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#he’s softer than I am!!!! but he’s fucking golden
ametrictonofaudacity · 9 months
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Hi! I love your blog so much. I was hoping you could write what yandere!batfam would do if the reader just barricaded themselves in a room and does everything to make sure batfam can't get in. I hope you have a great day and drink plenty of water.
Thank you! I’m glad you enjoy my blog, and I am absolutely going to do a snippet for this!
Warnings: (implied) hunger striking, captivity, themes of obsession, violence, and threats of restraints as well as physically restraining someone.
“You know that’s only going to hold us out for so long, right?”
It’s Jason. You don’t respond, keeping silent. It was just another trick, you knew, to get you to open the door.
Not that they only needed a door. You’d shoved the massive bookcase in front of the window, shoving your bed in front of it. Your desk, and the final bookshelf, had gone to block the door.
You had no doubt it wouldn’t hold them long. It just had to hold them long enough.
“Come on, kid, think about this. Open the door, and I’ll try and talk the old man down from taking the damn door off it’s hinges.”
You hiss softly in alarm, because you had thought Bruce was gone. You thought he was away, in Nepal, in a business trip. Otherwise there was no possible way you would have been able to pull this off, you knew.
“You didn’t know the old man was back? He got a call from Dickiebird, he’s on his way to the Manor as we speak, kid. You really want him to start breaking down the door? He will, you know it.”
You keep quiet, fingers buried in the soft carpet, and try to focus. Try to breath. Bruce being here changed things. Dick being here changed things.
“Who’s all in the Manor?”
You manage to croak out, and Jason pauses.
“Not sure I should be telling you that, kid. I’ll cut you a deal, though. Tell me why you’re pulling out the anti-siege tactics and I’ll tell you some names.”
You shake your head, before you remember that Jason couldn’t see you. That was fine.
“No deal.”
You weren’t going to be explaining to them that you felt suffocated, more often than not. That they were always there, constantly hovering, a hand on your shoulder or an arm linked around yours. That you had so little agency that you felt you were going insane, on a good day.
“Then guess you’re gonna be in the dark. Head up, though. Golden Boy’s pissed.”
That manages to rip the air from your lungs. Dick was scary as hell when he got angry, scary enough that out of all your siblings captors, his anger would immediately send you into a near frenzy. He got fucking mean when he was mad, and he knew how to use his words to cut to the bone.
“What and you aren’t?” You taunt, frantically trying to stop the way your heart thunders in your ears and the way your blood pulses in your veins.
“Oh no, I’m pissed. Pissed enough I’m keeping this door between the two of us, because I don’t want to traumatize ya.” It’s- it’s almost cheerful, the way he says it, so matter of fact, but the words are phrased in a way that you know they’re true. Every syllable is tense and clipped, not quite grit out and hidden behind the easygoing bluster.
“Yeah, well, I’m also pretty into keeping the door between us.” You snap, because you are impulsive and dumb and holy shit you did not think this through.
You hear the faintest sound from Jason, and when he speaks again, his voice is sharp, sharp enough you cringe back and try not to panic.
“I fucking bet, you brat. What exactly are you planning to get out of this, huh? Planning on going on a hunger strike or something?”
The door rattles in the frame, and you yelp, alarmed.
A sigh, and when Jason speaks again, it’s softer. Cajoling.
“Listen. Bruce and Golden Boy are gonna be here soon. We can do this two ways. You either open the door, apologize to me for being an absolute menace and driving me insane, or it gets busted down, and you leave the room anyways, except with a lot more yelling and a lot higher chance of Bruce not letting you out of his sight for months. Literally.”
You bite your lip, hands fisted in the rug.
“I’m not opening the door, Jason.”
“Fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
You hear his footsteps leave. For a second, you take a moment to breathe, air whistling between your teeth, the AC loud in the quiet room.
“Open the door.”
You jump, nearly leaping a foot in the air, and the startled sound dies in your chest, eyes wide.
Bruce. Bruce was on the other side of the door, right now, and he was pissed. Pissed enough that his voice had that gravelly, rough quality it got when he was being stern and already mad as hell but trying not to show it.
“No.”
Your voice sounds small, even to you. You try to ignore it.
The door rattles on it’s hinges. It seemed, with a locked door and several heavy oak dressers between you and him, he was determined to move both. It rattles again, this time louder, and you shriek in alarm when the desk creaks. How fucking hard was Bruce hitting it?
“(Y/N), unless you want me to break this door down, open the door.” Bruce sighs after he speaks, and then breathes in, like he was trying to calm himself down.
“I know you’re scared right now. But just open the door and come out, and we can talk about why you did this, okay? I’m sorry I frightened you.”
You feel tears prick at the side of your face, feel the anxiety and the nervousness and the fear. You want to shake your head.
You don’t say anything, and he sighs again.
This time, it’s not just the door that rattles. The desk shudders, straining against the weight thrown against it, and the shelf creaks, then sways.
You’re smart enough to back up and away before it comes crashing down. Not that you don’t doubt Bruce knew you were away from the shelf, or he never would have risked toppling the heavy thing.
When he ducks through the doorway, picking his way over the shattered desk and shelf, you back away, hands trembling. He pauses.
“(Y/N). Why don’t you come over here so we can clean the mess up, and we can talk about this in a bit? Just take a breath, okay? Are you hurt?”
You shake your head. It makes some of the anger drain from his features, that you weren’t hurt, but you don’t get any closer and his lips press into a thin line.
“(Y/N). Come here.”
It’s stern. It reminds you of the same voice he uses every time you try and escape or fight with your siblings. It makes your stomach twist.
Your eyes flick to the door, and Dick, who was standing not far from the door way, sharp blue eyes watching you for any movement.
You make your decision, swallow, and ease forward.
Warm arms wrap around you the second you’re in reach, pressing you against Bruce’s chest, and you feel a bit of the tension in his shoulders unwind, just barely.
“This isn’t happening again, (Y/N). Do you understand me? What if you had gotten hurt, when the shelf came down? What if you had gotten hurt when you were in here and couldn’t say anything?”
Bruce was pissed, and he grips you tightly, tightly enough that you squirm in his hold, which only makes him grip you tighter.
“I wouldn’t have gotten myself hurt! It’s practically an empty room half the time, what could I have hurt myself with?”
God, you hated it when your mouth ran faster than your thoughts.
“That’s not what matters.” Dick cuts in. “The issue is that you could’ve, and we couldn’t have done anything about it!”
He pissed, practically spitting out the words, and you can hear Bruce’s frown.
“Dick, you need to calm down.”
“No! This is the fifth time this month they’ve tried something, you have to do something, Bruce! It’s stressing everyone out!”
You open your mouth to argue, ready to defend yourself because you hadn’t asked for any of this, but Bruce speaks before you can.
“I will.”
And suddenly you are far more preoccupied with trying to prevent Bruce from picking you up, twisting and squirming to get away, but he catches you easily. He presses you against him, this time the action restraining, and lifts, taking your feet off the ground.
The entire trip through the Manor, you are twisting and pushing against him, trying to escape. You nearly get close, once, when he was adjusting his hold and you had snapped your teeth at him, but Dick had lurched froward for a moment and it had startled you so badly that you had frozen, giving him time to readjust.
You’re dumped on a medical cot, and when you see the straps on either side, it nearly takes the both of them to hold you down long enough to get them on. Bruce looks pained the entire time, as you kick and flail, and when they’re both done, your arms are strapped securely enough that yanking on them does nothing.
“Stop. You’re going to hurt yourself.” Bruce frowns, and then sighs, moving the cot. You’re moved with it, and you glare. “This is only temporary until we find a more permanent solution, (Y/N). Until we can trust you not to be a danger to yourself, alright? It won’t last long.”
Dick doesn’t look like he agrees.
You don’t either.
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shinynewboots · 18 days
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Just a Taste (Adam x fem!reader)
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AN: Hello friends! I, like many, have fallen victim to Hazbin Hotel and I am so happy to be here. I could not resist writing about Heaven's favorite misogynist! This was written within 30 minutes in a blur and like my second time writing smut so I hope you enjoy! Probably a bit different of an ending than you would expect but I guarantee Adam has his own religious/morality-based trauma he's got to work through.
1.2k words
Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, light smut, dubious consent, fingering, porn without plot, Adam being a misogynist, not proofread
Part 2
You were a sinner. A sinner sentenced to Hell for petty crimes, but a sinner nonetheless. Since the days of the latest extermination, Hell had found itself in a somewhat of a peace. The angels had been slain and driven off for a while at least and Adam, the First Man and Leader of the exterminators, had been killed (allegedly, it had been by a one-eyed maid with a proclivity for stabbing).
However, you knew this information was not alleged as you had seen Adam since his death. Not many knew he had reanimated into Hell as a sinner, as he had attempted to keep a low profile. You had not seen him in all high angelic glory, but you had imagined he likely looked similar before his untimely demise.
You had found him hidden out in an abandoned building, a crazed look of disbelief in his eye similar to other sinners who had first descended into Hell. There was a denial many sinners held, yourself included, about how you had ended up in this place. What had been your final sin to tip the scales towards damnation?
You had decided to take pity on the unknown sinner at the time and offered for him to stay at your humble apartment. He made his identity known quite soon after meeting. He wasn't what you expected; he was a dick. He was also very broody. Had he been this broody and dickish as an angel?
You could not deny that he was handsome, even as a sinner. His hair was thick and brown, constantly in a state of effortless shag. His eyes were a piercing gold color that betrayed his heavenly roots. The only thing that seemed to have changed were the black horns that protruded from his head.
"This fucking sucks," He muttered. He seemed to be in one of his moods again.
"What is it this time?" You asked, choosing to humor him in his misery.
"Same old shit, Y/N. I can't believe I got stuck with all these motherfuckers stupid enough to get stuck in hell."
"Motherfuckers, huh?" You deadpanned, joining him as he sat on the couch. Adam looked you over and shook his head.
"Except you, you're kind of okay I guess."
"Kind of okay, asshole?"
Adam shrugged.
"You know you don't have to stay here," You offered, anger rising in your throat.
"And go where, Y/N? I stick out like a sore thumb and most overlords are just salivating at the chance to kill me again."
"The Hotel the Princess has, the one that rehabilitates Sinners?"
Adam rolled his eyes. "No fucking way, those bitches are the reason I'm even stuck here in the first place."
You shrugged back at him. "Then it sounds like you better stop complaining."
He narrowed his golden eyes and turned to face you head-on on the couch. "Or what?"
You rolled your eyes and moved to leave the couch. You were stopped by a clawed hand grabbing onto your wrist, pulling you back down into Adam's lap.
"What the fuck," You growled, trying to free yourself from his grip. His hand grew tighter around your wrist while the other grabbed your chin and pulled you closer to him.
He stared at you, his golden eyes aflame with something you could not recognize.
"Might as well get a taste if I'm already in hell," He whispered, covering his mouth with yours. Your eyes widened, the situation taking an unexpected turn. His kiss was soft, softer than you had expected him capable of. It was almost hesitant. As if your lips were a new terrain that he must scout, lest there be dangers in his path. His hand that had held your wrist now found itself tangled in your hair.
You wondered how long it had been since he had kissed someone.
Adam grew confident in the kiss and thus grew more hungry. His eager lips consumed yours and you felt his tongue force its way into her mouth, exploring most tantalizingly. His free hand found its way around your waist, pulling your body close to his. A fire burned in your belly as you felt a soft moan escape your lips.  
Your confidence grew as you snaked an arm around his neck and pulled him closer. He almost grinned into your mouth, his deep breathing utterly intoxicating.
"Fuck," He groaned, biting at your lip with his sharpened canines. You felt blood hit your mouth, which was quickly licked away by Adam, who looked at you as though he were sampling the finest heavenly wines. You could feel wetness seeping from your cunt, thoroughly turned on by the twist in tonight's events.
Adam grabbed your body and pulled him on top of you so that you now straddled him. You could feel his erection through his robes, which seemed to twitch with every movement.
"Nothing to say ,Y/N?" He asked as he licked up the bone of jaw until he managed to reach your ear. He licked at the lobe for a few seconds before deciding to take a bite.
"Fuck," You hissed, the sting of the bite shocking you. He chuckled, the sound deep in your ears. What was happening? How did this even happen? First, he had been his usual asshole self and now this?
You felt yourself involuntarily buck your hips against his straining member, the sensation deliciously hitting you. Adam groaned and moved a hand so that it now rested over the heat of your core. His thumb found your clit through your pants and rubbed teasing circles over the area. You could feel the warm wetness of arousal soaking your pants.
"Adam," You exhaled, your control of the situation non-existent. He froze, pulling back his hands from your body as though he had been burned by fire. He stared at you with wide eyes.
"What in the fuck, bitch?"
"Adam?" You questioned, too stunned to acknowledge the slur. You still straddled him and could feel his cock pulsate against your core. His eyes were alight with rage. Unsure, you quickly jumped off from him.
His face had a mixed emotion of rage and... fear? A sheen of sweat had made its way onto his brow and he looked a bit like a child whose hand had been caught in the cookie jar.
"You tempted me," He let out, his breath quickening. You tilted your head in confusion.
"What? You kissed me," You bit out. The fucking audacity. He seemed to not hear you as he shook his head.
"Every day I stay here, the harder it is to stay on the path," He muttered, rising from the couch in a panic. His wings furled around him like a security blanket.
"Adam what are you talking about?" You asked, louder this time. He seemed to look right through you as he ran his hands through his hair. Hesitantly, you reached out and placed your hand on his wing. He froze, golden eyes looking at your hand.
"Don't fucking touch me." He exclaimed, pulling away from you. He left the room in a panic, his wings wrapping around him tighter as he left. You were soon left alone in your apartment hot, bothered, and wondering what in actual heaven was wrong with Heaven's golden boy.
Worst of all, in spite of all the slurs and rude names, you could not help but pity the fallen angel. However skewed his moral code might have been, he still seemed to have one. Maybe you were just one more thing in a long line of sins that he had committed.
What in the fuck was wrong with you?
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lucijawriteswords · 1 month
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you should do headcanons for arber xhekaj 😩🙏🏻 i am so thirsty for that man it’s ridiculous
but of course!
arber xhekaj | head canons
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summary: musings and ramblings about un habitent certain (c’est juste l’homme plus beau du monde).
warnings: 18+!!! SMUT. little bit of this (hair pulling), little bit of that (thigh riding), some of this (too much talk about hands). but he’s also such a softie, don’t you think? don’t act surprised bc what else would i write about?!!
sweet
- watching the sunlight trickle through the blinds onto his face, normally so terse and serious, but now soft and golden under the sunlight.
- his soft laughs and whispered advice as he tries to teach you some words in czech, or one of his favorite childhood meals.
- the feeling of his finger tips tracing stars on your back, your leg, the palm of your hand.
- soft kisses into even softer hair.
- sitting on the bathroom counter with him standing snugly between your legs, applying a face mask, being so careful not to snag his moustache.
- his heavy body melting into yours after a rough game, feeling his comically large hands pull you closer than close.
- laying on the couch, limbs tangled, working on your ever growing playlist, listening to each others favorite songs and adding them to the playlist fondly titled “us 😚”
- him scooping your half asleep body off of the couch, laundry folding forgotten, to escort you into bed, where he would lay you down so gently and pull the blankets up to your chin- and then the subtle scraping of the laundry basket (all clothes now folded) as he placed it at the foot of the bed before climbing in with you.
spicy
- the way his thigh feels under your clit, hard and wide, his hands on your hips, building you back and forth, a slick sheen forming on his olive skin.
- his deep, hoarse noises as you take him all the way in your mouth, the head of his cock bumping at the back of your throat, hot and hard and him, filling your entire mouth with the silky skin of his cock.
- the way his eyes would flutter, fighting to stay open, as you ground yourself down on him, swirling your hips to spell his name, one letter at a time.
- hard, rough, hungry fucks on the couch or over the counter or in the back of the training room at the rink.
- constellations of hickeys all across your neck and chest, some faded, some still angry and red.
- the delicious stretch of his fingers inside of you, prying you open to make room for his hot tongue.
- the growl of a moan he releases into your cunt when you grip his hair tight- maybe a little too tight- to anchor yourself back to earth as he makes you see galaxy after galaxy.
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wannab-urs · 6 months
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Eat You Whole
Pairing: Dave York x F!Reader
Summary: An interplay between violence and love OR Dave shows up at your door looking half dead. WC: ~1400
Image disclaimer: The header is not meant to represent reader in any physical way. It’s more about the whole idea of dipping your tongue into a blood red fruit that has been cracked wide open. 
Content/Warnings: Love as violence; smidge of love as consumption; technically minor offscreen character death – not described in the slightest; Dave is severely injured and the injuries are described; aggressive kissing, blood, oral m!receiving (facefucking), hair pulling (reader has hair), pain kink, crying, spit/drool, rough sex, dom!dave kinda, no prep for reader, unprotected PIV (do better), creampie, reader and dave hit each other (but like sexually), marking, treatment of injuries. No use of Y/N. 
A/N: I really am blown away by the response to Ouroboros and was very inspired to continue the story due to your lovely comments! Technically can be a standalone. See endnotes for timeline explanation. Thanks to @beskarandblasters, @atinylittlepain, @idolatrybarbie, @theywhowriteandknowthings, and @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for letting me bounce ideas off you and sorry Kel, you got outvoted <3
Dave York Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi
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If you must die, I’ll envy even the earth that wraps your body –Albert Camus
I even wanted to bruise him, so that he would not be able to forget me –Françoise Sagan
You can have my heart if you have the stomach to take it. Kiss me hard enough to invert me –Yves Olade
He’s at the door. You know it’s him though it’s been 9 days since the last. Skin mottled more yellow than purple, torn flesh knitted back together, barely anything left of him on you now. 
He’s a lot worse off than you’d done to him. A bandage haphazardly wrapped around his head, covering his left eye and what you can see of his face swollen and bruised beyond recognition. 
You dance fingertips over his cheek bone where vibrant fuschia and buttercup yellow marr normally golden skin. He flinches away from you. Split lip, swollen, still a shine of deep red in the cut, curling into a snarl. 
You pull him inside by his shirt collar, kick the door shut. You’re furious. Sure hands sliding under his shirt, he grits his teeth as you pull it over his head. Now shaking hands trace the edges of a soaked gauze strip taped to wine stained ribs and he whimpers. Winces and trembles in a way you’ve never been privy to. He’s always taken stinging palms, digging claws, sinking teeth with little more than a growl. He’s never shown you his pain this blatantly before. 
And it terrifies you. His job has always existed as an abstract concept, something that maybe explains his bent toward brutality, but not something you talked about. The battered state of the man in front of you rips whatever wool had covered your eyes away and it is devastating. 
You could lose him. Nearly did. And you’d never have known what happened. This man who is both everything and nothing to you could be swept away with the ocean tide and you’d be left adrift. Wondering. 
You press a kiss to his collarbone. Soft. Maybe softer than you have ever touched him before. Certainly with more care. His breath is shuddering as he wraps his arms around you, cradling you to his chest. You’re afraid to lean into him for fear of breaking him – this man you thought invincible not two minutes ago. 
“Touch me, god damnit,” his voice rough as though he’d been screaming. Maybe he had. 
“I don’t want to hurt you, David.” You say it into his chest. Forehead just barely grazing the skin there. 
“Since when?” He grips you tighter, pulls you into him. His breath leaves his mouth in a huff like you gut punched him, but you feel his cock twitch against you. 
Sick fuck. You unbuckle his belt and stuff your hand down his pants. He’s achingly hard, leaking into his boxers. He fists your hair in both hands and drags your mouth to his. You taste iron as you lick into his mouth, bite down on his already split lip. 
You swallow his groans, you want to swallow him whole so that he can never come so close to leaving you again. Your fingertips dig in between his ribs reclaiming the flesh there. He is yours to tear apart, to put back together, and to dismantle all over again. Yours. 
Your lips drag down sucking your claim into his neck, his shoulder, his chest. You sink to the floor, drag his pants down with you so his cock springs out. You have to have him in your mouth. It’s a desperation bordering on delirium. You take him down to the very root.
Hands still fisted in your hair, he drags you off him only to thrust back in. No care for your need to breathe or the bruises he batters into your soft palate and no care for your teeth clipping his cock. Tears stream down your face unchecked meeting drool spilling from the corners of your lips and settling in the hollow of your throat. 
You think you could come like this, with him taking your throat and your hands wrapped around his thighs egging him on. He jerks you off of him with a guttural, almost primal yell, throwing you to the floor. He drops to his knees in front of your sprawled form.
“Take your clothes off.” Dominant even in such a supplicant pose, even when his features are etched with pain, his shoulders hunched as if to ward it off. You tear your shirt off, shorts and utterly soaked panties quickly following. 
He surges forward, sheathes himself inside you, and oh it hurts. He has torn you open and spilled your guts on the floor. Your wetness does little to ease the feeling of being split open like this. You bring your hands to his face, press your thumbs into his purpling cheek bones in retaliation. 
The snarl he lets out is feral, animal, but he crashes his lips into yours. He snaps his hips into you again and again, your moans and his broken, strangled cries mingling on your tongues. You drive a knee into his ribcage and he screams, rears back and slaps you across the face. You come instantly, writhing beneath him on the floor as your cunt seizes around him. His hips stutter to a stop as he comes deep inside you. He falls into you, covering and filling you completely. 
After an eternity or only a moment he slides off of you, not recoiling in his usual manner. His body still touches yours, legs tangled, his arm across your torso. He must have bled through the bandage on his ribs, your skin smeared red below his arm. 
“What happened to you, Dave?” Now he recoils. Rolls completely away from you and sits up, his back to you. You have to know. It’s burning you up inside. The fear. You crawl to him on your hands and knees. Tentatively, for fear of him running away, you reach out. Let your hand rest on his shoulder. When he doesn’t flinch away you run your fingers up his neck, into his hair, onto the bandage. 
You start to unwind it and he sits, statuesque, facing away. The fabric falls to the floor and he turns to look at you. There’s an empty space where his left eye should be. Crusted blood like smeared mascara below the gaping wound of his eye socket. 
“Fuck.” You whisper it before you can stop yourself. It’s grotesque. Brutalist.  
He jerks his head back around to face the wall, but you grip his chin and pull him back to you. You press the barest kiss to his left brow. “Will this happen again?” He shakes his head minutely. Whatever threat caused this has been dealt with. You feel like you can breathe for the first time since he showed up at your door.
Another gentle kiss. You’ve never been gentle with him or he with you. It puts a crack through your chest, the way his one brown eye clouds with something like longing.
You let go of his face and he drops his head into his hands. You stand and go to your bathroom. You do not stop to take stock of your marked skin in the mirror this time. Instead, you collect gauze, medical tape, bandages, rubbing alcohol, a needle and thread. 
This is not the first time you’ve needed it. Not when the darkest parts of you slither out to meet the darkest parts of Dave and you rend flesh from each other’s bodies. And this is not the first time Dave has shown up with the remnants of a job still on him. 
You kneel between his bent knees, peel the ruined bandage from his skin. You brush your lips down his chest and over the gaping chasm between his ribs.  His breath hitches in his throat. He slips a hand into your hair and pulls your mouth to his. Licks blood you for once did not draw yourself off your lips. No teeth clacking, biting, tearing – soft and plush lips pressed firm over yours. 
You clean the blood from his wounds. Rewrap his eye. Stitch the skin of his ribs while he grinds his teeth, a whimper falling out from behind closed lips. Another press of lips over new gauze.
When you’re finished you stand and tug his hair til he stands too. You kiss him softly before crossing the room and crawling into bed. 
He looks up at the ceiling and takes two deep breaths, taps his fingers on his thigh, and then he joins you. 
–------
Timeline notes: I’ve done some timeline fuckery. In Ouroboros, Robert has already loaded up Carol and the kids and taken them off to some safe house a few months before. Dave meets reader after that. This installment takes place after what is his SPOILER [Death Scene] in the movie, but he wins the fight. Barely. Robert meets the same fate that Dave did in the movie. 
Tagging people who seemed to like the first one! 
@pr0ximamidnight @gasolinerainbowpuddles @bonezone44 @catchallfangirl @heareball @cool-iguana @youmeand5bucks @morallyinept @janaispunk @ireallyreallylikeyourwriting @sin-djarin @toxicanonymity @rootytootyvoodooty @blackfemalenerd @axshadows @heavennumber2 @pedrostories
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louissolovely · 7 months
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My Mess.
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Jeremiah x reader one-shot
Warnings ˊ˗ just pure fluff and slight angst, not proofread at all.. also my first time writing stuff like this
Preview ˊ˗ you hate that you have to question your relationship with Jere but you want to make sure he’s happy with you because you know you can be a mess sometimes. ♡
You were twisting and turning non stop, thinking after everything that happened you would be burnt out but thinking about what happened only made the air in your room hotter and the undoable knot in your stomach tighten. You finally decided to be still, making you feel like you were sinking into the thick mattress. Feeling frustrated by the unbearable warmth laying on your skin. You sat up with your back slightly touching the wooden backboard making you flinch by the sudden touch of the coldness pressing on your skin. You were trying to push your weight off the bed but instead you sat there alone with your uncomfortable thoughts as the memories from only hours ago washed over you. You felt like a dick. You hated the fact that you made the one person you loved out of your whole fucked up life uncomfortable. You felt like bashing your head into the closet frame of glass just to get the thoughts out of your head, hoping to give you brain damage and make you forget everything. Your selfishness caused everyone to have a bad night because you were to dumb enough to not know when you take things too far. And you hated yourself more that you couldn’t apologize. Your eyes started to burn as you saw them start to glisten. It felt like there was an anchor in your stomach keeping you seated on your bed and not on the way to apologize to your love Jeremiah. Your head whipped towards the door as you hear a click from the handle. The door was slowly creaking open as you got a glimpse of golden curly hair. You heart sank and all you could do was stand there. Jeremiah peaked his head through to see where you were only to find you sitting against your headboard looking miserable. Jere had a sympathetic look on his face as he closed the door behind him and walked towards you slowly. You knew what he was here for. But you also didn’t know anything at all, you were scared of the thought about Jeremiah not loving you anymore and letting you go. You didn’t want him to leave you, but to be fair you deserved this and it was your fault. “Hey baby”, he spoke in a softer and quieter tone which surprised you. He climbed on you bed next to you resting his head on his elbow looking up at you with those nothing but perfect eyes. “Hi..”, you said even more quietly. He smiled wider at you “are you okay? I’m sorry I couldn’t take you home I was-“ “Jere can I ask you something?”, you interrupted. His eyes widened slightly “of course..anything” you opened your mouth to speak but nothing came out, you looked down at my intertwined hands and looked back into Jeremiah’s eyes wich only broke you more. Jeremiah has seen me through my worst and unbearable times, so why was it so hard for you to cry in front of him. The anticipation and hesitation only made you choke, and then you broke down. “Am I too much?” You could only choke out. Jere sat up and placed his cold hands on my warm skin on either side of my face. “I could never get enough of you, you’re perfect, you’re smart and pretty.. and the coolest person I ever met, even more than me”, he let a chuckle escape his lips. All you could do was blink and cry while looking at his perfectly sculpted face. “I’m just a mess”, you quietly laughed out. “Your my mess, and I am so in love with you you’ll never be able to make me upset with you” he spoke while smiling. All you did was cry harder. He sighed softly and started pepper kisses onto your cheeks, forehead, and nose and your quivering lips. You hiccuped and sobbed through them. He stared back into your eyes “your my person”.
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Note
I’d kill for maybe a blurb about Steve and Hawkins getting ready to head back to camp for the summer, for the first time as a couple - maybe packing up, the road trip, anything like that!
“Did you pack the bug spray?”
Steve stared at you from across the hood of his car, his expression innocent. “I thought you packed it?”
You sighed, expression crestfallen. “Steve! I asked you, like, eight times yesterday. You said you’d pick it up from the store after work—”
Steve was watching you, head tilted to the side, grinning.
Your eyes narrowed but your lips twitched. “I hate you,” you deadpanned and tried your best to mean it.
“No you don’t,” Steve laughed but you drowned the sound out as you dropped yourself into the passenger seat of Steve’s BMW.
The trunk and the backseat was filled with a mix of both your bags, oversized duffles and hiking rucksacks, your pillow stacked on top of Steve’s, a cooler stuff in the footwell that was crammed with beer and cheap wine, something Steve and Jonathan would have to smuggle into a cabin when it got dark.
Steve slipped in beside you, hands on the wheel and he was still grinning, looking smug. He set you with those eyes, soft and honey coloured in the morning sun. “C’mon now,” he tsked. “This isn’t my first rodeo.”
It wasn’t, or yours for that matter, both of you returning for your fifth summer at camp. But you rolled your eyes anyway. “Yeah, but you never listen to me.”
A lie.
Steve huffed out a laugh, a wide, warm hand on your bare thigh ‘cause the June heat was already intense and shorts at seven am was the only way to work through it. Steve felt hotter than the air outside, but maybe that’s just because his fingers were working upupup—
“I always listen to you,” Steve commented back, his choice growing softer the longer he touched you. You tipped your head back onto the seat to look at him, cheek pressed to the leather, trying not to smile. “You’re just grumpy ‘cause it’s early.”
You wrinkled your nose at him, laughing when he leaned in and kissed it.
“Yeah, it’s fucking early,” you grumbled. “Remind me why we’re leaving now?”
Steve slid on his sunglasses before he pulled the car out of park, one hand on the back of your headrest as he reversed down the drive. “Because,” he explained, “if we get there before Eddie or Robin, we can christen a cabin.”
You laughed, taking in his profile as he drove you both out of town, past the wheat fields and the water tower, the hazy blue skies and sun making him golden.
“You act as if we’ve never done that before.”
Steve shrugged, “it’s a new summer. The numbers roll back to zero, babe.”
“I thought we were behaving this year,” you grinned when Steve took his eyes off the road for just a second, turning to you with an aghast expression.
“Are we fuck behaving,” Steve intoned. His hand found your thigh again, fingers curling around the soft skin there. “C’mon, what’s one more bro—”
“Don’t say kayak, Steve.”
“—ken kayak.” He grinned.
“You’re terrible,” you told him but you were grinning too, cheeks sore with it ‘cause he was so pretty, hair still wild from bed, cheeks flushed from the summer.
The boy shrugged, bashful, like you’d given him a compliment. But you placed your hand on top of his, the one that was still on your leg and you dragged it higher, a slow climb along your thigh until his fingers could disappear under the denim on your shorts. You watched him swallow, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he stared at the road ahead and the car started to slow.
You leaned in, the parking brake pressed against your tummy as you resisted the urge to all but clamber over the console and onto Steve’s lap. “Or,” you started, voice soft and a little deeper than usual. The boy sucked in a breath, ‘cause he knew that tone so well. “We could pull over somewhere quiet.”
You kissed his cheek, grinning at the way his hands tightened on the wheel, knuckles white. Another kiss, below his ear, the edges of your teeth grazing his lobe. He shivered.
“I’d let you sit me on the hood, seeing as the backseat is full. Maybe you could be real nice and bend me over it— Steve!”
The car was jerked to the side of the road, a cloud of orange dust kicked up behind it. The fields were quiet, the main Highway empty and Steve looked desperate as the car rumbled and protested its way down a small dirt track, a forgotten farm road that ended in a thatch of trees.
The boy killed the engine and jumped out, grinning at you as he tapped the hood, waiting.
“We’re barely out of Hawkins!” You called out to him from his open door, incredulous, but Steve looked like Christmas had come in summer and you laughed, a sharp, happy sound. “Jesus Christ, babe.”
Steve rocked on the balls of his feet, impatient. “Don’t do all that,” Steve flung a hand out to gesture to where he’d been sitting, where you were still leaning. “And expect me not to want it fucking immediately.”
You stared at him through the windshield, shaking your head with a smile. “You’re such a boy.” But you took your seatbelt off.
“I’m a man of needs, princess,” he told you, giddy looking as you got out of the car. Long grass brushed your shins and the sun was hot on your shoulders, insects buzzing in the otherwise quiet morning. “And my girl is too fucking hot to be real, so…”
Steve tapped the hood again, brows raised. This wasn’t an argument you were planning on winning.
You gave in.
Twice.
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necroromantics · 2 months
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🧺 — Laundry And Taxes
chapter 14. // (masterlist)
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(AN: SORRY For the lack of updates, life has been very hectic lately and I haven't been too confident in my writing/story-telling skills so I have been slacking fr. I can't say Ill be posting regularly again, but I AM NOT abandoning the fic. L&T will get its ending eventually, thanks for sticking around 🫡 Enjoy)
The afternoon sun beamed down as a crowd of people swerved around the dramatic scene which had been playing out in the midst of the bustling winter market. The girl, who Toby knew as Nina Hopkins, collapsed into Natalie’s arms, nearly sobbing about how much she had missed them.
“It’s so good to see you two are alive!” Nina spoke out, clinging to Natalie’s body, which had tensed up like a nervous cat.
“You’re causing a scene,” Toby muttered lowly, glancing at the people who were giving strange looks as they passed by the teens.
“Let her do her thing, Toby,” Natalie scolded quietly, patting the girl on the back with an awkward fondness.
Toby shuffled in his place uncomfortably, shoving his hands into his sweater pocket as he waited for the girls to be done with their heartfelt reconnection, secretly hoping to himself that Nina wouldn’t have any tears left for him. The boy looked over the sea of people rushing by, and then down, to see a little boy clinging to Nina’s side. He looked to be about 9 years old, with neat brown hair, and he quietly glanced around with a subtle sort of embarrassment.
“Who the fuck are you?” Toby spoke out at the child, catching his attention, and Nina’s, who glared at the older boy as she slapped his arm.
“That’s my little brother, you jerk.”
“Oh, so that's why he looks like that.”
The group of eccentric teens pushed through the market as they exchanged casual conversation, splitting off from the crowd in the snowy streets of the market, and made their way into the Bulldog Tavern. The atmosphere was a relaxed contrast to the midday busyness of the town outside, and there was no one in the empty tavern but the four youths who sat themselves down around a table. The overhead lights draped over the room, a soft golden glow, shining off of the wooden floorings and bottles of alcohol sitting untouched on the shelf behind the bar. It smelt like rye whiskey and firewood, and only the bubblegum-pitched sound of Nina’s voice rang throughout the room.
She explained that she had found herself in the new world with her back pressed against the same bed she had slept in when she was a teenage girl, in mid-October. Confined by the same poster-filled walls she had once torn down, to escape into the arms of a man who didn't care if she lived or died, in another world. When she found herself back in her mother's house, Nina had come to the understanding that even after she ran away, even after all the atrocities she had seen and done, she hadn't lived a life any different from the one she had lived as a 16 year old girl. She still tied her hair back with ribbons, and she still smudged her mascara. She still wanted to find Jeff, and she still wanted to be loved.
The scars that once etched itself out from the corners of her mouth had washed away, alongside the chemical burns that previously littered her body. Nina rubbed her hand over her arm, a melancholic smile painted onto her teenaged face. She looked softer, healthier, than Toby remembered. The girl radiated the same type of glow as rave lights; flashing, headache-inducing.
Nina explained that as soon as she made an ounce of sense of the world she woke up in, she began to obsessively search for answers.
“So what about Jeff?” Toby blurted out, asking the question Natalie dreaded to ask. Nina blinked for a moment, a layer of uncomfortable silence dancing around the bar, then she awkwardly laughed to herself.
“Oh, yeah, I’m totally over him. I did a ton of digging but couldn't find anything on him, so I don't know if he even exists here. It’s whatever.”
“Well that's a relief. We’re all better off without him here anyways,” Toby said as Nina’s painted nails twiddled with the ends of her hair, which had been tied up with a purple ribbon. He crossed his arms over his chest in irritation as Natalie nudged him to shut his mouth, and leaned into the conversation.
“So what's your plan now?”
“Oh my god, I don't even really have a plan. I just had to get away from my mom and stepdad, and crazy enough, I found out where Clocky stayed, so I took Chris and ended up here.”
The little boy sat silently beside his older sister, looking around at the desolate bar, trying not to think too much about the strange things she had been discussing with the two others who were sitting across the round, walnut-wood table. Nina glanced over at her little brother, placing her cheek on the palm of her hand, as Toby leaned over towards Natalie, and whispered to the girl about how she's too easy to find, which earned him another rough elbow into his side.
“I was actually going to ask if we could, like, stay with you guys for a bit? Just until I get a job!” Nina squeezed her hand closed, and anticipation buried itself onto her sun-browned cheeks, and into her bright eyes. She sounded desperate, maybe a bit hopeful, as she pleaded to her two old friends.
“No.” Toby quickly shut down, before being brushed off by the girl next to him.
“You can stay with us, but with a few conditions.”
Natalie crossed her slender arms atop the table, laying down the rules of their stay as the older boy sulked, sinking angrily into his seat. The conditions were that the siblings both had to enroll in school, help around the house, and Nina had to actively look for a job. All of which, to Toby’s dismay, were ones the eccentric girl across from them agreed to with a wide smile on her face.
The February frost mingled on the worn, decaying front porch step of the small farmhouse, and only the sound of ragged sneakers and winter boots stomping off excess snow spread out over the quiet, white winter fields as the four youths made their way inside. Nina held stars of awe in her eyes as she looked out at the vast countryside property, and a girlish sort of excitement as she followed her friends through the dim hallways of the house, only lit by the sun shining through the icy window panes. Chris followed closely behind, he didn't say anything at all, but he took in the chipped gray-blue wallpaper, the lifted old wooden floorings that squeaked under his weight, and the smell of something dead, like cigarette smoke. There was a strange sense that there had been something lively here once, maybe a family, maybe a boy his age who would run through the halls as his mother cooked dinner, or an elderly couple who never wore their rings, waiting for the day the other passed.
The little boy ran his hand along the walls as he wandered behind his older sister, not bothering to listen in to the conversation she held with the two strangers who showed them where the bathroom was, then the kitchen, then the living room. Then, they came to the old art room where Chris and Nina would be sleeping. When the older boy opened the creaky door for them, there was a grand reveal of nothingness. A completely empty space; like a blackhole had swallowed the life out of the room one night, and never spat it back out.
“You’ll have to sleep on the floor for right now, at least until you can afford mattresses,” Toby said, gesturing his hand out at the lack of furniture.
Nina waltzed into her new bedroom, and Chris hesitantly followed after her, uncomfortable. He tugged on her coat to catch the girl's attention, and whispered to her, a horrible confession of sorts.
“I don't wanna live here, Nina. I don’t wanna sleep on the floor.”
The girl had a rich history of sleeping on forest grounds and dirty carpets in the old world; so often, that sleeping on the floor was just another thing she had grown accustomed to, alongside the stench of blood and rot. It was almost more comforting to Nina than the bed she'd woken up in when she came to the new world. She was grateful to have a roof over her head, and told Chris to be as well, ignoring his complaints.
Natalie threw down a couple of pillows onto the floor, and a few blankets she found tucked away in her bedroom closet. The sun outside the window had begun to hide itself behind the winding hills of the farmland, the orange-red skies reflecting off of the glistening snow as the room darkened. The forest trees in the distance stood tall, still, and branched over the warm gleam of the horizon.
“This should be good for tonight. Let me know if you need anything else, alright?” Natalie said with her hands on her hips, looking down at the two guests sitting in their makeshift beds.
“Thanks so much, again, seriously. You're a lifesaver Clocky,” Nina smiled at the tall girl as she curled herself under the blanket, her dark hair sprawled over her shoulders and pillow.
“Just call me Natalie,” she replied as she turned to leave the room, flicking off the lights, leaving only the dim glow of the sunset draping itself on the floor over the pair of siblings, and reflecting from the girl's tired eyes.
“Night, Natalie.”
“G’night, Nina.”
As promised, through the course of the early February days, Nina had enrolled Chris in the small elementary school in town. But instead of finishing her high school education, the girl had focused entirely on getting a full-time job. She would sit for hours at the old library computer, and perfect her resume, before handing it out to every retail store and salon she could find. The winter frost kissed her cheeks as she buried her chilled face into her wooly scarf, mitted hands hugging her body for warmth as she made her way back to the tiny farmhouse, nearly every day.
Eventually, as her friendship with Lady Luck would bring, Nina had found herself working at a clothing store in the smalltown mall. Cursed with the boredom of a 9-5, but thrilled with her first legal paycheck. And the first thing she bought: a pair of new shoes she had kept an eager eye on from the boutique the girl had spent time window-shopping, which instead cursed her with sore feet, and a scolding from Natalie about her poor financial decisions.
Toby tossed a piece of chopped wood into the dying flames of the fireplace, listening to the crackle as the lumber began to be overtaken by the eager fire, and watching as it burned to char. The sparks danced, scorched, in his eyes; the color of pinewood being set ablaze. The boy remained still for a moment, and witnessed, with a sort of hunger that he couldn't quite name. Then, he heard the sound of the front door creaking open, and the sound of little footsteps stomping off snow. Both Nina and Natalie had been kept busy at their jobs that awful season, and sometimes Nina would stay late into the evening, leaving Toby to watch over Chris after the young boy had returned from school.
Chris quietly shuffled into the livingroom, and sat on the couch, reaching for the TV remote, and turning it on. The blare of the television overtook the room with a laugh track from an early-evening sitcom, and Toby looked over at the child who’s gaze was glued to the show. He stared at Chris’s face for a moment, his full cheeks like his sister, neat brown hair, big brown eyes that haven't yet seen half of the world in its tainted glory. Toby turned to look down at the boy’s hands, which settled around the remote mindlessly, and how his legs were too short to touch the floor as they dangled over the edge of the couch. A bright, wide smile crept onto Chris’s face as he exhaled out a repressed laugh at the juvenile joke on TV, followed by another ear-scorching laugh track.
There was a sick sort of feeling gripping the older boy’s chest as he eyed the child next to him with furrowed brow, and he couldn't help his face from scrunching in a sort of disgust, or anger, or guilt. The only thing Toby could think of, was the guttural sobbing of the mother he had witnessed that dead winter night, through the shattered window, watching as she held the body of her child, wailing, pleading to a God they both knew wasn't listening. And when Chris laughed again, at another childish joke on that blaring TV, boyhood resting innocent in his eyes. Toby could only picture him dead.
The older boy quickly stood to his feet, placing a hand over his stomach as a wave of disease and dizziness overtook him. Chris glanced over at Toby with an unassuming concern, but didn't say a word, and watched as the teen stormed out of the livingroom.
Toby had begun to develop an unfortunate habit over the days of avoiding the little boy. He hid in bed to avoid looking at Chris, because he didn't want to look in his eyes and see the terrified, pleading eyes of the children he had to kill before him. He covered his ears, because he didn’t want to hear the soft, quick, tiny footsteps of the boy wandering the halls outside of Toby’s bedroom; unseen, like a ghost, haunting him. And soon thereafter, Toby had begun to make home with the snowy forest landscape outdoors, ignoring his ice-bitten hands, because it was better than facing punishment in child-form.
He laid himself back in the snow, and stared up at the cloudy afternoon skies. Gray and dark, as if there had been a forest fire, and the smoke had spread over the wide heavens. But the woods around the boy remained quiet, only interrupted by the occasional deer running past, or rabbit. And everytime an animal would rustle through the frost, or a twig would snap, Toby would jolt up, heart beating, looking around for the source of the sound, before collapsing back down into his white, cold cradle. He sighed deeply as his heart slowly settled after another twig-snapping scare, and looked up at the dead tree branches towering over him, reaching across the gray skies. The boy felt his eyes grow heavy, and tired, and when he stretched his arms up, he noticed how red his fingers had gotten, nearly blue with chill. Toby let out a groan of irritation at the condition of his hands, and pulled himself to his sore feet, brushing the snow off his sweater as he made his way towards the warmth of the farmhouse.
Toby huffed out hot air into his palms, and rubbed them together before going to open the backdoor, entering into the kitchen. The first thing he saw was the sniffling boy sitting on the floor by the dinner table, and then he saw the blood. Toby didn't quite understand physical pain, but he was taught from a very young age that blood meant injury, and injury meant something bad had happened. Toby looked down at Chris who shied away in shame, rubbing his teary eyes, and turning his bleeding forehead away from the olders gaze. There was a violent sort of feeling that rushed through Toby’s body, a loud irritation, frustration, and his lip twitched.
“Get the fuck up, stop crying,” he shouted out, gesturing the boy to stand up, which he did.
“You hit your head on the table? Are you fucking stupid?” Toby yelled at Chris, who didn't say a word.
For a second, Toby could only look down at the child, and see his 9 year old self looking back up at him. Angry, and so small. And for a second, Toby could only look up, and take a deep breath in, and try not to think of his father. He stood tall across from Chris, who’s gaze remained firm at his feet, and there was no more shouting. Toby’s hand slowly made its way down to the hatchet that sat on the holster of his belt, and gripped the handle for a moment. He stared down at the little boy, half-imagining his younger self who he had killed long ago, alongside many other little boys, because it had to be done, and Toby realized something horrible. Standing over the child, his hand gripping the hatchet handle, the frustration that steamed off his sun-spotted shoulders — he was in control. And even worse, Toby had been in that place many times before, and he made his own decisions, and it haunted him, and now, the ghost stood quiet before him, in the form of a child choking back tears. A child that sort of looked like him.
Toby took a deep breath, inhaling the early evening sun, which had already begun to set, and the musk of the old kitchen. He knelt down, and met Chris’s height, and raised his hand off the hatchet handle, to which the little boy fought against a flinch at the movement.
“Alright,” Toby spoke quietly, “How bad is it?”
Chris sat still on the wooden dining room chair, his feet unable to touch the ground, as he tried not to look at the older boy who shuffled through an old first-aid kit he had found under the bathroom sink. He pulled out peroxide, and a large bandage, and turned to face the boy.
Toby pushed back Chris’s hair from his forehead as he washed the small wound out, holding his head firmly in place as he winced.
“Quit moving, I gotta clean it out,” he muttered as blood gathered on the wet cotton ball he patted gently over the cut. He examined the wound over again, before peeling open the bandage, and placing it onto the boy’s forehead.
“You’ll be fine,” Toby awkwardly reassured as he finished up, avoiding the boy’s uncomfortable glances and turning around to put the supplies away.
“I know,” Chris muttered quietly, “my stepdad's hit me worse.”
Toby quickly stopped, his hands remaining still on the edges of the first-aid kit he had been packing back up. His heart sank deep into his chest, like it was revolted, or stabbed. He looked over at the little boy, who had not only spoken to him for the first time, but had confessed something, like he was on his knees in his bedroom at midnight silently asking God for help. Toby slowly made his way back over towards the child who sat uncomfortable, a bit sad, on the dining room chair.
“Uh, listen, Chris,” Toby stumbled over his words, trying to find something, anything to say. There was something small buried within him that wanted to be heard, something that had been beaten down for so long, that began to crawl, and scratch, and fight its way out of his throat. Toby sat down next to the boy, and there was a subtle, silent ambiance that settled over the two boys, battered and wartorn.
“I’m sorry,” Chris whispered.
“It’s not your fault,” Toby whispered back.
Natalie slipped off her work shoes as she entered the quiet house, darkened by the evening. She listened to the muffled sound of the TV playing cartoons from the livingroom as she shuffled tiredly down the hallway, and into the kitchen. Her overworked fingers dug under her ponytail, and wriggled the hairband off, letting her tangled hair fall on her freckled shoulders. Natalie turned on the squeaky sink faucet, and watched water pour into her cup, filling it nearly to the brim before she turned it off. The girl sighed to herself as she sat exhausted onto the dining table chair, and took a sip of her water. As she placed her cup down onto the table, she raised an eyebrow, and ran her fingers over the once-sharp corners, which had now been sanded down.
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thetarttfuldickhead · 1 month
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Roy reads Dark Heir by C. S. Pacat and is immediately seized by the delicious possibilities of him and Jamie roleplaying as a certain Dark King and his general/consort/queen, golden collar and all. He knows Jamie would be right into it too, but still can’t find it in him to suggest it, because while Roy is absolutely vain enough to be thrilled at the idea of playing the Dark King he’s also vain enough not to want anyone to know that.
(Sad side note, the whole ‘I bring destruction to everyone I love and if they see me for the darkness I truly am they will reject me’ vibe would totally resonate with Roy.)
So Roy, in an heroic effort to be sneaky (which does not come naturally to him at all), tries to dream up ways to get Jamie to read the book and then Jamie can suggest they do a little bit of the old playacting (because if there’s one thing that’s certain in this messy world, it is the fact that Jamie wouldn’t hesitate for a second to claim the role of the prettiest boy in all of existence, the champion, the golden boy, coveted by all).
(Sad side note 2, something something Jamie’s experiences with his father sometimes leading him to think he’s only any good if he’s the best, his abilities far more important than him as a person, him only wanted for the skills he bring… Gooey center in a sharp arsehole coating.)
Roy tries leaving the book out, hoping that Jamie will pick it up. (Jamie does not. Jamie has selfies to snap and penalties to practise and Keeley to take shopping.) Roy calls Ted and tries to convince him to suggest the novel to Jamie. (Ted does not. “Think I might have fumbled it a little with my last book assignment, you know, think I’d rather just let Jamie pick his own reading from now on.”) Roy floats the idea of a team book club where everyone will read Dark Heir. “It’ll be like, bonding and shit.” (Beard reads the book. Beard comes back to Nelson Road and just fixes Roy with that stare of his and says, “No. And if you want something from Jamie, the right way to get it is to talk to him about it.”)
Roy does not take Beard’s advice. In desperation, he starts reading aloud to Jamie, on lazy afternoons spread out on the coach. He doesn’t start with Dark Heir, either, that’d be too obvious, he reads a couple of other books first, and then he pulls out Dark Rise and its sequel, and—
“Hey, do you know what would be really sexy?”
Finally. Roy feels a wave of relieved anticipation sweep over him at Jamie’s interruption. Months and months of desperate yearning and now his hard work will finally be rewarded and—
“We could, like, pretend that I’m the Dark King and I’d get you this really nice collar, I’d make it real gold and everything, and you’d do anything I say. That’s be hot, right?”
Roy freezes. Blinks. Stares at Jamie, because— “Fucking what— ” he sputters. “That’s not— I’m the Dark King, you’re—
And Jamie laughs, bright and triumphant. “I fucking knew it!” he says, eyes dancing as he shakes his head, looking equal parts smug and fond. “You’re not fucking subtle, man.”
His cheeks are heating up, Roy can feel it, but he resists the urge to get up and stalk off, because while Jamie’s clearly giddy with glee, he doesn’t look disgusted or put off or upset. If anything, he looks delighted.
Roy clears his throat. “So… that’s something… you’d be interested in, then?”
Jamie looks up at him through his lashes, his grin morphing into something far softer and more pliant. He shifts, pulling his legs up under him, until he’s almost kneeling on the coach next to Roy. “How do you want me… my King?” he murmurs.
And then, just before Roy can pull him in for a kiss meant to devour, he adds, “Not joking about the collar being gold, though. And maybe mix the rubies up with sapphires, red and blue for Richmond, right? Bet I’d look dead fit in that.”
“Yeah, okay,” Roy agrees, so quickly the words are almost unintelligible.
He’ll get Jamie a golden collar. He’ll get him the whole fucking world.
Bonus: If you (like me) lean RJK, Keeley could join in as the Lady, make it a very messy threesome. Or, I suppose, she could get her turn as the Dark King, have Roy be Visander.
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whaleofatjme1920 · 1 year
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Kinktober Day 6: Bondage
Bondage [Puppeteer X GN!Afab Reader] 
[Warnings: bondage, praise, gentle dom, creampie, MINORS DNI]
[AN: Admittedly I don’t,,, feel that great about this one but man I am so exhausted rn.  804 words <3.]
Reblogs are appreciated!
Kinktober Masterlist
You dare not to move too strongly for fear that the golden threads might cut you. Your legs are pressed hard inwards, knees bent as they bind you together, your arms tightly clenched at your sides rendering you motionless. You were entirely at his mercy and you could tell that he was more than infatuated with it. 
“Look at you, such a pretty little toy with your legs spread wide open for me,” he crooned sweetly as his fingers traced your inner thighs. His other hand was stroking his cock as it pushed against your hole. “You’re gonna take me nice and deep,” he murmured as the head just barely pushed between your lips. He sucked in a sharp breath as he finally pushed into you, his hand pushing against your bound legs. 
You let out a soft moan at the feeling of his thick cock finally splitting you open. “Jonathan,” you whispered through the pleasure, wanting so badly to squeeze your legs around his waist. It was futile, the golden threads that laced across your held strong. With a glance of his equally golden eyes, they tightened ever so slightly as if to remind you of your place. 
Jonathan looked absolutely in lust with you at that moment. The way that the soft, sunshiny light pooled over your skin and draped over it made him grin. That was his work, his threads that wound around you and bound you so tightly. With a flick of his index finger, the ties around your chest loosened your arms. He groaned deeply as he bottomed out inside of you. “Don’t touch me, pet,” he warned. “Put your hands over your head, wrists facing me.” 
You struggled to think straight as his girthy cock throbbed inside of you, his balls pressed warmly against your ass. You wanted him so badly to fill you up in the way that only he could. With a soft squeal, you did as he asked. Your eyes widened with joy as the golden threads snaked around your chest to cup around your nipples and under your arms. With your hands held high above your head, he conjured more threads to loop around your wrists and bind them tightly. Heat rose to your cheeks as you met his gaze. 
“Good, good toy,” he moaned softly as he began to thrust into you. His hands rested on both sides of you as he began to rut in. Jonathan didn’t seem like he was in the mood for taking it slow and teasing you as he normally did. He basked in the soft glow of his threads around your body, beautifully rendering you helpless and at the mercy of his touch. 
The threads, thin in some places, knotted and thick in others, pressed deep into your skin as he rut into you. Your hole stretched to accommodate him. Arousal gushed between your legs and your moans filled the air. Your muscles ached as you desired to press around him and hold him even harder against you but the restraints held up. 
Jonathan mumbled against your flesh, words of love and something softer. He groaned about how beautiful you were in the golden light and just how heavenly your cunt felt squeezing his cock. “I want to cum inside you,” he panted. “I want to fill you up until you can’t take anymore.” 
Your eyes rolled upwards as your chest heaved. You could feel the pressure of the threads as you gasped for air. “O-Oh fuck,” you cried out. “I’m gonna-” you cut yourself off with a loud moan, back arching for him. It had only been a few minutes since he had deliciously split you open but the anticipation of wanting him had pushed you over the edge. White hot pleasure spread throughout your body as you came and clenched his cock, eagerly and greedily pulling him in deeper despite the restraints keeping you in your place. Your eyes rolled upwards and you cried out for him. 
Jonathan hissed in euphoria as he pressed hard against you. He hilted and squeezed his eyes shut, hands gripping the sheets while he hunched over you. His cock twitched as he thickly rut into you and filled you with his cum, rope after rope, the warmth spilled inside of you until it began to leak back out. He chuckled deeply as he thrusted his hips back and forth, fucking his seed deep into you. “Don’t relax just yet, my love,” he gently said as he began to kiss up your body, his lips pressed softly against your heated flesh and along the lines of his threads. “I know you can still take some more.” 
With a playful thrust of his hips, you squeaked. Your body craved him, and you would let yourself devour all he had to give. 
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lyssaterald · 6 days
Text
Take Flight, Part ?: Avoidance
Or, what happens in the aftermath of Belphie's attack and the fallout of broken relationships.
Content Warning: General spoilers for the main story. Minors and ageless accounts do not interact! First person writing, named character, and slight mentions of character’s past and history which are expanded upon as they are important to this chapter. Weirdly, I switch between past and present tense. Sorry, not sorry. Unbeta read.
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I had never been so grateful to be a dragon in my entire life than when Diavolo tried to corner me to "talk" about the incident with Belphie. Every single summons, text, and call from him had been left unanswered. Lucifer's attempts to play peacemaker had resulted in hostility and put a strain on our own relationship. All the presents he sent were returned or charred upon delivery depending on how furious I was that day or hour.
So...
That's why he had waited until I was attending my lectures again, specifically my Politics of Heaven and Hell, the one lecture where none of the brothers or the other exchange students attended with me. So, it was quite a surprise to enter the classroom and find him standing behind the professors desk instead of our usual teacher.
Fucking fantastic.
If I ran away, everyone would get suspicious since we were supposed to be acting like everything was normal. If I didn't run away, though, it gave him the chance he wanted to corner me into "talking." But...my eyes scanned the room...there was an option in case he did. Golden eyes lingered on me as I slowly made my way to the far back row and sat as far away from him as I could.
His lecture was actually a pretty decent one about how the Celestial War had come about in the first place and the changes that it had wrought for the Devildom (aside from the acquisition of their current Avatars). It was easy to ignore his gaze while I scribbled out my notes and listened to his smooth, velvety voice. It made an ache rise in my chest and when the bell rang, I had everything snatched off the desk and was halfway out the door when I heard my name called.
"A moment, Lyssa," he said and I froze.
Several other students giggled and snickered at me. "Ohhh, Lyssa's in trouble," one girl taunted. "You're in for it now."
I spun and snarled at her. The color drained from her face and she dropped her bag, spilling her books and pencil case everywhere. The others fled at the murderous intent they suddenly felt flowing over them. With shaking hands, the girl scrambled to collect her things and bolt as fast as she could, which left me and Diavolo.
Stubbornly, I remained in the threshold of the classroom, clutching the strap of my bag. He caught my look and sighed. "Come inside and close the door, please." There were still too many people around in the halls to simply bolt. He saw me weighing the actions and consequences and waved a hand. The door closed on my back and the lock clicked. "You've been making this harder than it has to be, Lys."
"Don't call me that," I said, striding into the room and depositing my bag onto one of the tables.
"Lys," he said, softer. "Please just give me a chance to talk to you. It's been a week since I last saw you." He left the professors desk and tried to approach me, but I hadn't stopped by my bag and had continued on my path. "How are you?"
When one has wings, every window is a legitimate emergency exit no matter how high up that window is. Diavolo was keeping his approach slow and even, like I was a frightened animal instead of a wounded predator. I leaned a hip against the windowsill and placed a casual hand on the window glass as I looked at him.
"How am I?" I repeated and he hesitated, nodding. "Still beyond livid." The glass fractured under the heat of my fire and then shattered under my weight when I threw myself out it. Diavolo's shout was lost behind me.
Glass sparkled around me in every color as I plummeted. The wind screamed in my face and the ground was rushing up, but with practiced ease, my wings unVeiled and I swooped up and away from the ground at the last second. There were screams of surprise and pain as students scrambled out of my way as I swooped back towards the sky.
I caught a glimpse of Diavolo's stricken expression as I climbed in elevation. If he wanted, he could chase after me and would likely catch me, but there were too many witnesses and our relationship had been a secret. For once, I let the coldness of flight seep into my bones and heart, numbing me against the pain.
-------------
A couple of hours later, Lucifer was waiting for me at HoLs front door with his arms crossed over his chest and a severe frown creasing his lips. He or one of his brothers must have seen me land at the gates. His crimson gaze tracks down my drenched form and then back up.
"You're soaked," he said.
"I went swimming," I returned shortly, trying to skitter around him. His hand flashed out and caught my arm. I stared at his gloved fingers instead of meeting his gaze. "It helps with the pain, Luci. Let it go."
His frown softened with worry as he tugged me around to fully face him. "Pain? You weren't seriously injured when..." he stumbled on that one and I cocked my head at him "...during the incident."
"Incident?" I repeated in a flat voice. "You mean when the other Lyssa was murdered by your psycho of a youngest brother, who then proceeded to get his ass handed to him by me and was then comatose for three days with nightmares so severe he's still unable to come near me. That incident?"
Lucifer winced at my blunt recounting of the night Belphegor escaped his prison. "Yes, that incident," he agreed. "You weren't seriously injured. Did you injure yourself jumping out the window?"
"No." The word is flat and my tone uninviting, but it doesn't deter him. He tries to tug me towards the stairs and I dig my heels in to resist, which is rendered useless when he sleeps me up into his arms. Struggling against him proves ineffective even as I shriek, "Put me down!"
Lucifer just tuts at that and strides past the curious heads that have poked out of their rooms. "Stop being a child. Unlike my idiot brothers, you do not hold a pact with me and, thus, cannot escape me." I snarled at him but ultimately went limp and pressed my head to his shoulder.
The rest of the walk was in silence until we reached his rooms and he set me on my feet. He reached to lock the door and then swore when I bolted for the bathroom. I got five steps before Lucifer yanked me against his chest and hauled me to the bed. We grappled for a few seconds but his larger size and strength allowed him to pin my legs with his and get my wrists in one hand. He used his free hand to grab my face and force me to look at him.
"Why are you being like this?!" he asked with exasperation. "I am not letting you up until you explain, in detail, why you are behaving like a child! We care about you, so let us help you."
It was right then that the pain throbbed through me, making me arch and clench my teeth against the scream. A thousand severed nerves all pulsing at the same time, trying to connect to what was no longer there and yet still there. Black started to creep into my vision and Lucifer's face swam above me. His lips moved in words but all I heard was a loud ringing. Gradually, the pain was pulled through my twelve strongest bonds and dispersed until I could take a breath.
Slowly, I relaxed beneath Lucifer. He released my wrists and I grabbed his jacket while he cupped my face. "What was that? Your magic surged and then receded."
"I am not a child, Lucifer," I gritted out. "And that was a magical backlash from the other Lyssa's death." He was about to get up when I tugged him back to me. "I don't need help, because it's already being taken care of."
His brow furrowed. "How? You bear no new magic or spells of any sort. More so, who? Solomon would have told us and neither Simeon or Luke have the abilities or blessings that would help you in this situation."
"It's a dragon thing," I said, trying to pull at his hands.
"That isn't a good enough explanation, Lys," he told me. I finally pulled back and turned my eyes from his. His next words were a soft plea. "Will you please trust me so that I can help you?"
My hands clench in his jacket so hard my knuckles turn white and I press my forehead into his neck. What he's asking is for me to give up the secrets of my dame's species. Even if most outside my clan scorned me, it was hard to shake a lifetime of loyalty. Not when...
"You watched me die, Lucifer," I said quietly. "Just because I love you doesn't mean that I can tell you everything. It's like you with Diavolo. There are some things we will just never be able to share."
He rolled us onto our sides and pulled me into a tight hug, tucking my head under his chin. "I...I hesitated...and then it was too late. You will never know how grateful I was to see you come charging at my brother," he murmured into my hair. "If this backlash...gets worse, will you allow me to help?"
To that, I can't bring myself to face him. "You can't. Only Mammon, Levi, Asmo, Satan, and Beel could help."
His arms stiffened around me. "You must hold a pact in order for us to help you?"
"It's not a trap, Luci, it's just how my magic is. There's a certain give and take that I can use the pacts for, aside from summoning and orders," I explained carefully. "The backlash can be absorbed and dispersed across my pactmates." Too much information and Lucifer would put together that dragons could form something like a pact with each other as well.
"I see," he said after a long moment and maybe he did.
-------------
The next morning, I am contemplating the food left that Beel didn't eat during his midnight food raid. It's my turn for cooking breakfast, but I'm having a hard time putting something edible out of a dozen Hell jalapenos, milk, sugar, and three Poison Apples. I'm considering just abandoning the other six boys and making something for Luci and myself when a certain scent finally registered.
Earth, smoke, and charcoal. The attic always smelled that way whenever I visited Belphegor. I spin and, sure enough, there he was in the doorway with a cow pillow clutched to his chest.
My body moves reflexively as I hop into the counter in a crouch and flare my wings at him with a warning hiss. Fangs, claws, and a trail of scales finish unVeiling as he gasps and took a quick step back...right onto the hem of his pajamas...and sent himself crashing to the floor.
Beel peers around the doorway at me and gives me a puzzled look as he helps his twin up. "Is that a new cooking technique? Or are you going to try using some of your scales as a new ingredient? That might be tasty."
"Uh," I stammered. So, Belphegor wasn't here to finish me? "No, Beel. Belphegor startled me. I just...uh...
"Well, you startled me. And who does that?" Belphegor demanded, waving a hand at my position.
"The don't sneak up on people you've killed!" I snarled back.
"I didn't kill you! It was a different you!"
"Dragons are interlinked on a conscious and unconscious level, so you killed part of me when you choked the life out of her! I felt it!" I hurled back at a near shriek.
Silence met my statement and I realized how much I had given away. Fuck. Six months spent protecting our secrets and I give away one of the most important ones. Belphegor is staring at me in shock and horror and Beel just looks like he wants to cry...again.
"I-" Belphegor starts.
"As entertaining as this scene is, I would ask you get off the counter, Lyssa," Luci says coolly. "It's hardly sanitary. Beel? What are you and Belphie doing here? You know he isn't supposed to be around Lyssa yet."
I hop down and Veil my draconic features in the same move. Beel is looking between his twin and I and I'm just holding a staring contest with said twin. Suddenly overcome with exhaustion, I turn to the fridge and grab the Poison Apples, the milk, and a knife. I move for the sugar next and yank it down as Beel says, "I just...I just wanted a snack. No one is ever up this early. I...I didn't mean... didn't think anyone..."
"It's fine, Beel," I say and slide around Belphegor, whose nostrils flare as I do so. "We live in the same house. This is bound to happen." Lucifer is still staring at his youngest brother with a mixture of emotions I can't entirely decipher. Holding the items with one arm, I tug at his sleeve with my other hand. "Luci?" Half his attention shifts to me. "We need to get more groceries. I'll order take out for everyone else and head into RAD early if you want to join me?"
Belphegor's eyes are flickering rapidly between us. "That sounds fine, my love," he replies and kisses me on the forehead. "Beel, take more care going forward."
Belphegor looks like a fish when Lucifer takes my hand and gently tugs me after him. Beel and I share a look of misery before he vanishes from my sight.
When we reach his study, he tugs me in and locks the door behind us. Then he leans against me and traps me against between the door and his body. "Please don't be so reckless, my heart," he says, gently stroking my cheek. "I cannot bear to lose you again."
The plea in his voice almost breaks my heart. "I'm sorry, love, I'll do better going forward," I return.
His kiss then is both gentle and desperate, his hands still gentle on my face. When we break apart, I am flushed and he is smirking. "So, what did you manage to scavenge?"
And like that, we slip into our usual morning routine. He works on his paperwork and I chatter about recent things that have happened with his brothers and RAD (we very carefully avoid mention of Diavolo or Barbatos or Belphegor). I skin and slice the apples as he works and apply the sugar and hunt out some cups for the milk. It's not the perfect breakfast, but we're both laughing by the end when he is trying to feed me his last bite of Poison Apples and I'm insisting that he eat it.
When we head to RAD, the others are just waking up and the first round of food has arrived...and Beel has already eaten half of it. The sounds of the normal chaos makes me smile, but that dies when I see Belphegor waiting for us by the entrance.
My smile is stiff as I direct it at him and lean into Lucifer's arm. "Belphegor. You received the first round of food, then."
"Yes...thank you. Beel... appreciates the thought." He lingered in such a way that blocked us from leaving and I felt Luci's muscles shift under my hand. "You two...are...together?"
"Yeah, very." Luci gave me an amused look and then flicked his dark face to his brother as I leaned into his arm. "Have been for a while, now."
"You...never said..."
"So?"
He was speechless with that. "Did you want something, Belphie?" Lucifer asks softly. "You are directly violating the rules that were laid down."
"I'm sorry," he blurts.
I lean sharply into Lucifer and hiss. "Sorry doesn't undo your actions. Go back to Beel, Belphegor." He flees.
Lucifer watches me darkly for a moment before he's tugging me after him. The walk to his RAD office is silent and I release his arm when we get to the grounds but follow after him into his office. He pauses on the threshold and studies me instead of making his way to his desk.
I'm selecting a book when I realize he's broken our pattern. "Will you talk to me about what's going on, Lys?" he asks and the quiet plea in his voice breaks my heart. "Please."
Playing with the book in my hands, I can't look at him. "You heard what I said this morning," I say and lean into him when he puts his arms around my waist.
"That part of you also died," he returns quietly. He plucks the book out of my hand and reshelves it. His hands gently turn me to face him and a finger under my chin tilts my chin up to meet his dark gaze. "Is that what the backlash is from?"
"No." His frown deepens as he studies me and I sigh. "When the other Lyssa was killed, she was coming to find me because we were aware of each other from the second that Barbatos and Diavolo sent me back. Dragons are connected on a conscious and unconscious level by magical bonds that we form with each other across our lifetimes. We can exchange thoughts, feelings, even borrow magic, or even take on wounds for each other. Currently, my family is dealing with the backlash when it flares up and my dame is working to fix the fractured bonds that ripped when the other Lyssa died, because her bonds and mine were tangled and doubled."
Lucifer's face is oddly pale in the light of his office. "And your pacts?"
"Also tangled, but-with the way I keep them tightly shut-none of your brothers felt the punch of her death. I've already gone to each of them and fixed the rips." His shoulders relaxed fractionally.
"Will you explain what you mean by 'felt the punch of her death?'" he asks, stroking gloved fingers through my hair.
"It's the downside of being so interconnected. We feel when one of us dies, when we're injured, unless the bonds are tightly closed. It's like part of our soul gets ripped out of us while getting punched in the gut. It's..." I search his dark gaze for the right words and settle on "...a breathless moment of agony beyond anything that you've ever felt until you lose someone again." His expression fractured, likely thinking of Lilith.
"And pacts are like bonds," he states.
I lift one shoulder and drop it. "For me, they are, except to sense or exchange thoughts. Solomon doesn't seem to be able to do what I can with my pactmates, even with Asmo."
"That's...good to know." He moves us from the bookshelf to the couch and I let him pull me into his lap with an arm looped around his neck. I nuzzle into him, enjoying his scent. Cinnamon and wood smoke had never been so comforting before I met him.
"Who commands who with bonds?" he asks and I know he's fishing for information but I've already gone this far.
"Neither, unless the words used in forming the bonds are very specific. Right now, the only one who can command anything is my dame and she's the ruler of our species." I mull it over for a second and add, "I suppose our Clan Heads could give commands to their clans as well, but my dame is the head of ours, so it could be different."
"And the magical backlash comes from the severing of ties that still technically exist even though you died." It's a question in the form of a statement and I give him an amused look.
"Our magic wasn't sure what to do with two sets of bonds that were identical. It was building to do... something...when she died and took her bonds with her. Me, being the living person where they should have died, was hurt in the backlash of that magic."
"What about identical twins?"
"We have fraternal and identical twins in our dame's brood, but their bonds are all unique. It is the personality and experiences the people have gone through that make them who they are. It doesn't matter if the DNA is the same, they are two separate people who feel different things. As far as I can tell, that Lyssa and I went through the same life and experiences with you lot."
As far as I understood it, Barbatos had merged the two timelines and the memories of everyone else had also merged. It wasn't something that I was going to dwell on without a reason. This Lucifer was the one I had fallen in love with and that was what mattered.
Lucifer questioned me a little further about specifics, but ultimately we had to let the subject drop. He returned to his paperwork and I selected a book that I would read as he worked. The fireplace crackled merrily in the background until Diavolo burst through the door...
...and out the window I went, with their shouts following me.
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It became our strange kind of normal over the next few weeks. Diavolo would try and corner me places after my classes or would try and summon me. His summons would go unanswered and I made sure to mark all the windows in the school and memorize every exit. Lucifer tried to talk to me a few times about my avoiding Diavolo, but it ended with harsh words and an almost fight each time.
Gifts continued to be sent and returned or burnt. The messengers grew wary of me and started refusing to take the gifts to me until it was just one individual that would literally go out of his way to drop the gifts off in a place where I would find them but he didn't have to interact with me.
Slowly, things returned to normal with the brothers and more and more they would find me in Lucifer's bed or study with him. Sometimes my pactmates would spend an evening with us, but more often they would steal me for their schemes and antics.
Beel and Belphegor kept their distance but even they began to integrate themselves into my life. I couldn't have Beel without Belphegor and I wanted Beel to be a part of my life. Beel and I started with cooking something together while Belphegor hung out in the kitchen.
Then...
Diavolo switched tactics on me.
It was another of my Politics of Heaven and Hell lectures that he took over and asked me to stay behind. Except that Lucifer was stationed in front of the window and had no intention of letting me leave. Diavolo stood by the door as the other students nervously withdrew and left us to our devices.
I stayed rooted at my desk on the opposite side of the room. As the last of the students flitted out, scarlet and golden gazes settled on me. The door shut and locked and I was trapped with them.
"Congratulations," I tell them bitterly and sit back in my chair as Diavolo starts towards me. "You've managed to corner me."
He changes his course when I get up and head for Lucifer. Luci moves subtly to stand in front of the window, but dons a shocked expression when I simply lean into him. He puts a hand in the small of my back and shares a look with Diavolo.
"Lys. Sweetling," Diavolo says, sliding his hands onto my shoulders.
"Don't call me that."
"You haven't officially broken up with me. I'll stop calling you that if you truly wish to break up. Do you?"
It's something that I had considered over the last few weeks, but had ultimately put off in favor of not thinking about him at all.
"I don't know," I mutter. Hope seems to spark in him as he pushes himself into my back. The heat of his body is familiar and has me turning my head to look at him. His expression is bright as I accept his hesitant kiss.
Letting him kiss me, I tune into my pacts and bonds for a moment, just to feel the fractures in their once flawless texture. Frustration wells up inside me and the bonds spark at the negative emotions in me, reaching out with curiosity and concern-from my family-and more concern from Luci's brothers. Its Satan's rage that I touch and awaken my own, calling it to me as a shield and sharpening my temper.
Diavolo seems to notice the shift in my body as I kiss him back, pushing away from Lucifer and turning to face our lover. Because he is still our lover. I can't... won't...lose him over this rage, but he is the one that had made the decision leading to the other Lyssa's murder and my love wasn't free anymore, not to the Devildom's prince.
I step into him until our chests are pressed together and he has to look down at me. His expression is still hopeful and it irritates me all the more. Did he think forcing me to confront him would earn my forgiveness?
"You lied to me," I said gently and softly.
His expression showed just a hint of uncertainty then, like he was trying to wrack his memories of our time together. It was satisfying to watch the hope drain out of his face as he continued to stare at me and know I wasn't softening towards him.
"W-what?" he asked after struggling for a long minute.
"You said you always keep your promise and never lie. You said that at our first meeting and then you forgot what you promised me."
"Lys," Lucifer said, voice low and urgent.
"No, Luci. You don't get to soften this. Or have you forgotten our fights from the last few weeks?" I glanced lazily at Lucifer and the demon flinched. "He's forced this confrontation and I'm not done being livid."
Diavolo's hands clutched my waist then and I turned my eyes back to his sudden desperation. "Lys, sweetling. I'm sorry."
"I am not your sweetling right now, princeling," I drawled at him and he flinched at the name. I hadn't called him that since my first month here. Then, he'd found it cute. Now, it was a reference and reminder of when I hadn't trusted him. "And I do not accept your apology." He flinched again. "Step back when I step forward, princeling." The words were soft again.
I couldn't force him to do anything, but if he wanted to keep me he would do it. And he did. Six steps back from the window, a turn of my hips, and a shove of my hands had him in the professor's chair. I stared down at him, feeling my expression turn to scorn.
"You should have asked Barbaros for information if you were going to force this," I said casually and he paled. "You know, I've never understood how my dame chose me over her Soulmarked mate over me. Not until today." I placed my fingers on his throat and felt gratification at how trusting he was of me and lifted his chin so readily. His pulse throbbed under my palm. "Did you know she hates him and loves him, still? Despite the children he gave her from his affair." His pulse sped up under my palm. "I love you still but I hate what you did to my family. I hate that you lied to me, princeling, and that my dame pays the price every day."
"W-what?" Diavolo asked.
I took my time fitting myself into his lap, brushing and grinding his erection, making sure to drive his eyes up into his sockets. "S-sweetling, please."
"No."
His hands tightened on my waist as he rutted into me. My fingers slide along his chest, rucking his shirt up until I could feel the heat of his skin and quieted the roiling emotions spilling through the bonds and pacts. Quietly, gently, I closed the connections off and let them fade into my blood and bones again, leaving only the rage I held with him. "Are you so desperate, princeling, that your fist wasn't enough this week?" I asked as I slide my fingers over his abs.
"L-Lys," he gasped and I pulled back.
I gave him a minute to collect himself under me and felt Lucifer's hands slide onto my shoulders. A quick glance at him revealed still red eyes and I knew he was gauging the situation.
"Would you like me to tell you how you lied to me?" I asked, leaning into Diavolo again and letting my breath feather across his ear. Gently, I bite the expanse of skin under his ear. His pulse is erratic under my palm as I squeeze his throat a little and he groans.
He's not used to me teasing him and leans forward to press his face into my neck, breathing hard when blunt teeth shift to fangs and my bite becomes hard. "Lys...I wanted to...talk," he says and his voice is strangled.
I hum at him and begin to undo the buttons on his vest and tug the already rucked shirt aside. "So talk, princeling," I say, swiping a thumb across his nipple and enjoying his shiver. "I'm going to keep touching you. I've missed your body." His cock throbs beneath me and I grind down against him. "What is it, princeling?"
"I...I love you, Lys. Can we...start over?" he asks and I sink my teeth into his throat. He moans under the bite and widens his legs to spread mine so he can rut up into me. "We should...s-save this...for the castle, s-sweetling."
A growl vibrates in my throat as I suck a bruise into his skin, or try. Gloved fingers wrap into my hair and tug me into Lucifer's chest. "No marks, my love," Lucifer says softly and then releases me.
Giving Diavolo a considering look, I take in his disheveled appearance and heated, golden gaze. Dropping a swift kiss on his lips, I smile and sweetly ask, "Do you really want to?"
A blush dusts his cheeks as he slowly shakes his head. "I've missed you," he admits. "You've sent back all of the gifts or burned them. I don't want to miss this chance."
He readily submits to the kiss that I give him and let's me tangle our tongues without trying to take control. My hands slide down his chest to his belt and make quick work of it to ease his cock out of his boxers. With quick, practiced movements, I have him moaning freely into my mouth and thrusting into my fist. His moans turn into strangled whimpers when I halt my movements and pinch my fingers around the base of his cock to prevent his orgasm.
I sit back in his lap and lean into Luci's chest. Lucifer's hands drift along my sides, stroking and offering comfort. His erection brushes against my ass but he kept the touch brief, like he didn't want to distract me. Diavolo tries to wrap a hand around mine but pulls away when I don't react to his touch.
"If I asked you to bend over this desk and let Luci fuck you, would you?" I ask and Luci inhales sharply.
Diavolo's darkening gaze flicks to Lucifer and then back to me. "Would you...Can I...keep holding you?" he asks breathlessly.
"What was the promise you made me?" I return.
"That...that we...wouldn't use...or discard you," he groans.
"You, princeling," I remind him, dropping my hands from his body. "You promised me that neither my kith nor blood kin would be hurt for my stay here in hell with you and yours." Understanding and memory flashed in his eyes, finally connecting.
"I...did," he says cautiously. "And...you died." Almost instantly, his erection is flagging.
"And in that dying, you ripped the magic that binds me to my kith and blood kin." The rage flickers in my heart and leaves me feeling tired and on the brink of the tears I have been suppressing. Regret and guilt flicker across his face as he leans forward to cup my cheeks.
"I'm sorry, Lys," he says, thumbs brushing at the tears that finally spill, blurring the world and his form. Lucifer's arms circle my waist and hug me tightly to his chest. "I'm so sorry."
It's so easy to let him wrap me into his embrace, to wrap my arms around his neck and lean into him with the memory of betrayal. Her death, my death, had been horrible but easy. Feeling the shattering of my bonds even when they were left intact had left me in breathless, screaming agony as pain and horror and fear had bled over and washed through my bond mates.
The sobs that wrack my body are painful and deep, reaching into the magic that binds me to my family and awakening that memory. Pain flares through me, a thousand nerves on fire and I can only cling between my lovers and gasp as the world fades.
I'd never been more alone than I had been in that moment.
---------
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msnihilist · 2 months
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Doyle for the character ask game!
For the ask game!
My first impression
I don't remember the first time I watched The Secret Saturdays, unfortunately! What I wouldn't give to go into this show blind again...
My impression now
I just love Doyle so much. His dynamic with Zak makes me ill in the brain... I want Doyle to be happy and loved so fucking bad.
Favorite thing about that character
I love seeing Doyle get... softer over the course of the series. He goes from a ruthless mercenary with no loved ones, to having a family and opening himself up to love and he stops running away from his feelings, and I just love him so much!!
Least favorite thing
Just that he was kind of sidelined in season two. I know why he was, narratively, but Doyle is strongest as a character when he's bouncing off of his family.
Favorite line/scene
"Trust me — whatever I'm doing, it's for your own protection."
This says so much about Doyle's growth, I adore it. He's always protected Zak before, but he's never said it in as many words. Ugh, he cares about his nephew so goddamn much!
Favorite interaction that character has with another
The implication in "Where Lies the Engulfur" that Doyle was going to sacrifice himself for Zak. And that Zak was smart enough to not let him. And that Zak and Doyle understand their relationship isn't "like that" in the sense that neither of them addresses it, they're just grateful to have each other alive when it's all said and done.
A character that I wish that character would interact with more
I am SO hungry for more Zak and Doyle interactions. But Doyle and Drew having one-on-one time more often would have also been much appreciated!
Another character from another fandom that reminds me of that character
Bro Strider from Homestuck
A headcanon about that character
Doyle curses like a sailor, and he personally doesn't care if Zak is around or not... But Drew would kill him if Zak started swearing, so he's gotten pretty good at biting his tongue.
Also, Blackwell is not his real last name, nor is it Drew's maiden name. It's made-up because Doyle was too young to remember his last name when he ended up in an orphanage.
A song that reminds of that character
"Golden" by Fall Out Boy. I even did a MEP part with the song to prove it.
An unpopular opinion about that character
I guess I don't really like the fandom interpretations where Doyle's relationship with Zak is... easy. Particularly with the high-emotions of season two, I think Zak and Doyle if they were alone together would end up with a lot more arguments than in season one.
Zak would lash out or get too real, and Doyle wouldn't know what to do or say. They really haven't known each other very long, in the grand scheme of things. Doyle really isn't good at communicating or empathizing. I think he'd try his best, but feel disconnected from Zak as he went into his teenage years.
Doyle is the "cool uncle," sure, but he's also a person. Just because he's laid back doesn't mean his emotions and relationships can't be complicated.
Favorite picture
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imaginesbymonika · 2 years
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It all tastes like poison.
Part 6.
previous chapter
Pairing: Homelander x fem!reader / Solider Boy x fem!reader
Plot: based on this request: “can you please write an imagine about someone who use to be with soldier boy before he "died» which left her broken, but she still worked with vought for years because she ages slower than normal and she meets homelander who she kinda falls for, but when ben comes back she gets mixed emotions till he tries to kill homelander and then she'll have to work with everyone else to get him back into the box, which she doesn't want to do. LIKE ANGST?”
warning: f-bombs, mentions of death and murder, mentions of torture, mentions of nacked people and sex, mentions of nudes being published with consent
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"Lord of the Seven Seas. Wow!", Tommy says as soon as he opens the door:" My man, I am such an incredible fan."
His sister only rolls her eyes, before she brings the black vape back up to her mouth:" Jesus, Tommy. Slather his balls in peanut butter, why don't you?" " Sorry, my sister's a goddamn bitch."
"And, uh, TNT. Right, I 'm a big fan of yours, too.", the Deep lies, while he points at the in golden clothes dressed siblings:" Cool outfits."
"Always felt like you got railroaded with that Starlight thing, by the way. You know, like what? Nowadays, you can't even pay a lady a compliment." A delicate smile arises on the Deeps face before he merely nods his head in agreement:" I know, right?"
"You're disgusting!"
Tommy turns to peek at his sister for a second before facing the Supe again:" Anyway, we are so pleased, you know, have a big star such as yourself grace our humble soiree."
"You guys are having a party?"
The two Supe's in front of him chuckle, as if they are eager to show the member of the seven what's going on behind their closed doors. Tommy takes a step to the side to let Kevin pass, only for him to stop dead in his tracks as soon as he comprehends what he is watching.
"Wait, is this...", he begins and clenches his jaw:" This is Herogasm."
----
"Oh, okay. So this- this is an actual orgy. That's what this is."
"Fucking Herogasm.", Butcher shakes his head in disbelief while a small smile emerges on his lips:" Still a thing, eh."
"It's my thing, I founded it. in '52. ", Soldier Boy explains, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees that Y/N is rolling with her eyes. He clears his throat:" But I well, you know... abandoned it when I met Y/N."
"Frenchie's gonna be heartbroken he missed this."
Hughie nervously shifts his weight from one foot to the other, while he looks at the huge house in front of them: "There are a lot of people in there." Y/N turns to glance at him:" As long as they stay out of our way, they'll be fine."
---
"I said, no cameras in the toilets, Tommy!", Tessa declares angrily while she makes her way towards the TV. "Give it back."
"You're pathetic."
Y/N who is standing a few meters away watches the two. She opens her mouth to say something but gets interrupted when some random guy accidentally bumps into her. A little cry escapes his lips followed by horny laughter:" Gosh, you're as hot as you look." She turns to stare at him and her eyes shine bright green for a moment. Luckily for him, her attention is once again on the siblings when she senses their eyes on her form.
"Y/N?", Tommy asks and squints his eyes, unsure if the woman in front of him is truly their old colleague. "Holy shit!", Tessa answers and slowly walks up to her:" It's so good to see you."
But her smile quickly fades away when Y/N doesn't react. "Is everything all right, my dear?", the chuckle that leaves her lips is beyond worried, while Y/N's stare is not getting any softer.
"Is this about the photos?", Tommy who stands a couple of meters away from the two women lets out a weak breath and his sister turns around. She tilts her head, while she stares at him in confusion: "W- What photos?"
"Yeah, Tommy.", Y/N asks, while a fake smile emerges on her lips. She nudges the brown-haired woman to the side, before unhurriedly making her way towards him: "What photos?"
"W-We were beyond broke.", he begins, while stumbling backwards: "You have to understand the situation we were in!" Y/N lets out high-pitched laughter, while her steps are slowly getting faster.
"Gosh, Tommy.", he hears Tessa mumble: "What did you do?"
"Yeah.", Y/N hisses through gritted teeth:" What the fuck did you do?!" She snatches him by the shoulders and throws him to the ground, a groan escapes him when his body makes contact with the hardwood floor. Tessa instantly rushes towards him, but when Y/N puts her foot on his chest she takes a step back. "Tell her, Tommy.", Y/N starts to put pressure on him, to the point where she can listen to how his bones crack.
"Okay, okay, okay. I sold the nudes.", he confesses:" I sold them to the media four years ago." Tessa's hand flies up to cover her mouth in panic:" Oh god."
They were the reason why Y/N's and Soldier boy's relationship became public in the first place. "They were all over the news!", Y/N tells loudly, while she pulls her foot away. She leans down:" I should have come here the day those pictures were leaked. I am going to burn your skin...the way those Russians tried to burn Ben's."
As soon as that name leaves her lips his eyes widen, and he peeks towards his sister. "Did you say B-Ben?", Tessa asks: "As- As in Soldier Boy?"
Y/N nods:" Daddy's home."
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jewul · 23 days
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i, like the devil, can fly
extras: meet my tav / accompanying playlist
read it on ao3
preview below the cut!
Preview:
Wyll
He barely registers the knocking at first. It blends seamlessly with the persistent drilling in his skull that started somewhere around the five digit word count of his International Relations paper, and has been marching on with fervour as the sun crawled back into the sky, having completed its lap around the underworld and is ready to go again. He stands at the kitchen window and lets it burn into his retinas, numbly clutching a mug of coffee that has long gone cold, and trying not to think about the 52 ungraded term papers for the class he’s TA-ing this semester.
It’s a gorgeous day, if anything. Wyll can appreciate that, even in his delirious caffeine-addled state. The trees are starting to sprout after an arduous battle with winter, and there’s nary a cloud in the sky. His father once taught him that every new day comes a new chance at growth, and a new chance to be a better person.
If whoever’s knocking at the door would drop dead already, that is.
“Will you fucking get that?” comes Lae’zel’s voice from her room, followed by a muffled thunk that sounds like a brick colliding with her wall. After three years of cohabitation, Wyll knows it’s the sound of the boot she keeps at arm's reach from her bed to defend against intruding attackers or vengeful exes, who are, oftentimes, one and the same. She’s just as sleep deprived as he is, pulling an all-nighter to study for her Ethics midterm, but not enough to keep from using her drill sergeant voice on him at 7 am.
Wyll grumbles something acquiescent under his breath and trundles down the hallway, not even bothering to check the peephole before flinging the door open to—
A man.
No, man isn’t right.
A man wouldn’t— shimmer like that.
The creature standing at his stoop is tall and waifish, with wavy white-blond hair and dangly silver earrings. He’s wearing a white lace top with matching gloves, and a brown leather book bag slung across his chest. His face is delicate, all high cheekbones and unblemished skin, flushed from a walk across campus presumably, and Wyll might even call the creature pretty if it wasn’t for the dark glower currently marring his features.
“Can I help you?” Wyll rasps, voice gravelly from disuse.
The creature regards him contemptuously. “I’m looking for Lae’zel. I have business with her,” he says, and his voice is softer than Wyll expects it to be. The creature glances suspiciously around him as if she might be hiding behind the potted plant in the foyer. He must be another one of Lae’zel’s conquests gone wrong. Later, he’ll rib her for going back on her ‘no more blond men’ rule after a mere month, brought on by an ill-advised hookup with Astarion, but for now, he knows this song and dance well enough.
Wyll wedges his body into the doorway. “She’s not home,” he says, ignoring the scuttling sound that is undoubtedly Lae’zel scrambling to retrieve the boot she just threw.
The creature sees right through him, looking deeply unimpressed. “I need to speak with her,” he insists, and the longer he stands there, the more he seems to vibrate with pent-up energy.
Up close, his eyelashes are long and golden, sweeping the curve of his cheek and catching the light when he blinks. He has a faint scar running across the bridge of his nose, barely a shade pinker than the rest of his skin. Something about the creature makes Wyll itch, like he doesn’t know what to do with him, like he doesn’t know whether he wants to tame the beast or provoke it. Maybe it’s the near-lethal dose of caffeine running through his veins, but he feels like being a bit of an asshole this morning. It goes against all of his well-behaved instincts, but sleep-deprived Wyll can be an uncharitable sack of shit.
”And I told you, she’s not home,” Wyll says with his nicest shit-eating smile. The scuttling in the background turns into a crash as several doors slam shut behind him. “But I can take a message,” he offers, taking a slow, obnoxious slurp from his mug.
The creature huffs and shakes out his hair, face becoming increasingly flushed with irritation. Absent-mindedly, Wyll wonders how deep that flush goes. He glares at Wyll. Wyll smiles placidly back.
“Fine,” he sniffs. The creature glances around for a second.
“Is that coffee?��� he asks in a sudden detour, leaning forward to peek into Wyll’s cup. The crown of his head brushes against Wyll’s nose, and he smells vaguely of the cotton candy body mist they sell at the mall, but there’s something else there, a strangely musky undercurrent. Leather, perhaps, or something more animalistic still. Wyll is too busy sniffing the creature’s hair to notice when he plucks his mug straight out of his hands.
“Tell Lae’zel I’m a friend of Shadowheart,” he says, taking an experimental sip and wrinkling his nose at the frigid temperature. He then gives Wyll a long, meaningful once-over, mouth twisting wryly, and he suddenly feels very self-conscious of his threadbare t-shirt and sweatpants. The sun hasn’t been up for an hour, and yet this creature looks like he could attend a wedding. “…And she would like to pass along this. ”
Is he wearing… lip gloss?
The creature proceeds to upend the entire contents of Wyll’s 2007 Academic Decathlon mug onto the front of his shirt.
“Son of a bitch,” Wyll gasps.
The creature gives a satisfactory hmph, primly deposits the mug on his doorstep, and flounces away.
Wyll is left there, speechless, with rivulets of cold coffee running down his legs, a soaked doormat, and, somehow, a semi.
He collects the mug off his stoop and slowly shuts the door behind him.
His lip gloss is… cherry-flavoured.
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shadowy-dumbo-octopus · 11 months
Text
Chapter 22 of Alone Together, a Dettlaff/fem!Reader insert is up!
Read on AO3
In which we finally get to sort out the whole vampire thing, and explain why I’m gonna have to up the rating of the fic after the next chapter ;;) Also this is unedited so if you see any typos no you didn’t.
Pardon the formatting, the spaces can't seem to want to fuck off.
“Dettlaff?”
It was him.
Black hair.
Perfectly chiselled features which many artists would kill for the honour to draw.
The same black overcoat he always wore.
The golden moth brooch perched on his breast.
Blue eyes looking down at you with something between terror and raw, desperate longing.
The scent of leather and petrichor rose above the other smells around you, winding around your heart and squeezing painfully like a vice.
You couldn’t hear the sounds of the city anymore. You couldn’t glimpse the passers-by in the corners of your eye. The comfortable weight of your shawl suddenly disappeared from your shoulders even though your brain was aware that the garment was still there. It was as if everything, the whole world and everyone in it were suddenly frozen; a hyperrealistic painting you could barely perceive as all your attention, all your senses were focused entirely on the man in front of you.
“Dettlaff,” you repeated, softer, and without the question mark. There was something in your throat – something thick and heavy like a stone around a drowning man’s neck.
You haven’t spoken his name in a long time, and uttering it now made you aware just how much you had missed the taste of it on your tongue.
He winced at the sound of it, handsome features twisting in a grimace of guilt. Your name fell from his lips hesitantly, as if he was unsure if he was still allowed to say it. His voice sounded just like you remembered, even if it was just a little frayed around the edges.
“You’re back.” Your lips felt oddly numb, and you had a strange sensation of detachment; as if your consciousness has taken a step to the side while your body remained in place and you were observing everything from a little to the right.
He hesitated for a moment before nodding, lips pressed together and eyes glimmering in the morning light. His hands were clasped in the front, one holding the other, like they usually were when he was nervous. You thought that they trembled ever so slightly, and wondered what it would be like to hold them again.
“I… I am,” he uttered, gaze flicking between your face and the cobblestones under his feet. You wondered if he was afraid to look you in the eye. “I think that I am.”
You licked your lips, registering dimly that they were dry and a little cracked. Your heart hammered against your ribs, clawing at the bars of its cage and shrieking at you to reach out to him, throw your arms around him and never let go. Another part of you wanted to flee, struck with an irrational impulse to turn tail and escape the situation you never thought that you would be handling, had lost all hope that you would be handling. You wagered that Dettlaff was probably thinking the same.
You swallowed around the lump in your throat, adjusting your grip on the basket you held and which you have somehow completely forgotten about. The silence that embraced the two of you rang in your ears until they hurt.
“I think,” you made an attempt to break it, your voice sounding weirdly hollow and like it was coming from a place over your shoulder rather than from your mouth. “I think that we need to talk.”
Dettlaff stiffened at that, just for a moment, before his shoulders slumped as if with resignation – a convict sentenced to death would have looked more cheerful.
“Yes,” he sighed. “I think that we do.”
You still had some errands to run, but all of a sudden you couldn’t quite recall what they were. What was it again? Shopping? For what? You had a list in your basket, you recalled, but none of the items on it seemed important enough to bother with – not now, not when you looked into those devastatingly guilty blue eyes and remembered the feeling of running your fingers through those black hair with silver streaks at the temples. No, nothing on your to-do list seemed urgent enough to bother with.
“We’re closer to my house,” you said, your arm rising slowly to point in the general direction of your dwelling. It felt like trying to move through thick molasses. “I can… I can make tea.”
Yes. Tea would be good right now.
“Tea,” Dettlaff repeated, then gave a slow, slightly awkward nod. Gods, you missed him so much it felt like a knife in your breast. “Yes. Tea would be good right now.”
Knives. Plural. At least five of them. Gods, you wanted nothing more than to get this whole mess over and done with so that the two of you could go back to how things were: cuddling, holding hands, kissing, predicting each other’s sentences and making each other’s lives just a little sweeter.
And just then, just like that, the world snapped back into focus with all the shock of a bucket of cold water to the face. The sounds of the city shrieked into your eardrums, the brightness of the morning sun slamming into your eyes so that you had to take a step backwards to steady yourself.
“Brilliant!” you pulled your mouth into a bright smile which you were sure looked more awkward than a stripper at a funeral. Your ears were ringing from the chattering of the morning crowds, but not loudly enough to drown out the sound of your heart screaming at you from the inside of your chest. “Let me just-“
You hurriedly adjusted the brooch on Dettlaff’s coat to ensure that it wouldn’t fall off this time around. Just for your peace of mind.
~~~
“Here.”
“Thank you.”
Dettlaff did not meet your gaze when accepting the cup of tea from you. His fingers were very careful to avoid yours, and you tried not to think too hard about it as you took a seat on the other end of the couch and regarded him from over the rim of your own cup.
He’d changed; his hair was just a little longer, his skin paler and eyes more tired, framed by dark circles which you weren’t in the presence of mind to notice back on the street. The telltale wrinkle between his brows which always appeared when he was worried about something was even more prominent now, and you resisted the urge to close the distance between the two of you and kiss it away. His shoulders, too, were slumped as if he was carrying an invisible burden and wasn’t sure how much longer he could withstand its weight.
As for you, well, you weren’t entirely sure what you were feeling. Shock? Certainly. Happiness? You weren’t sure. Maybe? Relief at seeing your beloved again? Oh, yes, though it was mostly overshadowed by shock and drowned by the swarm of thoughts buzzing around inside your skull.
You weren’t angry, though. That much you knew.
“You've redecorated,” Dettlaff said all of a sudden, his unfairly blue eyes wandering around the living room. “I love the… I love the flowers on the wall.”
“Oh, those,” you turned to look at the framed painting you had commissioned from Bogdan. “My friend from work made these. He’s quite an artist.”
A nod, slow and thoughtful. Dettlaff’s eyes remained locked on the painted vase displaying a pair of roses, their petals blue like the summer sky.
“Blue roses of Nazair,” he said, more to himself than you. His fingers twitched slightly, nails tapping against the cup. “Are you… close to him?”
You shook your head. “Bogdan is a good friend-“ a married one, too, with a pair of kids on top of it, “-but nothing more.”
Was it your imagination, or did Dettlaff’s shoulders just rise ever so slightly? Did that dark, dreadful cloud hovering over him lighten up just a little?
Had he thought that you replaced him?
“That’s good,” he said, then quickly added, “that- that you have friends! That you weren’t…” he broke off, then, gaze dropping to his cup and voice turning softer, thick with regret, “…that you weren’t alone after I…”
“Dett-“ you started.
“I’m sorry,” he uttered at the exact same time.
The two of you then lapsed into another silence, thick enough to be cut with a knife and charged with so many unspoken things that you weren’t sure where to even begin untangling them.
Dettlaff took a deep, ever so slightly shaky breath. He clutched his cup so tightly that his knuckles turned white and you began worrying about the structural integrity of the porcelain in his hands.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, still avoiding your eyes. How did he expect you to react? Was there even a correct reaction to a situation like this one? Your heart hurt, months of grief and heartbreak rising from their slumber one by one, rearing their heads in your direction. “For… for everything.”
You said nothing, quietly sipping your tea, unsure of what you were supposed to say. You couldn’t just “it’s okay” it away, because the situation was far too convoluted for that. He was a vampire. You were a human. He saved you from death by killing a bunch of people. You haven’t seen each other for a year after he disappeared from your life without an indication of a possible return, and you’ve barely managed to pull yourself together from it.
“You are a vampire,” you decided to address the elephant in the room. Maybe it would be best to just address things one at a time?
Dettlaff flinched at that, as if your words had struck him.
“I am,” he sighed, and you caught a glimpse of fangs when he opened his mouth. How have you not noticed them before? “A horrible, bloodthirsty monster.”
You did not say that. “I did not say that.”
“Please,” he set the cup on the table with some force (which, judging by the immediate regretful twist of his lips, was not intended), “you know that I have been lying to you from the day we met, and believe me when I say that I hated every moment of it, but do not lie to me now.” His hands tightened into fists where they rested on his lap, his voice heavy and choked. “You know that I lied, you saw me kill those bandits. You have to think me a monster. You have to hate me.”
Did you? Did you really have to hate Dettlaff? Was there some new, recently passed law that you weren’t aware of dictating that you had to hate him for this whole mess?
Did he… did he think that you hated him? Did he want you to hate him?
“And what if I don’t?” you asked, then, and set your cup aside as well. “Humour me, Dett. What if I don’t hate you?”
Dettlaff’s head snapped up at the question and he frowned at you, not understanding.
“You... you must,” he stuttered out, confusion written all over his face. “You always say that communication and honesty are important in a relationship, and yet I spent all that time lying about who I was-“
Well, to be pedantic, he never told you that he wasn’t a vampire, did he? You had just kind of assumed that he was human and he never corrected you. And why would he? That was a hell of a secret to keep; what if he’d misjudged your character? You could have outed him to the city guard, and they would have hunted him down like a dog or gotten a witcher to do it for them.
“You lied to keep yourself safe,” you interrupted him. “I get it.”
That cut him off. He blinked at you, rather owlishly.
“Come again?” he blurted out after a long pause.
“I get it,” you repeated. “I had a year to think it over, and I get it.”
“But… but…” he sputtered, raking his fingers through his hair. He appeared lost, like an actor who’s just realised that he was in the wrong play and the actors around him weren't following the script he had memorised. “But why?! I hurt you! I am a creature your people fear and put out contracts on! How are you so calm about this?”
Truth be told, you had no idea. Maybe you had gotten over it while he was away, maybe your pool of things worth giving a shit about has narrowed so much that this was no longer on the list? Maybe you had always thought vampires to be more than the bloodthirsty monsters to be feared and hunted down and the fact that Dettlaff was one was really less of a deal than it was supposed to be?
“If you wanted to drink my blood, you could have done it ages ago,” you pointed out before taking a long sip from your cup – you needed more chamomile in you. “Besides, you had no way of knowing how I would react. Would I scream? Run away? Rat you out to the guards? That’s a hell of a secret to keep, Dett, and you were keeping it for your own safety.” You paused, recalling something he’d said in the past. “Wait, is this that big secret you wanted to tell me but couldn’t? We had a conversation about something like that one time.”
“I can’t,” he choked out, voice barely audible. “I… I want to, but…” he broke off for a moment, trying to collect himself. “I just can’t. You would hate me for it.”
“Well, yes,” Dettlaff’s eyes fled to the side, filled with an equal mix of guilt and frustration. “I… I wanted to tell you eventually, I swear, but-“
So he did want to tell you after all. You heart gave a painful squeeze in your chest. So he did love you enough to trust you with this secret. So you could have found out another way and all this wouldn’t have happened.
“Can I come closer?” you asked softly. You missed him. Gods above and below and everywhere in between, you missed him so much that your body cried out with need for you two to be together again.
Dettlaff gave you a wary look, tensing up for a moment. The expression of uncertain longing from earlier returned on his features, but he gave you an affirming nod.
You moved to sit next to him, cradling your cup in your hands. Its warmth helped ground you, the chamomile soothing your racing thoughts. You took a long drink before speaking up again.
“Remember what I said during that conversation?”
He was silent for a moment, staring at some indistinct point ahead of him, lips pressed tightly together and fingers twitching anxiously on his lap – he appeared to have forgotten entirely about his own cup.
“I said that I could never hate you, no matter what you did,” you carried on, voice growing steadier as you found your footing in the conversation, “or… or who you were. Werewolf, doppler, witcher, vampire.” You gave a shrug. “It’s all the same to me, as long as you’re still Dettlaff Van Der Eretein, the man I lo-“
“Don’t,” Dettlaff cut you off all of a sudden. His eyes were squeezed shut, hands balled into fists. “Don’t… Don’t try to forgive me.” Something shiny glittered on his eyelashes. “How can you not care? How can you still love me despite everything I did?” His voice rose, desperate and angry – you suspected that mostly at himself. “How can you still claim to love me despite everything I did to hurt you?! I lied to you, I abandoned you like a coward instead of facing you like a man, I… I…” his breath hitched in his throat, hands shaking. His eyes were locked on you now, wide and glittering with tears. “You saw me… you saw the blood on my claws… you saw me as I truly am… How can you claim that you still love me?!”
He hated himself, you realised with a cold, sinking feeling in your gut as the image of him blurred before your eyes. Dettlaff has always been a honest man; a good, honest man who resented the idea of ever lying to you, of ever doing anything to hurt you or bring you sorrow in any shape or form. And yet he did. He kept secrets, he outed himself as a “monster”, he left without a word except for a letter and- gods, you had never taken the time to consider how that year of separation could have affected him.
A year.
A year of living with the knowledge that your final memory of him was a monster drenched in blood.
A year of thinking that you hated him.
A year of thinking that he was a monster.
You took a deep breath to calm your fluttering heart, the air struggling to pass through your throat – tight as it was, blocked by a bundle of emotions that grew with every passing second.
“Because I still love you,” you said, trying to ignore how choked your voice sounded, too close to shattering like glass. “No matter what you did to save my life, no matter who you are and how long you kept it from me because you were worried about your safety, I never stopped loving you.”
Not once. Not for a moment. Not even when it hurt.
Dettlaff’s lower lip trembled, teardrops hanging from his eyelashes and threatening to spill over. You felt something stream down your cheek, a whole year of longing slamming into you like a cart loaded with bricks as your heart finally grew fed up with waiting and pushed you forward, arms outstretched, to pull him into a hug.
It felt like coming home.
A heavy, relieved sob burst free from your lips when you pulled him into your arms and felt him embrace you in return, burying his face in the crook of your neck and holding on to you as if the world would end if he ever let go. You felt his frame shake, and only held him tighter.
“Gods, Dett,” you uttered between sobs, tears streaming freely down your cheeks as your fingers found their way into his hair, combing through the silky strands that curled ever so slightly at the tips, just like you remembered. “I missed you. Gods, how I missed you.”
It was the first time you have ever seen Dettlaff cry (and hoped with your whole might that it would be the last) and every sob that tore through his body, every tear that sank into your shawl, every pained, broken sound that left his lips stabbed into you like needles. You wanted to banish them, scatter them to the four winds so that you would never have to see him so broken again.
“I don’t… I don’t understand,” he stuttered against you, sniffling. “Why do you still love me? Why are you not… not afraid or… I thought that you would hate me, call me a liar, call me a… a…”
You shushed him gently, combing your fingers through his hair and muttering comforting nothings you barely paid any attention to. He still smelled like leather and petrichor. Being in his arms still made you feel like you were in the safest place in the world. He was still Dettlaff, vampire or not. He was still your Dettlaff.
“I thought that it would kill me.” His grip around you tightened desperately when you tried moving away to wipe your face. His voice was ragged, almost reduced to nothing. “Being away from you was… I never thought that I would… that I would ever… I’m so sorry, my love. I’m so sorry for everything.”
“It’s fine,” you muttered, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “I understand. You have nothing to apologise for. I’m just…” your voice cracked just a little there. “I’m just happy to have you back, Dett.”
And there it was indeed: happiness. Golden and bright and burning like a fire in your chest, like the first sunny day after a long winter. A winter which you had resigned yourself to accepting as never-ending. And yet spring has come at last. At long, desperately relieving last.
You weren’t entirely sure how long the two of you just sat there, crying into each other until your hearts weren’t heavy anymore, but eventually Dettlaff gathered himself enough to let you pull away – not too much, just enough to catch your breath and drag your sleeve over your face (it came away thoroughly saturated with snot and tears.) When you moved your arm away, you found Dettlaff gazing at you with such intensity like he wanted to make up for all the time you spent apart from each other; his eyes, red-rimmed from tears, took in your face as if nothing else existed in the world, flicking from your eyes to your lips to your flushed cheeks to the tip of your nose to your lips again. It was a look you haven’t seen on him before, but which stirred something underneath your skin – something long dormant, and fed up with its prolonged slumber.
You reached out through what little space remained between you and cradled his face in your hands, wiping away a lonely tear with your thumb and feeling him press into your touch with a soft, eager sound like he has been away from you not for one year but for a hundred. Your eyes wandered over to his lips, and you wondered if you would feel the sharp points of his fangs if you were to kiss him right now.
You wondered how he would react if he found out that you liked that idea perhaps a little more than you should.
“Thank you,” Dettlaff said, a little breathless and devastatingly sincere. His lips ghosted over the inside of your wrist, warm against the skin just above your veins, causing a light shiver to skitter up your back. “Thank you for…” he broke off, reaching up to wipe his eyes. “Thank you.”
“Anything for you,” you smiled, and had the pleasure of watching him smile in return – just a little, like the first flowers of the year peeking hesitantly from under the blanket of snow. You wanted to kiss him. You wanted to kiss him a lot. “Is there… is there anything else I should know? About the vampire thing?”
He blinked at that, the question yanking him down to the real world. His brows knitted together in thought; did he really not expect this conversation to not end in a tearful screaming match?
“Ah, yes, of course you have questions,” he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. His cheeks were darkened by a light blush. “I’m sorry, I… I didn’t expect this conversation to go like it did. I thought that I was prepared for everything, but then…” he waved a hand in a vague gesture. “Questions. Yes. Let’s… let there be no more secrets between us.”
That sounded good. You reached over and retrieved your cup, downing the last of your now cold tea to rehydrate yourself.
“Well,” Dettlaff licked his lips, evidently not sure where to start. His hand has wandered over towards yours, and you gratefully intertwined your fingers with his, smiling at the way his lips quirked upwards when you gave his hand a light squeeze. “For one thing, our infamous thirst for blood is more complicated than what humans say. We don’t – or at least I don’t – need it to survive. In fact, some higher vampires partake in it like many other races partake in fisstech or alcohol.” His expression twisted into a scowl. “I never understood the appeal of intoxicating yourself for leisure.”
“Me neither,” you nodded, cringing inwardly at your college days and seeing so many students over-indulge in moonshine or cheap alcohol and make fools out of themselves. Although well, if Dettlaff ever changed his mind or wanted a sip, he could just ask. You were always queasy about having your blood taken to check your humours (which was why you didn’t do it anymore whenever you fell ill, preferring to go for herbal medicines instead) but having a vampire drink from you? Why, that was another matter entirely. “Although, uh, if you ever want a drink, you can just ask.”
He glanced over at you, raising his eyebrows. “You would allow me to drink from you?”
You replied with a carefree shrug. “I know that you won’t drain me into a raisin, so why not?”
That got a laugh out of him – quiet and a little hoarse, and yet it still sounded more beautiful than any music you’ve ever heard in your life. “You never cease to surprise me, love.”
Gods, if only he knew what other things you would be absolutely on board with…
Perhaps, at last with nothing to hide from you, he would find out…
You shoved those thoughts into the very back of your mind before they multiplied. “I have seen you turn into mist. Is that something you can do on command or…?”
“On command,” Dettlaff nodded. His voice was steadier now, and he appeared to be on slightly surer footing. “I also have several more forms-“
“Can you turn into a swarm of bats?” you blurted out, a little more loudly and a little more excitedly than you meant to. He chuckled at the blush that coloured your cheeks.
“Not quite; I’m afraid that I can only turn into a bat – albeit a big one, and only at full moon.”
“Like a werewolf?”
“Yes, but at will.”
“How big?”
“Rather big – bigger than I am now, certainly.”
“Incredible,” you sighed, imagining in your mind’s eye what it would be like to pet a creature like that. “What else? I know that you cannot actually turn someone into a vampire by biting them.” How would that even work? That would mean that a vampire’s reproductive organs were in their teeth, and that was just stupid. Why did people continue to believe in that? “Is it true that you have no reflections?”
He nodded. “We do not have shadows, either.”
Which was something you haven’t noticed before because…? Well, to your credit, who on earth paid attention to people’s shadows? Shit, you could’ve lost yours somewhere and chances were that you wouldn’t have noticed its absence at all. “Explains why you don’t have any mirrors around your place. It’s a pity,” you rested your chin on your hand, flashing a cheeky smirk, “you cannot see how gorgeous you are.”
Dettlaff’s cheeks turned a rather interesting shade of red at that. He gave you another smile, warm like a cup of mulled wine on a winter’s night, and nudged you lightly with his shoulder. “Quit being charming, I’m trying to have a serious conversation.”
“And I’m trying not to kiss you right now.” A feat which required more and more willpower with every passing second. “Try being less kissable and I’ll stop.”
“I could change into my other form – the one with the fangs and claws and all.”
“I said less kissable.”
He blinked. “What?”
“Nothing.” Why was your face so warm all of a sudden? “So uh, half-vampires… can they… can they happen?” Wait, no, your mind was supposed to stay as far away from those topics as possible! Sure, you have been harbouring certain fantasies about Dettlaff for a long time now, and you’ve been alone and unkissed and uncuddled for a whole year, but that was no excuse for- “I mean, if a human and a vampire were to…” Shit.
Dettlaff frowned, for a few seconds not grasping the meaning behind your question, but when he did, his face fell into a regretful grimace.
“No, humans and vampires cannot produce offspring.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, I cannot give you children.”
Oh. “Well, that’s perfectly alright,” you gently tilted up his chin to make him look at you. “It’s not like we’re planning on having children anytime soon, anyway, and even if we did, there are other means of acquiring them.” There were plenty of orphans in the world, after all. “If it’s not a dealbreaker for you, then it’s not one for me either.”
Dettlaff gave a short nod, the worried wrinkle between his brows disappearing at last as relief fell on his handsome features. He reached up to bring your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your fingers with the kind of soft, quiet reverence you have only seen in books. Your heart leapt in your chest.
“It is a little weird, though,” you frowned. “We’re built in the same way, right? So what if we’re from different worlds? If elves and humans can have children, then why can’t we?”
He gave a shrug. “I don’t know the mechanics of it. Regis says that just because two beings appear outwardly similar does not mean that they can produce viable offspring. Like hares and rabbits.”
You blinked, your whole train of thought grinding to a screeching halt. “Hares and rabbits are incompatible?”
“Apparently so.”
“But they’re basically the same thing except that hares are bigger!”
“Still.”
You sat back, chewing on the revelation. “Dettlaff, that is the most surprising thing I have heard from you today.”
Dettlaff looked at you for a moment, expression utterly incredulous, before bursting into laughter – loud and free and unconstrained, all leftover tension falling from his shoulders like a leaden cloak. You were quick to follow, the ridiculousness of the situation catching up with you and mingling with the sweet, dizzying relief that Dettlaff was back in your life. Back, and here to stay.
The two of you fell into each other’s arms, laughing like children without a care in the world, foreheads pressed together and lonely months finally sloughing off you like a forest stream shedding the last shards of ice at springtime. You have never seen Dettlaff laugh so freely before, eyes shut and mouth open and needle points of fangs plain for you to see. Was that why he never laughed this much before? Was that why all his smiles were close-lipped? Was that why all your kisses, wonderful as they were, stopped at the brush of his lips against yours? Was that why the two of you never-
“Oh,” you took a sharp breath. “All this time, you’ve been hiding your teeth from me.”
“Ah, yes,” Dettlaff admitted, smiling sheepishly, before something seemed to occur to him. The way he looked at you changed ever so subtly; that intensity of his was back, but different – it burned hotter, hungrier than before, and the sight of it in his eyes stirred something similarly hot and hungry within you. “But I do not have to hide them anymore, don’t I?”
“No,” you licked your lips, eyes locked on his – his perfectly shaped, sinfully soft lips. You had called him a moth once, and he called you his flame; a pretty comparison, but you were beginning to feel what you imagined moths felt as they flew blindly towards a candle flame, not caring if it burnt. “No, you do not.”
Your heartbeat thundered in your ears, blood rushing through your veins like hounds let loose during a hunt. The two of you were very close together all of a sudden, your faces only mere inches apart. If you leaned any closer, you would be close enough to kiss, and you haven’t kissed in a long while, have you? No, you haven’t, but there was no reason to hold back anymore, right? Dettlaff was back, he was finally with you again, and you have run out of reasons to hold back.
“Dett,” you whispered, eyelids fluttering. He was warm, so warm that you felt the heat of his body even through the layers of fabric separating you. “If… if I were to kiss you now, I don’t think that I would be able to stop.”
Why on earth was your shawl still around your shoulders? Had you forgotten to take it off? Unacceptable. It was too warm for shawls, anyway. You took it off, letting it fall to the floor and expose the column of your neck. Dettlaff’s eyes locked on it immediately. His skin was lightly flushed, lips slightly parted. You needed to kiss him. You needed to feel his lips on you so badly that it threatened to overwhelm you like a storm devastating a coastal village.
“Can I kiss you?” you uttered, suddenly breathless. Was it you moving closer or him? Did it matter? It has been a year. Three hundred and sixty-odd days filled with longing which was screaming to be satisfied. “Dettlaff, will you let me kiss you?”
Dettlaff swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing, his pupils so dilated that his irises looked black, framed only by a thin, barely visible ring of blue. His lips parted, and uttered one word; one word, but it was all you needed:
“Please.”
Just like that, the last remaining thread of hesitation snapped as you both lunged at each other, lips colliding in a fiery, overwhelming kiss that almost whited out your vision, setting your skin on fire and wiping your mind free of any thoughts beyond the thrumming, desperate need for more. Your fingers once more found their way into Dettlaff’s hair, carding through the silky strands and drawing him closer as if there was any conceivable force in the world capable of separating you again. One of his hands found its way to the back of your neck while his other arm wound around your waist, practically pulling you into his lap with a rustle of skirts so that you were chest to chest.
That could have been enough. You would be more than happy to let that be enough if Dettlaff weren’t comfortable with deepening the kiss, but then you felt a gentle nip of teeth against your lower lip and suddenly there were fireworks and flares exploding behind your eyelids as your mouth fell open and Dettlaff’s tongue slipped inside and you could feel the points of his teeth with your own tongue, sharp like needles. You should probably be more careful lest you cut yourself, but then you angled your head a little and Dettlaff let out a low, beautiful moan that crawled directly under your skin, leaving fire and devastation in its wake.
“Take off this thing,” you managed to gasp out between breaths. Your hands trembled slightly as they clumsily tugged at the lapels of Dettlaff’s overcoat. “How dare you wear a coat in my house.”
“My apologies,” he hummed against your mouth, releasing his hold on your waist to remove the garment. You didn’t make it easy for him with how you were practically straddling his lap and being terribly distracting by doing your best to kiss him senseless, but Dettlaff was a capable man; you trusted him to manage.
With the coat tossed haphazardly on the floor, you shifted your attention to trailing little butterfly kisses down Dettlaff’s jaw until you hit his neck, which you proceeded to give the most of your attention, smiling against his skin at the sound he made when your mouth found the pale, graceful column of his throat.
“Oh,” he gasped, his fingers twitching against your scalp. He was breathing heavily now, chest heaving and pulse fluttering under your lips. You liked that. You liked that a lot – almost as much as you liked his sharp, breathy moan as you dragged your blunt human teeth against his skin. “Oh you are incredible.”
“I try my best,” you briefly paused lavishing your vampire with affection to smirk up at him. “I have read enough half floren romance novels to have at least some idea of what I’m doing.” Not to mention the amount of times you have envisioned doing this kind of thing in the privacy of your bedroom. Dettlaff used to be a closed book when it came to things more intimate than kissing (perfectly understandable given the whole vampire thing) and you had never even thought about crossing that boundary without his consent, but it hadn’t stopped you from fantasising.
Except none of your even most self-indulgent fantasies could live up to the real thing.
His mouth was on yours again, hands wandering over your body, brushing your hair out of the way, cupping your face as if you were something precious. He was becoming more confident with every sound he pulled out of you, more daring; you couldn’t suppress a moan when he tugged your hair back and lavished your neck with kisses, the occasional scrape of fangs leaving you gasping, arching into him.
“I… I think…” you licked your lips, hot and flushed from kissing. “I think that… th- ah!” Gods, those teeth were going to be the death of you and you were perfectly fine with that. “I think that this would be easier on a… on a bed.” You were pretty sure that there was one upstairs, but truth be told your mind was so thickly clouded with desire that you were barely sure of what your name was.
(Eh, you were sure that Dettlaff would remind you.)
You shifted slightly, changing position on Dettlaff’s lap, and the sound you pulled out of him combined with something hard brushing against the inside of your thigh was more or less unmistakable.
“Yes,” he choked out, nodding vaguely. “That… That is a good idea.”
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papaslittlesunshine · 11 months
Text
First Time
Mushy May Day 8
Feat: Aether x Dewdrop (76% of this month is gonna be this pair, I swear they’ll be the death of me.)
Rating: Mature / Adult
Summary: Aether and Dew get it on (Dew’s a water ghoul here but is still a little bit of a bully but it’s ok - Aether needed it)
Read on AO3
Or below:
——
First Time
 
When Dew and Aether first met, it was love at first sight for Aether but he hadn’t made it further than that. He knew he loved Dewdrop but didn’t think through what came next.
 
-
 
“Aeth, it’s me. I love you.” Dew says, flushed and sweating, laying on the bed between Aether’s arms, Aether braced above him, their hips pressed together.
 
“I know. I love you too, Droplet. I’m just… I need a minute.” Aether pants. Face red and strained as he tries to smile down at the little ghoul.
 
His head spinning, why am I scared? the voice in his head says, while his body screams at him to move, to take, to consume Dewdrop.
 
Dew stretches up, claws gently in Aether’s shoulders, pressing a kiss to his lips and deepening it while pulling Aether into him.
 
“Aeth…” he whines softly, “I want you.” Then, softer, “please”.
 
Aether groans, fighting his inner demons telling him that he shouldn’t be nervous, and that Dew is here, with him. That this is normal and they both want this.
 
“I want you too, but I don’t want to hurt you.” he says, pressing kisses along Dew’s neck and collarbones, sucking bruises and nipping small marks along the way.
 
“You won’t” Dew says, confident. Serious. Brow furrowed down slightly. “Please just touch me. Please.”
 
That snaps Aether out of his head, and he moves, sliding a hand down to coat himself with Dew’s slick, that was running down his thighs and pooling on the bed. Pressing Dew’s knee back to his chest. He positions himself against Dew’s hips and slides his cock up through the cleft of Dew’s ass with a deep rumble as he feels more of Dew’s slick slip out and coat his sensitive tip.
 
Dew whines at the contact, pressing his hips down, seeking more, but Aether holds his hip in place, bracing himself more than Dew as he huffs at Dew’s neck.
 
They had been slowly working up to this all evening, after a movie night curled up in Aether’s bed took a turn and Dew ended up in Aether’s lap, climbing to straddle his hips and pulling Aether into a kiss. That kiss started the inevitable chain of events that led them here.
 
It was something they both desperately wanted and needed but it was the logistics of their size difference that had Aether in a spiral. While he wasn’t the biggest ghoul in the abbey (Mountain holds that title without any question), his cock was girthy and a lot to take. Dew was a smaller ghoul, and Aether was genuinely afraid of hurting him, despite his assurances otherwise.
 
Dew fidgets under Aether’s hand and when Aether doesn’t move an inch, Dew’s eyes narrow as he considers his options, finally leaning in and licking a sensual path from the shell of Aether’s ear and down, causing the large ghoul to shudder, then, bites down hard on the junction of Aether’s shoulder and neck, sinking his fangs in and lapping at the blood with a moan, golden eyes rolled back.
 
With a bellow, Aether snaps out of his frozen state and instinct kicks in to claim, to take, to have. He surges forward, pushing into Dew’s body with more force than he originally intended and Dew hisses with the pressure and pain.
 
Aether’s eyes snap open, vivid violet meeting gold, as he freezes “Unholy shit, Dew, I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”
 
“Yes, but for fuck’s sake Aether, please don’t stop.” Dew pants out, scrabbling for a hold on Aether, actually using his claws now, Aether realizes as needle sharp points drag down his back.
 
Aether grudgingly moves, pushing a little further in, and sliding back as he flexes his hips. Pushing in again, this time feeling the tight stretch of Dew against him and releasing a moan that he had been holding in.
 
Exquisite. The feeling of connection, the intimacy of the moment, the trust. He loves Dewdrop, more now, but to be able to share this with him is exquisite.

They move together, both desperate and hungry, knowing it won’t last long. 

Dew comes first, with a shout as Aether sinks inside, striking the spot that drives Dew wild, Aether’s hand firmly around Dew’s cock, milking the last of his cum and licking it from his claws.
 
His eyes blur a little, misty from tears he never felt form, as he finds his release, deep within Dew, his knot swelling and locking them together. Pulling Dew into his chest, rolling them over so Dew is laid out on top of Aether, gathering him in and kissing him deeply as they come down together, full, sated and happy. 


"I love you, Droplet" Aether says solemnly, violet eyes glowing up at the small ghoul resting on him.
 
"Love you, Aeth" Dew says, quietly, eyes locked on Aether's, a hand cupping the side of his face, foreheads touching, horns lightly grazing, a gesture that holds more intimacy to them than anything they just did.
11 notes · View notes
shallyne · 1 year
Text
Feysand Month Day 9: Pride
Tumblr media
One Night, Two Nights, Forever
🏳️‍🌈? 🏳️‍🌈! Please ignore that the banner says one Nights, Two Night instead of One Night, Two Nights.
Words: 1,406
TW: NONE
Feyre meets a lovely stranger at a bar. It isn't smut, if you expected that from the title. No smut writer, sadly.
Feyre chugged the rest of her drink down. It was Friday night and the bar was relatively full. She sighed. She could have had a drink at home but she was home so often, painting, she needed a break from her tiny apartment. When she looked behind her she groaned. "Fucking hell." she mumbled, looking away and letting her hair fall in front of her face. Her ex was here. Tamlin. Tamlin was here. Feyre looked back again and he was walking towards her. Shit. She looked around, somewhere where she could hide. It was too full, he would get her before she could vanish.
As Feyres shoulder slumped, a female voice beside her chirped "There you are!" someone put an arm around her. "I've been looking everywhere for you!"
Feyre looked up. She wasn't sure she was breathing as she met the strangers violet eyes. The most beautiful woman Feyre had ever seen had an arm wrapped around her. She smiled at Feyre, making her eyes twinkling. As if stars lived in them. Where her hand met Feyres skin, Feyre could make out that her hands were calloused. Her Raven-Black Hair fell over her shoulders, ending under her bust.
"There you-I uhm, I've been looking for you, too." Feyre cursed herself for talking like that. Get it together, Archeron.
She looked behind Feyre and exhaled. "He's gone." and unfortunately she withdrew her hand. "I'm Rhys." she said as she took the seat beside Feyre.
"Feyre." she replied, looking over her shoulder. Tamlin really was gone.
"Feyre." Rhys echoed. "Nice to meet you, Feyre." she smirked and turned to the Barkeeper, ordering two drinks. Feyre didn't listen, her eyes wandering to the tattoos on her arm. Dark swirls on her golden-brown skin. Feyre bit her lip, drawing her hands back to keep herself from tracing the tattoos.
"So," Rhys interrupted her thoughts. "Why are you alone on a friday night?"
"Why do you think I'm alone?" Feyre asked.
"Are you not?" Rhys asked.
Feyre chuckled. "Are you?"
They both smiled at the Barkeeper when they got their drinks and then Rhys answered, playing with a strand of her own hair. "I am." she looked through the packed crowd and then back at Feyre. "Let's go somewhere a bit quieter."
"I doubt you can find a quiet corner here." Feyre answered.
"Bet!" Rhys smirked and held out his hand for Feyre to take. She snatched her drink and took Rhys's hand, who very confidently walked into a direction until they reached an empty booth. Rhys grinned at her, sitting down. "I told you."
"I'm impressed." Feyre said. Rhys chuckled as she sat down. "Now what I want to know is, Feyre darling, how do you know Tamlin?"
Feyre cringed. "He's my ex-fiancé." she wasn't in the mood to talk about their relationship so she asked. "You know Tamlin?"
She grimassed. "Unfortunately." Feyre chuckled. Unfortunately, yes. A nice way to put it. Rhys smiled.
Over the evening they warmed up with each other. Rhys told Feyre about her family, so did Feyre. They talked about their jobs. Feyre just opened her own painting studio and Rhys owned a bar. The more they talked and the more they drank the closer they got until Feyre was so close to Rhys that she put an arm around her whispering in Feyres ear. Feyre leaned into her as she did, giggling.
She did not know where she was when she woke up. First, Feyre thought she was at home but when she pressed her face into her pillow, something was wrong. It was softer than her own pillow and it smelled differently. Feyre opened her eyes. It was still dark. Or was it? Were the curtains just closed? Yes, the curtains were closed. She pulled the blanket up and looked down at herself.
Naked. Feyre was naked. Why was she naked? Feyre turned around and instantly spotted Rhys, smiling at her. That's why Feyre was naked. "Good morning." Rhys purred.
That's why Feyre was naked. "Good morning!" she smiled.
Rhys mirrored her smiled and stroked a hair out of Feyres face. Their eyes locked as she did so.
Feyres breath hitched for a moment until she stammered out "I- uhm, I should get going. Home."
"Of course." Rhys said, drawing her arm back. "Or....you could stay for breakfast."
Feyre sat up, trying to fix her hair. "I could." she smiled.
"You should, actually." Rhys said, sitting up like she did and leaned forward, pressing a kiss on her lips. "I can make a mean omelette."
"I guess I have to stay then to judge for myself." Feyre said.
Rhys chuckled "You'll love it!" she said, jumping out of bed. While she threw on a robe, Feyre quickly slipped into her clothes.
She followed Rhys into the kitchen, going to the window as she started preparing breakfast. For a few moments Feyre was asking herself why it felt so familiar. Until she realized, Rhys lived above the bar. "Why do you live above the bar-" Feyre stopped herself. Realization hitting her. "Oh. Oooh. That's why you knew that free spot."
Rhys laughed. "I told you I own the bar."
"It was loud, I understood you own a bar. Not that bar." Feyre said, walking back and taking a seat at the kitchen island. "Blame it on the alcohol."
"You weren't drunk when I-"
"Shhh, blame it on the alcohol." Feyre interrupted. Rhys chuckled.
She watched Rhys as she made breakfast, her back to Feyre. As Feyre looked at Rhys moving around the kitchen, the blurry memories of the night cleared. She was glad because that was definitely a night to remember. But she already knew because she realized she was sore while walking to the kitchen. It almost made her sad that this was just a one night stand. Feyre wouldn't ask Rhys to see her again because Feyre knew she would say no and she understood. Rhys probably had a line of people who were interested and Feyre was just one of them. She wasn't something special.
"Everything okay?" Rhys suddenly asked. She looked up, worry dancing in Rhys's eyes. She gave her a glass if water.
"Thank you." Feyre said. "I'm fine, just a little tired."
Rhys chuckled. "That's good." Feyre giggled and agreed.
Rhys spoke true, her omelettes were really good. They ate together, mostly in comfortable silence. Until Rhys laid down her fork in her empty plate and cleared her throat. "So," she said. "Do you have a number? I mean do you want- can I-"
Feyre chuckled and fished out her phone. She gave it to Rhys and said "Type fast, my battery is almost dead."
Rhys smiled and did. She typed more than Feyre had anticipated before she gave Feyre her phone back. "I already texted me, so I have your number."
Feyre blushed and pocketed her phone. Rhys really wanted to see her again. "Cool." she pressed out. Cool? She was an idiot. Cool.
Rhys looked at the clock the same time Feyre did. She met Ressina in two hours. They wanted to get brunch before their Saturday classes began. "I have to go." Feyre said. She somehow had to make herself presentable.
"Alright." Rhys smiled, bringing Feyre to the door. When Feyre walked out, Rhys said from the threshold "I'll text you."
Feyre smiled. "Please do." Rhys's smile grew brighter as she turned around and walked home.
Feyre wouldn't have expected that Rhys would already write her that same evening. Not for sex but asking her on a date. Feyre said yes and from that day on Feyre and Rhys became inseparable. They moved forward pretty quickly, that's what Feyres sisters said at least. They moved together not even two months later, officially. Inofficially Feyre and Rhys already lived together since their first date. If Feyre wasn't staying at Rhys's place, Rhys stayed at hers. Six months after their first date they were engaged and a little over a year after their date, they were married. Feyres studio was going great and Rhys had just opened a second bar in another city. They were the happiest they have ever been. Even if people were judging them for moving so fast, they never regretted it. They said it wouldn't work out but they were wrong. Rhys and Feyre were at each other's side, through the good and the bad. Until death did them part.
Taglist: @reverie-tales
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