of your breasts, covered beneath his thick sweater and the too thin, soft bra they gave all the omegas who needed them, brush against the thick of his chest, pulling a soft breath of a moan from your tongue.

“You’re being so mean to me,” you whisper. “And I don’t deserve it. And I waited so long for you and you never came for me, and now this is how you’re treating me,” you say with a hiccup and a tear, and you feel little and big and that place that calls for him pulses and hurts and leaks. He’s so mean and you’re so sad and you want him and you can’t understand why he’s being this way when you were made for him and he for you, and if nothing else was right in this world, then this was the thing that was supposed to be.

His eyes shift quickly back and forth between both of yours, that frown, mouth turned down, his mustache that connects to the patchiness of his beard showing how contrary he finds you. You frown back at him, trying to pull away, whining when he tightens, pulls you closer, right up to his face as if he needs to inspect you even more closely. Your toes aren’t touching the rug anymore, scraping against the thick round of his boots, and you won’t have it. You’ll give him a piece of your mind, you’ll show him. “You think that because I’m little and young and easily bruised that I’m not in control.” It’s not a question. If you could grow fangs, you would. If you could rip him to shreds, you would. “That I can’t control you. But I made you come for me, didn’t I?” Now you laugh at him, now you show him. “I knew if I wrote to you, you’d come, and you did. I made you come. I made you.” And saying it feels like victory, so you don’t care that it makes his face crack, you don’t care that he pushes away from you, letting you fall back onto the bed with a limp bounce, storming out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him. You don’t give a thistle for choices. You want to be selfish, you want to be alive, you want to see the sky. You have the sea now, and you want to be this thing you are because this is already you, this is what you were made into, and you have no choice but to bask in it, and you won’t bend to him or give it up for him only because he can’t accept the same of himself, only because he’s still trapped in his own white box.

He knows, as soon as you make whatever stupid decision it is that you’re making, that something’s off. A shift in the air in the house, his heart beating funny, his scent changing because his body knows you’re not in its immediate vicinity anymore, something that tells him off, off, off, be vigilant, she needs you so much, you can’t fail again. He reminds himself of all the decisions he’s already made, of what he knows he wants and does not want, of what he is and what he is not.

After he’d stormed out of your room – I made you – he’d retreated to hide in his own bedroom, to the other big chair by the fireplace in here, cowering like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs, forcing himself to listen to you cry for hours, the whine and whimper of an omega in need of something he was made to give, and yet will not. As if a little thing like you could make him do anything. Him. He grits his teeth, chews on his own tongue, digs his fingers into the arms of the chair to force himself to remain seated in place, to not return to you, to not give you all the things he knows you need and want to be soothed by.

He can smell your scent changing already, reacting to him, reducing him to nothing, entirely effective in your conquering. And he’d stupidly thought that perhaps the heat, and the rut that it would yield, would wait, give him a moment of reprieve or compassion before it came for him. A moment to think. He thought he’d have more time, a chance to escape the thing he so desperately wants but cannot and will not let himself have, refuses to give in to. His body stirs and smolders, and like he’d done for eleven years and then one, he ignores it. He ignores the truth of who and what he really is.

He sits in his chair, head propped up against the back, and listens to your cries and mewls ebb and quiet until finally, he thinks you might have sobbed yourself to sleep. He doesn’t want to hurt you, he doesn’t mean to hurt you. It’s the absolute last thing he could ever, ever want. Everything, not only in his nature, but in his character, in the things that make him up as a man who’d want a woman like you, is clamoring within him to go to you, to give you what you want, to sooth you with his voice and his scent and his cock. To fuck you into your heat until you’re soft and slick and fevered enough to take his knot, to let him breed you, to let him mate you. His cock stirs and thickens beneath the rough confines of his jeans, that thicket of skin at the base where his knot waits in ready for you, simmering with heat and tightness. He digs his knuckles into his temple until it hurts.

You don’t want me… Of course he fucking wants you. He’d have taken your cunt for himself right there in that white box room, on your rickety little iron cot for all the surrounding omegas and witless betas to hear without giving a single shit what anyone said or thought if he had any sort of right or will or choice. If he had anything more to give you. And then watching you go right to sleep when he’d brought you into his home, the sight of you feeling so immediately safe and content, ready to nest amongst his things and his scent – that feeling of having within himself the things that he needs to be what he is – indescribable.

Pretty little omega – and truly, you’re so pretty. All he’d never let himself imagine or desire or hope for. He’s too old, past his prime and forgotten by the world, but he’s still a man with a working cock, still an alpha, even if only in the simplest of ways. Of course he wants you.

He lets himself languish miserably before the fire, eyes going hazy with exhaustion, the comedown of adrenaline, the presence of warm omega all around him, the taste of your pre-heat scent coating his tongue and throat. He pulls his socks off and lets the heat of the fire warm his feet and thinks he should’ve given you his room instead, let you sleep in his bed, near the fireplace, between his sheets and amongst his scent. He can sleep out in the dirt for all he matters as long as you’re comfortable. And the rational part of his brain wants to laugh at the thought, sitting here alone, realizing that despite his battling, his nature will always win out in the end, that all this fight really means shit. His cock gives a faint throb, his deflated knot rhythmically pulsing in time with his heart, ready to swell and claim what everyone including nature, but excluding Joel, has said belongs to him. Of course he wants you. And if he’s honest, or a fucking liar, he can’t really say which, all his truths and deceptions have become so muddled within his own mind, his past and his present and this future he’s never thought he wanted or had a right to, the year of waiting was more a form of self punishment, restraint as proof of fear, than anything to do with you.

Anger, yes, that everything had been decided for him for so long. That he isn’t even allowed to decide what he is, what he wants. But fear, more than anything, that interminable curse of failure he’s so haunted by and so afraid of. How could nature ever look at him and think him strong enough to take on the role of caretaker, protector, alpha – whatever it is that you need him to be, the whole world in the eye of a young and untried omega – when he can hardly stand the sight of his own face in the mirror? There’s nothing but tragedy setting the stage the two of you stand posed on.

Finally, your cries fade to soft hiccups, and then a peculiar silence he doesn't trust. He waits, ears peeled, his head turned slightly towards the cracked open door of his bedroom, sensing the shift in scent and after a few beats of too loud silence, a thud and a huff, the music of a little mind thinking too loudly and mischievously for its own good. Even the wind seems to blow differently as if it knows you’re scampering about amidst it now, vulnerable to its lashings, and he’s shooting up out of his chair and charging through the house. By the door, he realizes his boots are gone, stolen from where he’d dropped them discarded after he’d left you in your room to cry your salt tears. He forgoes a coat and his flannel, braving the icy wind in nothing but his white undershirt, stepping silent but no less frantic out onto the deck. The truck is dark and quiet, still in its usual spot, and this quells his fear minutely. It occurs to him that you likely don’t even know how to drive.

But when he comes around the western facing corner of the house, it’s worse than he could’ve imagined, and the scar slashed across his right temple suddenly zings like copper, burns like fire at the sight of you. You are, for some inexplicable reason, crawling on all fours, towards the edge of the cliffside. And he’s frozen solid for a second, shocked and terrified, and then moving forward like lightning, tripping over his own two feet and breath before he realizes you’re right at the very edge now, and he needs to move very fucking carefully to ensure he doesnt send you spilling in fright over the edge.

He alters his movements, continues forward slowly, his bare feet over the freezing ground and sharp bric-a-brac of the forest floor, the slabs of stone turning to ice as he nears the edge, and he watches the uncoordinated wallop of your movements, banging your knee with a small yelp, as you crawl like a slow and drunken spider in his too big clothes, dragging his too big boots around your ankles, to the very edge of the cliff side, slowly lowering yourself to plop down with your head and arms hanging over the edge.

He pauses about ten feet away from you and waits for your next move, but you lie still, quarter part of you draped over the edge of the cliff, and he realizes that you’re watching the water far below crash against the rocks.

“Sweetheart,” he calls slow and gentle, crouching down low so that his voice travels along the ground where you lay. “Sweetheart, what’re you doin’?” You start, turning back towards him, one palm coming to the edge of the rock to shove yourself up to peer back at him, rock pebble spraying out over the void with your movement, and his heart and stomach lurch to his throat, almost gagging at the terror. Your eyes are hazy and bright, and he recognizes the beginnings of the fever, it’s tendrils wrapping themselves around you, making you a little confused, a lot needy, and he’s so fucking stupid, he should’ve never left you alone. But he hadn’t thought it’d come on this fast, that you’d affect each other so.

“I wanna go down there,” you call over the small hill of your shoulder, turning back to peer down at the beach. You point down at the shoreline with your other hand, wagging your finger as to emphasize what it is you want.

Jesus fucking Christ, he’s going to have a goddamn heart attack. “Alright, baby. Come back here, I’ll take you down. Let’s go together.” You mumble something, arm flopping out, waving him away. “Please, sweetheart, come back here with me,” he begs, and there must be something in his tone, he’s sure, because you turn full back at that, looking at him suspiciously like you remember his earlier words of rejection and no longer trust him now.

“I’m glowing, sir. I need to feel the sea and the cold.” Your voice sounds not your own, like it comes surfing off the wind to his ears.

“Not, sir. Joel. Only Joel, remember?”

You push yourself up, moving to sit back on your knees, but still right at the edge, still too close. Sweat slides slick and frigid down his spine, the complete opposite of what you must be feeling right now. Only Joel. Only Joel, he hears you mutter at the sea. “There isn’t anything only about you. Leave me alone. Go away–”

“Please, baby. Come back here. Let’s go inside, I’ll give you the sea, I promise. Just come over here – with me.” You turn back at that, shifting on your knees to face him. If you lose your balance, stumble, you’ll topple back over the edge. He just needs to be good enough for you to want to come to him, convincing enough. He puts his palm out towards you, all supplication now. “Come here, sweet thing. I’ll show you the sea, I promise I will.” You start your slow spider crawl back towards him and his scar burns, a sharp pain through his brain, piercing behind his eye, heart beat to death between his ribs. As soon as he gets his hands on you, he’s going to fucking throttle you, he promises. But he’s almost got you, and he dares not move, barely even breathes, his hand is shaking so badly it interrupts his view of you on every other painful heartbeat, and he realizes his eyes are blurry with terrified tears, and suddenly, that anger doesn’t matter even half an ounce as much anymore because then you’re here and crawling into his arms, up into his lap so that he’s falling back onto his ass on the cold, hard ground. He pulls you into himself, clumsy little spider legs wrapping around his waist, your arms going around his neck so that you’re clinging to him.

One of his boots lies lost and discarded back by the edge of the cliff.

“Please, don’t ever fucking do that to me again.”

“I’m glowing,” you sigh into his neck.

“I know you are, baby. It’s okay, we’ll fix it.” He feels you nuzzle at his collarbone, his neck, the gland, already sensitive and swollen behind his ear, already, already, already, God help me, and his heart feels like it’s beating so hard he can feel it move through your chest cavity and reverberate against his hand on your back. Christ, it wasn't supposed to happen this quickly, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was supposed to have more time, more choices, more control. The wet of your lips mouthing at his skin, and then the peek of your tongue tasting his gland, and he rumbles deep in his chest, his mind going loose and slacken like an old rubber band, and then snapping back to clarity at your surroundings. Cold wind and now the beginning sprinkling of needle freezing rain, your shivers jittering into his chest.

“We gotta go inside – let’s get up,” he murmurs into your ear, unable to resist nosing at your hair, the small, freezing cold seashell hidden within.

Wait, wait– and then the scrape of small, blunt edged teeth just there at the vulnerable patch of skin. He swallows a scream, and the caged thing rattles and howls inside his chest, his arms going iron and binding around your back, pressing you to him, chest melded to chest. “Wait, please,” again, and now a tiny kiss. “If you don’t want me,” and he never should’ve even insinuated it, it’s the worst thing he’s ever done in his entire miserable fucking life. “Then will you please–” another soft press of lips to his jaw, the corner of his mouth. His hand slides down your spine, he can’t help himself, presses down on the base of your vertebrae, the heat of your cunt along the pulse of his cock, through cotton and denim and cold, just there, just there, he’s so fucking close. “Will you at least kiss me–” but you’re not waiting for another rejection, you’re just licking clean across the slash of his mouth, taking his bottom lip between both of yours for a shy little suck, unsure and inexperienced with desperation. And then there’s nothing caged about any of it, no more white box, no more perch at the end of the world, he squeezes you to himself so that it hurts, and he kisses you.

Hand twisted too tightly in your dampening hair, he pulls your head back, and with a rumbling grunt sends you deep and languid into easy submission, the steady deep timber of the sound wringing the desired effect on you. You twitch once, as if he’d tugged on your strings, his pretty puppet, and then go soft and open and easily penetrated, jaw hinging open so that he can lick inside of you, tasting all you have to offer which he refuses to accept he’s actually taking and which you’re all too desperately eager to give.

He takes it all regardless.

Slick mouth against slick mouth, out there in the cold rain and wind, rolling around in the dirt, he tastes you the way the two of you were made for. Pulling your hips closer, rolling his up to meet all the heat you have to offer which will only get hotter and hotter the more he continues down this path. You claw at his hair, the gland at your wrist rubbing against the one at his ear, marking him with your scent and pheromones, marking him as yours. And he swears he can almost feel that glow in your belly too, a little wriggling comet in his hands, set to burst. The crescendo of your whining climbs higher, your mouth hungrier, and Joel feels insane for a second, entirely outside of himself, lost to his senses. All he is, is what you need him to be, something hard and strong and solid for you to mold yourself around, and it’s so right it’s wrong. Not what he’d planned, not what he’d decided.

He rips his mouth away from yours, panting, forgetting his name and his sense and everything else he is besides a hard cock and a now equally smoldering belly. “Wait– wait,” he begs, burning comet, too willful to tame without teeth, surging in his arms. You rub yourself against his face, your hair sluicing through his, your soft tits against his chest, his neck, bumping his chin while you try to climb him perched in his lap like you are. “Wait, please–” he tries to sooth over your huffing whines, and then a sharp stinging little bite to his jaw line.

No, no.

“Stop. We have to stop, please. This isn't what’s supposed to happen. This isn’t what I want.” And you hear that.

The comet burns out, you go still in his arms, and it feels worse than anything. He wishes he could swallow the words back immediately because then you’re pushing back and away from him. Scrambling out of his lap, escaping his arms as fast as you can.

“You’re horrible! Get away–” He dodges a small, kicking foot – the bootless one. And you’re stumbling to your feet, tripping over the too big shoe wrapped around your too small foot. He pushes to stand, as well, gripping you about the elbow, avoiding a weakly punching little fist now. This is truly getting too ridiculous. The two of you need to come to terms with each other, meet in the middle, forgo the theatrics you seem all too desperate for. He ducks away from another ineffectual punch, grips you by the scruff of the neck, unruly kitten that you are, and pushing you forward, hooks you under his arm, lifting you clear off the ground and rendering you entirely captured, bent in half, a wilted flower over the strong of his forearm.

You squawk indignantly, kicking your feet against the back of his leg as he stomps over to his abandoned boot, slowly filling with rain now, fuck this shit, and trudges through the mud back to the house, ice cold droplets dripping off the tip of his nose. The two of you are well on your way to soaked, but he thinks it might not be such a bad thing, considering the ball of heat radiating from your belly, the one in his own mimicking you. It seems to pool in the palm of his hand, where he’s got you hooked and caught over his arm, honey collection of magma.

Let me go! You’re screeching. “Leave me alone! You don’t even care about me and I hate you and I want to see the water!” More kicking and clawing.

When he finally dumps you back onto your rumpled bed, undignified yelps and pathetic little growls, he’s at his wits end. Taking you firmly in hand, heavy hand back at the nape of your neck, thickly calloused palm scraping against the quickly swelling gland there, other pushing at your hip to drape you over the edge of the bed like a rag doll, he folds himself over you, smothering you with his weight and heat, forcing you into calm. You go shocked frozen, wracked with shivers and then finally, blessedly still and quiet. This was all you needed, for Joel to follow his instincts.

He presses you into the bed with his too heavy weight, thick arms caged around your head, pert little ass tucked up against his pelvis, and he breathes you in, lets you settle.

“You need to behave,” he rumbles, and all you do is sigh bleary eyed and exhausted by your own willfulness. “You’re not to go outside all alone at night like that again, do you understand me? And you are especially, never, ever, to go that close to the cliff edge again.”

“But the sea–” you whine and shift, rubbing your little cunt against his now fully hard cock, perfect position that he’s got you in, presented to him like this. He presses tighter against you, growling deep in his chest to shut you up.

“Promise me.” But you whine, shifting, starting to cry a little, too far gone to the start of the fever he’s done nothing to really sate. There’s still time yet, for your full heat, but these beginning symptoms, they need to be soothed just as well, tempered just as diligently as the full blown heat would be. If for nothing else, than for the sake of the omegas' comfort and happiness. He bends his knees, shoving the thick of his erection up against the apex of your thighs, pressing you further up onto the bed and tighter beneath him, and nosing through the mantle of your hair, he finds the gland at the back of your neck beneath the collar of his sweater and bites down gently. Not breaking skin, only giving you teeth to feel, to be soothed by, that blunt clasp that’ll dull your own sharp edges for now.

He laves his tongue along the scorching patch of skin, the texture different to the rest of you, different, even, to his own glands, like silk, like water, something liquid about the feel of you here beneath his tongue and teeth. You let out a terrible little sound that has the threads of his control snapping, providing cause for concern, and he growls softly, pleased, in response. It’s a sound of submission and acceptance and praise, from the both of you equally, all at the same time. He lets you settle like this, petting at you with his tongue, giving you the scraping edge of his teeth like a threat, every so often. Grinding, because honestly he can’t even fucking help it, against that scorching little cunt he knows would already, even now, be so soft for him. Perhaps, not soft enough yet, not ripe enough yet, to take his knot and everything else he wants to force on it, but soft enough for him to teach you how to take a good fucking.

A virgin, never even had a heat before, and trapped here between his teeth and beneath his cock. It would all be so easy, it would all feel so right.

But that is, Joel thinks, just the thing of it. It would feel right – but would it be right? He can’t yet tell.

You cloud his judgment, seduce his nature into wanting to give you everything and anything you could ever even think to ask for, and he can’t yet tell if it’s just you, that sparkle and that light and that heat like a comet that lives inside of you that he’s coming to suspect is wholly yours, nothing to do with biology or designations or markers that tell of what you should and should not be, that’s got him so desperate to please you. Or if it’s only nature, trying to force him into another choice he’s not made for himself.

You wake slowly, disturbed out of your sleep the way one feels when they’re being spied on by something too large and too scary to look at right in the eye.

You shift in the blue bed, cool and calm now, all that glowing heat from before that’d forced you out into the cold and the wind, hungry to throw yourself through space and time out into the sea, reckless and free, gone away now. All you feel as your eyes blink open slowly, is a shivery, damp cold rattling down the line of your spine. The room around you is dark, the glow of the slumbering fire out in the living room peeking in through the slightly left ajar door of your bedroom.

He’d stayed until you’d gone boneless and calm, trapped beneath his weight and between his thick strong arms, letting you suck on the gland inside his wrist as you’d pleased. And when finally, you’d been just on this side of awake, he’d changed your clothes and slid you beneath the soft sheets and weighted duvet, and sat in the cozy sofa chair by the window until you’d been too exhausted by the embers in your tummy and the tight want between your legs to fight sleep any longer.

The chair sits cold and empty now, and above it, the wide window, the pitch black of the world beyond is bright with unknown terrors, and you huddle into your nest of pillows and blankets, hiding beneath the edge of the duvet.

You’d never had a window in your bunk, had not experienced the night in years and years, and looking at it now, put on display as it is through the clear pane of glass separating you from all of that unknown, you feel suddenly terrified, nothing but little. It feels as if you were to look away from it, it’d reach through the glass and pluck you out of your bed, whisk you far enough away that he’d never be able to find you, come for you again, and also, like if you don’t stop looking, it’ll eventually begin to look back. You wiggle backwards, bum finding the edge of the bed, and then sliding out, feet first, gaze still peeled on the window and the night, walking backwards out of your room and pulling the door shut on your way. At the very last moment, you peek through the sliver of the door edge and frame, nothing but your nose remaining in the blue room, and you swear the night stares back now.

You shut the door with a snick, and turn to rush on tipped toes in search of his room.

He’s sleeping on his back, one thick arm thrown over his head, the other laying across his belly, and you peer over the edge of the bed, hands clasped beneath your chin, watching the up and down of his breathing, the flicker of his eyes beneath his lids. He has long eyelashes and funny whiskers and hair everywhere. Under his arms, and across his chest and his belly, leading down below the sheet covering him, to the thick lump there, that place you don’t know yet, but do understand. He’s hairy, and he’s big, and the aching place you want to show him comes awake in response to all this man you have before you. And although the house is warm, the fires stoked diligently to keep you as toasty as you need, another shiver runs its way down your back. So taking hold of one of his thighs, you hoist yourself up onto his too tall bed, knobby knee stabbing him in the side as you climb on top of him, planting yourself right in the middle of his broad expanse. He gives a rough grunt, shocked awake by the little creature climbing its way all over him, hands shooting out to steady you by the hips as he jerks startled.

“What in the Sam Hell–” You ignore his spluttering, rubbing your bottom against his stomach, finding a comfortable position to drape yourself over him, wilting like a felled weed snuggled up against his chest, tucked just below his chin, giving an entirely contented sigh when you settle. “What the fuck’re you doin’?” He has such a nasty mouth. Someone should wash it with soap for him.

He tries to roll over, but you cling, bearing your sharp little teeth to latch at his collarbone, holding tight, refusing to be shoved away again. “M’cold–” you fuss, chewing and slobbering all over him as you pull yourself closer, hitching a knee over his hip, burrowing your foot between the bed and his back.

“You have t’go back to your bed. You can’t sleep here.”

You whine, chewing harder, and he grumbles, but his hands slide from your hips to your back in a soothing pass and you slick your tongue against the flavors of his skin. He tastes so good, and he smells so good, and in a tiny voice you know will get you what you want, you say, “The window is too big and it’s so dark. I’m scared, alpha.”

He groans, grip going tight and strangling around you, fists bunching in the oversized clothes he’d swaddled you in after he’d dried the rain and outdoor chill off of you before putting you to bed. “Can’t I just stay here? I promise I’ll be good like you told me to,” and you nuzzle against him, making sure to thoroughly cover him in the headiness of your scent. Everything is so warm and right, and he’s so thick and comfortable and strong everywhere, perfect for laying on top of like this. The hair on his chest is prickly, tickling your face where you rub yourself against it, and he rumbles low, a deep sort of purring sound that you feel vibrate in your tummy, big wolfish man that he is, but his grip goes loose and soft after a while, stroking and soothing and petting along your slopes and planes. Convinced. Ha.

You hold very still, breathe very slow, make sure not to spook the beast while he accepts the fact of you here atop him until he finally says, already sleepy and relaxed again, “Alright… but you’ll behave like I said.” And eventually he rolls the two of you over, little omega barnacle that you’ve turned yourself into, and tucks you into his warm side.

The third time you wake to him, there’s fire everywhere. And an ache in your womb so sharp it sends shivers through your whole body. You cling and grind and tremble; forget your name, where you are, nothing more than that sticky throb in that place that you want to give to him so, so badly.

He’s draped atop you, heavy arm caging you in, thick chest covering your back, smothering you between incredible strength and, soft, Joel smelling sheets. You cup the ball of his bicep, it’s big and hard and hot, and drag your palm along the thick slope. He’s so strong, he could crush you, hurt you, make you into anything he wanted, and you want all those things, you think. You want him to do whatever he wants if only he’ll make the ache go away. Fire and glowing bright heat everywhere, most of all your belly, your heart, somewhere so deep inside you’d never known it existed until he’d come and made you aware of it.

Your fingers slide along his wide forearm, hairy here too, thick wrist, hard, strong bone beneath, and then the soft spot on the inside that belongs to you now. You stick your tongue out, tasting the spongy patch, scraping your teeth along it. If you bite him, you’ll be able to keep him forever, he won’t be able to send you away, but there still remains – even if just for a little bit longer, before the heat you’ve been waiting your whole life and a year for to finally take you – a part of you that’s still rational, head only halfway gone to the clouds. That part which reminds you that more than anything, you want him to choose you. Without the bite as a deal breaker, bond sealer, only because he wants you, only because he likes you.

But you can taste him, it doesn’t mean you have to bite him, and you the tip of run your tongue along the inside of his wrist, gently suckling at his gland, the flavor of him so much stronger here, as if his essence is more concentrated at this small place. And the ache between your legs, in your tummy, deepens, spreads and blooms and ravages. The inside of you feels sensitive and swollen and big and little all at once, and you shift your bottom, trying to rub yourself back up against him, your sucking mouth pulling sharper, a whine bubbling in your throat because you need something, something more, and you think you know, and you know you understand, but you’re not sure, and if he could just wake up and show you it would all be so much better.

You press back harder, arching so that the aching place feels the heat of him behind you, that hard ridge there that makes your heart pound all through your body. You’d shucked off your leggings and the sweater he’d put you in through the night, too hot and sweaty with the big beast smothering you as he’d been, so now you’re left in nothing but one of his too big t-shirts and the soft, cotton white panties all the omegas always wore. You whine again, gnawing on his wrist for real now, and a big paw of a hand comes up to wrap around your hip, stilling your wriggling. You feel him lean closer, burying his face in the back of your hair, groaning, hot bullish breath fanning across your nape. He rumbles deep and it only makes you feel worse, more desperate, more hungry for that thing you don’t know how to ask for. You want to cry his name, beg him, but your tongue feels fat and swollen inside your mouth, too full of blazing heat to form actual words. He just has to know, he just has to be able to tell.

“I know,” he mumbles against your nape, nosing around to your ear where he presses his mouth. “I know, it’s alright.” You gurgle again, pulling his wide palm to cover your face completely, nuzzling against his rough palm, muffling your pathetic animal sounds of supplication. It’s okay, it’s okay, you can hear him murmuring and you’re not sure who the words are for, but you feel certain they’re not for you. He’s scared, you know this. Between all the things you’re so uncertain of, this you’re sure of. He’s afraid, and it’s your job to reassure him, to show him how well it will all be once the two of you come together.

You push your face harder into his palm, and you feel him hook his fingers into the elastic of your panties, tugging the soft fabric wide, tugging them down your legs, and there’s that same need, yes, that comet bright glowing heat, but also, and something you can recognize as more your usual self, a desperate sort of shyness. Something coming unraveled and unspooled for the whole world, him, to see. You can feel the slick uncoveredness at the apex of your thighs, running down your legs, a blossom of heat and vulnerability there at that place, the core of you, and it doesn’t feel shameful, necessarily, but painfully exposed. Your softest place bared for him to see. And yet, alongside that, the knowledge that this soft place is only for him, that you only ever want it to be for him, and so this can, again, be nothing but right.

“Look at all this slick you’ve made for me, what a sweet girl you are.” There’s such reassurance in the timber of his voice, it makes the heat change, something swirling but steady, constant. You spread your own palm against the back of his hand covering your face, line your fingers along the backs of his, little and big, matched alongside each other, and you press his fingers against your forehead, squishing your nose against his palm, Hiding there in the cup of his hand from the whole world and him, waiting for this truth of yourself to finally be revealed to you.

His palm strokes along your bare thigh, I know, I know, he keeps saying, and they’d told you all that your alphas would know, that they’d show you, and there’s reassurance in this, that some part of what’s happening is unfolding as they said it would. It makes you feel not so small, not so untried and naive. You try and lay as still as possible, willing the flames into patience, breathing in your own hot breath from the cup of his palm. I know it hurts, we’ll make it better, I promise. He shifts behind you, the rustling of fabric, and then his hand on your bottom again, moving in a slow circular motion, steady and reassuring. He moves to your leg again, lifts it and then something hot and hard and big, coming to rest on your inner thigh, and he lets your leg down, starts the soothing rub of your bottom again.

“We’re gonna go so slow, alright. Only a little at a time and not the whole thing today. We gotta wait for your heat to settle in all the way, time it all right so that my rut doesn’t start before you’re ready to take me. How does that sound, sweetheart?” But your tongue is still fat, your words still jumbled and missing, and all you really want to ask is if he’s changed his mind now, if he’s finally decided he wants you, and you think you’re crying, sipping salt water from the palm of his hand. “I know I wasn’t how you needed me yesterday, and I’m sorry for that.” He presses his forehead against the back of your shoulder, hand sliding up your hip to your waist, dragging his shirt along as he goes, uncovering you for himself. And you feel so intensely, that you belong to him, and you can’t understand how he could have ever not felt the same way.

You hitch an agonized little sob, muffled by his hand, and he rolls slightly so you’re half draped atop his chest, his palm rubbing soothing circles low on your belly now. And forcing you out of your hiding place, he pulls your face back to look at him, gripped around your jaw. His face is very serene, and this settles you, makes the words he’s saying clearer, more meaningful. “Can you hear me silly thing, or can all you think about is taking a cock right now?” You scrunch your nose at him, you know that word, it’s his hard thing between your legs.

“It’s so heavy, alpha,” you sniffle, feeling the weight of it pressing against you there.

He nods, warm look in his eyes that crease at the edges. “That’s how it’s going to feel inside you, baby.”

“The knot?” A seedling blooms again, this one very different now, full of hope once more. You realize you’ve found your missing words.

He shakes his head, not yet, and drags his palm up the inside of your thigh, squeezing and kneading as he goes, and you want to complain that he moves so slow, that he needs to do something else, you don’t know what, but something. You want to click your teeth at him, bite him again, anything to make him go.

And then: “Drippy little girl,” and he’s finally there and a moan that’s almost a scream because he’s cupping a place that is so unbearably sensitive and raw and full of heat and wet like you’d never known was possible.

Oh, oh, ah, ah, ah. “It’s alright,” he says, rubbing gently back and forth, a slick sound that is loud and embarrassing coming from between your legs. “It’s alright. This’ll help for now. We won’t go inside.” And he grips the heavy thing, his cock, in his own palm that’s all slick from your leaking and presses it against you. He rolls over completely now, shifting higher in the bed so that you’re sitting full on top of him, back to chest, bum to belly, and he spreads your thighs wide with his other hand, pulling your shirt up to bare all your nakedness for him to see. You wonder if he can also see all that burning shyness you’re suddenly so chock full of.

“Look at these pretty little tits,” he murmurs, cupping one small morsel in his palm, squeezing so that you’re arching against him, mouth agape like a fish, trying to find sounds that seem to have suddenly gone missing once again. “That’s right, I know.” He moves to the other one, squeezes and pinches and shakes it so that it jiggles in the cup of his hand. All the while he strokes his cock between your legs, pulling his hips back every so often so that it slides against you, coating it in all that wet slick you’re spilling for him.

You look down at the place where it juts out between your thighs, and it’s so big. Dark and angry looking at the end, thick and covered in veins that make it look even angrier and about to burst. You ask him if it hurts him, and he laughs a little and says it isn’t anything you can’t fix which makes you seven different shades of pleased.

The hand at your breasts moves up to your face again, and he turns your head, searching for your eyes. “We started off badly yesterday, yes? But we’re gonna do better today. I promise.” He slides his hips back again and this time he presses harder against you, his hand flat against the underside of his cock so that the top is slicking all along you. Sensitive little cunt, he says when you tremble and shiver and keen, and that’s when you know that’s what it's called. Your cunt. That place that belongs to him, that you want to give him so badly, that you want him to want so badly but that you barely even know yourself. No more experience than the greedy, frantic digging at the soft, hot flesh beneath your hand in moments when everything had felt too tight and needy to do anything else.

“Gonna break you in so well, baby. Gonna teach you how to come, how to fuck, how to take a knot.” And now the wide head presses against you, against a place that is so, so incredibly sensitive it almost hurts. You suck in a sharp gasp, trying to jerk away from the hurt, but he holds you in place against him, presses again, yeah, I know, yeah I know, like he’s trying to put it inside you, and yes, you think that’s what it is, that’s what you need, even if it might hurt. “You’re gonna get everything you need jus’ from me,” and his words are slurred and dripping slacken from his tongue.

He starts to move faster, you think he’s swallowed the same stone of desperation you did, rough grunts and huffing pants, and “So fucking small, it’ll never fit.” Jesus fucking Christ. And on every slick slide forward that wide angry head of it, his cock, bumps the crest of your sex, catches at your hole. You watch it in shock as it presses in just a little, and it hurts and feels like you’re full of bubbles and everything is sticky and your tummy glows with heat.

“Your little cunt needs this,” he grunts, the head catches, he presses, presses, pulls away, you want to bite and scratch and demand he go all the way, and you’re nothing but a pounding heart and a clenching cunt and you want more, and when he slides again it notches full on at the tiny opening, he pauses, lets it rest there before he presses not even half a centimeter further, only giving you the wide stretch of it, letting your cunt flutter and grip around the very head.

“Look at that–” And he peers over your shoulder to look at what he’s doing to you. “Look at your tiny cunt stretching for me.”

You cry, trying to pull away, trying to shove yourself deeper, to take the whole of it like the greedy thing you are, but he holds you in place and lets you flutter and flutter and cry until something in your womb pulls tight, and with his fingers swirling at the apex of your sex, the little nub that is so sensitive it pulls a warbled, baying moan from your tongue, an ah, ah, ah, he gives you your first orgasm with him. A desperate thing, too much and not enough, and with his other hand he’s squeezing, shoving his fist along the rest of the length of his cock, pressing it hard where you meet, and then he’s feeding you a blazing heat, filling you with it, stirring your insides to flutter and shiver harder. Forcing you to cry and beg for more, “Please, please, please,” more.

“You’re not ready yet.”

And although you’re not entirely certain for what, you promise, “I am, I am, I can take it.” You know he’s supposed to put it all the way inside, that then, the knot will come. And although you’re unsure what it will specifically be like, what will become of you during or after, you know you’re ready to discover it all.

“Not yet.” And he’s grunting it through clenched teeth, his hips churning, spitting tip grinding at your hole, something hot and thick sliding wetly all over and between the two of you. “You’ll do as I say. Your little cunt needs this, needs me to be patient with her.”

He lets the slick weight of himself fall away from you, leaving you feeling stretched and bruised and all shivery on the inside, yet still hungry for more. And he pulls his hands along the slopes of you, leaving trails of sticky wet along your skin. The proof of all you are, invisible but tangible, with a taste and a smell and a feel.

You lay your head back on his shoulder, the heat swirls and simmers for now, and your cunt, your cunt, your cunt, you want to give it to him in full, it throbs and trembles against his slick cock. “I’ve never had a heat before,” you tell him although you know he knows. He probably knows everything there is to know about you, which, admittedly, is not much.

“That's alright.”

“It will come soon, yes?” You peer over your shoulder to look up at him, and he nods down at you, that warm, eye creased look on his face again. You like the sight of it so much.

“Will I go away from myself?”

“No,” he says gentle, “I won’t let you. I’ll keep you here with me. You have nothing to be anxious about.”

He rolls the two of you over, keeping you in the comfort of his embrace, and he’s huge and steaming and naked behind you. His hairy chest, his hairy legs all along the smooth and sensitive curves of you. And his thing, it’s still trapped between your thighs, heavy and sticky with your wet, and still kind of hard but not as much as before. You reach between your legs to touch it, and he jerks and hisses but lets you do as you please. Curious fingertips gently along the thick round end of it, down the long length to find two heavy and hot weights hanging lower.

“Where is the knot?” You ask uncertainly, shy with all the things you don’t know.

“Here,” and he grabs your hand, moving your fingers to the base of it where there’s an area of skin, of a different sort of texture, rougher, thicker, around the circumference of it. You prod gently at it, not understanding. “See, it’ll swell when it’s inside of you, and then we’ll stay connected for a time, and I’ll fill you, and that’ll help your heat. And after a while it’ll go down, until you need it again. Did they explain to you how it’ll happen?” His cock is thick between your thighs again, beneath your exploring fingers. A little harder and bigger than it was before. His body, something like a wonderful miracle you need to know everything there is to know about it.

“Yes, but not– not all the way, I don’t think. They said you’d show me.” You turn back to look at him, searching for confirmation, reassurance, but instead ask: “Why did you change your mind?” And finally, of his own choosing, he grips you by the throat, and presses a small kiss to your mouth. The greatest victory of the day, and it’s only just begun.

“It’s exhausting, not letting yourself have what you need.” Need, not want. He shifts over you, coming up on his elbow and rolling you so that you’re on your back and looking up at him. You bring your fingers up to explore along his face: the hooked nose, soft mouth, heart brandished beard. He sighs that bull sigh, and you giggle as it tickles your throat and cheeks. Need, not want. That stings. “Fighting against what you are constantly– and you reminded me that we still have control in what we are. That there’s still choice in this, decidin’ to be what we are without resenting it. And we need each other, after all.” Need, not want.

“I don’t think you need me.”

“No?”

“No.” The truth that you very much feel like you need him, you keep to yourself. And anyways, he knows. You know he knows.

“M’thinkin’ I didn’t know I did. Or couldn’t say it out loud.” And he mimics your exploring fingers: thumb against the fan of your lashes, up the slope of your cheekbone, prying your mouth open to catch the edge of your bottom teeth and look inside. There’s a warm look in his eyes, like he’s pleased with you, like you’ve done a good job. “Think I’m realizin’ how wrong I was. How I want this all too.”

Want, not need.

He bends his head and kisses your mouth, kisses your breast, shows you how much he wants it.

3. I Was a Child Once, I’m Not Any Longer

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hannibals-favourite-meal · 1 year

Text

Going Stupid

Peter Parker x plus size reader

Peter’s roommate is driving him up the wall

Warnings: reader is kind of a bimbo and kind of based on Elle Woods, implied smut, Peter kind of hates her but not really, swearing

WC: 676

Minors DNI

3000 Follower Celebration

Peter groaned as he entered the small two bedroom apartment he was currently renting. The walls were vibrating with the force behind your Bluetooth speaker as you listened to your current hyper-fixation song. It was never his choice in the first place to have you, the bubbly underclassman studying fashion, as his roommate but when rent was jacked up, he was forced to take in the first willing person he could find.

And now he was stuck with you. You were ditsy and unorganised, he couldn’t hold an intelligent conversation with you unless it was the history of polka dots and worst of all you were drop-dead gorgeous.

It was more often than he cared to admit that he would storm off to take an extra long shower to relieve himself after coming home to you wearing practically nothing as you waltzed about the apartment. He constantly chastised himself for it. He should be attracted to women like MJ, smart, intelligent women who he could actually engage with. But no, he was stupidly falling for you.

And he just couldn’t handle that today, not after a long day in the lab followed by hours of boring lectures. You were dancing around the kitchen, donned only in panties and a tight pink tank top. There was a smear of flour across your full cheek and your lips stained with chocolate frosting. Peter’s brown eyes dropped to your tits which were moving freely, unencumbered by a bra. There was a dollop of the sugary icing on the smooth expanse of your skin. Oh how he wished to lick it off of you.

“Petey! You’re home!” He cringed at the sound of your voice, replying with a half-hearted, “Yeah I am”, as he dropped his backpack on the small bench by the door. He kicked off his shoes, wincing as his sore heels came into contact with the cold flooring.

“You know Peter, you should get some inserts for your shoes. I noticed you had high arches like months ago and I was like that’s so cool cause I have high arches too and I never meet anyone with high arches. I get my shoes custom ordered for my feet cause they hurt a lot if I walk too much and I mean a lot! Like that time I was at that club with-“ Your voice became a blur of white noise as Peter was hypnotised by the way your plump body moved gracefully through the small kitchen.

The tank top clung to you like a second skin, accentuating each and every dip of your curves. His brown eyes, slowly growing darker with lust, now dropping down even further to where your shirt ended, leaving a strip of your belly exposed above your white panties. The cotton cupped your mound so snuggly that he could see the texture of the dark thatch of hair resting on the base of your pelvis through the fabric. The cellulite on your legs were like the perfect dents for his fingertips to rest and Peter couldn’t imagine how safe and warm your thighs would be around his hips.

“Can you put on some clothes? I can’t concentrate.” Your mouth snapped shut with an audible click and he could practically feel the way your skin blazed with embarrassment. He watched you glance down at your outfit, suddenly becoming self-conscious.

Peter clicked his tongue and with a surge of confidence he didn’t know he had, he strode across the apartment and grabbed you by your wide hips. “I can practically hear your thoughts from here. You’re too damn sexy, it makes me go stupid.”

“You’re not stupid Petey.” You mumbled while doing everything in your power not to make eye-contact. He tutted and gently cupped your chin with his left hand, guiding your face towards him.

“I like it though, princess. It makes me mad sometimes though.”

“Why?” You nuzzled into his hand. Peter smirked and his grip tightened, making you gasp.

“Cause if I go too dumb, who’s going to fuck you even stupider.”

Request: oooooh how about Peter Parker, maybe a roommate au/ best friend? and the prompt going like “Can you put on some clothes? I can’t concentrate.” “I can practically hear your thought from here.” and something ike that? I leave it upto u, but a hate/mean thingy I feel like would rly add to it (as typically Peter would *never*) also fro which Peter- its rly ur choice, but Andrew and tom are my fav (sorry toby baby) ofc its just a request but I hope u do something! I love ur work congrats on 3k! <3 @my-fabulousness-has-arrived

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astolfofo · 1 year

Text

You shudder at the sensation.

Blood... blood... blood. It’s everywhere you go, it’s on you, it’s on the ground, and it’s on the enemy’s dead body. You recognized a long time ago, and it was still clear as ever: murder tore away at an invidual’s humanity. You had saw it from old friends that became criminals. You had saw it from inviduals in psycharic hospitals. Hell, you even saw it in policemen who did it for other people’s sake.

Once you kill once, you’ll never be the same.

It doesn’t matter who it is. Whether they were from the port mafia, from the armed dectective agency, or a regular civilan. To cause the loss of life causes irriversible damage to an invidual’s spirit and soul.

However, that didn’t mean that there were various ways that murder shapes people: you vaguely remeber being a spy for the port mafia once or twice before the project was abandoned. After all, at that time, the port mafia was a stronger force than the entire military combined. And you were just one mere invidual with an ability; one that was recognized by your division in the military, but only that. Plus, as strong as you were, one person was an ant compared to entirety of the port mafia. You’d be torn to shreds within seconds of your infiltration.

Yet, you were still able to bypass the security by your ability, which was nothing short of a miracle. And once you did, you did manage to gather some valuable intel on the mafia, which nearly cost your life. But nonetheless, it was important information.

You paid dearly for that decision.

You had always known after infiltrating the mafia, there would be a very, very, very high chance that either you would be killed, or an investigation would be launched after you. The mafia would be able to figure out who you were, and they may as well have tabs on you for the rest of your life. You’d never know privacy again.

Well, you had never expected it to happen this way.

You looked down at your hand, as a numbing feeling took over you. You weren’t sure if it was fear, or anger, or relief. Maybe a combination of all three. But, as you looked over, see blood seeping onto the concrete. You cringed. You knew murder was inevitable with a job like yours, but you hadn’t expected it to be so soon. You wonder why the port mafia were still following you after two years. You would have expected them to give up by now.

Yet as soon as you were about to stand up you heard the aiming of another gun. Slowly, you turn your head around, to see that it was none other, than another port mafia member.

Not just any port mafia member, but specifically port mafia executive, Dazai Osamu.

Well. This was bad news for you. Cornered by one of the mafia executives of the port mafia, and one of the most ruthless ones to date. You’d probably be nothing but a blood smear within the next two minutes. Your intuition told you to run as fast as you could, but a more rational part told you that it’d be useless either way.

And from how his face looked, you could tell, he wasn’t going to give you a quick and painless death either. It shaped up to look like you weren’t running your way out of this one. And from the old intel you gathered, his ability would render using yours useless.

“You have two choices.”

To be honest, during your time of spying, you were afraid of Dazai. While you had always hid in the shadows gathering intel on executives, you were quite sure he was always able to sense your presence. After all, he was... rather intelligent, and from your observations, he could quite literally see through anything and everything. There were many close times where you had almost been caught, but you had escaped by just a hair.

“You were the spy that was following me, correct?”

Your didn’t respond, but he knew the answer anyways. Dazai walks towards you, his foot steps echo around the dark alleyway. Your head is running through scenarios, each worse than the previous. You thought about the torture methods, and how violent they’d be. You had seen cases where people were burnt, or skinned, or where their bones were broken one, by one.

People who had the ability to do that to other human beings, were inviduals who had lost their humanity. Entirely. Getting information out of people like that never worked, and it was not worth the gore, noise, and humanity to do so.

“Since you’re quite the skilled spy, I’ll leave you to live. I recognize talent when I see it. However, you are also with the military, and have been sending information about us to them for years. I’ve noticed this from the missing data in our databases. It’s been obvious someone has been hacking into them for periods at a time. Well, that’s also because I was sent to deal with this, even though it is a side mission now. It’s been a year since that data breach happened. I assume you’re quite the skilled hacker, as well as combatant. You also have abilities too.”

“However...”

Your throat tightens.

“Although the information you gathered is not highly classified information to us, you’re still an enemy of the port mafia.”

Dazai points his gun to your head. He was quick enough you didn’t have time to evade. Instead you resorted to trying to pry the other arm around your neck off.

“It’s no use. Struggle all you want,” Dazai continued, “You can either die here. Or you can join our ranks, and become our spy instead. You would be put to much more use in the mafia, instead of the government.”

“Like hell I woul-”

Dazai fires a shot at the wall that misses you by an inch. “You use your mouth to talk only when you’ve made a decision.”

You’re instantly slienced.

You weighed your outcome. Murder changes people; always for the worst. The man standing in front of you has experienced murder on multiple occasions. The port mafia murders people on a daily basis. You could never get used to killing anyone; you could barely shoot a gun without hesitation. That’s why you’re assigned the role of a spy, rather than being on the front lines.

Killing someone wasn’t so different from dying... yourself. But as morals are often discarded in the desperation to survive, your brain told you to betray the government.

“Have you made a decision? I don’t have all day to wait.”

You opened your mouth slightly, but then closed it. You took a deep breath. From this point on, your life would change forever.

“I’ll... join your ranks.”

Dazai lets you go, as you fall to the ground, gasping for air. He smirks; it unsettles you. “Loyal, aren’t you?”

You glare at him.

“Meet me back here tommorow, at evening. If you dare come late, I’ll personally beat you to death.”

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eydi-andrius · 1 year

Text

Precarious (Aemond x Reader)

Warnings: aged-up aemond and reader, implied sexual content, dubcon, dark!aemond, possessiveness, explicit language (please tell me if I need to add more)

summary: He told you Lucerys has his eyes on you. You told him he did not. Not because you were naive but rather you know he was a very jealous man.

a/n: this is just a one-shot/drabble. I was highly inspired by @/darkficsyouneveraskedfor Clark Kent's series of drabbles. Ahem.

“My heart beats for only you, my lady.”

No.

“Have you truly lost your mind? How could you confess when you know you were betrothed?”

Not now, Lucerys. Please, no.

“I- I know. I know. I- You have been my friend for so long. My closest out of all. You have witnessed all of my worst and I- my heart can’t just quell each day and night not telling you my truest feelings. You are beautiful, intelligent and perfect. I have fallen for you for years now.”

His voice seems to echo on the quiet corridor he asked you to meet him. You never thought he would confess. It wasn’t that you hadn't seen the signs. His eyes were far softer, kinder and a truest gentleman whenever you were around but you played the fool and convinced yourself that it was just a love for a friend.

You can’t have this now or you were putting him in danger.

You closed your eyes and swallowed. With lips bitten you breathe in deeply and open your eyes with renewed anger.

“How could you do this to me? Your confession on this public corridor is putting me and you in danger. You know that right? If you truly cared about me, you should have kept your feelings for yourself. Tell me, how about Rhaena?”

A flash of hurt crossed his eyes but it was gone as fast as you saw his jaw thickened with vigor.

“She knew. And I can’t lie to myself about you. I-I want you to come and live with us in Driftmark. Staying in King’s Landing with just yourself worries me. Especially with my uncles here. Please come with me.”

His eyes were full of unshed tears. You knew how much courage it took him to confess and come here to offer you this chance of freedom.

It wasn’t really a surprise when he told you Rhaena knew. They were closed too and you have no doubt that with you not being by his side anymore, due to his betrothal with her, she will be his new confidant.

The offer was rather tempting. Oh! How you wish you can get away from this place. Away from your responsibilities and away from HIM.

But you know you can’t.

You are not your own anymore. A daughter has no choice.

And he is watching.

A shiver ran down your spine and you swallowed the fear bubbling inside of you. With great regret you hold Lucerys hand and stare at his eyes with sadness.

Oh, his hands were so cold.

“I can’t and you know it. I- I always admire the power your mother has as a lady who will sit on the iron throne someday and lead us all as our Queen. However, I can’t fool myself into thinking that we were the same. I have no choice about myself. A lady has no say about her life. I- I am truly thankful for your love and I am sorry that our lives became like this. Oh Lucerys!”

Tears ran down your eyes when he hugged you without letting you finish what you were saying.

This action had awakened a fear that always had its head out but never mentioned. Your heart knows that this will be a goodbye to what you two have.

A truest and innocent love for each other no matter what type of love it is.

Time seems to pass as you two hugged each other in the dark but you know eventually you have to let go. So you did.

Lucerys hugged you tighter when he felt your arms slowly move out of the hug. This farewell has been set out the moment you befriended the prince. You know that this will never last. The tension happening regarding the throne and the princess children's legitimacy will always hang above their crowns. There is no way that you can live happily and eventually love the young prince on your own terms and time.

It is impossible to even dream of it.

Only a fool would believe such fantasy.

“No matter what happens, I am still your friend. We might be apart and my feelings will probably be a bother but you know our friendship is far more a treasure to me than anything else’s in this place.” He is holding your arms now. Staring sadly, deeply at your eyes as he said his final words.

All you could give him was a nod though and a final hug.

His footfalls echo as he walks away. The sound leaves a hole into your heart. Shattering the final defense, the final strength you were holding onto throughout the days that you have to endure the one-eyed prince.

Your body went rigid when you felt his arms clasp you from behind. He put his chin on your shoulders tenderly, like a lover, like he always does these days when he caught you alone and unguarded.

He never ever makes a sound whenever he comes for you.

He fancy himself a predator catching his prey each time he meets you.

“Hmm.. I told you, he likes you.”

He said, rather fondly, as he plants kisses on your exposed neck.

You closed your eyes and removed his arms around you. You walk past him not knowing where exactly you wanted to go. This is all too much for a day and you just want a little bit of reprieve from these events.

“I do not understand what irks your ire. Many maidens will kill just to have a prince confess their love to them.”

You know why.

You bite your finger as you try to walk faster to get away from him. A habit you were doing lately as your life went down for worse than it's been.

Your mind never even register the pain as your teeth tore through the skin. The only moment you realize you were biting too much was when the coppery taste of blood touched your tongue.

A yelp went out of your mouth when he forcefully grabbed the finger you were biting into. You were so in your head that you didn’t notice that he was already ahead of you.

“I told you not to do this. It breaks my heart whenever you hurt yourself.”

“What exactly do you want from me?” You asked exasperatedly.

He frowned, as if offended. His eyes turned sharper and darker. Something was brewing behind those orbs. Something you were familiar with before he loses his control.

A whine left you as he held your hand tighter. All the efforts you try to retrieve your hands faltered when you recognized how this would go.

“I had paid the price for what I asked of you that night so you can’t haunt me still! Leave me for good!”

The heaves that wrack your body was inhuman as you fear for worse for talking back to him.

But it's too late now. So you put all of your strength on your arms and yanked his hold off you.

You tried to walk past him again when you successfully pulled out your hand. But this time, he grabbed your arm and bent down to look closely at your face.

You can feel his hot breath fanning your face as yours stopped from how close he was.

“Do you truly think a night was enough for what I did for you?”

“You became mine the moment you stepped foot in my chambers to ask for my help. You were mine the moment you removed your dress in front of me and put my cock inside your mouth. And all and everything of yours is mine the moment I left my seed inside of your womb. A lady with a stature as yours shouldn’t be oblivious. You may be carrying my child right now. Hmm.. I wonder what the bastard Luke will say if he finds out that his love gave up her honor to begged me on her knees on the night of his name day. That would be a wonderful story to tell. Don’t you think so?”

Fresh tears run down your eyes. The sadness you felt earlier for losing a friend changed into distress.

A daughter truly has no choice.

You felt his lips touch yours bruisingly. The precarious hope inside your mind is gone with the wind as you close your eyes and succumb to his power.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #prince aemond #aemond fic #hotd #hotd fanfic #drabble #hotd fic #house of the dragon #house targaryen #house of the dragon aemond

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kangelane · 18 days

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By chance we met, by choice we became friends

Summary: A twist on how Kenobi came to meet the varactyl Boga, during a fierce battle over Utapau.

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Suddenly, cutting through the silence was an aggressive loud hiss echoing around the chamber, originating from somewhere in front of him.

Alarmed, Kenobi’s head shot up and he squinted his eyes in direction of the sound. However, the pillar of light – in which he was engulfed – prevented him from seeing the source. Taking another deep breath, he reached out with the Force; localizing a surprisingly advanced intelligent life form lurking in the shadows, fairly big in size, zigzagging closer to his exposed position.

The distinct warning call had limited down the number of potential species it could be – at least within the catalogue Kenobi were familiar with – down to only a dozen. It was first when a curious beaked maw slowly emerged into the light, that Obi-Wan got a definite positive ID.

A varactyl.

The large feathers in a beautiful range from blue, green and deep purple were raised, making the large animal look even more massive and intimidating. Another high warning echoed around the room; a clear indication that Kenobi was definitely unwelcomed, intruding and trespassing.

The Jedi carefully stretched out with the Force again, to send out a message of peace and calm towards the stressed and territorial protective animal.

”Hello there,” Obi-Wan said in a warm soothing tone, still lying down on his side trying to keep his broken leg as immobile as possible. ”Sorry for unexpectedly dropping in on you like this, but it was purely an accident, I can assure you.”

Another shriek rang out, and the animal made a slight warningly lunge.

Keeping his calm, Kenobi’s hand rose slowly, palm open; an invitation for the large reptile to come closer. ”There now… I mean you no harm.” With trembling fingers still extending out his invitation, Kenobi tried his best to send out only calm serenity, despite how his whole body screamed of pain.

To his great relief, the slightly aggressive demeanour started to diminish. The big orange eyes were suddenly scrutinizing him, looking deep into his soul, doing it in such a unique way which only animals can; to check a man trustworthy or not.

Luckily, it seemed like Obi-Wan passed the test.

The approach from the varactyl shifted that instant. The aggressively raised feathers slowly lowered, the protective hostile manner fully gone.

Instead, the massive head fully popped inside the pillar of light, tilting about 45 degrees to mirror the same angle as the Jedi’s countenance. The strong beak glistened majestically in the naturally created spotlight; the golden and black maw allowed a questioning squeak to slip out. Taking the Jedi in, the tangerine eyes scanned over his broken body, landing on his injured leg, before returning to his sweaty face and then on his still welcoming shaking hand.

The large creature carefully closed the remaining distance between them, until the black tip of the beak made contact with the trembling fingers.

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Read the whole story here:

~ Kangelane_Star Wars 🤓📚📖

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diakaoniii · 2 years

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Yandere Sakamaki Brothers Highschool Au

TW: Possessiveness, Blood-Drinking, Sexual Abuse, Poisoning, Death, Kidnapping.

Reiji Sakamaki

If you caught the attention of Reiji, you were probably the smartest in the class after him.

He likes intelligent women.

Your posture, your gait, your gaze, your looks, the way you dress, your speech etc.

You were like a real lady.

He didn't like it when couples were jealous of each other but he gets furious when he sees a guy flirting with you.

What a 'coincidence' the boy who was flirting with you died of 'food 'poisoning' the next day.

He will not kidnap you right away, he will control you from afar and try to make you fall in love with him.

Reiji is a gentleman, it's not hard to fall in love with him.

Shu Sakamaki

It's a miracle that someone who doesn't even attend classes falls in love with you unless you're a sacrificial bride.

Probably he saw you singing in music class.

When he started to fall in love with you, he tried to keep you away from him because the friend he cared about died and he didn't want you to die too.

Of course, his decision to stay away from you was until he saw you with a man.

Shu is never lazy when he's jealous.

He'll grab you by your wrist and drag you to a place where no one sees you and suck your blood.

Whether you know he's a vampire or not, you wouldn't want someone to suck your blood, would you?

Your frightened face, your pleading only turns him on more.

He's likely to kidnap you.

You know that man you're talking to as dead.

Kanato Sakamaki

Kanato is already a yandere.

He will always be by your side, he will follow you wherever you go.

Even if you talk to a girl, he will get jealous and yell at you for showing interest in someone other than him.

He's jealous of you from everyone else, even his brothers

Kanato does not hesitate to kill people he is jealous of.

Especially if he sees someone flirting with you, he will just kill them without thinking.

He may accuse you of cheating on him.

If you make him sweet things like pudding, he will soften and calm down.

He absolutely will kidnap you.

From now on, he won't let you go to school.

Because he can't stand other people looking at your beautiful doll.

Your all attention must on him, you must only look at him, you must hear only his voice.

If you deny him instead of accepting him, he may add you to his doll collection.

Laito Sakamaki

The first thing that caught Laito's attention was your appearance.

If you are sitting at the same desk, he will suddenly start stroking your leg while you are listening to the lesson.

Even if the whole class sees him stroking your leg, Laito doesn't care.

He has no shame.

It just turns him on and makes him want to do more things to you.

Even if Laito does not seem like the jealous type, even the type to share his girlfriend.

He's not like that at all, he is very jealous.

Proof of it, he killed his mother's lovers in the past because he was jealous.

If you have had lovers in the past, he will kill them.

He will definitely kidnap you.

He'll try to have sex with you before you can get over the shock.

He doesn't understand why you're afraid, crying, and denying him: after all, it's his way of showing his love for you.

According to him, lust is a way of showing love.

But if you keep denying him, he will kill you.

So, you will be his forever.

You have no choice but to surrender.

Ayato Sakamaki

You probably got Ayato's attention with your looks and big boobs.

The moment he saw you he knew you were him.

It doesn't matter if you're aware of it or not.

Whether you accept it or not, you are his.

You two met when you were in gym class

Ayato 'accidentally' threw a ball at you

it was just a trick to start a conversation with you.

So, as your and Ayato's relationship progressed and you both became friends.

One day, he asked you to make takoyaki for him and you could not refuse this request.

While you were doing takoyaki, he slowly walked behind you and bite your shoulder

You were scared, you hadn't even thought that the vampires would come true and even if he was a vampire, you didn't know that someone you spent all this time with would do this to you.

You trusted him a lot.

You immediately tried to escape and told him to let you go, but you were weaker than him, you had no strength to escape.

He grabbed your hair and tilted back your head and began to drink your blood harder.

Drinking too much of your blood made you faint.

The last thing you hear before you pass out;

''Now, you belong to Ore-Sama.''

When you woke up, you were at the Sakamaki mansion.

Where you live forever.

Subaru Sakamaki

Even if Subaru is in love with someone, he can never admit it.

Because he sees himself as a monster and doesn't think anyone will love him or he has the right to love someone.

Until he meets you.

he was sitting alone in the classroom and you sat in the near.

He shouted at you and asked why you were sitting next to him without his permission.

You just smiled and answered him kindly.

He got surprised; Does someone want to talk to him?

His cheeks flushed and he mumbled something before you realised it.

The two of you's relationship has progressed over time, which has caused the Subaru to become more protective and possessive.

One day, when he saw Laito trying to suck your blood, he got very angry and punched him hard.

You were shocked and Subaru felt bad when he saw that you were scared.

He thought you were afraid of him

But you hugged him and when he thanked him for saving you.

He was relieved and he hugged you more tightly.

To protect you, he may kill his brothers.

Even if Subaru become yandere, he won't hurt you.

If he hurt you, he would distance himself from you.

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ben-talks-art · 2 years

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Why I like John

"I don't deserve better..."

UnOrdinary might be one of the riskiest series I've ever seen.

The premise of the story is about a world where everyone is born with some sort of power and knows next to nothing about how to keep these powers in control.

From that premise we have our main character, John, who plays a really interesting role as the biggest victim and the biggest danger in this kind of world.

(Spoilers for UnOrdinary)

John started off as someone with no special abilities and because of that he became the target of a lot of bullying at his school alongside his two only friends, but that changed when he finally unlocked his own power and used to take revenge on everyone that harmed him in the past.

Sadly, that didn't stop there as his power ended up being much stronger than people expected and all that power added with resentment from the bullying he suffered plus the fact he was a young kid at the time, ended up making John an even bigger oppressor than those before.

he ended up hurting even his best friends leaving himself completely alone and filled with regret, so much so that he decided to hide his powers from others afraid of going back to his aggressive ways.

Only problem was… Even if John was trying to change to be better, the world remained the same, and when he tried to act like someone without powers, a new set of bullies started to show up to pick on him, leading him to resort to violence once again.

Something that I really like about this series is that it greatly captures the ugliness of violence.

There are many stories where a main character loses control and starts going berserk and beating everyone up, but most of the time it's meant to be something cool and exciting, while here, it's always meant to be disturbing and depressing (you know, as violence should be!)

John doesn't just beat up bullies with his powers, he beats up anyone that says anything that makes him angry, and the kid is angered very easily.

Just like Ramses, John is someone who refuses to accept he is in the wrong because of his past as a victim of abuse, leading him to always assuming that anyone who doesn't agree with him must also be an abuser that needs to be put down.

What's sad about it is that you kinda get where he is coming from, you get why he is angry and why he doesn't want to listen even if you know he needs to be stopped. Just like how Ramses and Zuko were raised to believe in a distorted set of morals, John grew up believing there was barely any good in the world leading him to slowly stop trying to be good as well and just doing whatever the hell he wanted while ignoring the consequences.

But what's so clever about the way the story is told is that it shows how this mindset is just making him more and more miserable.

The nice tragedy about John is that during the entire duration of the comic he has not once ever been fully happy.

When he was hiding his powers he would get abused, when he showed his powers he would be feared and would act destructive, when he tried to avoid people in order not to hurt them he would just be alone and thus wouldn't learn what he needed to change about himself in order to grow.

John should have everything he needed to be happy. Friends, powers, intelligence, kindness, but for one reason or another he never has these things at the same time.

Sometimes he will hide his powers, sometimes he will distance himself from people, sometimes he will stop being kind to others, and because one of these things keeps always missing he never ends up finding peace in his life.

And I really like and respect that. I like that this series doesn't put John above morals just because he is the main lead and I like that it doesn't try to be cheap about it by just making John a misunderstood person.

John's not a misunderstood victim, he's definitely in the wrong regarding his choices and he is treated as someone who is in fact in the wrong by the story.

His arc is really interesting to watch because he keeps trying to change others around him instead of trying to improve on himself and that always ends up blowing up in his face.

I think this is a point that many people often don't seem to get. I know many fans of the series that get upset because the bullies around John don't own up to their abuse, but that's the entire idea, you can't just wait and expect people to change and be better just because you want to, the only one that you can change is yourself.

This is a lesson that John seems to slowly be realizing as well and honestly, even after all the terrible things he did in the past I still find myself rooting for him to improve because it does feel like he himself wants to be someone better at the end of the day.

Even though I can totally see why anyone would hate him, I just can't help but like this guy, because I'm just fascinated by all the themes he represents. I love the idea of a story about showing the futility of violence and how that leads nowhere in the end, and a story about learning to understand yourself before you understand others.

I just love this character and really respect this series and I'm looking forward to see where it goes!

Favorite character list>>

#unordinary #john unordinary

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theramblingsofadork · 3 months

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Starpoint AU Character Profile: Dr. Starline

Age: Starpoint Squad Era: 20, Downfall Era: 24, Restoration Era: 26

Starpoint Arc Personality: Much like his canon counterpart, Starpoint!Starline is a intelligent, calculated, and driven individual. At the start of the AU, he comes off a bit as haughty, having no knowledge due to his upbringing about friends and people working together.

As the AU goes on, he learns what it means to work as a team and appreciate what others have to offer, and slowly begins to soften up and gain a bit of a heart for those around him.

His goal is still very much to work with Eggman—being absolutely enthralled with the man and his awe inspiring legacy. Although up to this point, he’s never actually understood the full scope of the damage the man causes. Mainly because he’s never had a reason to care before.

As he begins to grow comfortable with the Starpoint Squad, his theatrical behaviors become more commonplace, and he finds himself confidently bantering with the group, and enjoying their presence.

And while he tries to play his cards close to his chest, if given the opportunity, he will eagerly go off on an excited tangent about the doctor or whatever other topic is on his mind, to whoever will listen to him.

Strengths: Along with his high intellect, Starline also possesses a wellspring of knowledge regarding a wide array of subjects. He’s quite sharp, and has an impeccable work ethic. He knows how to use his words to manipulate, and his dedication keeps him going, even in tough situations.

He also has the warp topaz, whose power he is currently still in the process of discovering the full extent of. Despite this, he can still use it with decent competency should the need ever arise.

Weaknesses: Ah yes. His folly.

Due to his upbringing and choice of idol, he starts off being quite haughty, believing himself to be intellectually superior to those around him. This pretentious attitude gives people a negative impression of him, which only gets exasperated when he gets defensive about it.

It leads him to be downright disrespectful or dismissive of other people’s feelings and desires, which gets him into trouble. ✨ And does wonders for his relationships ✨ /j

While he does grow out of this a bit from being around good influences, his pride does still reer it’s ugly head from time to time.

Throughout the arc, a new feeling starts to worm itself in and replace his confidence. A feeling he doesn’t like.

He becomes afraid that he’s becoming close with these people. That he’s falling in love with Rivet. That he has something else he cares about now besides Eggman and his goal.

It’s all new to him, and he doesn’t know how to deal with it. He struggles to hold meaningful relationships as a result, due to his fear of rejection from moral differences and losing sight of his goal. He can’t decide what to do, and self sabotages himself multiple times, only burying himself deeper into a hole.

He also tends to lose his nerve if spooked, and accidentally slips up secrets when engaged in one of his many excited and loose-tongued rambles.

History: Starpoint!Starline grew up as a bright-eyed, well-off, upper-class child with a great brilliance and interest in science.

He was raised in the ways of nobility and class, not having much in the way of a relationship with his parents, or any friends beyond what their status demanded of him.

As a result, Starline was rather isolated, spending large amounts of time with only his studies and inventions to keep him company. (Which is where his habit of talking to himself spawned from.)

Then Eggman’s global broadcast aired on TV, and like a flip had been switched, Starline became spellbound. For here was a genius of his caliber, unafraid to use his genius to shape the world into how he saw fit.

Starline was enthralled, and despite his parent’s distaste, he quickly fell down into the rabbit hole of investigation, becoming a huge fan of Eggman’s legend. (His version of a Saturday Morning Cartoon hero.) It was at that point Starline decided to dedicate his career to following in the man’s footsteps.

His new role model got him into even more trouble with society, and he was even ostracized from his family’s namesake as he was bringing shame to them. But he thought nothing of it, believing that he was just doing as they raised him to do, and that one day, they would thank him for it in the end.

Additional Information:

Starline’s Character Arcs: (Spoilers Ahead!)

⭐️ Starpoint Squad Arc:

Downfall Arc: Check back later!

Restoration Arc: Check back later!

Likes: Dr. Eggman, science, technology, robotics, the arcane, upper class, theater, Broadway, dressing and looking sharp, the Atmos cafeteria’s sandwiches, being appreciated and respected, peace and quiet, classical music, tea, being in charge of a situation, the Starpoint Squad (eventually), good food and intelligent company.

Dislikes: Sonic, being interrupted in the middle of a project, bullies, people who waste his time, loud jamming music, having little to no control over a situation, being put down by anyone

Last updated 3/15/24

#sonic #sonic idw #dr starline #unnamed au #starpoint au #starline the platypus #character bio #character info #this will be updated the further into the AU i get.#but i dont want to spoil EVERYTHING yet #even though Ive already spoiled quite a bit #my art #if you have any questions let me know #i'm genuinely upset i can't figure out how to center the post #the pictures being off center is bugging me so much X'D #while everyone’s enjoying super bowl I’m over here cackling like a gremlin #Starline's character had such an emphasis on his need to be recognized by Eggman. Even post-henchman era. I can't not explore that more.#im gonna go hide under the couch now

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yellowdressesandyearning · 6 months

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This is my headcannons( based on book and show) of all the Bridgerton sibling dynamics starting with Anthony’s perspective

Anthony& Benedict- Ben was always Anthony’s best friend. Anthony never knew a life without ben creating chaos beside him. Anthony let’s him party and do his art because it’s the life Anthony never got to have. But at the end of the day he knows Benedict would pick up the pieces if something ever happened to Anthony like it happened to Edmund

Anthony & Colin- Anthony always saw Colin as a little sibling. I firmly believe the first time he parented him was S1 with Marina. Anthony always assumed Colin would follow in his brothers footsteps: go to brothels, have fun until it was time to settle down. So seeing his brother do something stupid maybe made Anthony realize he should of spent more time making sure Colin was behaving properly. He wanted Colin to go out and explore the world and experience life, like he and Benedict, before tying himself to marriage. He wanted Colin to be faithful to his wife and Anthony believed that it would only happen if Colin had fun before marriage. But then Colin redeems himself with showing maturity responsibility with Penelope.

Anthony & Daphne- Daphne was the first sister and Anthony adored her. He knew he would always protect her from any harm. He knew she would do the family proud with a match. She would not be stupid and ruin the family… until Simon showed up. But they always share the connection of setting the standard for their siblings and knowing their place and roles.

Anthony & Eloise- Anthony admits in El’s book he had to be her dad when he wanted to be her brother. He had to parent her when she got into mischief. But he knew she had Daphne to lead her and show her the way. He also knew Eloise was smart enough to never get herself in trouble… until Phillip. But like he knew, Eloise was smart enough to pick the right person.

Anthony& Francesca- Anthony never worried about franny. After Edmund, she carried her grieve with dignity. She was always well behaved. He had no worries when she went out in the marriage mart and was proud of her choice. When she had loss, Anthony knew she would handle it on her own as she always did.

Anthony & Gregory- Anthony never worried about Gregory when he was younger. Before and after Edmund’s death, he was the baby and always had a maid or sibling coddling him. Benedict and Colin always treated him as a brother and spent time with him. When he got older, Anthony started to put pressure on him to be a intelligent and formal Bridgerton, like Edmund had did to his sons. But Anthony forgot his father showed kindness and warm with this pressure. But after Kate he loosened up and watched Gregory grow into the Bridgerton Anthony always hoped he would be.

Anthony & Hyacinth- Anthony worried about Hyacinth. His mother spent so little time with her compared to the hours a day she spent in the nursery when his other sibling were little. When Anthony got done his duties for the day, he would often spent some time alone with her wondering how he would take care of her as well as his father would. But she grew up slowly and integrated into the siblings. Her and Gregory became best friends like Anthony and Benedict were.

#bridgerton #anthony bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #colin bridgerton #etc #sibling dynamics

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importantchaosgiver · 5 months

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The Final Mystery Ends

Summary: After a long month, (Y/N) is back on her feet. But has to start a new job due to her excessive injury. A place nearby was missing a career's counselor so, she thought she'd take it. But what happened at Freddy's still had her mind going. So, against her better judgment, she goes back....

Warnings: None

******

No one's POV

(Y/N) sighed, looking at her new leg as she woke up early. Routine was hard to break even if she was no longer a cop. She had spent most of her recovery period getting used to a prosthetic leg, but she was more intelligent than she looked. She was a talented mechanic and engineer. One that also studied robotics. So, when she was discharged, she made a animatronic replacement. It worked, although it did have some side affects. Such as, she had a slight limp. But it all worked well. Mike and Abby were getting along well. Vanessa was practically in love with Mike at this point and (Y/N) often teased them with Abby. But due to her loss of limb, the police force had to let her go, to which she didn't blame them.

She managed to get a job as a careers counselor which, funnily enough, Mike suggested. He said a spot was bound to be free. To (Y/N)'s surprise, there was. Ever since then, everything became slightly...... dull. According to Mike, as they managed to escape, the pizzeria had fallen into ruin. So, no one would be investing anytime soon. There was just something she felt like she had to do. So, she got in her car and drove to the desolate pizzeria.

She got out of her car, looking at the sign, deep in thought. Should she be doing this? What if the animatronics were still active? (Y/N) took in a deep breath, grabbing a taser and flashlight before going in through a side entrance that hadn't been blocked by rubble. She turned her flashlight on and began walking, being mindful of debris from the caved in ceilings and exposed wiring. Her footsteps were uneven due to her leg. It made a clang for her animatronic replacement and a light clack with her shoe. She tried to be subtle about her movements, but she wasn't doing a good job when the floor was made out of concrete or tile. (Y/N) checked the security office and found nothing. The screens weren't active, just a blank display. (Y/N) continued on. She felt her heartbeat increase, her breathing slightly heavier, her adrenaline began pumping as she came to the main party room. Bits of the ceiling and lights were scattered around. This was where it happened. The animatronics weren't on the stage which didn't help (Y/N). They could be anywhere. Just then, she heard a noise. It sounded like a thud...... a knock. It came from the spare parts room. (Y/N) felt goosebumps rise on her arms as she slowly made her way there. The door was locked. She used a hairpin to unlock it. When she shone her flashlight in though, she regretted her choice immediately. There he was.....

William Afton...

His springlocked body against a shelf, unmoving. But (Y/N) dared not get close. She looked at it, shining her flashlight at him. Was he truly dead? His corpse stuck inside a machine. "You came back. How brave of you," the distorted voice grunted out, making her flinch. Afton raised his head to look at her. "Says you, lying on the floor. A spirit inhabiting a suit," (Y/N) shot back, trying to sound brave. He chuckled, the mechanical voice making him sound even more creepy. "I always come back, my dear. Not even death can stop that," he said, his glowing eyes looking at her. Then down to her legs. "Survived then," he added.

(Y/N) lifted the trouser leg to show the metal. "Yes, no thanks to you," she huffed out. She took a step closer. "Seems like karma came back to bite with vengeance," she sneered. "Don't be so smug. I'll have my revenge," he spat. (Y/N) took out her taser. "I don't see that happening anytime soon. You're a dead man, nothing more than a spirit. A cruel soul. There's a special place in Hell for people like you. I hope you get there soon. But, for now, I'm satisfied with this. Enjoy your damnation, Afton. Now you know what you put those children through," she spat and left the room before leaving the pizzeria entirely. She could only hope no one else would know Afton's rage. She could only hope no one would ever come back to Freddy Fazbears Pizzeria. But...... that was only hope......

*****

Okay, so not a backstory. I tried thinking of one but couldn't quite make it work. This is the end of this little series, but I am putting up a masterlist of this. Thanks for all the likes on previous works. :)

#abby schmidt #fnaf bonnie #fnaf chica #fnaf freddy #fnaf movie #mike schmidt #steve raglan #fnaf #fnaf foxy #fnaf vanessa #steve raglan x reader #william afton x reader

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sheena-yuet · 8 months

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I heard you wanted prompts for G!Wilbur, I'm happy to oblige, sorry for any grammatical mistakes.

Wilbur isn't human he's never been human.

Hes been simply using a disquise so he can study the earthlings, unfortunately he's became to much of a hit on earth and eventually made friends with people who also have all eyes on them.

So he has to leave the bracelet that gives him the illusion of a human and the very small height of one on, passed it recommend usage.

He knows one day it will bite him is the butt but he didn't realise that day would be today.

While joining in with a vlog for Tommy's channel, him philza and Tommy explore the woods looking for supposed cryptids.

Wilbur's braclet begins to beep alerting him that a new battery is needed, but Wilbur doesn't have a new battery as the usage was only supposed to be bare minimum and not excessive.

He can't let them discovery what he is, not because it will harm him or his kind but he fears they will fear him see him as a monster.

So without thinking, which is surprising as his kind is known for thinking maybe earth's customs were rubbing of on him more then he thought.

He made his way further into the woods, no suprise that Philza and Tommy followed worriedly.

Tommy can clearly see Wilbur pale face and his behaviour suggest somethings wrong so he calls of the vlog, Wilbur follows them back due to him not having a choice in the matter as every time he stopped Tommy stopped and retreated back to him, he was rather clinging.

Wilbur believed he had more time unfortunately he didn't his bracelet made a louder sound now loud enough for humans ears, philza and Tommy stand at the exit of the large forest, lookin around until their eyes land on Wilbur as they determine the strange sound is coming from him.

Wilbur's body seers with pain as he body begins to grow back to its original height due to the rapid change, he stumbles backwards squashing the trees behind him, he grabs his head breifly, before quickly staring down making sure he didn't hurt his friends, he is practically sitting up on a bunch of large trees that would have been hundreds of years old as if they were blades of grass.

He focus his eyes to see the two small figures, Tommy face read confusion but mixed with amazement and Phil's he never wished to see that look on him especially directed at him, fear and protectiveness of Tommy,he viewed Wilbur as a threat and he understood why.

(Wilbur's species is actually the third smallest species in the galaxy where as earth is the first, Wilbur speices where born with super seeing and hearing and they are considered one of the most intelligent speices in the galaxies, Wilbur was hired like a scientist to see if humans are qualified to be consider sentient enough on their standards not humans, and Wilburs originally conclusion based on intelligence they weren't, but his report is still on going.)

Did I make up all this on the spot in 10 min because you wanted something, Yes I did.

Feel free to change or use however you want to or not use it, it doesn't matter.

ANOTHER STUNNING STORY WRITTEN BY @apersonstories

ohhhh I LOVE the scene where the tiny watching their giant friend slowly showing their true identity in the most awkward way.

Like the giant may lost their best frd because of this .Imagine the tiny's view, its quite terrify. Seeing ur frd growing into a 'monster' Like the whole moment is SO INTENSE . Anddddd i always love that when the giant shifted back to their original size, they may have a growing-pain or headache orrr they feel super dizzy. So they can't really notice a lot of things around them. But still they are trying their best not to hurt their tiny friend :'00000

#giant/tiny #g/t #mcyt gt #mcyt g/t #giant tiny #giant and tiny #inbox response #g/t community #gt #g!wilbur #t!tommy #t!phiza

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inbarfink · 9 months

Text

Second part of my AT Roleswap AUs, after the Bonnieverse, it’s the Marcyverse! Finn-Marceline IK-Peebles roleswap!

Details under the cut:

Marcy Abadeer: The young half-human daughter of the Lord of the Nightosphere. Marceline "Marcy" Abadeer ended up stranded in Ooo. The idea of being a “hero” started as a goof, something she thought would annoy off her dad if he heard about it. But she ended up having to commit to it after the nerdy wizard she rescued turned out to be the King of the Ice Kingdom - who told basically everyone that there’s a new hero in town and is also generally like really nice to her. And eventually she became genuinely invented in helping people. Generally a very laid back person with a bit of a jerk streak she grows out of, prefers to use axes in battle. Coming back to the Nightosphere starts as her first priority, but it keeps shifting up and down as a priority depending on her current emotional state - eventually, when faced with the choice to leave Ooo forever, she decides to stay.

Hambo the Doll: Marcy’s favorite childhood toy, granted freaky magic powers (which basically match with Marceline's powers in the mainverse) and sapience by the dark magics of the Nightosphere to give Marcy a protector and companion. Her only real friend before coming to Ooo. A bit of a nervous stick-in-the-mud to serve as a foil to Marcy’s chill, rebellious streak. And seeing how he is literally a mess of demonic energy dressed in the body of an adorable doll, he can be kinda Evil at times. But he is a good, loyal friend to Marceline.

King Simon of the Ice Kingdom: Immortal founder and ruler of the Ice Kingdom, a winter wonderland of sapient penguins and friendly ice monsters. King Simon is an intelligent, fatherly man with a talent with both magic and science. Despite his long life and many experiences, he has not lost his optimistic and idealized view of the world. However, he is not handling the grief of losing his wife, Queen Betty, very well at all. Nor does he have much success in the dating scene. Sometimes those antics are just goofy and embarrassing in a middle-aged-single-dad sort of way. Sometimes the combination of bad luck, social awkwardness and the fact that most potential romantic interests in Simon’s age group are terrifying ancient monsters means his bad dates can snowball into actual threats to himself or even the whole Ice Kingdom - necessitating a rescue from Marcy or some other hero.

Bubblegum Princess: A semi-solid mass of sapient gum-blob who rules over a vast sugary wasteland known as the Candy Kingdom. Once a pre-War human scientist, Bonnibel Rosazucker was infected by a mysterious gum-blob creature and was slowly transformed into a candy monster. Now she is a sugary mad scientist interested mostly creating various freaky candy monsters, Bubblegum Princess has been also known to kidnap wizards in order to dissect them in her mad experiments (for SCIENCE and also out of a powerful obsessive hatred for Wizards in general) with King Simon being an especially favorite target (he secretly thinks she's kinda attractive in a weird way, although he'd never admit to that sober.)

Finn the Cyborg Lord: The once-human son of Dr. Minerva Martens, an old colleague of Bonnibel Rosazucker. Finn was put in her care after his mother’s apparent death - only surviving the post-Mushroom War landscape thanks to Bonnibel's cybernetic modifications. After parting ways with her, he tried to make a name for himself as a hero of the wasteland - but as the years went by, he became more and more jaded with heroism. He became known as a great warrior - but not necessarily the most principled one. In the Ice Kingdom, he is mostly known as the bothersome prankster King Simon is always demanding will get off his lawn. Marcy being around and doing good kinda gave him a new, more optimistic lease on life and he’s been getting back to adventuring and actual heroics. After all the various cybernetic mods Bonnibel and his overprotective A.I mom and various others gave him so he could survive a 1000 years in Ooo, basically the only human organic part oh him is (most of) his brain

#ADVENTURE TIME #ATIMERS #ADVENTURE TIME ART #ADVENTURE TIME AU #PRINCESS BUBBLEGUM #BONNIBEL BUBBLEGUM #LADY RAINICORN #FINN THE HUMAN #FINN MERTENS #MARCELINE #MARCELINE THE VAMPIRE QUEEN #ADVENTURE TIME FANART #MARCELINE ABADEER #SIMON PETRIKOV #ICE KING #THE ICE KING #AT Roleswaps

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give-soup-please · 1 year

Text

Recontextualizing the apartment ending with the figley ending (theory, long post)

I just had a brainwave. So, I always hated the apartment ending because it felt like such an unkind callout to the player about wasting time playing video games and using escapism while the real world waits for us outside. But what if we've been misinterpreting this ending? What if this ending isn't about us, and isn't about Stanley, it's been about the narrator the whole time?

Choice dialogue relevant to what I'm going to talk about is below:

"So, he went further. He imagined that he came to two open doors and that he could go through either. At last! Choice!

As he wandered through this fantasy world, he began to fill it with many possible paths and destinations.

It was such a wonderful fantasy, and so in his head he relived it again. And then again, and again, over and over, wishing beyond hope that it would never end, that he might always feel this free.

In reality, all he's doing is pushing the same buttons he always has, nothing has changed. The longer he spends here, the more invested he gets, the more he forgets which life is the real one.

And I'm trying to tell him this, that in this world, he can never be anything but an observer, that as long as he remains here, he's slowly killing himself. But he won't listen to me. He won't stop!"

Like I said, this feels like a horrible call out towards us players for doing what we do best- playing. But what if... this isn't about us, or Stanley? What if it's about the narrator?

Because at the end of the figurine ending, the narrator talks about why he created Stanley. He talks about wanting someone to make choices for him. Choice dialogue for that is below as well:

"Yes, I'm remembering something now. I remember before this whole story got started. Back then, I was... I was different; I used to make big decisions, I was passionate! I was sceptical! I weighed each decision with profound thoughtfulness. And then, somewhere along the way, I stopped making decisions.

I became lazy. And I came up with—well—I came up with a character named Stanley, to do my thinking for me.

He would make the decisions, he would decide which way to go, I would cheer him on as he collected figurines for no reason."

He's not calling us out for using escapism, and he's not calling Stanley out for being part of his game. He's calling himself out for being unable to stop using a proxy for making his own decisions.

The apartment ending has nothing to do with us at all. There's some part of the narrator's mind that knows what he's doing is unhealthy. The rational, skeptical, intelligent part of him knows that this is wrong, that he shouldn't be caught in this loop. He's upset at himself for being unable to stop doing what he's doing. And if people take a look at escapism behavior and cycles of addiction, there's some additional tragedy to the ending.

"You see? Can he just not hear me? How can I tell him in a way that he'll understand, that every second he remains here, he's electing to kill himself?

How can I get him to see what I see? How can I make him look at himself?

I suppose I can't, not in the way I want him to.

Perhaps... well, maybe this time he'll see. Maybe this time.

And I tried again. And Stanley pushed a button. And I tried again. And Stanley pushed a button. And I tri-"

Holy hell. He's genuinely angry at himself for this behavior. Unable to leave the parable, unable to break free, unable to stop using Stanley as a crutch. He's not talking about Stanley, Stanley's the fiction. He's been talking about himself the whole time.

I can't help but feel that the figley ending recontextualizes some of the other endings, especially this one.

What do you think?

#tsp #the stanley parable #narrator #theory #does this post make sense? i sure hope it does!#brainrot hits different when youre in the shower i guess

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monochromepalette · 1 year

Note

Hello! This is my first time requesting this but could I ask for Silver trying to ask Trein’s permission to court/date male! reader who is his son?

Hello anony! 💖 You have no idea how honored I feel to be someone's first requester... There's so many writers out there and you CHOSE ME? My heart can't take it —— 😭😭😭 This one-shot has been an interesting one to write for sure~!

---

M!Reader x Silver

---

"Professor Trein, may I speak to you?" A voice asked with a plop down the seat. The bell hadn't rung not too long ago and many of the students had already left to their dorms. Trein's eyes wandered up to see Silver from across the table, his arms rested neatly on his lap.

"Speak of?" Trein asked as he closed his binder full of tests and quizzes from the day before. If it was about the results of yesterday, he had not gotten to it yet. He barely just finished his second period's paperworks.

"It's..." Silver's eyes darted to the ground and back up to Trein. "About a very important matter."

"Hm..." Trein relaxed back into his chair as he stared at Silver. "Go on. Ask it."

Silver started out slowly, careful to choose which words he was going to use. "I know recently you've been very watchful of what's been going on between [ Name ] and me... I know the feeling. People do that to Malleus when I'm walking with him down the hallways—I can feel their eyes following us with every move." Silver eased himself as he continued, "I know you're very aware of our situation, so I just wanted to ask you... Would it be okay if I ask [ Name ] on a date to the ball that's happening at Royal Sword Academy? I know he would enjoy it very much."

Somehow, Trein's perpetual scowl was... even more scowlier than before. Trein was expecting the question some time soon, yet, it was so sudden. He'd seen from the front of the class how much closer the two of you sat together at the desks, how much he made you smile more than the other boys, and how you became a little—just slightly—more touchy with Silver. If there were two, beneficial things coming out of this entire situation, it was that Silver was staying up in class and passing quizzes with mostly A's; while you, (already having great grades because you were his son) were in higher spirits—so much more happier than ever before.

Trein had to think about his answer for a while. What in particular did you like about Silver? Surely, there were better second-year options who were excellent choices. Such as Riddle... Azul... Jamil... Scratch that. They were all housewardens and vice-housewardens who all overblotted. He didn't need you to be in such close quarters with those three, short-tempered but intelligent men.

But Silver... Silver was... gentle—albiet an air-head. He proved to be loyal and quite protective. His swinging sword was always at his side and his overbearingness exuded even more whenever he was with Malleus.

But Trein also saw that vigilance when Silver was with you as well, always standing nearby, his hand at his handle at all times ready to strike any incoming enemies. Trein remembered how you mentioned that Silver was in the Equestrian Club, so he had to have some sort of athleticism (which was a good thing, otherwise, how could he protect anyone?) Perhaps... Silver really was a good match for you.

Trein knew more than anyone how long you've been waiting to step inside Royal Sword Academy and to be invited to one of their royal balls—especially with the boy he was always around with. As your father, he always wanted you to live the life you wanted as long as you were doing good in school.

Trein could see the earnest look in Silver's eyes, jaws clenched in anticipation as he rose up from his chair. There was no way Silver was going to take "no" as an answer.

Trein raised a brow. There was only one more concern left. "Will he ever be above Malleus' protection?"

As soon as that question left Trein's mouth, Silver suddenly felt drowned in uncertainty. It seemed like someone was keeping his head underwater, his head filled with nothing but hurricanes of confusion swirling his thoughts in a loop. "I..." Silver was at a loss of words. He was in absolute shock. He surely loved [ Name ] a whole lot, but if the time came to it (God forbid) he wasn't so sure who he could protect first. If only there were two of him...

Trein's glower softened. His mouth slowly formed into a slight, benign smile. "I'm only giving you a hard time. [ Name ] knows very well how to protect himself. He is my son, after all."

Silver hadn't anticipated Trein's smile. His head was trying to formulate these strange circumstances going on right now. Trein got up from his seat and proceeded to leave the room. "Wait, Professor Trein! So am I granted permission to—"

Trein raised his right hand up as if to stop Silver from running into him. "Permission granted. As long as you can keep him safe." The last sentence almost sounded like a joke.

"I-It's my honor, sir!" Silver stumbled forward, his left feet tripping along his chair, as he tried to catch up to Trein. He felt his heart thump in excitement. "A p-promise, even!"

---

[Oh no, now I want to write a sequel one-shot about M!Reader and Malleus being in danger at two different places and Silver can only save one———😭😭😭]

#twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #silver x reader #silver twst #m!reader

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