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alastor-simp · 2 months

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Burnt Out😞 - Alastor x Reader

(We all had one of these days, come on raise your hand 🖐🏻🙋🏻)

Sighhhhhhhhh…it was gonna be one of those days. It was another day in the Hazbin Hotel. Everyone was up and about in the morning, either doing one of Charlie’s exercises or just going about doing their own thing, except you. Laying on your bed, tangled up in blankets, you felt emotionally and physically drained. It was another one of your burnt out sessions. They would come and go, some days being mild and others being rough. Just wasn’t in the mood for anything anymore, so staying in bed and getting through it was a better option.

You made sure to text Charlie that you weren’t going to head down in the lobby and you were gonna stay in your room. She knew about your burnt out days and made sure that you were left alone, but sent Razzle and Dazzle to bring you some food, to make sure you were eating. It was nice that she cared so much, you honestly felt like a burden like this, but Charlie had a heart of gold and wanted to give you the time to feel better. Squishing your face into the pillow, you just stared in the corner of your darken room, letting your mind wonder. They were soon interrupted by a rhythmic knock at the door. Ah, it must be Razzle and Dazzle bringing you breakfast. Turning around on your bed, facing the other way, you yelled out "Come in".

They were both pretty silent, as they didn't really converse a lot with anyone, but they were friendly. Something felt strange as instead of the flapping of wings, there was a hint of static in the air. Huh? Suddenly, your bed shook as someone had taken a sit on it. "Why good morning, my dear! Why are you still in bed? Up and at em!" A static voice rang in the room, causing your body to jump. Turning your head to the side, you spotted a smiling red demon looking down at you. "Al? What are you doing here?" Turning your body back around, you continued to lay with your head on the pillow, eyes gazing up to look at Alastor. His piercing eyes were looking down at you, as his mouth was stretched wide, smiling like a jester. "I noticed your lack of presence when I was in the lobby with the other riff-raff. Charlie kindly told me you were still residing in your room, so I decided to pay a visit! He was still seated on your bed, legs crossed with his hands on his lap. His signature microphone was laying against the bed. "Ah I see" you said as you looked down, going back to staring at the corner of the room again. Alastor raised an eyebrow, pondering your lack of emotion.

Raising both of his hands, he placed his fingers to your lips, moving them up to form a smile. "My dear, its not very productive to be lying in bed and being grummy. Come now, gimme a big smile!" Alastor continued to smile down at you, still holding your lips up. You just gazed up at him, eyes devoid of any emotion, which put off Alastor for a bit. Moving your head side to side, you were able to shake off Al's hands on your face, placing it back against the pillow. "I'm not sad Alastor." Heaving a sigh, your eyes were just staring off into space. "Alastor tilted his head at you, confused at the whole situation. "If you are not sad, then why is there still a frown formed on your lips?" Alastor continued to stare at you, waiting patiently for your answer. Honestly, you expected him to be laughing at your situation, since he enjoyed the suffering of others. His eyes were a dead give away to how he was really feeling, and the eyes that peered down at you were filled with confusion, but also concern.

Heaving a sigh, you lifted your body up, sitting instead of laying, with the blanket still wrapped behind you. "Just feeling a little burnt out at the moment." There was a bit of awkward silence, as neither of you said another word. Al was still looking at you, but his head was tilted again. "Burnt out? Was there a fire in the hotel that occurred during my afternoon stroll?" Al questioned, while inching closer to you, looking to see for any burn marks on you. Heh, that earned a chuckle out of you. Laughing for a bit, you shook your head. "No no there wasn't a fire yesterday Al. Have you never felt burnt out before?" Your question earned a head shake from Al. Figures he had no clue what that meant. This man was giddy as could be everyday. "I'm afraid I have never heard of it before, my dear! Care to enlighten me?"

He inched a bit closer, waiting for your response. Looking down, your mind tried to piece together the correct way to explain it to him. "Well, being burnt out is just my body and mind feeling overloaded with stress, yet instead of being anxious, I become detached. I don't feel depressed nor am I being lazy, but I just feel like an empty shell, like all of my feelings are just sapped away, leaving behind nothing. I don't feel any motivation to do the things I usually enjoy doing. My body is exhausted yet I'm unable to fall asleep. I told Charlie that I get like this some days, so whenever I have an episode, I stay in my room, especially since when I'm burnt out, I kinda wanna isolate myself from everyone. It is a bit confusing to explain, so I hope I was able to narrow it down for you." Finishing your little speech, your lips drew into a tiny smile as your eyes gazed at Alastor.

His eyes were still looking at you with concern, his signature smile turned into a small grin. One of his gloved hands raised to your head, stroking it. "I appreciate the explanation, darling. But, it is detrimental to your health to be staying like this." Rolling your eyes at his words, you flopped back down, smooshing your face against the pillow, lifting the blanket to cover your face. "I'll be fine Al. Don't worry about me. I'm sure you must have stuff to get done especially since you're doing more broadcasts, so don't spend all day worrying about me.”

He didn’t say anything back, so you assumed he just used his powers to teleport out of your room. “Wanna hear a joke about paper? He said in an excited tone. What the hell? Peaking your eyes out, Alastor was still sitting on your bed, smiling down at you, teeth flashing at you. “Um no?” Raising an eyebrow, you wondered what brought this up. Alastor began to chuckle at your response, “Oh that’s fine it’s tear-able!” A laugh track then erupted from his microphone. Staring at Al, you let out a soft chuckle, shaking your head. "It was terrible." Alastor made a face, like he was offended, but you knew he was just being dramatic. "Ahh well how about this one? What do you call a bear with no teeth?" Tilting your head, you thought about it before shrugging saying you didn't know. "A gummy bear! AHAHAHAHAHA!" He burst into fits of laughter, clearly very amused with his joke.

That was a better one, you thought as you let out a chuckle. Alastor had ventured further up your bed, sitting closer next to you, with his back against the headboard. "Lets see...Ah! What did the ocean say to the sailor?" Gazing up at Al, who was wearing a goofy smile, you laughed a bit before asking what did the ocean say. "Oh nothing my dear, it just waved!" Hehehe...these jokes were so corny that they made you laugh. Little by little, your mood began to improve a bit, the feelings of emptiness were lifting a bit. Getting up, you sat wrapped around your blanket, copying Alastors position. "I have a joke for you." Alastor's ears perked up, leaning in, ready to hear the joke. "Why did the deer go the dentist?" Alastor leaned back, placing a finger under his chin, thinking of the answer. "Hmmm...not sure my dear." Smiling widely, you said, "It had buck teeth." Alastor just stared at you wide eyed, before he burst into fits of laughter, causing the whole bed to shake. It took him a minute to calm down, before he turned back to you. "Haven't heard that one before! Another one to add to my collection!" He gazed at you, while whipping his eyes of the tears caused by how hard he was laughing. "Glad you liked it. Here's another one. What happens when a doctor gets frustrated?" Al's smile grew, very pleased that you had more jokes. "What happens, my dear?" "Well sadly, they lose their patients."

Oh that one really got to him. Al's head flew back in laughter, as he was kicking his legs, along with holding his stomach. You soon followed after him, laughing at his reaction and the joke. Soon the both of you calmed down. Al was taking deep breaths, having lost it from cackling with laughter. His eyes had pin pricks of tears as well, which he was wiping away. "Pant...pant...that was splendid, my dear!" Alastor was gazing into your eyes, smiling kindly at you. Smiling back, you told him that you were happy he liked the jokes. Al's hand slowly moved and placed itself on your cheek. "Feeling more yourself now, my dear?" He rubbed your cheek with his finger, causing you to lean into it. "A bit yeah." Al's eyes were tender. Quite a sight to see, since he never shows that side of him to anyone.

Removing his hand from your face, he raised his hand to snap his fingers. A tray had appeared on your lap. On the tray was a plate of pancakes, your favorite, along with a glass of orange juice and a bowl of strawberries. "Eat up, my dear! Can't have you being starved!" Al smiled at you, leaning back against the head board. Smiling, you dug in, humming happily with how amazing it tasted. His kindness made your heart ache. He was such a mystery, one side he was the feared radio demon, who enjoyed murder and gore, while the other was the Alastor you knew, a goofy man who loved jazz and cooking dishes his mother use to make. Two sides of a same coin, but you like both of them, as long as the murder and gore weren't aimed at you and your friends.

Flushing, you inched a bit closer to Al, who eyed you with curiosity. Slowly, you leaned your head against his shoulder, eyes still focusing on the breakfast, as you would feel super embarrassed to look him in the eye. His body tensed from the contact, having not expected that from you. His eyes were locked on you, eyebrow raised. "Thank you, Alastor." Whispering out a response, you continued to shyly look down, while nibbling on a strawberry. The tension had left his body, and he had leaned into you a bit. He wore a soft smile on his face, as he leaned his head back to place against the board. His hand then placed itself on top of yours, giving it a soft squeeze. "Anytime, my dear!"

~END~

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vivwritesfics · 15 days

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Jester Stole His Thorny Crown

Chapter Seven

He never had a choice in his life. His dreams were nothing more that that. Dreams. But then he met a lounge singer at his brother club and everything changed.

Mafia!Au

Series Masterlist

When she arrived at the lounge, the piano was already being played. She couldn't hear it until after she opened the door. Then, she stilled. It wasn't that she felt possessive over the piano, but nobody else had ever played it, nobody but Charles.

For the first time since they had met, he wasn't wearing a suit. His jeans were ridiculous, with the rips in the shapes of stars. But that wasn't what she was focused on.

The way he was playing, she hadn't taught him that.

When the door shut behind her, the playing stopped. He looked up, looking at her as she walked forward.

"Hey," he called. Just days before he had threatened her into going to dinner with him, and now he was acting like it never happened. "I wanted to talk."

She placed her bag on a chair and climbed onto the stage. If he wanted to talk, he could talk. It didn't mean she was going to listen.

Charles pressed a few more keys and turned his body around completely. Now facing her, she checked over his body, checked for any sign of the gun.

But he didn't have the gun. It wasn't tucked away in the waistband of his jeans, wasn't on the piano behind him.

At that, she was just a little more willing to listen to him.

"I want to apologise," he said. "To you. I want to apologise to you."

It was completely unexpected. She couldn't hide the shock written on her face, no matter how hard she tried.

"My judgement on how to handle... this... hasn't been good. I asked Arthur for advice, but God knows I'm terrible at following it," he said and gave a weak laugh.

But she didn't laugh. No, she couldn't. Not when she didn't know what was going on.

So, she asked just that. "What the fuck is going on?"

Something flittered across Charles's face, something indescribable, something she couldn't read. He ducked in a deep breath, steadying himself. "I think you're pretty," he said, his voice slightly strained. "Really pretty, actually."

She didn't quite know what to say. What could she say to that?

"I know this is unexpected, especially after... everything, but..." The words he was looking for, they weren't coming to him. Or maybe he realised there was nothing he could say that would get her to stop hating him. "Fuck," he spat and stood from the bench.

Suddenly, his hands were on her arms and his lips were on hers. Charles shut his eyes, trying to melt into it.

But she pulled away. The second she did, a crack! rang out as her hand met with his cheek. "Shit," Charles hissed in surprise as he held his cheek.

Her heart beat erratically in her chest and she held her hand over her mouth, surprise registered on her face. She'd slapped him. She'd slapped Charles Lelcerc, the crazy, dangerous brother in the Leclerc family.

He'd been slapped before, and those people had regretted it instantly.

A smile spread across his face and he stepped towards her. But, before he could reach her, she was running off of the stage and disappearing in the back room. Charles didn't move to follow. He sat back at the piano and pressed his fingers to the keys, playing once again.

When she got to the back room, she pressed her body against the door and locked it.

Finally alone, with a barrier between them, she breathed. Her back was still against the door, listening as the piano music started up again. He had kissed her. Why the hell had he kissed her?! What kind of game was this?

He hadn't chased after her when she slapped him, like she had expected him to. No, he had gone right back to the piano.

It wasn't like she hadn't thought about kissing him before. No matter how much he scared her, she still woke up after dreaming about him with an ache between her legs, a need settling in her stomach.

Those dreams, the many she'd had, she hadn't forgotten any of them. Not the one where Charles took her to the back office after a performance and made her see stars, not the one where he sat on the bench of the piano, bent her over his lap and spanked her ass raw.

Not the one where he kissed her slowly, took her hand and led her back to the car. In her dream, he'd taken her to his apartment. She'd never seen the inside of it before, but she dreamt about it. It would be neat and tidy, with art work on the walls, giving it life and colour. His kitchen would be a disaster. He'd have the best equipment, best toaster, best microwave, best blender, and he wouldn't be able to use any of it.

She touched her fingers to her lips. Maybe if he hadn't have been so threatening before, she would have gone with it, melted against his body, kissed down his neck until he was whining for more.

She wasn't the dominant type, not by a long shot, but she wanted things to to be on her terms.

Sucking in a breath, she unlocked the door. The piano grew louder as she marched her way back to the stage.

She didn't expect Charles to notice her right away. But of course he did. "I knew you had a feisty side," he said, not looking up from the piano keys.

She sat on the bench beside him. Still, Charles didn't look up. He kept playing.

That was until she grabbed his face. Her fingers gripped his cheeks and she pulled his face towards him, pulling his lips towards her own.

If Charles was surprised, he didn't let it show. He took over, moving his lips against her own as she wrapped her arms around his neck. His hands were against her waist, pushing her against the bench of the piano.

"Fuck," he managed to say through deep breaths, his forehead against her own. "Fuck."

this is shorter ye but it sets up some important shi

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ilsole · 6 months

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Stupidly in Love

A flourish of ribbons fly in the air as a certain jester lays out a nifty little fabric square upon fresh grass, a clearing within a great field, the forest behind, sun in the sky, birds singing their little theatre songs.

Fool gave a synthetic breath in, before turning to his companion.

Misuta glared up at the bright skies above, before he himself turned to Fool, a slight look of confusion coming to his face.

"When you asked if we could go out together, I wasn't expecting... this."

Fool gave the man a cheshire smile.

"Why not? A beautiful day to spend with someone I hold so nice and dear to the heart?"

Misuta sat down in a huff, but Fool had noticed those flushed cheeks immediately.

"... It... is nice today, you're right."

"As I am so often~"

Fool deftly landed on his behind beside Misuta, twirling his baton in his limber hands before settling it down upon the blanket beneath.

Today, there'll be no sun nor moon, just him and the heart stealer beside him.

Oh yes...

"What's in the basket? We can't eat..."

Misuta asks a very promising question, responded to with a curved eye smile.

"Oh, my sweet man~ I'm very glad you asked!"

Fool reaches out, lugging the basket closer before popping the lid up, exposing its treasures like a trove untold.

"Books-?"

"I know how much you love reading, so, I may have sneaked a few books from our little Sweetling~"

A leer was sent the fool's way.

"You stole from them."

'Not unlike how you stole my heart', Fool was so close to saying the words on his very lips, yet he refrained, it was too soon.

"No, no, this fool would never go so low. My... what do you take me for?"

Fool had leant back, a hand to his chest in mock offense, yet he peeked open an eye to view Misuta as silence ringed between them.

Crossed arms met him, a single raised eyebrow with the most unamused expression greeted him in return.

"A thief."

"You hurt me."

"Good."

To anyone else, it'd be rude, but the two shared a coupling laughter.

Misuta would reach into the basket, pulling out the top book.

'The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe'

Misuta hummed in thought, sitting back on a palm as he flipped open the hardcover entertainment, eyes already starting to flitter over the words and read.

Fool picked up his own book, yet he knew he wouldn't be reading, for his attention was taken by another, just as intriguing, thing.

Minutes passed, a comfortable silence settling between the two, one reading, the other attempting.

Fool took in no information, his gaze glancing up to the source of his warmth and love that had spiraled way out of his control.

He wanted to reach out, hold Misuta close to him and never let go, yet there was something holding him back, he wasn't sure...

"Fool...?"

Misuta was looking up at him, why was he so close suddenly? Fool shifted an arm, realizing exactly what was going on.

In his little daydream, he had indeed gotten closer to Misuta, their bodies touching, and Fool's arm had wrapped around Misuta's back, fingers a breath away from his waist.

Fool brought his mismatch up, meeting Misuta's own fuchsia.

"I-I..."

For once, Fool was speechless, his smile drooping at the corners as a flood of nerves was thrust upon him, he's sure he'd be sweating if he could.

He was frozen in place, staring, fake heart pounding with real love, one he felt when around the man in his arms, and the precious Sweetling.

Time stilled as the two stayed in their places, like deer under a scope, they were too nervous to move.

Until Misuta's eyes flicked down.

Fool took that as a sign.

He leant in, lips pressing to Misuta's so softly, he'd have melted, and felt like he would when the pressure was returned soon enough.

Fool's book fell to his lap as he brought a hand up to caress Misuta's face, a small order to stay where he was, yet neither of them wanted to pull away, not even for a second.

They caressed each other, eyes closed as they laid in their shared embrace, an arm tightening around a waist, pulled closer.

Until, they parted, while they had no breath to lose, they still wanted to see one another.

Eyes opened, and their love filled eyes met once more, a deeper understanding now felt within the two.

"Cariad… I… Rwy'n dy garu di…"

Misuta blinked at the foreign words before a soft laugh escaped his lips, and he presses another kiss to Fool's own.

"私も愛しているよ."

A mutual agreement of love, Fool almost couldn't believe it.

He wrapped his other arm around Misuta, hoisting the man upon his awaiting lap, making sure Misuta couldn't escape his grasp now that he was finally his.

"Oh… thank the very Heavens…"

Fool whispered into Misuta's neck, a sigh escaping the man as arms wrapped around his neck.

"Fool…"

"Mm… already with the pet names?"

Misuta rolled his eyes, though his amusement was as clear as the very sky they were under.

"Idiot."

"So mean to me…~ How could you be so rude to your boyfriend~"

They both stilled at that, realization dawning on each of their faces. Boyfriend.

They… are together.

They're in love.

A fluffy hood buried itself into Fool's chest, a heat being felt through Fool's flowy shirt.

"バカ…バカ…バカ…バカ…"

Fool laughed his sweet bird song laugh, his arms bringing Misuta closer to him even still, offering comfort to the flustered man.

"Mm… your stupid."

Stupidly in love.

For @venomous-qwille's gorgeous au Ghost in the Machien that hosts the best characters I've seen written in fiction and have my heart in a death grip <3

#sunny writings #sunny drabbles #misool #mysool #gitm au #qwille-la-qwille #misuta moon #fool eclipse #i'mnot fucking normal about them #iveb never been normal #i lvove #GAY #ROIOTS #RAAAA

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scaralvr · 1 year

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test me. scaramouche x immortal!gn!reader contains :: religious themes, angst, 3.3 archon quest spoilers

synopsis: you have been scaramouche's faithful & loyal assistant since he was graced with the title of balladeer, but your acts of dedication towards his great being go unnoticed by him each time. however, you would never give up on your God. it is him you worship, not the tsaritsa. when he replaces you with haypasia, you refuse to live without another to serve under.

notes :: songfic based off of melanie martinez's song test me! i haven't written in awhile so it may be a little rusty :')

at first, you weren't quite sure what to think of the almighty sixth you would serve for the rest of your life as a fatui recruit. bearing a cryo vision, you found no use for the doctor's delusions, but the sixth himself requested you use one, for whatever reason you aren't aware of. the sixth of the eleven had a temper that you didn't mind, but still didn't deem his behaviour tolerable. he acts like a brat, expecting everything to be handed to him on a silver platter by his pathetic inferiors.

it sickens you to the core. how could you serve someone as cruel and disgusting as him? questions like these flood your mind but a specific one stands out from the rest. why do you serve him? with such joy and enthusiasm, too. you're fully aware that the other fatui have been stirring up some trouble with scandalous rumors they spread around, fixating on how insane you must be to enjoy working under the balladeer's orders.

you're not deranged. a little eccentric, scaramouche would say. he doesn't mind your passion as his assistant, if anything, he prefers to have someone like this rather than a timid and quiet person who has to be told twice to finish things up. you don't even talk his ear off but instead, abide by every single demand of his and choose to stay silent when he says to. he calls you a, 'smart one,' considering the fact that his past assistants had to face the consequences you were avoiding.

you found the happiness you rarely had in serving him, enjoying the way he sadistically looks into nothing while going on and on about his sinister plans to overpower his creator through his birth of a God. he'd been planning this for quite a while and you were there through all of it. you stole for him, risked your life for him, took lives for him, and what did you get in return after years of your service? your knees feel weak and you suppose it's from kneeling to him all of the time.

they grow even weaker and the breath is knocked out of your throat at his words. "your assistance was tolerable and i'll be dismissing you. this is where your job ends, (y/n)." his words pound at your head and repeat like a broken loop, reminding you over and over that you're not needed. the God that you love and cherish is abandoning his divine angel. his fallen angel. you don't know why, but tears spring to your eyes as you step forward with a hand against your chest. you open your mouth to speak in a small voice, "but, my lord, i'm afraid you do need me. who will come along with you on your way through your journey of Godhood?"

scaramouche doesn't spare you a single glance and chooses to look out the window. "a researcher i've come across in sumeru has proven her worth to me. and don't get me twisted, you have proven your worth as well. she is... simply better in terms of everything and if you can't handle that truth, i don't care. do as i say, since you worship me so much," a wide smirk stretches his lips and you catch sight of it in the reflection of the glass window. the light in your eyes go out in sorrow as you percieve the fact that your God replaced you.

hey, God, i'll be the jester. entertain you, to the best of, my ability.

you wander sumeru with a blank expression, still registering the moments that previously occured. you cut ties with your family and loved ones for him and going back there wouldn't do you any good, as they've already deemed you as scum for joining the fatui all those years ago. your immortal state makes it worse, since you figure living without a purpose is much worse than death itself. while walking with your head down, your shoulder hits something. a person. you turn your head and your eyes meet those of a dashing gold. a fairly handsome man with long blonde hair tied in a braid appears astounded. not too far, a fairy with white hair floats next to him.

"sorry, i wasn't looking where i was going."

at that pathetic apology, you narrow your eyes. what type of person puts the blame on themself when they know very well it's the other's fault? curious, you place a hand on your hip and comment, "your attire... it's not from here. may i question you?" the fairy excitedly claps her hands, "oh, we were about to question you, actually!" you raise a brow, "really? whatever for?" the man kindly smiles and explains the situation to you in a tone like he's known you forever. scaramouche has known you forever. he's never shown such kindness like that to you.

you have no one to serve. no one to follow. all of your sacrifices were a waste, for the very man you put everything on the line for, threw you away like a worthless piece of trash. as you listen to the voice of the mysterious traveler, you feel a hope light up within you again. maybe, just maybe, it'll be different. this time, it will. when he finishes his brief explanation, you instantly shoot your shot. "the balladeer, you say?"

in the meanwhile, scaramouche is left to his own gadgets within the solace of his temporary room. temporary, because he knows he'll be on the move again. he always will be, now that he's turned his back on her majesty, the tsaritsa, and ran away with one of her treasured gnoses. he stares out the window, just like he did a few hours ago, and realizes the time. the sun is beginning to set and usually, you would enter the room with a tray of tea for both him and you to share as he discusses his plans.

it's not too long before scaramouche remembers he already removed you from the plan. your company and assistance have brought him this far, huh? he lets out a sigh that makes him realize he was holding in his breath for quite a bit now. he places his elbow atop the window sill and rests his chin in his palm. it's gotten a little boring since you left, hasn't it? it hasn't even been a day. scaramouche grits his teeth and groans in frustration. it seems like he doesn't enjoy the feeling of being alone, either.

but it's whatever! you're his faithful assistant, maybe if you put some thought into that robotic and tiny brain of yours, you'll be smart enough to come back because both you and scaramouche know you could never survive without him. yeah, you'll be back. the moon rises in the sky and scaramouche tightens his clutch on the wood of the sill. you'll definitely be back...

when i suffer, more fragility, when i answer. came here for a reason.

for the next few days, you spend it with aether and his friend, paimon. he easily opened up to you about his lost sister and the nations he previously went to in hopes of finding her but to no avail. you pity the poor male and choose to make his time in sumeru more enjoyable before he goes off to confront the balladeer. ah, it wasn't too hard to tell him that you're the balladeer's assistant. paimon was a little jumpy at first, but he, he was understanding... someone worthy of worshipping.

bit by bit, scaramouche can feel himself breaking. every little thing irritates him. the sound of the wind's harsh currents, the feeling of something rough against the supple skin of his hand, the crippling isolation of his room. with a determined yet firm frown, he remakes a brew of green tea for the several time this week. it doesn't taste right. no matter how much sugar he adds (which he never enjoys in his tea but he's trying), he can't recreate the taste of the way you made it.

little does he know, you're making the same tea, yet it's for another man. "(y/n), this is very well-made!" aether exclaims with a grin and you feel yourself flush red. "is it?... thank you," you mutter, turning away to pour some into a tea cup for paimon. aether chuckles, "you've done alot for me and my traveling companion, (y/n). and i've been wondering about something for sometime." you notice the way he fumbles with the tea cup in his hands from the corner of your eye. "go on," you say, putting aside the tea pot and facing him. aether confidently adds, "i'd like for you to join me on my journeys, if you'll allow it. considering the way the balladeer did all of that to you-"

ah. you uncomfortably shuffle your feet in your position and paimon notices the tense situation. "h-hey, it's alright, (y/n)! aether's a really nice guy, huh? we would never do something like that to you!" paimon says, trying to lighten the mood. you let out a soft sigh, "i... thank you. will you let me think about it?" aether pauses and eagerly nods, "of course. take as much time as you need." and that's how you ended up wandering in the vast forest of sumeru. no matter which way you shift your thoughts, it always ends up drifting back to the indigo haired harbinger.

you delicately hold a sumeru rose in your hands and tilt your head to inspect the flower. suddenly, an anger rises and before you realize it, you're tightly clutching the flower, completely destroying its petals and stem altogether. you loved him. he was your everything. you guess he didn't feel the same for you. because he is a heartless, wretched and brutal — the silent time to yourself was interfered with another person's barely audible gasp. you're quick to whip around and wield your sword, finding the sharp end of it against someone's neck. scaramouche is unfazed, content, even.

"still on guard as ever," he murmurs, using his finger to guide your sword away from his throat, but the pressure of your blade creates a small slit against his flawless skin and you draw blood. you slowly withdraw your weapon as he traces his fingertip along the wound. "what has my little ex-assistant been up to as of late? i don't think you have any business in sumeru, do you?" scaramouche casually asks while impotently wiping the blood on his attire.

you knit your brows together and as much as it hurts to do so, you speak without using your usual endearment, 'my lord,' for him. "you cease to exist to me, balladeer," the way it rolls off of your tongue is foreign to him, it even surprises you. scaramouche has no time for petty feelings, but he lets them get in the way. his pupils are blown with anger as he seethes, "who do you think you are? just because i've abandoned you like the hindrance you are, it doesn't mean you get to treat me with such... inferiority!"

"but you're wrong, balladeer. i can and i will." with those words serving a final blow to his non-existent heart, you turn on your heel to find the blonde traveler with the answer to his question bound to escape your lips that used to say nothing but praises to the sixth.

just stop complaining, all have our seasons, it's not just a joke or a lesson to live through.

scaramouche watches your form disappear in the distance, only then, can he fully consume the fact that you aren't coming back unless he asks. stubborn one, aren't you? always playing hard to get. he deludes himself with this, believing that you still want to serve your one and only God. right, he's owned you from the start. he owned you the moment you agreed to be his assistant. you can't just get up and leave like that, no, your work is far from done. scaramouche agrees that it was rather trivial to dismiss you like that and he sees his mistake. why can't you understand that he needs you back?

but the cherry on top is the way you stand before his godly form, alongside the traveler. you're not supposed to be here. scaramouche is struck with shock when he sees you enter the scene with aether. the moment is swept away just as quick when he laughs. he laughs like a crazed man, hands on his stomach as he catches his breath. "oh, this is rich, (y/n)! you're so worthless, you really had to find another to serve after i ditched you. you're nothing but a weak follower and i plan on making you take that role to the grave," his tone drops to that of a condescending one and various emotions surge through his veins.

the immense adrenaline pumping through his system can't compare to the pain he feels when buer seizes his gnosis. this can't be happening. he's done so much to make it this far, only for all of it to come crashing down before him. his mother, his friend, the child, you. you've left a scar on him that he'll never forget. he hates it. you must be smirking to yourself as he falls from the large mech. he misses when you were still by his side, always smiling even when he ordered you to commit something so atrocious as murder.

he acknowledges it now. scaramouche realizes that you were there from the beginning and despite his cruel doings, he was your God. he never needed to go this far, because he was yours. what is this feeling, he wonders. well, it's too late now. scaramouche can only accept defeat, falling, until... he hits something, but it certainly isn't the ground. his eyes can barely stay open from how visibly exhausted he is yet he manages to make out a figure looking down at him. you steadily hold him in your arms and aether rushes to you. "are you sure you want to do this, (y/n)?" he queries. you nod in response, "i'll look after him."

every which way in second, there's a breakthrough.

scaramouche, now being the wanderer, loiters within sumeru with no purpose whatsoever. with no place to go or stay, he explores and occasionally helps the traveler with some of their needs. but it still hurts. even if he's occupied himself with other things, he keeps on thinking about you. it was always you. yet the searing pain makes him wail at night, recalling the way you looked at him like he was... a stranger.

"(y/n)!" for the first time in forever, he genuinely smiled. he was happy that at least, he still had you through this whole wreck. scaramouche had the guts to apologize. coming to think of it, it was a stupid thing from the beginning. he was thankful that you stayed loyal to him and still were at that time, considering the fact that you took care of him when he was unconscious. when nahida informed him of it, he couldn't be more relieved.

you turn at the exclaimation of your name and instantly back away in confusion. "aether, who is this?" your words put scaramouche's movements to a stop and his smile drops. "wh-what do you mean? traveler, what do they mean?" he hurriedly asked, voice cracking in between some words. you furrow your brows together and aether muttered, "they don't remember you,"

he felt the heaviest weight bring itself onto his chest. it's hard to breathe. that's right, he erased himself from the memories of many people, including you. how could he be so blind back then? all he needed, wanted, was someone that could stay by his side forever and love him unconditionally. he knew very well you were immortal, so he wouldn't have to worry about your lifespan. he also knew how much you worshipped him, so he wouldn't have to worry about the potential chance of betrayal, either.

why did he let such a beautiful and caring little thing like you out of his sight?

1K notes · View notes

aevallare · 2 months

Text

oneiric

pairing: astarion/f!tav/shadowheart

word count: 7,854

AO3 link if preferred!

warnings: threesome, double penetration, vaginal sex, anal sex, anal fingering, strap on, MFF, dom!tav, sub!astarion, sub!shadowheart, oral sex, strap blowjob, orgasm denial, voyeurism, post-epilogue, humiliation, breath play, dirty talk, blood drinking, ear rubbing, multiple orgasms, rough sex, praise kink, teasing, hair pulling, face sitting

preview:

Astarion tilts his head to the side, considering her. “Surely your needs can't be so difficult to meet. It sounds like you've had bad lovers.”

Shadowheart snorts. Auri can't stop thinking about what Astarion said in bed the other night. She says, “The problem is that I have trouble letting go of control with people that I don't trust. And people that I trust are few and far between.”

Astarion smirks. “Yes, I can see how that would be difficult. I tend to be the one doing the controlling, if we can call it that, but letting it go can be just as…” Astarion trails off as if searching for the perfect word. “Fulfilling.”

Auri blinks. “W– what?”

enjoy!!

-----

Auri’s no fool. She has no right to the intricacies and full truths of what Astarion went through in the centuries before the tadpole, when he was a spawn rather than an adventurer and when Auri was a jester rather than the Hero of Baldur’s Gate. People recognize them, now, in the street. “The hero and her lover!” they call out when Auri and Astarion walk by, though his vampirism is luckily still a secret.

Auri chafes whenever she hears it. He spent so long being nothing but a possession, and he’s her equal in every way and then some. Most days, Auri thinks she’s the one who should be treated as lesser.

Neither of them should, really. They’ve both done a lot of healing in the years since the Elder Brain.

“Does it bother you? That people only think of you as an extension of me?” Auri had asked once.

He’d raised an eyebrow at her. “What use is there in being bothered by people who I could kill before they blinked?”

It’s a marvelously succinct way to put her fear to rest and a testament to how much he’s healed since the day that they met on the beach so long ago, but Auri’s never been very good at letting things go.

So she gives him power in every way that she knows how, even in things that don’t really matter. He chooses what tasks they take on and where they bed down for the evening. He decides if they walk or if they hitch a ride with a carriage passing through.

And in bed, he takes control. And Auri’s never wanted for anything. And gods if they aren’t happy. She loves him and he loves her and that’s everything she could ever want and then some.

They don’t have a home, really, but that’s just fine. There’s always a room for them at the Elfsong in between travels, and in one such interim period, as Auri dozes, Astarion comes through the door and says, “Shadowheart sent us a letter.”

“Mm?” Auri’s voice is groggy. “What’s it say?”

Astarion sighs. “Among all kinds of nonsense about the menagerie of beasts that she’s acquired, she misses you desperately and me a little and we should come spend a tenday with her if her friendship ever meant anything to us.”

Auri blinks. When was the last time she saw Shadowheart? She can scarcely remember.

“Naturally,” Astarion continues, “I will write back to tell her that her friendship has not in fact ever meant anything to us–”

Auri purses her lips and rips the letter from his hands.

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

It’s almost dawn when they arrive, but Shadowheart’s expecting them. She sits at a small table in front of the door with a drink in hand, and when she finally sees them, she stands and waves. Auri’s vision in the dark is terrible, but when Shadowheart wraps her in an embrace, it’s like coming home. She welcomes them both in though she stops short of hugging Astarion, and when they step into her cottage, she’s easy to see in the candlelight.

The years have been kind to her. Her body’s turned soft in a beautiful way and there are wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and lips that only come from smiling a bit too much.

And she looks happier than Auri ever remembers her being before.

“You must be exhausted,” she says. “We can talk tomorrow. Get some rest.”

So they rest. And the next day, they talk. And things are exactly as they used to be in the way they always are with good friends who’ve gone through the hells together.

Auri helps in Shadowheart’s garden. Astarion hunts. And they relax.

There’s only one problem.

Shadowheart’s cottage isn’t small, exactly, but there’s little space for privacy. Any intimate moment she and Astarion might try to share carries the risk of Shadowheart’s intrusion.

“I can think of worse people to happen upon us in the act,” Astarion says on the third night of their stay. Auri’s face warms and if anyone’s attuned to the flow of blood in her body, it’s Astarion.

“Stop it,” Auri whispers, his lips brushing against the spot where he always feeds, and Astarion smiles.

She can almost hear how sharp his smirk is, even in the dark.

“Would you like her to find us?” he asks, notably making no move to touch her. “Would you like to fuck her? To watch me fuck her?”

It’s all Auri can do not to rub herself against his thigh between her legs, to seek whatever mediocre release that might bring. Astarion kisses her neck. He’s not even going to drink from her.

“Sleep well, lover,” he says, smug, self-satisfied, and says nothing else at all though he can smell the slickness between her legs and the racing of her heart.

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

It’s the wine that starts things, though maybe that’s reductive. Auri hasn’t stopped thinking about what Astarion said for the last two days (and she hasn’t had any kind of sex in six days).

And none of them are shy. Maybe that's the problem.

“The last person I brought home was fun enough,” Shadowheart says, swirling the drink in her glass. “The problem is that I'm finding I have less and less patience these days for partners to pick up what I like, and I'm not really interested in a long-term relationship either.”

Astarion tilts his head to the side, considering her. “Surely your needs can't be so difficult to meet. It sounds like you've had bad lovers.”

Auri blinks. “W– what?”

“Don't get me wrong, darling; I'm more than satisfied to tie you up and take very good care of you, but–”

Auri's cheeks flush red. Shadowheart stares at both of them intently.

“I'll get you both more wine,” she says, and she takes their glasses from them, and Auri and Astarion are alone.

“Is that something that you–” Auri swallows hard. “Is that something that you want?”

“Is that such a surprise?” Astarion cocks an eyebrow. “My body's mine, but I like to use it to please yours. I'd venture you like the same.”

Heat creeps up Auri's neck. Astarion's grin is wicked.

“Have you wanted to take charge all this time?” His voice is low, conspiratorial. Auri crosses her legs self-consciously, though it doesn't really matter. He can no doubt smell her all the same. “Then how about a bet?”

Auri's mouth goes dry. She can hear Shadowheart in the next room over.

“A bet?” she repeats.

“A bet,” he confirms. “I could tell how entertained you were by the idea of her joining us. If that's something that you want, get her into our bed. If you succeed, I'll let you do whatever you want with me.”

Every muscle in Auri's body is wound unfathomably tight. Astarion drank before they slept yesterday, but Auri remains unsated. And she makes a decision.

She’s no great seductor, but she’s no blushing virgin either.

“Well?” Astarion starts, voice smug. “No time like the present, is there?”

Auri eyes him in her peripheral vision. “A bit rich of the immortal to say to his mortal partner.”

“If it helps, I want you to succeed just as much as you’d like to watch her squirm on your fingers.”

The blush that rises to her cheeks is violent. “Astarion–”

He chuckles. “You’re welcome to tell me I’m wrong.”

But he isn’t wrong and he knows that he isn’t, so Auri scowls. Shadowheart returns with the wine. Auri has trouble finding her voice for the rest of the night.

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

Auri’s not scared to proposition Shadowheart, exactly. Given everything they’ve all been through together, sex isn’t actually intimidating at all. But Auri fears making her uncomfortable.

She’s saved the pain, though. The next day when she steps into Shadowheart’s flower patch with the intention of broaching the subject, Shadowheart beats her to the punch.

“You two aren’t nearly as quiet as you think you are, by the way.”

Auri’s jaw drops. “Pardon?”

“I heard you talking last night. You two aren’t half as quiet as you think you are.”

When Auri flushes, Shadowheart laughs. “I’m flattered, really, though I have to admit that I can’t imagine you…” She trails off before picking up the sentence again. “I can’t imagine you taking control that way.”

Auri’s embarrassment at being overheard gives way to irritation. “Seriously?”

Shadowheart shrugs. “It’s not personal. You’re just quick to let others take the lead if they want it.”

Silence falls between them and Auri lets it hang in the air for a moment before shrugging because that’s the kind of stupid thing that Astarion would do. “Alright,” she says. “Your loss.”

And it works. Of course it does.

“I didn’t say no, did I?”

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

Shadowheart’s always enjoyed sex, though partners have grown more subpar as she’s gotten older. It’s not their fault, probably; she’s just gotten more particular.

And this is risky, probably, letting Astarion and Auri invite her to bed. Auri’s as sensitive as they come, and Astarion’s relationship with sex is complicated, though Shadowheart doesn’t know the details.

“Come to the room you put us up in,” Auri had said. “And don’t bother having clothes on. I’m not interested in wasting time.”

So here Shadowheart is in the room that Astarion and Auri have been sharing. She grins; Auri acting like this is altogether foreign, but she’s apparently taken Shadowheart’s earlier words as a challenge. When Auri registers the smile on Shadowheart’s face, her eyes narrow.

"Here's what's going to happen," Auri says. Astarion sits in a chair in the corner, unbound but bidden sit still, bare from the waist up. When Auri steps up to her, Shadowheart doesn’t flinch, but Auri guides her downward until she’s kneeling next to him. Auri takes their faces in either hand, stroking Astarion's cheek as she stares down at Shadowheart.

To her, Auri says, "You are going to make me come. And then I'm going to fuck you."

Astarion’s lips part but he doesn't speak. Auri smiles at him. "And if you behave, maybe you'll be allowed to come after."

On her knees, Shadowheart’s at the perfect height to watch as his cock strains against his trousers. Auri dips down and takes Shadowheart's mouth with her own.

"Are you ready, then?" Auri asks when she pulls away, and in unison, Astarion and Shadowheart nod.

Auri takes Shadowheart's face between her thumb and forefinger, gripping tightly. "Today, we share. But his fangs and his cum are mine alone. Understand?"

Again, Shadowheart nods. Auri's eyes cut to Astarion. His cock and his face are both enraptured by the sight.

He nods a second time as if agreeing to something that Shadowheart isn’t quite privy to.

Auri's attention snaps back to Shadowheart. "You're going to make me come," Auri repeats. Shadowheart licks her lips. "Yes. We'll put that mouth to work, and then if you satisfy me well enough, you'll get your own.”

Shadowheart’s not grinning anymore. She’d forgotten, somehow, in these years sequestered from Baldur’s Gate, just how commanding a presence Auri can have when she tries.

She just doesn’t usually try. She’s almost always content to let Astarion take the lead.

Not today.

“Show me what you can do, then,” Auri says, an invitation if Shadowheart’s ever heard one. When she rises from her knees, she can feel Astarion’s eyes on her, roving over every curve of her body even as Auri starts to undress in front of her.

Auri raises an eyebrow, looking at Shadowheart with such distaste that it stops her in her tracks. “Did I say you could stand?”

When Auri’s intent becomes clear, the slickness between Shadowheart’s legs grows. Auri sits on the edge of the bed and tilts her head to the side, staring at Shadowheart, unimpressed.

“You can crawl to me or you can stay standing where you are. It’s your choice.”

For a brief moment, Shadowheart wonders what kind of punishment she’d incur if she didn’t comply, but Auri considers her hardly at all. Only her lower half is bare, and she stares straight through Shadowheart to find Astarion.

“How’s the view?” Auri asks, an undercurrent of nervousness in her voice that wasn’t there when she was talking to Shadowheart.

Astarion breaks the character of a perfect submissive for only a moment to say, “I don’t think you’re supposed to care, darling.”

And that’s enough for Auri’s mask to slip firmly back into place. She locks back onto Shadowheart and says, “I’m not a patient woman. Make your choice before I give your chance to him.”

Shadowheart falls to her hands and knees once more, and when she’s near enough, Auri spreads her legs. She crawls between them, as was certainly Auri’s intention all along, and she lays a hand on either of Auri’s hips as Auri fists a hand in her hair.

And very quickly, Shadowheart sees what Auri’s intentions are. When her tongue makes an experimental pass over Auri’s clit, Auri laughs. “Oh, I know you can do better than that.”

When Shadowheart chances a glance upward, Auri isn’t even looking down at her. She’s staring right over Shadowheart’s head at the place where she knows Astarion is sitting. She’s going to make Shadowheart work for it.

Well. She’d been honest about that, Shadowheart supposes. And if that’s the game, Shadowheart will play. She feels exposed entirely, back to Astarion and face buried between Auri’s legs, but it doesn’t matter. Letting control go–

There’s no person better to do that with than Auri.

When Shadowheart slides her tongue up the length of Auri’s slit, she finally gets a reaction. Auri exhales contentedly, and she says, “That’s more like it.”

Shadowheart wonders if Astarion can see how wet she is. The angle certainly allows for it as her lips pull at Auri’s clit, and it seems that she’s finally gotten Auri’s attention. When Auri’s head tilts back, it exposes long-scarred spots on her neck courtesy of Astarion’s fangs. For all the control she’s exerting, Auri’s wet, too. Desperately so.

Two of Shadowheart’s fingers slide in with ease. The hand in her hair tightens, and Shadowheart’s gripped by the desire to please. The soft noise that Auri makes as Shadowheart’s fingers seek the perfect spot inside her spurs her on, and this time when Shadowheart looks up, Auri’s staring right at her. “Another,” she says, her voice ragged and her neck blotchy.

When Shadowheart complies, a grin breaks out across Auri’s face. Shadowheart’s tongue flicks across her clit and her fingers don’t stop. Auri’s hips roll into her face and hand until Shadowheart’s not even doing much but teasing her clit. Auri fucks herself on Shadowheart’s hand until she’s satisfied, and when she cries out, just a bit less controlled than she has been so far, Shadowheart drags the flat of her tongue along Auri’s clit. “Fuck,” Auri hisses, her nails scraping against Shadowheart’s scalp as her hips grind against her face.

And for this brief moment, Shadowheart’s in control. Her lips find Auri’s clit once more, and the orgasm that tears through her body pushes Shadowheart’s face even further into her cunt. Her fingers fuck Auri through the orgasm, and when Shadowheart pulls her lips away for fear of the pleasure becoming pain, Auri tugs her face upward. Shadowheart’s fingers leave her, and Auri pushes her lips to Shadowheart’s. When her tongue bids Shadowheart’s mouth open, she gives no resistance, but the kiss doesn’t last long.

“That’s my good girl,” Auri says, voice still quivering, and a chill runs up Shadowheart’s spine. Auri hasn’t stood from the bed and Shadowheart’s still on her knees. She runs a finger down Shadowheart’s jawline delicately. “Astarion’s looking lonely. Could you go give him a taste of me, please? You did so well that I’ll even let you walk.”

Astarion's knuckles are white on the armrests of the chair when Shadowheart stands and turns. Shadowheart wouldn't be surprised if his nails have carved trails into the wood. When Shadowheart pauses, Auri says, “Go ahead. Have a seat in his lap. Kiss him, even, if you’d like. But your hands stay above the neck until I say.”

When Shadowheart does as Auri says and straddles his hips, Astarion doesn’t hesitate. One of his hands snakes behind her head to drag her in closer, and Shadowheart’s hips roll against the erection that she can feel press against her entrance even through the layers of fabric he’s still wearing. She moans as Astarion’s lips find her greedily; she’s no doubt soaked the front of his trousers thoroughly even in the little time that she’s been on top of him.

“How’s she taste, my love?” Auri asks. She sounds a bit further away than she had before, but Shadowheart can’t make herself care.

Labored, with Shadowheart’s mouth still half on his, Astarion says, “Divine.”

There’s something about his reverence that makes Shadowheart blush, his eyes half-lidded and meeting her gaze with undisguised want.

Auri hadn’t said anything about not moving her hips against Astarion’s cock through his clothes even though Shadowheart would rather have him inside her. Shadowheart puts a hand on either side of Astarion’s face and kisses him again, hard. Astarion stutters out a strangled noise like he might spend himself without ever undressing at all, and when his head jerks back, no doubt trying to wrest control of his own body back, one of his fangs catches against Shadowheart’s lip.

The soft skin there tears and Astarion’s eyes dilate instantly, fully alert. Shadowheart doesn’t know how it’s possible, but his cock hardens even more beneath her. He can drink from her. Shadowheart doesn’t care–

Astarion’s fingers are torn from her hair and a smaller, rougher hand takes their place, yanking Shadowheart’s head backward.

“Misbehaving when we’ve barely started?” Auri asks. This position exposes Shadowheart’s neck to Astarion entirely, and his fangs are bared as he stares at the spot where Shadowheart can feel her pulse pounding. “I told you his fangs were mine.”

“It was an accident–” Shadowheart stammers out, but her train of thought stops dead when something hard presses against her cunt.

Auri’s mouth is at her ear and the hand not pulling at Shadowheart’s hair tugs at her hip. “Oh, it was an accident. I understand.” Auri’s voice is low and dangerous, and when Shadowheart’s eyes dart to the side to glimpse what seeks to bury itself inside her, she almost shudders. Auri’s strapped a cock to herself that has Shadowheart’s mouth watering. It’s a fraction from filling her, and–

“Accidents happen,” Auri continues. Her breath is warm and wet against Shadowheart’s cheek and her teeth nip at her earlobe. “So I’ll forgive you just this once as long as you make sure he knows how good it feels to have me fuck you.”

When Shadowheart looks back down at Astarion as she asks, his lips are parted, and Shadowheart’s too caught up. When Auri pushes into her with a single, decisive thrust, her body jerks forward and she cries out.

Shadowheart only notices the drop of blood that drips from her lip at the motion because Astarion’s eyes lock on it instantly. When it falls into his mouth, Astarion’s eyes flash and his hips instinctively buck upward, seeking any kind of pleasure for himself, but Auri’s having none of it. Her grip on Shadowheart’s hair releases so both of her hands can fall to her thighs, nudging her upward so her knees are on the chair.

Her body’s out of reach of Astarion’s for any kind of meaningful contact, and that’s exactly what Auri wanted. Astarion exhales a laugh, a smile of disbelief on his face, and Shadowheart can see him come to the conclusion that she had roughly two positions ago.

Auri had taken their slights against her ability to be dominant very personally.

But Shadowheart doesn’t get time to ruminate on it. She’d complained about not being able to surrender control with any partner meaningfully, but she’s falling apart at Auri’s touch. Her breasts are in Astarion’s face and they ache to be played with, but he’s not going to disobey Auri’s command not to touch below the neck. Auri’s hips meet the curve of Shadowheart’s ass time and time again; Shadowheart wouldn’t be surprised if she’s dripping onto Astarion’s lap.

As if Auri’s in her head, one of her hands drops between Shadowheart’s legs. Her thrusts have grown shallower, seeking the spot that will make Shadowheart’s vision go black and her mind go blank. Auri finds it with ease; the slightest pressure on her clit will send Shadowheart over the edge.

But it never comes.

Auri drags her hand through the slickness that’s pooled between Shadowheart’s thighs but she avoids the place that Shadowheart wants her to touch the most. Her fingers leave a wet trail along Shadowheart’s ass until Auri finds what she’s looking for.

Shadowheart gasps as she’s penetrated twice, Auri’s cock in her cunt and finger in her ass. She buries her face in the crook of Astarion’s neck, but Auri doesn’t stop.

“Come for me, then. You’ve earned it.”

And Shadowheart shatters. She’s never been loud, but this climax pulls profanity from her mouth. She doesn’t scream, but it’s close. Her mouth is wide against the flesh of Astarion’s neck; she could bite him if she wanted. Her breasts are flush with his chest and his entire body’s rigid as she heaves against him, Auri’s cock still inside her. As the orgasm passes and she regains control of her body, she pushes herself back up, and as she does, Auri pulls her cock and finger out from inside her.

Shadowheart shudders at the loss and Astarion breathes in deeply through his nose. Auri kisses her tenderly on the cheek, a light brush of lips against skin that’s entirely at odds with the role she’s played thus far but very much like the Auri that Shadowheart’s known for years.

“Why don’t you take a moment on the bed for me?” Auri asks. “You look like you need to catch your breath.”

Astarion looks at her with unbridled hunger, but Shadowheart does as Auri bids. Somehow, desire still thrums in her stomach, but she has no doubt that she won’t be left wanting. She lies down on the bed, turned to face Auri and Astarion, and Auri asks him, “Is this what you wanted when you said that you wanted me to succeed in getting her into bed with us?”

The lust in his eyes wars with the smirk he wears. “You know that it is. You never disappoint, darling.”

Auri chuckles. “You’re only saying that because you want to get off.”

“I can mean it and have ulterior motives at the same time.” His words are stilted, his veneer of restraint slipping by the moment as he stares at the length between Auri’s legs. “Can I?” he asks, pupils blown wide without even being touched. Auri’s cock is still slick with Shadowheart, and Astarion stares at it intensely.

“Eyes on me, my love. You've been so good so far. Don't ruin it.” When Auri tilts his chin upward until their gazes meet, her nails scrape along his jawline. “Can you what?”

When Astarion runs his tongue over his fangs, Shadowheart shudders even from her place on the bed.

Astarion’s voice is always composed, a weapon just as much as his daggers are. Here, though, half-naked and staring up at Auri in submission, he sounds different. There’s desperation that makes the muscles in Shadowheart’s stomach clench when he asks, “Can I suck your cock?”

“I suppose you have been good, accident notwithstanding,” Auri says, and that’s invitation enough for Astarion to leave the chair where he sits to kneel in front of her. Shadowheart inhales sharply. When Astarion’s lips part, Shadowheart sees just the briefest glimpse of his fangs.

She feels every bit a voyeur as he takes Auri’s cock in his mouth and his hands reach around to grip the curve of her ass. Auri runs her fingers through Astarion’s hair, tilting his head back even as he takes her. “Yes, you are just wonderful,” she says. Shadowheart is more than satisfied to watch, but Auri turns to her, apparently uninterested in her remaining a bystander. “He’s doing so well, isn’t he? Doesn’t he look pretty with my cock in his mouth?”

Shadowheart nods. Words feel impossible. Auri looks down again at Astarion and he stares right back up at her. Her cock slides down his throat with ease.

Gods.

Shadowheart’s rarely seen Astarion surrender in anything, but when he yields to Auri, he does so wholly. Auri’s cock slides in and out of his throat so obscenely that just watching makes Shadowheart’s insides burn. When Auri motions to her, Shadowheart nearly misses it. She only pulls her attention from Astarion’s mouth when Auri snaps her fingers.

When Shadowheart approaches, Auri says, “Answer my question properly, please,” and one of her hands falls between Shadowheart's legs. She came only minutes before, but when Auri’s fingers seek entrance, Shadowheart sighs like she hasn’t been touched properly in an eternity. “He deserves to hear it, I think, for putting on such a good show.” Auri doesn’t look at her but her fingers are expert. “Tell him how pretty he looks with your cum in his mouth.”

Astarion's nostrils flare. Auri thrusts her hips forward, and when she does, she buries her cock in his throat.

“You're marvelous,” Shadowheart says as reverently as she ever spoke about Shar. Auri smiles.

Saliva runs down Astarion’s chin and he makes no move to wipe it away. Auri says, “Marvelous really is the only word that even remotely describes him.”

The heel of Auri's hand presses against Shadowheart's clit and she moans as Auri's cock slips from Astarion's mouth. A thread of cum and saliva hangs from his lips, and Auri says, “He’s so marvelous, in fact, that he's going to fuck your ass while I'm sunk to the hilt in your cunt.”

The image that pushes into Shadowheart’s mind makes her every thought go blank, and finally, Astarion’s decorum breaks, if only for the briefest moment. When unwieldy lust flickers across his face, Auri smirks.

“You said yourself that I should watch you fuck her. What better view than when you’re both on top of me?”

They’d discussed this, of course. Shadowheart knew that. To hear Auri vocalize it so plainly still sends lightning down her spine. Astarion swallows hard. Auri jerks her head upward and nods toward a jar on the small table beside the bed. “Off your knees. You know what to do.”

When he does as she says, Auri kisses him before he steps away, and her fingers leave Shadowheart’s cunt. She pulls her back toward the bed with one hand and teases her nipple with the other, every brush of her fingers electric against Shadowheart’s skin. From the corner of her eye, Shadowheart can see Astarion. The hand he has wrapped around himself glistens with lube.

“You're going to look lovely riding my cock,” Auri whispers in Shadowheart’s ear. Speaking quietly is unnecessary; Astarion can no doubt hear her, but it has its intended effect still. Goosebumps rise on Shadowheart’s arm. Auri continues as she lies back on the bed, pulling Shadowheart on top of her. “You're going to be so full, but we all have to remember the rules.”

Shadowheart nods again as she had before, a leg on either side of Auri’s hips, but Auri's eyes narrow. She grips Shadowheart's face roughly; Astarion's cock is so hard that it looks painful. “Tell me the rules, and I'll fuck you within an inch of your life.”

Auri’s a performer to her core. Shadowheart’s known that for a long time, but she plays this role particularly well. The head of her cock rests at Shadowheart's entrance. Breathlessly, she says, “His fangs and his cum belong to you.”

Auri smirks. “Good girl.”

And finally, Shadowheart sinks down onto Auri’s cock, exhaling as she does. There’s no resistance. Auri slots inside her with ease, and her hands slide up Shadowheart’s stomach until she reaches her breasts, squeezing almost cruelly.

When Shadowheart cries out, Auri’s smirk widens, a wicked expression that only serves to make her wetter, though she isn’t sure how that’s possible. Auri’s hips grind upward, and Shadowheart regrets ever saying that she couldn’t imagine Auri in control. She’s well on her way to a second orgasm when she feels movement behind her.

Her mouth goes dry. Shadowheart doesn’t know how she managed to forget that Astarion was there, but the spell that Auri’s cock has cast between her legs apparently drove out all awareness. Auri’s hands leave her chest; one finds purchase on Shadowheart’s thigh and the other tugs at her braid firmly, pulling her downward.

Auri nips at her earlobe. Her cock pushes into Shadowheart, slow and deliberate. Auri knows that she was close before. Her breath is warm against Shadowheart’s ear.

“You have to be patient, beautiful. You’re not allowed to come again until he can feel it, too.”

Auri’s hand on her thigh ignites the heat in Shadowheart’s core as it trails toward her clit, and she whimpers, “Please.”

“Please what?” Auri asks, canting her hips upward again. Her fingers have stopped just short of the place Shadowheart wants them to be. “Ask for it. I want to hear you say that you want me to touch you.” Her tongue runs along the curve of Shadowheart’s ear. “I want you to look at me when you say that you want my lover in your ass.”

Shadowheart's had tens of lovers, and this is far from the first time she’s taken someone this way, but the weight Auri puts in her words lends even more taboo to the act.

And she’s never been full in both places at once.

The length inside her pushes against the spot that makes Shadowheart’s vision go white. She clenches her eyes shut. “I want–”

Auri’s movements stop entirely and her voice goes cold. “I told you to look at me when you beg.”

When Shadowheart's eyes open, it doesn't even seem like it's of her own volition. Auri's words force her to look on their gravitas alone.

Auri’s eyes are a piercing green. Shadowheart steels her jaw.

“I want you both to fuck me until I can't walk,” she challenges, and Auri’s grin is all teeth.

Auri jerks her head at Astarion behind her and Auri's fingers finally brush against her clit at the same moment that Shadowheart feels Astarion's hands on her ass.

His hands are cool but Astarion's always cold; it isn't unexpected and Shadowheart’s attention is more consumed by the deliberate way that one of his fingers works its way inside her. When she gasps, Auri calls her back, and her feather-light touch on Shadowheart's clit is maddening.

“You're doing so well,” Auri soothes, and Shadowheart's body reacts to the praise accordingly. The wetness between her thighs distracts her from the mild discomfort of Astarion's intrusion until Auri says, “Go on. She can take another.”

A second finger stretches her, and this time when Shadowheart moans, Auri cocks an eyebrow. “His cock is bigger than that, and you want to take it, don't you? You want to come on my cock and his?”

The lube that runs down the curve of her ass is debauched, and Shadowheart nods. “More. Please.”

“You heard her. One more finger, and after that, you'll be allowed to fuck her.”

Shadowheart’s so close, but Auri’s pace with both her hand and cock have slowed. When a third finger enters her, Auri stops moving entirely. “You can't come yet. You have to take him to earn it.”

When was the last time a lover made her feel this undone? Shadowheart whimpers this time as Auri's words roll over her, trying desperately to grind her hips downward. When she does, Auri's hand reaches up and finds her throat, stopping the movement before Shadowheart can find any relief.

“Do you want to fuck her, my love?” Auri asks, looking over Shadowheart's shoulder at Astarion.

Astarion is normally the perfect picture of control, but his voice is strangled when he says, “Yes.”

The hand on Shadowheart's neck tightens and she gasps. She feels Astarion's lips against her shoulder and she draws in a ragged breath. Auri's smirk is wide and wicked.

“Have your way with her, then. You've earned it.”

When his fingers leave her ass, Shadowheart would fall forward if not for Auri's hand around her throat. She misses his touch instantly but there's no time to mourn the loss because the head of his cock pushes against her entrance immediately.

“Alright?” Astarion asks, voice strained, as if restraint is causing him pain.

When Shadowheart opens her mouth to answer, Auri's grip on her neck tightens.

“She's fine,” Auri says, and she's right, of course. “She was made to take us.”

Astarion waits for a signal that this has become too much, but Shadowheart’s not interested in anything other than more. He eases into her slowly and the fullness is so much and Shadowheart thinks that she might split in half.

It’s like a dream.

Despite her words, Auri’s touch has turned gentle. She’s giving Shadowheart time to adjust, but their consideration is just another kind of torture. When she tries to lean backward, forcing Astarion’s cock in deeper, Auri holds her steady. “Patience, beautiful,” Auri says, a repetition of what she’d said earlier. Shadowheart whines audibly and Auri pulls her forward, far enough down that her nipples brush against the fabric of Auri’s shirt. Auri gives her a kiss so gentle that Shadowheart wants to scream.

“Please.” Shadowheart doesn’t recognize her own voice. She’s never been the type to beg. “I need–”

Auri kisses her again, stealing away the vocalization of her desire, and when they part, she says, “I know what you need, but you have to be patient. The only one allowed to hurt you here is me, and I don’t want to hurt you like that. Understand?”

Shadowheart would let her do anything, but finally, blessedly, Auri rolls her hips. The movement is minimal but it sends pleasure to her every extremity, and Auri says, “You like that?”

Shadowheart nods; words are impossible. Astarion’s finally fully inside her. There are stars behind her eyes. The likelihood of her coming apart increases by the moment. Again, Auri fucks upward, and this time, Astarion meets her rhythm. When they thrust into her at the same time, Shadowheart thinks that this might just be the end of her. Auri kisses her a third time and Shadowheart pants into her mouth before Auri says, “Sit up for me. I want to watch him touch you.”

“I don’t know if I can–”

Auri cuts her off again. “You can hold out. I know you can. You can’t come for me yet.”

Shadowheart chews her lip so hard that the spot Astarion’s fang had cut open starts to bleed again as she forces herself back up onto her knees. He inhales sharply as blood again runs into her mouth, and if there was any control left in him, it disappears. One of his hands falls between her legs and the other grabs for her breast as his nose pushes into the flesh of her throat.

He can smell the blood. He doesn’t need to see it.

“You wanted me to watch you fuck her, Astarion,” Auri says, her own hands gripping Shadowheart’s thigh and hip respectively. “So make her come.”

She’s a toy, really, now, which is only fair considering how Auri had fucked her while more or less using Astarion as furniture. Astarion twists her nipple hard, and she’s so close. She strains for the orgasm desperately and Astarion’s teeth are on her neck–

And Auri says, “Stop.”

The sweat on Shadowheart’s brow grows cold as the one-word command ices her oncoming climax. Auri’s voice is stony. “You were going to bite her.”

This isn’t fair. Just one more moment would have been enough–

Astarion doesn’t deny what Auri accuses him of, and Shadowheart is caught in the middle both literally and figuratively.

When she says, “On your back,” to Astarion, he doesn’t hesitate. In fact, if Shadowheart didn’t know better, she might say that it was a ploy on his part. Shadowheart wants to whimper when Auri’s cock leaves her cunt, but when Astarion moves, he pulls her with him.

With minimal awkward adjusting, and agility that doesn’t quite make sense to Shadowheart, Astarion pulls her with him so that they’re both lying on the bed, her back flush with his chest.

And he’s fucking her, still. Shadowheart doesn’t know how much more her body can take. The sound of his hips meeting her ass grows louder, and that alone is sinful enough, but then Auri says, “Stop moving.”

Astarion’s hands squeeze the soft flesh of Shadowheart’s ass, moving her up and down the minutest fraction, but otherwise, he listens. It’s torture.

She needs to come. She has to. But her words are gone. Noises come out of her mouth that she doesn’t even recognize.

Auri’s on top of her, then, her cock brushing against Shadowheart’s clit. She strokes Shadowheart’s cheek with a single finger.

“It’s alright. I’ve got you. And I know what you need.”

Auri sheathes herself in Shadowheart’s cunt in a single swift, nearly cruel motion, but Shadowheart would take it over and over again. She’d do anything for this feeling of fullness; any pain registers only as pleasure. With her every movement forward, Shadowheart moves not only on Auri’s cock but Astarion’s also. It doesn’t matter that he himself isn’t moving. Shadowheart isn’t the toy anymore. Each thrust fucks Shadowheart on Astarion and Auri’s cocks both.

Auri’s hips push against Shadowheart’s clit each time she moves forward, and she’s been so close for so long. It takes no time at all to fall off the cliff of her pleasure. Shadowheart reaches behind her, seeking purchase on anything to ground her. What she finds is Astarion’s hair, and as she rides out her orgasm, she feels him breathe in against the heat of her neck once more.

She can’t talk. All she can do is bask in the afterglow of the second orgasm Auri’s given her until Auri caresses her cheek once more. She tilts Shadowheart’s face side-to-side. Shadowheart can’t catch her breath. She draws in an insufficient gasp of air, and Auri says, “You can give me another.”

Shadowheart’s sure she misheard. “What?”

Auri grins. Shadowheart’s always thought her somewhat plain, but here, she shines, her cock sliding out from Shadowheart’s cunt. The sudden emptiness makes Shadowheart shiver, and when Auri’s on her knees, she holds out a hand to help Shadowheart rise to her own until Astarion’s cock leaves her as well. To Astarion, Auri says, “You can stay there.”

When Auri steps off the bed and turns her back, Astarion grins.

And Auri had thought he might be uncomfortable playing this game.

Auri unfastens the cock from her hips and lets it fall to the floor without fanfare. Shadowheart can’t tear her eyes away as Auri snaps, and she knows a prestidigitation spell when she sees one. The tendrils of Auri’s magic wrap around Astarion’s cock, and Auri flippantly says, “No offense, but I prefer him clean.”

“None taken,” Shadowheart manages.

“You can touch yourself while you ride his face if you want,” Auri says. “He does a good job, though. Trust me. You shouldn’t need to.” She speaks casually, as if the previous orgasm hadn’t fractured Shadowheart’s reality on a fundamental level. Auri continues, “I’ve called you beautiful a few times now, but you are especially beautiful when you come. You come apart like you were born for it.”

The fire inside her re-ignites. It’s simple for Auri to pull heat back between Shadowheart’s thighs as if it had never gone. She’s never had hesitation about Astarion’s fangs anyway, but even if she did, Shadowheart doubts that it would have mattered. Auri could say anything right now and Shadowheart would do it.

Astarion’s eager from the moment Shadowheart’s cunt meets his mouth. She sighs (even squeals a little; her clit’s still hypersensitive from everything that’s come before) and watches as Auri wraps a hand around Astarion’s cock. She strokes him only briefly before straddling his hips and sinking down onto him.

Auri sighs through her nose contentedly as she takes him. “There’s nothing in the Realms that feels as good as you do.”

There’s a rumble in Astarion’s throat that Shadowheart can feel as his tongue swipes against her dripping entrance. He licks her clean before his mouth turns its attention to her clit. There’s no foreplay needed; Shadowheart’s a mess. Three fingers slide into her with no warning and no resistance.

“Come here,” Auri says, and Shadowheart wants to watch, wants to see Astarion’s cock slide in and out of Auri’s cunt, but she can’t focus on anything except for the fact that Astarion has hurtling much too quickly toward a third climax. She leans forward because Auri asks her to, and the consequence is the angle of Astarion’s ministrations changing. When Auri takes Shadowheart’s bottom lip between her teeth, Astarion’s fingers curl against the perfect spot. His lips draw at her clit harder than they had before, and Shadowheart doesn’t know how it’s possible for her body to crave climax again.

“That’s it,” Auri croons. “Let me see you all fucked out one last time.”

What’s she supposed to do but come in Astarion’s mouth? If Shadowheart had neighbors they would hear it as the pleasure crashes down around her. Shadowheart grinds her cunt into Astarion’s mouth and he takes what she gives, fucking her until she’s satisfied, and when the convulsions stop, Auri’s holding Shadowheart’s face in her hands.

“Beautiful.”

And after everything, it’s this that makes Shadowheart blush most. Astarion’s tongue drags along her slit one last time as if her cum is something it’d be a shame to waste. She slides to the side much less gracefully than she’d intended, but neither Auri nor Astarion seem to mind.

“Do you want to know a secret?” Auri asks her even though she’s looking at Astarion.

Shadowheart doesn’t know how she finds the words, but she does. “What’s that?”

“He loves having his ears rubbed.”

Astarion exhales in anticipation, and Auri rolls her hips, tilting her head back as she does. Shadowheart repositions behind Astarion, crossing her legs and pulling his head into her lap. Her fingers barely even brush the tips of his ears before he shivers, and Auri’s voice is softer than it has been yet. “What did I say was mine?”

“My fangs and my cum,” he says, words strained. Shadowheart knows that tone. He’s close, and that’s more than fair; they’ve been teasing him this entire time.

And Auri’s not done. “You’re not even going to fight me on this? You’re not even going to argue and pretend to not remember what I said belonged to me?”

“Oh, darling, I’ve been good, haven’t I? And you’ve more than made your point, as I’m sure we’d all agree.”

Auri’s smile is wide and affectionate, no less in control but entirely the ray of sunshine that Shadowheart’s used to. When Shadowheart’s thumb and forefinger rub small circles into his ears, Astarion says, “Shit.”

Auri leans forward until her chest is flush with his. Shadowheart would feel like she was intruding if not for Astarion’s hand gripping her forearm so tight that she feels like it must be the only thing binding him to this planet. “Are you hungry?” Auri asks, voice low.

“Starving,” he hisses, and Auri pulls her hair over her shoulder to expose his claim. He stares at it with pupils dilated.

“Then feed while I fuck you,” she says, her hips rising and falling as punctuation. “And fill me with cum when you’re done.”

They’re lost in each other as Auri rides him with her own hand between them, but Shadowheart’s never forgotten. When Astarion’s fangs tear into Auri’s skin like he’s never fed before, his nails dig into Shadowheart’s arm, and her fingers tease his ears still. He thrusts into her, any of his remaining discipline lost, and Auri’s fingers lose rhythm on her clit at the same time. She comes with a gasp even as her blood drips down her neck onto his shoulder, and he follows barely a moment after. Astarion grips her to his chest with his other arm as she collapses on top of him.

Elf ears are more sensitive than even half-elf ears; Shadowheart’s quick to let them go in the aftermath, but to her surprise, Astarion doesn’t release her arm.

And, to be frank, Shadowheart’s not entirely sure what comes next.

Auri tilts her head up to look at Shadowheart from her place on Astarion’s chest.

“Why are you still up there?” Auri asks her. The performance has completely fallen away.

Shadowheart blinks at her and Astarion scoffs. “If you don’t come down here and cuddle, it’s not unlikely that Auri will start crying.”

Auri blushes. “That’s not– I would not–”

But Shadowheart acquiesces without a thought, her naked body slotting in next to Auri and Astarion like that’s where she was always meant to be. When she does, Auri glows, putting a hand to her cheek with earnest tenderness.

Shadowheart asks, “What happens now?”

Auri slides off of Astarion’s chest and faces her; Astarion presses himself tight to Auri’s back. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I obviously–” Shadowheart swallows hard and sighs, rolling her eyes. “This is stupid. This just isn’t going to be weird when I wake up tomorrow, is it? What happens now?”

“Who cares?” Astarion pushes a curl that’s fallen into his eyes back up into his hairline.

Auri snorts, punching his upper arm lightly. “I care, but I don’t disagree with the sentiment that ‘who cares?’ is supposed to convey. If there’s anything to figure out, we can figure it out tomorrow. Tonight was its own reward.”

Auri kisses Shadowheart’s forehead. Astarion buries his nose in Auri’s hair and brushes hair that’s fallen into Shadowheart’s eyes behind her ear as he'd done for himself only moments before then closing his eyes.

Shadowheart settles in under the comforting heat of Auri’s arm and resolves that they will just have to come visit more often.

But, yes. They can figure it out tomorrow. And whether this ever happens again or not, tonight was more than enough.

Shadowheart sleeps. No dream could ever compare.

#shadowheart #astarion #astarion ancunin #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #shadowheart x tav x astarion #smut #bg3 smut

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cuubism · 4 months

Text

A vignette from Silly Rabbit universe (jeez it's been a while). Part 1 of 3 interconnected scenes. [Explicit]

“You know, there’s an old saying about lying,” Hob remarked casually to Dream.

Dream was leaning against the bookshelf as Hob graded, looking far too self-satisfied. Earlier, Hob had told him about how a university administrator had come by to ask him if Morpheus was a student, to which Hob had responded with an emphatic no because as much as he wanted to let Dream have his fun, he wasn’t about to let people go around thinking he was fucking his students, Jesus Christ. Dream had pouted at first, though he understood.

Now, he was smirking, and that could not be good.

“I tell no lies,” Dream reminded him, “and I weave no webs, other than by providing the scaffolding for imagination. Your students – and colleagues – are simply creative.”

“Well, whatever you’re doing, let’s steer the rumors away from sexual harassment, if you don’t mind.” Hob could technically always fake his death, but he’d really really rather not have that be the cause.

He also really didn’t want to have to go back to grad school yet. Please, God.

“As you wish,” said Dream. “I have no desire to disturb your life.”

“I like having you disturb my life,” Hob said. “Upend it. Throw the table over.” As long as you stay. “There just has to be a limit somewhere.”

“I will plant more stories separating myself from this university,” Dream said, and Hob breathed a sigh of relief.

“Thank you.”

“After all,” Dream continued, with a crafty smile, “there are plenty of other reasons a man such as yourself might be in possession of a lover who is… how did that student of yours phrase it? Young, pretty, and unemployed.”

Hob groaned. He could already see where this was going. “You’re only one of those things, Dream.”

“And as I have stated, I will not be obtaining a ‘job.’”

Hob threw a pen at him, which Dream caught with those supernatural reflexes of his.

“You should get a job. A human job,” Hob told him.

Dream’s lip curled in the most abject expression of disgust Hob had ever seen. “Why?”

“Because it would be funny. I want to walk into Starbucks in the morning and see you behind the counter glowering at some kid ordering a Pink Drink.”

“Ah, I exist for your amusement, then,” said Dream, leaning further back against the bookcase. “A court jester dancing about for tossed pennies.”

“Pretty much,” Hob agreed.

Hob expected him to pout, but instead, he smiled. It was not a smile that boded well for Hob. “Or perhaps… I am doing more than dancing for my coin.”

“What is this obsession with making me look like a sex fiend?” Hob demanded.

“If it is easily believable,” Dream said haughtily, “then that is hardly my fault.”

Hob blew out a long breath. “I’d almost think you wanted to destroy my reputation.”

“Perhaps I want you to myself,” mused Dream. “Perhaps I crave all your attention.”

“You have it.” Hob beckoned him over, and Dream uncurled himself from his slouch, stepping over and perching on the edge of Hob’s desk. “The moment you step into a room, you have it,” Hob said, looking up at him. “And all of my daydreams besides.”

Dream found his hand and brought it to his mouth, kissing each finger in turn. “Good.”

Hob meant to make some lighthearted retort about his sheer entitlement, but it was impossible to focus on it when Dream had his mouth on him, looking at him from under his eyelashes like that.

“You know,” Hob said instead, keeping his voice light purely through force of experience, “sometimes I think you haven’t actually given up on that bet that I’ll die, you’ve just decided that you want to be the cause of it.”

Dream grumbled in disagreement. “If you are choosing death, then I have been using my mouth very wrong.”

Hob should probably take his hand away from Dream’s mouth if he wanted to survive this conversation. He didn’t. “We should probably take this elsewhere.”

Dream, the absolute bastard, merely tugged Hob closer, pulling him off balance in his seat. “Must we? For I seem to recall a young vagabond who would have cheerfully bent me over a table in full view of the entire tavern, given the chance. Have you become so timid?”

“Nope,” Hob said, and, resigned to it now – or rather, gleefully allowing himself to be dragged into Dream’s fantasies, as usual – braced his hands on Dream’s hips. “Wouldn’t have. Even then, I wanted you all to myself.”

“You have it now,” Dream said. He hooked one long leg around Hob’s back to hold him close. “Will you let the locale stop you?”

“Oh, no, in fact, this is an enduring fantasy of mine,” Hob admitted. He slipped his hands under Dream’s shirt, feeling the sharp angles of his hips. “It’s just, we were talking not five minutes ago about avoiding getting fired for workplace misconduct.”

Dream merely looked at him expectantly.

Hob sighed and conceded, “Would probably be worth it.”

Dream’s eyes lit with victory as if he hadn’t known he would get exactly what he wanted from the start.

“This is a fantasy of yours?” Dream asked as Hob gave into temptation and pushed up his shirt, kissing his belly just above the waistband of his jeans.

“As if you don’t know,” Hob said.

“I know only what dreams you share with me,” Dream said, letting out a sigh as Hob kissed his way over to his hip bone. “I do not pry.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I don’t,” Dream insisted. He tugged on Hob’s hair in admonishment. “If your fantasies are obvious in the way you look at me, that is not my fault.”

“Are they that obvious?” Hob asked as he worked on unbuttoning Dream’s jeans. He couldn’t help but be charmed by the thought, even if it was another strike towards getting fired for inappropriate workplace behavior.

Dream smiled. “At times. But you have never been one to hide your feelings. And it is flattering.”

“‘Course it’s flattering. Sponge for compliments you are.” Hob wondered idly how obvious his thoughts on Dream had been over the many years of their meetings. Wondered if Dream had seen them, and simply decided not to address them — or hadn’t let himself see it at all.

“I suppose,” Dream agreed idly, as he dragged a hand through Hob’s hair, disheveling it, scratching his scalp with sharp fingernails. “Does that make you a font of compliments, then?”

“Or just a born simp, as the kids put it.”

“I did overhear a student say as much,” Dream admitted, and Hob laughed, pressing his forehead to Dream’s stomach.

“God I’m so obvious. Did you know I actually had a professional reputation, once upon a time? Properly professional Professor Gadling, I was once.”

“I do not doubt it,” said Dream, in an overly indulgent tone. “You have been wholly professional and respectable, always. And certainly never a charming bandit swindling your way into pockets and pants.”

“Charming, eh?” Hob grinned up at Dream, not missing the irony that he was currently mid way through getting into Dream’s pants. “Now you’re making me regret not making a proper pass at you back then.”

“I would have smote you where you sat for the audacity.”

“Nah. You liked me too much for that, I could tell.”

“Like an unusual bug I had found in the grass,” Dream conceded.

“On that flattering note.” Hob finally got Dream’s jeans properly undone, and pressed his nose to Dream’s pelvis, breathing in with a satisfied hum. Sometimes, Dream smelled of nothing at all in the waking world, like he had forgotten to apply that layer to his ‘human’ skin. Sometimes, he smelled like strange and impossible things, echoing dream scents that would never linger so long on a real, physical body.

Today, he smelled properly human, sweat and musk and Hob’s body wash.

“Are you doing that on purpose?” Hob asked, voice muffled by Dream’s body.

“Am I doing what?”

“You smell good.”

“Ah.” Dream pet Hob’s hair. “Perhaps.”

“Yeah, perhaps. I’m onto you.” He pulled Dream’s jeans down to his upper thigh; Dream obligingly wiggled on the desk to let them free, which was far cuter than it had any right to be. “You’re such a tease.”

“I enjoy when you want me,” said Dream, softer now. And Hob’s heart ached, but in a sweet way, a gentle way.

“You hardly have to work for it,” he said.

He took Dream in his mouth, then, and set to showing him just how much he was wanted.

Dream spread his legs wider on the desk, leaning back, letting out a long sigh of pleasure. Hob loved him like this—loose, indulgent, enjoying himself. Dream didn’t indulge himself enough.

And really, there was nothing Hob loved more than indulging him.

He worked Dream’s cock, licking over him and taking him deeper in increments. Dream’s moan above him was the greatest reward. Hob had had lots of time by now to learn, to get very good at drawing his pleasure out. A most valuable skill, to get Dream’s thighs shaking and his hands clutching tight to Hob’s hair, breathing in deep though he didn’t need to, relishing in the simple illicit pleasure of Hob sucking him off in the middle of the work day.

And Hob loved it, too. The taste of him, and the experience of his enjoyment.

Soon enough Dream’s hips were twitching up, and he came in Hob’s mouth with a long sigh. Hob swallowed him down, and remained there for a few lingering moments, Dream’s prick softening on his tongue, until Dream squirmed from overstimulation and Hob let him go.

He was terribly hard in his trousers, but wanting Dream was its own pleasure to relish in. “Dearest Hob,” murmured Dream, a glint of mischief lighting through the haze of his expression as he pet Hob’s hair. “Should I leave you like that? Wanting, and knowing that I await you at home as you finish your day?”

Hob shivered, but said, “More like go about your work and rematerialize at home once I get there. Don’t pretend like you’ll be tormenting yourself, too.”

“Mmm,” said Dream, “but I could.”

Hob sat up straighter. “Could you? Would you really make yourself wait?”

“Perhaps you will have to find out.”

“How am I supposed to know if you’ve really been good?”

“Hmm,” said Dream. It was a challenge now. “I will show you.”

He vanished, leaving a scattering of sand on Hob’s desk. A few moments later Hob received what he could only describe as a vision, a daydream of Dream lying in their bed, nothing but a pair of lace panties on, idly playing with himself through the fabric with one hand as he read a paperback book with the other. He knew it was really Dream, the image was too crisp to be a creation of Hob’s mind. Apparently, being also all daydreams Dream could make himself into one. Damn creature.

Hob groaned, pressing the heel of his hand hard against his erection before forcing himself to stop. He did have to teach, after all, though he knew Dream was going to be holding that image in his head all day.

Indeed, an impression of Dream’s voice floated to him.

Work hard today, beloved.

Oh, he’d be in for it later.

If Hob survived the workday.

#silly rabbit au #dreamling #dream of the endless #hob gadling #nsft #my writing

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sleepingdeath-light · 1 month

Text

relationship hcs ; shadow milk cookie

requested by ; anonymous (24/01/24)

fandom(s) ; cookie run

fandom masterlist(s) ; hub | specific

character(s) ; shadow milk cookie

outline ; “So I am a little OBSESSED in love with shadow milk

So could I get some Shadow milk relation ship hc’s?”

warning(s) ; none, just fluff!

if there was a need to describe shadow milk cookie’s approach to your relationship, it could be done in just the one word: playful

whenever you’re stressed, he puts on elaborate productions of magic and puppetry to brighten your day and make you smile: funny voices, summoned puppets, plot lines that either touch upon your favourite tropes or make fun of the people that upset you — he never holds back with you

if you’re experiencing a low mood or crying, then he’s upping the dramatics and repeating all of your favourite puns and jokes to pull you out of it and make you laugh — he dresses like a jester all of the time, so it’s safe to say that the man doesn’t mind making a fool of himself for your sake

he’s extremely physically affectionate and can go from slow and passionate to cheeky and playful in a second — alternating between loosely wrapping his arms around your waist and nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck as you sit comfortably on his lap, and suddenly tightening his grip on your waist to stop you from getting away as he nips and kisses and tickles your skin until you’re laughing so hard you’re crying and clutching at your aching sides and trying desperately to squirm out of his grip

equally his kisses can be playful and cutesy or passionate and messy depending on his mood

most of the time they’re done for a sort of dramatic flair on top of his usual public displays of affection that usually get you stared at in confusion — consisting of him grabbing you by your shoulders or the side of the face before wetly kissing you on the lips or cheek whilst making a very unnecessary and over the top ‘mwah!’-esque popping sound (he may even stop at the last second and lick you instead just to make you laugh)

but there are times when that playful facade slips and his kisses become much more frantic, passionate, and hot — when the act slips and you’re left face-to-face with a more possessive, seductive, needy side of him that only comes out when he’s so desperate for your touch that he’d sooner slip into your skin with you than let you go, or when someone else has made him jealous

those kisses look a bit more like this: starting with him grabbing you by the waist or neck or sides and all but crashing your body and lips against his, alternating between biting and licking your lips until you breathlessly give in and part your lips for him, letting his hands wander just enough to send a message as you cling to him like a lifeline, and only pulling apart when you’re starting to struggle to breathe — separating by mere millimetres with a web of saliva connecting you both before he giggles, pecks your lips, and lets you go (leaving you breathless, aching, and somehow wanting for more as you watch him practically skip away to do whatever it is that he had planned)

your laughter is his absolute favourite sound in the world and he will do anything it takes to make sure that he gets to hear it for the rest of his life

he wouldn’t hesitate for a second to kill or torment someone for you if only you asked — hell, you don’t even need to ask, the second it’s clear that someone has made you upset, stressed, or uncomfortable, he’s finding their location and plotting to either take them out completely or forcibly make them a part of his act (it’s not too difficult to take control of someone, after all, and he’s certainly done worse for less… and what better cause is there for mayhem than protecting his partner’s honour and well-being?)

all of his pet names for you are as over the top and random as you would expect from someone like him, including all sorts of nicknames from inanimate objects to puns relating to your name and/or interests to random animals that remind him of you to the most disgustingly cheesy terms of endearment that he can think of, to anything in between — and he’s happy to respond to anything you choose to call him, no matter how ridiculous of a pet name it may be

he’s extremely quick to jealousy and has been known to lash out at anyone who dares to get too close to you for his comfort (unless it’s one of a few select individuals that he’s approved of being in your presence) — it’s actually the main thing you argue about when it comes to your relationship, but that’s not going to change anytime soon so you may just be better off accepting that side of him rather than trying to strong arm him into being a better person

#sleepingdeath #gender neutral reader #fluff #fluff hcs #crk fluff #crk x reader #cookie run fluff #cookie run x reader #shadow milk cookie fluff #shadow milk cookie x reader

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bingusbongu · 4 months

Text

A/n: whoa!!!!! I didnt expect my sun and moon post to blow up in a day! Seriously yall- you guys are amazing- as a bew tumblr writer, it makes me really happy and want to continue! So, as a treat, i present to you......

SUN AND MOON IMAGINES!!!!!

May you enjoy your feast my children

IMAGINE you coming in early to work, clocking in just to see your favorite animatronic jester. You two were very close, and you found yourself wanting to spend more and more time with him

When you open the door to the daycare and call out to the jester, its almost immediate a response of 'SUNSHINE?!' and a happy 8ft tall robot sprinting towards you

He scoops you up into a hug, giggling and smiling with pure happiness, after you allowed Sun pick up hugs, he now picked you up every time you enter the daycare, and hugging you tightly, before letting lose and excitedly babbling how excited he is to see you, while not putting you back down on the ground. And you just listen to him list every idea he had for today and the little ones.

IMAGINE when the daycare opens, and the kids are playing and running around playing games and doing weird macaroni art. Sun couldnt keep his eyes off of you.

He would watch you tend to an argument that sparked between two kids and a toy. He would watch as you gently calm the situation down abd find a solution to make both kids happy. He dosnt even realize his rays spinning and his fans whirring until a kid points it out, and he is a flustered mess.

IMAGINE a kid walking up to you and Sun. You asked what the kid needed, and he just points up at Sun and flat out tells you that 'Mr Sun has a crush on you'

Sun becoming a stuttering mess as his fans kick in attempt to cool his system as he quickly tries to deny what the kid said, covering his mouth with his big robotic hand, as he giggles nervously

You couldnt help but giggle at the display of Sun frantically trying to get the kids from telling you that he had a huge crush on you. So, to make matters worse, you said 'oh i know, i like him too' before walking away to go deal with a macaroni art misshap

Sun standing there completely stunned as he watches you walk away. Feeling as if he completely had overheated, as his gears hummed loudly in his body and his sunrays spinning in an constamt speed

The kids wouldnt stop singing about Sun and You sitting in a tree

IMAGINE when naptime roles around, and the kids had grown tired of running around and teasing the poor daycare attendant. As they crawl into their little comfy cots in the napping corner, all snuggled into their blankets after you tucked each and one of them comfortably

as the lights flickered off, and the nightlights flickering on, Moon emerges ingo the corner with a hum. As he tries to settle the rest of the kids to bed, they beg him for a story. Moon, having no choice, grabs a childrens book from the little shelf they had and began to read to the kids

He would flip the book around so the kids could see the illustrations of the book while he reads out the words and acts out the voices, getting thekods laughing as they grow tired. Until the kids would start yawning and laying their heads down to rest

Lifting his head up from the book to make sure tge kids were okay, he noticed all of them sleeping peacfully. He was about to close the book, before he noticed you sitting infront of him with a gentle smile and your full attention on him, asking him to continue the book

He would stutter in suprise, preventing his voicebox from glitching as to not wake up the kids, and cleared his nonexistent throat to keep reading to you, looking up at you occasionally, just to see your face looking down at the book and moon. He couldn't help but feel his wires spark inside him every time you giggled at his hushed voices

IMAGINE Moon and you carefully leaving the naptime corner, so you two could talk without disturbing the little ones rest. In hushed voices, you both chat happily away while joking with one another

Moon absolutely adoring when he manages to get you to laugh at one of his stupid jokes. Admiring the smile on your face and how you grip your gut snd your other hand over your mouth to prevent yourself from laughing to hard and keeping yoursel quiet

IMAGINE you and Moon playing a game together ad you liked to do during naptime. A simple game of hide and seek where you go hide, and moon crawls around to try and find you. The fastest he ever found you was ubder 5 minutes, because he could sense your heart pounding

Regardless, you get better abd better each time. Memorizing the play structures each time you did, and how to distract moon by pushing stuff over as a distraction for you to move poditions. You learned to keep moving and not stay in ons area for two long

But no matter what, Moon will always find you in the end, adding another win to his win streak smile. And of course, he teases the heck out of you for being third place(because Sun likes to participate)

And Moon alway snatching you out of your hiding spot and dragging you somewhere else, and youre used to it so you dont fight it

IMAGINE Moon huffing when he realized soon he should wake the kids so you and Sun could get them ready to go home, but he hates having his time with you ended.

So instead, he will sit on the floor with you as you both waited on time. His head in your lap as you pet his metal forhead in soothing circles. You dudnt know if Moon could feel it, but you still did it anyway. And, just with your touch, it makes his purrs vibrate even louder if it wasnt already. With the biggest smug grin on his mechanical mouth

IMAGINE after the Kids are woken up gently by the two of you, helping them fold up their blankets abd cots to make it all nice so its one less thing the attendant has to worry about

Moon will always grumble about not being happy that Sun gets more tims with you, but you reasure him that you always stay for awhile befoe heading home to spend time with your favorite jests

But, just a minute before the lights going out, you pressed a soft peck of a kiss on the Moon mans lips, causing him to freeze and his gears stopping for a moment in stunned silence. Before Moon could say something ot ask for more, youre already helping a kid and the lights back on

IMAGINE as Sun gives the last child to their parents, a big smile on his face as usual as the parents thank him and turn to take their kid back home with smiles on their faces.

Sun would sigh happily as he watched the family leaving, feeling a strong pain in his chest. Whipping his head around to make sure you were still there witg them. And of course, you're cleaning off the arts and crafts table He smiled in relief at the sight of you desprately trying to get glitter glue off of the table.

Before you knew it, you had arms wrapped around your waist and pulling you into another pick-up hug. Pressing your back to his face as he giggled happily. Praising you with compliments about how you were today with the kids. And of course, when you compliment him back, he gets so goddy and excited, he squeals and just hugs you tighter

Before your words came back into his mind, making his hands fidget as he held you, becoming less tighter than usual. And you noticed, asking him what was on his mind. He tried playing it off but gave up when you gave him that look

He gets all stumbly and tries ro express his words, but it only comes out as gibberish. The wirring of his fans not even helping the situation one bit. Trying to figure out how to ask you to give him a kiss like you did Moon

And thankfully for you, you almost immediately caught on and smiled softly, finding Suns actions adorable, making you giggle. Having to put your hand up and cup Suns cheek to get him to stop rambling and get him to focus on you.

Once you had his attention, you lean forward and press a kiss to tip of Suns metal lips, just as you did moon

_____________

Waaaa hope you enjoyed!!!! Sorry for my grammatically errors, i may be an American, but im not great with that

Have a good day/night!!!!!

Sun+Moon: *lovesick idiots*

Y/N: *just an idiot*

#sundrop #moondrop #fnaf #fnaf security breach #dca x reader #daycare attendant x reader #fnaf sun x reader #fnaf moon x reader #imagines #reader insert #gender neutral reader #mi babiss #fnaf x reader #moon x reader #sun x reader

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popatochisssp · 5 months

Note

The Court AU has me DEAD!!! If you’d be willing, what sort of outfits would they wear? I’d love to draw them!

Anon, I had so many tabs open looking up medieval-type fashion and armor, we're talking like 30+, felt super awesome finishing this and closing them all 😌

Anyway--

Sans (Undertale): What’s black and blue and white all over? Why, him of course! His jester’s motley features a black-and-white diamond pattern, offset by bright, rich, royal blue—a mark of his service to the king. He doesn’t wear one of those silly hats, though…because he wears a silly hood instead! Less chance of falling off, you see. When not in costume he tends toward simple tunics, of decent material and often still in blue.

Papyrus (Undertale): Almost never out of full plate armor, even in downtime, he has to dress for the job he wants and that means being a shining metal bastion of knightly glory at all times! …Though he does often remove his helmet and hold it by his sword at his hip, or fasten it to his steed’s side. He’s a very handsome skeleton, it would be cruel to deny the people the chance to see their hero’s face!

Sky (Underswap Sans): Soft blues and yellows, as a squire only lightly armored—greaves and pauldrons, a mail shirt beneath his tunic if he’s expected to go into battle—but he considers even that much armoring to be overkill for what he’s doing. Still, his Captain insists, and it makes his brother feel better, so he takes care protecting himself. He has some nicer finery to wear about court, as a nobleman, but tends simpler for anything that might be dirtied or torn in training.

Paps (Underswap Papyrus): Rich green and earthy browns, his clothing tends to be without ostentation—no embroidery, no gold buckles or buttons, or anything especially elaborate. He may be noble but he’s a scholar and a recluse and prefers not to stand out much. Still, the fabrics of which his clothing is made are always fine, as coarse or stiff materials quite put him off. Mostly cottes—long belted tunics—with the occasional robe over, if it's cold.

Jasper (Underfell Sans): Blacks and browns, sturdy plain clothes which can stand up to considerable wear and tear. Often wears a short diamond-quilted gambeson and some leather armor (vambraces and greaves), but always has a sword belted to his hip and a cloak made of dire-wolf’s fur draped over his shoulders. If ever he should need to acknowledge his denounced family name, he does have some finer clothing stored away somewhere—in red—and a shiny gold signet ring with his family crest on it.

Pyre (Underfell Papyrus): Usually in half plate armor, dark metal heavily scratched and scorched, dents meticulously hammered back out. He also wears a tattered red cape about his shoulders that billows quite majestically behind him when he rides or runs into battle. He will occasionally dress down in laced tunics and breeches, still in red and black, fine but not too fine as to raise suspicion about his heritage. Should all that ever come out, he does have a suit of pristine night-black armor he’s been dying to inherit and a silken cape to pin about it with a golden clasp of the family’s crest.

Mal (Swapfell Sans): Mostly black but flaunts his privilege and royal ties with purple accents wherever possible. Brigandine armor with a fine gold-plated gorget and pauldrons and a few other ornamental trappings—he is the Empress’ personal guard and must in some capacity be as elegant. Very fine doublets and tunics for his (rare) downtime, often with gold threading, but not fond of most jewelries.

Rus (Swapfell Papyrus): Dark colors and crisp whites, noble yet eccentric, he has a lot of fine doublets and other such court-wear but tends not to actually…wear them. He can mostly be found in loose-fitting cottes, baggy sleeves often penned up by leather armlets to keep them out of his paints. He has a fur-hooded cloak for travel or cold weather, but he rarely leaves his rooms, much less the castle, so he doesn’t don it often.

Slate (Horrortale Sans): Dark browns and off-white cream, simple rough-hewn clothing showing signs of wear and occasionally odd stains. He works in the stables, with animals, and being around animals so much makes it difficult to keep clean. He has a somewhat decent dark blue cloak that he’ll wear into town for errands, or in polite company—it has a hood to conceal the great jagged hole in his head that tends to make the squeamish or timid flinch away from him.

Papy (Horrortale Papyrus): Still hasn’t quite shaken the habit to be armored, even when it isn’t necessary, but he’s cut down from full plate to chain mail only, much lighter and easier to move around in—which is vital when hurrying to the training field for an accident, or running to meet a wounded knight at the gates. He wears a simple tabard over his mail, blue with red edging (the Queen’s colors), and keeps a pouch of bandages and other aid supplies belted to his waist instead of a sword.

Ash (Undergloom Sans): The livery of the king’s court, gray and gold, but dyed into fabrics suitable for common folk. He still wears gray when not performing at court, tunics so thickly woven they could pass as a gambeson and often paired with hooded cloaks, but he keeps his golds set aside until needed to keep them in good condition. He takes equal care of his shiny brass sackbut (it’s a horn, with a very funny name but an instrument nonetheless) so it always plays well.

Yrus (Undergloom Papyrus): Off-white and tan linens, loose and breathable for hot work in the kitchens, sleeves rolled up and pinned at the elbows to keep them from getting in the way. Always an apron about his waist, occasionally with food stains after a long day’s work but these he quickly tends to as soon as he’s able. He has nothing in the way of real finery but tries very hard to make sure what he has is clean and presentable.

Brick (Horrorfell Sans): Fine brocaded doublets of rich red and shining gold thread, as a duke and brother to a king, he does have to dress the part a bit. He wears more jewelry, especially rings, but nearly always still has his dire-wolf fur cloak over his shoulders. When called for executions, he dresses down quite a bit, in simple black cloth with only a leather pauldron over one shoulder to help brace the weight of his axe before he swings.

King (Horrorfell Papyrus): Half plate armor essentially at all times, even formal or polite occasions—he’s the owner of a stolen throne and all too aware that it could be stolen from him the same way he got it. His breastplate is scaled and his pauldrons are elaborately spiked, but it’s all black. The only pop of color on him is his crown, the same worn by Asgore and Undyne, gold and sharp, with rubies inlaid.

Merc (Horrorswap Sans): Chain mail over a finely-made kaftan and beneath a traveling cloak, the latter two with signs of wear from a long journey. His head is notably absent of a crown—left behind in the kingdom he fled—but a new one awaits him soon, of flashing silver and blue stone, depicting the phases of the moon. When fully established in his new kingdom, he may begin dressing as a proper king again, draping himself in the blue and silver finery of the land that sheltered him.

Ell (Horrorswap Papyrus): Browns, greens, and blacks, he wears light leather armor—really just a breastplate and vambraces—and a thick woolen cloak about his shoulders. He has no need of greaves for his shins, legs lost to an accident in the wilderness, but supplanted by magical prosthetics, living blackened wood provided by his land when he called upon it for aid. …Not that he’s fully accepted that it’s his land, keeping his crown of twisting copper and emerald tucked away in a saddlebag instead of on his brow. Maybe someday…

Pitch (Horrorswapfell Sans): Rich purple and verdant green, amidst a sea of black—he favors very fine fabrics with open lacing at the chest. Still not especially fond of jewelry, but wears considerably more decorative leather braces on forearms, shins, and even the occasional full-chest corset. (He has some chronic pain and the extra pressure and support in certain spots helps.) He wears considerably more plain clothes for knight-training purposes and when traveling wears a black cloak with a cowl that comes down over the hole in his face at a point, as the beak of a raven.

Nemo (Horrorswapfell Papyrus): Usually in half plate splint mail armor for his patrols along the wall, but favors rusty oranges, brown and black for the tunics and boots and breeches he wears out of it. Often carries a lantern, and always has tinder in a pouch on his hip. Beside his pouch is a war-horn in case an alert would need to be called, loud enough to make everyone come running if it’s ever sounded.

Sunny (Gastertale Sans): A cavalierly styled courtier, at first having made do with graciously lent clothing and now being able to buy his own in a whole variety of rich colors—yellow, blue, magenta, and on. His aim is to look at home in court, which means he must dress as other courtiers do, so he has doublets and fine tunics and many, many fashionable capelets with embroidery and stylish pins, as well as a few equally chic plumed hats. The other courtiers look to him now for the latest fashion trends and he couldn’t be happier.

Aster (Gastertale Papyrus): A bit more subdued in style than his brother…though only a bit. He favors black frocks, almost as a cleric would wear, but beneath them, elegant doublets in greens and yellows as vibrant as anything his twin wears, with fine silver filigree work in his buckles and pins and clasps. He’s the pinnacle of restrained class and taste and it’s no wonder at all that the king should respect him so highly if his care in thought is as his care in appearance.

Spectr (Transcendtale Sans): Deep, dark black from head to toe, most prominently a long hooded cloak with two eye-lights glowing in the darkness. He always wears gloves and never lets his hood down, as he’s not especially fond of his metal bones and doesn’t really wish to be seen. It’s difficult to see in the daytime, but at night he’s trailed by faint wisps of ghostly light in all colors of the rainbow, such a strange sight that many a drunkard who’s seen him has poured out their bottle presuming they’d had quite a bit too much.

PapAIrus (Transcendtale Papyrus): Full plate armor, of course, but as he’s now some sort of spectral entity, it (and he!) glows and is slightly see-through. Being ghostly has washed out his colors quite thoroughly which is unfortunate—mostly all white with hints of silvery blue—but on the up-side he seems able to change his appearance some by will alone, donning or discarding his helmet at will, manifesting a majestic cape for himself out of the ether, and so on. It seems a fair enough trade to him!

Xanth (Ascendswap Sans): A man at court now, he’s donned an eye-patch and abandoned the trappings of prospective knighthood, fully embraced courtier fashion…if a bit ‘eccentrically.’ He favors bright yellows and spring greens, flowing garments of fine cloth layered beneath and over leather vambraces, gorget, and tasset. All these are elaborately, intricately designed and certainly make the similarly intricate gold jewelry (with multicolored gems) that he wears at wrist and neck stand out, but it’s hardly in fashion… Still, the mystic’s thinking is often inscrutable.

Piper (Ascendswap Papyrus): Unlike his brother, very fashionable and eye-catching, in rich amaranths and brilliant turquoises, with even the occasional lavender. He has many fine embroidered doublets, threaded liberally with gold, and wears many pieces of gold jewelry as well—necklaces, bracelets, pins, and brooches. When showing the birds of the crown at court or bidding them on a royal hunt, he wears the livery of the crown-proper—royal purple and gold—and always has a thick leather falconer’s glove on his left hand.

Carmine (Underfell Fruition Sans): What’s black and white and red all over? Well, newspapers haven’t been invented yet, so it’s him, of course! He’s no jester so he hasn’t a motley to wear to work, but he is a performer and does dress in the livery of the king, which is red and black. The material is a bit finer than he’s used to, but being that he’s no longer wearing rags and rotting in a hole, he’s quite pleased with it and doesn’t mind the bright colors that help him attract the eyes of many comely nobles at court. Off-duty, he sticks to loose, somewhat open tunics—red still very much preferred.

Tank (Underfell Fruition Papyrus): Laced linen shirts, not especially loosely fitting due to his largeness in the chest and shoulders but he hasn’t burst any seams in awhile so the measurements must be somewhat correct. He’s fond of white and a true connoisseur of red, all shades from dark to very light. He keeps an array of small carpentry tools—hammers, chisels, things for measuring—in a roll on his hip, a dedicated apprentice to the core.

Vi (Swapfell Fruition Sans): All black, pourpoint armor beneath fine silk doublets but almost disappointingly plain otherwise—no embroidery, no ornament, or stitched pattern, or brocade. Over this he wears a cloak, equally fine and with at least some ostentation, a bit of silver stitched decoration that matches the intimidatingly clawed silver gauntlet he wears upon his left hand—a symbol of his wealth, if not his status. These flashy items are for matters of court only, as he has a much more nondescript hooded cloak and less identifiable sharp implement which he uses for matters of stealth and misdeeds when it is important that he not be recognized.

Hunter (Swapfell Frution Papyrus): A prince in princely attire…mostly. He happily flaunts the color purple but proudly wears it with the black of his old family name, and drapes himself in silk tunics, fine (mostly decorative) pauldrons, capes and capelets. He tends to show off a bit more of his chest than seems appropriate for a man of his station, and seems to wear his elegant silver jewelry in ways such that the eye is drawn there, and…other places, but few question the whims of royalty. His pewter crown is heavy and inelegant and he’s talked much with his brother about how angry people would be if he had it melted and recast into something more stylish.

Kohl (Descendtale Sans): Plain, rough tunics, in black and dark brown. He wears a heavy fur-lined gabardine as it gets quite cold in the dungeons, though it’s uncertain where he managed to get such a nice garment. He keeps a knife on his belt, large and jagged-toothed, and though he hasn’t had need to use it yet, the threat of it tends to keep most prisoners from attempting to bring him harm.

Bram (Descendtale Papyrus): He’s traded in his full plate armor for a comfortably fit leather jerkin, accompanied by matching gauntlets to protect his hands and torso (inasmuch as they need protection, without flesh) from the thorns he trims back every day. He mostly wears black and white and brown, all things closely fit to his body, less they snag overmuch and need to be replaced too often. His clothing is simple but well-suited to his work, and he wears it nicely.

#anonymous #headcanons #court au #undertale #underswap #underfell #swapfell/fellswap #horrortale #undergloom #horrorfell #horrorswap #horrorswapfell #gastertale #transcendtale #ascendswap #underfell fruition #swapfell fruition #descendtale

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cookierunauprompts · 3 months

Note

This is super self indulgent buuut I like to think that shadow milk used to worm his way into the kingdoms he manipulated by being a jester or as an advisor so imagine this with a reader insert! Shadow milk just doing his thing when he sees the reader (could be anyone maid,princess etc) and thinks they are a perfect source for information but slowly starts to fall in love with them! And by the end he makes the reader watch as the kingdom they live in falls. Anyways hope you have a great day!

Requested Prompts #6 - 💓✙

TW - Mentions of violence, cannibalism

Everything was going perfectly, nobody knew him as more than the Court Jester, nobody could even guess that it was him stirring up the discord within the royal court. They only knew Blueberry Milkshake Cookie, the silly court jester who always kept one of his eyes covered. He was much, much more than just a Court Jester though. And he could tell that you knew that. So, his first thought was to get you... Out of the way. He quickly reconsidered that after seeing you behead an assassin cookie with your own bare hands. So, then came plan b, using you as a source of information. As the next in line to be Crowned in this kingdom of secrets, then surely you would hold some rather valuable information that he could use to further his own agenda. But of course, even then you were holding back on him. You were a locked treasure chest of secrets, and he was trapped in a room full of keys trying to find the one that was just right. Shouldn't he have abandoned this by now? Well, he hated to admit it, but he'd fallen in love with you. Hard and fast like a blazing meteor on a crash course into the planet. And then, came the day you revealed one of your secrets to him. " I hate this kingdom," You had said bitterly, bringing a surprised look to his face. " Hating your own kingdom, my liege?" He teased with a sly grin, not having believed you at first. " My apologies, but I thought that I was supposed to be the jokester here!-" " Blueberry Milkshake Cookie," You said sternly, and he watched as you turned to glare at him. " I'm being serious." He shut his mouth, these were your secrets, he'd finally found the key and gotten you to open up to him. Surely he wouldn't have to deal with this... love he'd developed for you after, right? " This kingdom is built upon lies, but I'm sure you knew that already." You walked up to him, hands finding their way under his arms to lift him up off his feat so the two of you could be at eye level. " Haven't you ever wondered why myself and my family are this powerful?" His heart was doing loop-de-loops, such as it always did when you showed off like this. " I have, yes." He answered. " It's because we eat other cookies, and I hate the fact that we do." You hissed out, biting your tongue to keep quiet and hushed. " You know those private executions? They're taking those Cookies to a slaughterhouse, some of them haven't even done anything wrong and yet they're being slain like livestock." You crouch down so his feet are touching the floor again while you get on your knees. " I despise this castle, my family, and everyone who let this continue to happen. I wish that my kingdom would be completely and utterly destroyed so that nobody will have to know what suffering went on here." Oh, he didn't expect that. He could see the tears of anger brimming in your eyes, he didn't like that expression on your face. So why not replace it with one of your better ones? Such as your elusive smile? His own expression twisted into a gleeful grin. " Aw~ Don't worry my dear, I'll be sure to make your wish come true~" He cooed, wiping your tears of frustration away with a wave of his hand. " What do you mean?" You had eventually asked him after a moment of silence. The confused expression on your face- not what he was going for, but he'd take it anyways- was just so adorable~ " Eheh he he he heh~ Oh, you'll just have to wait for my last performance, the one in three days time." He chuckled, slipping out of your hold and walking towards the door. " However, I do advise you get yourself out of the kingdom before then, Reader Cookie~ Ta ta for now~" On the inside, he cackled wildly... Not out loud of course, that'd get him found out. He hoped that you would head his warning, after all he didn't want you getting crumbled in the cross fire.

....

Might make a a part 2 for this one, mainly in Reader Cookie's POV about finding out that Shadow Milk was blueberry all along.

#cookie run #cookie run kingdom #cookie run au #cookie run au prompts #crk #shadow milk cookie #shadow milk cookie x reader #cr kingdom #cannibalism tw #I hope you don't mind the twist i put on it. I felt like sprinkling in a bit of horror #also strong af reader cookie my beloved.

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demetris-cocksleeve · 7 months

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(A/n: Told you it'd be up soon😅😘)

Word Count: 2,007

Summary- How do you expect Lucio to deny a treat such as yourself?

Warnings: Con Noncon, Mentions of "deflowering" (social construct but🤷‍♀️), anal, a singular slap at the beginning, fingering, unprotected sex- no creampie, let me know if i missed any

Age Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Count Lucio x Male! Reader: Corruption + Anal; Kinktober 2023

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The palace library is filled with the steady shuffling of paper as you flip through various spell books.

Asra has been trying to teach you how to enter the Arcana Realm on your own but you just can't seem to grasp it. So here you are: sorting through book after book to try to figure it out. Sure, Asra would be more than happy to give you extra help, but you can't bring yourself to ask. Not after everything they have done for you already.

Just as you let out a sigh, about to give up for the day, the library doors slam open. You don't even have to look to know who it is. But you do, because he's the count and something about respect, yada yada yada.

You politely nod in acknowledgement even though you're trying to keep your eye from twitching in annoyance. You're already stressed between Asra's new task and the general mayhem that comes from being the count's personal magician.

Namely, the count's particular fascination with making you do measly magic tricks as though you're a court jester - it makes you regret ever accepting the Countess's offer.

"Ah! Y/n! What a wonderful surprise!" Count Lucio exclaims as he strides over to you.

As if he came to the library for any reason other than wanting to bother you.

"Count Lucio," you deadpan, continuing to flip through the pages in front of you.

He perches on the table, not bothering to move the priceless tomes and scrolls. You cringe as the papers crinkle and crunch under his weight.

"I'll never understand why you choose to bury yourself in such a dark, dusty room," he absently flips a book closed as he glances at the papers with a screwed up face. "If I didn't know any better I would think you like these books more than me~"

'Guess you don't know better, then…' you think bitterly.

"Do you require my assistance with something, your Excellency?"

His lips twist into a nasty smirk, sending a chill down your spine.

"I do, actually~"

Rubbing your temples you bookmark the tome you're looking through and set it aside. "And that would be with..?"

Over the course of your time at the palace, you've come to learn that the count has little to no regard for personal space when it comes to the people he favors, -unfortunately, you're one of the most favored of his staff- so you don't think much of it as he grabs your wrist and brings your hand toward him.

That is, until he places your hand on his lap. Specifically, his notably hard crotch.

His grip tightens when you move to yank your hand back.

"Sir-"

"Ah, ah ah~ You know what happens to people who upset me~" The Count chides.

The threat behind his words makes you freeze as images flash through your mind.

Various staff members who have been executed in various ways. From public hangings to being chased down by Mercedes and Melchior.

"There's a smart boy~" Count Lucio sing-songs. "You will do as I say, when I say it. Understand?"

Your jaw is set as you numbly nod.

"Good boy… Now, strip." He commands as releases your wrist to shrug off his jacket, leaving his torso bare.

You'd be lying if you said the count wasnt insanely attractive. Or that you hadn't thought about almost this exact situation before. But reality is different from fantasies.

A slap to the face snaps you out of your thoughts. You keep your head snapped to the side as he speaks.

"I said: strip."

With no other choice, you stand, slowly peeling layer after layer off until you're standing bare before him. Keeping your eyes to the ground, you wait for his next order as embarrassed tears prick at your eyes.

"Fuck… Look at you- better than I imagined." He breathes.

The tears slip down your cheeks as the praise causes your cock to start to twitch to life.

Horror dawns on you as you realize he said 'Imagined'... That means he's thought this… That he planned it. Oh, gods…

"C'mere."

His voice brings you back. Numbly, you move your legs until you're in front of him. He yanks you to stand between his legs.

"Open your mouth." Dropping your jaw open, your hands clench into fists at your side. Why you? Why couldn't this be happening to another staff member?

You know it's an awful thought, but you can't help it.

His fingers are heavy on your tongue as he slides them in to the knuckle. "Now suck."

The count's intense gaze never leaves you as you suck and swirl your tongue around his digits. You close your eyes in shame as your cock stands at attention between you. You know it's just a primal response, but the disgrace still fills you.

Even more so when you acknowledge the small part of you that's enjoying the attention. The part of you that whispers about all the times you imagined being bent over by him and fucked until you couldn't walk; reminds you of all the times you've feverishly tugged at yourself to the thougbt of him until you were spilling into your bath water.

After his fingers are thoroughly slicked, Count Lucio pulls his hand back and slips it behind you. You jump as you feel his wet fingers slip between your ass cheeks and trace around your hole.

"Wait!" You yelp, taking a step back. Which, with the way the pressure makes his finger breach you, does anything but help the heat in your face. "What are you doing?"

The count's head tilts to the side as he leans back against his metal arm. You try not to let the way his abs tense with the movement get to you. Try.

Raising an eyebrow he says, "Well, I was going to prepare you to take my cock, but, if you'd prefer no preparation, I'm happy either way…"

His dismissive attitude has you sputtering.

"So?" He asks, "Prepped or not prepped?"

"Well- I- Um- Wh-" You can feel the heat in your chest with how embarrassed you are. You're standing in front of Vesuvia's ruler, as naked as the day you were born, being asked how you like to be fucked. Please let a hole open up beneath you and swallow you whole…

Count Lucio rolls his eyes and huffs a sigh, "Prepped it is. Now- forearms on the table." He stands from his perch.

Hesitating, you just glance between him and the table. This is actually happening…

"Now."

His tone carries the authority of the fearless commander he's known to be and it has you shuddering as you lean over a couple scrolls.

"Good boy~"

You suck in a breath at the appraisal. Your hips jerk as he starts to push his fingers into you once more.

He pushes the first finger in until what you guess is the second joint before pulling it out and joining it with another finger. The count slowly starts to scissor you open.

"This is wrong…" you whimper out and the dirty feeling washing over you. "This is so, very wrong…" Fresh tears flow from your eyes as the count ruins you.

"Oh, baby, the only thing wrong right now, is you." You can feel his warmth as he leans over you to whisper in your ear. His fingers continue to force small whines from your lips as they pump in and out of you. "This isn't right, the body isn't meant for this…"

"Wait a minute-" Count Lucio pauses with a grin. "You don't mean the situation, do you?" Your bottom lip trembles as you shake your head.

"Please, don't do this to me," you whisper as your forehead falls to the table in defeat.

"Oh~" you can hear the growing smirk in his voice.

"Oh, I'm going to ruin you, my little magician~" he growls out.

His fingers start up with a renewed vigor and he speaks.

"Gonna ruin this tight little hole. Gonna ruin you for anyone else; you're never gonna be able to even think about anyone else after I'm done with you."

All of a sudden his fingers are gone and something much bigger is pushing at your rim. When did he undo his pants?

"Please… Lucio-"

Before you can get the rest of your plea out, you're interrupted.

"Godsdamn it-" He groans. "Drop the "Count" from now on. My name sounds so good coming from your lips, baby…"

You cry out as the count starts to push in. Not out of pain, but because you're never going to be intact again. Facing the ultimate shame has you once again cursing at the Arcana for not choosing someone else to be deflowered in this way.

You're sobbing into the tabletop by the time Lucio bottoms out. You can feel his metal fingers contrasting his flesh on your opposite hip; the sharp, gold digits digging into your skin as he starts to pull out.

You're babbling various pleas and protests as he thrusts back in. Your words fall on deaf ears as he starts to pick up the pace. Your cries mix with his pleasured curses fill the otherwise empty library.

One particularly hard thrust has you screaming out in pleasure and pain as he slams into your prostate- over and over the bundle of nerves takes the hits. Over and over you clench your eyes as you jaw goes slack. The most obscene noises leave you, noises you didn't know you could make.

"Fucking hell-" Lucio hisses as he snaps his hips against yours, "Feel so fucking good; look at you sucking me in so eagerly. And to think- hah- you were so against this."

You can't bring yourself to answer. Your cheek is smushed against the wooden table as you get shoved up and down it with every thrust. The shiny surface fogs with each pant and moan that escapes you.

You can feel yourself climbing closer and closer to the edge, your balls start to tighten as the pain of neglect becomes almost too much for your leaking cock.

"Please…" You don't know what you're begging for at this point. You've already been ruined. Why not capitalize on it?

"Please, Lucio… I- I can't-'' You're still sobbing, but it's more from frustration than anything by now. The pleasure coursing through you with each stroke too much yet not enough. Not enough to make you cum.

In your desperation, you sneak your hand beneath you, damning any shame that action makes you feel, and grip the base of your cock, stroking your hand in time with Lucio's thrusts.

"Hah- Aughhh~" Your eyes roll back at the added pleasure, your hazy mind forgetting how wrong this is.

"C'mon," Lucio growls behind you. "C'mon, baby- cum for me." His grip is searing as his movements get somehow wilder. More erratic, more rough. It makes you insane.

With a final hit to your prostate, you cum with a cry. Your vision dances with black as you feel a sudden emptiness followed by something warm hitting the back of your thighs.

"Fuck…"

You don't know who says it… It could have been both of you for all you know.

"You okay, baby?" Lucio asks, taking his jacket and pulling you up, into a hug. "I wasn't too rough?"

A small smile plays at your face as you think back to the scene that just played out.

"It was perfect…" you nuzzle into his bare chest. "Thank you for indulging me, I know it's a bit weird to get turned on by that kind of stuff…"

Lucio rests his chin on your head as he speaks, "It's not weird baby boy- out of the ordinary, maybe, but it's not weird. And if I can help you indulge in even a fraction of your fantasies, then I've done my job right."

He lifts your chin up to place a kiss on your forehead, then the tip of your nose, finally landing on your lips.

Reblogs are appreciated!🛐

#count lucio x reader #count lucio x mc #count lucio smut #kinktober 2023 #the arcana smut #the arcana count lucio #the arcana #the arcana x mc #the arcana x reader

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utilitycaster · 8 months

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To expand that point about queerphobia (also, to an extent, gender equality) from the tags on someone else's post and sort of tying it back to my post yesterday about wanting to see characters work through similar experiences: I think it makes a lot of sense in the case of Exandria and Hale to build a world that does not have queerphobia and to allow people to choose to insert it if that is something their table wishes to explore. It's very much a case of wanting to build a diverse but non-utopian world that is welcoming to a wide variety of players.

I think it's a very understandable urge to want to see characters deal with the same challenges we face, and I think there are TTRPG settings that have done a good job depicting homophobia or transphobia; it's present though not common in Fantasy High, and The Unsleeping City is very close to the modern-day real world and has, well, period-typical attitudes.

The reason I get frustrated when it comes up in discussion of Exandria, and now Hale is that it's almost always used for one of two reasons: explaining why people (either specifically or generally) don't like a character; or even more frequently, explaining hesitancy between two characters in a ship. It's a convenient way to say "this person is oppressed or afraid for reasons that are objectively in no way their fault and which make the people who dislike them objectively bigoted and wrong". The problem is, while that's a valid story to tell it's often really not the story the cast is telling with these characters. Even more frustratingly, it often is used to steamroll other stories that may place those characters in just as innocent a position.

Some good examples in which this has happened in the fandom are Jester and Dorian. Jester lives on the Menagerie Coast, which is referred to a pretty wide variety of materials as being a place that is especially trans friendly (in a world where trans and nb characters already frequently occupy prominent positions and are not depicted as experiencing pushback). Her mother, a courtesan, indicates that she takes clients of varying genders. The biggest influences on her life are her mother and an otherworldly fey entity who famously can shapeshift. There is absolutely no canonical evidence that Jester would be unaware of the broad range of genders and sexualities in the world nor that she would feel obligated to embrace one that she is not; in fact there is quite strong evidence to the contrary. But if you claim that she's experiencing compulsive heterosexuality, it excuses you from having to consider that Jester is genuinely not interested in Beau, or at the very least is genuinely interested in Fjord.

Similarly, it was, at least prior to the reveals of early Campaign 3, common to headcanon that Dorian had run away from his parents because he was trans and they were transphobic. A trans reading of Dorian is still obviously entirely valid, but he left because his parents were suffocating and overbearing and often pit him against his brother. Dorian is still absolutely the victim in this! It's a valuable thing to relate to for people who have experienced parental abuse and impossible expectations. But it does still force you to think about Dorian's parents as complex people who came to this conclusion of childrearing (even if they are still in the wrong) and not just mindless bigots to be disregarded. And I think the former is nearly always a better story than the latter.

What also frustrates me is that this rarely works through the ramifications. The systemic queerphobia that would be required to put compulsory heterosexuality in place still exists once someone overcomes that and comes out; but that never comes into play when people are talking about the ship, because it's only ever used to explain why the ship hasn't happened yet, never as a significant part of the world that would affect the characters throughout their entire lives.

These are only two examples; there are countless others, some particularly egregious (*cough* Essek comes from a society that explicitly believes in reincarnation across bodies of varying genders and the queen for eternal life is in a lesbian relationship, I promise you his fraught relationships with his parents are way more complicated than simple homophobia or transphobia) but all of which seek to incorporate bigotry not as the destructive and deadly phenomenon it is, to be explored in the safe space of fiction, but as an incredibly lazy shortcut to be discarded as a continuity error once it's served its purpose.

#cr tag #cr discourse #i am going to be for obvious reasons VERY judicious with the block button on this one.

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most-datable-datable-bracket · 5 months

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ROUND 1 MATCH 51

Yuuma propaganda:

“he can be yuor everything <3

im not even kidding like he has taken on so many different roles he can be your dream man (horse?) whatever your type is

he has

-won a race for you

-gone skiing with you

-gone to the beach with you (he can surf)

-offered you his scarf when it was cold

-rescued you from trouble (multiple occasions)

-fought his rival for you (another horse with a handsome human face)

-fed you asparagus (homemade)

-gotten a job in construction

-become a rockstar (dedicated a song to you and let you live your wattpad fanfic life)

all this i listed off the top of my head. theres probably more he has done but i just cant remember

hes very talented and treats you right ✓ experience rapturous love today”

Maxwell propaganda:

“First of all he’s a silly goofy guy AND he’s extremely loyal and will always have your back. Within hours of meeting you, he decides his family will sponsor you in the competition to become the crown prince’s bride. He falls in love with you along the way, never expecting you’d choose him, the younger brother of a bankrupted duke, over the prince himself. Maxwell supports you through scandals and assassination attempts, eventually facing down his own father Barthelemy to protect you and your child from the former duke’s scheming. All this on top of the years he spent providing for his brother’s ex and her secret son, keeping them both safe and out of harm’s way simply because he cared. He’s always thinking of his friends, making them laugh and eagerly joining their crazy plans without ever expecting anything in return. His smile hides a sensitive side, a man who lost his mother at a young age and overcame body-image issues, yet still holds insecurities about his value to others. Maxwell is a sweetheart who always tries to do the right thing, and I still think about him years after playing The Royal Romance series.

Okay so it's a mobile gacha game, let's get that out of the way. BUT LISTEN.

The premise of the story is that the MC is a regular waitress in New York, when a foreign prince and his friends come to her table as a way to have a bachelor party for the prince who will soon have to choose a woman to marry in a The Bachelor -type of contest. MC and the prince hit it off pretty well and one of his friends, Maxwell, decides to throw in his lot with the MC, since the house the future queen is from gets a lot of perks and his family is Broke. MC goes along bc her job sucks ass and she figures why not.

BUT THEN! As the competition progresses, the MC spends a lot of time with the prince and other nobles, yes, but also with Maxwell. And Maxwell is a clown-type comic relief character for most of the time, but also genuinely sweet and considerate, and very much on the same wavelength with the equal goofball MC. What for me personally changed the game was when MC and Maxwell dance at a ball together, and the MC can say that there's no one they'd rather dance with than Maxwell. I myself chose that in a completely platonic bestie way. But he gets a bit panicky and says to be careful not to let anyone hear things like that when MC is in the running for the hand of the prince so that no one gets any wrong ideas! And I went "....ideas? 👀"

“Unlike other romancable characters, Maxwell isn't romancable until book 2 (the previous scene is in book 1, each book ~20 chapters), and unlike other romance options, you really have to have your eyes set on him in order to unlock his route, and ohhh it's so worth it! The set-up of falling for the person who brought you there to marry someone else, to choose the jester when you were meant to have the king.... exquisite.

The dynamic between MC and Maxwell is so fun and full of genuine affection, and while other characters can dismiss Maxwell as an unserious clown, MC is very much characterised by the dialogue as Getting him and loving to express joy in life the same way he does. When MC and Maxwell can finally marry, it feels like they're really choosing their best friend to spend their lives with and are so excited about it.

I know this wrestles in a league multiple times smaller than many of the other combatants, but the Maxwell romance in genuinely one of my favourites in any video game. Give him a chance!”

#Yuuma #My Horse Prince #Maxwell Beaumont #Playchoices #The Royal Romance #choices the royal romance #Round 1 #MDDC 2

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baby-jaguar · 25 days

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Lust by Nature {Part 1}

Masterlist, Part 2, Part 3

Read on ao3

Pairing: Captain John Price x fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, (eventual) slightly dubious consent, (eventual) Somno, he wants you but is stubborn, violence, succubus reader, sexual tension, reader is given a callsign, minimal descriptions of reader, will update tags as I go

Word Count: 4,015

Summary: A demon by nature; a succubus. Now finally designated to a team, you’re a pilot in how demons and hybrid creatures alike can change the war. However, your previous commanders didn't account for a man too stubborn for his own good. Captain Price stands firm in his morals and ethics, developed by his hardened years in the SAS. You, a lustful little devil, will put him to the test.

And maybe along the way, he’ll put your nature to the test.

A/N: For my own logistics, reader was born seemingly human but the traits and magic did not solidify until reaching adult years, making you appear youthful while stuck in that age. This was originally going to be PWP but I sit here 20k words later... I hope ye enjoy!

Being a far descendant of a fallen angel, you could laugh at the pitiful life you’ve led yourself into.

You’re a pretty thing- beautiful, really. Full of allure and a natural aura of sin that draws others in with a simple look. The blood that pumps and fuels your magic has been alive for a long, long time.

Boredom is a constant in the life of the soulless and damned. It’s agonizingly blurry if you don't set a task or just choose to meander around the world but fortunately for you, you’ve got quite the life ahead of you.

Coming from a state-of-the-art high-security prison base, you’re technically a super soldier with a special drawback. Needing humans to fuel your power; you suck the life out of them, literally, and take energy from their sexual desires and touch.

It’s almost the brunt of the joke when you answer the question of what you are, feeling each time such an expectant shame and laugh to be cast upon you like heavy stones.

A succubus.

Long-acting jester of the demons taken for a lust-driven fool.

Being detained early on in your young lifespan, you were trained to be used as a weapon. Not of mass destruction, but rather something to make these stupid games of war go by so much easier. Not having to slay countless bodies for information and getting a damn good meal from the lives you stole (maybe a few quickies when your superiors weren’t looking), it’s a considerably content life compared to others.

Graduating from training after a few decades was quite the celebration for you and the officials who have been overseeing you for a plethora of years. The military had found a suitable team for you, and you were designated to be put under the supervision of an elite task force.

Supernatural beings were not uncommon in the military, as a large amount were free to live their lives if docile. In the lands of gods and monsters, the humans still held supreme reign over the controlled populations. However, beings similar to you were quick to be captured and either trained or distributed- the world turning a blind eye to what you were capable of achieving in the good and the bad.

John Price. The name stuck to your tongue like you were thirsty and you had a thick paste in your mouth.

No, not semen. At least not yet.

Being appointed to Task Force 141 was exciting. It’s your first time with this much trust, but you know you’d never fuck around too much to land you back to your containment. Captain Price had steely eyes locked onto your form the moment you stepped out of the convoy; high-security cuffs around your wrists and a large band of metal wrapped around your torso. The assumption is to keep you from shapeshifting or lashing out at anyone now that you’re out from the heavy locks and fences.

To everyone else, you looked human. Nothing amiss besides the heavy security detail on your body.

“Captain Price.” Your General’s voice rings out for you, greeting him with a firm handshake.

“General, pleasure.” His eyes dart away from you to greet the man, and you take a small dissatisfaction at the notion, your eyes traversing the expanse of him, already ruminating and calculating his presence.

He’s strong. His energy is sturdy; A cement wall that has cracks laced upon itself, layers of bonding to cover them up and just barely sanded over to appear brand new. His physical appearance leaves your internal senses giddy with the sense of a new adventure. If you’d release your glamour illusion, your tail would be swaying slowly.

The contract was simple; Your powers would be used in specific operations under Price’s command. You were his, and his only, not being allowed to act under any other authority. Behave well and you’ll be integrated more into society by his terms, but the worse you were, the worse your containment.

Your payment? Being able to form a bond with Price, one that will satisfy your demon, while being sure to keep you useful.

The etymology humans created portrayed a slew of differing conditions for succubi contracts, most being a damning thing to land humans a hot spot in hell. Being able to create this tie meant that they’d be your selected mate while they’d bear your mark to ward off any other demons. Under this, it barricaded you from killing said person. Instead, the feeding would come from sexual desire, touch, and yes, semen.

Watching Price, the flames of your creation begin to already yearn for his touch.

It's with a simple handoff of your file, a thick manilla envelope, that gets passed off to Price with no other words spoken, and you can’t help but marvel at how they treat your ownership like a back alley drug. The General nods towards you, speaking your name before the simple “But we just call her Little Devil.” A small twitch of Price's mouth makes you wonder if he disapproves.

“She may be a demon but keep her well-kept, Price. Your trial run in this program is going to do more than change war tactics.”

Shifting the envelope in his hands, Price takes a survey of how much documentation they have on just your captive existence. There could be some good and some bad, maybe all bad but the chance of letting a temperamental half-demon could cause serious repercussions to both sides. Hypothetically.

“We’ll be in touch.” Price responds, the forced-looking grin making the blue of his eyes slightly disappear for a moment. A nod of his head, then attention back on you while judging how to best go about this.

“You speak…?”

It sets a bristle off inside you with an internal scoff. The chance to insult him for accusing you of being either incompetent or something of the silent type settles, but your probation period keeps you inside the lines of behavior. “Yes, Captain.”

When he hears your voice; It sounds ethereal. Like the crisp jingle bells while the sound is eclipsed if not swallowed by soft and red velvet.

A small tick of his right eyebrow was the only movement accompanying a hum in acknowledgment. “Right, well. Let’s get you settled in then.”

With the queue of acceptance, the General brings a small key from a pocket unbeknownst to you, moving to unlock the cuffs. There’s humor in watching you, the new operator being uncuffed while accepted onto base- and hey, maybe you could ponder the religious message it brings forward too.

But there’s not enough time for that notion.

Walking off the tarmac and into the nearby administrative building brings steady heed of stares. “So… Your previous situation. Was told it was more of a containment type of thing. Would you mind speaking on that?” Price’s toned-down voice comes out after more than a few paces into the building, leading you towards a stairwell into the third floor.

“The best way to describe it in normalcy would be similar to what you human soldiers do here- the barracks. Just imagine its very high security.” It takes a moment to draw up the answer, having expected the man to be as nitwitted as the normal “A sex demon, huh?” question asked in every new encounter.

“You’ve always been in that situation?”

The clicking of both sets of feet confidently strikes the ground. A sense louder than the random soldiers milling around you and the lack thereof as others stop and stare in bewilderment.

“No. Not sure if you’re making small talk or haven’t read my file yet, but my demonic integration did not start manifesting until I was in my early adult years. Got turned in when I was walking around the streets in full form. No control whatsoever on shifting.”

A broken-off hum leaves the man, sensing the almost frazzled static around him as he works to keep walking while maintaining an eye on you. “I have. Just wanted to hear it from you.” Truthfully, if you were in his place with an unshackled demon that had years of military experience walking alongside you, you’d have some sense of fear too. “And how long ago was that? When you matured?”

Eyeing him for a moment, he looks mid-40s if anything. Handsome, worn down from war so possibly a bit younger. “Quite some time ago. I’d say when your parents were born, Captain.”

He stops in a mid-step, balances perfectly set before turning to whirr his head at you. Eyes give an up-down motion on you before ticking his jaw. “Huh.”

He pushes his way through a wall of soldiers to an office door before opening it. “And how old-”

“Body stopped aging when all the changes settled. A second sense of puberty that I’m locked into.” The small upturn of your lips doesn’t pass him. All he can do is nod in response.

He makes his way to the desk against the back corner of his office room; The space is a good size, Having enough for his L-shaped desk with two chairs in front of it. A worn-in leather couch on an adjacent wall while a few framed documents hang on the wall, military in nature with medals attached to them while undusted fake plants serve as accents in the corners.

“Very well,” He gives a soft grunt when adjusting himself in his seat before opening up the large manilla folder. “You, are going to be judged based on your nature and human interaction during your uncontained enlistment. Ability to perform assignments, be of aid, and see what your specific capabilities can put forward with us.”

Head nodding in check with each item listed, “Understood, Captain.”

His blue eyes leave the documents for a moment to find your gaze already on him. “You’ve got a good rapport with every previous task, but your previous COs still didn’t state trust as a key factor. Why would that be?”

For a moment, you get lost in the focus of his body language; Price folds his arms over the table, holding his elbows as the pages become spread over his desk. The way he purses his lips after a question that holds an answer he will depend on. His lips make a small smack in the action, and it's cute in the way he’s so human.

“I didn’t trust them.”

An eyebrow arches at the vague response prompting you to continue. “Kept me like a lab animal, fed me or let me feed when deemed easy for them to write off in the report. That’s not how you treat a demon when expecting to use their powers, sir.”

“And this feeding… There’s multiple ways listed here but to be frank- I’ve still yet to get my head wrapped around it. You’re a sex demon, yeah?”

Ah. There it is.

His eyes dart down to the few pages that cover your needs and methods of survival, studying the paragraphs of information. A how to keep your demon alive handbook if you will.

“The premise of everything I need stems from what is deemed as life force, or just called energy. Sex is easy, and feels the most satisfying.” A breath before continuing. “ But relying on just energy wont last me long, yet its easier in some situations. Those barely alive are easy to take from.”

He knows there's more to be had with you. A temptress trained well with a pedigree in what you were made for. But he can only hypothesize. “And what are you expecting from being here?”

A look of surprise flashes in the widening of your eyes, not used to someone asking in consideration. “I’m expecting more hostiles, interrogations, or kills that I could take to feed myself. And sex too.”

“Oh-” A half cough leaves him before looking to the side. Surely he should have known, it's stereotypical but at least true.

“If you want me at full strength, I’m going to need the energy. I’m sure you could understand that, Sir?” The small tilt of your head, almost an aloof look sends alarm bells into his mind. They wouldn’t have sent a succubus in here without some sort of plan already being formed, some procedure and measure being used to-

“I am expecting to form a relationship with you, Captain.”

And at that, a full choked sound leaves him. He deserves doubled pension for this.

“And in what right mind, was that established in, hm?” He grounds out, opening a desk drawer to pull out a cigar before taking a cutter to the end of it. You measure the time it takes for him to light it and take a first steady puff.

“Well, the way I see it- and having discussed it with my previous superiors, this is supposed to mirror a real dynamic. This is the only point of contact to report on my behavior. I don’t think engaging in what I need would go over well if I went wild with other operators or soldiers around the base. Confirm or deny?”

Price’s eyes narrow as you speak, dragging his gaze away to stare at his locked computer screen. A grunt in the back of his throat sounds before taking another inhale of his cigar. For a man who has been fighting on the front lines for countless years, he keeps the smoke in for a steady amount of time. Healthy lungs. Good for him.

You haven’t tried a cigar, only have gotten a whiff of the burning tobacco coming from superiors. This smell is the lingering one you picked up on Price even when standing on the tarmac. Sweet, vanille and tobacco leaves.

“You said your previous company spoke on this with you.” He starts with a swift movement to rifle through the pages on his desk. “This in writing or are you taking the piss now?” He speaks in a deep grumble, holding the burning cigar between his lips.

An internal groan rattles your mind, already sensing this may be more of a struggle than ease of getting what you were promised. “Last few pages. It’s all in writing.” He seemed like a sensible man in the way that if a warm and inviting body was laid out to him while asking for himself, he’d take it.

“Commanding officer is to set an established and cohesive exchange, herein the succubus will be fed from a relationship in physical and sexual natures while in exchange not damaging or harming the officer.” His accent slides in a bit more thickly than you’ve heard up until now, eyebrows scrunched while he mumbles the page to himself. “And why in the bloody hell, was this not communicated to me beforehand?”

You can’t control the wry smirk that steals your lips while looking at him, trying not to laugh. “They thought it would be a no-brainer.” A pause, “Sir.”

Plucking the cigar out of his mouth, Price sighs while leaning back in his chair seemingly defeated. “You sufficed well without any previous relation in the company, there’s no evidence that this will turn out well.” His eyes now land on you in a quick movement.

“As I mentioned-” He cuts you off with a wave of his hand.

“No. I’m not going to sleep with my subordinate, less so one that can kill me if so pleases.” The uptick of his chin bleeds with firmness, a decision that screams arrogance of finality.

Settling down in a way that almost matches his, your jaw ticks. “Yes, sir.”

And truthfully it's all you can say. Agree and accept to stay here and be the guinea pig for others like you. You can warn all you want but by the devil himself, humans won’t learn until their wrongs meet them in their face.

“If I could so much as advise you, Captain;” Your chin dipping, licking the front of your teeth, and feeling the small prick of your dormant fangs. He nods for you to continue, “If you want me at my full capacity, I will need every ounce of energy I can get. You’re going to need to keep that in the back of your head. It’s not simple like a meal you eat. It’s a life I take or the sex I make.”

Now, a quick smile flashes over him only disappearing when he takes a long, longer drag of the cigar. “I’ll keep that in mind, Demon.” Sitting up straighter, leaning on the desk again.

“But whether or not you are a good girl, depends on what ethics I choose to apply.” The smoke puffs out in small bursts as he speaks, tendrils leading up toward heaven before it stills in limbo at the weight of it.

—

The men- your teammates, Ghost, Gaz, and Soap, each greeted you with somewhat seasoned restraint and respect by holding their tongues yet their eyes spoke their curiosity while roaming over you.

You could see the disappointment in their eyes. Being met with a seemingly normal human was not what they had been briefed on. Having let their imagination run wild at the title of a succubus, you’d guess they would have wanted to see every aspect of what kind of mystical enchantress you would be. Once the disappointment of not seeing such things the churches pray against, the view of your human form set in.

Lords above you were the finest piece of-

It felt like a surefire version of winning the lottery to have you assigned to them. Banking on the fact that you’d be their little guard dog and they yours, Gaz already having to scare recruits away at PT while you stared on with a coy smile. Training was as you’d have expected. Executions of strategies, questioning of tactics, and scoring your shooting were all within the long hours of the day. What you hadn’t expected was the lack of insults thrown your way in passing when you met their standards. No degrading words of being a a demon, or a slut by association of your breed.

It was two weeks before you were allowed to come on an assignment with them; The mission in the bitter snow of the Russian Tundra.

12 hours in and having stormed a bunker with countless bodies already strewn across, blood stains the polished cement and a flicker of sinister delusion makes you wish the snow was this color.

Tattered remains of your shirt sleeves show the color of your skin underneath, but miraculously no wounds present themselves even as your kevlar has obvious points of damage. The sight of you standing, gun raised and firing quick bursts of succession as the last body falls to the ground. It’s like a scene out of a soldier's bible.

Your chest heaves, mouth opens to lick your teeth as the adrenaline slows its production in your blood. Price is sure that if he put a body cam on you, it would be a haze of movements, a shadow clouding up the corners of the screen and filled with static. He’s still not sure what to think of you in the short amount of time you’ve been here. Quiet and speaking only when spoken to. And it’s not what he was prepared for; The thick dossier of yours being filled with reprimands, complaints, and classified lines that hid your after-action reports with details on your kill count.

From the first meeting, he knew you were spoiled rotten in that compound, save the punishments given on your worst days. You knew how to get what you wanted. Bitting time and time again to still be fed. Yet, now all he can see is you biting at others if only to protect your men.

“Saint.” The spur of Price’s voice makes you jump, the scene of death halting, eyes darting to a stack of crates where he lays. His squinted eyes lock onto your form, trailing up and down for a moment before he tries to adjust himself with a grunt.

“Who?” You ask while taking a secondary cautious sweep of the room before moving to him in a quick few steps.

“You, sweetheart. Saint.”

His grunt of pain doesn’t faze you, instead focusing the whiff of a sweeter metallic smell hits you. “Is that supposed to be funny?”

Ghost, Gaz, and Soap have the outside perimeter locked down with getaway snowmobiles at Price’s word. He touches the side of his com to activate it, roughly alerting them you both had cleared the floor and will need to medevac in the next coming moments.

“Let me get that for you.” It was a severe contrast to the inhumane growling and yelling from moments before as you tore into the enemies, ones that had you in a blind rage for landing a shot on Price.

Shaking his head, he reaches out his hand to stop you. “‘M fine, just need a quick patch. We need to leave.” He grounds out, leaning forward while covering the wound on his thigh.

Common knowledge brought the understanding that succubi had a level of regenerative power, but most not having been raised in military secrecy or being able to develop themselves into having control.

“Stop. Just-” A breath settles in your lungs, measuring itself and the expanse of what you could do- how you could help and be useful. The previous rage and fight instincts transform with concentration and the swirling of conjuration. “I need a little…” You trail off, eyes sweeping upwards to his.

There’s a shame that humans hold. You blame it on them being entirely born of boring flesh, but that would be hypocritical to an extent. Taking his vest in hand, you pull yourself forward to lean in.

“What the bloody-” Price jerks back but can't even finish as you sush him, giving him a deep stare that almost sedates him. He stills and quiets at the same time, now holding your gaze that he swears he saw the current color be flooded by a deep red.

He blinks for a moment, already trying to fight the small calming waves you push into him but the sudden feeling of long talons priking into his shirt makes him freeze. Like an animal with food aggression, you keep him there while moving in to bring your lips together.

You can taste a bit of blood, and the saltiness of his sweat, while trying not to groan at just how good he feels against you. His lips are surprisingly plump, probably from being irritated due to the cold, but it adds a level of eroticness to feel his wet lips slide over yours.

“Stay still for me.” You pause the kiss that he’s surprisingly reciprocating eagerly, breathing into each other's mouths. The soft plea drives his heart rate up and you can feel the sense of adrenaline spiking. He’s going to sleep like a fucking brick tonight.

He shudders when you come back together with more force, purposefully dragging the tip of your fangs against his bottom lip as you crowd him.

There.

There is the sickly sweet thrum of arousal in his body that makes his mind stir, what you could give in a bastardized excuse of lust right now.

“Mmm, give me a minute.” Comes your wet slurred speech when pulling away, eyebrows furrowing as you focus on on his bullet wound.

The sight of you could be his glory to fight. Tattered from battle, your lips are tinted red, clothes dirty from the gunpowder floating in the air, looking as if so carelessly lethal while your presence is a magnet to him. He's already caught himself wondering why you were chosen to represent a being that fell so far from heaven when your instincts screamed the opposite in small moments.

Looking down to be sure he’s healed just enough, you miss the look of blatant shock he gives when the pink and unmarred flesh greets his eyes. “A right fuckin’ saint you are.” He murmurs, watching you call the boys for exfil, no longer medevac.

#captain john price #john price x reader #captain price x reader #tf141 #cod mw2 #captain jonathan price #john price #f!reader #cod fanfic #captain price mw2 #captain john price x reader #lust by nature #task force 141 #captain price x y/n #captain price

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hey-august · 1 month

Note

Pppfffewee…

I’ve been haunted by thoughts of sub Buggy recently. I just know he enjoys following orders and letting someone else take the lead for a while sometimes. And he’s versatile too. Sometimes he just wants to be slapped around a little. Tie him to the bed and sit on his face, pull his hair and tell him he’s only gonna get his cock sucked if he makes you cum first. Give him orders and his moans will be filled with „Yes Madam“/ „Yessir“/ „Yes Capt“ (because don’t tell me the captain kink doesn’t go both ways), „Of course boss.“ „Thank you, thank you, thank you.“ , he just wants to be used, show off how much he can take and see you confident and in charge. There’s nothing sexier to him than that.

Other times he just wants to be a brat. The times when he goes „Make me.“ and „That’s the best you can do?“ The times when he wants his ass spanked and his nipples pinched. The days when he wants to tease you and get his just desserts right after, when he mockingly goes „Ohhhh no don’t fuck me harder. I wouldn’t know what to do if you fucked me harder.“ because he wants to see the fire in your eyes before you ride him till both of your eyes roll into the back of your heads.

And the quieter ones, the ones you didn’t know he had at the beginning. The soft ones. The ones he hid from you for a while because he wasn’t sure you would understand why he wanted that, the ones he desperately wanted you not to laugh at. Nights in which he lives for the praise and the love. The ones where he doesn’t just wants to please you, he wants to make LOVE to you and have you tell him how to do it. He wants to be good for you so badly, wants to show you how well he can do. And it can be as easy as having him count out loud when you spank him, as long as you keep rubbing your hand soothingly over his ass like that and tell him how well he’s doing. It can be as simple as him on his lap as you rub his cock, kissing the back of his neck as you gently tell him how he’s so handsome and how much you love him. You want to look at him like this for just a bit longer, want to play with him just for a little bit more, so could he hold out for you just a tad? Can he come for you when you tell him to pretty boy?

Just… Lemme Dom that clown. I want that jester submissive and breedable on my desk by five!

Anon 🥴🥴🥴

As much as I love dom!Buggy, subby and sometimes bratty Buggy is a whole delicious meal that I will not turn down. Let’s hear all that begging, whining, and whimpering.

Yes, he loves to be in charge. Buggy wants to be the center of attention, he wants people to listen to him. Jump when he says jump. Laugh when he says laugh. He’s the boss.

Except when he doesn’t want to be. Letting go of the control and expectations is freeing. Tell him what to do and he will fucking do it. Buggy is a performer, so give him a role, a task, a goal, and he is all in.

It also feeds his desire for attention. If he listens well and does a good job, maybe you’ll keep showering him in attention. Attention that he worked for and earned, not that he demanded. And that makes him painfully hard.

Of course he would be a brat sometimes. As much as Buggy likes when you’re in control, he won’t always give into your authority right away. He likes the push and shove of it. How far will you go to show him that you’re in charge? What will you do when he doesn’t listen? Or talk back? When he does what he wants?

It’s a game and he wants you to break him. To grab his hair and make his eyes water. To make him crawl and beg for forgiveness. To stick your fingers down his throat while he promises to be good. To fuck him relentlessly, all because he said, “make me.”

Underneath is the whiny mess that he’s hiding. The one that will complain that it’s too much, he’s sorry, he didn’t mean it, it feels good please don’t stop. The one that wants to be used and put in his place.

Soft sub Buggy? He’s the sweetest sweetest treat.

It was the little things that added to it. Tying up his hair when his hands are busy, having him sit on your lap, showering him with compliments and praise when he does something for you. Sure, you could have been doing it all to be nice, but Buggy would get so flustered and his pants would get tight. There was something more than niceties there. Seeing how he’d flounder under the attention and the way his words fall apart into senseless babbling made you want to see him fall apart.

When you say the sweetest things in his ear, he nearly does come apart. Buggy becomes so eager to keep hearing you praise him that every piece of his body jumps at the chance to make you happy. To do the things you love, the things you ask for, all so you can push his pretty hair back, look him in the eye, and tell him he did a good job.

Buggy will become absolutely desperate to show you how badly he wants you. It would almost be depraved if it wasn’t for the level of devotion and sincerity he has.

He’ll definitely change his schedule around so he can be on your desk at five on the dot. Just make sure you tell him that he’s a good boy and give him a lil kiss on the nose at the end.

#buggy smut #buggy x reader #buggy the clown x reader #buggy x you #x reader #buggy op #opla buggy #one piece buggy #buggy the clown #gender neutral reader

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theyhavetakenovermylife · 4 months

Text

Shadows Entwined: part 6

BatmanVsTmnt!Leonardo x sidekick!reader

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 / Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Bonus (18+)

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A/N: And one week later, the Gotham adventure continues💙

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You arrive at Arkham Asylum, finding the eerie building abandoned, with the expectations of a few mutants. One mutant especially, makes Leo realize a fear he did not know he had.

Warnings: Spelling, fear gas visions, imaginary death, angst, desperation.

The reader and the turtles are 19.

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“I win!”, Robin said proudly as he landed at the gates of Arkham Asylum. “And you owe me a pizza”, he said, gesturing towards you, seeming oblivious for a short time, as the rest of you took in the appearance of Arkham Asylum and its menacing atmosphere. From the gates to the front entrance, was a path marked with dead trees, all casting contorted shadows on the ground. Its gothic walls were dark, with a glow of green and red, giving it a sickening appearance. Windows were smashed and not a single window carried any light, making it feel similar to a haunted house in the worst horror movies.

“I’ve never liked this place”, you mumbled, causing Leo to turn his head slightly towards you. The look on your face, it wasn’t fear. Batman had probably learned you to not show fear, yet there was something in your eyes. Your pretty eyes. A determination yet a hesitance. Leo noticed how your shoulders had tensed a bit, and how your demeanor had changed so much since your small race on the rooftops.

Leonardo offered his elbow out to you ever so slightly, causing you to look at him in slight confusion. “Just hold on if you ever need to”, he said, feeling his heartbeat to raise ever so slightly when he saw a small smile on your lips.

“No sign of the Foot or the League”, Batman’s deep voice sounded, causing both of you to jump back to reality, back in front of Arkham’s threatening gate. “Stay sharp”.

With all of your weapons ready, you followed Batman up the path and through the main doors. None of you saw anyone. Not a single soul. All you could see was the dark corners of Arkham, and the haunting silence.

BANG.

You jumped slightly, placing a hand on Leonardo’s arm. If it wasn’t for the threatening atmosphere of Arkham, Leo would probably have enjoyed the feeling. Maybe he would even have turned to smile at you, if not for the sound of something being dragged along the ground.

“Well, would you look at that”, a voice sounded in the darkness. A dog-like being dressed in a jester costume and carrying a big mallet, jumped onto the railing at the top of the staircase. “The bat has made some new best friends! So, are you gonna introduce me to your new turtle pals or what?”

“Harley. What have they done to you?”, Batman asked, ever so stoic.

“The ooze”, Donnie spoke up. “They must have injected themselves��.

“Aha”, Harley said with a finger in the air before jumping back from the railing. “There’ll be plenty of time to talk once you find Mister J and our guests. He got a whole thing planned! I don’t wanna ruin it. You know how he gets!” And with those words she turned and left, leaving you and the rest in shivering unease. All expect Batman and Leonardo.

The said turtle stepped forward, ready to follow the mutant, but Batman stopped him. “Wait”, he said, causing Leo to look at him. “Presumably Shredder and Ra’s have mutated all of the inmates of Arkham”.

“Was this their plan?”, Batgirl asked in confusion. “Mutate the villains and unleash them on the city?”

“I have a feeling this is just one part of the puzzle”, Batman said. “Split up. Investigate each wing. (H/N), you and Leonardo come with me. Remember, this whole asylum is essentially a maze. There are hostages to rescue, and on top of that, even before they were mutated, these inmates were the deadliest criminals in all of Gotham”. That was the last the dark knight said before he turned, his cape flowing behind him.

“I was kind of expecting a pep talk”, Donatello said, looking to you, Batgirl and Robin for some sort of confirmation.

“That was the pep talk”, Robin grumbled, slightly irritated over the fact that Batman had chosen you to go with him, and not him.

“Go team”, Batgirl said, two thumbs in the air.

You and Leonardo did just as Batman had told you to, and followed him down the hall. Well, not before you shot Batgirl a smug grin, as she and Donatello decided to go together. But that smug grin soon disappeared as the three of you walked through the halls of Arkham in complete silence. You felt a slight frustration at the way Batman would position himself either between you and the blue clad turtle, or just behind you, never leaving any of you out of sight. You knew very well it was because of Batman’s protective mannerisms towards his family. It was his wish to protect that made him look out for any danger that could harm you. But to Leo it felt different. He couldn’t shake this itching feeling that Batman did not want him to be alone with you in Arkham. Was it because he did not trust that Leo could protect you, or did he not wish his daughter to be alone with the mutant turtle she was starting to show affection? Well, he couldn’t blame the bat. He still hardly knew Leonardo.

The three of you continued down Arkham’s many stairs, until you came to the boiler room. Walking into the middle of the room, Batman suddenly stopped behind you and Leo, his attention turned to the side of the room as he listened.

“What is it?”, Leo asked, noticing the sudden shift in attention.

“Someone’s here”, was all the bat said, making it shiver down your spine.

“Can you please stop saying it like that?”, you asked, rubbing your arms to calm the shiver. “Nothing good happens when you say it like that”.

That was when something flashed above your head, moving swiftly in the shadows. Black feathers fell from above, landing before your feet. Leo watched the movement before flicking his katana slightly out from its saya, using his thumb. That was when whatever that had moved in the shadows landed before you.

“Hello, Batman”, said the being covered in feathers. “I was afraid you wouldn’t show up. Though not as afraid as you’re going to be”.

“Dr. Jonathan Crane”, Batman told Leo.

“Calls himself Scarecrow”, you added.

Leo couldn’t help himself. He turned his head towards you, one brow raised. “Really?”

Scarecrow let out a cry, before flying towards you, causing all three of you to jump out of the way, just before Scarecrow’s claws could skim the floor, just where you had been standing. You stumbled on the ground, having a hard time finding your footing.

“Watch out”, Batman called out from the other side of the room, as he started to cover his face with his cape. ”He has a fear gas that can make you see things that aren’t real”.

Leo looked up, seeing Scarecrow hover before flying directly at your turned back. Batman saw the same thing, calling out your name as he launched forward, all stoic features gone from his face, and now replaced with fear.

“(Y/N), watch out!”

You started in shock at Batman. He never used your real name whenever you were in costume. It was an unspoken rule. When in costume, you were (H/N), just like Bruce was Batman. Just like Damian was Robin, and just like Barbara was Batgirl. You could not think, shocked that he used your name while Leo and the Scarecrow was around. Leonardo however, not thinking further about the name he had just heard, ran and pushed you out of the way, just as the Scarecrow threw a gas that made him choke on his own breath.

Leo fell down on all four, coughing as he tried to breath. He opened his eyes, watching in horror as the boiler room changed around him. He stood and turned, taking in the warping world around him. Until he saw his brothers. The Scarecrow looming over them. Leo yelled, his heart in his throat, telling them to get out of there. Then the Scarecrow opened his wings, sending furth an army of crows, swarming his brothers. Leo watched in fear as the crows poked at his brothers, tearing them apart. Leo could not hear their screams, but he could see it in their eyes. They were hurting. His brothers were hurting. His best friends. His one and everything. The reason he lived and fought to be a leader. They were hurting.

It happened so fast yet it felt like an eternity. The crows formed into a black mass surrounding his brothers. They disappeared, leaving behind three dried bodies. Raph, Donnie and Mikey. His brother dead before his very eyes.

Leo’s breath was erratic. He fell to his knees before clutching Mikey’s dried hands in his. His fear and horror only grew as wind picked up, turning all three of them into dust. Leo yelled, screaming at the top of his lungs before falling back to the ground.

“That’s right”, Scarecrow's voice sounded in his ear. “Everyone is gone, and it’s all your fault”.

“Leo?”

Leonardo’s heart almost stopped at the sound. So weak, fragile, scared.

“Or, almost everyone”, Scarecrow sounded yet again.

Shaking in fear, Leo turned to see you on the ground, shaking in fear. Your legs had given out, your arms working to get you moving as far away as possible.

“(H/N)?” Leo stood, walking towards you, only for you to scream and scrabble further away.

“Stay away!”, you yelled, tears pooling in your eyes, your voice cracking. Leo was confused, his heart breaking a bit as you right tried to get away from him.

“(H/N)?! What’s wrong?!” Leo was growing more and more desperate with each passing second. First his brothers and now you.

“Don’t look at me!”, you started screaming, covering your face trying to hide from him. “Don’t look at me!”

“Tell me what’s wrong, (Y/N)!” Leo was surprised to hear himself use the name Batman has just used.

“You’re eyes!” You were crying. Leo felt a pain in his chest at your words. You were scared of his eyes. You were scared of him. “Please don’t look at me! I beg you! Don’t look at me!”

Desperately he tried to reach for your hand, but you screamed, pushing back trying to get away from him. Leo wanted to cry, he wanted to yell and scream at you. To tell you were hurting him. You were crying and Leo didn’t know what to do. He was paralyzed, frantically trying to get you to look at him. So frantically, that he did not notice the Scarecrow came and pulled you away.

“No!”, Leo yelled, standing to run towards you, only to be surrounded by Scarecrows, taunting him. His brothers were dead because of him. You feared him. It was all his fault. It was all because of him.

“Leonardo”. Leo turned to see a lone Scarecrow with you hiding behind it. Leo’s blood boiled. “Listen to my voice”.

Batman ducked as Leonardo came after him with his katana in hands, fear and anger in his eyes. It was different from the eyes that had looked at you a moment ago. Fear and sadness. They were nothing like the blue eyes that you had found yourself spending so many thoughts on.

“You killed them! You took her!”, Leo yelled, slashing out his katanas at what he saw as the Scarecrow. But Batman continuously dodged the sharp blades, hearing all of your gasps as you watched on helplessly.

“I don’t know what you’re seeing”, Batman said. “But it’s not real”.

“You’ll pay for what you did!”, Leo yelled, slamming his blades against the pipes they passed.

“Your anger won’t help your brothers”, Batman said. “And it won’t save (Y/N)”. Batman jumped and rolled, before kicking Leo in the back, bringing him to the ground. You gasped, ready to jump in, but Batman signed at you to stay out of it. “You have to focus! Fight it!”

Leo sat on the ground, in a trance-like state. His normally beautiful eyes wide, as he held his katana extended out in front of him. Then suddenly he turned, swinging his katana through the air and hitting Scarecrow. The flying mutant fell groaning to the ground, as Leo braced himself against his katana, fighting to regain his breath.

Batman walked up to Leo, pulling a small pink liquid and needle from his utility belt. “The antidote to Crane’s gas”, he said as he injected Leonardo through the shoulder. “It should wear off quickly”. And so it did.

In the blink of an eye, the boiler room turned back to normal. The irrational fear left Leo’s mind, and he could finally breathe normally again. He saw as you came to his side, all though hesitant in your steps. It poked in Leo’s chest yet again. He had indeed scared you, just like the fear gas had made him believe. But now you looked him in the eyes, as if you never had been scared of them. Leo wondered if you ever actually had been scared of them. And with that thought he remembered his reaction. How he had reacted to the fear of you not wanting to see his eyes. He felt embarrassed, ashamed. He had had no control over his actions, with no regards for how it may have affected you. Yes, he had been affected by Crane’s gas, but to Leo, that was no excuse. He had to do better than that.

As if you had been able to read his mind, you placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, your eyes never leaving his beautiful blue ones. The ones that you were just happy to see again. Leo placed a hand over yours, enjoying the feeling for a moment.

Batman watched the two of you for a second, before speaking up, once again ripping you out of whatever thought you had been having. Your hand falling off of Leo’s shoulder, causing him to feel what could only be described as disappointment.

“Let’s move”, Batman said, directing the two of you back towards the door and out of the boiler room.

73 notes · View notes