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thesistersarcheron · 1 year

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Pairing: Elriel Rating: E Tags: Canon Divergence - ACOMAF, Accidental Courtship, Secret Marriage, Human/Fae Relationship, Smut, Fluff, Angst with a Happy Ending Word Count: ~7k Summary: After learning of her younger sister's fate Under the Mountain, Elain Archeron struggled to envision her future as the lady of the Nolan estate. Sometimes, when she woke in the night and the iron band of her engagement ring was cold as ice on her finger, she knew only dread. She had no such trouble with the fearsome Fae male who made a habit of checking on her every day. It might have been some trick, a faerie enchantment or thrall, but falling in love with him was the easiest thing she ever did.

Part eight of my @acotargiftexchange present for @ultadverb. Cover art by @krem-does-stuff, commissioned by @ultadverb.

Read this fic on AO3!

Azriel froze. In the blink of an eye, a wall slammed down, and Elain could only watch as the warmth and the love on his face smoothed over into empty neutrality as he slipped into the preternatural stillness of the Fae. Shadows cast the fine planes of his face in darkness, masking what his carefully empty expression could not.

All around them, those shadows seeped upward from between the slabs of the red stone floor, crawling out from beneath the long, dark space beneath the dining table and dragging themselves from beneath the cracks under the doors. Even the playful, catlike shadow that usually rested on Azriel’s shoulder lengthened, drawing back to join the hoard moving to surround them both. The golden morning bowed to the darkness, yielding easily as Azriel’s shadows swarmed the dining room.

But it was his stillness that jarred Elain more than anything. More than the breathtakingly beautiful female in the doorway glaring daggers at Azriel. More than the lightning-bolt shock of his proposal or the incandescent joy that followed it.

It was the same otherworldly, predatory grace that Feyre now moved with, the sort that hinted at the tightly controlled strength and unknowable power shifting beneath his skin.

She hadn’t known, hadn’t thought for a single moment that all of his endearing little ticks might be affectations. But they must be, she realized. The quick flicks of his head to remove the hair falling into his eyes, the periodic rustling of his wings, the quiet rhythm his fingers always tapped out against his teacup… It was all a carefully crafted simulation of movement, of life, meant to veil the terrifying, brutal grace of a wholly inhuman creature.

Meant to put the human woman in his company at ease.

Elain swallowed, finding that the thought didn’t bother her as much as it warmed her still-racing heart.

When Azriel spoke to the female in the doorway, his voice was steady, cold and flat as an iced-over lake. “You’re supposed to be in Windhaven.”

“I’m not,” the beauty snapped.

The very mountain seemed to rumble beneath them, bowing to the power in her words. Elain flinched back, and Azriel’s shadowed eyes flicked back to her. An apology glinted alongside the gold in them, and she lifted her hand to the scarred one still cupping her cheek, curling it around his wrist and squeezing gently.

I know. I see you.

Azriel softened with a minuscule shift in the set of his wings.

The female made an incredulous sound, and that small display of ease disappeared.

It seemed to take Azriel a great deal of effort to tear his eyes away from Elain again.

“Why not.”

The female worked her jaw, but didn’t answer him.

Azriel’s Siphons lit from within. Cobalt fingers of power stretched and shifted over the beautiful hand braced on Elain’s knee. A creeping chill spider-walked down her spine, and every hair on her body stood on end as her mouth filled with the coppery taste of magic. Azriel’s fingers clenched, recalling some of that magic.

“Morrigan.” Azriel’s murmur filled the room like the calm, static air just before lightning rent the sky with a deafening crack of thunder. “Is Rhys here?”

For a moment, the apprehension that seized Elain was so strong that she didn’t even register the female’s name. But when she did, her eyes went wide, and she dared to glance away from the tense set of Azriel’s wings to the female across the room, to Mor, who looked as if she were stunned into silence by the hard look Azriel had pinned on her.

Elain looked more closely at the female. She knew her… or, she knew of her, at least. Morrigan had featured prominently in Feyre’s stories of the Night Court during that first visit home—the female who had laughed and teased and eased Feyre into a world far larger than the pastoral landscape of the Spring Court. In Azriel’s stories, too. She was the Morrigan, the co-conspirator who distracted Feyre’s High Lord when Azriel swept her off to the flower festival on the coast and every stolen night since.

Gods, Elain still remembered the flush high on Azriel’s brown cheeks as he had admitted to once harboring feelings for her on one of those nights.

Once. For five hundred years.

Elain hadn’t been able to conceive of it; twenty of her lifetimes, and Azriel had loved the same female for all of it. The story had grown on subsequent trips as Azriel opened to her, the longing and inadequacy and desperate hope that Morrigan might someday reciprocate his affections.

Elain barely managed to shove down the instinctual fear that the sudden appearance of one of the High Fae elicited, but she couldn’t dull the jealousy that sawed at her nerves or the insecurity that seemed to make the stone beneath her feet turn to jelly as she looked at Mor. Whenever they spoke of their past loves, Azriel seemed to hint that he would have loved this stunning female until their immortal lives ended and they were little more than dust in the ground, had his infatuation not faded to kinship during those long years they were trapped together in Velaris, and Elain could see why.

She was perfect. Her skin was as warm and golden as her gently curled hair, her thickly-lashed eyes a rich, inviting brown so unlike Elain’s drab, muddy, and all-too-mortal shade, which had always paled in comparison to the crystal clear blue color that Nesta and Feyre shared. Every limb visible through the gauzy, skin-baring dress Mor wore was banded with slim, attractive muscle. Her cheekbones were high, her nose perfectly straight, her lips full and sensuous.

It was unfair to compare herself to one of the High Fae, but for the first time in her life, Elain Archeron felt plain.

Azriel’s hand squeezed hers as, finally, Mor bit out a hard “No.”

The midnight shadows around his eyes lightened in response.

And Mor saw that inch, and Elain watched as she took a mile. One terse step into the dining room brought her close enough that the shadows twisted; by the second and third, she was shoving off the shadows that tried to climb her with a burst of power that sparkled like starlight.

“It doesn’t matter where Rhys is, and you know it. I warned you about bringing her here. I warned you, and now…” Her mouth snapped shut, and she waved a hand between them, rendered speechless with—

Elain blinked.

Not rage. Not fury.

No, it wasn’t anger sharpening Mor’s delicate features as she glanced between them.

Now that Mor was closer, lit with her own magic, Elain could see that frantic panic was written on her face.

“Now this?”

Yes, it was panic. Fear. Mor’s voice was taut with it, the skin around her eyes equally tight. And as she took another step into the room—one that Azriel matched by rising to his feet and pulling Elain behind him in one smooth motion—that worry melted into dismay.

“Now what, Morrigan?”

“Cut the shit, Az. You cannot be serious. You can’t marry a human.”

Indignation rose up, and although Azriel opened his mouth to strike back, the words tumbled out of Elain first,

“Why not?”

Mor’s attention cut to her. For a long moment, she simply stared at Elain, her stare so raw and knowing that Elain felt naked before her. The metallic taste in Elain’s mouth multiplied, as if she’d placed a freshly minted coin on her tongue.

“You are already engaged,” Mor said eventually, her tone dismissive.

But Elain wouldn’t allow herself to be dismissed. Not again. Not ever.

“I am.”

She reached forward, lacing the fingers of her left hand with Azriel’s, and pressed her third finger to his. The wing trapped between their bodies twitched, and Elain squeezed his hand.

Mor followed the movement, her eyes narrowing. “To a human man. One who hunts our kind.”

“Not for much longer.”

Mor crossed her arms over her chest, and Elain took a deep breath. Azriel’s gaze seared into the side of her face.

“I am engaged to a man who hates both of my sisters.” She pushed the words out, each one harder to speak than the last. Each one was a testament to how far she’d let her farce of an engagement go and the willful ignorance she’d embraced for so long. “One because of who she is. One because of what she is.”

“Feyre said you love him,” Mor’s voice, though musical, was harsh.

Elain sighed. “I did. When Feyre came back to us before she went to save her High Lord from Amarantha…” As if the name itself were some sort of ill omen, Mor’s face went stony, and Azriel’s shadows writhed. “She warned Nesta that only ash wood could kill a faerie. She told us to plant a grove of ash trees to protect ourselves. But I don’t think she realizes how long that would take if a threat really was imminent like she and some of the village elders believed… or how hard it is to find ash cuttings to propagate.

“But I knew who already owned an estate full of ash trees. I knew who had an arsenal full of ash weapons and sentries trained to use them. And I knew that Lord Nolan rarely leaves his keep, and never to do something as frivolous as socializing. He only invites people in once or twice a year. So I told Nesta that I wanted to get in to steal some cuttings, and we spent a few months social climbing until we secured an invitation to a ball at his keep.”

Azriel made a low, dangerous sound. “Mor, if this is your influence—”

Mor held up a hand to stop him. “It’s not.”

Elain hesitated, glancing between them.

“Go on.” Mor inclined her head.

Azriel’s eyes were dark, but he nodded to her just like Mor had.

So Elain cleared her throat and kept talking.

“But really, I went because I knew his son was old enough to be looking for a bride. We needed those ash groves, and there was only one way to make sure we could access them in time.” The thought of Nesta and her father below the wall now, wholly unprotected, made her mouth go dry. “If I married Graysen and became the lady of the keep, and if I cultivated a reputation for my green thumb and my fear of faeries, then the grove would be mine. But that night, when I met Graysen…”

Elain’s chest felt too tight, like some ruthless lady’s maid pulled the laces of her stays tighter and tighter with every breath.

“He wasn’t like his father,” she said shakily. “Or I didn’t think he was, at least. He was kind and charming, and I thought…” Her pulse beat hard in her throat, as if every word urged it on, faster and faster. “I thought I had gotten lucky. I always wanted a love match, and I thought that maybe if I just tried to love him, I could get us what we needed and be happy.”

The back of Azriel’s palm twitched beneath her hand, and absently, she squeezed his fingers with her own.

“I was. For a while, at least. I’m good at ignoring the things that scare me, so I turned a blind eye to the small, cruel world inside those walls, just like I did when we were starving in that cottage. I let myself love him, and I thought he saw me. I thought he looked past my social climbing and the fact that I was older than the other girls on the marriage market and saw me. But he only saw…” She felt like the breath had been punched from her lungs, and Azriel's strong shoulders rolled, as if he wanted to make a move to comfort her. To soothe her. She couldn’t look at him as she said, her voice quavering, “He saw a pretty face. He saw the way the other men looked at me and the dowry my father was offering to anyone who would marry his spinster daughters.”

Mor’s mouth was tight, but the long, straight line of her body had gentled. The tension in the air lessened, the buzzing magic drawing back. A shadow tickled Elain’s cheek, and she let her eyelids flutter closed in response.

“I was never anything more than a trophy to him. Not really. He ridiculed Nesta, and he never asked about Feyre or the years we weren’t in society or what I think about anything. I was a beautiful, unattached young woman. Once I was named the bride of my season thanks to all of the flirting I did to get invited into his keep, I think that was all he cared to know.” The words sliced at her like one of Graysen’s ash blades, but the brush of the shadow against her cheek dulled its sting. “He loved me because loving me meant he won, and I loved him because it meant I would be safe.”

Silence reigned, and Elain’s ears rang with it. For a long moment, all she could hear was Azriel’s low, rasping breaths.

“So you used Graysen, and he used you.” She looked up at Mor's pursed, red-painted mouth. “And now I should be happy that you’ve decided to use my friend as your escape route?”

The shadows at Elain’s feet pulsed.

“Morrigan—”

“Don’t you think I would choose an easier path than marrying a faerie if ending my attachment to Graysen was all I wanted?” Elain pushed away her embarrassment and narrowed her eyes at the breathtaking female. “I could throw him over easily enough if I were willing to eat the cost of the wedding. I could even ruin him, too, if I decided to reveal that he attempted to tarnish my virtue before our wedding night.”

Elain fought to keep her face blank as Azriel's at the memory of that single night with Graysen. What she'd thought had been a magical evening of love and pleasure now paled in comparison to the bliss she knew Azriel seemed near-addicted to wringing from her every chance he got.

Finally, she looked back at him and found a glimmer of intrigue—and the heated desire that was all too familiar to her now, damn him—shining out of the minutest of cracks in his frigid mask. As if he knew what she was thinking, his brow lifted, that cool attention focused solely on her for a moment.

Elain's heart swooped, and her cheeks warmed with a blush. Wicked male. Do you think you're the only one capable of manipulating information to turn a situation in your favor?

But whatever Elain saw, Mor saw, too; when Elain turned to her, Azriel's friend wore a long-suffering expression, and her eyes had flicked skyward.

“And what of children?” Mor asked when she finally looked back at her. The question was laden with exasperation, and although it was directed at Elain, her dark eyes swept to Azriel, who shifted on his feet. “Surely you want them. If you were to marry Azriel...”

Elain shrugged. “I assume they’re not a possibility.”

Two heads shot to her.

“We are either incompatible, or any children I have will be so long-lived that they won’t remember me at all. It would be cruel to bear them just to deprive them of a mother, wouldn’t it?”

“And you don’t care?” Azriel asked, his voice tight.

Elain furrowed her brow. They hadn’t spoken of children, but… “Do you want them?”

“It doesn’t matter what I want.” Azriel was straight-faced, matter of fact. She couldn’t find any hint of whether or not he wanted children in his face.

She pulled the hand she held closer to her. “But you do want to marry me.”

His reply was instantaneous, the answer expelled with such force that it seemed to ravage his throat. “Yes.”

“Then we will figure out the matter of children once we’re settled.” And that would be that. Elain could live with or without them—and now that her youngest sister was to be the lady of a court of Prythian, she was guaranteed at least one little niece or nephew. Knowing the headstrong way Feyre pursued everything she wanted, it wouldn’t take long, either. “We can wait to decide whether or not we want them, and how best to have them if we do.”

The soft smile blossoming to life beneath Azriel’s shadows was cut short by a huff from Mor.

“And where will you live? Once Rhys learns of this—”

“I have a home, and Azriel is welcome in it.” Elain lifted her chin and met Mor’s gaze directly.

If loving her, if marrying her meant that Azriel would no longer be welcome in the Night Court, in the faerie realm, then he would have a place by her side below the wall.

The thought almost made a hysterical laugh rise up from the place beside Elain’s heart. She had done the exact opposite of Feyre, of the foolish teachings of the Children of the Blessed. Instead of capturing the heart of a High Fae lord and living forever in Prythian, she would have one of the lesser faeries as her husband, and together they would live out her days in that unremarkable, mortal spit of land.

They would just need to convince Nesta to go along with it… and, if it came to living below the wall, weather the storm that would follow when she learned that the man Elain was sneaking around with at all hours of the night was no man at all, but one of Feyre’s faerie males.

But although Nesta might be a challenge, and although others might think her cold and cruel, she loved Elain as much as Elain loved her. Given enough time to know Azriel, to learn that his intentions were far from nefarious, Elain had no doubt that Nesta would soften to him.

Or, at the very least, Nesta would come to begrudgingly accept that he was the husband Elain chose.

And the months left until her father returned from the continent spared her enough time to figure out what to do about him, as well. He had gone mum after Feyre shattered the glamour that had been placed on them both. Weeks had passed after he shut himself up in his office, and then one day, he emerged and ordered Zakary to carry his trunk down to the carriage so he could board a ship.

She didn’t think he had it in him to protest too strongly, not with her, but he would be gone long enough that Elain could use the small fortune he had tucked away in her name to seek out another home, one with a better garden, so she and Azriel and Nesta might have somewhere to retreat once her father learned what she had done.

Somewhere to hide, if it all went sideways and her father went to Lord Nolan with news of a runaway faerie wedding.

Something like respect shone in Mor’s expression. “And what of the war?”

“We’ve already covered that,” Elain sniffed, waving a dismissive hand.

Because although Mor may be a dear friend to Azriel, she was not a part of their relationship, and no matter how well-intended she was, Elain was beginning to resent her prying.

Azriel must have given his friend a stern look, because Mor’s eyes narrowed at him again before she turned her attention back to Elain.

“You’re difficult,” was all she said.

Elain tilted her head, rolling over the word in her mind like it was an interesting stone she found in the garden. Difficult, difficult, difficult. It was a word often used to describe Nesta or Feyre, but Elain…

She hummed. “You know, I’ve never been called that before.”

She had been called many things—beautiful, sweet, generous, shallow, vapid, silly, shortsighted—but never difficult.

She found she liked it.

“Hm,” was all Mor offered. Another quiet moment passed, thick with tension, before Mor opened her mouth again to speak. “You’re well suited for him.”

Elain’s lips parted. “Am I?”

“Oh, yes.” Mor rolled her eyes once more, and finally, Azriel exhaled. Although he made no visible movement, Elain sensed the muscles in his shoulders relaxing. Mor pointed a sharp finger at him. “When Rhys finds out, he’s going to blow his top.”

“Does he really have any room to judge?” Though dry, humor laced Azriel’s every word.

Elain huffed. No, he really didn’t. Not when he hadn’t so much as hinted that he wished to court Feyre to her own sisters. And to take her as his mate without so much as a note—

It was a bit hypocritical, perhaps, but she thought him terribly rude.

Azriel tucked in his wings then, lifting their joined hands above Elain’s head and ushering her closer. Closer and closer he tugged her, until she was tucked neatly under his arm, pressed tightly to his side. He brushed a kiss against her hairline, as if to prove that he could, and Elain gave into the tidal wave of happiness and relief that threatened to sweep her off of her feet, leaning into his firm body to steady herself as it washed over her.

Someone knew. Someone knew about them and, though Mor hadn’t made it easy, approved of their relationship. A weight that Elain didn’t know had been pressing down on her, restricting every breath, seemed to disappear.

Mor’s hand rose, and she pinched the bridge of her nose. “Mother above, you males. You gave me nothing for five hundred years, and as soon as the two of you meet an Archeron, you’re running headlong into mated and wedded bliss.”

Elain bit her lip, stealing a glance at Azriel. She watched Mor track her attention from her periphery and tipped her head to one side.

“You know,” she said, her voice light. “I don’t actually seem to recall agreeing to marry him.”

The shadows at the edges of the room surged, and Azriel went entirely still beside her. The even rise of his chest halted, and the cool breath tickling her cheeks disappeared. His hand clenched in hers before loosening its grip, so slowly and painfully that Elain could feel every knotted scar and stiff joint protesting.

“We were interrupted,” she reminded him, tightening her hold on his hand and casting a glance across the room at Mor, who shifted on the balls of her feet. The poor, wide-eyed female seemed torn between throwing herself between them and bolting from the room. When she looked back at Azriel, she found a specter of shadow and darkness looming tall before her and smiled at it, “before I got to tell you my decision.”

The shadows engulfed her, tendrils of untold power winding between locks of her hair, the folds of her skirts, her fingers, until it was just her and Azriel standing together in what little privacy his darkness could offer. The arm around her shoulder slipped to her waist, anchoring her against him.

“Elain.” He let out a low, disbelieving sound. “You’re wicked.”

“I learned from the best.”

And with that, she reached into the heart of the shadows surrounding her with the hand that wasn’t braced against Azriel’s chest, caressing the strange, mistlike angle of his jaw as it shifted and bent with the undulating blackness around him. The twin voids that must have been his eyes fluttered shut, and Elain was struck with the memory of the half-lidded look he gave her the first time he’d knelt between her legs and pushed up her skirts.

“Trust me,” he had said, laying a kiss on the sensitive inside of her thigh. She had shied away, embarrassed, but the hand holding her hip had been gentle, stroking her through her nervousness. “Just trust me.”

And she had. She had thrown herself headlong into trusting him. With her family, with her safety, with her base needs and her most frivolous desires. Elain had put every bit of herself into trusting Azriel, and not once had Azriel balked. Not once had he betrayed her. Not once had he made her feel small for trusting him.

And he had never taken that trust for granted.

“Ask me again.”

“Elain Archeron.” Azriel’s quiet voice was as smooth and as cool as a midnight sky, and he paused, as if savoring the way every syllable of her name tasted on his tongue. His shadowed face shifted, and lips brushed against the inside of her wrist. “Will you marry me?”

A million butterflies burst into flight in her stomach, her pulse fluttering in time with their rapid wingbeats, and she felt herself start shaking once more, as if her bones, her skin, could do little to contain the radiant happiness threatening to glow like a sunbeam straight out of her heart.

“Yes,” she said at last. Yes, she would marry him. Yes, she would bind her future to his, come what may. Yes. “I love you.”

Azriel’s eyes shone through the shadows. I love you.

“Now that that is settled—”

Elain blinked and opened her eyes to the sight of sunshine limning the angles of Azriel’s face with honeyed light as his shadows slunk away, sinking back into the spaces beneath the scales of his leathers and the folds of his wings.

A movement caught her eye, and she found Mor a scant few feet away, her arms crossed as she cocked a hip. “You need to change if you’re getting married today, Shadowsinger.”

Curious hazel eyes met Elain’s, and Azriel lifted a single brow. “Today?”

“Today,” Elain nodded in agreement, clutching the edge of his breastplate.

“Today!” Mor clapped decisively. “There’s no time to waste if we’re to do this before Rhys comes home. Now go, Az. Hurry along.”

“You’re eager,” Azriel noted, his arm tightening around Elain in a way that made a thrill shoot up her spine.

Mor rolled her eyes, an exasperated smile tugging at her lips. “I’m just as susceptible to the thrall of an Archeron in love as you bats, apparently.”

Elain glanced up, catching the careful way Azriel scanned Mor’s face—and the tongue the five hundred year old female poked out at him in return.

“I swear on our court that I won’t winnow her back to the mortal lands. Go,” she chided, waving her hands at him as if so paltry a gesture could shoo away a warrior as solid and steady as Azriel. “Put on something nicer than those old leathers and get this beautiful menace a ring so you can marry her properly.”

Azriel laughed, and the sound was so light, so joyous, that Elain would not have believed he made it had she not witnessed it herself. Even Mor’s smile slipped from her face, and she seemed to be knocked into a brief stupor by it.

But Azriel paid them no mind as he lifted his hand to the one Elain still rested on his cheek, tracing the line of her third finger with two of his.

“Any preferences, menace?”

Elain reached up, tracing a fingertip over the Siphon at the base of his throat. It glimmered, and she smiled. “Something blue.”

“Something blue…”

Azriel drew Elain with him as he walked backward toward the beams of light shining onto the wide balcony where they had first landed, his unwillingness to let her go evident in the way he held her. She followed every step of the way, helpless laughter tumbling out of her at the sight of the wild joy that lit up his handsome face. He didn’t let go of her even as he perched on the edge of the balcony, throwing one leg over the railing.

“I think I can do that.”

Elain nodded, her cheeks burning with the force of her smile. “I trust you can rise to the challenge.”

The sunlight gilded his wings as he spread them, shining through the thin membrane in a rainbow of warm, dreamy hues, and Azriel glanced over her shoulder.

“One hour,” he ordered Mor, uncompromising. One hour—or he would come to steal away his bride whether she was ready or not. The roguish wink he shot at Elain confirmed it. “Meet me at the clearing behind Rosehall.”

And then, with one final, meaningful look at Elain as he finally dropped her hands, he threw himself off of the balcony.

In the end, Elain couldn’t remember how she got to the clearing.

Her head swam as she watched Azriel soar into Velaris, watched the small, dark pinpoint of him disappear into the vast labyrinth of streets and buildings below, and then everything blurred into little more than color and sound and movement.

“Rosehall,” Mor murmured over Elain’s shoulder, watching with her.

Elain only spared her the briefest of glances. “Hm?”

“That’s a name I haven’t heard in—” Mor’s brows rose. “Centuries.”

“But you know where it is?” Elain blinked away some of the haze that had fallen over her eyes as she watched him leave, obscuring her vision.

Mor seemed to realize that her mind had followed Azriel into the city. “I’m certain I do.”

And with gentle hands, she guided Elain into the mountaintop palace, through halls and curling stairwells that Elain couldn’t make sense of. Every minute dragged and sped past as they walked, and Elain was certain the hour must have passed entirely before Mor seated her in front of a vanity in a vast bedroom draped in red and gold.

But Azriel did not come, and so she surrendered to the morning as it took on a dreamlike quality, colors and lights and sound melting into one another.

Mor’s voice was a constant murmur in the background, telling her what she needed to know about the ceremony.

A breeze as soft as a sigh swept glistening powder over her cheeks, bringing with it the ghost of Azriel’s hand on her face and his lips on her skin.

Small, heady bursts of magic curled her hair into glossy spirals, and Elain’s vision softened at the edges as she stared at her folded hands atop the vanity, at her unadorned ring finger, as she dreamt of a similar morning, days or years or decades from now, when Azriel was the one running a boar bristle brush through each strand before setting it on her shoulder.

On and on it went as Mor trimmed and shaped her nails, spread clear, glossy varnish over them. Visions of a mundane, human life warped, forging themselves into something sparkling with happiness, something full of vitality and joy and magic and Azriel.

Mor went quiet, and Elain blinked up at her.

“What did you say?”

Clear brown eyes stared at Elain, through Elain, and the last of the worried lines around Mor’s eyes softened—slowly at first, but by the time Elain shook off the last cobwebs of her daydreams, Mor was beaming, a playful glint in her eyes.

“Were you planning on wearing these robes?”

Elain stared and stared at herself in the mirror. The woolen priestesses’ robes Azriel had handed to her that morning were perfect for a chilly spring morning exploring the city, but for her wedding—

“Oh!”

“That’s what I thought.” Mor clicked her tongue, plucking at the blue material with her fingertips. “These are nice, but not for a bride. I know where your estate is… roughly. Is there a dress I can fetch for you there?”

“I…” Elain recoiled from the thought of the dress she was meant to wear to marry Graysen—that sugary, puff pastry concoction of watered silk and tulle that stood in pride of place on the mannequin in the middle of the modiste’s workshop. And, as if some great, unseen beast had seized her mind, she could not picture any of the numerous gowns hanging in her wardrobe, either. “I don’t…”

“Hmm…” Mor looked her up and down. She cast a glance over her shoulder, her brows furrowing… And then her expression cleared as she made up her mind about something, smoothing her hands over Elain’s shoulders. “Stay right here. I have an idea.”

She was gone in a flurry of blonde hair and tinkling bangles, and the staccato click of her heels as she ran down the spiraling staircase at the end of the hall filled the air with noise.

Elain occupied herself by staring out the long window, peering through a wisp of a cloud for any hint of Azriel, but in no time at all, Mor breezed back into the room, a river of sleek white flowing over her arms.

“I can’t believe I didn’t think of it earlier,” she said by way of greeting as she draped the gown over the back of a chair. One fluid movement had Elain on her feet; another divested her of the robes and the thin chemise she wore beneath. She didn’t have a moment to spare for modesty before Mor had the white gown—if countless, shapeless layers of diaphanous, whisper-thin silk layered one atop the other could be called that—over her head, expertly avoiding her curls.

“Trust the process,” Mor murmured under her breath as she lifted a silvery ribbon out of thin air. Around and around she tied it. One artful pass bound the raw edges of the gown to Elain’s shoulders, the next gathered the material in neat, seamless pleats to her bust, and the final criss-crossed over her chest to circle her waist. “I haven’t done this in ages, but…” Mor circled Elain, tying the ribbon in a neat bow behind her back. “Perfect. Look.”

Elain gasped.

The dress was so white, so pure, that even in the low light of the bedroom, it glistened like snow.

The gossamer itself was so weightless and light that the full skirts flowing out from the tie around her waist seemed to dance on the air as she slid her fingers into the folds Mor created. And it was no wonder that Mor had not replaced her chemise, either; the barest hint of her pale skin was visible through the dress. Such fine material allowed for no undergarments—no stays, no stockings, lest they show through. Just the line of her stockings against her thighs was stark enough that Elain bent, rolling them down her legs before slipping them off.

The silk slid against her skin like a breath of wind.

Her neck and shoulders were left bare by the gown, and she could not control the shiver that wound its way up her spine at the thought of how Azriel might stare when he saw her. How his eyes might devour the bared column of her throat, which he paid such close attention to when they were alone.

And she— She needed a closer look. She took a step toward the mirror, watching the way the skirts caught in the small current of air the movement kicked up, floating around her knees like a petal on a stream. She gasped as a quiet chorus of bell-like voices seemed to sigh out of the skirts as they settled around her hips.

“Singing silk,” Mor said, her voice awed, “made from the fibers of the singing willows when they drop their branches.”

“It’s certainly that.” Elain was breathless. She spun, and the dress sang again. “Where in the world did you get it?”

“It was given to me as a gift.” Mor pulled a brilliant diamond droplet from the same hidden pocket where she kept the ribbon, slipping it into place on one of Elain’s ears before repeating the process on with the other. “It never suited me though, so it's been sitting in a trunk for centuries.”

She turned, taking a half-step behind Elain, and carefully brushed each of those singing skirts into place. Her expression softened into something wistful, and the way she squeezed Elain’s hand made her all too aware of the hollowed-out part of the morning where Nesta and Feyre should have been.

“That may have been purposeful now, to tell you the truth. It fits you so perfectly that I can’t help but wonder…” Mor straightened the ribbon at Elain’s waist. “I think she would be happy to see you wear it.”

Elain smiled at her through the mirror, hushed gratitude on her lips, and then the time trickled like water through her fingers once more. Only impressions, like the gentle kiss of raindrops falling onto her skin, remained.

The dress, singing as they stepped into darkness and whipping wind to winnow to the clearing. The silk glittering like a diamond beneath the sun when they emerged.

A wild garden. A clearing that stretched from the winding hedges and bursting flowerbeds to foothills boasting towering trees on one side and a lake that shone like aquamarine on the other.

And there, waiting for her… Azriel.

Azriel.

Azriel, in a fine, yet simple black jacket and pants.

A gravel path crunched beneath her silk slippers as she ran to him. He caught her beneath a trellis bursting not with storybook peonies or practical green beans, but with pink roses as fat as both of her fists put together.

Her prince. He was not the golden haired paragon of goodness and the glory of old from her books, nor was he the brunet human lordling she ought to have married, but a warrior, dark and fierce.

A wicked faerie creature of the night. A demon of shadow and scars.

And he was hers.

The small curve to his lips was mesmerizing, and she found herself lifting up onto tiptoe, as if she meant to steal a taste of it. Azriel seemed to stand taller than she had ever seen him, his shoulders square and his chin lifted, and it was that which made her throat go tight—the contented, proud tilt to his chin that she had never seen before. It banished the ever-present shadows from the hollows of his cheeks and the circles beneath his eyes, and he seemed to glow from within as he stopped just short of the shadows cast by the trellis.

Elain burned the sight of him into her mind. Feyre—Feyre could paint it, would want to paint it, because that glow was just as lovely as the viridian light streaming through the leaves surrounding him and the umber cast to his slightly spread wings. Only Feyre could do it justice.

She wasn’t sure how long passed before a winged female appeared beside them, tears sliding down her brown cheeks. Elain pulled back as she cupped Azriel’s face in her palms, kissing him on both cheeks. The wetness of those tears dampened her own face as Elain received the same kisses and a blessing in a language she did not understand.

“My mother,” Azriel whispered to her, the way his eyes cut away for a moment almost bashful, as if he were telling her a secret when the female finally let her go. “Inara.”

“Oh—”

“We needed two witnesses,” he hurried to tell her, his cheeks dark with a flush.

Elain squeezed his hand. “It’s perfect.”

She watched him steel himself as he bent until he was level with her eyes. His own burned with restrained intent as they traveled the length of her once more, that molten stare snagging just below her chin, as Elain thought it might.

He cleared his throat. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Are you sure you want to marry me?

“I’ve already met your mother.” Elain took a breath, bracing herself. “So we might as well, right?”

“Elain—”

“Yes. Yes, please.”

Azriel’s wings twitched, and then he smiled at her, relief and disbelief and unimaginable joy warring on his face. “Then this belongs to you.”

He dipped into his pocket, and Elain only formed the impression of silver and sapphires and a playful shadow winding around the rays of light the gems cast into the world around them as he slid his ring onto her finger.

It was a perfect fit.

For a moment, both of Azriel’s hands engulfed hers, careful not to obscure that beautiful ring shining out from behind the shadows his hands cast.

Hands that killed. Hands that held.

And in that moment, Elain knew with complete certainty that there was nowhere in the world where she was more cherished than in the palm of those hands.

His right hand fell away, but his left hand remained curled around hers, gentle but unyielding as he laced their fingers together.

She ran the pad of her thumb over a shining knot of scarring atop one of his knuckles, repeating the movement when Azriel shivered. Despite the vicious scarring that colored his skin, despite the way his joints seemed painfully stiff, his hold on her was firm. Elain imagined that the perfect angles of his wrist must have been carved by a master sculptor—by the loving, attentive Mother the faeries worshiped. Someone, somewhere, who adored Azriel as much as she did.

“Are you ready?”

Gravel slipped as Elain pressed closer, drawing their hands up to her heart. “Please don’t make me wait any longer to marry you.”

Azriel’s smile softened. A moment passed where he did nothing but watch her, and then he bowed his head over their hands.

“Very well.”

The air itself seemed to grow thick with anticipation, every breeze and breath buzzing against Elain’s skin. Even the tops of the trees seemed to lean in to hear them, the blossoms at their feet tilting their full, beautiful faces toward their small gathering.

Finally, when they commanded the full attention of the vast clearing, when every flower and insect and shadow in the magical world above the wall stood witness to them, Azriel spoke.

There were no vows to recite. Only an oath to take.

A bargain to make.

“I give you that which is mine to give,” he intoned, steady and solemn. “I will choose you each day at the rising of the moon, and in return you will choose me at the setting of the stars. Do you accept these terms?”

“I do.”

As if it were the tail of a whip cracking down on their joined hands, the magic lashed into her skin. Elain gasped, and Azriel’s hand tightened around hers. A downward glance at their hands revealed a ribbon of black ink curled around the back of her palm.

She took a shaky breath, blinking away her surprised tears, and began.

“I give you that which is mine to give,” she repeated the opening phrase that Mor had taught her, and Azriel’s tightly folded wings relaxed. Through her damp lashes, she smiled up at him, her cheeks going warm as she vowed, “Yours will be the name I cry aloud in the night, and in return mine will be the eyes into which you smile at the break of dawn when the darkness recedes. Do you accept these terms?”

“I do.” Another slash of magic seared into Elain’s skin, but this time she was ready for it. This time, she held tighter to Azriel as its tang filled her mouth, her nose, and made its mark on their skin. “I will offer you the first bite of my meat, in return for the promise of the first sip from your cup. Do you accept these terms?”

“I do.” Tears slid freely down Elain’s cheeks, and each agreed upon term lashed against her skin, stinging. Azriel held tighter with each mark, but he didn’t wince. Not once. “My living and my dying shall be yours, in return for your care for all of my days. Do you accept these terms?”

Azriel’s other hand rose, his thumb wiping the tears that slid freely down her face. “I do. I will be a sword in your hand, in return for your shield at my back. Do you accept these terms?”

“I do. I will honor you above all others, just as you will honor me. Do you accept these terms?”

“I do.” There was a sense of finality in Azriel’s words, and a hush fell over the clearing as the trilling birds quieted and the whisper of wind through the trees went silent. But Azriel drew Elain to his chest, shifting them deeper into the shadows beneath the trellis, and his voice lowered to an intimate murmur. She gasped, her heart rushing as if it had taken wing. “I will take you to be my wife for the rest of our days, never to be parted by any force, mundane or magical, until death. In return, I will be your husband. Do you accept these terms?”

“I do.”

Dark eyes searched her face as the magic made the final mark on their joined hands. Azriel found what he was looking for and nodded, just once, decisively. “Then we have a deal.”

The magic pulled taut, and then—

The birdsong resumed, the flowers were just flowers once again, and Elain’s dress sang in the wind. But their hands were still laced together between them, the tattooed ribbon stark against her pale skin and his scars.

The thrall released its grip on Elain all at once, and she fell into Azriel, resting her chin on the smooth lapel of his jacket. When she looked up, his eyes were riveted to her. His mouth opened, but for a split-second he seemed to be at a loss for words before he said, concern clouding his eyes,

“You’re crying.”

“Happy tears,” she murmured. Her eyes fell to the tempting bow of his lips, tracing the curve as the corner of his mouth twitched. “Can I kiss you now, husband?”

His chest rumbled with a laugh. “Yes, wife.”

She raised herself onto her toes as he bent to meet her, and she kissed him and kissed him and kissed him.

Thank you all so much for your patience with this chapter! Your response to the last one was so overwhelming that I psyched myself out for a little while, in addition to learning firsthand why SJM always skips over her wedding scenes.

Anyway, for anyone who is curious, Azriel and Elain used some adapted Celtic vows in their wedding. Additionally, if you’re curious about Elain’s wedding dress, you can find my reference image here.

And this fic officially has art, and it is so, so beautiful! @ultadverb, who this work was gifted to during the ACOTAR Secret Santa Christmas exchange in December, was so generous and commissioned @krem-does-stuff to paint Elain and Azriel in the tulip field. It is such a beautiful tribute to this fic, and I am so wildly happy that something I wrote could result in such a gorgeous piece. You can find it here!

#elriel #elain #azriel #elain archeron #azriel shadowsinger #pro elriel #elriel fic #a court of thorns and roses #acotar #a court of mist and fury #acomaf #my fics #visions of you #a court of thorns and roses fic #acotar fic #mor #morrigan #THIS IS IT PEOPLE IT’S GO TIME

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muchelburstenstein · 8 months

Text

Adventures of You: Close Friends

(Content Warning: Burst)

You shudder as you realize that it’s almost time.

You're sweating, everything hurts from the top of your head to the tips of your toes to varying degrees. In no small part, the immense cramping and tension is due to how quickly you've grown with the monster's offspring. You shudder at a strong kick from inside, and I stroke your hair, trying to keep you calm.

I can’t help but wince as my own creature moves violently, straining my own full term swell. We both know there's no getting it out. Not alive, at least. It's why we were so scared of it, why we told the others that going into these caves was a bad idea. But they just laughed, calling us wimps, marching boldly into the dark.

Of course, they were boys. What the abomination found them, is simply ripped them apart. Quick, messy deaths, moving faster than we could follow, from one to the other, all of them decimated within seconds. But what it did to us was so, so much worse. We're both still sore just from the impregnation.

It's been about an entire day. That’s what my phone says, at least. We've been growing at a steady pace, awkwardly looking for escape as our center of balance slowly shifted, all the weight gain exclusively in our bellies, hoping that we could get help, save ourselves from having to deliver our inhuman offspring. In the end, though, the caves were too labyrinthine, we had gotten far too lost, and we were utterly exhausted, ripe and on the cusp of “labor”. It's just about time, and if nothing else we'll be able to face it together.

Your child presses forward once more as I gently stroke your belly, the feathery touches soothing your hot, straining flesh. Our bellies are right next to each other, fully illuminated in the light of my phone, so you can easily see that the movement of both our nightmarish children has picked up. I moan in pain as a full-blown thrust comes from inside. "It's... s-starting..." I whimper. A sharp jab comes from your own offspring as well, and you know you're not far behind.

We're in labor. There's no going back, all we can do is stay strong, and let our babies be born.

"Try to r-relax AHN!" I pant, as my own horror continues its efforts. You feel sharp pains, it's biting you. Tugging away at the delicate flesh of your womb, torturing you from inside. "Oh... oh no, it huuuurts..." I moan, my own baby joining the horrid fun. Sweat begins to run down our bodies, as the damage begins to mount. "It's gonna burst... We're bursting, it's really happening..." I cry as the pain mounts. It's getting ugly, between the bites and thrusts it's begun clawing at you as well, sharp points raking you from the inside, drawing blood.

"T-try to relax hon..." I whimper as soothingly as I can, stroking your aching womb as the nightmare inside your body continues its assault. Mercilessly thrusting over and over, making the internal pressure mount higher with each slam against your body, making you spread your legs reflexively, secretly hoping your waters will break and you’ll be saved, only having to scream out this nightmare between your delicate feminine lips.

I continue talking, trying to guide you while distracting myself from my own unbearable agony."If y-you tense up, it'll just AHN! J-just hurt more, t-take longer. I r-read it somewhere, and- MNPH! I-it's inevitable. Our babies are gonna r-rip us apart, it’s j-just dragging it o-o-OUT!" Your bellybutton slowly turns a bright red, your monster child making visible progress.

"Hahn… hah… J-just relax... let him r-rip you open... let him... ngh... let him kill you from the inside, you c-can't stop him, let him tear your belly o-open and be b-born..." I turn my attention to my own deadly offspring. "Come on l-little one... come o-on, tear out of mommy, meet your b-brother..." The child responds with vigor, eagerly thrusting harder, trying to break out of its agonized, fleshy egg. "Oh god it hurts! You're hurting mommy so much you little monster. C-come on, thrust baby, jump out and see m-mommy and auntie... AHN IT BURNS! Oh, it hurts, it h-hurts so bad… here, can you f-feel how strong he i-is?"

I straddle you, sweat running down my face as my longer, damp hair falls around my face. I carefully press my womb against yours, bellybutton to bellybutton. You feel not only the efforts of your child pushing out, but my child pushing against you. "MNPH... I can’t b-believe this is really happening, it hurt so bad, I c-can’t… Oh they're coming, they're gonna come OUT! Don't make mommy wait little ones, burst me, burst out of my b-belly and rape another girl p-pregnant with monsters, I can't stop you, c-come on, don’t m-make me wait!"

The words spur your own offspring to greater heights, combined with the thrusting of my monstrosity, and it becomes an aggravated frenzy of unbearable pressure and pain, both our children shoving against one another, trying to hatch out of their horrified, human eggs. "God... it's coming... I feel it, it h-hurts so baaad, come on little baby, crack me apart like a sh-shell, rip me OPEN, PLEASE, HURRY IT’S SO BAD!!!" You begin to hear faint tearing sounds from my womb, though you can feel your own body is not far behind.

I lean down, putting my hands on either side of your face and staring intensely into your eyes, even as tears fall from mine. "Burst with me..." I pant, sliding my hands down, over your cheeks, brushing your breasts, until I’m firmly holding your womb. "Please. Come on, let your baby be born, let it fill another poor g-girl with its deadly offspring, it's gonna t-torture it's way out of us, please, PLEASE IT'S RIPPING ME OPEN, I CAN’T TAKE IT, MAKE IT STOP!!!"

My brave facade falls apart as I begin making guttural noises of intense pain and distress, the clear sound of my uterus rupturing filling the space we're in. Your own child is eagerly shoving and thrusting away, the pressure is driving you insane, you almost wish your own womb would disintegrate just so the pressure is lessened.

Your wish comes true, much to your horror. You feel intense agony, followed by cold numbness. The sound of tearing flesh once again fills the air, but this time from you. You can almost feel every fiber of your uterus being broken one by one, torn apart by tooth and claw and pure, brute shoving force.

We don't have long at all now.

I'm beyond words, falling back from my aggressive, sensual position. I land against the wall across from you, vividly illuminated by the phone while I lean against the cool stone. Sweat drips from my aching, burning hot flesh. I utter a guttural moan as I convulse, toes curling and feet kicking at the floor, shoving myself harder against the wall, instinctively trying to escape the agony and maddening pressure that was echoing through every inch of my being as I began to reach the final moments of hatching.

There's no escape for either of us, however, my scuttling and pleading meaning less than nothing. Our rape babies were ready to be born, eager to emerge any moment now. Your own monstrous offspring is tearing the gaping wound in your uterus even wider, biting off chunks with its teeth while digging into the meat and fat of your abdominal wall with its claws. Every little movement from inside sends white-hot pain shooting deep into your soul.

It’s ok, cry out with the agony of it. There's nobody here to judge you for your helplessness but me, and I'm certainly not handling it any better. Sob and fan your hand at the blazing hot tearing feeling coming from your bruised, life-filled midriff, beg your child for mercy, pray to whatever gods may or may not be listening. Whatever makes you feel better as your deadly child makes its path from your breaking, bleeding body.

I arch my back and curl my toes, lifting myself on my hands and opening my mouth in a silent scream. You see crimson start to leak from a tiny puncture wound, a small spike having punched through my fragile flesh, which then quickly withdraws. Seconds later, you feel the maddening, searing sensation of your unwanted infant's claw piercing your flesh as well.

Not much more. Let it come, hon. Let your inhuman rape baby burst out of your belly as you sob and scream, let your newborn kill you as it rips your abdomen apart.

Don't fight it.

Let yourself birth.

As you tense it hurts even worse, when you relax you feel yourself being torn apart even more quickly, but to slightly less agony. You can tell I'm doing what I can to let my baby come, but can see just as easily that my abomination is obviously enjoying my pain, punching several little holes, even slicing along my skin as though ready to emerge, but always stopping just short. Your own offspring begins to torment you like this as well, savoring your screams and tears, enjoying the feeling of its glorified egg trembling and twitching with every little movement it makes.

This creature is no innocent creature, bursting because that's the only way it knows how to be born. No pitiable, ugly child that has a bad reputation through no fault of its own. No, our children are their father’s sons, through and through, sadistically enjoying torturing its way out of their hosts as they bleed and scream and convulse, likely already looking forward to inflicting this condition on another victim.

You lay there for what feels like forever, the monster's unwanted child thrusting and biting and clawing, feeling it toy with your organs, puncturing your lungs and intestines with its powerful hind legs, making you and I cough up blood as we twitch and spasm violently. Slowly, we begin to get weaker, growing cold due to blood loss and trauma, feeling our lives slip away bit by bit as we struggle to deliver our horrific bursters.

Then, at last, I speak once more. "It's... COMING... OUT!!!" Pushing my belly up as far as I can, at last, the tattered flesh rips open, making a sound like a wet paper bag holding an excited puppy. And, bit by bit, your own child presses forward until your own weakened flesh is overwhelmed. With an inhuman screech, our children tear free from our broken forms, disappearing into darkness quickly, before we can even properly take in their shape.

We collapse back to the ground, heaving in breath, blood oozing from the ruins of our midriffs. Our heads spin, the darkness deepens, and we grow colder as shock overwhelms us. Just two more victims for the legend of the eldritch monstrosities within the caves. Two more warnings for why girls shouldn’t do exactly what we just did.

Our last thoughts are to the poor girls our own children will force to endure this. Somewhere, someday, our birthing of these abominations is going to make at least two other innocent girls scream and sob as our grandchildren tear them apart from inside...

#bad end #monster pregnancy #unwanted pregnancy #bursting #AoY #first person perspective

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dawninlatin · 2 years

Text

Lab assistant in training

Part of the Manorian Teacher AU

Words: 2,4k

AO3 Link

Masterlist

Summary: When their daughter gets sick, Manon has to take her to work.

«Shit! It’s seven already? I’ll go and wake Rhia before I leave.»

Manon hummed in agreement, taking a slow sip from her steaming cup of coffee, as Dorian hurried out of the kitchen.

He was supposed to give a guest lecture at the local university today, and was already running late, though that was nothing out of the ordinary for the Blackbeak-Havilliard household. Manon, on the other hand, was busy arranging berries around a bunny-shaped pancake, to hopefully please their three-year-old daughter, who was known to be quite grumpy in the mornings.

She’d thought becoming a mother meant never sleeping in again, being woken up by an energetic toddler at the ass-crack of dawn every morning, but so far it had been the opposite; one of them had to carefully coax little Rhiannon out of her dear bed, and then it was at least half an hour of not making too loud noises or making inhumane demands such as «putting on your socks» or «brushing your teeth» as she made the effort to fully wake up.

They really were raising a teenager trapped in a toddler’s body.

Manon had just put the plate down on the table when Dorian reentered the kitchen. He was carrying a still-sleeping Rhia, her head resting on his shoulder. «I think she has a fever,» Dorian winced.

Worry immediately filling every inch of her, Manon stepped over to them, placing her hand on Rhia’s forehead. Dorian was right, she was a little warm.

«Rhia? Honey, are you not feeling well?» Manon cooed, brushing a few strands of pale hair away from her daughter’s face. Rhia’s eyes remained closed, but she made a few incoherent noises, letting them know she was on her way to waking up, at least.

The little girl whined at the loss of warmth as Dorian set her down on her chair, but she slowly blinked, then rubbed her eyes. Dorian carefully pushed the plate of breakfast towards her, and she obediently took a bite out of her pancake, staring out into nothing as she slowly chewed.

«Morning’s aren’t easy, huh?» Dorian chuckled, and Manon had to smile too as the only answer he got was a solemn «Uh-huh.»

Getting the thermometer from the bathroom, Manon measured her temperature to 100. It wasn’t too bad, but Rhia’s daycare had a strict sick-child-policy, and wouldn’t accept anyone with a temperature over 99,8.

Dorian turned towards Manon, then, face serious. «I’d stay home today, but this lecture has been planned for months. I can’t reschedule or cancel.» His concerned gaze told her he’d actually rather stay home with their sick child than hold the most important lecture of his career this far.

Eight years had passed, and Manon was still amazed by how much love and adoration she could feel for this man. Watching him become the greatest father in the world had only intensified those feelings.

«I’m not too busy today, I can work from home,» Manon offered, but she winced as she suddenly remembered her plan for today. «I need to be there for second period, though. My seniors have a big test later this week.» One she’d promised they’d spend today’s lesson preparing for.

Dorian frowned as he tried to come up with a solution. «I could ask Chaol to take her for the day?» Chaol was currently on paternity leave with his and Yrene’s second child, a six-moths-old baby boy named Theodore.

«No,» Manon started, shaking her head. «It’s probably just a light fever, but I don’t want Theo to catch it if it’s a virus. She can come with me for my lesson, and then we’ll go right back home.»

Drawing a breath, Dorian was about to say something more, but Manon stopped him. «Now you need to go, or you’ll be late.» To soothe him further, she placed a light kiss on his lips.

It lasted long enough, though, for a loud «Gwoss mommy!» to come from the kitchen table, and they both turned to find Rhia staring at them with a look of pure disgust on her face.

Laughing, Dorian said, «Alright, now that you seem to be in your usual spirits, I can leave!» He stopped by Rhia on his way out to place a kiss on her head, in which she groaned and lightly swatted at him to make him leave.

Toddler-sized teenager indeed.

«Bye, my adorably grumpy girls!» Dorian waved as he left.

Grinning like a fool, Manon waved back, then shifted all her attention to Rhiannon.

«How do you feel about joining mommy for work today?»

«YES!» Leaving the table, half-eaten pancakes forgotten, Rhia started jumping up and down in excitement. «Can we make slime again?»

Manon chuckled as she remembered last time she’d brought Rhia to work. Trying to combine entertaining a toddler and teaching a bunch of teens chemistry, she’d landed on making slime. Pink, glittery slime.

Man, motherhood had really changed her.

«I’ll see what we can do, but you need to get dressed, then.»

Before she knew it, Rhia was barreling down the hallway towards her room, talking about how she had to wear her new tutu, because aunty Aelin had to see it.

Manon sent a quick text to Aelin, or Principal Galathynius as she’d been as of last August, to let her know she’d be bringing an assistant today, then followed Rhia, ready to bribe a three-year-old into not wearing a halloween costume in public in the month of May.

After barely avoiding a tantrum, Rhiannon and Manon had finally compromised on her tutu, but no fairy wings or tiara or kitten-shaped slippers that meowed for every step you took (Manon had sent Lorcan nasty glares at work for a full month after that «present»).

Speaking of cats, Rhia had also insisted Abraxos told her last night he wanted to come too.

To distract her from that idea, Manon picked up her daughter’s backpack and told her to pack a few toys she could play with throughout the day.

Manon quickly got ready herself, packed her own bag, checked to see that Rhia hadn’t found any disturbingly noisy toys (nothing to worry about, the backpack was filled with a barbie doll, a plastic dinosaur, a Baby Yoda plushie, a puzzle, and a book about autotrophic organisms from Manon’s college days that Rhia had found and completely fallen in love with, even if she definitely couldn’t read advanced science textbooks yet). All in all, Manon had to admit she had the coolest kid in the world.

Then they were out the door, without a minute to spare.

By the time they made it to the high school where both Manon and Dorian worked, they were five minutes late. Manon tried urging Rhia to walk faster, but she was too busy jumping from tile to tile to notice. «Can you please hurry a little, Rhia?»

«No, mommy, they’re lava!» Rhia pointed to the lines in between all the tiles, and Manon had to suppress a sigh. Everything was lava these days.

«Can’t you put on lava shoes?»

«That’s not how it works.»

After what seemed like forever, they reached Manon’s classroom, where everyone was now waiting for her. Before she opened the door, she crouched in front of her daughter. «First, I have to teach a little, so you have to try and be quiet, okay?» Rhia nodded, face solemn. She was the spitting image of Manon, but when she made that face, she was all Dorian.

«Maybe you can puzzle, or look in your book?» Rhia nodded once more, glancing at the door as she thought over something. Even with twenty students waiting for her, Manon gave Rhia the little time she needed to ask her question.

«Can I say hi to everyone?» Manon melted a little at the sweet, innocent question.

She’d gone soft. There was no doubting it now. And while not as scary as before, perhaps, her students would get quite the shock, as she was still known to be rather hostile.

How her reputation had survived, was beyond her, though. Her relationship with Dorian had been known to everyone ever since they got busted over a fucking Zoom-call, and the fact that they had a kid together was no secret either. Still, almost every student, new and old, was slightly terrified of her.

Manon couldn’t blame it all on motherhood, though. She’d been a lost case from the moment she met Dorian. That bastard.

Smiling, she said to Rhia, «Of course you can say hi. Ready?»

Rhia nodded eagerly, and then Manon stood up and opened the door.

«Sorry I’m late, I suddenly had to bring a little assistant with me today-» Manon turned to gesture towards Rhia, but the girl wasn’t right behind her.

No, Rhia was still standing in the hallway, halfway hidden behind the door, staring at all the teenagers with wide, frightened eyes. For as much attention as her daughter could crave at home, she could be quite shy around strangers.

Manon sighed, crouching down in front of her again with a soft smile on her face. «You can come inside, Rhia. I promise these people are very nice, even if they look a little scary.»

She couldn’t believe she was saying it out loud. She loved being a teacher, yes, but she never outright admitted it. The things you did for your own child, though…

Behind her, the classroom was eerily quiet, only interrupted by someone dropping their pencil.

Rhia didn’t budge, assurance or not, only stared at the floor.

«Come,» Manon tried again, holding out her arms. Rhia hesitated for a moment, but then hurried into Manon’s safe embrace, hiding her face in her chest.

«Did you not want to say hi to everyone?» The voice Manon spoke in was the softest, mildest she’d ever used in this classroom, but she didn’t have the time to overthink it as she walked over to the blackboard. Rhia had clearly changed her mind from earlier, because she only shook her head, burrowing further into her chest.

Maneuvering both their bags down onto her desk, Manon picked up a piece of chalk and said, «She’s a little shy, but give her a few moments and she’ll warm up, I promise.» She even smiled at her stunned students, a nervous, awkward smile. Then she turned towards the board and begun her lesson, her child still clinging to her like a koala.

Manon had been right, Rhiannon had warmed up after a little while. An hour had gone by, and she’d already done her puzzle, «read» her book, drawn lots of little drawings on the lower part of the board, and was now sitting by Manon’s desk, humming to herself as she played with her barbie and her t-rex while Manon walked around helping her students with some tasks to practice for their test.

She was about to help a girl with calculating a concentration when she heard a pair of little feet running towards her, and before she knew it, Rhia was standing right next to her, holding up her barbie so Manon could help her put on a dress.

Accepting the barbie, Manon tried to ignore how the student she’d been about to help stared at her, as if she’d grown horns in the middle of the classroom. When she was done, Manon handed the doll back to Rhia, but the girl didn’t run back.

The look on her face told Manon she was about to ask her for something she couldn’t say no to, and of course Rhia didn’t disappoint.

«Mommyyyyy?»

«Yes, sweetheart?»

«Can we do it now? Pleaaaaaaaaase?»

Those big, blue puppy eyes were another thing Rhia had inherited from her father, and they were even harder to resist on a toddler.

Sighing, Manon nodded, then said something she’d never thought she’d say out loud in her classroom. «If anyone wants a break from studying, they can help us make slime.»

Rhia took off towards Manon’s desk, opening the main drawer and digging out the goggles she’d found earlier, when she searched through everything. She put them on, huge smile on her face, and Manon gave her a huge smile back, pulling up her phone to snap a picture to Dorian.

Later, they were in Manon’s office, Manon preparing tomorrow’s test while barbie now fought a war against t-rex. Rhia was talking to herself as she played, and it was the most adorable thing ever.

Manon had planned to go home after her lesson, but Rhia seemed completely fine apart from her slight fever, and she didn’t seem to mind being here, so they’d stayed, Manon trying to get some more work done.

Someone knocked on the door, and Rhia shot up to answer it, eager as ever.

«Aunty Yrene!»

«If it isn’t my favourite lab assistant!»

Rhia beamed as Yrene Towers stepped into the office, leaning down to give her goddaughter a hug.

As the toddler let go and skipped out into the empty teacher’s lounge, Yrene gave Manon a knowing smirk. «I had your seniors after lunch today, and they couldn’t shut up about how Ms. Blackbeak brought the most adorable kid with her and how she wouldn’t stop smiling and she even used the word sweetheart and I even think she gave us a compliment?!»

Manon rolled her eyes as hard as she could, yet her twitching lip gave her away.

«It’s all Dorian’s fault,» Manon said, but she was actually smiling now, looking at the wall behind her computer, filled with photos of Rhiannon, of Dorian, of all of them together, even one of Abraxos.

«Sure it is.» Yrene sat down in one of the chairs. «Why is it still Miss Blackbeak though?»

«Not this again! We live together, we’re engaged, we have a damn kid together! What more could you possibly want?» Yrene had been a strong supporter of their relationship from the very beginning. Before, even.

«At this point, I’m so invested I don’t think it’ll ever be enough.» Manon snorted as Yrene looked dreamily into the air.

«I’ll make you my maid of honor, or you can even officiate the wedding! We’ll name our sixth-born child after you! On our joint tombstone, it can say Courtesy of Yrene Towers on the bottom!»

«Okay, fine, I get it, I have a problem!»

As they kept joking, Manon could hear Dorian enter the teacher’s lounge, back from his lecture, by the way Rhia called, «Daddy! Don’t step there it’s lava!»

«Oh no! But you’re standing in it!»

«I have lava shoes, silly!»

Taglist: @fireheartfaery @bookishwitchling @gwynethhberdara @darklingswhxore @onfma @ireallyshouldsleeprn @sayosdreams @rowaelinismyotp @rainbowcheetah512 @mirubyjane @zoyalovesbooks

I keep a separate taglist for each ship, so let me know if you want to be added!

#manorian #manon x dorian #dorian x manon #manon blackbeak #dorian havilliard #throne of glass #tog #sjm #sarah j maas #manorian fanfiction #manorian fluff #manorian one shot #dawninlatin teacher au

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countlessrealities · 8 months

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send a number + an emoji to bite my muse || No longer accepting.

@dynamoprotocol sent: 🗡️(scared) + 9 (hand) Chance lashing out without thinking when Rick's trying to put that damn IV or an injection in him :'^) this is why Morty needs to be here...

There was a rhythmic pulsing in the back of Rick's head. A dull noise, but still loud enough to be impossible to ignore. His mind kept being inevitably drawn back to it, just as his thoughts didn't stop spiraling around the same, painful subjects. It was like being caught in a relentless centripetal force, like being dragged back towards the ground by an invincible gravity. There was no reaching escape velocity.

He had almost forty years wishing that he could turn his brain off, but in very few occasions he had wished to be successful as much as he did in that moment.

The scientist gritted his teeth a little as he finished preparing the bag of fluids connected to the IV. Anger, guilt, bitterness and frustration had been his faithful companions for a so long, for too long, but in situations like that current one they felt as overwhelming as they had been during the first weeks after Beth's and Diane's death. But how could he not draw a comparison between past and present, when once again one of his closest loved ones was on a deathbed because of him?

For a moment, Rick's fingers shook so bad that the needle he was holding almost slipped from his grip. There was a part of him, his reason perhaps, that was trying to remind him how this was not his fault. He hadn't directly caused Chance to get infected by those cursed nanobots, just as he hadn't been the one to drop the bomb in his garage four decades ago. But, even considering that, could he be considered truly blameless? It didn't feel like that. Not to him.

He had allowed Chance to tag along for that adventure, even knowing how dangerous it could have been. Hell, he had even been the one to invite...well, he and his boyfriend...because he had thought that the trip could be a "great bonding experience". And a way to relive, in a better, healthier way, the shared rushes of adrenaline that had brought him and Clarissa closer and closer almost a decade before. Even if, of course, he would have ever admitted this last thing out loud.

In any case, the hows and the whys were of no imports now. What mattered was the result and the hard reality of facts. Chance was being eaten away by an artificial infection that he and his counterpart, the self-proclaimed "smartest men in the universe", were struggling to figure out. Chance would die if they didn't succeed.

Steadying his hand as he reached out to hold his lover's arm took him an inhuman effort. The mere thought out touching the other filled him with dread and with the irrational fear that Chance would crumble into ashes the moment their skins would have come into contact.

You destroy everything and everyone you touch.

And how not to believe that malicious, cutting voice when he had the umpteenth proof that it was right under his eyes? He had lost Clarissa once already, he shouldn't have known that getting another try with her...with him couldn't have worked out either. People like Rick didn't get to have and keep good things. They were fated to ruin them each and every time.

To make it even worse, Chance was the one paying the price for it. That wasn't fair. It wasn't fucking fair at all. It should have been him in that bed, surrounded by the most brilliant yet useless tech. He should have been the one wasting away, the one suffering his way towards...

The trail of his thought was abruptly cut off as a searing pain hit his hand. Rick instantly dropped the IV, more out of surprise than because it had hurt that much, and stumbled backwards, almost tripping on his own feet.

"W-What the fuck?! D-Did you...Did you just...?" He spluttered, eyes wide as saucers. There was no anger in his voice, just shock and incredulity as he struggled to wrap his mind about what had happened.

Every thought and emotion in that direction, however, instantly vanished as his gaze landed on Chance's face. The terrified and horrified stare on the other man's face caused him to freeze in place for a long moment, even the pain forgotten.

However, that stasis didn't last long. Being look at as the source of his lover's panic and distress was more than RIck could bear. The guilt that had already been crushing him filled his lungs like thick syrup, making him feel like he was drowning. He couldn't breathe, his heart was beating deafeningly loudly in his ears, and he felt about to throw his whole inside up.

So, he did the one thing he had become a master at: he turned on his heels and fled the room like a coward.

He couldn't have said where his rushed steps were taking him, but he couldn't have cared less. He just needed to put distance between himself and that look. It was just too much and he couldn't afford breaking, not when he had to keep it together to save Chance. He couldn't take care of himself, all his energies and time had to be focused on his lover.

Eventually he stumbled to a stop in one of the corridors of the lab. The lights were dimmed, thankfully, because they strengthened the impression that he could have hid away from everything there.

With a quiet, wrecked sob, Rick let himself slide down against the wall, ending up seated on the floor, knees up to his chest and his arms crossed over them. His head quickly fell down, face hiding in his lab coat, and he remained there, drained and unmoving, if not for the visible trembling of his limbs.

And if the white cloth got wetter and wetter with every passing minute, that would have been something for him and only him to know.

#[ ic :: c137 Rick ]#&& Chance Rennard #[ v. Forever a hundred years ; main verse :: c137 Rick ]#[ relationship :: Rick & Chance ]#dynamoprotocol #[[ hi yes this came 100 years too late =.=" ]]#[[ also it would be almost funny if it wasn't so heartbreaking ]]#[[ Chance biting Rick's finger out of context is hilarious ]]#[[ but then you add the contest and it becomes so fucking angsty >.< ]]#[[ you me and Rin need to explore this plot ]]#[[ it's so good so many chances for angst and conflict and bonding !! ]]#[[ also character and relationship development ]]#;; queue

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samrieimg · 2 years

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Re-reading your DNF series for the millionth time. To me, nothing comes close and I've tried to find other works that come close to its scope and epic world-building. Love your other stories as well. I hope your mental health is better lately. You deserve the world and I hope you graduate soon and move on to even more wonderful things.

I understand why Dream likes George. They address it briefly in the third part to the story. He finds him interesting. He finds George fascinating even when George's nature frustrates him to no end. Even George being prey and mortal fascinates him. He loves and hates the idea that George is so very breakable. All the small details you included like the mouth guard, the mask, the lingering touches to George's scars, and how he doesn't like being exposed...I get a good sense of who Dream is as a otherworldly being. And of course, the same with George with his sarcastic replies, actions, motivations, and his overall nature.

However, something still puzzles me when I re-read it. What is it about Dream that George loves?

I see moments where he wants to reciprocate and worship Dream's body. Dream pulls away because he's afraid of being hurt and vulnerable due to history. Of course there's moments when he makes an effort to relax around George (bathing scene). But George been entirely coerced/extorted by Dream to stay with him in the other world. What is about Dream that draws George to him? Of course there's undeniable attraction, but I'm having trouble analyzing this part. Is it because George similarly finds him fascinating as well? Enough to leave his own world forever? To give up escaping?

George ultimately decides to stay with Dream as evidenced by the epilogue. One of my all-time favorite scenes is when Dream finally reveals that he didn't want to be alone. It's such a beautiful and heart-breaking moment. But, did George feel the same way about Dream? Or was the extortion part with Sapnap still driving him until they came to a compromise with the epilogue? I've tried coming up with my own conclusions, but it's a bit difficult for me.

(sorry this is so long, I never made an analysis post to your original story, so maybe I'll go do that one of these days). Thank you, as always.

I, to be honest, never answered that myself.

Long potentially series-ruiner author ramble below.

George in SBW really just kind of has a "I'm stuck with the choice I made in the moment" -

In the woods, at his college, there's just the horny feelings of something exciting. Something he can't understand that was attractive in its thrill. There's a draw to danger, to this clearly inhuman being, but I admit I never really finished the idea/exploration.

Ideally, the end theme was George being irrevocably changed by Dream. I think if I hadn't backed out of my more somber ending, it'd been pretty clear even if George never went with Dream willingly, nor put up a fight, he'd still have ended up at the same fate which is dark. Dream was basically changing him into something non-human from the start of SBW.

In the OG ending... He does escape. Or well...tries to. it isn't a convo with Sapnap. Its him watching his friends age, unable to interact with their world, unable to speak to them, but able to linger in liminal spaces, not fully like Dream enough to utilize them, but not human enough to cross back.

But it's the first as well-received fic I ever wrote and I didn't want to end it on an unhappy ending, so I cheezed it. After the convo with Dream was meant for the deviation. It's very much a "I'm trapped in my misery lonely world and now you are too :)"

So long story short, I can't say. George is a mortal playtoy of god. Whatever obsession Dream had with George wasn't returned nearly as much by George, especially by the end when George realizes "...there is no way back."

#fic asks #author rambles #series: limimal space traveller

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phoenixcatch7 · 6 days

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Ladies and gentlemen please welcome to the stage my newest hero forge model!

Good grief this colour scheme fought me.

This is an au (?), a crossover between ff7 and Belle/The Dragon and the Freckled Princess, which takes place half in reality, and half in a futuristic virtual world simply called U, where the main character (Belle) debuts as a singer as a way to process the trauma of her songwriter mother's death. The technology of U enables it to create virtual avatars that 'draw out the user's hidden strengths', whether they like it or not.

As you might have guessed, this is what a young sephiroth stumbles upon, finding an escape from the labs and something captivating he's never heard before - music.

The vr world is always something that's absolutely fascinated me, and the expressive, vibrant, community based world in belle is really different to the normal scifi dystopian armpit of society that it often gets presented as, so of course I loved it immediately. Much closer to the real world comparison of vr chat than what the scifi novels present it as XD.

But the themes of escape and being thus able to process trauma is something else, that I really wanted to explore with sephiroth. I've made a couple of aus already, but this is the first one I've knuckled down and designed.

It's a pretty young sephiroth, starting just before/at the start of ever crisis and the wutai war, but in U he's aged up just enough for people to let him roam unsupervised, as it seemed to do for belle. I'm thinking late teens/vaguely androgenous first year at uni kid.

I made the build a lot slimmer and a bit shorter than his adult self, and all round a much less intimidating figure, less passively scary and off putting. Give this kid a chance to not stand out so immediately. And with the themes of finding yourself, processing trauma, I thought it'd be very interesting to think about how that might present, as reclaiming bodily ownership and autonomy. To this end, I added the tattoos, the sleeve on the arm (I was thinking a wing or animal? But I like the vague patterns, the tattoos most meaningful part is its existence as decoration), and the face markings as a nod to the original belle, who becomes an aunt/mentor figure during the story. And a piercing or two and a couple rings 🤭

The black and white hair, because I couldn't bear to get rid of the white entirely (and he should own it) and as an idea of what his hair might have been without jenova cells - both hojo and Vincent have black hair. Tied back a li'l fancy so he can have some pride and effort in his appearance, expose his face a little more without hiding it behind those awful bangs. I imagine it longer than the model goes, but eh. The eyes... I dithered over slits, or blue eyes, but in the end green is just his colour, you know? But a way to escape those unique pupils, the inhuman, the strange ones, I imagine it's something young him would jump at the chance for. Just to be normal.

The wings, they represent the wings of his safer/seraph true form, with that purple stripe rather than the fade but hero forge doesn't do wing patterns (yet) :(. Coming out of his lower back rather than his ribs like his black wing does, I'd put more but his hair needs some presence XD.

The outfit was a TRIAL but we got there. I wanted something modern and sorta k-pop young idol, but practical to fit his standards. I eventually managed something that struck that balance, I'm a lot happier with it than I thought I'd be! It's something you could see simultaneously on a strobing stage and on a final fantasy battlefield lol. Please imagine as many belts as you want! The headpiece thing is supposed to be one of those head mics, but it didn't convey the vibes so I gave him a proper mic as a prop ^^.

If you look at the gloves (white to og sephiroths black) - and the pendant - you'll see tubes of mako coming in and out of his arms. This is a nod to the fact that he (is heavily traumatised and objectified) was, as far as he knows, made up of mako, a weapon, a tool, made to find the promised land of infinite mako for shinra, charged up with it like a battery, woven into his dna, more cyborg robot than human all his life in the sterile labs. Again, it's ✨self expression through acknowledging and processing trauma✨

I'm also sooooo delighted with the face, the expression, I really am!! I wanted to try and capture a muted wonder and triumph, a brightness in the eyes. He's just performed his first proper song to the roaring applause of the crowds, proving his worth on his own without the labs, without slaying hundreds for a war other people believe in. He's built an identity outside of shinra, and it's good.

I tried to make it look like young sephiroth kinda sorta, but I'm face blind so if you've read this far, tell me how I did XD?

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chanfictions · 3 years

Text

Chidori

18+ CONTENT! MINORS DNI!

Kakashi x Reader

Part 2

Playing with electricity, mind games, smut, smut, smut.

2.4k

It's all fun and games until your boyfriend acquires intel that you have some unfulfilled fantasies involving his chakra nature.

You and your big fucking mouth.

You knew getting drunk and shmoozing with that old pervert was a huge mistake, but inebriated you was just a treasure trove of curative ideas for the raunchy author's writer's block, and he was footing the tab. One cup of sake after another and your most titillating fantasies just rolled right off of your twisted tongue in a drunken game of Never-Have-I-Ever, Kink Edition. Little did you know that your traitorous mountain of a drinking buddy would slink off to your boyfriend later with all of the intel he had gathered from you.

You made a mental note to sic Tsunade on him later. Now, however, you had more important things to worry about, namely the chirping cracks of lightning surrounding Kakashi’s hand as you shifted nervously in your rope bindings. "Babe, shouldn't we talk about this?" You squeaked nervously as you twirled in place like a little marionette with your arms bound above your head.

"What's there to talk about, hm? Jiraiya told me just how exciting you thought it would be to play with electricity." The eerie calm in his voice as he circled you, wielding that handful of sparking doom sent lusty shivers up your spine. You were a thrill seeking fear slut, and Kakashi knew it. The danger held in his palm twisted your insides into the most delightful knots and left you dripping with excitement.

"I meant… oh, I don't know, a violet wand or something designed for use on the human body, not an assassination jutsu!" You stammered and your voice climbed in pitch. Your eyes widened the closer he got to you. The scent of ozone filled your nostrils, and all of the little hairs on your body stood on end from the static beginning to collect in the air.

"What's the matter, kitten? Don't think you can handle it?"

"Do I think I can handle a jutsu you use to literally pierce people's hearts as FOREPLAY?!" Your voice entered the soprano register as you gnawed your lip and spun around him again, tipping about on the balls of your bare feet.

A chuckle purred deep in Kakashi’s chest as he pulled his mask down with a light curl to the corner of his mouth. "That is what I asked you."

Words failed you, and all you could manage was a high pitched squeal as he ghosted the edge of that jutsu around your exposed stomach, just barely kissing your skin with static. Your breath caught in your throat as your heart leapt into your mouth.

"You haven't forgotten your safe word, have you?" He mused while continuing to circle you like a silver-haired lion.

Another squeaky yelp that sounded like a 'no' slipped from your lips as your bugged out eyes followed the sparks and you twitched away from his hand.

"What we should talk about is your racy little conversation with Master Jiraiya yesterday." Kakashi’s dark iris glinted with the reflection of those chirping bolts as he traced a less dangerous finger along your trembling jawline, tipping your chin upward. "Naughty girl, telling that old pervert about your little fantasies before even I had the privilege of hearing them." His voice was a mere gusty murmur blowing beneath the deafening crackle humming right next to your face.

"We were just talking about his unfinished book," you insisted in a shaky chitter as your eyes locked on the blue chakra leaping from his fingertips. Boy, did Kakashi know how to push your buttons. The ache between your legs had you twisting your thighs as that knot of excited fear tightened in your belly. He had barely laid a finger on you since hanging you up, and you were just fluttering for some kind of stimulation.

Another dark little laugh rolled in Kakashi’s chest. "You should really know better by now, kitten," he purred, bringing the jumping bolts ever closer to your skin, letting little shocks nip and draw goosebumps on your waist as he trailed his sparking hand ever closer to your very erect nipples, making you squirm anxiously. "Master Jiraiya and I are very good friends. He tells me everything."

You swallowed hard, breaking into a bit of a sweat. "So… um… what else did he tell you?" Your voice cracked under the strain of the pitch you were reaching while you bit your lip. Keeping your heaving chest away from his hand was growing more difficult with the little slack you had in your rope.

"Now, where's the fun in giving up my leverage?" A sly smile tilted his lips. "You might want to stop squirming before this arcs… electricity can be so unpredictable, can't it?"

A high whine hummed in your throat as your eyes flicked from that devious smile back to his hand again. He wouldn't, right? Another hard swallow had you nibbling on your lip in hopeful anticipation and wringing your bound hands. That chirping sound terrified you, as you knew it all too well from fighting alongside the silver-haired jonin. Your heart raced in the best possible way, that fear leaving you aching and wet.

"Oh, but you'd like that, wouldn't you? I can see it in your eyes," he murmured in your ear, sliding behind you and pulling your body tightly against his with his tamer hand, tracing a line from your navel up to the breast he firmly cupped. You felt that bulge of desire for you straining the fabric of his pants when you were pulled in and gave your ass a little teasing wiggle against it. He trailed his lips along your neck up to your jaw. Deft fingers rolled a hardened bud, sending tasty jolts through your body, making you arch into his touch. The chattering spark in his left hand hovered inches from your skin. "Say it."

"K-kakashi, I--" you stammered nervously. He could no doubt feel your racing pulse beneath his lips as he kissed his way along your neck.

"It's simple. Either you want it and you tell me as much, or you don't and tap out, but we both know what you're going to say." How that man managed to maintain such an aloof coolness while terrorizing you like this was just beyond you.

With your blood rushing in your ears, you bit your lip and dropped your head back against his shoulder. "Light me up," you breathed lustfully before you even realized what you were asking for.

With a knowing chuckle, Kakashi obliged. The pitch of the chirping shifted, and hot points of light licked your skin, leaving you gasping in surprise. The little lightning strikes were fiery and felt sharp like the edge of a knife being dragged over your flesh. You had expected it to really hurt, but as usual, Kakashi had twisted your head around in a delicious mind fuck, letting you think he just might fry you up until the very last moment. The sensation beautifully toed the line between pain and pleasure, sending literal shocks through your body. Arching your back, you bit your lip with an excited squeal as his hand hovered just above your nipple, peppering it with a storm of static. "Did you really think that I would touch you with an actual Chidori?" The tone of his voice sent shivers up your spine.

"It s--ah-aaah-oounded like the rreeeal one," you gasped in a breathy moan as those sparks danced around your torso. Tiny bolts pierced your skin like needles without leaving so much as a mark in their wake. The most shocking aspect of this newfound kink was the smell. It never occurred to you that electricity had any kind of defining odor, but this did, and you couldn't get enough of it.

More soft chuckles hummed behind you as Kakashi’s breath fanned your neck. His sparking hand ran circles around your breasts, sending shocks straight through your body to your throbbing clit. The sensation was amazing and left you arching into his body, swaying your hips against his own waiting lust. "Are you trying to tell me something, hm?" He punctuated the statement with a nip of your neck and began trailing his new favorite toy downward.

"W-w-aaaait a minute!!" You squeaked in surprise at a dog-whistle pitch, wiggling your hips again in an effort to avoid that hand as you had quickly realized what he was about to do with it.

"You know the word to use if you want me to stop," he murmured, more and more amused by this. "Otherwise, I'm going to find out if I can get you off without actually touching you." He slid his feet between yours, prying your legs apart and stepping lightly on the tops of your now inward turned feet to keep you rooted.

The next sound coming out of your mouth was a shrill, giggling shriek that rolled into a loud moan. Kakashi brought those sparking fingers down to your slick clit, hovering just above it and sending little lightning strikes grouped in pulsing waves directly at the most sensitive spot. The electric chakra jumped around your dripping pussy, sending all new sensations ripping through your body. The inhuman noise you were producing grew loud enough that Kakashi had to muffle your mouth with his other hand to prevent the neighbors from thinking he was murdering you.

Your eyes rolled back in your head as you let out another loud wail. Pins, needles, and precise strikes of heat from the electricity coursing through you sent your muscles contracting in waves in time with the pulses leaving his fingers. Your walls fluttered around nothing, absolutely starving to be filled. The intensity was unlike anything you had ever experienced. Your legs trembled as the pitch of your voice rolled chromatically skyward.

Kakashi hummed praises in your ear, kissing along your exposed neck as he kept that one hand clamped firmly over your mouth. With a sly smirk he whispered in your ear, "Let's turn things up a bit."

To say you saw stars as he did just that was an understatement. The heat and force applied by those biting strikes of sparking chakra increased, intensifying your involuntary muscle contractions. Your legs nearly gave way as the first heavy wave of the night crashed over you and stole the air from your screaming lungs. Your walls clenched desperately. The knot of heat in your belly finally burst.

"Mmm, so that does work. Good to know," he mused, turning up the power as you rode out that first release until you wailed again and bucked your hips into his hand. Cutting the chakra off for the moment, he pressed hard against your puffy clit, rubbing circles to keep you teetering on the edge of blissful insanity.

"Mmmfffff--K-kakashi, please," you begged desperately around his hand. You were throbbing, aching, pining to be filled. "N-need you, need you now--"

As swift as the bolts of lightning crackling about in his hand, Kakashi had you untied from the rope, stripped his own clothes, and pinned to the mattress just a few steps behind where you were hanging. With a bruising kiss and a hand tangled in your hair, he ground his hips against your throbbing pussy, eliciting a lewd moan from you into his mouth. Hungry, desperate, and needy for him, you snapped your legs around him, urging him to stuff you. There was no need for the usual prep with how wet that electricity had gotten you. You gasped with eyes rolling back into your head as he abruptly rutted his full length into your aching core, sending you right back into outer space, digging your nails into his shoulders and locking your legs around him.

A low growl rumbled in Kakashi’s throat as your walls attempted to crush his cock. He swallowed your moans and wails from his movements in equally ravenous kisses with one hand still tangled into your hair. As you rode out yet another blinding orgasm, he snatched one of your knees and pinned it to your chest to achieve more depth that left you teetering on the edge of blackout. It was so fucking good. You clenched around him again, finally with the satisfaction of being stuffed so full and babbled incoherently. "Fuck-- Kakashi, so fu-haaah-ah-big -- can't -- oh, gods-- I--"

Hearing you unable to string together a coherent sentence filled Kakashi with immense satisfaction as he ground deeply into your impossibly tight little hole. Picking up the pace, the force of his thrusts rocked the bed noisily into the wall, though it likely couldn't be heard over you. He smothered your rambling cries with his mouth, leaving trails of bites and hot breath down your neck before coming back for more. He groaned loudly as you bit his shoulder while fluttering around him yet again to stifle your own noise. Nail marks decorated his upper back from your desperate attempt to hold onto something as he railed you into oblivion. His breathing quickened before catching in his throat and erupting as a guttural growl when he delved into you to an impossible depth, painting your insides white.

You were nearly choking on your own saliva as you dropped your head back into the mattress beneath you, fighting to catch your breath. Kakashi buried his face into the curve of your neck, gripping you tightly and murmuring soft affections as you both slowly drifted down from that impressive high. You could hardly feel your legs from how hard your soul had been fucked out of your body. He remained there, buried in you with your leg still trapped, trailing his fingers along your cheek while you tried to remember your own name.

"That was… ridiculous," you breathed heavily, coiling your arms around his neck.

Kakashi just chuckled, trailing his lips up your neck to yours again. "Well, now that you can speak again, perhaps we can finish the conversation we started earlier," he mused, running his fingers along your side teasingly.

You were not running on full steam and just pressed yourself tightly against him. "Hmm?"

"Mmm, electricity wasn't the only thing you were talking about with Master Jiraiya…" Kakashi spoke in a husky tone and trailed off with a wicked twinkle in his eye.

You peered up at him, face beginning to flame with embarrassment and a slight hint of dread as you remembered the depth of your drunken chat with the sannin who was definitely going to get pummeled for this later.

Oh, shit.

"What's this I heard about shadow clones?"

#naruto x reader #kakashi x reader #naruto smut #kakashi smut #chanfictions

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kookieswan · 2 years

Text

Shades of Us - Skip

Poly!Namgi x Reader (f)

Word Count: 890

Genre/Tags: College!AU, Fluffy as hell, Some spice (mentions of sex and boners lmao).

Series Masterlist here!!! ❤️

———————————————————————

Cracking an eye open, you attempt to take in the sight before you in a bit of a haze, the sun bright as it filters through the blinds. Yoongi’s face is close, puffed out and slightly red with hours of sleep (and probably Joons heater of a body). He looks peaceful, inky black hair falling in front of his eyes, soft puffs of air leaving through his nose. You’ve always though it, but it’s moments like this that you ponder on how pretty he is.

It’s then you notice a rather buff arm slung over his body as you glance downward, and a large blanket covered lump behind him, meaning Namjoon actually skipped class today. A small smirk falls upon your lips, content to know you and Yoongi were able to convince him to stay after last nights events. Not surprising since you had sex for a solid part of the night, leaving him nice and sleepy.

Stretching out a bit, a low groan echoes quietly over the room, a few of your joints popping from a lack of use. Grabbing for your phone on Namjoons nightstand, you glance at it quickly to see that it’s nearly ten in the morning. An accomplishment really considering Namjoon always gets up bright and early, even on days he doesn’t have clas or work. You must have really tired him out… Looking back up, you flinch as you notice catlike eyes staring back at you, open in barely more than unfocused slits.

“I’m being held hostage. Help.” A snort leaves you as Yoongi blinks blearily, his eyebrows drawing together as he wiggles around. Namjoon doesn’t give, if anything, his arm looks like it tightens even more around your smaller boyfriend. He always claims to not like cuddling before bed, and yet here he is squeezing Yoongi to death.

“Be happy that he’s still sleeping even. I was convinced he’d be gone when we woke up.” It’s Yoongi’s turn to snort as he rolls his eyes. He shifts around a bit more, trying to get as comfy as he can in Namjoon’s arms.

“The fucker should be tired, I sucked his soul out of his dick last night, and if there were any remnants left I know you took care of it pretty girl.” You tag team to get Namjoon going so often it’s like second nature. The team effort always pays off though, especially now that he gets to rest. Maybe you can convince Namjoon to team up agains Yoongi when he’s in the studio till four in the morning… clearing your throat, you put on a teasing voice and haughty leer.

“Yeah, you did fine I guess. I really finished the job though.” Without a word, Yoongi snakes his hand toward you and pinches your left nipple quickly. A squeak leaves your lips, and you swat at him as he tries to back away. A mistake on his part since Namjoon has him in an iron grip, so he’s essentially trapped.

“Wha-what’s going on…?” A sleep voice rings through the room as you attack Yoongi, digging your fingers into his neck and shoulders as he thrashes in your big boyfriends hold. Namjoon let’s him go in a blind panic, and in return Yoongi launches at you like a wild animal, leaving playful bites against your neck.

The once peaceful room turns into chaos, you and Yoongi screaming at each other as Namjoon desperately tries to figure out what’s going on. Your taller boyfriend falls off the bed trying to get out of it, a stray foot booting him in the ass as he does so. He hits the ground with a thump, and you imagine that your naked ass hitting wood probably isn’t the most fun.

“Wow, I’m so glad I stayed home so I could have my partners kick me out of my bed. Now I’m just naked and cold.” Yoongi pauses, his arm digging into your boob uncomfortable before he turns towards Namjoon and flies at him like a bat out of hell. An inhuman shriek leaves the purple haired man, his arms coming up to try and catch Yoongi as the smaller crashes into him.

“Yoongi! Let me go you little- did you just pinch my nipple!?” Loud giggles flow from your lips as Joonie picks Yoon up and unceremoniously plops him into the bed next to you before laying on top of him. Your automatic reaction is to lay on top of Namjoon, and everything goes quit as you lay together, naked and content until…

“Kitten… are you hard actually right now?” A groan leaves Yoongi’s lips as you and Namjoon laugh, rolling off of each other so you can tease him even more. There’s a slight flush to his face, eyes averted as he pouts.

“Can you really blame me? I just had my big sexy boyfriend and beautiful girlfriend laying on top of me and wiggling around before. Sue me.” A lazy grin spreads over Joons face before he brings his hand up to cup Yoongi’s jaw. He leans in and leaves a light kiss on the other man’s lips before turning to wink at you. You move in, practically tossing yourself onto Yoongi and Namjoons laps, giddy to get to play with your boyfriends.

“Well then, maybe we should take care of that kitten, hm?”

#shades of us #Namjoon x Reader x Yoongi #namgi #namgi poly #namgi x reader poly au #Namjoon x reader #Namjoon x you #Namjoon fluff #namjoon drabble #Yoongi x you #Yoongi x reader #Yoongi fluff #Yoongi drabble #bts x you #bts x reader #bts fluff #bts drabble

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moonbaby26 · 3 years

Text

Title: What the Heart Wants

Pairings: Young!Shota Aizawa x GN!Reader

Summary: You were a young hero in training, living in the United States. And when your high school offered an exchange internship to one of the hero agencies in Japan, you were first in line. But the last thing you expected was to fall for another of their young hopefuls.

Notes: Story features the other dumbigos as well. It’s implied that this story is just the reader reminiscing, and that the reader and Aizawa have been in an established relationship ever since.

Warnings: Mention of blood and a little battle damage, otherwise just superpowered teenage friends being pretty wholesome honestly.

My Masterlist

——————————

The first time you’d ever met the now pro hero Eraser Head, he hadn’t been much more than another teenager in over their head so much like yourself.

Back then you hadn’t known how to say no to anything either. While most of your classmates had been taking the typical internship offers from your state’s local hero agencies, you’d heard about a new exchange program abroad. And of course you’d jumped at the opportunity, anything to set yourself even one hair’s edge above the amazing competition.

Your Japanese had been terrible too honestly, so much so that you’d almost been afraid to speak for fear of ridicule once you reached Japan.

Luckily, the hero you were assigned to, Stunner Man was fluent in several languages. And his quirk was something akin to fireworks from his body at will, like a human flash bang. It greatly complimented your own quirk of consuming light energy to then expel it as energy blasts as well.

For the first few jobs together, you’d likely grown too confident and complacent because of this. It was all too easy to replace your own energy by drawing in that light from his fireworks. Sometimes to the point that all around you went dark, before then expelling the energy again as concentrated blasts from your hands to help incapacitate the small time villains you both ran across.

But then had come that rainy night and reports of a much stronger villain taking out actual teams of heroes somewhere downtown. Multiple agencies had responded to this of course, but your hero had been adamant about you staying behind. This was real danger he said, and it would be unheroic to let your desire for success blind you to your own inexperience. You would be a liability in the main battle, and you could be just as valuable assisting firemen and police in their efforts to evacuate the nearby apartment buildings instead.

Of course you were obedient, and so there you’d been, running up the stairs and through the corridors as fire alarms blared and people cried in panic in these high rise buildings. You’d put on your best act of confidence, directing the scared people to exits, asking them to mind their neighbors. You told them not to push, to please help those that were elderly or disabled, and that it would all be all right. Surely it would be because so many pro heroes were now on the job.

But just as you were almost done clearing the last floor at the top of that building, a terrible crash had sounded from far down the hall. Maybe debris breaking through from the nearby battle? You were cautious enough though to make sure that the police and firemen safely exited this floor entirely with the last civilians before you went to investigate.

You would make sure no one was left behind, that no one was hurt or trapped. But as you’d rounded the corner, in a glitter of broken glass and blood, that was where you’d first seen Shota Aizawa…Eraser Head.

He was only a sidekick you thought immediately though just from his age, so similar to your own. Yet he was already trying to get back to his feet even as you called out to him. The hole he’d come through in the large windows and the cracked wall around it were letting the rain now blow fiercely inside.

“Get back!” He’d yelled right back to you in Japanese however. As if he wasn’t losing blood all over the floor as you did pause brief enough to hear an odd humming sound outside even over the rain.

It was reflex of course. He hadn’t even been facing you, but the way he tensed you’d assumed what was going to happen only that fraction of a second before it did. Before whatever villain had just thrown him through this window attacked again, you’d used your energy reserves to make a shield of light between Shota and the broken windows and wall.

The blast that came through the hole had likely been intended to finish the boy. As it was, it still exploded violently against your force field, the recoil sending pain through your arms as you’d dug your boots into the floor beneath you as much as you could just to keep from being knocked backwards with the force.

You wouldn’t be able to take another direct strike like that without gathering more energy. And in the confusion as the blast did dissipate, you ran forward, grabbing the boy by the wrist. “Come on!”

You only saw the surprise in his reddened eyes for just a moment, the first time he’d really looked at you. His shaggy black hair was dripping on you from the rain before you both ran together.

“It’s going to get dark. Just hold on to me and trust me!” You spoke as you pulled your goggles down from off your head to cover your eyes in mid run. The goggles were a support item developed especially for you. In darkness you could switch between night-vision and thermal imaging to allow you to still see when your opponents and even teammates could not. And when you used your light abilities to discharge energy again, the opacity of the lenses darkened instantly to keep you from being blinded by the brightness of your own quirk as well.

As you both ran, you activated your quirk to draw energy from the artificial lighting in the hallway. True to your word, the whole hall became almost pitch black in short time. Your skin darkening to an inhuman shade as well as you used your power, a color akin to the lightless void now around you as you led him to a stairwell in the center of the building.

“Will the villain follow us in?” You asked as you closed the door, but making sure not to absorb all the light of the stairwell as well as you could still hear people making their way down to evacuate below. You knew you couldn’t stay in this place long. You had to protect these people you had already been trying to rescue as well. But information was always crucial to having a better chance at victory, and you needed anything that the boy could tell you quickly now.

As you lifted your goggles back up in the light of the stairwell, you were already trying to assess his wounds as well. But when you realized he was just staring at you, you finally made eye contact with him again just before he spoke.

“He’s more powerful out in the open.” The boy said. “So I don’t think he’ll follow us inside yet. But you’re assuming I’m a hero?” He sounded somewhat surprised? But the way he was looking you over, he was also trying to discern your quirk even in his own confusion.

“You told me to get back when I found you in the hallway, even though you were hurt.” You saw now that most of the blood was coming from his lower abdomen. A puncture wound maybe? “Who else would worry about others even when being attacked themselves?”

You saw his eyes widen a little at the sort of compliment, but you kept on. “And I’m sorry if I’m hard to understand. My name is (Y/N). I’m from the United States. Part of the intern exchange. I’m working for Stunner Man right now.”

“I can understand you.” He admitted. Though still looking at you in that odd way. “My name is Shota Aizawa.” He paused, seeming a little less confident, before he admitted his nickname. “Codename Eraser Head. I’m interning from the UA with His Purple Highness.”

“Oh,” You said, impressed truthfully, as that school’s hero course was obviously world renowned. But from the quizzical look you couldn’t help but show at his codename, he clearly had already discerned your next question.

He answered before you could ask, but even as he did you could tell he was already steeling himself for your disappointment. “I can erase others’ quirks just by looking at them.”

“You can…what?” You stared helplessly, for a moment almost forgetting your training to always be cool and collected as you tried to fathom what on earth this boy could really mean.

But he just stared back at you, was he that surprised at your reaction?

When he said nothing more, you had to shake away your shock to press further. “I’m sorry. This might be the language barrier again, but I need you to explain that to me please.”

Hero work could lead to unexpected team up situations at any time. And if this was to be one of those times, you both needed to know what you would be dealing with.

He frowned slightly, like he was having to talk more about himself than he was comfortable with. But he did comply. “If I activate my quirk while someone is in my direct line of sight, it inactivates theirs. But I can only do it for so long. Once I blink, or the line of sight is broken, their powers will come back.”

Silence hung between you for one long moment after his admission, and you could sense the tangible unease building in him.

You didn’t mean to make him jump either when you just blurted out. “That’s amazing!”

You still didn’t yell, but it was loud enough to be unexpected. But you couldn’t help it. You’d never heard of such a quirk. How could anyone be so powerful to make someone else quirkless just by looking at them!?

And why the hell did he look so self conscious about this? “You can’t be this modest. How are you not believing me that this is amazing!? I bet you only got thrown in here then because the rain obscured your vision, right!?” Your voice was quickening with your excitement. Your strategies to victory also readily multiplying in your brain. You could make a shield of light to push away the rain and Shota could look at the villain to make them helpless, then you could take them out with a subsequent light blast!

“My quirk has no offensive merit.” He deadpanned.

“Not every quirk has to!” You retorted, but maybe yourself now finally starting to understand a hint to his self conscious nature. “There are always multiple ways to win! Don’t they teach you that at UA?”

“We need to get moving,” He grumbled still in resistance to this subject. “People could be being killed out there.”

He wasn’t wrong you knew, as you nodded. “I’m sorry. I was just trying to gather information.” Which fair was fair as you tried to keep your own explanation as straight forward as you could.

“As you saw, my quirk is that I can absorb visible light energy. It doesn’t matter what kind. I darken everything as I absorb the light around me. I can store it inside myself, then discharge it when I’m ready, to make force fields for defense…or light blasts for offense or distraction to blind opponents.” Like everyone though, there was always still a catch as you continued. “But the weakness is that once I’ve discharged what I have, I’m tapped out until I can absorb more light. Which, at night in a rainstorm like this…there’s not much to be had.”

He was mostly stone faced as he listened to you though. But there was an analytic sharpness to his eyes, like you were inputting information into a human calculator before abruptly he tried to walk back away from you as if to continue up the stairs.

“I have a plan then,” He announced quietly, his back already to you again.

As much as you somehow believed him already though, you grabbed his hand before he could get much farther. “And whatever that plan is, we still won’t be much help to anyone if you faint from blood loss.”

It was obvious he was someone not used to being touched, you could tell that from the instant way he stilled and looked back at you.

But you didn’t weaken at the stare, only offering him a slight smile. “I’ve been trained in emergency first aid as well. There are first aid kits all through this stairway.” You’d passed them on the way up. “I’ll be quick, alright?”

————————————

The logical side of him must have won out that night in that stairwell. He’d known you were right about at least stopping his bleeding. But that was the real beginning you thought. This odd relationship that would keep its hold on you both for so many years to come.

Him, still so skinny then and self conscious, quiet and awkward as he’d sat on one of the stairs, holding his shirt up so you could clean and disinfect the wound just above his belt while you kneeled in front of him. Luckily the injury was not as deep as it could have been. Just too wide to close or clot on its own as you’d wrapped his abdomen with the appropriate bandages after cleaning out the debris.

And you kept your word, you still weren’t negligent of your duty as a hero in training even then. You didn’t waste any time at all, being as quick and efficient as you could while working on him. But even if all your training told you to also keep your mind on the mission at hand, you’d still felt that warmth in you.

The intimacy was practical, professional. But it still had its effect as you’d run your fingers across his abdomen to finish securing the bandage. You felt him tremble just for the slightest moment, and then it was over. His shirt was back down and he was standing again.

He’d only muttered a quick “Thank you,” as you’d both headed for the roof to execute his plan.

And still only being teenagers then, the clumsiness of your yelling and waving to attract the villain’s attention again would be something you’d both have been embarrassed about now. But at the time, you’d really both done rather well considering your low experience levels.

That villain of course hadn’t been the only villain that night. The main heroes had had their hands full with the other, stronger one at the heart of downtown. This one had been more like the sidekick really, just trying to keep on the outskirts to run interference and keep even more heroes from joining the fray for his boss.

He’d picked off Shota earlier he thought, so he was easy to get worked up when he realized Aizawa was now back for more.

But that villain had drawn his power from the difference of electrical charges in the air. Obviously then at an even greater advantage over the two of you with the thunderstorm above. But the trick had only been avoiding his electrical blasts, but drawing the light energy from them enough times to eventually surprise him with a big enough blast in return.

There’d been a few miscues of course, as well as you using your shielding to protect Shota all the while trying not to get hit either before you could finally land that big enough return hit to stun the villain. Then Shota binding him up in his scarf like weapon and removing the enemy’s quirk long enough to deliver a decisive knockout kick to the villain’s head.

It was your first ever victory as a team.

—————————————

And it’d been a bit of a whirlwind afterward. The congratulations and acknowledgement from your respective heroes for the small, but positive role you had both played of course. But more personally for you, you had owed so much to one of Shota’s best friends you had met immediately in the hustle and bustle afterward.

Oboro Shirakumo, otherwise known as Loud Cloud had been there immediately, ecstatic to hear the story of Shota’s and your success. His extroverted and effervescent personality such a direct opposite to Aizawa’s quiet nature. But Oboro had been the one seemingly so excited to learn you were from the United States as well.

He’d insisted that he, Shota, and their fellow UA student and other best friend, Hizashi Yamada (codename Present Mic) show you the real young hero life in Japan before you would leave again in the coming weeks.

Without Oboro’s intervention, there was likely no way otherwise you would have gotten to see the shy Aizawa so many times again after that night.

As a group the four of you had gone to malls, out to eat, and to see the touristy sights you likely never would have gone to alone. They didn’t even make fun of your bad Japanese, well not seriously anyway. Hizashi did a few times, but in a way that had you laughing with him as he teasingly walked you through a few pronunciations you’d butchered yet again.

On your last night in Japan, you’d been feeling a little sad really though as you’d wished you had gotten to speak to Shota a little more one on one. Even though he’d accompanied you all on your excursions together in those few weeks, you still had noticed how little he really talked and how often he seemed to always be looking away from you.

In the end you just had to think you were being silly for the way you’d felt in the stairwell with him briefly that night and how often you’d thought of him ever since. You’d probably never see him again you knew.

That night though you’d all gone to a park together that met the beach and ocean. Oboro was insistent that you needed to see the view of the sea there before you flew back to the United States the next morning.

Oboro had made one of his clouds, taking just the two of you up high into the air. As Shota and Hizashi still on the ground grew smaller and smaller, you did look away to the horizon and the starlit ocean beyond. It was beautiful of course.

But what Oboro said next, made you forget all about that view entirely.

“He likes you you know. He just doesn’t know what to do about it.” The blue haired boy said as if it was as simple a truth as saying the sun would come up tomorrow.

Your head turned immediately, just to see Oboro smiling at you in an almost conspiring way. “And you feel the same don’t you?” He asked you. “You look at him the same way he looks at you.”

“He doesn’t look at me!” You blurted, stupidly protesting as if your stomach wasn’t already trying to tie itself into a knot.

But Oboro just laughed, that genuine, happy one you’d heard from him so many times already. “Well he knows what to do with his eyes doesn’t he? He has practice. Of course he doesn’t let you catch him staring!”

So many emotions ran through you at once then. Embarrassment at your naivety, sadness that you still had to be leaving the country regardless, shock that this could even be true, and….frustration that you would just be being told now!?

“I’m leaving tomorrow, Oboro. Why would you even tell me this now!?” You asked somewhat desperately, but still keeping your voice down in your escalating panic.

He raised his hands innocently, yet unafraid of you either way. “Hizashi and I have been encouraging him as much as we could to speak up, but Shota is like those stories where an unstoppable force meets an immovable object…but in this story both are Shota!”

You stared, the absurdity only mounting at his words.

He chuckled, looking a little embarrassed then. “He’s quite stubborn is what I mean? And he says it’s pointless because you’ll be thousands of miles away. And I said that’s what phones, email, and video calling are for! Of course conversation is not one of his better skills…”

“Oh, man” You sighed, yet trying to think in your nervousness. “Did he send you to tell me all this? Or does he even know we’re having this conversation right now?”

The boy just shook his head. “He didn’t tell me to, and I didn’t ask his permission, no. He would have only told me not to. But sometimes heroes have to do what heroes have to do, right?” A kind look overtook his face again. “I want to see him smile sometime. He actually has a nice smile you know. I think I’ve seen it all of twice,” Oboro joked.

And it was true, it’s not like Shota was cruel or anything. But he didn’t smile, he didn’t laugh. It was like he was always afraid to perhaps. You weren’t really sure yet. You hadn’t known him long enough. But surely Oboro and Hizashi had. You should at least be able to trust that they had made a correct assessment of their friend’s feelings.

“Well…” You hesitated. “If I told him I wanted to stay in contact…do you think he’d actually call or write me?” You looked at Oboro imploringly, unsure if it would hurt more to try this and be rejected later anyway if you still never heard from him again.

“I can only promise you that we’ll try to keep him from screwing up if it’s only his fear that’s holding him back. We all have to overcome fear in one way or another if we’re going to be pros one day.” He smirked then, before looking a little more boastful. “You know, when Shota, Hizashi, and I graduate, we’re going to start our own hero agency. I’m sure by then if you wanted to come and do some more work in Japan, we could make a space for you too. I’d be a bad manager to turn down foreign talent you know.”

He did seem so sincere, you couldn’t help but smile back at him. “I’ll talk to Shota. But, whatever happens, thank you for trying to help either way.”

Oboro gave an exaggerated thumbs up with, what honestly you were guessing was his best imitation of an All Might type grin. “Of course! Plus Ultra! Always!”

———————————

It was something how quickly Oboro and Hizashi got themselves out of sight, now just you and Shota on the beach together. Yet you suspected they may still be in earshot somewhere in the distance. No doubt painfully curious of how this would go and silently cheering their best friend on.

At first you were afraid that Shota was angry actually, the way he’d visibly bristled, shooting his friends’ quite unhappy stares before they’d left as he fully realized what was about to happen.

But he didn’t ignore you, nor did he look away from you this time as you got closer to hopefully speak a little more privately. “I’m sorry if this is…weird.” You started awkwardly. “But I don’t think you should be too hard on your friends either. It’s obvious they really care about you.”

Your foot was kind of shifting in the sand. Nervousness still flowing freely as you just kept on. “But I’d still like to hear it from you…if you’re wanting to keep in touch. If you want to get to know me better, I’d like that…so…um-” Ah, this would be awful at any time, but stumbling over words you’d only recently learned made it all the worse. “So is it true, Shota? Do you want to keep talking after I’m back home…maybe I can come back again though…I’d like to see you again…I really would.”

He was silent at first, but he was clearly listening. Intently, as if analyzing your every movement, your every word.

But it was painful how long you had to wait for a response. Surely it wasn’t really as long as it felt though before he finally responded. His voice surprisingly even, almost emotionless?

“You’ll be a successful hero if you keep to your studies and training. I find it unlikely that you wouldn’t be able to start at any agency of your choosing in the United States once you graduate.”

A huge compliment to be sure, as you stared at him in surprise. But what did that have to do with the subject at hand? Was he trying to avoid your questioning entirely?

Yet his eyebrows lowered before you could interrupt as he kept on. “So I don’t understand why you would ever want to come back to Japan longterm where your reputation would have to be built back up again just to get equivalent job offers to what you could attain already in the US. The one instance with capturing the villain at that apartment complex isn’t enough for top placement at the agencies here in Japan. Especially without UA accreditation on your record. You would be putting yourself at a disadvantage to be here. It would be a mistake for your career.”

You could swear you almost heard a groan from somewhere in the distance. If you’d put your goggles on now, you were sure you’d probably see Oboro and Hizashi hanging on every word, wherever they were hiding to eavesdrop in the dark.

But your brain was also quite busy trying to digest the most words you’d ever heard from Shota at one time. Was this his excuse to reject you more lightly? To say he was only thinking of your career?

Of course he was under no obligation to feel anything for you. You knew there were certainly those with more powerful or interesting quirks than your own, or people more physically attractive. You weren’t anything amazing in your own mind compared to all the potential superstars you interacted with on a daily basis back home.

Yet if he didn’t feel how you did, you wanted to hear it outright instead of buried in a confusing way like this, and you couldn’t help but admit so then. “So you think I shouldn’t ever want to date you because it could make me spend too much time in Japan and not become as famous as I could have been otherwise? Nice that you assume working at a top tier agency is the only thing I would care about for my future….”

Perhaps you did come across a little harsher than you intended, but the way his normally tired looking eyes suddenly widened in shock had you realizing you had definitely brought some sort of emotion out of him at last with those words.

“You…wanted to…date me?” He uttered the words as if he never would have expected that combination of syllables to ever leave his mouth.

Well, you never would have been so forward if you didn’t feel he forced your hand with that strange insinuation of saying your personal choices should all be tied to a need for future fame and fortune.

You put one hand on your hip, trying not to sound as dumb as he was making you feel in this moment. “Well, not like tomorrow or anything. We’d need to get to know each other some more of course. But yes, I thought about it a lot these last few weeks. But if you didn’t like me like that, then friends is fine. I was hoping that was what we were going to talk about here. If you…liked me like that or not.”

Oh Lord, was this high school like it should be or was this elementary playground kind of drama? You didn’t have enough experience to be any more adult about this. But it was a yes or no type of question wasn’t it? Either he felt some sort of interest and attraction like you did, or he didn’t. You just needed to know.

“I…think you’re talented. And capable.” He said, like it was taking so much just to do this.

It was maddening somehow though. Could he not just say he felt nothing if that was the case? Was he so afraid of hurting your feelings? But honestly, he didn’t seem the type to ever mince words either. “Shota…” You tried. “You know you don’t have to worry about sparing my feelings. All you have to say is that you’re not interested. I’m not some delicate flower.”

Yet, you were starting to feel guilty yourself. Maybe this was all wrong, trying to force him out of his comfort zone too much. You should just take a hint right?

When he still said nothing more, your stomach finally sank as you stepped back from him a little again. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to know the truth, so I didn’t have to worry wondering later. If I’m not your type that’s okay. I appreciate you taking the time to try and talk to me like this.”

Oboro must have been wrong. That was all it could be. His friends had seen something that wasn’t there, and then pushed it this far in a sincere, but misguided attempt to help their friend.

But the let down still hurt. In the span of a short time, Oboro had gotten your hopes up and then they’d crashed down again. You’d been able to admit your feelings to Shota, just for it to end up as one sided.

Or so you thought.

You started to walk away, not wanting to be further embarrassed if the disappointment in your face had really started to show.

But you froze as soon as you felt his shockingly quick hand grab around your wrist. The memory of you doing the same to him in the apartment complex flashed through your mind.

“I didn’t say you weren’t my type…not that I’ve had a type before.” He spoke, but not in his usual even tone as you looked back at him.

And that was likely the very first time you’d ever seen a little bit of fear in his expression. He was still holding your wrist tightly, but it was like he didn’t know what else to say. He didn’t know how to express whatever it was that he was really thinking.

“Eraser really is that bad at this! Just run with it, (Y/N)!” Hizashi’s voice boomed in the distance even if he was only partially using his quirk. The vibration startling you both as Shota immediately shot a death glare in that direction, his hair levitating as he activated his quirk as if trying to lock on to Present Mic even in the dark.

And you couldn’t help it then, slipping your wrist out of Shota’s grip at his distraction, but just as quickly clasping your hand warmly around his own instead as you used your quirk to absorb some of the ambient starlight. It created a dark spot on the beach between the two of you and the others, just enough that Oboro and Hizashi would no longer be able to see. Though Shota would still be able to see you as you chose to take a risk, leaning in enough to kiss his pale cheek.

His hair fell back down at that very personal touch, the red glow also leaving his eyes as he looked back to you.

But you couldn’t read him then. You weren’t sure at all what would happen.

Yet he was still human wasn’t he? Even as stoic and calculating of a person as you’d ever met, he was still human, and still young then with that touch of recklessness you all had deep down.

And when you felt his lips touch yours not long afterward, it was as clumsy as could be expected for teenagers. But you didn’t care at all as you easily returned the kiss.

You knew immediately then that you would be coming back to Japan as soon as you could. Your goal was still to be a pro hero, but it didn’t really matter where.

A true hero’s spirit came from the heart. And if your heart ended up in Japan…who were you to tell it no?

———————————

(End for now. ❤️ I will likely write more of this pairing, but not sure of how soon. Thank you for reading!)

#shota aizawa #shouta aizawa #shota aizawa x reader #shouta aizawa x reader #shouta aizawa x you #shota aizawa x you #shouta x reader #eraser head #shouta x you #eraserhead #shouta x y/n #eraser head x reader #eraser head x you #my hero fanfic #my hero x reader #my hero academy fanfiction #my hero academia #my hero imagines

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dr3amofagame · 3 years

Note

hey pspsps i found this thing n twitter and i cant get it out of my head,, so dreams escape right? and sapnap said that he'd be the one who'd take dreams last life rgiht? so imagine if he gets ant, bad and george and tells them "its the final manhunt" (:

im ngl the name of this on my document was “the final manhunt *offkey kazoo*”

with that, have some good ol’ post-prison c!dream angst! probably not exactly what you asked for, but i hope you like it anyway :D

tw: implied torture, abuse, dark portrayals of c!sam and c!quackity, suicide/suicide implications, panic attacks, emotional distress, emotional instability, death threats, violence, flashbacks, pandora’s vault/prison arc

When Dream escapes the prison, he is a frothing thing of spite and rage, one part human and ninety-nine parts determination simmered and condensed over high heat; there is anger and then there’s this, the fire that leaps to his eyes and the shaking shreds of a battered heart he holds close to his chest and refuses to let anyone close enough to see. He moves and the server moves with him, tugged along by his iron will and sweat-slick desperation, joining in the brilliant blue whirl of a diamond axe swung recklessly and slammed into the dirt, an aimless fury following each formless drive of the blade into grass and gravel. The air sings danger and the air sings wrong and every step closer brings a ringing scream of away away go away that dances like static electricity against their skin.

Puffy follows, cutlass strapped to her hip and hair tucked messily beneath the rim of her cornet as the group advances - someone had alerted over comms about seeing the escaped prisoner in this direction, and they’d all jumped forward in the hopes that the weeks-long manhunt could finally be ended. Sapnap leads the way, headband whipping behind him as he strides forward, jaw clenched in fierce determination; George brings up the rear, bow in hand, a full quiver of arrows strapped to his back. Puffy’s running alongside Sam, who has been strangely tight-lipped the entire time Dream has been gone, firm in his insistence that the prisoner be detained but saying little else - it’s something that she would pry at, usually, but her head is filled with half-formed regrets and fears and a bubbling undercurrent of anger she’s afraid will come loose if she opens her mouth, so she stays silent as they run ever forward.

Sapnap yells, and her head snaps up - there, in the tall grass of a plains biome lies a flash of orange that must be Dream. The hunters around her speed up and she strains to follow; the other three are clearly experienced, easily falling into step with each other as she scrambles to keep up. Dream’s head snaps over towards them and he begins to sprint, cutting a line through the yellow field as they race to follow. She’s not seen him since the prison break, has only heard the whispers- an orange clothed monster, all bones and skin and uncaged fury, a diamond axe heaved in his arms slamming against anything that comes too close. It’s hard to rationalize this untamed, unrefined dash to the unwavering calm that she had always associated with his style of fighting, his movements much more like the life-or-death escape of a hunted rabbit than any hunter’s dog. It’s hard to rationalize this Dream with the one she knows- but well, she’s gotten used to that.

It took her far too long to admit, but she’s come to realize that she doesn’t quite know Dream at all.

He leads them forward to the shorter grass and harsher dips and planes of a savannah, the sun beating down in slanting heat against the backs of their necks. The ground they’re standing on begins to shatter into steep cliffs and jagged mountains, rough edges of stone climbing into the sky all around them. Sapnap curses, shading his eyes against the sun.

“He’s going up there,” he says, and George sends arrows flying towards the orange dot blurring across the steep face of a nearby mountain. Sam grumbles as Puffy strains to catch sight of him, watching his scrambling movements up the cliff face to the top.

“Then we follow,” he says, pulling a stack of ender pearls from his inventory. “Each person take a few. We’re too close to lose him now.”

The climb is anything but pleasant, the sun right overhead and making sweat gather at her hairline and drip down her face. Even as a sheep hybrid, she struggles to keep pace with the other hunters as they race over thin paths of granite and clamber up near-vertical faces of stone with little problem, clearly practiced as they follow Dream without breaking their sprint. The rock gives way to dirt and tufts of short-shorn grass and Sapnap’s eyes flash.

“Be careful,” he says, looking straight at her. “He’s cornered - that’s when he does risky shit without thinking about the consequences. He knows you’re the least experienced here and there’s a good chance that he’s going to charge you. If that happens, hold your shield and just block. We’ll handle him from there.”

She swallows back the spark of indignation that rises at his words, a bitter scream that they only see her as a liability dying out as she reminds herself that these three had hunted Dream professionally before, had struggled even with two more at their sides. The caution is far from unwarranted.

“I understand.”

Sapnap nods tersely and looks to the other two with a hand movement that she doesn’t understand. The other two immediately start moving, Sam moving to the front, George nocking an arrow as he takes his place at the rear - they’re still shielding her, she realizes with a small spike of annoyance again, shaking her head and drawing her own cutlass as Sapnap leads the way for them to swing up onto the top of the mountain.

It takes her a moment to adjust; the wind, unhindered by the cliffs that had been shielding them seconds before, whips at her face and draws tears to her eyes, makes her hair fly wildly into her face. Through narrowed eyes, she watches as the figure on the other side of the mountaintop scrambles backwards, diamond axe braced in front of him as he backs to the opposite edge.

“Dream,” Sapnap calls, voice deadly calm. “You’re cornered. Stand down.”

Dream shakes his head, lips curling in a wordless snarl. The sound is desperate, almost inhuman, making Puffy’s hair stand on end. As her vision clears, she stops dead in her tracks despite herself - Dream looks awful. She’d expected him to look disheveled after his escape, hadn’t expected much comfort in his stay in the Vault, but the way he looks, now, hollow eyes and gaunt cheeks and skinny, shaking limbs that only barely seem to be able to hold up his weight, bandages covering every visible inch of skin, wrapped messily around his right arm as if done by one hand - she reaches forward unconsciously and Dream flinches back.

“Don’t-” his voice rasps, cracks, falls in on itself as he wets his lips to try and speak again. “Don’t come closer.”

“Prisoner,” Sam growls, stepping forward, and he turns those wild, fever-bright eyes towards the creeper hybrid, flailing backwards and knuckles white from the grip on his axe. His breathing visibly hitches, head whipping back and forth.

“Don’t come closer,” he hisses again, stepping back, and Puffy stills.

“Sam-” she grabs his sleeve. “Sam- don’t. He’s at the edge.”

Dream’s gaze swings to her, and her heart stutters at the uncaged, obvious fear raging in his eyes. He’s backed to the very back edge of the mountain they’re standing on, left foot halfway off, sending dirt skidding over and off of the cliff down down down to the ground hundreds of feet below. The three hunters stop, muscles tensed, and Dream bares his teeth at them but doesn’t back away further.

His shoulders sag as they stand, stagnant, each huddled on their own side of the mountaintop. His gaze is venomous, green eyes burning even in the glaring light of the sun, flicking warily between their faces as he holds the axe between them.

“So you came,” his voice is tight, a slight tremble pulling at the end despite his seeming bravado. “Here to finish the job, huh?”

Sapnap pulls back his shoulders. “I made a promise, Dream.”

Dream laughs, bitter. His left hand releases on the axe handle to come to his chest, grabbing at his right, looking almost like he’s trying to hold himself. His laughter tapers off into something weak and wrecked, and the sound makes Puffy’s heart clench uncomfortably in her chest.

“Figures you’d keep that one,” his head tips up, looking Sapnap in the eye. “What- did your fiance give up? The revive book not worth the effort anymore?”

Sapnap hisses. “Don’t bring Karl into this-”

“Karl?” Dream’s eyes flash, grip tightening on his upper arm. “No- what? Why-”

“Dream.” Sam’s voice is low, something dark buzzing behind his tone, “Don’t-”

Puffy interrupts him with a hand to his shoulder, stepping forward and freezing mid-step when Dream’s head whips to her, eyes widening and foot scraping against the edge of the cliff again.

“Sapnap, Sam, let him talk,” she levels her gaze at Dream, trying to pick out the emotions warring behind those brilliant green eyes. “Not Karl- you’re talking about Quackity then, right?”

Sam hisses, “Puffy, I don’t think this is a good idea-”

Dream laughs.

The sound is grating, awful, making her hands come to her ears. It rips through skin, wraps around bone, seeps into marrow - he’s laughing, axe disappearing into his inventory so he can clutch his face with both hands, the loose sleeves of his prison uniform falling to his elbows to reveal the bandages wrapping all the way up his forearms and disappearing further under the fabric. In front of her, Sapnap falters, grip on his sword loosening; George steps back, eyebrows wrinkled, bow lowering. Dream laughs like the world is ending, and some cold, hardened thing in her chest shatters at the sound.

“You know,” his hands claw at his hair, wrapping around the strands and pulling, “You know you know you know- you have to know. How-” He shakes his head, tugging at his hair harshly and making Puffy wince at the sight, “Don’t- don’t play stupid here.”

“Know what?” George reaches forward, hands empty, palms up like he’s approaching an injured dog. From the way Dream snaps at the sound, hackles raised and teeth bared, he might as well be one. “Dream, what are you talking about?”

Sapnap looks stricken, still, face clouded in a way that Puffy can’t decipher. “Q- don’t play your mind games here, Dream,” despite his words, he sounds uncertain. Puffy hasn’t seen Quackity around for a while, had thought that he was staying at Sapnap and Karl’s new place. From the way Sapnap’s eyes have darkened, it looks like she assumed wrong. “Quackity hasn’t even been around, what does he have to do with any of this?”

Dream shakes his head again, seemingly stuck in his own head, barely even responding to their words. “You know- you know you know you know- Sam knows- you-” His breath hitches, chest heaving, and Puffy blinks. He’s having a panic attack, a clinical, much more calm part of her says as Dream seems to collapse in on himself. “You know. You have to know he wouldn’t- nobody came if you didn’t know then why didn’t you come if you didn’t know then why did Sam let him in you know you know you know-”

“Sam?” George turns to Sam, hands curling into fists and then uncurling again and again, “Do you know what he’s talking about?”

Sam’s expression is unreadable, ignoring George as he looks back at Dream. “Prisoner,” and has he called him by his name, yet? “Come with us calmly and your punishment will be lightened. There’s nowhere to run. Give up.”

Dream keens, a high-pitched whine exiting his lungs, “I won’t- I won’t tell,” his voice cracks, tears clearly running down his cheeks, “I won’t tell you Quackity I won’t-”

“Sam,” Puffy turns to the hybrid. “I think you should go.”

“Puffy-”

“He’s having a panic attack, Sam. He’s hardly going to do anything.” She levels a glare at him, sheathing her cutlass at her side. “I’m perfectly capable of defending myself, and I’ve promised to help anyone having a mental health crisis on the server.” Something dark and traitorous whispers how she’d given up on Dream before, and she pushes it down.

“He’s a danger to everyone on the server.”

“Sam- he’s not fucking breathing right now on the edge of a cliff. He’s not a danger to anyone but himself.”

“She’s right, Sam,” Puffy’s head snaps to George. He’s looking at her, expression hidden behind his glasses, lips pressed together in a small frown. “Puffy, we’ll be waiting. You or Sapnap call if you need back-up.”

She nods tersely, watches as Sam gives in and follows George down the mountain, the hybrid’s red eyes still staring at Dream as he leaves. Sapnap seems distracted, hardly acknowledging their exchange with his eyes fixed on Dream’s crumpled form, emotions clearly warring over his face, and Puffy brushes past him to get to her patient- Dream.

“Dream,” she speaks, not moving forward when his shoulders seize. “Dream, I won’t move closer unless you want me to,” she enunciates the words clearly, watching his face for any flash of recognition or understanding. He shakes his head minutely at her words, arms trembling, but he doesn’t move closer to the edge. “Can you hear me?”

He nods jerkily, and she smooths the palms of her hands on her pants, trying to calm the race of her heart in her chest.

“Good, very good,” years of training, habit, flood her head, pushing away the buzzing unease and fear and tangled knot of dark feelings that linger every time she sees Dream’s face, “I need you to breathe for me, okay? We’re going to inhale for four- there you go,” she counts, watching the shuddering movement of his chest as he struggles to replicate her movements, “Very good, hold for four, there you go- you’ve got this-”

Slowly, painfully, the rattle of his lungs in his chest becomes something quieter, more manageable, no longer rising and falling in desperate arrhythmic wheezes that make her chest hurt in sympathy. She’s still kneeling there, hands palms-up when he looks up at her, eyes wide, a degree of lucidity having returned to them, and for a moment a flash of fear stabs through her heart.

She swallows it down, pulling forward every ounce of professionalism she can muster. “Dream,” she keeps her voice low and soft, biting her lip at the way he freezes, again, at the call of his name. “Dream, can you step away from the edge?”

His hands clutch at the line of grass and dirt that make up the sod overhang, knuckles white. His eyes keep staring in hers, wide and wet and green, and she shushes him softly under her breath.

“It’s ok, take your time,” she breathes, watching as his hand inches forward bit by bit, gaze still fixed on her face, “It’s okay, Duckling.”

She blinks, and there’s a whirl of orange flying towards her chest; Sapnap shouts behind her, and panic blooms in her head too quickly for her to pick out anything but a desperate little oh god I’m going to die-

The blow never comes.

Instead, she looks down, heart in her throat, at a sobbing, shaking lump pressed against her chest, head buried in the crook over her neck as dirty, tangled hair falls in waves over her shoulder. She freezes, watching as his shoulders shake, hands tangled in her shirt sleeve, barely able to hear the words he’s saying over his wails and her heart thudding in her ears.

“Please don’t bring me back,” he pleads, voice cracking, “Please- please I don’t wanna go back please tell Sapnap to make it quick please I can’t go through another Quackity visit please Puffy don’t let them send me back-”

“Dream-”

“I’ll- I won’t fight, I pr’mise, Sapnap can keep his promise it’s okay I won’t fight anymore I’m-” he keens, high-pitched and mangled, into her shoulder, “I’m so tired Puffy.”

“Duckling,”

“Don’ make me go back, please.”

Puffy pulls him back, presses her hand on his cheek, murmuring softly. And- maybe she shouldn’t be doing this, maybe Dream’s a danger just like Sam said, maybe she’ll come to regret helping him the same way she had before - but right now he’s in pain and he’s crying and he’s closer than he’s been in so, so long and all she can see is her duckling, hurting, her duckling, home.

“Dream,” she brushes her thumb against his cheek, smooths a lock of hair behind his ear. “What happened in there?”

And he begins to speak.

#tw torture #tw abuse #c!quackity critical #c!sam critical #not really for either but they are portrayed dark #tw suicide #tw suicidal thoughts #tw panic attack #tw emotional distress #tw emotional instability #tw death threats #tw violence #tw flashbacks #long post #my writing :D #my asks !!

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ddarker-dreams · 3 years

Note

Hello! I really REALLY like your writing!! I keep coming back to re-read them. This is the first time I've sent an ask/ request on tumblr 😅 So what would Yan!Childe do with a darling who is equally competitive as him but only sees him as a sparring partner and nothing more? It doesn't faze darling that he's a fatui or a harbinger. Just a strong opponent to defeat. Thank you and stay safe! <3

Warnings: Blood mention, slight suggestive implications, and unhealthy yandere themes. Note: i’m working on some stuff so this felt like a perfect writing warmup opportunity!! i styled it as an interaction, i hope you don’t mind. thank you for enjoying my writing ahhh <33 knowing you come back to reread it makes me happy! 💖

You learn a lot about someone from how they fight.

In fact, you’d go so far as to say you don’t truly know a person until you’ve seen them in action, their life on the line. Do they fight with honor? Holding their word until they draw their final breath? Or are they more of a trickster, abusing every opening that comes their way, for the sake of winning?

Tartaglia, the 11th of the Eleven Fatui Harbingers, is an entirely new category of his own design.

He looks up at you, tousled hair obscuring his wicked eyes. When you dare gaze into them, you don’t see anything resembling human warmth, only pure excitement. The thrill of battle. The pleasure of risking your all for an adrenaline rush. Your chest is heaving for air, but he’s in far worse shape, no matter how hard he tries to hide it with forced nonchalance. The tip of your blade hovers threateningly over his pounding heart.

“Tell me,” you manage in between strained pants, “Why are you such a plague on my life?”

Childe smiles sweetly and you tighten your grip on the hilt of your blade.

“Why, you ask?” He muses, as if the thought had never occurred to him until now. Your eyes narrow. Threateningly, you ease your blade forward, the tip just scraping his glistening skin. Childe doesn’t so much as flinch at your unspoken challenge. Instead, he bites his bottom lip to contain himself, pupils dilating.

His gloved hand lashes out, palm wrapping around your blade to prevent it from inflicting a mortal wound.

“I wanted to see you just like this,” he shivers at your bewildered expression, drinking it in like you were the finest piece of art to ever exist. “I never understood why you’d hold back in our little spats… so, I thought to myself, why not give you some extra motivation?”

Your lips part, fully intending on demanding a better explanation than that, but the chance never comes. Childe takes advantage of your stupefied state to change the tides. He lifts his legs in a flash, securing them around your neck, then slams you onto the ground with unrivaled force. You reach for your weapon out of instinct, only for him to hold your wrists above your head in a tight grip.

Childe holds you down using his own body weight, surprisingly heavy for how lithe his figure appears.

He examines the open wound on his hand with keen interest. “How worth it all that effort was! You’ve given me quite a thrill. It’s been a long time since my heart has beat this fast.”

You shiver when his inhumane eyes flicker from the cut on his hand back to you, glaring up at him with all your strength. The more you struggle the more energy you’ll lose, you reason, so you decide to wait for an opening as he did. In terms of raw physical strength, you’re unfortunately at a disadvantage.

“Now,” he runs the tip of his tongue over the cut, maintaining eye contact as he does so. “Surrender, and well… I promise I’ll be a little gentle.”

#childe x reader #childe #yandere childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #yandere tartaglia x reader #tartaglia #genshin impact #genshin impact imagine #genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere #yandere x reader #my stuff #answered #Anonymous

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youryanderedaddy · 3 years

Text

Honey dripping

Yandere! Jumin Han x reader

tw: nsfw, murder, non-con, dub-con, mentions of cheating, mentions of blood, slight sugar daddy vibe, dirty talk, degradation, mention of threats

Summary: Your boyfriend provides everything for you and the only thing he expects in return is your love and loyalty. So of course when you fail to give him that, he gets a little angry.

It was useless - all your struggling and pained little pants. Nothing could stop the brutality unfolding before your eyes, glossy with tears. They were red and sore from the crying, but your despair wasn’t enough to melt his cold black heart. You knew that it was your fault and now someone had to pay the price. You couldn’t deny it, not when it was obvious to the outside gaze exactly what had happened while your loving caretaker was away, working hard to support you and give you anything your heart desired. The bed was messy with the white sheets all crumbled and the smell of adultery in the air still heavy and thick. No pretty words and sweet talking could get you out of the sticky situation this time around.

“Please, tell them to stop!” You whispered, looking at Jumin with the big doe eyes you used when you wanted something to go your way. You even gently touched his hand, trying to wrap your fingers around his to calm him down, only to be met with a cold empty stare of disgust in return. It pierced through your heart like a thousand sharp arrows and your throat tightened in fear as you watched the bussinessman’s bodyguards beat your lover into a sweaty mess of flesh, snot and blood, weeping on the floor. The poor unfortunate soul was two punches away from the afterlife and there was no one to blame, but yourself. Shivers ran through your body from the cold and you realized you were still half - naked, the only thing protecting your most intimate parts being the oversized shirt of the dying man. Jumin glared at you for a long moment, studying the soft features of your delicate face before making an important decision.

“Kill him.” He finally ordered, voice monotone and unbothered by the inhuman whim. With a quick snap of his slender fingers the CEO-in-line had your paramour lifeless, dead on the ground. It happened so fast you found it hard to process down the murder, despite seeing clearly the unmoving figure and all the red sticky liquid he was drowned in. A hard lump stuck at the back of your throat, making it hard to swallow or even breathe, but the panic rising in your chest went unnoticed by Jumin, who was ready to turn his full attention to you, pining you with his cruel gray eyes. “I thought you were different.” He started off slowly, moving closer to you. “You were always so sweet and innocent I almost fell for your little tricks.” The man smiled bitterly, the sadness reflecting in his pupils as he took another step towards you. Now you could feel his big hands grabbing at your hips, drawing you in, and his hot breath on your neck - but he didn’t bite just yet. “I should have known better, that’s on me. After all you are just like those women who use my father for his money and status.” He whispered into your ear as he dig his nails deep into you bare thighs, squizing the naked flesh roughly. “You may be a cheap lying whore, but I still love you.” The bussinessman scratched at the vulnerable skin on your lower body before placing a small wet kiss on your collarbone. “I have invested so much in you, darling, but you seem to have forgotten that.” Jumin finally raised his head, smashing his lips onto yours, pushing his tongue all the way in, leaving you breathing hard and brushing off the saliva running down your chin. “I will teach you what happens when you forget your place, kitten.”

WIth that the man dragged you towards the unmade bed, a harsh reminder of your betrayal, and despite all your squirming and pulling away, begging him to let you go, soon he had you pinned onto the mattress with your wrists trapped beneath his. The director wasted no time in ripping apart the clothing, soaked with the smell of another man. The swift aggressive move left you fully exposed and bare in front of the hungry lustful monster, the fear and andrenaline in your veins turning everything into a hazy mess of ugly emotions and silent sobs. You tried to close your legs, but the attempts to cover yourself were fruitless as the rich man simply tied your thighs, spreading you all to himself. Jumin couldn’t help running a finger up your slit, circling the small sensitive bud in the center until he felt your walls clench around his forefinger, and eventually it came out wet.

“How interesting.” The director stated, smirking with malice. “I thought you didn’t love me anymore, but your body is pointing otherwise.” You whimpered at his words, but your body gave you away as your hips rocked in the air in hopes of finding more stimulation. “I just killed your lover and your wet little pussy still wants me to fill it up, kitten.” Jumin started undoing his belt, taking out his member, hard at the sight of you so open and flustered, ripe for the taking. With one hand he groped your breast, messaging it gently, pulling slightly at the stiff raspberry tip, while the other kept fingering you in a steady pace.

“J-jumin!” You cried out in pleasure despite your best efforts to stay quiet while he played with your body like it was just another one of his possessions. It was humiliating, infuriating even, but there was nothing you could do except lay there and take it like a good little doll. You couln’t even fight off the moans coming out of your scarlet lips because his touch felt so good in such a wrong way. “Please, I am sorry! D-don’t do this to me.” You sobbed, letting the logical part of your brain speak as your cunt twitched in the upcoming orgasm that soon washed over you in one powerful wave. It was painfully satisfiying and left you panting heavily, trying to catch your breath.

“You want me to stop?” The bussinessman suddenly pushed the head of his throbbing member into your entrance, but stopped to look you straight in the eyes. There was no sight of defiance in them, only guilt and desperation - and to him you were the prettiest when needy, broken down and obedient for him. The tears were streaming down your face leaving a salty red trace on your puffy cheeks, and he licked it, running his tongue slowly and teasingly on your hot skin. “If you hate it so much, then, perhaps, you won’t come all over my cock like a little slut, yeah?” Jumin replied huskily, sucking and biting at your neck until several lovebites in all shades of blue and purple were formed, like a collar. The man then forced his lenght into your responsive hole without giving you the time to get used to it properly. Your expression changed from pleasure to pain and you whimpered in agony while the CEO-in-line shoved himself mercilessly into your heat, hitting the overstimulated nervs over and over again. Despite the initial discomort and shock your body managed to relax under the rough treatment and after a few minutes you started to arch your back to meet the harsh punishing thrusts.

“Look at you.” He spoke out, the coldness in his voice piercing your skin while you watched the sweat cover his pitch black hair. “ You are moaning like a dumb little slut while I fuck you silly even though you should be fighting be off. ” The director squeezed your tits, rocking his hips faster and faster - he was very close. “And now I am going to blow my load into you and mark you as mine.” The bussinessman kept hitting your sweet spot, abusing the sensitive place with his manhood. “We will do it together, I will count. You are not allowed to come before me.” The man commanded sternly without losing speed or strenght, staring at you with an intense gaze filled with lust, obsession and adoration. “One, two...” He lowered himself onto your tight hole as he kissed you passionately, invading your mouth with his wet tongue. “Three.” Jumin thrusted lastly before releasing the white thick liquid into your pussy. “Cum for me, my love.” He whispered softly into your ear while playing with your hard nipples. “Cum while I fill you up with my seed.” The bussinessmen kept stirring you up, teasing you, until he felt your cunt clench down, throbbing with need. You finally orgasmed, throwing your head back during the high of the terribly delightful sensation. You closed your eyes - there was nothing left to do or say after the violation.

“Your punishment has come to its end now.” You heard his cold voice from far above you and it felt awfully distant but at this point you didn’t care. You just wanted to qucikly fall asleep and drift away to a different place. Somewhere warm and cozy where no one could hurt you. Unfortunately, his last sentence caught your attention. “But if you ever betray me again, I won’t be so loving anymore. What goes around comes around. Beware, darling.”

#male yandere x reader #yandere jumin x reader #yandere oneshot #yandere mystic messenger #yandere jumin han #yandere male x reader #yandere #yandere male #yandere fanfiction #yandere smut #yancore #yandere one shot #yandere prompt

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nintickleswitch · 3 years

Text

Yet Another Twist

A Magnus Archives tickle fic. Michael Distortion/Reader (gender neutral), typical Spiral mindfuckery, chasing, praise, CNC-ish (reader denies that they're into it until the very end). Inspired by the fact that there are no TMA avatar tickle fics aside from JonMartin fluff and boy do I want a giggly Spiral monster to wreck me!

A nuisance. Not how one would typically describe a spectre haunting their every step, always waiting around the corner to seize them and pull them into its nightmare dimension, but that's what Michael had become to you. His campaign of terror had started off well enough, at first a gradual flickering in the corner of your eye, tiny things to make you doubt whether your eyes were telling the truth. Then, as soon as your paranoia had ripened for harvesting, the door had appeared in your home.

There was nothing unusual about it. A perfectly plain, yellow door with paint peeling slightly from use. Except for the fact that... it wasn't there. It had never been there, and certainly had no cause to exist when it should have lead to a significant drop outside. Curiosity had killed the cat, but hadn't satisfaction brought it back? At least, that's what you thought when your hand began to turn the knob, a dire sensation tugging at you to stop, turn around and run from there until your thighs were aching and lungs were burning before anything happened to you. And then, he happened to you.

The creature that called itself Michael was the rippling, distorted shape that stalked the halls of that place lit only by stale, tinny yellow lights, where the ever changing wallpaper made you dizzy and the mirrors reflected that which scared you the most. It had preyed on your fear for the longest of times, leading you on endless chases through that evil maze of its until you found a mirror to smash, a door to fling yourself through to blessed freedom. You couldn't say when it dawned on you that it never truly intended to catch you, simply deceive you into thinking it was always getting closer and drinking in your panic like it was nectar. When you finally turned your back on it out of sheer spite, eyes ringed with dark circles from the sleepless nights he'd caused - that was when he became a pest.

Not that the frisson that traveled from your scalp through your spine disappeared when he actually spoke to you instead of simply laughing at your suffering, the words floating and dreamy through a haze of static, but you were capable of contending with him. The chases continued to be a part of your daily life, and you'd almost come to welcome them as somewhat of a break from the dullness of your work. Almost. What actually surprised you was the degree of interest it seemed to be taking in you. While he'd made it clear that there was no guarantee of your safety should you choose to repeat that little stunt, the display of bravery had surprised him. Clearly, it would take more creative methods to get you to crack. So began your twisted little relationship, punctuated by chats conversed entirely in riddles, the occasional drop in at work where you'd scramble to hide his intrusion and he'd simply laugh at your efforts, and of course, the thrill of the hunt.

It had been an overcast afternoon, where time flowed like molasses, thick and viscous. The tea in your cup had been swirling there for hours, hot steam curling in the air, rising in spite of the fact that it should have gone cold a long time ago. Why had you only now just noticed that fact? Your eyes darted to the couch across the room, and of course, there he was.

"Michael," you groaned in the voice of someone far too tired to deal with his petty shenanigans. "How long have you been sitting there already?"

High, clear laughter flowed easily from him, though you weren't even sure if he was moving his lips. It seemed to reverberate slightly, as if one track was layered atop the other, producing an unnerving effect.

"It can't have been that long, your coffee is still hot," it replied with a wry smile.

You looked down at your cup. Coffee... No, it was tea, and it must have been cold, not hot... Was it?

"Cut it out, Michael," you rolled your eyes at him, pushing away the illusory cup. "What do you want from me anyways?"

"You looked awfully glum today. I thought you could have used some cheering up."

His grin was ear to ear, never leaving him.

"If that's what you're after, let's start with stopping... Whatever you're doing right now, I don't like it."

The light headed feeling you didn't even realize was present had faded, and the cup was full of sad, cold tea once again. You almost felt worse for it, like he really had been trying to perk you up. A sigh left you.

"If you're looking to mess with me, I don't think you're going to get far."

"And why is that, I wonder," he spoke with a little less of that derisive edge, its grin softening into a closed smile - although it still stretched across his face. Since when did he care about how you felt? You gave it a vague shrug, not particularly interested in explaining the details of your mood, especially reluctant to admit that, well, you had been feeling lonely as of late. But you had no intentions to give him any more ground than he'd swept out from under your feet already.

"Tragic," it replied, putting sharp emphasis on the last syllable. Michael rose elegantly from the opposing couch, as if to take his leave. And he did appear to consider it, passing through the very same impossible door he entered through, the shade of yellow which you could never quite pinpoint... Until you heard the familiar creak of it behind you.

Quicker than a flash, its fingers curled around your chin, sharp and threatening despite the Cheshire grin that you could feel in your very bones. You dared not move, in spite of the shot of white hot panic passing through you. His lips brushed against your ear, at which you noticeably shuddered, producing another wave of dizzying laughter.

"I thought you might have appreciated my company~"

At this, he ran a long digit over the outer curvature of your ear, nails sharpened to inhuman proportions. To your utter horror, you were incapable of containing the burst of giggling the teasing provoked. It was something you tried to keep long out of reach of your conscious mind, a fact of your existence that had not been exploited for years and filled you with dread at the thought of Michael discovering: You were intractably, agonizingly ticklish. Immediately you tried to conceal the fright that flashed across your expression, but it was far too late. The air thickened, swirling around you, and you started to feel dizzy and light headed as your heart began to race. How much of this was Michael's doing, or simply your own anxiety at this discovery, was entirely your guess.

"Oh? What's this?"

His words buzzed around in your head, almost frenzied with excitement at all of the possibilities of what he could do to you. The blood drained from your face. There was no way you were giving him that satisfaction. Before it could tighten its grip around you, you broke away from the couch, racing towards the first exit you could find. Michael's laughter turned uproarious, keeping pace with you, hot on your heels. Fueled by instinct alone, you flung open the door to your apartment and tore through it, slamming it shut behind you as soon as you'd made it through. In the absence of rational thought, you'd forgotten that it had never been painted a sickly yellow.

Realizing your mistake, you whipped around to the door behind you, pounding on it, begging to be let out. You hadn't begged since the very beginning, but now you knew there was a dire consequence to being caught.

"Mercy?"

A high pitched voice came from just behind you, its hair draping over your shoulders. You froze.

"By now I thought you'd know better than to expect mercy from me~"

Your heart almost leapt from your throat as you pushed past it, the swipe of its claw missing you by centimeters. Running was pointless within its domain - well, not entirely. It made the meal of your fear just that much sweeter, but still you ran through the endless hallways with their swirling wallpaper, always changing colors, curving impossibly inwards. Giving him exactly what he wanted. Before long you felt your muscles begin to ache, faltering noticeably. The predator would inevitably outrun its prey... But it didn't have to. For in the far, far distance of the corridor you'd just ducked into was a shimmering mirage of what you could hardly call a person. Your fear was only compounded by the knowledge that if you looked back, the turn you took would be gone. All you could do was inch back, not daring to tear your eyes off the figure in the distance. Not realizing that it too was inching backwards, slowly, painfully twisting in the funhouse mirror, until it and you collided with your pursuer.

Letting out a surprised scream, you lurched forward, but only succeeded in falling to the floor, fingers sinking into the thick rug which curled and tightened around them, trapping you. The air buzzed and crackled, his soft curls spilling over your back as his triumphant laughter filled the space between you.

"It's not fair!"

You cried out to no avail, the anger in your voice noticeably cracking with your anticipatory smile.

"I would never be so cruel as to be fair to you," he replied, wiggling his fingers just barely over your skin. You couldn't see it happening, but the warm tingling in your nerves it produced made you fight even more desperately to keep composure.

"P-please, why are you doing this to me?!"

At this frantic question, it seemed to pause. Then, his form curled over yours, tracing your earlobe with his long tongue and sharp teeth, leaving faint imprints in the cartilage. At the same time, you could feel giant, raking claws drawing up the hem of your shirt from your hipbones to your ribs. And still you were pinned, with nowhere to go but down, down, down, hiding your burning blush and poorly concealed giggles in the softness of the carpet.

"I missed your laughter."

Came his reply, drunken on how soft and pliant, how sensitive you were.

"Well, I'm - I'm not going to give you any more of it!"

A defiant lie that the throat of delusion incarnate himself would have been proud of, had he not taken it as a challenge.

"Is that so..."

You suddenly became painfully aware of your bare midriff, its fingers inching closer towards your skin with each passing moment. Eyes widening, you did your utmost to writhe away from them, but the attempt made it all the more obvious how stuck you were, only able to watch as he... Struck in the blink of an eye, causing a loud squeal to erupt from you, skittering his nails across your tummy with careless abandon.

"Then what's this sweet melody," it teased, ignoring your cries of his name in the midst of shocked and horrified laughter. Incapable of replying, you twisted from side to side to escape if only for a second. Never had you remembered being this sensitive, feeling this vulnerable. He knew exactly how to get to you, a fact which you were reluctant to admit. Even as he tortured you, he drew gentle, swirling patterns on your soft skin, which seemed to make the ticklish sensation of applying them last even longer. No matter how much you smothered your face in the rug, your laughter rang loud and clear throughout the halls, which seemed to shiver in pleasure at your torment.

"It's - ahahahahahaha - fuhuhuck you!"

"Oh, you'd like to, wouldn't you," he smirked, idly drawing an inward spiral around your navel as if you weren't screaming already. "But I'm afraid you're not in the position for that."

"Shuhuhut up!"

"Besides, you seem to be enjoying yourself as you are right now," its other hand traced outwards, grazing your lower ribs, which made you buck away, and that sweet spot between your hip bones and your stomach. You violently wrenched from him this time, which did not go unnoticed by the now cackling Distortion, who seemed to have discovered a spot he was all too fond of.

"Of - of course not!"

Why did that sound so unconvincing, when every twitching nerve in your body agreed that you couldn't stand one more second of this?

"I don't believe you..."

He spoke in that light, sing-song voice of his, before he closed his grip over your hips and you shrieked as all ten claws, although it felt like so many more, dug in. Prodding, pinching, squeezing, anything that would let your laughter pour from you like the sweetest wine. You tried your utmost to cry out, to appeal to some non-existent sense of humanity for him to stop, but in that moment your mind couldn't even remember what words were. And some small, hidden corner of your mind that you refused to admit was present thanked your lucky stars for that.

"You've always been a terrible liar."

Much to your horror, you found that even one hand was enough to cover the frame of your hips, and the other was now free to busy itself on spidering the backs of your thighs, occasionally sampling the tender inner part. The mock pity in its tone electrified your skin, and with two of your absolute worst spots being tickled out of your wits, all you could do was scream and thrash at your inescapable fate.

"You're a teheheror, Michael!"

You finally cried out after what felt like centuries, moments before he did the last thing you would have expected - he stopped. As your chest heaved and sweat trickled down your forehead, attempting to regain what composure you had left, he leaned his elbows on your back, hands folded together in a languid pose.

"That's the point, dear."

The grin on his face had clearly grown wider.

"What did you call-"

Your angered sentence broke off near the end when you felt those sharp, heavy points settle down to rest on your ribcage. A string of repeated no's tumbled from your lips before it became a cacophony of giggling at their gradual, yet deliberate movement.

"I called you dear. Or would you have preferred darling - "

He gently plucked at your lower ribs like guitar strings, sending you into a fit of helpless, silent laughter.

"Sweetheart-"

You gasped for air, pinprick tears in the corners of your eyes. Nothing had ever tickled you so much in your life, and you were never more desperate to escape as the creature that tormented you began cooing terms of endearment into your ear, sickly sweet like syrup. It only heightened the adrenaline rush you were experiencing, fighting to squirm out of his grasp like it was for your very survival.

"- perhaps pet would be more to your liking?"

A particularly loud howl broke your silence at the impossible sensation of him both kneading and lightly scratching over your ribs, both in front and behind. Every patch of new ground he covered was worse than the last, especially when he targeted multiple spots at once, two inhumanly long nails raking across the soft hollows of your underarms, down towards your ribs, then back up your inner arms.

"You seem positively enamored with that one, my sweet little pet," it threw its head back, the sound of his laughter tasting like pop rocks in your mouth. You could handle him being actively terrifying, but the saccharine praise on top of the excruciatingly witty tickling threw your head into a tailspin you weren't falling out of any time soon. Merely being in his presence was disorienting enough, but the prolonged torture had pushed your mind to a space you didn't even know existed. Perhaps it occupied some liminal space between the real and the unreal, where agony poured over into ecstasy. A low, flustered whine of resignation rose in your throat at his teasing, between hiccuping laughter and half-sobs. This was it, you were completely and utterly broken. Or so you'd thought before he paused to brush away a tear, leaving a lightly stinging mark on your cheek where the razor sharp talon had made contact.

"Come now," it spoke softly, accompanied by a loud cracking sound. You looked up from the refuge of the warm, comfortable carpet, and there was his face, hanging inches from yours. No matter how many times you'd been chased by that thing down the warm, dark hallways, you were never prepared to see the Distortion's true appearance. Its features approximated a nose, eyes, and lips, but they were simply dancing lines that never connected in any way that your fragile mind could make sense of, and its curls shone in the light like an oil slick in rainwater. In a burst of energy that constituted primarily of panic, you yelped, attempting to leap back. Still you were firmly stuck, incapable of moving under the form which draped over you in a position that was... more than compromising. There was no willing down the heat rising in your cheeks.

"I assure you," it purred. "Our fun isn't over yet."

Before you could ask what he had meant, you felt yourself plunging headfirst into the answer. Suddenly it seemed to surround you all at once, leaving no inch of your body unmarked - fingers spreading your toes, lovingly raking over your bare soles, up your calves and the backs of your knees, squeezing your thighs, kneading at your sides, far, far too many hands and fingers than he had, than you knew he had. What filled the gaps he could not reach writhed softly against your skin, gentle yet merciless in its titillation, playing against the nape of your neck, the tenderness of your palms. All the while, time and space twisted themselves into shapes that you could not imagine, a torturous century squeezed into what may have been a brief instant of tangled limbs and broken smiles. And you laughed. You laughed, and laughed until there was not an ounce of anything but laughter filling your body. The squirming fractal mass had drowned out all rational thought, dragging you deeper and deeper into itself until by the very end of it, when he'd finally let you surface for air, the only question you could repeat as you lay there on your back was why. Why had you ever opened that door, why did he insist on tormenting you so? A million fragments of a million broken, senseless questions ran through your brain, but not more than one syllable of them could have been formed by your tongue past the frenzy of that horrible tickling.

"Aren't you a curious one, love," he laughed, now filled with a cruelty that chilled you to the bone, his speech barely comprehensible as human. "I suppose I owe you one honest answer. It's very simple. Your fear is intoxicating."

He paused, letting the dawning horror of your situation sink in.

"You really have no idea how long you've been here, do you? It could have been minutes or hours or weeks... But you don't know, because it's been an eternity to you and you're terrified this will be all that remains."

"No... No, no, no, please, I'm begging you-!"

"No?"

It asked with mocking incredulity.

"Your screams could feed me for decades, after all, I see no reason why I shouldn't keep you here for the rest of your existence."

A shot of genuine, primal dread pulsed through you. Paradoxically, but undeniably, somehow that notion excited you.

"What do you think," he traced under your chin with a light touch. "You could give up your tedious little life to be my tickle pet."

"I-"

The gentle proposition had caught you completely off guard. For how terrifying he was, his ability to fluster you on a dime was far worse than anything else he was capable of doing to you. Slowly you shook your head, unable to help the small whine you let slip as you buried your face in your hands.

"Such a shame... I think you would have enjoyed it."

"I don't... I don't know what you're talking about..."

"Oh, but I think you do," he replaced his hands at your sides, the playful lilt in his tone evident. You felt your lips cracking into a smile, but kept your face covered, refusing to let him see the truth of your expression.

"I think you like having your mind played with, twisted into paths impossible to trace."

Its claws began to move again, swiftly eliciting a steady stream of giggles from you, hips shaking from side to side.

"It's just as much of a game for you as it is for myself, isn't it," he leaned in, his tongue flicking at your ear, honey-sweet words pouring from his lips. "The adrenaline, the chase. The thrill of twirling into the arms of madness itself."

By now his fingers spidered relentlessly across your torso, and still you refused to give in, even though you were sure you couldn't take one more second of this, thrashing helplessly in his grasp.

"The door opens both ways, my pet, and you let me in~"

"That's- that's not true!"

"Really? Then answer this for me, if you still can: Do you ever remember telling me to stop?"

The grin that split his face was wider than you'd ever seen on him, practically triumphant as your eyes went wide in shock and you tried feebly to pry his hands off you, only succeeding in making them clamp down tighter on you, squeezing your hips until your laughter went silent.

"Oh, no no. I'm afraid it's not going to be that easy. You're going to have to admit something."

"W-Whahahat?!"

"That you're enjoying this, of course."

His assault was unrelenting, and on your very worst spot, you knew you couldn't last much longer. Your attempts to scream, curse and kick at him faded into soft wheezing and limp giggling, tears streaking down your burning cheeks. With your pride having been torn to shreds long, long ago, there was only one way out of this for you.

"Okay, okahahay! You win, Michael..."

You huffed, resigned to your fate.

"And?"

He stared down at you expectantly, fingers still hovering dangerously over your sides in warning. You took a deep breath, praying that admitting this to his face wouldn't make you combust on the spot.

"I... I like being tickled by you."

As soon as you spoke the words, he let go. Scrambling to a sitting position, you backed yourself up against one of the walls of the corridor, chest heaving with exhaustion. Michael stretched out across from you, smiling like the cat who got the cream. If you didn't know any better, you would have said there was a certain fondness to it.

"There, that wasn't so hard now, was it~?"

Its eyes glittered in the dim, hypnotic light.

"... Shut up," you replied in as gruff a tone as you could manage, before crawling over to him and flopping into his lap, defeated. It chuckled softly, carding its fingers through your hair, twisting it into wild, spiralling shapes, until the line between dreams and reality blurred completely and you found yourself drifting off peacefully in the Distortion's arms.

#tickling #tickle fic #the Magnus Archives #michael distortion #TMA tickles #minors dni

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ddaengyoonmin · 3 years

Text

-Hotel For Demons- (Intro)

Pairing: eventual ot7 x reader; the first few chapters are very Yoongi x reader centric.

Warnings/tags: Stripping, teasing, gambling, mentions of some dark/mob activity

( eventual )Smut-angst-fluff

Summary: You work as a stripper at an extremely secretive casino resort that caters to people of a dark nature. You are used to strange and ignoring your fears. Yet one night a man, more scary and more intriguing than any other seems to grow fond of you while you dance. You play a game with him that takes you away from everything you’ve known and into an even darker world than you’d ever known...and now he’s calling you his wife.

a/n: (this is very unedited sry for typos and things if they appear) taken some inspiration from the anime ‘Kakuriyo: Bed & Breakfast for Spirits.’ It starts out a bit dark but it's going to be a lot more lighthearted in some chapters. Once I get the initial set up to the story, this fic will just be a bunch of short episode like stories with y/n having different moments with each member or a few members, not always directly connected to future chapters or the chapter before, just set in the same world. Let me know what you think!!

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It felt to the men in the crowd like they were hypnotized watching you.

You were the one hypnotized though, by the music, and by the thudding of the bass in rap song you’d picked for your dance vibrating through the club.

You could feel it in your chest, each thump pushing your hips forward as you grinded against the pole, sticking your ass out as you jumped onto the pole and spun. You swore you heard one man in the crowd gasp as you did.

The purple stage lights flashed to blue as the song hit a slower beat. You slid down the pole slowly, your hands gently moving down to the floor with the rest of your body.

As you continued on with your floor work you could practically feel the eyes of one man in particular sitting on you with an almost unblinking stare.

You could only see his eyes, the lower half of his face was covered by a black mask with a pattern that made it look like blood was dripping all over it in a very cartoonish way.

It wasn’t uncommon for people to wear masks like that here, but his was quite an interesting choice.

You could see bits of black hair peeking through his black jacket’s hood, which was also strange. He seemed so secretive with his appearance. Maybe that's what was giving him the confidence to stare at you so obviously.

Most men tended to get shy when you stared them down.

No...maybe he really hadn’t blinked once…

You realized you’d been focusing on him a bit too long and quickly danced your way to facing away from him.

Though you couldn’t escape the powerful gaze that you felt on your backside the entire time.

You knew the ending of your song was coming up and you took to the pole again to finish the dance.

It might have been obvious to everyone in the club that whether it was intentional or subconscious, you had started dancing for him.

When you ended your dance, the last step you took had you facing right at him, chest heaving from putting a bit of extra effort into your moves than usual.

You weren’t sure why, it didn’t make sense. You never usually got this worked up over someone in the audience, but his attention was exciting.

Some men clapped, and a few threw some money on the stage. You gave a twinkle wave to no one in general as you turned to walk back to the dressing rooms behind the stage.

The girl that would come out and collect your money off the stage for you squeezed your shoulder as you walked by and gave you a smile.

“I haven’t seen you perform like that in forever!” she praised loudly over the song that was playing while they set up for the next dancer.

You mouthed a thank you and from the corner of your eye you caught the mysterious man standing up from the table and leaving.

Your heart dropped a little bit. You had a second song still later that a part of you had hoped he’d have stuck around for. He hadn’t even paid you. He paid the entry fee to enter the strip club area of the casino resort, bought one drink, watched just your song, and left.

It was strange.

You were used to odd people. Sometimes even dangerous people. The casino you worked at catered to a very particular crowd of very rich men.

They weren’t the type of rich men you’d see on the news or in magazines. They were all a very secretive type. You were told when you’d been hired two years ago that you weren’t ever to ask the men about what they did for a living.

It always made you wonder, but it never bothered you. The amount of money in their wallets was enough to make you not need to read too deeply into any of it. Why mess up a good thing.

It's not that you only cared about money...but everyone has their amount. Everyone has a number to where they’ll turn their eyes the other way.

At least that's what your boss had told you the first time he’d sat you down in his office and handed you a blank check with his name already signed on it.

The day that you’d seen something that you never want to think about again.

Now you don’t have to.

Aside from the anomaly that was that man today, the diamonds on your wrists that would dance while you did were enough of a distraction from the things you’d seen.

With some of the things you’d witnessed go down in this casino you were glad that your number was as high as it was.

When it was well past 3 in the morning and your shift was done you put on your coat and began to walk towards the main entrance of the building to leave. Almost everyone besides those who worked there had left for the night, either returning to their hotel rooms or getting up to some business you’d rather not think about.

Just before you’d walked past the last of the blackjack tables you heard a voice call out to you.

“y/n right?”

A chill ran down your spine. You never used your real name at the club, it was a rule that you’d never tell customers your real name.

Your head whipped around to see that same man from earlier sat down alone at the table, shuffling through a deck of cards.

On closer look the cards were definitely not ones from your casino, almost as if he’d brought his own with him, another rule broken.

“No…” You lied. “You must be confused.”

You heard a chuckle from behind the mask. “I’m never confused. Sit down.”

He spoke so sternly and with a low gravel that spiked some fear into your body.

But you sat anyway. Maybe it was fear of what he’d do if you said no, but more likely it was that you were still wildly intrigued by this strange man.

“How do you know me?” You spoke as you sat down in the seat across from where he sat in the dealers chair.

“That's not important right now.” He muttered. “Want to play a game?” He spoke those words with such a smooth and beautiful compelling tone.

“Why not.” You decided, shifting in your seat and trying to get a better eye on the cards he was still shuffling through.

You wished you could see behind his mask, but all you could see was a mischievous glint in his eyes.

He laid out three cards in front of you face down. They were black with the images of blood dripping down them, the same as his mask.

“Pick one.” He demanded.

“Shouldn’t I know the rules first?” You cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Rules don’t really matter here do they. Surely you know that better than anyone.” He replied.

“There are some rules that matter.” You debated. “Like you calling me by my real name.”

“Not to me.” He then tapped on the table in front of him with a closed fist. “Pick a card.”

You sighed and figured ‘What's the worst that could happen.’

You stared at the cards in front of you, not sure if it even made a difference which one you’d pick, but still, you studied them before finally pointing to the one in the middle.

He then reached out and flipped the card, revealing a very detailed drawing of two golden rings intertwined together.

He seemed to sigh a big exhale of relief.

“Good.” he muttered.

“That's good? For me, or you? What game are we playing here!” You were starting to get frustrated.

He then flipped over the other two cards, revealing one that was a painting of a gravestone, and one that was a painting of flames.

“Good for both of us.” You could almost hear the smile in his voice, though you were only growing more confused.

“Pick up your card. Don’t touch the other ones.” He ordered.

With a small huff you listened to him, grabbing the card with the rings on it.

“In both hands.”

“Why?”

“Just do it.” he seemed to growl in an almost inhuman way.

Your fear now made your blood run cold, you didn’t want to anger him so you did as he said instantly.

As soon as you did, you felt a rush of wind hit you from behind. It was so strong the other two cards flew off the table. The man stood there with his arms crossed and started laughing a maniacal laugh.

The whole table then seemed to start to spin, you wanted to grip onto something but your hands seemed to be glued to the card you held.

Everything got faster and more blurry, everything except him. Before you could comprehend how, it seemed that the whole place you’d been in was starting to fade away into a bright white light.

As the spinning movements quickened you squeezed your eyes shut tightly and let out a small scream.

It only lasted a few more seconds before you felt everything still.

“Open your eyes.” His voice spoke to you much softer.

Slowly you did, opening up to a sight you were not expecting to see.

You were now in a large room with wooden floors and a wooden ceiling. Lots of art and architecture that seemed to be at least a thousand years before your own. It was very decorative and ornate, it seemed almost like a palace.

“Welcome to your home my wife.”

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