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pinkberrytea · 11 days

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Killing you was the sinful culmination of his undying love, and breathing new life into you, a dowry bestowed upon you out of unconditional devotion.

Memento mori—Remember you must die. Enveloped in memories of her death, the Vampire Ascendant watches his darling consort as she slumbers, lost in dreams of blood and mist. Life is short, and shortly it will end; death comes quickly and respects no one. To death we are hastening, let us refrain from sinning.

An exploration of Astarion's character and his relationship with his Dark Consort following the ascension, from a softer perspective.

Ascended Astarion x Spawn Tav (F!Reader)

w/c: 6.2k words . ao3 . spotify playlist . 18+ only . nsfw . dividers

a/n: thank you for reading! this is my first time dabbling in creative writing, and of course my first attempt at smut fiction, but still, I hope it is at least somewhat enjoyable. I would like to dedicate this work to the lovely @locallegume, who was a huge source of inspiration, and also to hismostbelovedspawn over on reddit, for being always so incredibly kind and supportive. I love you guys!

tags: blood drinking; cunnilingus; body worship; light dom/sub; vaginal fingering; mildly dubious consent; creampie; fluff & angst; emotional sex; dry humping; possessive behavior

The beginning of the morning twilight is Astarion’s favorite time of the day, for it feels at once ephemeral and infinite. The wistful silence, broken only by the still timid chirping of the waking birds; the royal blue-colored sky, tinged with specks of the purples and violets of the dawn; the chilly morning breeze, gently rustling the flowers in the garden, pushing the still forming dewdrops off their petals and onto the ground; you, slumbering beside him, pale skin reflecting the dim light of the fading moon, rosy lips slightly parted. Sleeping peacefully like this, you look like a life-sized porcelain doll, he thinks—your unmoving chest betrays your otherwise healthy likeness, as does the unnaturally blanched color of your skin. Your nightgown hangs lazily off your shoulder, exposing one of your breasts, and your undergarments lay discarded on the floor, on the exact same spot where he had tossed them earlier that night. He adores this version of you—so vulnerable, so defenseless, laid open for him, and him only.

Astarion finds it curious, how you seem to completely lose yourself in your dreams, yet he is also greatly perturbed by the notion that there is a part of you that he is still unable to access, to dominate. It feels unnatural, not to be able to control this elusive slice of your essence, but having ever only tranced, it also mystifies him that you’d voluntarily give up your consciousness each night. You were after all ever the trusting fool—from the moment you met, he had lied to you, manipulated you countless times, and each time you fell for it, standing by his side even when the world screamed at you not to. And even now, you give yourself to him, unquestioningly, unconditionally. In all the long years of his existence, there had been none like you, and there never will be again. None as trusting, none as kind, and he both hates and loves you for it. The very notion of you extending your kindness to anyone other than him is infuriating, and makes him want to take it for himself, put it in a glass dome and hide it away in a place where only he can bask in its warmth. He thinks he is owed that, at least; yours was the only hand that ever reached out to him, so he is justified in not wanting to share.

You shift slightly in your sleep, and a lock of your hair that had been trapped underneath one of your arms falls onto your chest. After eyeing it for a moment, Astarion reaches out for the tresses and grasps them between his fingers. Bringing them close to his nose, he takes in your scent, that is now also his. It smells comforting, familiar—it smells like home. The corner of his lips curl into an almost imperceptible smile, and he closes his eyes, letting out a contented sigh. The hushed shroud of the early hours acts as a cloak, under which he is granted a brief respite, a rare chance to let himself be gentle, be kind. Just as you become entirely vulnerable before him in your slumber, he too exposes the soft underbelly of his feelings for you; that chaotic, intoxicating brew, a messy blend of passion, guilt, hurt, longing, and love, endless and unrelenting love.

He brings his elegant fingers close to your face, and ever so gently glides their soft pads across the cold, velvety smooth skin of your cheek. Your long lashes flutter slightly, tickling the sensitive area under your eyes as he lowers the digits to brush the plump of your lips. He admires you for a short moment, taking in your image—his pretty consort, so beautiful, so frail, so foolishly devoted to him. Oh how lucky he is, to have you who would do anything for him by his side; his most precious treasure, the reason why his long dead heart beats inside his chest once more. He grasps your chin, delicately tilting your head upward to face him, and tenderly presses his lips to yours. His other hand moves to your chest, fingers softly caressing the pebbled peak of your exposed breast, his touch so faint that his skin barely comes into contact with yours. As much as Astarion enjoys asserting his dominance over you, making you kneel before him, seeing the dejected yet submissive expression on your pretty face whenever he decides to make a show of his power, it is these moments he values the most. In your intimacy, he may treat you gently, tenderly, and in your state of unconsciousness, by morning his loving touches will be but a hazy memory, securing your place below, but close beside him, from where you shall never leave for as long as he draws breath—which he can now only do thanks to you.

His fingers on your nipple leave it alone for a moment to close around your breast, giving it a soft, gentle squeeze. Moving quietly so as not to wake you, he slides his right leg under yours and presses it against the back of your knee, creating a space between your thighs as he pushes them apart, where he then nests himself, climbing on top of you.

“Astarion…” when you softly whisper his name, his half-smile widens into a grin; how reassuring it is, to know you belong to him even in your dreams. He lowers his head to plant a kiss on the delicate skin of the curve of your neck, and his lips brush against the two small indentations disrupting the otherwise pristine smoothness of your flesh. Instinctively, he brings his hand to the back of your right shoulder, his long fingers blindly searching for the matching set of bite marks. The last of the three pairs adorns your left wrist, for which reason he will ever so often take your hand in his, only to lovingly kiss it and turn it around so he can admire the evidence of his proudest feat—having sired you.

“Oh my love, I’m here. I’ve got you,” Astarion coos, holding your head gently against his bare chest, fingers tangled in your hair as you writhe and squirm in his arms, empty and glassy eyes lost in a hollow stare, seeing nothing but darkness, endless darkness. The expression on your face is at once delirious and vacant—mouth agape and fists clenched, pupils blown wide, eyelashes wet with tears and a thin string of drool coming out from the corner of your lip and trickling down your chin. At least for tonight, you are lost to him, and as he winces at the still foreign sensation of the loud, vigorous throbbing in his head, your own fading heartbeat softens, dying down into nothingness. And right as it is about to fall perpetually silent, he lets his fangs pierce his own tongue, drawing droplets of now living blood; bringing your face close to his, he presses his thumb to your lower lip, and covers your mouth with his.

He loses himself in the memory for a moment, as he so often does. Your peaceful, serene expression stands in stark contrast to the one that had been etched on your face on that fateful night. It feels like a lifetime ago, yet still he remembers the pain, the agony, the relentless fear building up in his stomach as your body contorted and tears glistened in your vacant eyes. Never had Astarion been more afraid of anything than he’d been of losing you, and by his hand no less. Killing you was the sinful culmination of his undying love, and breathing new life into you, a dowry bestowed upon you out of unconditional devotion. You only ever questioned him about what had happened on the evening of your turning once, but it mattered not how many times you asked, for he would never fully disclose the raw truth—how he had cradled you in his arms and whispered sweet nothings in your ears, kissing away your tears; how he had picked you up as you lost consciousness and carried you to your bed, where he would then tuck you in so very tenderly, so very gently, softly patting your hair and holding your hand, sharing his warmth with you as you lost your own; how he would patiently wait by your side, watching as the color slowly drained from your face, his stomach sinking at the thought of you never waking again—only for you to then slowly open your eyes, their hue now a rich crimson, much like his own. No, he would never again allow himself to be so weak, for he was supposed to be your warden, your liege. This pathetic side of him was to be ever hidden from you, only rearing its ugly head during the brief, sleepy moments preceding the crack of dawn.

With his lips still pressed against your skin, Astarion starts peppering kisses down your neck, on the hollows of your collarbone and across your sternum, his hand on your breast fondling it gently, the other still tracing the bite marks on your shoulder. His still clothed hips start lazily, almost imperceptibly rocking back and forth, lightly grinding against your naked thighs; thinking back to the night when he made you his almost inevitably causes blood to rush to his groin, and his body starts unconsciously seeking the sweet relief of the friction between his hardening erection and your supple skin. He moves his hand on your breast to grasp your nipple between his fingers, lightly squeezing it. You involuntarily buck your hips in response, which amuses him greatly as he continues playing with the tender nub. A soft moan escapes your lips, encouraging and emboldening his attentions as they drift away from your clavicle towards your chest. He plants gentle kisses on the plump of your bosom, using his teeth to pull at your nightgown and drag it down, exposing your clothed breast to the chilly morning air. You shiver, and he smiles against your skin, pressing his lips to the valleys of your ribs, the softness of your lower belly, and finally to your bare crotch. With his face so close to your swollen sex, the sweet scent of your essence now intoxicates his senses. He stands back for a moment to admire how it glistens in the faint glow of the moonlight, so deliciously inviting, as your juices start building up and collecting in-between your folds.

Feeling his breath caressing the sensitive skin of your core, you finally start to slowly regain consciousness. Once his arousals were returned to him, Astarion would make a habit of waking up during the night at various times to bury his cock in you, so it takes you but a moment to gather your bearings. Either out of mischievousness or curiosity, you play coy at first, pretending to be asleep still. His soft lips briefly come into contact with your engorged bud, sending shock waves through your body, and you are barely able to keep yourself from letting out a yelp, although you can’t prevent your skin from becoming covered with goosebumps. When his tongue pokes out of his mouth to give it a tentative lick, you know you won’t be able to keep up the charade for much longer. He feels your body tense up, and slightly raises his head to look at you from his position between your legs with half-lidded, lascivious eyes, dilated pupils partially covering the ruby hue of his irises. You’re unsure if he has already caught on to your little ruse, so you try staying as still as possible, which proves difficult with his face so close to your cunt.

After what seems like an eternity he decides to continue, lapping at your clit again and then sliding his tongue downwards, burying it between your folds. He presses it against the outer edge of your entrance, squeezing slick out of you, and as he savors your essence, he can’t help but think that while its sweet tanginess does not compare to the coppery, velvety richness of the crimson in your veins—nothing ever will, for his is the blood that courses through them—it may well be the second best thing he has ever tasted. Gliding his tongue upwards once more, he uses it to gently massage the raw bundle of nerves atop your slit, leaving a trail of saliva mixed with your fluids between it and your twitching cunt, which then dribbles down onto your thighs. Placing a hand on each side of your hips, he pulls you closer to him, and the shift causes his fangs to graze the sensitive skin of your folds, in response to which your eyes water and you clutch the silk sheets under you both. Taking no notice of your desperate reaction, he continues swirling his tongue up and down your wetness, gently suckling on the tender skin, eagerly eating you up as if you were a full-course meal served especially for him, just begging to be ravished.

You feel heat pooling in your lower abdomen, and at this rate it won’t be long before you are brought to the edge. Momentarily forgetting the fact that you are supposed to be pretending to be asleep as you lose yourself in the crescendo of your release, you arch your back, leaning on your elbows to support your weight, and as soon as you do, he mercilessly pulls away from you, leaving your dripping core empty and aching. Eyes closed still, you let out a soft mewl in protest, which you regret as soon it leaves your lips, for once Astarion notices your desperation, you are done for.

Still unsure if he has already perceived your awakened state or if he believes your body to be involuntarily reacting to his touch, you dare not produce any further sounds. Having cruelly left your throbbing mound unattended, his tongue now glides its way up your stomach, leaving a glistening wet mess in its wake. Upon reaching your chest, his lips latch onto your left breast, your perked nub fitting perfectly inside his mouth. He sucks on it ever so tenderly, teasing it with a pointed tongue and lightly scraping the squishy surrounding flesh with his fangs. One of his hands leaves its place on your hip and finds its way between your legs, and you let out a sigh of relief when you feel a long, elegant finger ghosting over your clit. The other hand slides further down to the curve of your ass, and his blunt nails dig into your soft skin, giving it a firm squeeze.

The pad of the wandering digit finally presses down onto the engorged flesh of your reddened knot, massaging it leisurely in circular patterns, and another finger suddenly slides between your folds, parting them gently. Unable to contain yourself, you roll your hips into his hand, which you soon learn is a grave mistake as he tightens his grip on your ass, applying such pressure that come morning, bruises are certain to form on the pale skin, which he will then tenderly kiss better while looking apologetically at you from under thick lashes; and you will forgive him, as you always do. Lifting his head up from your now rouged, swollen nipple, he readjusts his position above you, using his body weight to pin you down and hold you in place. He lets go of your ass, firmly grasping at your jaw with his newly freed hand, and even from behind closed eyes you can feel the intensity of his gaze. This does not bode well, and try as you might you cannot ignore the sickening pinch in the pit of your stomach as his eyes scrutinize every inch of your face—has he noticed? Is a punishment in order? Will he deny you your release?

“Open up, darling. Your mouth.” The commanding tone with which Astarion vocalizes the otherwise unassuming words is all it takes to placate your erratic thoughts, and obeying is for you as natural as breathing—or it would be, if you were still alive. Once you do as he says, you feel his thumb pressing on your lower lip, forcing it further down. He slides the digit inside your mouth, gagging you slightly, and your lips instinctively close around it. “Good girl,” he purrs, and encouraged by the tenderness of his praise, you start lightly sucking on it, coating it with saliva. For a short moment, he becomes entranced by the feeling of your wet tongue massaging his skin, and his mind wanders to the thought of your plump lips wrapped tightly around his cock. This prompts him to once again start bucking his hips, rubbing the now obvious bulge underneath his pants against your stomach, but this time his rhythm is much more frantic, more desperate.

Relief washes over you as you feel the fingers still in your slit resume their fondling, the one on your clit now applying greater pressure, handling it much less gently, yet just as skillfully, his knowledge of all the ins and outs of your body having always been something he prided himself on. The other makes its way down from its place between your folds, plunging into you as soon as it reaches your entrance. Your body jerks in response, and your moan is muffled by his thumb in your mouth—when he then plunges another, stretching you open without giving you time to adjust, you involuntarily bite down on the digit gagging you, sinking your fangs into his flesh. He grimaces, and you can tell you have hit an artery, because the flow of the thick, hot blood running down your throat is alarmingly heavy. However, rather than pulling away, he lets you drink, curling his fingers inside you and massaging the tight walls of your cunt with his knuckles. The rich taste of his crimson lingering in your tongue and spreading inside your body, mixing with yours within your veins and making them pulsate with life—pure, raw, vibrating life—works as a powerful aphrodisiac, heightening all your senses, and the feeling of him fucking you with his fingers is all it takes for you to come undone on his hand, muscles spasming and clenching around the digits, coating them in the sweet nectar of your release.

Just as you reach your climax, Astarion’s own teeth sink into the indentations marking the otherwise smooth skin of your neck. You instinctively cock your head to the side to grant him more access, letting him feed on you as you bask in the afterglow of your orgasm, sucking on his thumb still. His blood flows from him to you and then back to him, and the sheer intimacy of it brings you so close together that it’s as if you have merged into one single being. You can no longer tell where you end and he begins, as your minds touch and mesh and then untangle again, in a sensual, chaotic dance, where you both sway to the rhythm of his heartbeat. And while the connection lasts, his emotions rush through you and yours through him, rendering words meaningless as the everlasting adoration, the inebriating, all-consuming love you share, no matter how tainted, is laid bare before you, in all its wickedness and allure.

“Fear not: you are mine.”

You finally open your eyes, letting go of his thumb, and as the fog from the afterglow subsides you notice his fingers remain inside you still, gliding effortlessly up and down your twitching walls, which are now lubricated with slick and come; your skin tingles from the overstimulation, but the sensation is not unwelcome. With the hand you have just freed, he holds your head in place while he continues to feed, and you both stay like this for a while, his fingers buried inside your cunt and his fangs in your neck, where they rightfully belong. His little grunts as he drinks from you and the feeling of his hardened cock pressed flush against your stomach rekindle the ache between your legs, causing the living blood now coursing through your veins to flow to your tender core.

Having drank to his heart’s content, Astarion pulls away from you, making you wince at the sudden emptiness as both his fangs and fingers leave your body. No longer plagued by the perpetual, agonizing hollowness of vampiric hunger, his only reason for feeding on you still is the invigorating thrill of your taste on his tongue and your blood pulsating in his arteries; you were his first, after all, having offered him the greatest gift of them all when you had no good reason to. Killing you on the evening he first revealed his true nature had never been out of the question, and it puzzles him still why you would willingly surrender this sanguine gift to a vampire stalking you in the night—a pitiful creature, hiding in the shadows, with murderous intent and offering you nothing but pain and misery. He is reminded of your foolishness and naïveté every time he sinks his fangs in your soft flesh, and the familiarity of it is oddly comforting to him.

Not bothering to wipe the red smear on his chin, he brings his hand up to your mouth once more, only this time his digits are covered in your juices. A single look into his crimson eyes, clouded with lust, tells you all you need to know, and you eagerly obey the silent order, wrapping your lips around his fingers.

“Ever so obedient, aren’t you, my sweet?” His honeyed words and impish smile send shivers down your spine, and unable to talk as your tongue flicks and swirls, lapping at your own sticky essence, you look up at him through your lashes with coquettish demureness; his pretty little spawn, always so good to him, so docile, so devoted. The very sight of you makes his cock twitch with desire. “I do find it charming when you play your darling little games. Mostly because you are awful at them. You did know I was aware the entire time, didn’t you?,” although his smile widens, there is a hint of danger in his voice, “That you were awake.”

As his blood within you rushes to your cheeks, spreading to the tips of your ears, Astarion’s expression darkens for a moment, and the lust in his eyes grows wilder, more desperate. There is something endlessly enticing about how bashful and girlish you look when your face is hot and flushed with his crimson, like a child caught stealing from the cookie jar, and it makes him want to devour you whole. He abruptly slides his fingers out of your mouth, and the glistening string of your fluids that forms between your lips and his digits breaks off as he uses that same hand to grab your neck and bring your face close to his. Once you are mere inches apart, he stops for a moment, locking eyes with you, and the proximity between you is such that you can feel his long lashes brushing against your skin and see the flecks in different shades of red swimming in his irises. The stillness in the air makes you acutely aware of the sound of his heartbeat, and it paradoxically both comforts and torments you. Such is the nature of your relationship; yearning and sorrow, worship and regret, lust and greed. The duality of it is not lost to you, but you’re past the point of coming up with justifications, for it is far too late for redemption. You made your choice, he made his, and now his burden is yours to bear. It matters not if outsiders looking in cannot make sense of it, as the bond between you was never meant to be understood by anyone else—however ugly and twisted it may be perceived by those around you, it is undeniably a bond of love, one you are willing to protect even if it costs you everything.

“Until the world falls down.”

When he finally closes the distance between you and crashes his mouth into yours, your mind is wiped clean of any semblance of coherent thought and your senses are filled with nothing but him—his scent, his warmth, his taste. He hungrily parts your lips with his tongue as soon as your skin touches his, your teeth clicking in his desperation, and his grip on your neck tightens. You feel tears well up in your eyes, some spilling through your lashes and rolling down your cheeks, your repressed emotions overflowing as you lose yourself in the fierce intensity of his kiss. You want him, you need him, you hate him; you love him, oh how dearly you love him, more than life itself. He explores the inside of your mouth, wantonly, passionately, only stopping to suck on your bottom lip, nipping it with his fangs and lapping at the droplets of blood blooming from the punctured flesh. Once he pulls away, gasping for air, you are both a disheveled mess, lips swollen and bruised and red. Not yet letting go of you, his fingers wrapped around your throat still, he guides your head back down, laying it on the soft feather pillow, only to then straighten up his torso, hand on your neck holding you in place and darkened eyes looking down upon you. From your position below him, he looks ethereal, almost godly, as the moon casts a pale halo around his frame, shining its light on the naked skin of his upper body.

He holds this position for a while, silently studying your face, and as he does, his intense gaze seems to gradually soften, mellowing out into almost tenderness. You feel the pressure of his fingers on your skin lessen, and then cease completely as he frees you, raising his hand up to cup your cheek. His thumb traces the trail of dried tears, and you lean into his soothing touch, eyes wettening once more. Taking notice of this, he leans back down and brushes his lips against the teardrops threatening to escape from your lashes, drying them before they fall.

“Shh, my darling, hush.” The softness in Astarion’s voice and the gentleness of his caresses as he runs his fingers through your hair are all you ever yearned for, all you ever needed, and yet with every touch your chest tightens and you feel a pang of loneliness and guilt tugging at your unbeating heart, for this is what you want, but not what you deserve. You have failed him, just as he has failed others, and your regrets bind you together for eternity as the thread of your fate entangles with his in a constricting embrace—so is it too greedy, to let yourself be selfish and indulge in his warmth before the sun rises? Is even someone as broken and wicked as you allowed a moment of reprieve, however brief? You know not the answer to these questions, nor do you think you ever will. All you know is that there’s nowhere else you want to be but in his arms, no matter how much it hurts, for you’ll endure the pain as long as you are by his side.

“Kiss me,” you quietly plead, your supplication barely a whisper, prompting him to pull away slightly to look into your eyes. He takes a moment to try and read your expression, his gaze sharp, inquisitive, stripping you off all your defenses and laying you bare before him. A short time passes, and without saying a word, he lowers his head down again, lips brushing against yours, their pillowy softness and the taste of your blood still lingering on his skin shrouding your mind in a white fog. You raise both of your arms and wrap them around his neck, bringing him closer as your mouth matches his movements, the desperation of before now manifesting more tenderly, more lovingly, but just as intensely. One of his hands remains on your cheek as he kisses you, and with the other, he finally unlaces his pants, freeing his neglected erection, which by now is slick from the precome leaking from its engorged head. The color of the sky outside slowly begins to brighten, now a beautiful blend of periwinkle and cyan, and as the twilight peaks and starts to reach its end, Astarion decides he has waited long enough—he will take you here and now, before the merciless, harsh light of the sun engulfs you both.

Feeling his hardness against your thigh, you readily comply, spreading your legs apart. You need this just as much as he does; to be one with him, carnally, for your souls have long merged, and there is no you without him just as there is no him without you. As he lines up with your entrance, his lips leave yours and he presses your foreheads together, staring into your eyes with reassuring tenderness. You feel the tip of his cockhead flush against your dripping sex—the reddened, puffed up skin feels warm, and thinking of how it is swollen from his blood in your veins is all it takes for him to finally snap and give into his desires. He slides inside of you in a single thrust, the wetness from your juices facilitating his entry as he stretches your walls to accommodate his large size. You try to bite back a whimper, your eyes once again tingling and prickling with the promise of tears as one of your hands finds its way to the back of his head and your fingers become entangled in his silvery curls. Not moving immediately, he waits a while, giving you time to adjust. You revel in the familiar feeling of his cock stuffed inside your core, the pain and warmth of it, and you wonder if he too can find comfort nowhere else but in your flesh, as it is only when filled with him that you are able to hold together the broken pieces of your descended mind.

The hand that had been cupping your cheek now rests on your waist as he moves his head to nuzzle the curve of your neck, taking in your scent. Ever so slowly he starts rolling his hips back and forth, planting gentle kisses on the delicate skin where his fangs had been buried just moments ago, now stained with patches of dried blood. You close your eyes, still trying to hold back the tears, hugging him as tightly as you can, or as tightly as he’ll let you. His pace is at first languid, sensual, allowing you to feel the entirety of him as he massages your aching, tender walls, still sensitive and spasming from your orgasm. He grunts in your ear, prompting you to start undulating your own hips, doing your best to match his rhythm. Emboldened by this, he moves his hands down to grab your ass, tilting your pelvis up and pulling you closer to him. Just as desperate to feel him as deeply as physically possible, you wrap your legs around his midriff, allowing him to reach the innermost parts of your throbbing cunt. When the tip of his cock brushes against the spongy skin of your cervix, your gut tightens and you cry out for him, unable to contain yourself.

“Astarion…”

The sound of his name in your lips, so very eager, so very sweet, is all the encouragement he needs, and the once languid movements give way to more vigorous pounding, the lewd sound of smacking flesh echoing in the otherwise quiet room as he snaps his hips and buries himself deeper inside your aching core. Your body rocks in rhythm with his thrusts, the tears in your eyes finally escaping your lashes and running down your face, a chaotic culmination of all the pleasure, all the hurt, all the desire and all the devotion brewing deep inside your heart as your raging feelings come to a boil. No one can understand, no one will understand—and yet, as he fucks you senseless in the early hours, pumping his cock in and out of you with lascivious abandon, none of it matters. You hold him even closer, pressing your squishy breasts flush against the sweaty, glistening skin of his chest. He moans at the sensation, intensifying his pace and using his hands on your ass to tilt your pelvis higher, pushing your folded legs, which are still wrapped around him, as close to your upper body as your flexibility will allow it. You feel the muscles in your thighs stretching and burning, but this only excites you further, and the soft whimpers leaving your lips escalate in frequency and loudness alike.

As he continues pounding into you, Astarion’s kisses on your neck become more passionate, more heated, going from pecks, to licking, to sucking, until eventually he gives in and once again sinks his fangs in the bruised flesh. You mewl faintly and your grip on his hair tightens, in response to which he bites down on you harder, nails raking across the skin of your ass as his thrusts grow fiercer, more violent. The message immediately gets through to you—the cheeky little spawn must know her place—so you obediently let go of his curls, although your digits remain entangled in them still; yet he does not slow down his pace, ramming into you with such force that you are afraid you will have trouble walking once he is finished. Be that as it may, one of his hands leaves its place on your ass to hover above your swollen clit, which twitches desperately as his cock resurfaces and then disappears again inside your cunt. He grasps it between two deft fingers, massaging the engorged bundle of nerves as a reward for your obedience, and that is all it takes for tension to again start building up in your groin.

“You have given me everything.”

His digits on your tender bud; your blood running down his throat; his cock slamming into you, stretching open your tight walls—you are so very close to climaxing again, and yet you don’t want the moment to end; you don’t want morning to come, breaking the spell and robbing your lover from you, as it always so cruelly does. The tragic inevitability of it is however unaffected by the infinitude of your existence, a gift that was also bequeathed to you by him, and enveloped by the ice-cold embrace of the memories of your death, your body comes alive as you are pushed over the edge, your twitching cunt fluttering and contracting around him, creaming and squirting your sweet juices all over his length.

As you slump back and go limp is his arms, Astarion unlatches his mouth from your neck and props up his torso to marvel at your image as you bask in the glory of your release—so maddeningly beautiful, cheeks and plump lips flushed bright pink with what remains of his lifeblood within you; his consort, his spawn, his to use as he pleases, his and nobody else’s. While he continues fucking you through your orgasm, all you can hear are his low moans and grunts and the squelching sounds of your wetness as he ruts into you with ever increasing furor. You can tell he is also close by the way he holds your hips with both of his hands, pushing his own against them with almost vicious ferocity while you remain slumped on the headboard, tits bouncing cutely with every thrust. The daylight seeping through the curtains now brightens up the room, and as you look up at him with half-lidded eyes, you notice how handsome he looks illuminated by the gentle glow of the rising sun, sweat beading his temple and dripping down his chin and nose.

“Gods…” he groans, voice raspy with lust, and with one final push he empties himself inside you, filling you to the brim with his seed, which feels thick and warm flooding your tender walls. Still panting and sucking in sharp breaths, he falls on top of you, not bothering to pull his cock out of your still spasming cunt, chest flush against yours and head burrowed in the crook of your neck. Spillover runs down your thighs and soaks into the wrinkled sheets, but neither of you bother cleaning it up, the resulting stain surely to give the maids good reason to blush later.

You bring a hand up to his silky curls once more, gently running your fingers through them as you feel the calming thumping of his slowing heartbeat vibrating against your cold skin. As the dawn finally breaks over the still sleeping city, signaling the beginning of a new day in your undead life—for better or for worse—you find comfort in the warmth of his flesh and the sound of his ragged breathing as it gradually steadies. All your suffering, all your pain; if even your death is required to bring him to life, then so be it. He will live for the both of you, and you will love him for it. Forever—for good.

“Thank you for trusting me.”

#personal #astarion x tav #bg3 #bg3 fic #ascended astarion #lord astarion #astarion #astarion smut #astarion x female reader #astarion x reader #ascended astarion x reader #fic: death and his maiden #my fics

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hisui-dreamer · 1 month

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Okay I spent a while thinking of flowers and decided that I'd rather be simple, and give Jamil a bouquet of Gladiolus and Morning Glory based on our birth months ^^ (also, a thought- there's no reason for these same flowers from our world to exist in TW, maybe similar looking ones, but not the same. So imagine prefect cultivating flowers to look like flowers they know, specifically for their beloved 😭💕)

clandestine meetings and longing stares

Pairing: Jamil Viper x gn!reader

Synopsis: your love for each other was never allowed, but that never stopped your feelings for each other

Tags: secrets relationship, pining, fluff, reader is not yuu

Word count: 1k+

Notes: so sorry this took so long kirexa!! my assignments put me in an a really bad slump,,, i hope you'll like the direction i took for the flowers hehe <3

Masterlist

flowers of choice:

gladiolus: secret meeting

morning glory: reunion of lovers

The gardens of the Asim estate hold secrets woven into their very essence, secrets that only unveiled themselves beneath the soft shroud of night.

Tonight, like many nights before, you tread the familiar path, the same path you’ve always walked with your heart pounding with anticipation. With bare feet, you move briskly, aware of each step, careful not to disrupt the delicate silence of the night.

Anticipation and adrenaline run through your veins like wildfire, fuelling your steps as you ventured deeper into the heart of the gardens. The moon casts its ethereal glow upon the landscape, painting everything in shades of silver and shadow. Each rustle of leaves, each whisper of the wind, seems to beckon you forward, urging you to hasten your pace.

Arriving at the secluded alcove, your heart soars with elation as you behold Jamil standing amidst the ethereal glow of the moon. His silhouette seems sculpted by the soft radiance, a vision of serenity amidst the night's embrace.

"Jamil," you breathe his name like a prayer, relief flooding through you at the sight of him.

"Ya amar," his voice, soft as a breeze, wraps around you like a comforting embrace.

In mere moments, you find yourselves entwined once again. You melt into his embrace, his touch enveloping you in a comforting warmth, a sensation that instantly makes you feel at home.

Your lips meet in a tender kiss, a silent symphony of emotions cascading between you, conveying depths of love that words could never adequately express. In the stolen moment, you allow yourself to forget the rigid boundaries imposed by your stations in life, the weight of your familial expectations, and simply exist in the blissful sanctuary of Jamil's arms.

All the weariness of weeks spent apart dissipates like mist under the morning sun, replaced by a sense of wholeness that only his presence can provide. As you reluctantly pull back, your breaths mingling in the cool night air, your foreheads pressed together in a silent affirmation of your connection.

"I've missed you," Jamil confesses, his words a balm to the ache in your own heart.

"And I, you," you reply, reaching out to cup his face, your fingertips tracing the contours of his features as if committing them to memory. With a soft smile, you pull back slightly from his embrace, gazing into his charcoal-grey eyes with tender curiosity. "Tell me," you urge gently, your voice barely more than a whisper in the tranquil night air. "How has school been? Are you adjusting well to the second year?"

Jamil's expression softens as he meets your gaze, a flicker of warmth dancing in his eyes. "It's been... challenging," he admits, his voice tinged with a hint of wistfulness.

Each word he utters is painted with the hues of his experiences, drawing you into the vivid tapestry of his school life. He begins to weave intricate tales of his persistent classmate, the one who incessantly seeks his assistance in his business ventures, caring for your older brother, ensuring his well-being and academic progress, and many other intriguing classmates.

You listen intently, a soft chuckle escaping your lips from time to time as you find yourself captivated by his tales. His voice, smooth as silk, washes over you like a gentle caress, wrapping you in a cocoon of comfort and familiarity. It's a voice you've always cherished, one that resonates deep within your soul, and in this moment, no recording could ever compare to the warmth of having him speak softly into your ears.

“I feel a lot better now, being back home, with you..." He trails off, a fond smile gracing his lips as he squeezes your hand gently.

In response, you tighten your grip on his hand, leaning in to nuzzle your face into the curve of his neck. "I'm so glad you're back," you murmur softly, your words a whispered prayer of gratitude.

Oh, how you ache for the freedom to love him openly, to cast aside the heavy cloak of secrecy and fear that weighs upon your shoulders. To intertwine your fingers with his in broad daylight, to lose yourself in the depths of his gaze without the lurking shadows of doubt. To bask in the radiant glow of his affection beneath the sun's golden rays, unencumbered by judgment or retribution.

But how could you? Your families, entrenched in generations of tradition, would recoil at the mere suggestion of your union. To reveal your love openly would be to invite catastrophe, risking the fragile harmony of their world. You know all too well they would send Jamil away, far, far away to somewhere you could never reach, before marrying you off to someone else they deem suitable to fully extinguish the flame of your love.

And yet, you still find yourself yearning for more – for the liberation to proclaim your love from the highest rooftops, to unveil the depth of your devotion to the world without hesitation or constraint. It’s not lost on you how attractive your lover is, his captivating dark features that could ensnare anyone’s heart, and his perfect competence in all facets of life. He would make a brilliant husband.

Just the thought of him marrying another, belonging to someone else, ignites a fierce flame within your soul. The thought of him caring for another sets your heart ablaze with an intensity you cannot ignore. You find yourself holding him tighter, as if by sheer force of will, you could keep him tethered to you.

“Jamil?”

"Hm?" he paused, placing tender kisses into your hair.

"How much longer?" you murmured into his neck, the words carrying the weight of your shared longing, your shared struggle.

He didn't need you to elaborate. Jamil understood the depth of your question, the ache that echoed through every syllable. How much longer must your love remain hidden, relegated to stolen moments beneath the cloak of night, until he could proudly declare to the world that you belonged to him?

"... I don't know, ya amar," he replied, his arms tightening around you.

Masterlist

if you liked this post, don't forget to reblog!

#✧2k! blossoming bouquets✦#twstnexus #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #disney twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #twisted wonderland jamil #jamil viper #jamil viper x reader #jamil viper x mc #twst jamil viper #twst jamil viper x reader #twst jamil #twst jamil x reader

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sprout-fics · 9 months

Text

Rotes Mädchen: Chapter 4

(Werewolf! König x Red Riding Hood! Reader)

(Art by the lovely @zwienzixes)

(Masterlist)

Word count: 4.9k Rating: PG-13 Tags: Werewolf! König, Fairytale AU, Monster Hunters TF141, Traditional German Fairytale setting, World Building/Lore, F! Reader, Sexual tension, Slow burn, Domesticity, Unlacing corsets but in the slowest most sensuous way possible Warnings: Sexual harassment by unnamed characters

You blink again, feeling the damp mist of morning swirl against the hem of your skirt as you look down the path to the front of your garden where two figures lean against the twisted trunk of an aspen tree.

"Morrrrnin'." Soap drawls at you, smirk plastered across his face at the shock in your expression- not expecting two witchers to be awaiting you outside your front door.

"M-morning." You reply after a few moments, quelling your surprise. Soap beams at you, and beside him Gaz offers a little roll of his eyes towards his companion at the clear smugness there.

"Laswell asked for you." Gaz explains when Soap fails to elaborate on their presence. "She mentioned she wanted you to pick some herbs for her and sent us to escort you."

"Escort me?" You ask with a little huff of amusement, raising an eyebrow at them. "What, like some sort of damsel in distress?"

"Aye." Soap offers as he straightens off his perch with a little roll of his shoulders. He stands before you, broad as he places his hands on his hips in a demonstration of sarcastic machismo. "We are but faithful knights to your safety, yer highness."

You have to hide a girlish smile behind your hand at that, endeared by Soap's teasing flirtations. There's an easiness about him you appreciate, that softens the anxiety of the world around you, the burden of the secret in your home that remains dozing in the loft of your home. You had refused to wake König, had instead left a small, scrawled note of your venture outside for errands and a promise to return soon.

Instead, you had found this, the mysterious presence of two monster hunters who had awaited your appearance in the misty brightness of late morning.

"What he means is that there's a dangerous monster in the forest, and Laswell would rather you not be out there by yourself." Gaz again elaborates, offering Soap a nudge in the side as the Scot cries out in feigned hurt. Yet they both look to you expectantly, offering boyish smiles as they await your response.

"Well." You sigh at last. "I suppose I can't refuse two handsome gentlemen such as yourselves."

"Aww, she called us handsome." Soap drawls, nudging Gaz in the side with his elbow. Gaz shoves him a little back playfully, mischief dancing in his eyes.

"Can agree with me, at least. Might need to get your eyes checked about him." He tells you wryly, much to Soap's displeasure.

"Oi-"

"Shall we get a move on, gentlemen?" You ask as they begin to playfully cajole each other into rough housing, until they both turn and offer their horses to you. You stride past them, put a boot in the stirrup of Soap's mare and deftly swing yourself into the saddle, offering the pair a clever smile as they stare up at you in surprise.

"You two can share." You declare, clipped, nudging the mare in the direction of the village road as they cry out after you in dismay.

----

You end up sharing with Soap after all, as the three of you pick your way off one of the more isolated trails into the gulley of the forest. You know the path well, know nightshade and chamomile grows deep in the shadows, know which leaves to gather, and those to leave alone let the thorns bite at your fingertips.

There's easy conversation amongst the three of you, as you capture their rapt attention in your ramblings about the village, herbs, Laswell, the forest itself. In turn, Gaz and Soap share their own limited knowledge about your craft, and detail that which you don't know about theirs. They share tales of gargoyles and necromancers, creatures of the night, curses and demons and dead kings.

They tell you too about the wolf.

"Werewolves are especially hard to kill." Gaz explains from his saddle beside you, voice lower now. Grim. "Especially during full moons."

"I thought they shift only during full moons?" You offer, and Soap makes a little grunt of frustration behind you. it's not directed at you, but you can feel the annoyance sit low in his chest pressed against your back.

"They can shift at will." He elaborates, voice colored with a low simmering irritation, likely at their currently fruitless hunt. "Full moon is just when they lose control."

"And bite people?" You ask, to which he and Gaz exchange a look.

"It's uncommon, but yes. Treatable too, if you catch it soon enough."

It clicks then, the herb that they must be searching for, the cure to the ailment they may end of facing.

"Wolfsbane." You breathe, twisting in your saddle to look up at Soap behind you, who smiles, pleased.

"Told ya' she's a smart lass." He comments to his comrade beside him, who chuckles in response. "Aye, wolfsbane. Tastes like shite but will cure you right fast."

You cast him a little look of wry amusement before facing forward once more. "Have you tried making it into tea?" You ask mildly. "Or...bread? Soup? Liqour?"

"Liquor...why didn't I think of that?" Gaz mumbles, barely audible beside you both. "Could have been drinking wolfsbane ale this whole time and not choking it down raw."

"Bet it still tastes like piss." Soap points out, and Gaz gives him a withering look.

"You will drink anything that has liqour." He points out, to which Soap splutters but offers no rebuttal. "Besides-"

Gaz looks at you, a little more seriously now. "We can take it, we...are a little different than regular people. A small dose for us would kill most humans within a few hours. For us we get feverish and a tad sick, but it won't kill us. It’s better than being a werewolf."

You nod at that, and want to press for more. You knew from the moment you saw the witchers that they were...different. They're broader, taller, more intent than other men you've seen. There's an inherent keenness to them that speaks of awareness, more than that of an average human. It makes sense. Mortals of your kind were not bred to hunt creatures such as werewolves, let alone all manner of other beasts that roam these lands.

Gaz must see the contemplation in your eyes, the silent rumination, because he reaches the distance across from you, between the horses and nudges your shoulder with his leathered palm.

"You can ask." He offers gingerly, eyes kind. "We don't mind."

"Gaz's right." Soap supplies. "Truth is, hen, we've taken a bit of a shine to ye. Laswell trusts ye, and we can see why."

You squirm a little at that, face tucked into your hood, abashed but pleased at their comments. It's nice, this. It's often lonely in the village, in the place where so many others don't trust you, look at you skeptically from the corner of their eyes, whisper about you even where you can hear. Here, between these men with blood that runs hotter, higher, more potent, you feel a familiar sense of otherness that to you feels like belonging.

So, you ask, and you learn more of them.

They weren't always witchers, they tell you. First, they had been boys. Orphans, or given up to older witchers to be trained, honed, broken and rebuilt. Over the course of years, the four of them had stopped being boys, had begun to grow less human, and by the time they reached adulthood they were no longer mortal.

Witchers.

Gifted with superior sights, hearing, reflexes, strength. They can easily fight with the power of twenty men, born and bred to rid the lands of creatures that stalk and kill more fragile things.

Things like you.

It had taken them many years to find each other. Price had been the first, and you knew this from when he spoke to you. He had originally met Ghost when the younger witcher was still in his trials, had spoken encouragements to him that allowed Ghost to overcome the remainder of his training in ways few others had before him. Yet by that time Price was gone, hunting down a witch in the far western lands, one with grey eyes and a thin, wry smile.

"Laswell." You breathe to Gaz, much like a little girl listening to a beloved, enrapturing fairytale. Gaz smiles knowingly at you before continuing on.

Price had been meant to kill her, but upon realizing Kate was not the dark enchantress the villagers who had summoned him made her out to be, he made a different call. Instead, he had traveled with Kate for a time, until they had once more come upon Ghost.

Soap and Gaz go quiet then, and you feel a silent sense of regret, grief between them. You're afraid to press into it, but at last Soap offers the hidden tale of the masked witcher who had once terrified you with his mere presence.

"Roba." Soap offers, voice low, grim.

Roba, the name of the necromancer Ghost had been sent to kill by the man who had trained him, only to be betrayed. Roba had kept Ghost, had tortured him, had failed to break him despite everything. When Price and Laswell had eventually found him, Ghost had already been cursed by the necromancer, a bearing that even to this day forces him to conceal himself lest others be horrified by the appearance of a dead man under the mask.

It has been Price and Laswell who had helped Ghost kill Roba, and the man who had betrayed him. It was only after the battle that Laswell declared herself tired of traveling, and had come to settle in your valley village, while you were still very young.

Price continued on with Ghost at his side, and eventually they had found Gaz, who belonged to a small coven of witchers that protected a haven for those of their kind. Yet when Gaz had listened to promises of adventure and conquest from Price, he had been eager to leave behind his keep and travel alongside them. Price had easily taken him under his wing, had guided him in all the things Gaz had yet to experience as a young witcher.

It had only been once the three of them were united that they found Soap.

Soap goes quiet then, unexpectedly, and you gingerly shift in the saddle to see the hard set of his jaw, the grimace in his expression that speaks of anger, regret.

"You don't have to say it, mate." Gaz declares softly, and Soap only shakes his head.

"My squad was wiped out." He tells you softly, but his voice is hard, stony with grim memory. "We were all too bloody green, too fresh to be hunting what we were after."

You wait for him to continue, and after a few moments of silence you wonder if he actually will.

"A werewolf." Soap finishes at last, voice close to a snarl, low and dangerous in the back of his throat.

He goes on to tell you the story, spares you the details of his fellow witchers' deaths by the beast, tells you only that he had been the one to kill the thing, had sat for days surrounded by the bodies of his friends and his sword embedded in the chest of the werewolf. It had been Price and the others that had found him, had lifted him from where he kneeled and silently accepted him into the fold.

You nod at that, trying to tell yourself it's a happy ending at least. After all, they're together now, found themselves despite all the trials and tribulations. The team they are now is one of loyalty, skill, solidarity, trust. You can think of no one else better to defend your village against the shadow that lurks in the trees.

"So then how do you kill a werewolf?" You ask after several long minutes, adjusting in your seat as the horses begin to descend downhill into a gully.

"With patience." Gaz replies with a little grunt, reigning in his mare from walking too fast. "They heal fast unless you hit them with silver. Wolfsbane helps too."

"Which is why we're finding it." You conclude, leaning back into Soap's chest as he palms the reins in one hand, wrapping a brawny armored arm across your front to keep you from slipping. Your face warms at the contact, remembering the sensation of being at Price's back as you both rode back from Laswell's those nights ago.

Strangely, the memory fades to something else, to the press of a warm, solid frame that loomed above yours, one arm slung over your shoulder as you helped him walk from the forest under the cover of darkness, where he murmured a soft, breathy "Danke, Fraulein." As he at last rested in the safety of your home.

"That-" Soap says from behind you, startling you from reverie. "-and to check the traps we lay."

"Traps?" You echo, when suddenly both men urge their steeds to a halt, Gaz easily slipping from his saddle and walking over to a small pile of crinkled leaves just a few steps from the path. Gingerly, he brushes them aside, revealing a jaw-like contraption laying open against the ground. Empty.

He makes a small sound of disapproval, turning to Soap and talking over your head.

"Not this one, thing may have learned to avoid them after we got him the other night." He comments, brow creasing in frustration. Soap's grumble mirrors Gaz's expression, discontent at their findings.

"What is that?" You find yourself asking, eyeing the strange metal contraption with a healthy amount of caution.

"Bear trap." Soap explains quickly. "Won't kill werewolves but may keep them long enough for us to catch up."

"Our werewolf managed to get himself loose before we could find him." Gaz sighs ruefully, covering the trap once more. "We tried to follow the blood trail, but lost him over a creek. Smart bugger."

You consider that, that the monster that Price and the others hunt is not just dangerous, wild, untamed, but intelligent. It knows it's being hunted, adapts to the wolves of a different breed that nips at its heels under the cloak of darkness. What Soap has said makes sense now, that werewolves are hard to kill, that you need to be patient, smart, and absolutely prepared at any moment to face the monster.

"No matter." Gaz declares, standing and stretching, making back for his horse. "We'll catch it during the full moon."

"Aye." Soap agrees, but his voice is low, a warning. "Dangerous time to be hunting werewolves. It may lose its mind, but it'll be that much more dangerous."

"So, we better finish our own hunt then." Gaz announces, swinging gracefully back into his saddle and taking point as he continues down the path. He turns so he leans over his shoulder at you, offering a reassuringly bright smile.

"Where to?"

---

It takes you the better part of the day to find the hardy purple flowers that grows from the soft, wet soil of creek beds in the hills. You gather as much as you can, and even when Gaz and Soap warn you about the soon-setting sun you try to continue pulling the wolfsbane from where it grows. You aren't like the two of them. You can't hunt monsters, you can't heal quickly, can't fight against beasts. What you can do is this, is help them how you can, and you tell yourself it is enough.

The journey back towards the village is quick, the sun setting low behind the hills and cast the forest in waning light that whispers of ominous darkness. You can't help but trace the trees where you sit in Gaz's saddle, heart murmuring in apprehension as you expect to see the sight you saw that night- of a gigantic, looming figure toeing the edge of the path, eyes glowing, a growl deep in its chest.

As you ride back into the village, you see lanterns flicker on in the houses you pass. Several torches light the square, alighting a small group of men who huddle and discuss with each other in low, grim tones. They silence as you, Soap, and Gaz pass them. Though the two witchers don't bother to glance their way, you do, and instantly wither at the disdainful wariness in their gazes. It's only once you're past them that a voice rings out in your direction.

"Whore!!"

You flinch.

Soap mutters a curse under his breath, tugs his reins back in the direction of the men, only for Gaz's gloved palm to shoot out and grasp at the Scot. His eyes are serious as he looks at Soap, mouth a thin line of disapproval as he slowly shakes his head. You can still see the fury in Soap's gaze, but it's restrained as he forces himself to swallow it down.

Gaz then turns his attentions to you, smile sad but kind as you tuck yourself back into his chest, trying to hide, cheeks warm and shoulders hunched in a mixture of shame and hurt.

"Don't listen to them." He tells you softly, one hand gently settling atop yours in your lap. You nod, shoot him a grateful look, one that doesn't ease the remaining anxious flutter of your heartbeat.

By the time the two witchers deposit you back at your doorstep it is well and truly dark, the lanterned lights of the village doing little to illuminate the lane where your small cottage resides. You try and tell them to be careful, but the pair merely shoot you playful, withering glances in the same vein of Price.

We're Witchers, love.

Even so, they assure you that the bundles of wolfsbane they carry back to Laswell will offer them protection as they canter back in the direction of her home.

You watch them go and try not to think about how much you'll miss them after they leave for good.

"You're back!" König chirps as you step inside and the door latches behind you. You smile at the bright tone of his voice, excited, eager to see you. There's an unfamiliar brightness that alights in your chest, the feeling of being welcomed so wholly, so jovially as soon as you step into the confines of your own home. It feels different than Laswell, with her easy but mysterious demeanor, different than the shy bashfulness of being around Price and the others. Here, you feel like you can be entirely yourself, allow König to see the weariness behind your smile.

He's warming himself near the fire as you step inside, hands outstretched as the scant warmth of daytime fades. He's coaxed the hearth into a slow, tender flame that licks just shy of his palms. A pot of water hovers above it, and once again the soft, grateful comfort of coming home to good company fills your chest so suddenly it nearly aches.

"You were gone all day." König offers as you come closer, deposit your scarlet cape atop a chair with a little sigh. "I-"

König pauses, breathes in. You blink, watch as a strange puzzlement passes over his features, his chest rising as he takes a long, dragging inhale through his nose.

"W-what is that?" He asks, voice wavering slightly, and you blink, a similar look of confusion clouding your features. You stare at him silently, trying to decipher whatever he's alluding to, and eventually glance to your skirt, your cape, seeing if perhaps there's something you don't recognize that could have spawned his reaction. Finding nothing, you eventually look back at him.

For a single moment, you swear König’s eyes glint yellow.

He stands, the motion rather abrupt, and his height nearly makes you startle, still unaccustomed to the sheer length of his build that towers over you.

"I-I heated some water." He manages, voice strained. "In case you...maybe wanted to bathe."

You relax a little at that, the idea of a warm soak a much-needed relaxation to the ache of being in a saddle all day. Still, you raise a playful eyebrow at your visitor, mouth quirking.

"Why, do I smell?" You ask, and König splutters, instantly raising his hands and waving them in defense.

"N-nein!" He exclaims, and you giggle at the frantic, indignant widening of his eyes beneath his hood. If you look close enough, you can almost swear there's a faint pinkness rising to his cheeks.

"I'm only teasing." You reassure him, and watch his shoulders droop in relief, failing to resist a grin.

König startles as you pass him in the direction of the wood wash bin you keep tucked to one side of the kitchen, sucking in a sharp breath as you near him. You wonder idly if perhaps you were a little too harsh with your teasing, considering his strange reaction to your proximity. He doesn't make to assist you in dragging the tub across the floor, nor does he move from where he stands as you lift the now simmering kettle to pour into the tub. Your hands briefly dip into the water, testing the temperature, watching Konig out of the corner of your eye. He seems to ease as you dry your hands on your skirt, gaze lifting to regard you more fully.

It's a bit odd, the way he watches you. It's not necessarily uncomfortable, not in the way that some of the villagers watch you. Their gazes rake across your form, scarcely conceal the apprehension, the disdain behind their eyes. You're still trembling a bit from earlier, turn in such a way that König can't see it. His eyes follow the motion, gaze keen, unblinking. There's an interest in his stare that feels far less like a scowl and more of a silent watchfulness, an unwavering focus that leaves goosebumps trailing along your flesh.

Like a wolf.

You shake away the thought, cast him a shy look over your shoulder. You catch his eyes just for a moment, see him blink as if he was enraptured at something you couldn't see. He straightens under your eyes, but tilts his head down towards his shoes, as if abashed at being caught staring.

"Would you mind, König?" You ask him gingerly, damp hands rising to the back laces of your bodice meaningfully.

Usually, you can undo them by yourself, but the ache of your spine from riding with two witchers all day, and the effort of straining your arms, scrambling up rocky creek beds in search of wolfsbane has you hard to reach the ties.

König shifts where he stands, a little apprehensively, until at last he approaches, broad hands settling at the dip of your back as he slowly tugs the laces apart. You can't tell if his hands are trembling, or if he's just unused to the motion against his fingers. It takes him more time than you expected to part the laces enough for you to have the space to shrug out of the bodice. Before you can, his hand dips in the space between your bodice and your chemise, pressing a featherlight touch against the small of your spine.

You shiver.

König pulls away at once, so suddenly it's as if he's been burned. You look at him over your shoulder, meeting his eyes and finding a matching look of surprise there at his gentle but blatant touching. König looks stricken, guilty, and there's a choked little apology on his lips, as if he too is shocked at his own actions.

You clear your throat a little awkwardly, averting your gaze towards the tub, and fortunately König instantly understands, putting space between you both and tugging the privacy screen as he goes. You hear him take a chair, and as you peek towards him you find him sitting himself facing the wall, offering you an extra layer of privacy. It's strangely endearing, the hunch of his shoulders, as if he's a boy being sent to think on his misdeeds.

You set yourself to the washtub, draping your layers over the screen until you gently scoot yourself, knees folded, into the tub. There's a little sigh that escapes your lips in relief, and though the water barely covers your hips, the warmth is a welcome respite for your tired muscles.

"We went up into the hills today." You offer in the strange silence that follows, and you hear König release an exhale as if he'd been holding his breath. "Laswell sent us looking for wolfsbane."

"Wolfsbane." König echoes, and you blink at the strangeness of his tone, dipping low in his chest with a hint of annoyance. It's gone in a moment as he asks: "...Laswell is the healer at the other side of the woods, Ja?"

"Yes." You reply, knowing he can't see you nod. "She's been my friend for as long as I can remember."

You pause, stare down into the bathwater.

"Maybe...my only friend."

König is silent.

You perk up, smile up in his direction, even if it's a little forced. "You're my friend too, König."

König sits a little straighter at that, and you think, even though you can't see his face, that maybe he's smiling.

"You're...my friend too, fraulein." He offers hesitantly. "A very good friend."

You smile a little broader at that, reach for the soap and begin to scrub off. The grime from digging in the moss and dirt soon comes clean, and you begin to start on the rest of your skin as well.

"The two men from earlier..." He offers after a few minutes of silence. "Are they your friends too?"

You pause, consider.

"I think so." You reply slowly. "I'd like them to be, but..."

You think once more about the witchers you've become friends with, of Soap's easy going amicable nature, of Gaz's trustful eyes, of Ghost's quiet but steady presence, of Price's gaze that weighs heavy on your shoulders, watching.

"But...?" König echoes uncertainly.

You heave a little sigh. "They won't stay here." You declare solemnly. "Once they catch the wolf they're hunting, they'll move on. So, I guess it doesn't really matter."

König is silent at that, and you don't blame him. There's little to offer in that regard. Not even an apology for the things you're yet to miss.

You rinse off, feeling cleaner, stand up from the water and let it drip from your bare skin. When you glance towards König, he remains steadfast, gazing into the corner and not moving. It makes you smile a bit, seeing his embarrassment at the idea of being anything less than a gentleman towards you.

"I...didn't have many friends growing up either." He offers as you dry off near the fire, voice somber, lonesome in a way you recognize all too well. "My mother, she took care of me, but the children that were in the same village as me..." He trails off, looking a little lost. "They weren't kind."

You eye him woefully, pause long enough to see his shoulders sink a little, feel a sense of heartache tug inside you as well.

"Your mother." You speak softly, as you reach for a clean chemise in the trunk near your bed. "...What happened to her?"

König is silent for a few moments, and you wonder if perhaps you've pushed too far. Before you can offer an apology, his voice softly returns to yours.

"She died." He says simply, voice a little muted. "and I was chased out of the village soon after. I've...been traveling ever since."

Dressed now, feet still bare, skin still a little damp, you turn to him. König doesn't turn to look at you, focused now not on the stone wall before him, but on his feet. He’s curled in on himself, as if suddenly he feels like he’s the only person here. You know the slouch of his spine, feel it in yourself. After a moment's hesitation you gently pad over to him. At first you rest a palm on his shoulder, feel the shudder he gives you as a result. Yet he doesn't move it, doesn't force himself to dislodge it, and slowly you slide it around to his front, draping yourself carefully across his back in an embrace.

"I'm sorry." You whisper against the soft, worn fabric of his hood. König doesn't answer except for one, large palm that settles on your arms loosely looped around his neck.

You stay like that for a while, feel the rise and fall of his breath in his shoulders, feel your own exhales tickle across his hood. You wait for him to pull away, not wanting to deprive him of this, but as the minutes tick by, you begin to wonder if he ever will.

"Would you ever leave?" He asks, barely a whisper.

You're silent for a long time, eventually turning your head to look up through the window beside you both, the one that faces the trees reaching up towards the ink blotted sky. The clouds roll past the bright moon, heavy and waxing towards fullness. You watch it, feel it tug something in your chest, an awareness you don't recognize just yet. When you speak, it's as soft as the embrace you've fallen into against him.

"...Yes."

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#konig x reader #konig x you #könig x reader #könig x you #könig x fem reader #my writing #my fic #fic: rotes madchen

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dooberific · 8 months

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❝𝘖𝘧 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘍𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘍𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦❞

pre release wriothesley x afab!reader

genre: nsfw (dacryphilia, creampie, idk how to finish tagging this hehe)

wc: 2.7k

summary: Despite his imposing stature, your lover is the softest and most genuine man you know. His regular praises make it seem like you hung the very stars in the sky, so why his sudden withdrawl?

There was just something different about the flowers of Fontaine. Maybe it had something to do with the land, moist plains sweeping up into sharp mountain peaks that passed a gentle breeze over the winding waterways below. The easy smell of rain, the babbling streams that fed into raging waterfalls that drenched all below in a fine mist.

They seemed to grow a little differently, proud and tall like the Rainbow roses dotting the hillsides, their very own fine bonnets adorning their heads as their brilliant appearances dazzled passing strangers.

Perhaps that was why the simplicity of the Marcotte slipped under so many eyes, winding through life with a silent elegance and glowing smile so heartfelt and utterly kind that even the most icy of hearts would tremble under the warmth of her gaze. She would never be a rose, nor would she ever entertain the thought of it, laughing away the idea with great mirth dancing in her eyes and a grin lingering on her lips well after the encounter.

You may never be a rose, but your simplistic and nostalgic charms had catalyzed such a violent reaction that he was sure you had hung the very sun in the sky, elevating its position as a kindness for your own radiance far out shone the largest star in the Teyvat sky.

But if you were the Marcotte, so delicate and pure, then what was he? Surely he was nothing but a weed in the garden of the gods, a wicked thing who rose from the dirt to strangle the life out of the pretty and soft things around. There was a trail of battered roses in his wake, resentful that the weed had never blossomed into something worthwhile as they had dreamed, that it had spent their precious time, basked in their light, and then left them to wither away in anger.

But the Marcotte was wild and resilient, your unbreakable and hearty spirit more than strong enough to carry your own burdens with grace and dignity even before you had unfurled your brilliant petals.

Pure and wild chased by the impure and plotting.

You should resent him for his wickedness, his impudence to dare stand under the same sun as you. He couldn’t help himself, he was little more than a moth drawn to a flame, a weed that kept creeping back into the garden. How long had he waited, chasing fleeting images and the feeling a hand could never hope to emulate, before your own interests had become so entranced that you allowed him closer?

He would swear it was all unintentional from the beginning, that it had all started as a draw to your magnetic personality. Fleeting kisses of parting after he walked you home at night giving way to deeper intentions as he cornered you against the door and indulged you a little more intimately. The wet slide of his tongue into your mouth, the firmness of his hands trailing down your sides and toying with the hem of your shirt. The little whines from your lips as your fingers carded through his hair, a sting in your calves from standing on your toes as his chapped lips ravaged your neck, your body pressed flush to his own.

It was such a natural progression until it suddenly wasn’t. Kisses left broken as he hastily departed, a harsh flush creeping to his ears as he apologized and took his leave. The onset of his behavior had left your head spinning with questions. Had you done something wrong? He never acted strangely about you until those last and most private moments together, maybe his interest was waning? If you had grown boring you would understand, it wasn’t like your job or life were particularly riveting—

Too many unasked questions, and too much sleep lost. You were not so shy or proud to confront an issue head on, and while Wriothesley loved that trait of your personality he loved it a little less when it was weaponized against him as you stood at his door, a finger pressed to his lips and a stern yet wary look in your eyes as you shushed his questions and gave him a piece of your own mind.

He really was nothing short of a weed, too cowardly to have confronted the issue before it had become a problem. He was a liar, unable to hold your burning gaze as he forced some half-assed excuse past his lips. He certainly could not tell you that his hasty departures had been the product of your evening rendezvouses which simply stoked the fire that the all consuming thoughts of you kept burning in his veins, of the perverse feeling stirred by the lovesick look in your eyes that was increasingly hard to resist. There would be no kindness in those pretty eyes should you know that he could barely touch you now without getting hard, that a moment too long basking in your presence would surely have him cumming in his pants with the same choked gasp that he so poorly suppressed as he jerked himself off later fantasizing your pretty cunt wrapped around him.

There was no question of want, he needed you. He needed to defile you with every dirty thought that ever dizzied his head, to have you fucked dumb on his cock and begging for more because you knew he couldn’t resist. What a shitty lover he felt like, having let you think you had ever done a thing wrong when it was just his own self disgust that he couldn’t keep it together that was wedging you apart.

Maybe just once he could show you, and if you hated him for it he could beg for your forgiveness. Just this once he would kiss you like always, whispers of reassurance passing between you that there was nothing wrong with you, you were perfect. Just this once would he not fight the onslaught of debauched feelings that flooded him the moment you sighed against his lips, parting your own at the gentle tease of his tongue. He would kiss you deeply and with no regrets or holds, making your head spin from the lack of oxygen as the feeling of his warm hands settling on your body as he pressed you against the wall. He wouldn’t make some shitty excuse to leave when he felt his pants tighten, nor would he apologize for the moment he grinded his hips deeply against your own in search of that heavenly bit of friction only you could provide.

He swallowed your surprised gasp, hell bent on smothering you with every ounce of his affection with sloppy kisses and a tangle of tongue. One hand settled at the nape of your neck anchoring you to him as the other hooked under your thigh, drawing it up to rest at his hip as he pressed deeper between your legs and you whimpered at the roll of his hips against the apex of your thighs.

He broke away from your lips, his forehead pressed flush to your own. Your cheeks were tinged pink, eyes dazed as your lip quivered from the greedy breaths you sucked in. His voice was deeper, huskier and tainted with lust.

“I want you.”

Your own voice was shaky as you replied.

“Then you may have me.”

Your sheer stockings and well pressed skirts were hardly more than heaps of fabric on his floor, pearl buttons of your blouse scattered if not clinging to mere threads. A blind stumble through the house had left a trail of what was easiest to remove. Had it not been for his insistence to do right by you and take you in his bed he was assured he would have bent you over the nearest surface and had his way with you.

He swore deeply to any archon that would listen that he would be the most devout follower should they let him remember your disheveled look in the clearest of details, from the smear of your lipstick and the swollen lips he had indulged himself in to the sweeping curves of your body that he had marred with his teeth which now burned the angry red of ruptured capillaries. His kisses were smothering as his hands explored every inch of newly exposed skin, leaving a trail of chills from his cold fingers. He was a gentleman even in the most dirty of moments, all ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ as he waited for you confirmation as if he was still hesitant to think it anymore than a vivid dream to unclip your bra and lathe his tongue over the delicate flesh beneath, to drag his fingers over the soaked fabric of your panties and press his thumb harshly against that little bud of flesh that made your hips jerk in his grasp.

He was sure the sinful noise that parted your lips the moment he pressed your panties aside and flattened his tongue against your weeping cunt had been permanently seared into his brain right alongside the taste of you. The clamp of your pretty thighs against the side of his head only encouraged his efforts, calloused hands easily prying you open as he tongue teased past your lips and his nose pressed against your clit. Your shaky cries that it was too much fell on deaf ears, your fingers fisting into his hair to pull him off a stark contrast to the way your pretty hips grinded against his face begging for more.

He wasn’t so heartless to stop when he knew what was best for you. It wasn’t like you knew, and the flush on your cheeks as you had so softly admitted to him your intact virginity had him questioning if you had ever pleasured yourself at all. It was his duty now to show you what needed, to strip you of every ounce of purity, to fuck you so good you would never consider another man to be capable.

You could taste yourself on his lips, a bitter combination lost quickly on your mind as he dragged your panties down and pressed his calloused fingers into your cunt. His fingers felt thick and rough as he gave a few experimental pumps into your wet heat before burying them to the knuckle and curling them into your walls, relishing the heady cry that escaped your body as your hips canted into his palm.

“Fuck, baby, so fucking tight.” He groaned into your lips, his fingers scissoring you open as he set a brutal pace to loosen you up, the rough pad of his thumb circling and teasing your clit as the wet sound of your cunt met his ears.

“Wrio, please I-,” You choked out, arms wrapping around his neck as the wave of molten lust that clogged your veins and made your stomach twist so delightfully became unbearable.

“I’ve got you baby.”

His words, low and reassuring in your ear, were the last straw as he fingerfucked you into an orgasm. Your whole body buzzed as you cried out sharply, your face buried into his neck as you came on his fingers, thighs clamped desperately around his hand as your entire body quivered.

Your dearest lover Wriothesley felt safe and warm as he settled over your boneless body, gentle kisses pressing away the tears that had streaked down your cheeks from a pleasure never before indulged in. Any notion of vulnerability or embarrassment had been stripped away, replaced by the simple thought that his fingers seemed to intertwine so perfectly with your own just as his body seemed to slot so perfectly between your legs, as if he were some piece of a puzzle you hadn’t realized you were missing.

It was that sense of utter completion that overwhelmed you as his cockhead teased your entrance, the sense of the intrusion so much you forgot to breathe as your body trembled. You could feel every engorged vein, every ridge that bullied deeper into your cunt with the slow roll of his hips, how heavily he was pressed inside you.

He hissed at the feeling, how tightly you still wrapped around him. His grip on your hips was bruising, a vain attempt to ground himself in the moment of the realization of his most hedonistic desires and the simple truth that you were so much fucking better than he could have ever dreamed.

He fucked you deep and slow, reveling in the little sounds you made only for his ears, the gentle begging of his name in a tone reserved just for him. An exchange of sloppy kisses left your head spinning, his cock nestled deep in your womb, every slow thrust teasing that spongy spot inside that made your walls tighten and your legs quiver.

He was so kind, even as he felt that last of his composure slipping with the breathy whisper pressed to his ear that he could have his way with you. It had to be that look of glowing adoration in your eyes as you stared up at him, body rocking gently with each thrust as he made love to you, but he could be good for you just this once.

Just this once to press a kiss to the inside of your knee as he practically folded you in half. Just this once, to intertwine your fingers as he bottomed out in you with one smooth motion. Just this once to fuck you like he really meant it, to watch your eyes gloss over and tears pool at your lashline. Just this once, yet a thousand times over, another lie he would tell himself as if he wouldn’t pound you into his mattress until you couldn’t walk if you asked for it.

Your fingernails scraped harshly against his skin, your own little desperate cling to reality. You didn’t think it was possible for him to feel any deeper, finding it hard to breathe at the new angle as you were certain he was well into your guts by now. Your mind was utterly blank, his name falling from your lips like a prayer as he fucked you with a new fervor as if to shape your insides to only remember the feeling of him. That heated, gut twisting sensation had rebuilt and teetered dangerously on the brink of collapse just as quickly.

He could tell you were close, your words slurring into an incoherent babble of his name. He could practically feel you tighten around him, willing him to finish you off as he leaned forward.

“That’s my girl, cum for me.”

He kissed you, muffling the sharp whine you released as that familiar heat snapped violently in your gut. The harsh pull of your pussy was too much for him to resist, his hips stuttering as his teeth sank into your lower lip. It was a hot, sticky and overwhelming feeling that rested deep in your womb as he slowly fucked his seed into you, the taste of iron seeping into your mouth.

He looked apologetic as his thumb swiped away the bead of blood forming on the vermillion of your freshly busted lip, but you had no heart to be angry when you met his glowing and tired eyes. There was a tremble to his arms as he effectively collapsed on top of you, trapping you under his weight. Your heartbeat was steady in his ear, your fingers tangling in his mussed hair. You could practically feel his entire body relax under your touch, hear his breathing slow.

“You don’t intend to sleep like this, do you?” You cringed at how hoarse you sounded.

“I’m never opposed to this if it’s with you.” He countered, catching your wrist and pressing a soft kiss to your palm. “But I should clean you up.”

It was a hollowing feeling, the loss of his dick that had been seated so firmly within your walls that you subconsciously clenched around nothing. You watched in silent surprise as a trail of fluids weeped from your used cunt and spilled onto the bed, a sense of abject horror striking as you caught the burning gaze of your lover locked onto the sight as well. You clamped your legs shut, shrieking as he easily pried you apart once more, his fingers scooping the viscous liquid back up and pressing it back into your pussy as you hissed at the sensation.

All at once he grabbed your ankles, dragging your hips to the edge of the bed. You propped onto your elbows, staring down his re-hardened cock that lay hot, heavy, and twitching against your hips before flickering up to his flushed cheeks.

“I'm sorry, baby, let me indulge in you just a bit longer.”

Rey, 2023

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #wriothesley x reader #genshin wriothesley #genshin x you

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denaliwrites · 5 months

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Don't Turn Your Back

Tenth Doctor x GN!Reader

Part 1: Don't Blink Part 3: Don't Look Away Part 4: Dreams See Us Through

Summary: If you never see a Weeping Angel again as long as you live, it'll be too soon.

Requests: Open!

Tag List: @nyxiethesimp

Warnings: Weeping Angels.

When the Doctor said "Let's find out why this Weeping Angel is stalking and torturing you," you weren't exactly sure how he intended to do that.

You were not expecting him to propose establishing a psychic link between you and the Angel in question.

"Absolutely not," you'd said, adamantly. "Find another way -- I won't have that thing inside my head."

"It's the only way," he'd said, and damn if he wasn't a bloody good liar.

"I hate you," you'd said.

To which he'd smiled and replied, "You know you're dying to know." And damn if you weren't convinced he couldn't read your mind, sometimes.

So now, here you sat, with some odd machine he'd fashioned out of scraps sitting atop your head. "I don't like this," you told him nervously.

"Oh, but you look great," he told you with a smile. Despite his blasé attitude, you remained unconvinced. He was a little too casual, yet for some reason he wouldn't meet your eye.

"What's wrong Doctor?" you finally asked as he adjusted the machine you wore. "Why won't you tell me the other options?"

"Because there aren't any," he said, yet again.

"Doctor, I know when you're lying."

"Because the only other option is to let you die," he snapped, voice broken and movements suddenly jerky as he was overcome with emotion. "And I will not let you die."

"Oh."

You regretted asking. And yet, you persisted.

"So this is safe?"

"No," he replied with a sigh. "But you have a better chance if we do this than if we do nothing. If we do nothing... the Angel will get bored, and..."

"It may not send me back... like the other Angels do."

"Are you ready?"

"No."

"Starting on the count of three."

He counted down, turned the machine on... and then everything went black.

You could tell something was off even before you opened your eyes, but opening them certainly confirmed your suspicions. You found yourself back in your flat, but the world around you was strangely dark and covered in thick mist -- even though you were inside.

Not a fan of that, you decided.

Walking through your flat didn't reveal anything out of the ordinary, besides the darkness and the fog. There were no ghosts, no angels, no Doctor, no... anything.

You were alone.

How were you supposed to tell him? How would he know to pull you out? Those thoughts, among others, ran through your head as you made your way outside to look around the garden. Finding more nothing, you moved on to the street.

You saw the TARDIS on the other side of the road, its light dim and ominous in the oppressive dark of whatever Hell this was.

You wanted to run towards it, and into the safety of the TARDIS, but movement to your left caught your attention.

Oh.

The Angel.

You sucked in a steadying breath and walked towards it.

"Why are you doing this?" you asked as you neared. You hadn't expected your voice to echo. It freaked you out a little. This whole place did. The situation, too.

The Angel didn't answer you.

"Oh. Do I need to turn away?" you asked, genuinely. You blinked and when your eyes opened you could've sworn the Angel's lips were slightly more upturned. "Okay. I'm here to talk. I'm here in good faith. Please don't kill me... I... I'm trusting you."

It was a terrible decision, really, but what choice did you have?

So you turned -- and closed your eyes for good measure.

"Why are you doing this?" you repeated.

A voice not unlike two rocks grinding against each other whispered in your ear, "Revenge." And as quiet as that single word was, it still echoed around you.

"But I've never seen a Weeping Angel before," you whimpered. "How could I have done anything to you worth revenging over?"

"Not you," the voice whispered.

Oh. Well, the only other person that left was the Doctor.

"What did he do?" you asked, even though you didn't actually want to know.

"He killed my sisters."

"I... I'm very sorry," you started, swallowing thickly. "That must've been... terrible. I can't imagine."

"He took something from me," the voice continued, "something I loved. So now I will take from him something he loves."

A nervous laugh bubbled out of your throat. "The Doctor doesn't love me."

"Foolish human," the voice said, and there was just enough threat in those words for you to instinctively open your eyes and turn around.

The Weeping Angel was gone.

Nerves alight and mind about a hundred times more exhausted than it was when you first entered this place, you sighed and wearily turned to the TARDIS. Walking inside revealed that it was just as dark, misty, and creepy as everywhere else.

But you could see yourself sitting in one of the seats by the console, unconscious. The Doctor hovered beside you, his hands clutching yours desperately. He kept whispering to himself, but in this place they echoed right over to you, clear as day --

"Come on, come on, come on."

Over and over, just those two words.

You watched sadly for a moment before you made your way to... well, yourself. You weren't really sure how to wake yourself up, but were willing to try anything and everything that came to mind.

Which was how you found yourself going through a series of ridiculous attempts that included yanking on wires, chanting in Latin, screaming in your face, slapping your face, and dancing the hula.

After everything you tried failed, you dropped to the floor with a whimper and closed your eyes.

You awoke with a jolt, gasping desperately as if you'd been holding your breath for several minutes.

The first thing you saw was the Doctor, still hovering over you. He looked incredibly relieved to see you back, unharmed. You let him take the machine off, and though you felt incredibly heavy suddenly you let him pull you into a hug, too.

"What happened?" he asked as he pulled away. "What did it say?"

"It..." God, you were so tired. Why were you so tired? "It says it wants to kill me because you killed its sisters...?"

You could see him pondering that, eyes searching the air as he tried to recall a time he may've killed some Weeping Angels. All the while, his hands still held yours. It was a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.

If he remembered at all, he did a strangely good job of hiding it, though you supposed it helped that your sudden swaying drew his attention away. "Hey, hey," he cooed, pulling you up and into his chest. "Let's get you to bed, eh?"

You shook your head, pushing yourself gently away from him. "I need... to think. Erm. I'm gonna take a shower. And then I'll go to bed..." You nodded tiredly but resolutely and made your way to your bathroom.

The shower you took was long, just shy of blisteringly hot, and not nearly as productive as you'd hoped it would be. Your thoughts kept running in circles, or else running away from you altogether, and chasing them only served to wind your anxiety up like a rubber band about to snap.

And snap it did.

You hadn't even realized you were screaming until the Doctor was pulling you out of the water and gently shushing you. You only sort of quieted, your screams simmering down to sobs as you clung to him. He held you firmly, protectively, whispering such gentle words of comfort and encouragement in your ear even as your cries filled his.

"Oh, it's all right now," he soothed, petting your wet hair. "I won't let it hurt you, eh? I promised I'd keep you safe, didn't I?" He sighed when the only response he got was a sob, and pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

Carefully, and much to your confusion, the Doctor managed to move to a stand with you cradled in his arms. You didn't protest as he carried you to your room (again), nor as he set you down and swaddled you up under the covers.

As you started to come down, you realized you were still naked -- that the Doctor had pulled you out of the shower and held you and carried you all while you were naked, but honestly dealing with that would have to wait until you weren't exhausted.

Once he was, seemingly, satisfied with the cocoon he'd surrounded you in, he leaned forward and pecked your forehead, then moved to leave.

"Doctor, please don't," you begged quietly, still sniffly.

He paused for only a moment before he turned back to face you, before he came to sit on the edge of your bed, before he scooted in next to you and laid beside you.

He didn't even need to speak for you to feel comforted. Even just turning to face him and nuzzling up to his shoulder had you feeling immensely better.

He rested his cheek against the top of your head and silently stared up at the ceiling as you yawned and sank into him. It took a long while for sleep to come for you, but when it finally did, it came hard and fast.

You were haunted by nightmares of moving statues.

#tenth doctor x reader #tenth doctor x you #doctor who x reader #the doctor x reader #the doctor x you #reader insert #doctor who fic #doctor who fanfiction #doctor who #the doctor #david tennant #canon typical peril #weeping angels

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mint-yooxgi · 1 year

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{3} - Paradise Gardens - Yandere!Demonic Entities!Ateez X Reader

Yandere AU & Demon AU - Book Two to Hotel California

Genre: Mature, Horror, Angst, Fluff, Slight Humor, Smut

Pairing: Ateez X Reader (Focus on San & Wooyoung)

Words: 11,660

Warnings: Very suggestive content. OC wakes up needy and the guys are more than happy to provide. Morning canoodling: fingering (fem. receiving), breast play, praise, hand job. Mentions of past trauma and PTSD. Minor anxiety. This is a Yandere story, it will contain themes such as stalking, violence, obsession, possessive natures, and just general overall creepiness and swearing. You have been warned.

A/n: I am SO excited for this chapter, you have no idea. First, a little sweet smut with Woosan, and then the return of everyone’s favourite dragons!!! Ehehehe, I really am looking forward to everything else I ave planned for this series, and I really hope you all are too. As always, feedback is greatly appreciated! Enjoy~

Also, gentle reminder that I don’t do tag lists.

Mini Masterlist - Part One - Part Two

The pale grey light of the early morning sun shines dully through the clouds covering the sky above. The soft sound of rain patters gently against the windows, giving rise to a veiled mist that drifts through the air. Faintly, a chill settles over the room, yet the warmth radiating off of either male beside you protects you from the crispness of dawn.

You hum contently.

“Good morning, Angel,” a light chuckle sounds from in front of you, a hand coming up to tenderly grasp your cheek.

A low noise of acknowledgement escapes you from within your throat, eyes remaining closed as you stretch yourself beneath the covers.

The other hand that you feel placed gently over your stomach, resting just below your chest, draws you in closer. His fingers press delicately into your skin beneath the material of your shirt, shifting slightly as his own chest brushes against your back.

“Rise and shine, Pretty Baby,” San’s voice is a mere rumble right by your ear, lips pressing delicately against the skin of your neck.

Another low hum escapes you, burying yourself deeper into the comfort of their embrace. “Five more minutes.”

The way you can feel both of their chests shaking with affectionate laughter has a content smile pulling at your features.

“Take your time, Gorgeous,” Wooyoung breathes out, leaning in to place a kiss onto your forehead. “We’re right here.”

Beneath the blankets, your legs shift slightly, tucking them in a little closer to you. Well, as much as you can with either male surrounding you. A soft, pleasant thrum echoes throughout your body, and you find that you cannot help the way you squeeze your thighs together the smallest bit beneath the covers.

You were having a very lovely dream, and you can feel the lingering effects throughout your body. The way tingles travel lightly over your skin, settling into your bones, has you shifting your hips slightly once more, seeking any sort of friction that you can this morning.

Suddenly, San’s hand pressing against your bare skin begins to feel too hot.

A small whine escapes you. The arm you have lazily slung over Wooyoung’s waist tugs him in closer.

“What the matter, Baby?” There’s nothing but concern held in San’s voice, but you have a feeling that were you to open your eyes and turn to look at him, you’d see a small grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

Slowly, meticulously, San begins smoothly tracing his thumb against the skin of your stomach. The moment you turn your body the slightest bit, angling yourself so that you’re leaning against his chest for support as your legs part briefly, you hear them both inhale sharply.

Two low, pleased growls reverberate around the room, chests rumbling with each breath that they now take.

Your breathing deepens as you feel the hand Wooyoung has resting against your cheek slide down the side of your neck. His touch is light, nothing more than a careful brush of his skin against your own as your eyes finally flutter open. The way you can see him already staring at you, gaze dark as his own chest rises and falls dramatically with each breath that he takes has you biting your lower lip in response.

San’s hand slips a fraction of an inch lower, his thumb continuously brushing against your skin.

“I-“ your voice gets caught in your throat, but you can see the visible way Wooyoung is hanging on to your every word. From the way San tenses behind you, you know that he is, too. Another low whine escapes you. “Please.”

“Please, what, Baby?” San’s voice is nothing short of teasing as his hand slips the slightest bit lower over your skin. From the pleasant rumble that shakes his chest, you can just tell that he can feel how frantically your heart is racing inside of your chest right now.

“Tell us what you need, Angel, and we will do everything in our power to fulfill your every desire.” Wooyoung leans forward to rest his forehead against your own, staring deeply into your eyes as his swirl with that all too familiar darkness that you’ve become so used to.

A faint heat begins to blossom on your cheeks, legs once more shifting beneath the covers as you feel San move his hand yet another fraction of an inch downwards.

“You-” you begin, and you watch the corner of Wooyoung’s lips quirk upwards. “My dream…”

“Yes?” He hums, somewhat knowingly. “What about it?”

Your hand on his waist grips him a little firmer, and you notice how his breath hitches in response.

“You’re aware of it, then.” The words are a little strained, mind still cloudy with the haze of both sleep and need. The need to feel them against you: touching you, and you subsequently touching them.

“Of course we are, Beautiful,” Wooyoung’s lips twitch upwards the faintest bit, his fingers dancing along the exposed skin of your collarbones. Your shirt does little to cover you, and you find that you’re grateful for that fact at the present. “It’s delightful to know that you dream about us in such ways that we’ve always dreamt about you.”

“Yet, you haven’t done anything to me in spite of it,” you observe, a hint of inquiry clinging to your words as your chest rises and falls dramatically.

“This is not the first time we’ve experienced you having such pleasant dreams while being held in our embrace, Pretty Baby.” San’s grip tightens the slightest bit around you. The way he can hear your breath hitch as you feel his semi-erect cock now pressing against your ass has a subtle smirk pulling at his lips. “We simply never want you to think that we expect anything to come from it.”

“Nor do we want to take advantage of you during such times.” Wooyoung adds lowly, his hand pausing momentarily in its movements to settle lovingly against your shoulder.

“What if-“ your breath hitches once more as you shift within their hold, “What if I want you to touch me because of it.”

Two low, pleased growls echo around the room for the second time this morning.

“If that is what you want, Baby, than we are more than happy to oblige,” San nips lightly at your ear, his lips trailing delicate kisses along the skin of your exposed neck in the next moment.

“San, Wooyoung,” the whimper of their names are but a desperate plea on your lips as you feel yourself clench around nothing. “My Kings, please, touch me.”

“With pleasure.” The low growl that escapes San is synonymous with the way he grinds his hips into your ass.

Slowly, he trails his hand the rest of the way downwards. Gripping the skin of your thigh lightly, he carefully drags your leg back to rest delicately over his own, spreading you open the slightest bit for the both of them this morning.

Inhaling deeply, both males let out more pleased rumbles at the way the scent of your arousal begins to permeate the air.

“You smell wonderful, Baby,” San hums, fingers teasingly dancing along the waistline of your sweatpants. “And all just for us.”

Again, you feel yourself clench around nothing, humming right along with him. “Just for you.”

You fail to see the way San’s eyes flash black at your words, but you do not miss the shifting of Wooyoung’s. The elder of the two is quick to prop himself up on his elbow, leaning further into you in order to trail his lips down your neck and over the skin of your shoulder, nipping at the tender flesh all the while.

The whole time, Wooyoung’s hand begins to move over you once more. He cups your cheek delicately, loving the way your own arm shifts upward to do the same to him.

The way you meet his gaze says it all. Nothing but tender love and affection shines within. Not only that, but that familiar spark of desire and excitement. It’s been a little while since you’ve allowed any of them to touch you like this, and the last thing either of them wants to do is push things too far. Always, they will take things at your pace, and the fact that you want them to please you, that your need and desperation for them is making you ache for their touch, has a familiar warmth flooding their veins.

“If you change your mind, and want us to stop at any point,” San whispers lowly into your ear, “you let us know right away, Baby.”

You find you can only nod in response, a mumbled ‘I will’ barely escaping you as your eyes flutter shut. The feeling of San’s hand resting just beneath your sweats is drawing all of your focus, stomach twisting in desire the longer he goes without touching you where you need him most.

“The same goes for if we do anything that makes you uncomfortable,” Wooyoung adds.

The soft smile that pulls onto your features as you crack your eyes open to look at him sets his heart racing inside of his chest.

“Likewise,” you manage to get out, your thumb brushing tenderly against his cheek.

Smiles pull at both of their faces, nothing but love dripping from their gazes as they look at you. The fact that you begin to squirm slightly once more in anticipation has affectionate chuckles escaping them yet again.

“My Queen,” Wooyoung’s breathless call of your title draws your attention back on to him. Slowly, he leans in, eyes darting longingly down to your lips as he licks his own. “Please, may I kiss you?”

You cannot deny the way your heart positively flutters at his request.

A soft smile graces your features as you pull him closer, your breath ghosting along the skin of his lips. “I would love nothing more.”

The moment Wooyoung presses his lips to your own, a content rumble escapes him. His hands are desperate, clinging onto you as if you may slip through his fingers at a moment’s notice. His chest presses right up against your own, deepening the kiss without another second of hesitation.

The gasp you let out as San dips a finger through your folds is music to both of their ears.

“Fuck- My Queen,” San’s voice is but a pleased growl on his lips as he lightly begins to circle your clit. “So wet for me.”

You part briefly from Wooyoung’s lips as you moan, eyes fluttering shut in bliss.

“All for you,” you hum, feeling as Wooyoung slides his one hand down to gently begin palming at your breast.

His lips are back on your own just as he brushes a thumb over your nipple, feeling it harden beneath the fabric of your shirt as he continues his ministrations.

Again, San dips his fingers through your folds, gathering your wetness before moving upwards to circle your clit gently.

Your breath hitches, and you cannot help the way your hips jolt at the touch.

“Fuck-“ a shudder wracks San’s spine, his eyes falling shut as he increases the pressure the slightest bit over your clit. “You were just aching for us to touch your little wet, needy cunt, weren’t you, Baby?”

“Yes.” A desperate whimper escapes you as your clit pulses against the pads of his fingers.

San smirks against the skin of your neck.

“Pretty Baby,” he hums, loving the way you begin to shift your hips back against his hard cock, grinding your ass against him in tandem with the movements of his hand.

A breathless sigh of his name falls from your lips, and you feel him twitch against you. The corner of your lips quirk upwards as you hear San let out an unabashed moan from behind you.

“My name was made to be graced by your lips, My Queen,” his chest rumbles once more in content, breaths coming in jagged pants right by your ear.

“Every sound that you make for us is a symphony, Angel,” Wooyoung draws your attention back to him for the moment, eyes dark as he licks his lips. “One which we could never tire of.”

A growl of agreement sounds at your back.

In the next moment, you feel Wooyoung’s hands slowly begin to creep up beneath your shirt. Tingles erupt over your skin everywhere he touches, your breath stuttering as you feel him ghost his fingers along the underside of your breasts.

“Please, My Queen,” Wooyoung gives a slight tug of your shirt upwards, meeting your gaze briefly. Desperation shines behind his eyes, mixing with that all too familiar heated desire you can see swirling within. “May I?”

A frantic nod of your head greets him in response, a breathless ‘yes’ falling from your lips.

The smile that pulls onto Wooyoung’s features is filled with nothing but tender affection as he helps you strip out of your shirt. Shamelessly, his eyes roam over every bare inch of your exposed flesh, that familiar darkness swirling within.

Gently, your hands sneak up beneath his own shirt. “You, too.”

For only a brief moment, both males part from you. You can only watch on in anticipation as Wooyoung tugs his shirt over his head, and you have no doubt that San is doing the exact same behind you. A fact of which is only confirmed when you feel the elder male pressing right up against your back, the warmth from his skin settling deep into your bones and causing a pleasant shudder to caress your spine.

San cannot help the pleased growl that builds in his chest at feeling your bare skin pressing right up against his own. Warmth floods his veins, heart pounding within as the euphoric feeling of finally being able to hold you against him without the barrier of clothing settles over him. This is everything he could have ever dreamed of, and so much more.

The intimacy of this moment alone makes his head spin. Long since has he desired to feel the press of your tender flesh against his own, and he finds that now that he’s gotten a taste, he will never be able to get enough. Especially not when it comes to you, for this feeling is like no other that he has ever felt before in his life.

He pulls you closer.

Trailing your gaze over Wooyoung’s exposed torso, you lick your lips. The fact that you can hear his breath hitch as you do so has the corners twitching upwards.

The moment he settles back onto the bed, your hands are on him, fingers dancing along the skin of his abdomen and up his chest. The way he shivers beneath your touch sets your heart racing, warmth flooding your veins.

Your eyes catch on that all too familiar necklace he always wears ever since you gifted it to him. There’s no doubt in your mind that San is wearing his own as well.

“My Handsome Kings,” you hum lowly, a pleasant warmth continuing to spread outwards through your body, and all the way down to the tips of your fingers which are tracing lightly over the skin of Wooyoung’s chest. “All mine.”

Their reactions are instantaneous: snarls of approval escape them both, their eyes flashing black once more. San cannot prevent the desperate way his hips grind against your ass, while Wooyoung immediately pulls you back into him for a kiss.

“All yours, My Queen,” San’s voice is but a low rumble by your ear as he nips lightly at your skin.

“All yours,” Wooyoung echoes lowly against the skin of your lips, only to pull away and rest his forehead against your own. “Now, let us take care of you.”

The drag of Wooyoung’s one hand down your body is meticulous, electricity following in his wake as he reaches the waistline of your sweats. Only, before he can so much as dip one finger below the band, San tugs you further back against his chest, a low warning growl escaping his lips.

“You got to touch her last time,” his hand is quick to replace Wooyoung’s, eyes flashing dangerously at his brother. “It’s my turn to please Our Queen.”

Wooyoung’s brow twitches in amusement, tongue darting out to wet his lips as the corner quirks upwards slightly. A movement of which you know is pointed on his part, especially when he notices you staring at his mouth.

Your own parts slightly in response, your chest rising and falling dramatically with every breath. With wide eyes, and your heart beating erratically in your chest, you find yourself leaning further back against San. His skin presses delicately against your own, and you nearly swoon from that feeling alone.

Letting out a slight amused huff in his brother’s direction, Wooyoung retracts his hand. For now. Instead, he trails it back up your body, moving to cup your one breast. His thumb brushes tenderly against your nipple, feeling it harden beneath his touch once more. He smirks.

Slowly, you grind your hips back against San, practically feeling the way his cock twitches against the skin of your ass. At the same time, you trail your one hand down Wooyoung’s chest, letting your nails scrape lightly against his skin. The way you hear his breath hitch as you teasingly hook a finger beneath the waistline of his own sweats has a small smile tugging at your lips.

Out of the corner of your eyes, you notice Wooyoung’s lips part. His chest rises and falls dramatically, the subtlest of nods to his head as he looks at you pleadingly. He doesn’t need to say anything for you to understand that he’s practically begging for you to touch him right now. A promise of which you have every intention to follow through on.

“Sannie,” you whine, shifting your hips back against him as your brow furrows in slight frustration. The aforementioned male hasn’t moved his hand from its position right above the hemline of your sweats for the past few minutes, and you can hardly stand the way you begin to throb in need. “If you’re going to touch me, then please, touch me. Otherwise, I’ll do it myself.”

Wooyoung’s one brow quirks in amusement as another growl sounds from behind you. The way San instantly has his one arm wrapped around your waist, holding you flush against him while the other finally sneaks back beneath your sweatpants has your heart fluttering in anticipation.

“Like hell am I going to miss out on the opportunity to please you, My Queen,” he drags his fingers in the lightest of touches over your wet folds. “I simply just want to take my time and enjoy you this morning.”

“Then-“ your words get caught in your throat, breath hitching as you feel him slowly sink a finger into your tight cunt.

A low moan escapes you, eyes nearly rolling to the back of your head as you feel yourself clench around him.

“Fuck- so warm,” he hums, chest rumbling in content. “So wet, and all for me.”

“Yours,” your hips grind against him, feeling him beginning to move his finger gently along your inner walls.

A guttural groan escapes him, his own hips working in tandem with your own. The press of his hard cock against your ass, combined with the way you can feel his finger pressing up inside of you has your eyes fluttering shut in bliss.

The feeling of Wooyoung’s lips on your skin draws your attention back to the younger male, gazing down at him to see him gently biting and sucking at your chest. His tongue is quick to trace over your skin, sliding down to lightly flick over your one nipple. The way his hands feel cupping your breasts, tenderly squeeing the flesh as he suckles that pert little bud into his mouth has you arching into him.

“My Kings,” you sigh breathlessly, losing yourself to the euphoric feeling that begins to flood your veins. “Just like that.”

Two pleased growls reverberate against your skin, chests rising and falling in tandem as a beautiful symphony of sin consisting of your soft moans fills the air.

San adds another finger, and the way your whole body shudders in his hold has a pride unlike ever before swirling within his chest. The way he can feel you squeezing him so delicately as he massages you warm walls makes his head spin. This is everything he could have ever asked for, and so much more. The fact that he is the one able to bring you uninterrupted pleasure right now has his cock twitching within his sweats once more.

Delicately, your fingers begin to trace along the skin of Wooyoung’s stomach. The way you can feel him tense beneath your touch has you smiling faintly, your free hand coming up to tangle in his locks as he continues to nip at the tender flesh of your breasts. He alternates between tracing his tongue over your skin, and sucking one of your nipples into his mouth, eyes always darting up to catch your every expression.

The moment he feels your one hand sneak beneath the waistline of his sweats, palm ghosting over the skin of his hard cock, he moans. Wooyoung cannot help the way his eyes flutter shut as you grasp his aching cock gently, giving the base a light squeeze as you begin to pump him a few times in your hold. The swipe of your thumb over his leaking tip has him twitching in your grip, another unabashed moan escaping his lips.

“My Queen,” his brow furrows, head falling forward to rest against the skin of your chest. “Fuck- My Queen.”

His breathing comes in jagged pants, hands trembling in their hold over your skin as he clings onto you for dear life.

Too many times has Wooyoung fantasized about the feeling of your hands on his skin. Ever since that fateful day where you allowed him the honour of eating you out in front of all of his brothers, Wooyoung has craved your touch on him in every way imaginable. A simple taste is no longer enough; the mere thought of you, pleasing him while he pleases you, sets his whole body alight with the flames of his passion which have always burned brightly for you. Gladly, he will drown in that blazing pit of desire. Every. Single. Time.

You twist your wrist, alternating between squeezing him gently beneath your fingers and swiping your thumb over the tip. The way you can feel his whole body trembling against your own has a sense of pride swelling in your chest, heart racing once more. A fact of which you know he can hear, for he begins placing wet, open mouthed kisses over your skin in time with each rapid pulse of your heart.

“So pretty, Baby,” San hums against the back of your neck, smirking against your skin as he feels you tilt your head the slightest bit backwards to rest against his own. “Letting us take care of your like this.”

“You’re doing so well for us, Angel,” Wooyoung’s words are strained, but he manages to shift his gaze upwards to meet your own. The way his voice catches slightly as you slide your hand down to cup his balls, beginning to massage them in the next second, has a smirk pulling at your features. “Fuck- just like that.”

A choked whimper escapes your lips as you feel San pressing his thumb over your clit. The moment he begins circling that little bundle of nerves, you cannot help but clench around his fingers.

Your eyes flutter shut. “So good to me.”

Pleased rumbles shake their chests, their lips finding purchase on your skin. Each male has to feel your pressing against them in every way possible, needing to have you trembling from their touch. Only they can bring you to such ecstasy, in any and every way they know how.

Wooyoung’s mouth is back on your one breast, nipping at the tender flesh before suckling gently on that pert little bud. His one hand comes up to pinch at your opposite nipple, making sure to give each an equal amount of attention. Though, with the way you begin to slide your palm over his hard cock, subtly increasing the pressure all the while, he finds it more and more difficult to concentrate on anything other than you.

Small whines begin to fall from your lips, increasing in pitch and frequency as you feel San slowly beginning to quicken his movements over your clit. The way he adds the slightest bit more pressure against your walls with his fingers has your breath hitching, especially when you feel him massaging that one tender spot inside of you so delicately.

That familiar tightening in your lower abdomen begins to grow, and you cannot prevent the way your eyes flutter shut in bliss. Low mutters of ‘yes’ continually fall from your lips like a mantra, hips continuously grinding back against San’s as you meet his every movement.

“My Kings,” their title is but a whimper as you desperately cry out their names.

“That’s it, My Queen,” San’s voice is but a pleased snarl on his lips, increasing the urgency of his movements against you once more. “Come for me. Come for Your Kings.”

“Don’t hold back, Angel,” Wooyoung pants, and you feel him twitch within your hold as you continue to twist your wrist, your hand working over his cock in tandem. “We’re right here. Let yourself go.”

“San, Wooyoung-“ nothing more than a desperate plea of their names falls from your lips. “Fuck-“

Grabbing the back of Wooyoung’s head, your fingers tangle in his hair. Holding onto him quite firmly, you guide his lips back to your own. Gladly, the younger male swallows all of your sounds, offering you ones of his own as his hips move in time with your every stroke over his throbbing cock.

Not even a second later, his hips stutter. A guttural groan escapes him soon after as he completely stills in your hand.

The press of his forehead against yours is synonymous with the first spurts of his come that you can feel leaking onto your hand. Only, you find you don’t have time to revel in his orgasm, for your own crashes into you in the next moment.

A loud, unabashed moan escapes you as you throw your head back in bliss. Your eyes fall shut, chest heaving as you feel San riding you through your high, his fingers languidly stroking over your inner walls as his thumb gently continues to circle over your clit. The way you can hear pleased snarls escaping him with every breath he takes makes your head spin, whole body spasming in his hold.

“That’s it, Baby,” he nips at the shell of your ear, pressing tender kisses down the skin of your neck. “I’ve got you. I’m right here.”

A pleasant hum escapes you, but it comes out more as a whine than anything as you attempt to catch your breath. The way you can feel yourself clench around San’s fingers once more as he slowly removes them from your cunt has a shiver caressing your spine.

“You did so well for us, Angel,” Wooyoung breathes, his chest rising and falling dramatically as he attempts to calm himself down.

“Because My Kings always take such good care of me,” you hum, settling your free hand over San’s arm still wrapped around your waist as you meet Wooyoung’s gaze from across from you.

Two content rumbles echo through your ears, feeling San press a few more light kisses against the skin of your shoulder.

Slowly, you remove your own hand from beneath Wooyoung’s sweats, feeling the stickiness of his come clinging to the skin of your fingers. Without breaking eye contact with him, you bring your hand up to your lips, tongue darting out to collect some of his release as you languidly drag it along your skin.

Wooyoung’s eyes flash, a low groan escaping him as his gaze locks on the way you are more than happy to taste him on your tongue.

“You’re a temptress, you know that, Angel?” He brings his one hand up to cup the side of your face.

“You’ve already gotten to taste me,” you reply, subtle grin tugging at your lips as you meet his gaze. “It’s only fair that I get to taste My King, too. Is it not?”

“But, of course,” he smirks, leaning forward to rest his forehead against your own once more. “Any and every time you’d like.”

The way his eyes shine has a soft smile gracing your features. Nothing but a content fondness can be seen within your gaze as you absolutely revel in this moment with the both of them.

Your heart swells inside of your chest. Gently, your thumb resting against San’s arm begins to brush tenderly against his skin.

“Sannie, did you-“

“Don’t worry about me, Pretty Baby,” he’s quick to cut you off, nuzzling his face into the nape of your neck in the next second. “I am more than satisfied right now.”

At the slight wetness you can feel seeping into the back of your sweatpants and against your ass, a heat begins to bloom on your cheeks. “Oh.”

“You truly do not know the effect you have on all of us, do you?” Wooyoung chuckles fondly, pecking your lips tenderly before pushing himself off of the bed.

You watch him lovingly as he grabs his discarded shirt only to turn back to you in the next second. Softly, he begins cleaning off of the rest of your hand as you and San both sit up in bed.

“I guess I don’t,” the pull of your lips upwards is slight, eyes fixed on the way he tenderly caresses your hand. “I never thought it was possible for someone to desire me in the ways that you all do.”

“Well, get used to it, Baby,” An affectionate chuckle escapes San’s lips, and he’s quick to wrap both of his arms around your bare torso, chin coming to rest on your one shoulder as he holds you to him. “Because we will never stop wanting you.”

The way you tilt your head to the side in order to rest your own gently against his says it all. Your eyes flutter shut. “I believe you.”

Low hums of contentment rumble within their chests, San turning his head to place a tender kiss against your cheek.

“I love you, Baby,” he whispers, arms tightening ever so slightly around your waist as he nuzzles his face into the side of your neck.

The way you practically melt into his embrace, your hand coming to rest over the skin of his arms yet again says it all.

“I love you, Sannie.” A tender smile graces your features as you hum. Shifting your gaze, you manage to clasp one of Wooyoung’s hands in your own. A moment later, and you’ve intertwined your fingers with his, squeezing gently. “I love you, Wooyoung.”

The way his lips pull upwards is nothing short of radiant. The joyous expression lights up the entire room, his eyes shining with nothing but love for you as he brings your joined hands up to press a delicate kiss onto the back of your skin.

“I love you, My Angel.”

A brief, comfortable silence settles over the three of you as you all bask in each other’s presence this morning. Nothing more needs to be said, nor is it necessary, for the ease of simply being together fills the room. That is, until you’re breaking it once more.

“So,” you drawl out that one word, a mischievous, knowing glint to your eyes, “this isn’t the first time you’ve all been affected by my dreams like this.”

It isn’t a question, but more so a statement of fact.

You feel San nod his head slightly against you while Wooyoung hums lightly in response.

“You know,” a slight grin begins to tug at your features, “you have my permission to wake me up during those times. If you want.”

The way Wooyoung’s eyes flash, an eager glint shining within has a chuckle escaping you.

“You mean…?” San can only hope he doesn’t sound too excited for the moment.

“Yes,” you confirm. “I mean, use your discrepancy, but I am more than happy to be woken up by any one of you touching me when something like this happens.”

Pleased growls greet your ears, and you swear you can hear one also come from just outside in the hallway.

“I’d just rather you all not stick anything inside of me while I’m unconscious, but most of everything else is more than okay with me.” You say, and you watch as Wooyoung grins widely before you, nodding almost a bit too enthusiastically along with your words.

“We’ll keep that in mind, Gorgeous,” he squeezes your hand once more, leaning forward to place a tender kiss onto your forehead. “The feeling is mutual. Even if we don’t necessarily sleep, we are more than content to have you wake us up in whatever pleasant ways you see fit.“

“Same conditions apply.” San adds lowly by your ear. “Now, we should probably start getting ready. We have a meeting to attend to, soon.”

“That we do.” You take a deep breath in, nodding softly as you begin to shift out of San’s hold, much to the male’s discontent.

Moving to the edge of the bed, you pull yourself onto your feet with the help of Wooyoung. Carefully, you raise your arms above your head, stretching out your back as you lean slightly from side to side.

“You’re doing it again, Gorgeous,” Wooyoung’s voice is playful, a quirk to his brow as his gaze is locked on your figure for the time being.

At the way you turn to look at him, and then back at San on the bed, a subtle heat begins to creep onto your cheeks. You blink bashfully at them, dropping your arms back to your sides as a giggle escapes you. “Whoops.”

Grins tug at all of your faces as they both watch you disappear into the bathroom, nothing but love shining in their eyes.

Getting ready for the day doesn’t take you that long. Once you’ve showered and changed into some fresh clothes, you begin to make your way towards the kitchen to grab a bite to eat. Of course, there’s already a fresh bowl of fruit waiting for you curtesy of San as soon as you open the fridge. A fact of which that makes you smile as you grab a fork from the drawer.

Twenty minutes later, and after you’ve cleaned up your dishes, you begin to make your way towards the foyer. It’s about the time you agreed upon to leave, anyways.

Rounding the corner, you see Jongho, Yunho, Mingi, and Seonghwa already standing in the middle of the foyer. A blink, and both Hongjoong and Yeosang appear.

“Ready to go, Darling?” Jongho comes to stand beside you just as both Wooyoung and San finally appear.

You nod. “Let’s go.”

The last thing you see is eight nods in agreement before you feel Jongho’s hand settle on your lower back. A moment later, and the somewhat familiar sight of that ancient forest greets your eyes. The soft patter of dewdrops hitting the leaves far above your head reaches your ears, and you begin to make the trek towards the dragon’s nest with your Eight Kings surrounding you.

The walk is silent, a heavy understanding of the situation settling over all of you as they help you through the foliage. This time, though, when you reach that same fallen log, it’s Seonghwa who helps you over it.

The base of the mountain is just as you remember it, the cliff face jutting out far above your head. However, the mountain seems slightly more ominous than it had been previously. You don’t know whether it’s just due to your nerves for this upcoming meeting, or based upon what had happened to you the last time you had visited the dragon’s nest. From the way you notice Jongho, Seonghwa, and Wooyoung all spare brief glances towards you out of the corner of their eyes, you know that they feel the same.

“Wyno is expecting us.” Hongjoong says, drawing your attention to him for the moment as he steps in beside you.

A simple nod is all that he receives from you in response as he places a gentle hand onto your shoulder.

In the blink of an eye, you’re standing on that cliff face, looking out at the trees spreading out before you. Just as it did the first time, the sight takes your breath away, that look of pure awe painting your features and enrapturing each male as they watch over you carefully.

“All of you came.” A voice from behind you draws your attention.

Turning to face the opening of the cave, you see Wyno standing there in all of her glory. She looks just as ethereal as she did the first time you met her, a bright orange patterned robe wrapping around her figure this time. Her golden eyes shine as she meets your gaze, and she smiles briefly, her pointed teeth on full display. Only, worry pulls at her features in the next second.

Immediately, she crosses the short distance between you, and you hardly have time to react when you feel her hands cupping your cheeks tenderly. The way each male stiffens beside you does not go unnoticed by her.

“You’ve changed.” She breathes, eyes searching your features before briefly darting over your entire figure. A second later, she turns her accusatory gaze towards the males surrounding you. “What happened to My Child?”

The way you see Hongjoong visibly flinch as the others tense around you, shame washing over their features, has you instantly placing a hand onto Wyno’s shoulder.

“Miyeon happened.” Wooyoung growls out, a bitterness to his words.

“Another attack?” Wyno’s eyes narrow, pulling you the slightest bit away from the eight of them as if to push you behind herself.

“She won’t ever be an issue again.” Yunho’s lips pull back over his teeth, whole body tense.

Wyno takes a moment to observe them all carefully. “You were almost too late.”

This time, more than just Hongjoong flinches at her words.

Tenderly, you brush up against all of their minds.

“Please, do not blame them for what has happened, Wyno.” Your gentle voice draws her attention to you, and you notice her gaze soften. “They all saved me in more ways than one.”

Her shoulders relax, if only the slightest bit, as she straightens herself before you. Slowly, she begins to nod, as if in approval.

“You have changed.” She hums, gently pressing a hand onto the small of your back as she leads you towards the cave opening. “You’ve become stronger.”

Her words catch you off guard, blinking a few times in shock. You know that you’ve changed, but you don’t necessarily feel any different. Well, actually, that’s a lie. You do feel different. You feel more sure of yourself. You feel comfortable in your own skin, and you know that despite whatever happens, Your Kings will be with you every step of the way. They will protect you with everything that they are, just as you will now fight to protect them.

You’re in this together. Always. As equals.

“You have suffered, but you have grown from it.” She continues just as she reaches the mouth of the cave. “You truly are fit to be a Queen.”

“Thank you, Wyno.” A warmth blooms on your cheeks, lips tugging upwards bashfully as you avert your gaze. “That truly means a lot to me coming from you."

“I speak nothing but the truth, My Child,” she hums, a fond affection dripping within her gaze as she looks towards you. “Now, come. There are a few who are dying to see you.”

A screech from deep within the cave greets your ears in response, and you hear Wyno sigh. The corner of her lips quirk upwards faintly as she shakes her head in mock exasperation.

A somewhat large, dark blue blur darts from the mouth of the cave.

Instantly, you feel something attempt to tackle you to the ground. Only, you plant your feet this time, expecting the impact.

The dragon now stands about your height on his hind legs, his front arms resting on your shoulders as his wings flare out happily behind him. You can feel his snout rubbing against your jaw, nuzzling your neck affectionately as excited whines escape his throat.

“Xiron!” Your arms are instantly wrapped around that familiar dragon. You giggle. “I’m happy to see you, too!”

Two more screeches are heard from within the cave, a green amphiptere and an albino wyrm slithering out to rest on either side of Wyno. The wyrm physically shakes in excitement, mouth opening and closing in tandem as he screeches happily. The amphiptere, on the other hand, ruffles her wings, tail flicking in eagerness as she sees you hugging Xiron so warmly.

“They’ve all missed you greatly,” Wyno chuckles, crossing her arms slightly over her chest as she looks upon the scene affectionately.

“Well, I’ve missed them, too!” You reply, pulling away to look at the three babies before you. Though, the more you stare, the more you realize just how big they’ve all gotten. “Look at you! You’ve all grown so much!”

Happy roars greet your ears, bordering on screeches from all of them. Though, you fail to see the way eight males seem to begin pouting around you for the moment as your attention shifts to the dragons.

“How’s the wing?” You direct the question to the blue dragon in front of you, and he settles back onto his feet for the time being.

A moment later, and Xiron is more than content to stretch out his previously injured wing out for you to see. The membrane shines in the light of the sun, not a single scar to be seen as he coos proudly in your direction.

You fail to see the way Yeosang’s brow twitches in annoyance from behind you.

“Watch it, young one.” Jongho crosses his arms over his chest, his jaw tense.

The way you tilt your head slightly in curiosity has Wyno chuckling once more.

“He’s offering to take you for a flight on his back.” She says, noticing how both Yerra and Mon start screeching in protest from beside her. “Oh, pardon me. They all would like to take you for a ride at some point.”

The way your lips part, features lighting up with joy says it all.

Despite the grumbling you can hear coming from the males around you, each cannot deny the way that seeing that expression on your face makes their heart race. Warmth begins to flood their veins at seeing you so happy again after the incident with Miyeon. They’re just jealous that they weren’t the ones to be able to do it first.

“I humbly accept,” you reply, hearing the three dragons screech loudly. Both Yerra and Xiron begin hopping around in their spots, Mon beginning to shake once more. “Though, how about we save that for next time. We have a few things to discuss before then.”

The way you can see all three of the young dragons visibly pout has you chuckling fondly at them.

“Hey, it gives me another reason to come back for more visits.” You tell them, watching as they perk up immediately afterwards. “Now, let me get a good look at all of you.”

Xiron begins hopping around you excitedly, as your gaze roams over both Yerra and Mon. You notice how both of them stand a little straighter, chests puffing out as you look at them.

“My goodness, you’ve all really grown, haven’t you?” Your eyes shine with nothing but awe as you step towards the other two babies. “Can’t quite sit on my shoulder anymore, can you?”

A whine escapes Mon in response.

“I don’t think that would be such a good idea,” Seonghwa grumbles, lips tugging downwards as he looks towards the albino wyrm.

“I’m assuming he just said he could still try?” You quirk a brow, and at the soft way Wyno nods, you smile. “It’s okay, Mon. I may not be able to hold you like a human baby anymore, but I can still hug you.”

The wyrm positively wiggles at your words, immediately rushing over to you and tackling you to the ground. The way he tenderly rubs his cheeks all over your neck, cooing all the while has laughter escaping you in tandem. Tenderly, your hands brush over the skin on his back, Mon more than happy to lay half on top of your body seeing as he’s now slightly bigger than you are in stature.

“Were they like this the first time, too?” Yunho leans in towards Jongho, keeping his voice low.

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Wooyoung sighs, answering for his brother as he crosses his arms over his chest and looks towards the ground.

“You never let us do that,” Mingi pouts, mirroring Wooyoung’s stance as he watches Mon continue to affectionately rub against you.

“Well, you are not a little baby dragon, Min.” You hum, finally being able to sit up as Mon slides off of you for the moment. “Though, I suppose you’re not a baby anymore, are you, Mon?”

A pleasant rumble escapes him, and you chuckle.

“Alright, Little Man,” you tenderly rub his head as you stand back to your feet. “Let me see Yerra, too.”

The female amphiptere straightens slightly in her spot as you walk over to her, her green scales shining vibrantly in the sunlight. Her tail continues to flick happily behind her, pupils dilating as you approach.

Out of the three of them, she’s grown the most. She’s certainly the biggest out of all of them, and that fact makes you smile.

“What a beautiful young lady!” You comment, and you can just tell that Yerra is beaming at you as her eyes crinkle at the sides, her forked tongue darting out to scent the air. “Would you like a hug as well, Yerra?”

The dragon positively screeches, already moving to wrap her tail around you and draw you into her body.

The moment your arms are around her, her wings encompass you. The way the light filters through the soft membrane, casting light green hues over you has your eyes shining in awe once more.

A moment later, and she unwraps both her wings and her tail from around you.

You step back, smiling wildly at the amphiptere before you. You just know from the way she is looking back at you, that she wears a similar expression.

“The moment they heard you were coming for a visit, they could hardly contain their excitement.” Wyno hums, looking over the three young dragons as they begin play fighting with one another just outside of the cave mouth. “Though, I don’t think you’ll be getting your jacket back anytime soon.”

Your brow furrows. “My jacket?”

“Yes,” she confirms, motioning for you all to follow her inside of the cave with her head. “It was left behind that last time you came for a visit.”

Realization flashes across your features as you nod slowly. “I see.”

“Mon has taken the liberty to add it to his collection,” Wyno replies casually. “Hence why I don’t think you’ll be getting it back. He nearly devours anyone who gets close to it; it’s his favourite treasure.”

“Is it, now?” Your brow quirks in amusement as you hear eight displeased growls sound from behind you. “Well, he can keep it for as long as he likes.”

“I’ll let him know,” Wyno’s eyes shine with amusement as she turns to see eight tense kings standing around you. “He also wanted me to gift you something. Wait here.”

A blink and Wyno has disappeared around one of the corners of the cave wall. Not even a moment later, and she’s returning holding a rather bulky cloth.

“Just be careful when you unwrap it,” Wyno says, gently placing the cloth in your hands.

Slowly, and with meticulous caution, you begin to unwrap the bundle.

The moment you see what resides within, your lips part, a small gasp escaping you. There, resting within the confines of the cloth, are Mon’s baby teeth. They stand stark white against the dark green of the fabric, sharp and deadly as you stare down at them in awe.

“To receive a gift of any sort from a dragon is a high honour, only awarded to those who have long since proved themselves worthy. To receive a part of the dragon themselves, even more so.” Wyno says, a smile on her face as her gaze darts just behind you for the moment.

Turning your head, you see Mon seemingly standing nervously to the side.

You smile, wrapping the teeth carefully back up within the cloth as you hold it to your chest. A second later, and you’ve stepped before the wyrm, a tender look in your eyes as you reach out to stroke a hand lovingly over his head. Gently, you lean down and place a kiss against his skin.

“Thank you, Mon,” you continue to softly stroke your hand over his head. “I will cherish this gift until the end of time.”

The wyrm coos softly at you, affectionately rubbing his cheek against your hand in the next moment.

“When were you going to tell us that he imprinted, Wyno?” Mingi is the one that poses the question, turning to look at the aforementioned woman with an expression of irritation on his face. A look that is somewhat mirrored by all of his brothers.

“He’s not the only dragon to have imprinted on her. Xiron plans to gift her his scales once he starts shedding them instead of moulting.” Wyno meets his gaze, golden eyes flashing beneath the torch light. “Additionally, I would not have approved such a gift had she not already received our blessing.”

“Received your blessing?” Hongjoong quirks a brow, arms crossed over his chest.

“Yes.” Wyno grins, a knowing look pulling at her features as she looks over all of them before turning to you. “Your Queen is the first in a very long time to become Dragon Blessed.”

All eight of them inhale sharply, turning to look at you almost immediately.

Your curious gaze shifts from one male to the next as you clutch that bundle close to your chest. “What? What does that mean?”

“It means, My Child,” Wyno smiles softly at you, “you are one of us now. Whenever you should need us, all you have to do is think of us in your time of need, and we will be summoned to your side in seconds. You have received the highest honour we can bestow someone, even without their knowledge.”

You blink back tears, throat tightening with your emotions as nothing but pure gratitude and awe floods your veins. “I don’t understand.”

“You protected us like we were your own, without pause or hesitation.” Wyno closes the short distance between the two of you in order to rest her forehead against yours. Softly, your entire visage begins to glow as you stare deeply into her eyes, your heart pounding erratically in your chest. “You thought little of helping us despite the risk to your own life, which is more than even some dragons can say within this clan. You will forever have our alliance, and our friendship in repayment of this debt. You have honoured us, so now let us honour you.”

Your breath hitches as you see her step away from you. The way you see her golden eyes shining as she smiles sets your whole body glowing, a mark in the ancient language appearing over your brow where her forehead had just been pressing against your own. A symbol which annotates the bonds between you now. A symbol representing Wyno and every dragon that has come before, and that will subsequently come after her.

“Thank you,” your eyes shine with your unshed tears as an indescribable sense of happiness and gratitude floods your veins. The euphoric feeling warms your heart, sending pleasant tingles throughout your body and all the way to the tips of your fingers.

“You have more than earned this, My Child,” Wyno smiles softly. “It is well deserved.”

“Not even any of us are Dragon Blessed, Dearest,” Yeosang comments, coming to stand beside you in order to wrap his arm around your waist.

“Oh, really?” You quirk a brow, a certain pride filling your chest at this.

“I mean, I almost got my head bit off a few times. So, that has to count for something, right?” San grins as your mouth falls open.

“I was right!” You point at him, then back to Wyno.

“Like I’ve said before,” she chuckles. “Perceptive.”

“Wait, you told her already?” San pouts, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I mentioned it,” Wyno shrugs.

“She didn’t let on to who it was, but I had my theories,” you grin widely, shoulders shaking lightly in laughter.

“Hang on, can we just backtrack to the fact that the children have imprinted on Our Beloved.” Mingi comments, blinking a few times as they all turn to look towards Wyno once more.

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous of the babies,” your voice holds a teasing lilt to it as you quirk a brow.

“We’re not jealous,” Seonghwa is quick to retort, lips tugging downwards as a frown pulls at his features.

“You know there are more than just the one kind of imprint that we can make, correct?” Amusement dances within Wyno’s golden gaze as she looks over all eight of them. “They’re young. It might be more than just innocent for now, but they’re all harmless.”

“Never thought I’d see the day you’re all jealous over some young dragons,” you chuckle, looping your free arm around Yeosang’s waist as you continue clutching that bundle to your chest.

At the way Hongjoong, San, and Wooyoung all quirk their brows in your direction, you’re quick to quirk yours back. You chuckle, shaking your head lightly.

“You all want me to get jealous over you so bad.” Again, there’s a teasing lilt to your voice as the corner of your lips twitch upwards.

“Can you blame us, Petal?” Yunho grins right along with you.

You tilt your head in acknowledgement, a soft hum escaping you in the next moment.

“Ah,” Wyno seemingly nods in understanding. “They told you of our previous sexual relations, then.”

“Yes,” you turn to meet her gaze. “They did. In a way.”

“In hopes to make you jealous?” Her brow furrows slightly, not quite understanding the situation. “From your reactions based upon our first meeting, I would imagine you would become more jealous of the fact that they have gotten to experience me and you have not.”

Your cheeks flare with heat as you nod quite pointedly. “Exactly!”

Eight low growls sound around you.

“The invitation is open, Blessed.” Wyno nods in your direction once, a certain mirth dancing within her eyes as she says this with a straight face.

A teasing, sultry grin pulls at your features as your eyebrow quirks. The corner of your mouth twitches upwards. “Name the time and place.”

“Whenever and wherever you desire, Blessed,” Wyno continues the teasing, watching as the males stiffen around you.

Turning to the eight males around you, you jokingly laugh out a, “come back in five hours?”

Only, the males do not seem to pick up on it, for warning snarls are escaping them in the next second. Even Yeosang’s grip around your waist tightens, pulling you closer into his side.

A boisterous laugh escapes you, and even Wyno cannot prevent the mirth from pulling at her features as you now watch all eight of them look on at you in confusion.

“My Kings, you know I would never cheat on you.” Despite the laughter clinging to the edges of your voice, your tone is firm. “I thought I told you that it was one of the three worst things I believe someone could do to another.”

“You cannot blame us, Starlight,” Mingi grumbles, a pout tugging at his features.

“Especially not after you’ve expressed wanting to experience a dragon, Darling.” Jongho adds, smiling tersely.

“I also want to hug a bear, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to go out and do it.” You chuckle, noticing how some of them, like Hongjoong, Yunho, and Yeosang, all look towards you with amusement in their eyes.

“Hug a bear?” San inquires.

You hum, turning back to face Wyno for the moment. Briefly, you open up your void to two males in particular: one with a pure white string, and one with a deep maroon string. No, I have you for that.

Both Wooyoung and Jongho share a look between each other out of the corner of their eyes, pleasant snarls threatening to escape them at any moment.

“Oh, I wonder if there are any krakens around,” you voice, somewhat absentmindedly.

“Believe me, My Child, you do not want to get involved with one of those.” Wyno grimaces, shaking her head slightly.

Your eyes widen as you shoot her a look. “Okay, we need to plan a girl’s night. I want to know all about your adventures with that kraken.”

“There was definitely more than one,” she nods, a sly grin pulling at her lips.

“Oh, now I’m definitely curious,” you grin right back, excitement clear on your features.

“Alas, those are stories for another time indeed.” Wyno sighs, somewhat wistfully. “You said you had urgent matters you wished to speak with me about?”

Immediately, your entire demeanour is shifting, expression morphing into one of seriousness.

“We do.” You nod firmly. “Thank you again for agreeing to meet with us on such short notice.”

“For you, My Child?” She hums. “Always.”

“We have some questions for you, Wyno,” Hongjoong steps forward, an air of regality washing over all of them as you watch all Eight Kings straighten. “We’re hoping you may be able to provide some more light onto Miyeon’s plans for us.”

“If you’re also here to ask me to align myself with you in the upcoming battles, you’re sadly wasting your breath,” her eyes flash. “I have already told you I will not send more of my own to die recklessly in abandon.”

“Not at all, Wyno.” You shake your head, taking a step forward in order to grasp her hand gently in your own. “We understand and respect your decision. I would not expect that of you, regardless.”

“I do not want to join in this fight, but if you should desire our aid, we will assist you.” She meets your gaze.

You squeeze your hand. “I would not do that to you. I am not selfish enough to go against your wishes and force you to fight on our side.”

Wyno nods, seemingly to herself.

“I was right.” She comments, squeezing your hand softly in her grasp. “You are an excellent Queen.”

Your heart positively flutters at her words, and you don’t even have to look to see the way all eight males straighten with pride at her words. They’ve always known such a decision is true, but to hear others confirm it, especially one as ancient and powerful as Wyno only solidifies that fact.

“Ask away.” She nods, stepping away from you for the moment and releasing her hold on your one hand.

Again, from the way the males all remain silent, you know that they are allowing you to take the lead. You’ve already discussed some of what you want to talk to Wyno about with them. You’re just glad that you have them to support you every step of the way.

“When Miyeon came to proposition you with Dimitri,” you begin, watching her every reaction carefully, “what was it she promised you, should you join her?”

Wyno takes a moment to consider your words, shooting a pointed look towards Yunho out of the corner of her eyes.

“I have no reason to lie to you, but if it eases your own minds, then you may continue monitoring my own while I answer.” She states, noticing how you shoot a pointed look towards the tall male out of the corner of your eyes. “That one boasted of obtaining great power, and once she had tumbled your regime, she would grant new territories to all those that served under her.”

Understanding immediately flashes across Wooyoung’s face. “At least we know how she won the sirens over. They’ve always wanted to expand their territories above land.”

At the way your brow furrows slightly, Seonghwa is quick to add, “Sirens are ambitious creatures. To a fault. They do not survive well on land, but they can step foot on it for a period of time before they have to return to the water. We’ve always denied their territory expansions because of it.”

“That, and the fact that they want to subdue the gorgons.” Mingi grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest.

You nod your understanding.

“That one was very careful with her words.” Wyno continues. “She never said she would expand our territories, only grant new ones to her supposed allies. Even if her aura alone didn’t reek of distrust and manipulation, her words did.”

“She’s misleading all of her allies with false promises,” Hongjoong observes, bringing a hand up to cup his chin as he thinks over Wyno’s words. A second later, he lifts his head, meeting your gaze. “It’s just as you thought, My Love.”

“She would have stopped at nothing to get what she wanted, and she wanted it all.” You say, frown tugging at your features. “Dimitri and Malik are just pawns in her game to ensure she gets what she wants. If she cannot claim everything for herself, no one can.”

“She will destroy us all.” Wyno agrees solemnly.

“So, the only thing she essentially promised you was more power,” San observes, leaning casually against the one wall of the cave.

“If that’s everything she’s ever wanted, then everyone else must want it, too.” Jongho adds. “In her eyes, she probably thought everyone was after the same things as her, so she had to guarantee that she would be the one coming out on top.”

“What better way to topple a regime than with a man on the inside?” You voice, mind briefly supplying you with a glimpse of that ex-general that one night in the desert. “When that didn’t work, she had to regroup and replan.”

“Only took her twenty years,” Seonghwa grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Better late, than never.” Yeosang exhales a sharp huff from his nose.

“She seemed so confident in herself.” Wyno goes on to say, brow furrowing as she recalls her memories from that day. “Which is why I believe she was so sure in her threats that I would regret turning her down. She seemed so certain I harboured some underlying resentment towards you, just as she did.”

“She was delusional in thinking everyone thought and felt the same as her,” Yunho growls, hands clenched in fists at his sides.

Carefully, you step over to him, placing a reassuring hand onto his arm.

Immediately, he relaxes, shoulders drooping as he leans slightly into your touch.

“Alright, well, that confirms one of my theories,” you nod softly. “She wanted everything she could get, and she would use any means necessary to claim it.”

“It’s sad that she’s had to manipulate those on her side in order for them to ally with her.” Wooyoung shakes his head, looking down at the ground for a brief moment.

“It really is,” you hum, sinking into Yunho’s side as he comes to wrap an arm around your waist.

“You have more theories?” Wyno shifts her focus towards you once more.

“I have only one other,” your brow furrows slightly. “It’s in regards to Dimitri.”

“What about the warlock?” Wyno tilts her head slightly in inquiry.

“I understand this is a somewhat odd question, but when you first described him, you said his aura was dark, and intentions darker.” You meet her gaze. “Is it possible to warp, or even taint someone’s aura like that?”

Wyno visibly blinks at you, clearly caught off guard by your inquiry.

“It is,” she says, carefully considering your words. “However, it takes someone tremendously skilled to manipulate someone’s visage like that, or the person will have had to undergo a tremendous loss which alters someone’s consciousness completely.”

A cold sense of dread settles over all of you right then and there.

“She killed his wife and children right in front of his very eyes,” you voice lowly.

Wyno inhales sharply.

“Yes.” She swallows thickly. “That would do it.”

“The aura,” you continue, “was it directed at anyone in particular?”

Again, the dragon before you takes a moment to consider your words.

“They were bonded, but perhaps not in the way I originally thought.” She replies. “Before she wormed her way in,” you tense slightly at her use of words, feeling as Yunho gently brushes against your mind reassuringly, “he could have launched a personal vendetta against her to cause such a bond, affecting the aura shift.”

“I see,” you nod, leaning your head against Yunho for support as your eyes fall closed. “I only have one more question for you, Wyno.”

“What is it, My Child?” Her tone is softer than a moment before, noticing the way you rest in Yunho’s arms for support.

“Did Dimitri-“ you take a breath to steady your nerves, “his eyes. Did he look sad to you?”

A pause.

“Yes.” Wyno responds, her voice cutting through the sudden tense silence around you all. “He did.”

You nod in understanding, heaving a deep breath in through your nose.

“Dimitri is but a mere puppet that she’s using in these games of hers.” You voice lowly. “He’s long since been trapped inside his own mind.”

Each male tenses around you, shooting you worried looks out of the corners of their eyes. They all know that you know exactly what it feels like to be trapped within your own mind, and it pains them to see you thinking about it now. The way they can see those memories swimming within your orbs has them all tenderly brushing against your void now.

Yunho pulls you closer.

A blink, and you manage to clear your thoughts enough to meet Wyno’s gaze once more.

“Thank you, Wyno, for everything today.” You say, bowing your head in acknowledgement to her. “I appreciate everything you’ve done, and explained to us.”

“You are more than welcome, My Child.” She smiles softly, beginning to lead you all back towards the entrance of the cave. “Come and visit us at any time.”

You mirror her smile, though yours doesn’t quite reach your eyes for the moment.

Waving a final goodbye to the dragons, you find yourself leaning against Yunho for more support. Your mind swirls with the new information that you’ve learned today, and when you blink, you see the familiar sight of the foyer greet your vision. You barely register placing the bundle with Mon’s teeth down before you’re collapsing into one of the front couches.

“I was hoping that at least that theory was wrong,” you say, leaning forward to rest your elbows on your knees while clutching your head in your hands.

“Hey, hey,” Jongho’s voice is gentle as he kneels in front of you, lightly tugging your hands away from your face as he notices Yunho immediately sit on the couch beside you. “At least we have a better idea of what we’re dealing with.”

“Do you think he’s conscious of what he’s doing?” You voice, nothing but dread shining behind your eyes as you look around at all of them.

The eight males share a brief look.

“I doubt that he is,” Yunho rubs a hand over your back tenderly, feeling you relax the slightest bit beneath his touch. “Her hold over him might still be too strong.”

“Then, is killing him truly our best option?” You lift your head slightly, feeling the opposite side of the couch dip as Hongjoong sits beside you.

“Unfortunately, it might be,” he gently rests his hand on your shoulder. “It’s a difficult choice, but it is one that has to be made.”

“I don’t want to give up on him,” you admit. “He’s in this mess in the first place because of me. This is all my fault.”

“Dearest,” Yeosang takes a step closer to you, kneeling beside Jongho as he takes one of your hands in his own. “You know that’s not true.”

“Isn’t it, though?” For the second time that day, tears begin to line your vision. Only, this time, they’re not from joy.

“No,” Mingi shakes his head. “It’s not.”

“You tell us constantly not to dwell or blame ourselves for things that are out of our control,” Seonghwa takes a step towards you, voice soft as you meet his gaze. “Please, My Divine, extend that same curtesy to yourself.”

A moment of silence settles over you as you consider his words. Then, softly, you nod.

“Whatever happens, we’ll get through this.” San’s voice is firm, nothing but the sincerest of promises falling from his lips.

“Together.” Wooyoung nods once, meeting your gaze with his own shining in determination.

You take a deep breath to steady your nerves, nodding once in confirmation. “Together.”

535 notes · View notes

the-kr8tor · 4 months

Note

PLEASE, PLEASE FAE HOBIE X READER PLEASE I NEED IT AGAIN YOUR SERIES KILLED ME EVEN IF I LOVED IT AND I NEED MORE FAE HOBIE X READER. I NEED POSSESSIVE FAE HOBIE X READER PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE (IVE BEEN WAITING FOR YOUR REQUEST TO BE OPEN PLEASE I BEG OF YOU MORE FAE HOBIE HES PLAGUED MY THOUGHS BC OF YOU.)

IT CAN BE ABSOLUTELY ANYTHING WITH FAE HOBIE (BESIDES ANGST I HAD ENOUGH OF THAT WITH YOUR SERIES/HJ /PF)

I UTTERLY NEED TO KISS AND JUST NEED FAE HOBIE. YOU GOT ME OBSESSED WITH FAE HOBIE GUENGUENAHJFSBIAHDNSHSNFUD 🩷🩷🩷

Hi, bestie! I blacked out while writing this (a side effect of writing for fae Hobie 🤣🤣 he does things to me) I tried my best at making this as fluffy as possible but if you want it fluffier pls feel free to send another prompt! (Fae Hobie still has my heart) thank you for requesting!! 🫶

Pairing: Fae! Hobie Brown x Fem! Reader

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, cw food mentions, Fae AU, Fae! Hobie Brown, a bit of hurt/comfort, fluff.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

You definitely remember planting your tulips just yesterday. At first it was your cabbages growing large just after a few days of planting, then the tomatoes and now the tulips. The colorful bulbs sway in the breeze, the fragrant flowery smell relaxes your bones. Yet you can't help but feel creeped out by the weird phenomena.

You just moved in recently to a quaint town that's settled right on the edge of a dense woodland area. You've heard of the stories when a human has captured a fae’s attention, and it looks like this is the case for you. All the stories don't always end well for the former. But if the extremely fast growth of your garden says anything, it's that this particular fae means well. Hopefully.

So as a thank you to the kind entity, you place a bowl of milk and honey right under where your tulips are planted. You've even left a plate of salad all made from the crops you've lovingly planted and bloomed after just a few days of planting. You think for a second that maybe the soil under your feet is healthy and bountiful but there's no harm done if there isn't any mythical creature helping you. The worst case is a raccoon eating your offerings.

Bewildered is an understatement, your eyes are the size of dinner plates once you see something shimmering on the ground. Whatever you did, the fae seems to like it. They left a crown of daisies on your doorstep the next morning, the petals are all adorned with flecks of gold. The flowers run like silk under your fingers.

You look past your garden to the woods, the fog swirls around the edge. In your vision you see the mist form and shape into a tall slim figure. Your hand tightens around the crown of flowers, hands shaking in disbelief.

You didn't go out that day.

More gifts appear outside your home, tiny trinkets woven carefully to create something beautiful. A bouquet of flowers on your windowsill, a figurine of a spider made from vines that's left hanging by the large oak in your backyard. They all appear outside your house so there's no cause for actual fear. If only you stop feeling eyes on you whenever you go outside.

A friend from the city visited you one day, telling you how much they've missed you, gushing on how much you've missed while away. They ask if you ever feel lonely out in the outskirts of the country you could always come visit them.

The same eyes you feel outside can be felt in your bedroom that night.

Whatever latched on to you seems benevolent, watchful, yes but not evil or controlling. You've gotten used to the presence after a few months of living at your cottage. You've even started talking to them during the day when you have no one to turn to. You tell them stories of your almost forgotten childhood and your old life where the houses are made of glass and grey stone, where they stood high above, almost touching the heavens. They've never responded, always listening and ever present.

He wants to respond though, tell you tales of old, where the flowers used to sing and dance, where the woods reigned supreme above all. He misses them, yes, but he misses your voice more. Is it possible to miss your touch too even though he's only imagined it before? Perhaps your hands feel like the finest silk spun upon his skin, your fingers weaving through his like a glittering river, waking him up from his centuries of stagnant waters.

He's seen you laugh and cry, and tend to your garden like it’s your own children. He wants nothing more but to join you in harvesting your bounty, to converse with you and listen to you mumble about your day. Gradually he appears behind you when your back is turned, watching as you make your dinner, observing you plant something new. Then in a flash, he vanishes when you turn around. Leaving you feeling empty

You enter the gates of your garden with tears in your eyes, words barely coherent by your sobs. Kneeling in front of your tulips, you grasp the grass underneath, pulling and ripping out the blades. A sudden hand circles around your wrist, warmth enveloping you in a crashing wave.

He appears just behind the tulips, your eyes soften when your vision focuses on his handsome and otherworldly face. He doesn't know what's gotten you upset but what he does know is that it'll be alright for now on. Because he's—

“Here, ‘m here” His voice calms you down like a thick blanket in the winter.

Without hesitation, you embrace him, the smell of sandalwood and flowers almost stops your heart. You grip him tight, his strong arms envelope you securely, his face nuzzled right between the space over your neck. You do the same, already feeling at home on his skin.

“You're here. You’re real, aren't you?”

“As real as you” he leans back to look at your tear stained cheeks, wiping it with his thumbs. “And here to stay if you want me to”

“Please” you lean on his touch.

He nods, placing a weighted kiss on your forehead. Suddenly you know his name. You call it sweetly amidst the tears, it feels welcome on your tongue.

For the first time in years, Hobie smiles and chuckles, kissing you atop your eyelids with a promise to never leave your side.

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hedgehog-moss · 7 months

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Hey!

I thought maybe you could help me in my quest. I've made two bookmarks for a friend with watercolors. One of them is a small fox looking at fallen leaves flying above his head, as if he were mesmerized by them. And I've been trying to find a good quote to accompany it on the back of the bookmark, but I haven't been successful so far.

I'm looking either for a poetry excerpt (my bookmark is 1/8 of an A4 sheet of paper, so nothing that would be very long [like a full sonnet haha] but I still have some space) or a quote of any kind, in French or in English, both are fine.

Would you have any that would make a good fit? Maybe an autumn-y one?

[I don't want to influence you, but for example, for the second one which is a sky at almost-dusk-time with a washed-out blue sky and soft pink clouds, I have a quote from one of the Anne of Green Gables books by Lucy Maud Montgomery:

"In daylight I belong to the world, in the night to sleep and eternity. But in the dusk I'm free from both and belong only to myself."]

Much thanks, and scritches to your various animals :)

Handmade watercolour bookmarks are such a nice idea for a gift, I love it <3

I vexed myself thinking about your request because I learn poetry by heart so often, or small book excerpts, but when someone asks me to dig up a topical quote my mental library is suddenly empty. I wish I had a tag system for my brain.

I vaguely remember an Alfred Desrochers poem the first stanza of which was "Le vent est froid, le ciel est gris, la terre est rousse / L'automne est revenu par septembre apporté / Et les arbres, devant la mort du bel été / Pleurent des larmes d'or [?quelque chose?] sur la mousse." And something by Francis Jammes about "ces jours qu'empourpraient les agonies solaires de l'automne" but no recollection beyond that...

I also remember some meager excerpts from "Matin d'octobre" by François Coppée, "A travers la brume automnale / Tombent les feuilles du jardin / [???] / Une blonde lumière arrose / La nature, et dans l'air tout rose / On croirait qu'il neige de l'or."

And one of my favourite poems by Marie-Claire Bancquart, "Je marche dans la solitude des livres", "Beyond the garden, beyond the moment at hand, are the fallen shells of chestnuts, the fire of leaves in the mist..."

And a verse by Ernest Dowson that went "And are we not better and at home / in dreamful autumn...? "

Maybe a couple of lines from this e.e. cummings poem? What my brain retained of it was "the glory is fallen out of the sky, this is the passing of all shining things"...

(if a fox could write autumn poetry I think it would sound like this poem. "no lingering no backward-wondering straight glad feet fear ruining lead us into the serious darkness...")

I also like this sentence by Elizabeth Coatsworth, from her book Personal Geography: "The magic of autumn has seized the countryside; now that the sun isn’t ripening anything it shines for the sake of the golden age; for the sake of Eden; to please the moon for all I know."

Anyway, love the idea of handmade illustrated bookmarks :) It reminds me of a calendar I made for a friend years ago, I wrote a little poem for each month and illustrated it. One of the poems was about having a snail friend:

#ask #poetry #autumn

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mistgardens · 1 year

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Salmonella girlie

Based on:

#limbus company #don quixote #don quixote lcb #project moon #mist gardens trash #mist gardens tag

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dreadheadmadi · 2 months

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- I’M GONNA CLAW THOSE PRETTY LITTLE EYES OUT

Chapter 1

A/N: If you enjoyed this chapter, let me know by reblogging or just dm me! Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list! I hope you have a wonderful day or night, bye angel!

BLACKWOOD MANOR loomed on the outskirts of New York like a gothic monolith, its sprawling grounds shrouded in mist and mystery; its imposing design was a testament to the wealth and power of its enigmatic owner, the elusive billionaire Alexander Blackwood. The grandeur of the mansion enveloped the night like a cloak of decadence, its opulence a stark contrast to the darkness that seeped through its polished corridors.

Usually, the manor would lay dormant and dark, with no sounds or persons going in or out. However, tonight was a special night, a masquerade-themed birthday, of whom it belonged to but none other than Alexander Blackwood's spouse. She was different from her loner husband - a city girl and an active member of New York's rich folk. Such a figure would earn as many friends and connections as possible - and she invited them all. Within the manor's walls, the wealthy elite danced and revealed, their laughter echoing against the marble floors as they indulged in the spoils of their privilege.

Among them, Alexander's favorite niece, Sofia Blackwood, navigated the sea of masked faces, her steps hesitant as she struggled to mask her discomfort beneath a façade of poise and grace. That night, she mustered the courage to ask her uncle to fund her college education, considering that her parents disapproved of her choice of study and promised to cut ties if she pursued it.

The air was heavy with the scent of expensive perfumes and the sickly sweetness of excess, but beneath it, a palpable tension lurked—a sense of impending doom that clung to the shadows like a vengeful specter. As the night wore on and inhibitions faded, Sofia was drawn to a secluded balcony overlooking the sprawling gardens below. She needed a moment to think, to gather herself before locating her uncle. Taking deep breaths, Sofia closed her eyes before looking at the scenery. A small smile appeared as she reminisced about when her uncle would play tag with her in the garden - tiny Sofia would run around the hedges, past the fountain, and up the staircase leading back to the manor as Alexander chased her. As her eyes followed the path, her smile quickly dropped as a cold chill shot through her blood.

There, amidst the ivy-covered trellises and moonlit fountains, she stumbled upon a sight that would forever haunt her nightmares. A figure lay sprawled across the cold stone tiles—a man, his once-immaculate tuxedo now stained with the crimson evidence of his demise. His eyes, wide with terror, stared unseeing into the night while multiple grotesque gashes marred his throat, the blood still warm and viscous against his pallid skin.

Sofia recoiled in horror, bile rising in her throat as she struggled to comprehend the brutality of the scene before her. The metallic tang of blood filled her nostrils, and she fought to suppress the urge to hurl as the reality of the situation washed over her in sickening waves. Instead of vomit coming out of her mouth, a guttural, heart-wrenching shriek replaced it. Multiple footsteps rush towards her before halting abruptly, filling the evening atmosphere with their wails. Around her, the party descended into chaos, the revelry shattered by the specter of death that now loomed over them all. Sofia was grabbed by her mother and father and ushered into an enclosed room where she finally regurgitated her evening meal onto the pristine marble floors.

Guests screamed and fled in panic, their masks slipping in their haste to escape the scene of the carnage unfolding before their eyes. All but one remained rooted to the spot, their gaze fixed on the lifeless form before them. Taking off their mask reveals a Black man with a scowl so deep in hatred that one would have thought he was the one who committed the murder. His dark brown eyes glower down at the body before being covered by the full face mask again. Quickly, he returned to the building, stomping down the velvet-covered stairs and pushing his way to the front of the small crowd around the crime scene.

As the crowd prayed, cried, and cursed the murderer to hell, the man's eyes focused on the wound on his neck. The gashes weren't a nice clean slice as if it were with a standard knife; they were thinner, deeper, and jagged with bits of flesh dangling and sticking out on the sides. No, a knife hadn't done this, but a set of claws-

"It was the Prowler!" a voice declared, "Look at the claw marks! That fucking bastard killed Alex!"

"I heard he's working with Fisk now. That fucking mammoth hated Alexander," another voice added, "He probably put a hit out."

"But on his wife's birthday? At a big event like this when we're all here?" A third chimed in. The second shook his head while pointing to Alexander's dead body.

"You don't know those men like I do; Alex was his number one enemy. When Fisk's family died, he asked Alex to help with some investments on some secret project; the hell if I know what it is. Alex said the fucker went batshit crazy when he lost his wife and was all over the news saying it too. It was supposed to be a wake-up call, but Fisk took that as disrespect and has been an enemy to the Blackwood family ever since. Dropping sponsorships, buying out companies, blocking his political power, I know that son of a bitch got something to do with this!"

The first voice suddenly reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a gun. "Fuck," he spat, "Fuck, fuck! To fucking hell with Fisk! I was THIS close to buying off those fucking votes! All that money gone to shit - where the FUCK is that purple bastard?! I'm putting a bullet through his head and then into Fisk's next!" With the sudden uproar, the first voice stormed back into the manor, which prompted others to do the same, all looking for the Prowler. He was already gone, however - he snuck out of the manor and into the thicket surrounding the manor, climbing onto his motorcycle and speeding off towards Brooklin. As he blares down the road, he tears off his mask again - brown eyes darkened as a single thought runs through his head.

That bitch stole my fucking kill.

Aaron swore to his momma that he’d never hit a girl, but this bitch was asking for it. It wasn’t the first time Black Cat had killed someone on his list; no, it’s been months since their first encounter. But for how long will this keep happening? The year is almost over, and he’s only been responsible for the deaths of four unlucky souls. Four, while she had six. Five of which were stolen right from his grasp. To say he was upset is an understatement. Annoyed? Oh, that’s long gone. Pissed? Maybe two months ago. Enraged? Closer, but not quite.

It’s gotten to the point where his work has become sloppy - disregarding his usual planned and strategic approach for a quicker and easier route just in case she was around. One time he even took a gunshot to his shoulder because of his blatant tunnel vision - Fisk gave him shit for it and benched him for a few weeks to heal before shoving him back into work. Aaron figures he’s going to be hooked on painkillers for a long while.

Speaking of the Kingpin, Aaron wasn’t sure how to explain what happened tonight, hell he doesn’t even know what happened tonight. All he knew was that he had only been at the party for around fifteen to twenty minutes before Sophia’s screams were heard. The party had only been going on for about ten minutes before he arrived, so within that thirty-minute window, Black Cat had arrived at the party, isolated Alexander, and killed him.

Based on his wounds, Aaron deduced that they weren’t deep enough to make a swift and easy kill. As he studied the evidence photos of Alexander after he hacked into the BPD police files, he zoomed in closely on the gashes. While it did look like claw marks, they were uneven and choppy. It wasn’t a clean strike either - it was slanted and angled more vertically than anything. A clear indication of a height difference, Aaron noted.

Alexander was six feet tall exactly; if Black Cat had struggled to get to his neck, she’d be closer to five feet in height, five feet and five inches at max. Aaron paused and wondered if she were wearing heels or platforms that night - it would make sense, considering she’d have to blend into a masquerade-styled party. That would put her shorter than five feet and five inches, the average height for women in Brooklyn. He wrote that down on a notepad and kept examining the photos.

The pieces of flesh that stuck out kept drawing his attention. It looked like the results of his prototype claw gauntlets. They were made of random and uncut metals that weren't accurately measured or maintained. The metal would often be too sharp or dull and get stuck underneath the victim’s skin due to the curvature of the claws. Once he drew back his hand, he would quite literally rip out the area of flesh he had made contact with. While it got the job done, it was a messy and loud kill, prompting him to update his weapon.

It was evident to Aaron that Black Cat’s weapon was similar to his prototype; however, one thing still bothered him - it was a silent kill. The initial contact had been on the side of his neck, still leaving enough airway to scream out for help or in pain. No one heard anything, and according to the witness statements, no one had noticed that Alexander was not present at the party. Aaron frowned at that detail - Alexander Blackwood wasn’t stupid. Someone, be it a guard or even his wife, had to have known he was separating himself from the partygoers. A man who has many enemies wouldn’t dare leave without alerting someone.

Another thing that bothered him was that Alexander wasn’t some snobby old rich guy. Blackwood was a black belt in his youth; he competed in and eventually founded various boxing matches and fight clubs across the United States. He was highly trained in artillery and probably would have been a military commander by now if he wasn’t in control of New York’s corrupt legal system. Simply put, Alexander Blackwood was a force to be reckoned with, just to be cut down by some female in a black leather jumpsuit. It just didn’t make sense.

All of Black Cat’s six kills before Alexander Blackwood had been young men and women of minor importance—quick money, as Aaron called it. The targets Fisk had assigned to the Prowler were gang leaders, drug dealers, and old henchmen whom Fisk no longer needed. This jump from stepping on an ant to straight-up maiming a lion was highly unusual for some uptown thief in a bodysuit. A whole year with little to no gains was starting to get to the mercenary; he needed to get to the bottom of this shit and quickly.

Aaron rubbed his hand across his face and turned towards another monitor, clicking on Google and searching up “Black Cat Brooklin.” He was hoping something new would pop up, but all he found were a few articles and stories he’d already researched.

There was a video that had gone viral a month ago; it was the CCTV footage of a jewelry store that the villainess had broken into. She wore her classic attire, mask, and a white straightened angled bob. Strolling around the store, she opened the displays and bagged all the merchandise, even trying on some and posing in a mirror hanging on the wall. Afterward, she shouldered the duffel bag, blew a kiss at the camera, and left out of the vent system she had used to get into the building. The uproar on memes and parodies of the event were all over Aaron’s feed for days. Women were gushing over her bad bitch aura, creating fan pages, and even going out and buying white wigs, dyes, and bundles just to look like her. And, of course, the men were practically fapping their dicks, saying how she was too delicate to go to prison, how they too would steal some shit in this economy; they were lowkey gassing her up more than the women did.

Aaron didn’t care enough to have an opinion; at that time, she was just some thief. But it’s different now, he thought, she’s more than a thief, she’s a killer. This year was the first year of her dipping her toes into homicide, and from Aaron’s knowledge, she hadn’t even been caught yet. Aaron wondered if those men and women would still support her after it’s exposed that she killed six people in over a year, but he figured they probably still would - the world is fucking crazy nowadays.

Right now at the moment, he was just mindlessly scrolling, clicking on the fan pages and profiles for any information he could gain on her. And then, after refreshing for the tenth time, a new video popped up titled “BLACK CAT HAS A NEW WEAPON (and it reminds me of someone 🤔) | New Look, New Tactics.” Aaron immediately clicked on the video and recognized the person in the commentary as an influencer who was one of the ones who made the robbing video famous by creating a whole trend based on it. The video started with random filler topics, which Aaron graciously skipped through before getting down to the central part of the video.

“Okay, guys, so let’s get to the tea; last night, Black Cat was seen scaling buildings and rooftops downtown with a new look, baby! Let’s look at what Miss Cat got going on for us,” the influencer starts, clicking on a Twitter thread showing a few off-guard pictures and videos of the thief.

“Oh, my God, you guys! Look at that fur, okay, hold on, I’m getting ahead of myself,” she laughed before viewing the first picture and zooming in. “Okay, first thing’s first, that hair, baby! Miss Cat said new hair, new me, and rocking this new do! Gone is her angled bob, replaced with these cute goddess passion twists; I love this! Of course, it’s colored in her signature platinum. Is it platinum? Platinum feels more yellow to me, maybe just plain white? Or maybe more like a frosty white, you know? Yeah, let’s go with that, haha! Edges are laid to perfection, makeup always looking fresh, ugh I’m telling all of you Miss Cat needs to open up shop cause I would pay-“

Aaron skipped ahead a little more; it’s nothing new that Black Cat constantly changed up her hairstyle and makeup looks. It's a smart move, considering how easy it is to track someone nowadays. Her indecisiveness is the sole reason no one has found out who she is; by the time they get comfortable with one look, it’s on to the next.

“Alright, so let’s talk about this new suit. So, I do get why most people say this isn’t a new suit. I mean, it is just the same suit with more fur, probably to keep warm since we are in winter, but I like to call it a new suit solely for these!” The influencer moves to the following picture, a close-up of Black Cat’s arms - which had two slender gauntlets with claw-like attachments. Aaron sat up and leaned towards the screen. Those looked familiar - real fucking familiar.

“That’s right, guys, Black Cat has a new weapon! This kitty has claws, and she is not afraid to use them! Many people say they love it; it’s on brand with the whole cat thing and a way better choice than the staff she used. I love the claws; they bring her a new, dangerous vibe. Like, before, she was just this common thief we all made jokes about, but now it’s like, damn, she's pretty serious about this. Miss Cat said to put some respect on her name; she isn’t any weak runt of the litter; she is THE Black Cat. Quit playing with her; this is serious business! Now, next, we have a quick little video of this new weapon in action, but before that, a quick word from our sponsor-“

Yeah, no, fuck that. Aaron skips again to where the video starts, and his leg bounces. There’s no way, there’s no fucking way, right? Right?

The video in the thread plays, and it shows Black Cat using the claws to climb up a brick wall, leaving significant scratch marks and puncture holes etched into the concrete. Then, once on top of the roof, she raises her hand and flexes it, which seems to trigger some mechanism as the claw part of the gauntlet shoots out and attaches itself to the edge of another roof two buildings across. Black Cat then runs and jumps off the roof she was currently on and uses the rope-like connection lodged between the claw part and the rest of the gauntlet. She swings towards the building, and on the video, the connection shortens, creating a grappling hook. The video shows her safely landing and repeating the action for another building before it ends.

The video cuts back to the influencer as she comments, “So, as we can see, it’s like a grappling hook, kind of? That’s cool; I wish I had a grappling hook. Then I could properly get to work on time when there’s traffic-“

Aaron exits the video before finding the Twitter thread and checking the comments. There are screenshots of the gauntlet from different angles and a few claims that it had sometimes glowed purple. After reading more and more comments about the description of the gauntlet, Aaron leans back in his chair and blinks.

That’s my gauntlet, he thinks; that’s my prototype.

Immediately, he calls Fisk - the one person Aaron trusted enough to leave the prototype with due to his high-security level warehouses and marked a sign of mutual trust between the two business partners. After quickly catching Fisk up to date, Fisk left to check the warehouse himself before confirming that the prototype was indeed missing - stating that they had numerous techs slowly disappear since the end of the previous year but couldn’t pin who it was or how they broke in.

The whole reason he wanted Alexander dead was because he was the only other person who knew where Fisk’s warehouses were, so the Kingpin thought he was the one who did it. Regardless, Fisk seemed intrigued that Aaron had made the connection to Black Cat, but Aaron was too busy breathing fire to even tune in on what the Kingpin was saying, causing him to drop the line altogether.

Aaron could feel the uncomfortable heat of anger creeping up his spine and seeping into his brain, as he returned to the thread and checked the new comments.

It didn't take long before the public started to bring up the Prowler’s weapon and their similarities. After rewatching the video five more times, Aaron noticed the prototype was tampered with. Every major flaw Aaron had trouble with had been fixed to a degree. Aaron closed his eyes and leaned back, his leg bouncing rapidly before suddenly stopping.

“It’s my prototype, he mumbles, “And she fixed it. She took my shit and made it better.” He slowly opens his eyes; green envy returns to his dark brown eyes. “First, she steals my kills, and now she steals my tech,” he chuckles before laughing and slamming his palm down onto his desk. “I am,” he laughs, “I am going to fucking end this bitch.”

Tag list: @mordeiswrld @arielpanda1 @young-dc @fossilizedbeetle @super-nova-2006 @chelsea-xxx2003 @fandom-multiamory @leahnicole1219

#black tumblr #x reader #across the spiderverse #miles morales #x female reader #aaron davis #aaron davis x reader #the prowler x black cat #the prowler x reader #the prowler #black cat #x black reader #x black oc #into the spider verse #spiderverse x reader #madiwrites

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tj-dragonblade · 2 months

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[FLUFFBRUARY FICLET] Before I Go

Rated: G Word Count: 849 Tags: Fluffbruary, Fluffbruary 2024, fluff, sap, established relationship, Hob Gadling loves Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Dream of the Endless | Morpheus loves Hob Gadling, kisses, parting is such sweet sorrow, flower symbolism

Fluffbruary Prompts: Day 16 neighbor desire horse Day 17 magazine tactile curtains Alt prompts: evening, caress

Additional inspiration taken from a couple of these kisses

Title credit and musical accompaniment: Before I Go by Yanni (Spotify link)

Summary: Season-of-Mists-style visit, some time later in their relationship

On AO3

It is a lush and expansive garden where Hob finds himself on a beautiful summer evening—flowers climbing the trees and blooming in every direction, nocturnal birds twittering their songs in the branches overhead, crickets chirping accompaniment in the undergrowth. The stars twinkle brightly in the blue-velvet sky and the moon shines full and brilliant, a silvery wash of illumination over the landscape. The path under Hob's feet winds between flower beds and lovely stone borders, toward a burbling stream running musically beneath the trailing branches of a willow tree. He follows along to a little wooden bridge arching over the stream and across, to a decadent little bower of trellises wreathed in climbing ivy and dripping with twilight-purple wisteria.

There's a familiar figure waiting there for him, and he smiles as he draws near. "Hello, love."

"Hello, Hob." Dream's eyes glitter softly like the stars, just as dark and depthless as the sky, just as beautiful. The moonlight illuminates him like a work of art, pearlescent skin and raven-feather hair, smoke-shadow robes draping him in regal refinement. He looks ready to hold court, to receive an audience, and Hob is awestruck all over again that this unfathomably powerful otherworldly creature deigns to be his friend, to be so much more; to accept his affections, to return them. He is so very lucky, and he knows it.

He looks up at Dream, who is currently half a head taller than him, and he can feel the fondness shining in his own eyes. "I'm not awake, am I."

"No." Dream's tiny little smile is both affectionate and regretful. "I apologize for usurping your dream; there is something I must attend to that will keep me away for some time. I did not wish to leave without making you aware."

Hob furrows his brow. "It's not Hell again, is it?"

"No. Nor do I anticipate any danger or risk to myself, my realm, but there may be. Delays. In resolving the matter."

Hob knows better than to ask for specifics in this sort of thing when Dream has not given them, regardless of how curious he may be. "Will Matthew be with you?"

"Yes."

"Then I know you're in good company and I'll hear from you if needed." He wishes, in some deep fundamental part of himself, that he could accompany Dream on these sorts of errands, but in this also he knows better. There are so many things in existence that are far beyond what his immortal-but-still-mundane mind can comprehend.

Dream steps forward, closer. "Dearest Hob. I would bring you with me, were it advisable. But as it is not—" he lifts a hand to Hob's face, touches him in the gentlest caress "—I will bid you farewell, and promise to return as soon as is feasible."

Hob places his own hand over Dream's, holds it there as he leans into it. "I'll be waiting, dove. Be safe."

Dream makes no reply, just gazes at him tenderly, leans in until his forehead rests against Hob's. He tangles his fingers with Hob's, splays them behind his neck and tilts in slowly until their lips meet.

It is soft, sweet, short, this kiss; and then another, a gentle farewell before Dream draws back. His hand drops from Hob's face but Hob can't quite let go, following it down, clinging; he is full to the brim with a dozen different emotions and all he wants to do is kiss Dream again, so deeply and so thoroughly that Dream will still taste him long after they've parted, will carry his love with him on whatever this errand is and know that Hob is waiting faithfully for his return.

He's leaning back in already, helpless in the face of this desire, but redirects at the last second, planting a soft kiss on Dream's cheek instead. He won't demand more than was given, not when Dream has duty weighing heavy on his mind, not when Dream has shown such consideration in making sure to take his leave. He is respectful of Dream's time and Dream's responsibilities and he will not do anything to make Dream think otherwise.

But Dream's eyes flash as Hob draws back, and then Dream has seized Hob's bicep and yanked him back in, is kissing him soundly. Hob can't help a delighted smile, at that, but it's quickly lost in the fierce parting of Dream's lips, the yearning wanting lament of his fervent mouth, and Hob loses himself in returning the sentiment.

That. That is a proper kiss goodbye, Hob very carefully does not say aloud, blinking as Dream lets him go.

"Until I return, devoted mine," Dream breathes, the stars in his eyes blazing, and steps back.

"I'll be waiting," Hob says again, the 'as long as it takes' and 'I'll miss you' and 'I love you' unspoken.

Dream smiles, the tiny kitten-soft smile that Hob knows is just for him, and takes his leave.

Hob stays, beneath the twining ivy and the curtains of clinging wisteria, and watches him go, the music of the crickets rising gently in his wake.

= Drafted: 2/17/24 Posted: 2/17/24

Why did I pick wisteria? Gosh I'm so glad you asked! Because it's pretty, and it made for lovely visuals. BUT then I looked up meanings also, and serendipitously I found:

1. Purple wisteria symbolizes royalty and undying devotion or love that transcends time 2. Victorians would include a cluster of delicate purple blossoms in their bouquets when they wanted to send a message of overwhelming desire and passion. In particular, the Wisteria was considered to say “I cling to you” as it would cling to the branches of other trees. Wisteria sends such a strong message of romance in most cultures that they’re usually best used for declarations of devotion or for wedding arrangements. 3. Wisteria—Welcome; Meeting you means so much to me 4. Wisteria gives a symbolic representation of beauty, love, long life and immortality, grace, bliss, honour, patience, endurance, longevity, releasing burdens, victory over hardships.

(There are relevant meanings to the the ivy (fidelity, everlasting life) and the willow (flexibility, adaptation) as well)

Sources: 1 2 3 4

#TJs Fics #TJs Fluffbruary #Fluffbruary 2024 #Sandman #Dreamling

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beautifulchris · 11 months

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a simple favor

wc: 0,9k

pairing: demigod!minho x gn demigod!reader

summary: you happen to ask a favor to the guy that has a crush on you

genres: fluff, demigod!au, camp half-blood!au, crush!au, son of hermes!minho, child of demeter!reader

tw: flirting, magic

notes: minho is a simp in this one and i'm not apologizing for it. i'm reposting the works i posted while shadowbanned, please don't mind me

networks: @kflixnet @k-labels @whipped-kpop-creators

permanent tag list: @badwithten send ask/dm/comment to be added!

Minho was a chill kid from cabin 11. He wasn’t about all that “thievery and trickery” lifestyle. Of course, as a Hermes kid, he was skilled for both, but it didn’t mean he’d use them if he could help it.

You were a sweet and beautiful child of Demeter, like herself in many ways. Need a hand? You were there to help. Tending to the Strawberry fields and chatting with the nature spirits about gardening and agriculture in general were your favorite hobbies.

Back in your dad’s neighborhood, you had a best friend. You two shared everything— quite literally, since she could see through the Mist.

She passed her driver’s license test the day you went to camp, so she promised she’d let you know the results.

But only if you could find a way to contact her, because everybody knew phones were monster magnets.

A cabin mate had once said he saw Minho from the Hermes cabin successfully deliver messages in dreams for a friend of his from cabin 5.

It could be a long shot but you wanted to know how your best friend did.

Now, I know what you might ask—

“Why me and not any Hypnos kid? They’re specialized in sleep and dreams.”

Minho was arms crossed against his cabin’s wall, examining you with his cat-like eyes.

“I’ve been told you’re good at it and you’re way more focused than any of them. I don’t want to spend hours explaining something that could take minutes.”

He smirked. “You could’ve just told me you wanted to spend time with me, gorgeous.”

Cheeks burning, your eyes opened widely. “That’s not—”

“It’s okay. So, what do I get in exchange?”

Ah. You didn’t think this far.

“... A flower crown? Cookies?” You were genuinely searching for a fair trade when he bursted out laughing.

“You’re cute.”

“If you’re just gonna make fun of me, I’ll just go to Jeno, sorry—”

He straightened, suddenly serious. “No," he said loudly. He coughed, "I mean no, I’m sorry for laughing. I’ll do it. I’ll take the flower crown and the cookies, though.”

You smiled so sweetly, his heart hammered in his chest.

“Thank you.”

“Sure,” he coughed again, probably to hide his red ears this time.

You walked away a few steps then turned around. “When do you want to do it?”

“Tonight, if it’s okay for you.”

“Okay, see you soon!” You waved him goodbye and, as you jogged away, Minho couldn’t keep his eyes off you.

Deep down, he was thrilled to have you asking him for help. He had developed a tiny crush on you after seeing you using your magic in the fields on sunny days, your skin glowing with beauty. Or whenever you gracefully walked past him on your way to the dining pavilion or the combat arena.

He wanted to know more about you. That was the only reason he accepted your request, because he wouldn’t do it for anyone.

“I really thought you’d only do it for friends,” Changbin fake pouted, “or am I nothing to you?”

“Shut up, I did it because you begged, and you are my friend.”

“Oh… so that means that Demeter kid is someone to you. Got it,” he grinned before running away, avoiding his friend’s murderous hands by a centimeter.

“You better not tell a soul!” Minho yelled, before getting ready for his archery lesson.

After dinner, Minho followed you to the Demeter cabin.

“Everyone is at the bonfire, I thought it would be better if we were alone,” you said, sitting on your bed.

The gifts were placed on your bedside table and Minho was standing in front of you, a little uncomfortable.

“Are you okay?” you asked.

“Of course. Let’s do this.”

He made you lay down on your bed, walked to the front of it and placed his hands around your temples without touching you.

“Relax, think about your friend. I’m going to touch your head, you can tell me to stop at any time.”

“Alright, you can proceed.” After giving him a smile of encouragement, you closed your eyes and focused.

Minho quickly shook away his feelings and concentrated on the task at hand.

It lasted a few minutes, and you could see your best friend vividly like you were actually there with her.

Thanks to him, you got to talk to her, cheer for her when she said she aced the test and give her a hug.

When you finally opened your eyes, Minho was standing next to your bed, contemplating the flower crown you made for him. It was placed on the bedside table along with a batch of cookies.

“Everything went well?” he asked.

“Yes, thank you Minho,” you beamed. “Take it, it’s yours.”

He hesitated, so you got up, took it and put it delicately on his head, all the while his eyes were locked on yours.

“I thought you’d be more interested in the cookies. You look handsome with it,” you complimented, taking a step back to take in his appearance.

Doing his best to ignore the sensation in his chest at your words, he bit into a freshly baked cookie. “Honestly, you didn’t have to give me anything, I would’ve helped you either way. Hm, it’s good.”

“You literally asked for those,” you reminded him.

“You proposed, I accepted,” he countered, shrugging. “But if you insist, you can remind me of our earlier conversation while we walk on the beach together.”

“Are you asking me on a date, Lee Minho?” you smiled, biting on a cookie too.

He mirrored your expression. “Depends, will you say yes?”

“It’s indeed good. Yes, I’d love to talk some more.”

thank you for reading! if you enjoyed, here's the masterlist <3

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revengeghoulette · 5 hours

Text

Matcha Latte w/Rose

Part 2: The Date

They go on their date!!

A/N: Bit of a time skip. It's not like the best thing I've written, but it'll do :) It gets a little steamy but not enough to be considered Spicy. Mostly edited.

WC: 3k

Sorry in advanced, you'll see. -Rev.

Playlist: The Rosy Crown

tagging: @obsidianghoul (ily, sorry I banned you), @sovaghoul @gottagho-st @clouds-bitch @crystalameoba @cheerycherrycandy-resurrected @foxybouquet @ghostlylivres

It’s been almost 3 weeks since Swiss asked Mountain out on a date, and preparations for the midterm rush at The Rosy Crown are in full swing. Mist, Sunny and Swiss have been organizing the schedule to ensure that last year's snafu doesn’t occur again. They accidentally left The Rosy Crown with no staff for about 3 hours in the middle of the night, and they also ran out of flour and butter. They promised that moving forward reparations would begin several weeks before exam weeks to avoid any issues the week of.

Mountain has been busy with office hours, lectures, and a garden club he offered to be an advising faculty member for. He tries his hardest to make sure to be at the cafe before Swiss’ shift ends so they can walk home together, but there’s been a handful of nights where he doesn’t make it. He regrets assigning so much homework. He makes a mental note to adjust the workload for next semester, especially since he’ll be teaching two additional courses.

On the nights Mountain can’t make it to the cafe, he shoots Swiss a message to let him know so he doesn’t worry. If it's truly a rough day, he forgets all together.

Swiss will do anything to spend time with his favorite person. He happily walks to campus with some snacks and a warm drink, to find him buried in stacks of papers gripping a red pen. He takes a seat on one of the comfy chairs Mountain has in his office, and reads the random magazines he has lying around.

“Is gardening like your favorite thing to do, or what? You’ve got so many magazines here about greenhouses and what not, and you’ve got a little gardening gang now,” Swiss questions, laughing at the end, referring to the gardening club.

“It's… yeah. You know how we, ghouls, have an element attached to us? I’m an earth ghoul, hence the name Mountain. I have a special connection with the earth, so, yeah, gardening, and all things nature,” Mountain informs him.

“Oh, I guess I never really thought about it. I know we have ties to elements, but my parents weren’t very into that, I guess? They tried to assimilate more to the human culture, so we didn’t lean into it.”

After a moment, Swiss began getting a little antsy, distracting Mountain, “Honey, what is it? You're getting fidgety.”

Swiss blushes at hearing the earth ghoul call him honey. “Would you… help me connect with my elements? According to my parents, I have a mix of them. It's where my name came from, actually.”

Mountain sets down his pen and removes his glasses. “Wait. Swiss… Like, Swissarmy knife? Because you’re a multi ghoul.”

Swiss nods slowly.

Mountain lets out a hearty chuckle, “That’s very cute, but absolutely, it would be my pleasure. I’m done here though. Why don’t we pick up some food and go home?”

Standing up from his chair, Swiss grabs Mountain’s coat and helps him put it on before walking out the door hand in hand.

Swiss and Mountain have only been going out for a few short weeks, but their connection is so much more than typical crush. They have routines, they call each other during downtime just to say hello, Mountain continues to stop by The Rosy Crown every morning, and Swiss helps Mountain with grading or understanding typical young adult behavior. It seems like neither of them can spend the night alone anymore. There’s something tugging them together.

They haven’t had their first official date, but all the hang outs are everything and more.

‐

With midterms week upon them, Swiss, Mist and Sunny have been living at The Rosy Crown filling in for their student staff. Mountain has been at the shop every single day volunteering to help bus tables, or go around and restock supplies and books.

Mist has gotten on his case multiple times about it before, claiming that it's not his job, that he’s probably breaking some sort of labor law by helping them. Mountain assures her it falls under volunteer work and she doesn't need to worry. Swiss admires that Mountain puts up with Mist’s fighting spirit and constantly thanks him for helping, but reassures him he doesn’t have to.

“I do it because I want to. No one’s forcing me to be here.” Mountain reassures him back. With a quick kiss on the forehead, they go back to their duties.

Ever the creep, Sunny watches them interact. She’s never seen Swiss be so enthralled by another being before. He’s putty in Mountain’s hands. The forehead kiss sent her over the edge.

He walks past her, and she takes this opportunity to corner him, “Dude. What the fuck. Where did you find him? He’s amazing! And he’s been so much help! Please tell me you’re gonna dick him down soon! Omg, does he have a sister?”

Swiss grabs Sunny by the arms and shakes her playfully. “Sunny, breathe. Calm down! He’s pretty amazing, huh?”

“Who knew the playboy would settle down,” she teased, earning a glare from Swiss. “I'd snatch him from you, but I like the ladies. They're not as stinky.” Sunny makes a disgusted face before cackling and running away from Swiss’ reach He grins, rolling his eyes at her antics. Who knew the calm quiet child would grow up to be anything but calm and quiet.

After a rough week of long nights, The Rosy Crown closes the weekend after midterms. Students are mostly gone on spring break, and the staff is exhausted. Swiss gives everyone a long weekend to recover and start fresh on the following Wednesday.

Mountain wakes up with Swiss’ arms around him. He takes a moment to admire the features on Swiss’ face, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, and the horns protruding from his head. He was perfection incarnate. The gold flakes in his horns match the gold flakes in his eyes, his muscles defined by all the manual work he puts into baking, his tail wrapped around his own leg as if cuddling with him, there is no other ghoul that could match his beauty.

He gets up quietly, placing the blanket over Swiss body, and goes to the living room. He knows Swiss isn’t waking up anytime soon, especially after the week they just had. Mountain brews a fresh pot of coffee and takes a seat on the couch, wrapping a blanket over himself. The air is getting crisper with the approaching winter, he can feel it in his bones, and see it in his hair. He's luckily able to glamour that. He picks up a random book Swiss has lying about, and begins to read it while he waits for sleeping beauty to wake up.

In the other room, Swiss wakes up alone. He feels around for Mountain, but he doesn’t find him. Groggy, he gets up and sees he's reading the book Mist said was good, but truth is… It’s trash. The writing is terrible, but the smut is hot.

He wanted to stare at Mountain forever, but he was getting chilly and he looked so warm. Swiss quietly makes his way over before crawling on top of Mount, startling him.

“Good morning sweetheart,” Mountain sets the book down, rubbing his hands up and down Swiss’ back while his face was smushed against him lower belly. He mumbled something in response, but Mountain couldn’t make it out.

They adjusted themselves so that Swiss was underneath the blanket, cuddling Mountain on the couch. Sleeping beauty dozed off, and Mountain picked up the book again. After a little while, Swiss started to wake up again. Mount felt movement under him, so he set the book down and started rubbing the back of his finger up and down Swiss cheek gently.

“You’re warm,” Swiss gets out in a groggy voice, snuggling further into Mountain.

“Mm I know honey. I’m also hungry, and need more coffee. This book is lulling me back to sleep,” Swiss hums in agreement, “I’m gonna make us some breakfast, sweetheart.”

After they get up, Swiss warms up the coffee and starts to make breakfast for the both of them. Mountain complains because he was supposed to make breakfast, not the other way around, especially since he had a long week at the shop, but Swiss wasn’t having it. They argue back and forth for a little bit.

“I’m taking you on that date today. I’m picking you at 6,” Swiss announces as he places pancakes on a plate for Mountain.

“Oh, thank you,” Mountain takes the plate. “Are you gonna tell me what we’re doing?”

“Nope, it’s a surprise. A little something I’ve been cooking up for a while,” Swiss says before taking a seat and cutting up his pancakes. “Wear something comfortable, and something you wouldn’t mind getting a little… dirty.”

“Are you going to explain?” the earth ghoul questions.

“Nope,” Swiss says with a wink.

Swiss knocks on Mountain's door right at 6pm, not a minute early, not a minute late, exactly at 6.

Mountain opens the door wearing a dark green Henley and black jeans. “Is this okay?” Mountain asks.

Swiss is stunned, He just stared at Mountain for a little bit before stuttering out, “Oh, definitely. You look fantastic.”

Swiss hands Mountain some flowers he picked up earlier that day. Placing them inside, Mountain locks up and walks down the steps, taking Swiss hand.

“Where are we going?” The tall ghoul inquires.

“Somewhere. Don’t worry about it sweetheart.”

After walking a few minutes down the road, they reach their destination: The Rosy Crown Cafe & Bookshop. Swiss lets go of Mountain’s hand and opens the door.

“Swiss, what are we doing here?”

“We are on a date, my good sir. Come on.”

Swiss opens the doors and walks Mountain inside. It takes a moment for Mountain to take everything in. The blinds are all down, and there’s total privacy. Looking around, he sees strings of light are hung up, there’s a table with candles lit in the center and on either side there's a table placement and two dishes served. Soft music is playing in the background, creating a romantic, intimate space for them.

“Swiss… how?”

“The ladies might have helped.” He smiles almost sheepishly up at the taller ghoul. “I hope you’re hungry.”

Swiss guides Mountain to the table, pulls out the chair for him before taking a seat himself. On the plate there is a serving of roasted potatoes, a kale asian salad, and a plate of creamy mushroom risotto with a fresh baked dinner roll on the side.

They dive into the meal prepared by Mist and Sunny. The earth ghoul talked about his uni work, biodegradable research projects amongst other things. Swiss cracked some jokes and delved more about his parents and his childhood. He grew up surrounded by humans and had very few interactions with ghouls. He met Sunny and Mist in elementary school and have been inseparable since then. They’re family, a pack, if you will. Mountain sips on his wine while watching Swiss enthusiastically tell stories from his childhood.

As they finish their food, Swiss gathers their plates and sets them to the side, mentally noting to take care of them later.

“I have something special planned for dessert, follow me,” Swiss stands up, and offers a hand to Mountain. He takes him to the kitchen, and ties an apron around him.

“I want to ask what we're doing, but you’re not gonna tell me.”

“You know me so well, but fine, I’ll tell you. We’re making cinnamon rolls.”

Swiss had pre-measured out the flour, cinnamon, butter, and the rest of the ingredients and placed them on the counter.

“Oh, by 'we're making them' you mean I'm making them?!”

“Yes, but don’t worry, I’ll help.”

Swiss dumps the flour on the counter, forming a well in the center. “First, you’re going to incorporate a few things into the flour. Here,” Swiss hands Mountain a few things and he dumps them into the well. “Now mix them up using the fork, then make the well again.”

Mountain does as he’s told. Swiss works on mixing the wet ingredients for him. “I’m going to slowly mix this in. First use the fork,” Swiss pours a small amount of the wet ingredients, making sure everything is incorporated before adding more. “Great, now use your fingers. Make your hand into a claw and mix it in. As it gets stickier, start to knead. It’s going to get pretty sticky, but keep kneading. I still need to add in some more flour.”

Swiss stands back, watching Mountain mix the ingredients so gently, “You’re going to have to be a little rougher baby,” he states after dumping in a few more cups of flour.

Mountain starts to get tired from kneading since he’s been going at it for a few minutes.

“Swiss, this is hard. I’m getting tired,” he complains.

That's not the only thing that's hard, Swiss mumbles under his breath.

Swiss stands behind him, slightly pushing his hips against Mountain’s back, and helps him knead. Mountain turns his head back, they stare into each other's eyes for a second, and lean in, lips meeting at a feverish pace.

“Let me take over Mount.” Swiss mumbles into the kiss. He quickly finished kneading the dough while Mountain stands behind him, kissing his neck, hands roaming his body, leaving a trail of flour and dried dough on his clothes, especially his ass.

Swiss sets the bowl with the dough aside, Mountain takes this as an opportunity to grab him and press him against the counter. He leans into Swiss, his ass pressing against the counter, he towers over Swiss for a moment before kissing him with all his might.

Swiss’ arms immediately go to the back of the Mountain’s head, pressing him closer to his mouth, fingers playing with his hair. Swiss pulls on his hair to see what kind of reaction he would get, and he got the best reaction possible. A moan escaped Mountain’s lips as his head was pulled back, foreheads joining after Mountain lets out a whine from Swiss still pulling his hair back. Mountain wanted nothing more to get Swiss naked right then and there.

“Mount…” Swiss whispers, fearing that if he spoke any louder, the moment would be ruined.

“I'm gonna kiss you again.” Mountain announces in the same quiet tone.

Mountain goes for Swiss neck, inhaling his scent before lightly kissing him in that little patch near his ear. He wants to bite, he knows and recognizes what this attraction is but Swiss doesn’t. He can't jump the gun and do something that could probably destroy their souls.

Without realizing, he shakes his head, shaking the thoughts away, Swiss is too high on the love right now to catch Mountain's head shake. Instead, he moans when Mountain begins to kiss down the front of his neck to his collarbones. Tracing the outline of those delicate, sensitive bones. Swiss throws his head back, opening himself more for Mountain. His hands still tangled in his hair, tugging lightly every now and then. He leaves a few hickeys on Swiss collarbones before returning to his lips. Swiss feels Mountain's fangs when he slides his tongue into his mouth, both of them fighting for dominance. Mountain’s hands are gripping Swiss hips so tightly there's bound to be bruising tomorrow.

They hear a distant beeping that’s becoming louder and louder, then they realize it was the timer letting them know the dough was done proofing. Swiss pushes Mountain away softly.

“Give me a second, and then we can continue, we should get these into the oven,” Swiss pants.

Mountain, panting equally as hard, nods, but he doesn’t let go of him. He holds Swiss by the waist, continuing to kiss his neck while he rolls out the dough and spreads the cinnamon sugar butter on the dough before rolling and cutting them.

Placing the rolls into the oven, Swiss turns and continues to make out with Mountain. Without clearing out the counter, Mountain hoists Swiss up to the counter. The slightly shorter ghoul now towering over him. His hands start to roam underneath Swiss’ shirt, claws scratching lightly into his skin, enough to leave a faint raised line.

“Mount… more,” is all Swiss is able to get out. Mountain unbuttons part of Swiss shirt to give him access to his torso where he licks his V-line, tempted to go below his belt, but he stops himself. Maybe the coffee shop is not the place to suck his soul out through his dick.

The timer goes off again letting them know the cinnamon rolls were done baking.

Mountain looks up at Swiss’ face, pleading with his eyes to not get off the counter. Swiss laughs and hops off, heading straight to the oven.

“Would you mind grabbing the frosting from the fridge?”

Mountain nods and hands it to Swiss, who smears it on the warm cinnamon rolls, melting the frosting.

Mountain discreetly adjusts himself and fixes his clothes before sitting on the bar. He can’t help but stare at the reminder of what occurred just moments ago. Hair messy, lips swollen, cheeks stained red, his shirt unbuttoned and untucked, a few scattered small hickies, little red lines peeking through his opened shirt.

Mountain swallows hard. He tries to contain himself and let Swiss finish setting up dessert.

“A cinnamon roll for you, but before you eat it, I have a special drink I’d to make you”

Swiss brings out a jar with green powder, and a bamboo whisk. Pouring a little bit of hot water over the green powder he put in a mug and whisked it until slightly frothy. He goes to the steamer with some oat milk in a cup, steams it then pours it into the mug and pumps some flavoring into it.

Mountain’s eyes follow him from one station to the next, until the drink is presented in front of him.

“I present a matcha latte with oat milk and a hint of rose. Try it,” Swiss encourages.

Mountain takes a sip and it's like tasting a garden. The rose flavor bring out the flavor of the matcha.

“Swiss, this is delicious. It's amazing. It’s comforting. It makes me feel all warm and safe. It tastes like… home, in a way.”

“I call it the Mountain Special. I was hoping you'd like it.”

“I love it so much,” Mountain smiles so big. He lets out a moan as he bites into the warm roll, “so good.”

Swiss chuckles. Before him there’s a big ghoul with frosting dripping from the corners of his mouth. Using his thumb, Swiss cleans off the frosting before sucking it clean.

“And I love you, Mountain.”

After cleaning up the kitchen, Swiss walks Mountain back to his apartment, hoping to stay the night and finish what they started in the cafe.

“Thank you for the wonderful date, Swiss. I loved every moment of it. I adore you so much. Thank you.”

“It was my pleasure, Mounty.”

“Um, I know you probably want to stay, but I… uh kinda need time to process tonight, if that’s okay,” he explains, twisting his fingers, obviously nervous of some sort of negative reaction.

Swiss is unsure of what to say. “Yeah, no, yeah, that’s okay! I’ll call you tomorrow. Get some rest.” He leans in to give him a kiss, but Mountain turns, his lips landing on his cheek.

“Thanks. Have a goodnight, Swiss, get home safely.” Mountain enters his apartment leaving Swiss confused outside.

Staring into the darkness of his apartment, he closes his eyes, leans his back against the door.

“Fuck.”

He exhales as tears roll down his face.

Part 3, soon, sorry

#revenge works #Matcha Latte #the band ghost fanfic #the band ghost #ghost the band #swiss ghoul #mountain ghoul #swissalps #mist ghoulette #sunny ghoulette #steamy make out session #angst?#barista swiss #professor mountain #coffee shop au #my fic #idk if that was a good dinner to serve but whatever #i dont go on dates

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historianthesecond · 8 months

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The First to Fall (In Love) [2]

Nikolai Lantsov x Fem! Reader---3.6K---SFW

<- Part I // Part III [Final]->

Summary: The picnic date wouldn't be the last you'd have with Nikolai, though your time together is limited, with the festival almost reaching its end. When it's time to decide to stay or leave, how much truth lies in your answer?

Taglist: @hauntedenthusiasttragedy

The rain muffled your steps climbing the stone staircase toward where Nikolai had invited you today. Luckily, only a drizzled had accompanied most of the way crossing the Sapphire Wing of the Grand Palace where all guests were accommodated toward the main building. The plants in the Queen’s garden shone with dew, raindrops gently kissing the flowers and leaves, your hair and clothes. It smelled just as you remembered from that first time you went inside, cocooned by an apple tree.

Back then, the blanket underneath you was a spotless shade of white, matching the shade of Nikolai’s gloves. Soft against your touch—not that you could compare them to his when your fingers grazed his when he passed you a pastry.

Ever since that meeting, you grew used to seeing random envelopes passed to you in each meal, usually breakfast, but sometimes even dinner. Of course, your principal advisor, Lady Stell, wouldn't mind you slipping late in the evening with the Rakvan King. And you have to admit that you didn’t, either.

Crossing down the hallways toward the library, the silent space echoed with a round of quick steps coming your way. With your head tilted, you poked around the corner, almost tripping against Nikolai, whose quick walk came to a halt.

“Saints!” He said, stepping back to avoid hitting you with the umbrella he was carrying. “You scared me, darling. How do you walk so silently?”

Ignoring his pet names, because he sometimes liked to sprinkle such words everywhere, you replied: “It’s easy to be stealthy when you’re striding down the hallway with an absent mind." Your chin signaled to the umbrella. "Are you going out, Your Majesty?"

His gaze swept your clothes, finding them only slightly darker above your shoulders, tiny drops of rain misting on your hair. “I was going to fetch you so you wouldn’t get wet. But the meeting extended too much, and didn’t make it on time.”

You smiled at him—a real gesture that sometimes slipped out your neutral features. It made his heart do cartwheels or something just as cheesy as described in some of the novels he read when his eyes got bored from scanning commercial deals and reports from each province.

“It’s alright, it wasn’t raining that hard still,” you muttered, not telling him that it would’ve been fine if he had decided to send any servant to escort you. He liked to do it himself, and you couldn’t deny him to show such gallant gesture.

“Still, let me get you a towel.” He gestured to one of his guards hovering nearby, which nodded and then disappeared in search of a butler or a maid. “We wouldn't like you to get sick." That way he couldn't visit as much, but Nikolai refrained from telling you that half-thought.

“I always get sick when I return to Rewfel,” you said as easy as breathing, and Nikolai felt his heart doing a free dive toward the floor. He had almost forgotten that the end of this makeshift festival was nearby, barely four days away. “The physician says it’s something about the humidity of the island and my respiratory system.”

You observed him, his expression morphing from open happiness to contained… something. “Are you alright?” you said, gentle fingers brushing his sleeve. “I’ll be fine.” You tried to reassure him.

Nikolai picked up on your intentions and gave you a strained smile that he thought was concealed enough, though not really—not for you who had been spending the evenings together at least every third day; in the library, where you both silently read until the candle burned out or your eyes got too blurry from sleep to continue; or a simple walk in the garden, with his fidgety, energetic fingers plucking flowers to offer them to you.

“It’s a peace offering,” he told you the first time, giving you a zinnia flower he produced from somewhere, when you were looking at the fireflies scooping over the lake, their wings shining like diamonds against the dying evening sun. “For our growing friendship.”

You had tilted your head, brushing the soft petals against your palm. A flower like the dusk, you thought, all red and orange and yellow. “I thought we had toasted for that yesterday.”

He grinned. “It makes me happy you remember our promise, Your Highness. But I’ve never been against showing my affection to the people I care for.”

Your steps had come to a stop, eyes glued onto him as the flower hovered near your nose, the sweet essence of it making you dizzy.

“What’s the matter?” Nikolai chuckled. “You look horrified.”

Turning your face away from him, you hoped the hair would cover the flustered state of your face. Was he out of his mind? Or was this just another strategy to win over your hand?

Even now, you weren’t sure.

Offering you his arm, Nikolai guided you to a rooftop that had been built to be a bell tower, now discarded to be his observatory that he couldn't use much due to the never-ending work that kept piling even after dinner.

The telescope was brushed to a corner ever since the first you came here, and the inexistent east wall let the breeze of the rain come in, making you sink deeper into your coat. Nikolai passed you a blanket he had laid onto a chair nearby, and you let him have half of it to cover his legs, even if it looked like he didn’t need it. To be fair, both the tea and the brandy were warm on the table in front of them, a thin serpent of smoke ascending toward the glass cupule in the roof.

"Have you finished the watercolor?" Nikolai asked you suddenly, hazel eyes flashing toward your face after he got tired of seeing the curtain of rain sheltering you both from the world.

You nodded. It was a humble size, portraying the way the sun reflected in soft waves against the water, sketched when he invited you to sail with him in the lake.

"Does it feel like home?" He asked you, looking at your hands grasping the helm, wind blowing your hair away from your smiling face.

"Better," you giggled, and he relished in such sweet sound. "I've never maneuvered a ship this big before."

Nikolai couldn't refrain to wink at you. "You just wait until you see my ships stationed at Os Kervo, lovely. They're the bigger sisters of these ones."

Both Palaces looked like fancy cakes, identical to the dessert slices Nikolai had invited you that evening, white and gold and in perfect smooth shapes extending over green forests, so much green you had to remember it somehow, there when back home was all yellow dunes and turquoise.

"They're surely breathtaking."

"Yes, quite so. But not as much as the one gracing upon me right now," Nikolai said, which made you look at him over your shoulder as if he had lost his mind. "The view, Your Highness." He gestured away, even if you could swear to feel his gaze when yours was focused on the horizon.

Strangely enough, you had grown fond of this country, maybe more than just the country, your mind popped into thought, eyes meeting Nikolai's.

“I would love to see the final result,” he commented, settling the kettle on the table after serving you a cup.

You didn't have time to register the implication of your words before they could get out of your mouth. "Well, you know where my chambers are."

Nikolai was taking a sip of brandy, the glass jolting when he leaned against his knees to cough.

You laughed to hide your embarrassment, but correcting yourself would've been even worse, knowing his endless teasing. Not even the dark evening could conceal the light pink blush dusting his cheeks. If it were any other situation, you wouldn't be allowed to wander with him without a chaperone; but your family was desperate to undo their mistake involving your older sister and Vasily, it was inconsequential to break one or two protocols.

"So, why don't His Majesty talk with me about his day?" you told him, ready to ease the sudden change in the ambiance, charged with something powerful, as if lightning was about to strike.

His eyes lighten up, only momentarily before looking away. “I wouldn’t like to bore you, My Lady.”

“Nonsense. I know royal duties are taxing and dull, but they’re necessary,” you said. “Sometimes you feel like there’s nobody who could understand what you’re going through, sitting up there on a throne.” You shrugged. “At least, that is what my older sister told me once. Those days I could barely see her with how many classes she had.”

Nikolai wished to be better at artistic drawing, so he could forever keep the fond smile decorating your face. "She would have been a delightful Queen," he said, his voice growing serious. "I'm sorry what happened to her. May I ask… where is she now?"

It was time to light up some oil lamps on the coffee table, but both of you let them be turned off, the darkness welcomed while you were laying the contents of your heart.

“I don’t know,” you uttered. “My parents didn’t let me contact her when she escaped from the carriage that would get her to a convent after breaking off the engagement. Honestly, I don’t think they know her whereabouts either.” A chuckle escaped your lips, but it was a sour sound. “Perhaps it’s for the best.”

He reached for your hand in the darkness, a whim of boldness strong enough to graze your arm down your wrist, giving you a gentle squeeze. “Please forgive me if I’m overstepping, but I would like to help you contact her again, if you so wish, of course.”

You chuckled. "I don't think it would be a good idea for the King of Rakva to approach her on my behalf."

It was too dark for you to see his cocky smile. “My dear, don’t worry. I have my ways around.”

“Of course you do. You always do,” you said, like the way he’d been burrowing inside your mind and heart little by little, with seemingly no effort whatsoever. However, the last part of the sentence was muffled by the bell chiming in the nearby distance, as in destiny’s call. It was only one bell away from dinnertime. "I should have told you this sooner, but you don't have to be sorry."

“Pardon?”

You looked at his broad shadow hunched next to you on the lounging sofa.

“About my sister,” you whispered. It was hard to hear you talk over the rain, so he had to scoop closer, trying not to distract himself with the lily’s essence of your hair. “It’s me the one who ought to be sorry.”

“I’d say it was a very understandable reaction. You don’t have to apologize at all, dear.”

"I judged you without bothering to even talk with you beforehand. It was childish of me, to make us carry this burden that doesn't even belong to us."

Nikolai chuckled. “It’s the way blood works, isn’t it? You’ll be forever tied to the family name—for the better or for worse.”

The silence expanded, longing for your answer, lips gently parting when you were ready to speak. “I’m proud of what you’ve accomplished. And I would’ve been, no matter if you were a Lanstov or not.”

He sat a little straighter, eyes widened. Trying to brush off the sudden shyness clinging to his bones, he said: “Oh, but darling, if I weren’t me, I wouldn't have ever seen that pretty glare of yours back at the lake."

You chuckled, temporarily distracted by his words. “I can’t with you,” you huffed, trying to muffle a laugh. “But I meant it. I apologize for how I acted back then.”

“We’re friends now, love. Please don't be." He learned to nudge his shoulder against yours.

You nodded, though he couldn’t see it in the darkness.

“I think we shall go, Your Majesty." You stood up, not knowing if your legs felt wobbly for so much time of being sitting, or if it was because of his proximity. Not that you would like to dwell much in an analysis of sorts, either. "Or else we will miss our bedtime.”

“I believe you’d look lovely the next day without your beauty sleep nevertheless," he commented, but put his hand away. Hearing the rustle of your dress moves away from his legs, your warmth slipping from his grasp once again. Instead, he grabbed the almost empty glass of brandy by pure memory of its location. "Would I see you later?"

Your steps faltered just where the threshold of the entrance must be. You only hummed back. “Perhaps I can show you my watercolor tomorrow after lunch.”

Nikolai was glad you couldn’t see his boyish smile. “I would love that, darling.”

“Goodbye then, Your Majesty.”

“Nikolai,” he told you before you could get too far. “I think friends should drop the formal titles, don’t you agree?”

“As if you used mine often enough.” A couple of steps echoed against the quiet room, and for a moment Nikolai was about to sigh, defeated. “But yes, I agree, Nikolai. Have sweet dreams.”

“I sure will,” he replied, but you were too far away to listen.

Thankfully so, perhaps.

*~*~*~*

Days passed by quicker when you were fearing them not to. Nikolai had a hard time remembering such a time he felt this way, the only reminisce coming from the countdown when he chose to leave his life as Sturmhond behind to help his country. How he stepped into the deck of the Volkvolny and just gazed at it, a silent goodbye.

He didn’t wish to do the same with you.

The thought made him roll in bed, insomniac, ever since the first guest started going three days ago. With the space of the stables bigger with every horse and carriage that left Os Alta to probably not return.

You probably didn't feel the same—that you two had grown close enough to call what you had a friendship, but nothing more. The rift lay there still, and Nikolai wasn't sure if he could cross it in these thin floorboards, built-in longing glances when you didn't notice, in those stolen moments where he could pretend you two had a world of your own. In every tiny smile, he could get out your precious lips.

He heard the bell tower chiming in the night, mimicking his frenetic heartbeat, a reminder that time was always slipping between his hands. That this was the last night you would be sleeping under the same roof.

Nikolai sighed, defeated. The mattress dipped under his weight when he sat, back leaned against the headboard as he gazed into the dark as if would give him an answer. He tried with a lie first, to see what this lonely hour could reveal a way to unveil his feelings.

It doesn’t matter, he thought, closing his eyes. You’ll forget her.

With the watercolor you had painted of the Palace, your name scribbled in a corner, he doubted it could be possible. There weren’t many royals, and such families were meant to encounter one another in international scenarios. Could he withstand the eventual sight of you with another person taking your hand?

The mere picture of it made his heart squeeze in a painful grip.

You would be meant to leave after breakfast. And then not only his festivity to try and get a future Queen would have been useless, but the person he did want to be next to him for the rest of his days would be gone. It was much worse than simply imagining that there was nobody for him out there.

The light of the hallway blinded him, with Tolya jolting from his post outside his door when the knob turned open.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, but Nikolai shook his head, passing a hand through his hair.

“No,” he sighed. “I’m going to…" Nikolai trailed because he had no idea of what to do. "I'm going to take a walk, I think it will help me unwind.”

Tolya was about to follow him, but Nikolai turned to him. “It’s alright, Tolya. I’ll walk in the patrolled path, I promise. I would like to be alone for a while.”

Concerned pooled inside his friend’s eyes, but he nodded nevertheless. “As you wish.”

His senses were numbed enough to mindlessly walk down the path of the garden, insects singing in the distance after a rainy day, the moon sheepishly peeking through the clouds. Lamps were lit in the main path, so he didn’t have to worry about tripping, though he had wished to wear a warmer nightrobe.

Too far to return now, the Saints knew that if he turned, Nikolai would not return even if he regretted it for the rest of his life—he just wouldn’t make the courage for it.

The Sapphire Wing had such gems embedded into the cupule of the foyer, hence the name. It was lavish and private, with customizable rooms depending on the nobles and ministers visiting. The inner parts were for the ones who couldn't withstand the colder temperatures, and the rest were in the margins, with bigger balconies and windows to let the wind brush in.

Yours was close to the Private Gallery, if you ever wished to work on your art there, you wouldn't have to carry your paintings from too far away. Nikolai made his way there, too distracted to mind the fleeting glances the foreign guards gave him.

Finally, he stopped in front of a pair of cedar wooden doors that at such a moment seemed bigger than they were. But he couldn't linger for much, not with your guards watching him in their unrelenting watch. Welcoming the pressure, he knocked on your door before he could think straight and leave. What if you didn’t hear him the first time? Would he dare to knock again?

After some seconds, that surely felt longer as his heartbeat ran and slammed against his ribcage, he heard shifting at the other side, the muffled steps of bare feet that stopped in front of the door.

A crack opened, and you poked your head outside, eyes squinted with slumber despite your attempts at rubbing it away.

“Nikolai?” you told him, voice groggy. He felt his heart tugged against his ribcage at waking you up so late, especially when you were meant to wake up earlier than usual to get ready for your travel.

A journey he wished you didn’t take.

He smiled faintly. “Hey there, lovely.” A pause as your eyes stopped squinting, already used to the light in the hallway. “Can I come in? I’m having trouble falling asleep.”

You closed the door in his face, and he stepped backward, stunned.

You opened it, peeking through the ajar crack. “Wait there. Let me change,” you said, closing the door once again for at least five minutes before you appeared again, your hair undone from the nightly braids, a warm coat covering your nightgown.

Gesturing for him to come inside, you had lit up the lamps on the nightstand, and Nikolai could see your bed made a cocoon of warmth with blankets thrown around the pillows, like making a fort of some sort.

He had to push away the thought of thinking that he could shelter you even better than those pillows.

You sat against the headboard, telling him to sit whenever he wanted. Nikolai was too nervous to sit, but he obliged anyway, as he wished to be at your eye level.

“What’s the matter?” you told him, taking a sip of water to alleviate the uneven tone of your voice. “Are you alright? You look… red. Do you have a fever? I can talk to the physician—”

He breathed in your name, stopping your ramble. “I… I have to tell you something.”

You looked at him, expectantly. But he couldn't—he couldn't utter any words that were both almost slipping out his tongue and caught between his teeth; your brows furrowed, and Nikolai couldn't stop thinking that would be the look you'd give him once you had rejected him.

That you would leave, glad to be finally free from his overbearing grasp. And then Nikolai will be alone again, his pretty princess friend gone from all the places she used to be, a cold spot in the sofas, an empty chair across from him at the coffee table.

“Nikolai?”

He took a deep breath.

I’m falling in love with you. “Please don’t go,” he uttered, afraid to look at you. His fingers grabbed the end of the blankets that were still imbued with your warmth, but he was too far away from both your body and your heart to soak into it. "I think my life won’t be as pleasant as it is now that you’re here.”

A confession. Of sorts.

Your eyes were widened, hands fiddling with the hem of your coat. “Nik-Nikolai, I don’t know what to say,” you mumbled, looking at the luggage behind him.

Now he needed to be the cunning politician, even if he wished to drop the mask he was starting to slip over. “Your parents would love to create solid bonds with the Rakvan Crown, isn’t it? This could make amends between both nations.” He looked at you, reading the dim sparkle in your eyes.

This could make my sister come back—now forgiven, the memory pushed behind a dazzling royal wedding.

"And… I know you'd be a magnificent Queen to rule by my side," he told you, trying with his whole will not let his emotions paint his voice too euphoric, too hopeful. “You have a good heart and a sharp mind. If I had to repeat this entire festival, I would pick you again and again, only sooner.” He cleared his throat. "I'm sure we can be happy if you wish to try." As friends, he tried to say, but the words got stuck in his throat, any attempt to utter them dying in his mouth as you scooped closer.

You chuckled, crawling along the mattress until you stayed in front of him. Gently, your arms enveloped him, your head nuzzled in the crook of his neck to take in his essence.

“Let’s do that,” you told him, and he hoped you didn't notice how he shivered when your breath caressed his ear. "Let's be happy together.”

#nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai lantsov x you #nikolai lanstov x reader #nikolai lanstov x you #nikolai lantsov imagine #shadow and bone x you #shadow and bone x reader

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