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rollinouttahere-writes · 3 months

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Oh f#ck I am kinda relived , thank you so much(I was scared that I sended something stupid)😌

If so, It was the Part 3 of Searing Pain btw. (I just can't stop loving how well you captured characters's emotions there.)

Searing Pain: Part 3

Yandere Ace and Luffy x Reader

3.8k words

Part 1 / Part 2

Recovery from any injury was never easy, but for someone suffering your given injuries, it was grueling.

Pain had been expected. Between the broken ribs, absent lung, and the patched up hole in your chest, it was a given that you were going to be in agony for a while. Regardless of that, you were doing your best to remain active. It’s only been a few days since you woke up, but you’ve been able to get up and walk around. With help. Luffy’s help, specifically.

Ever since Chopper encouraged you to get up and be active to aid in your recovery and lessen the chance of blood clots, Luffy put it upon himself to be your personal helper. If you were being completely honest, you had been hesitant to accept his help initially. Not because you didn’t trust him, of course you did, but you questioned how capable he was of being gentle enough to not hurt you more.

All of your concerns had proven themselves to be incorrect. Luffy has been ridiculously careful with you. It’s like seeing a whole new side of him. You need to get up? Don’t worry, Luffy will help you stand. Need to sit back down? He’ll help with that, too. Need literally anything? He’ll get it for you. Usually without even leaving your side thanks to his devil fruit powers.

As flattering as it is that he cares about you enough to be helping you this much, it was odd to see him being this serious. While he was still showing his typical goofy attitude in some respects, there was always this air of vigilance that accompanied his every action. He would study your face every time you moved and would fling himself to your side if you so much as made a noise on the rare occasion that he had stepped away.

It’s not like there weren’t other people that could help you. The rest of your crewmates were all capable of and eager to assist you in any way you need, but Luffy wouldn’t give them the opportunity. He can help you walk and eat, and he keeps an eye on you while you sleep, so it’s fine. He’s got it covered! He even tried to help you go to the bathroom, and it had been an uphill battle to convince him that you could at least do that part on your own.

That effort had all been in vain. Just because you managed to get him to wait outside didn’t mean that he wouldn’t damn near break the door down when he saw fit. Which he did when you hissed in pain while trying to stand up after finishing your business. Your pants had still been down, much to your mortification, but at least he hadn’t commented on that part.

Outside of that embarrassing ordeal, you did appreciate his help. Walking on your own was still an impossibility, Chopper had made that clear by stressing how devastating a fall could be for you right now. Franky had thrown together a walker for you, but it wasn’t needed. Luffy had taken that role upon himself. A good thing, too, given that the walker vanished not long after it was built.

Luffy was shockingly patient with how slow your pace was. He’s standing next to you with one arm reaching around you and holding your hip to keep you balanced, while the other hand is holding your own and supporting the bulk of your weight. His steps matched yours and his eyes were boring into you, looking for any hint of discomfort on your face. Beyond the usual amount, at least.

“Hey! I can see Ace’s boat!” Usopp called out from the crow’s nest. “And it looks like there’s two people on board, one of them has to be the doctor!”

Both you and Luffy looked to where Usopp was pointing. Sure enough, there was a small boat on the horizon. It was much too far for you to be able to make it out personally, but you trusted Usopp’s eyesight to be accurate.

Luffy’s hands flexed, and he kept looking back and forth between you and Ace’s approaching figure. You gave his hand a squeeze, “You should go over and wait for him, I’m sure you’re excited to see Ace again.”

“You want to see him again, too. We can wait together.” Without giving you a chance to respond, he began gently guiding you to turn.

“You should go by yourself. I need to sit down again. Now, preferably.” Fatigue was hitting you hard. A side effect that you had not been as prepared for. After even just a little bit of activity you would find yourself feeling winded and needing to lie down. You’re pretty sure you’ve been taking more naps than Zoro lately.

At your stating of needing to rest, Luffy’s eyes shot wide with panic. He whipped his head around frantically before spotting an empty chair across the deck. Using the hand that wasn’t holding yours, he stretched his arm over to grab it. Wooden legs dragged over the floorboards as it was yanked this way. The second it was in place, Luffy wasted no time helping you to sit. It was a slow process, but he never once rushed you through it.

With you now seated, Luffy hesitated briefly before finally going to the side of the ship that Ace was approaching.

Cautiously, you slumped against the back of the chair. You hadn’t been walking for long but it felt like you’d just returned from a lengthy journey. Chopper assured you that this was a normal symptom for your condition. Without one of your lungs, you were getting half as much oxygen as your body was used to. Fatigue was to be expected until your body could adjust to the major change.

A nap sounded great right about now, but if Ace had brought that doctor with him then he would most likely want to speak with you and not wait a couple of hours for you to come to again.

Your hand drifted up to your head and pulled the hat off of it. The brim of the straw hat scratched against your fingers as they ghosted over it. Luffy still hasn’t taken it back since he left it with you when you were still unconscious. Seeing him without his hat for so long was odd to say the least. Granted, it’s not like he was far from it at any given moment since he was attached at your hip, but it was a surprising gesture on his part regardless.

Even though you couldn’t see Ace’s boat from your seated position, you could definitely still hear it coming. Striker was not a particularly stealthy ship. The roar of the engine was growing louder and louder by the second, it wouldn’t be long before he was here. Him, and the doctor.

The doctor most likely being Marco the Phoenix. You don’t know him personally, but you’ve seen bounty posters and heard tell of his feats. From the sound of it, he was as much a fierce fighter as he was a skilled doctor. You could only hope that he was a miracle worker with the severity of your injury. Not that you wouldn’t be appreciative of any help he gave you. It’s just that… Your life as a pirate is strongly hinged on him being able to fix your lung situation.

Just as the rumble of Striker’s engine was starting to become grating, it stopped.

A few of your other crewmates rushed over to where the boat was being docked to greet the duo. Chopper was notably excited to be able to talk to another doctor, especially one held in such high regard.

While you were eager to find out what Marco could do for you, you were also nervous about the possibility that what he could do for you wouldn’t be enough. You willed yourself to look away and put Luffy’s hat back on your head.

The sound of two people clambering up the side of the ship followed by the chattering of your crew tempted you into glancing over.

Ace stood out to you immediately. Everyone had assured you that he had gotten away from the battle unscathed, but being able to see with your own eyes that he was safe truly took the worries off your mind. You made eye contact with him, and he grinned broadly while slipping past the small crowd that had gathered.

“It’s good to see you awake.” Ace came to a stop right next to you. His smile faltered as his hands hovered over you, visibly unsure of where to place them. Deciding that your torso was too high risk, he settled for holding one of your hands in both of his. “Sorry I didn’t stick around to see you wake up, but I wanted to get Marco over here as soon as possible.” His eyes flickered down to the visible bandages underneath your shirt, “So… How are you feeling?”

Like the fragmented remains of a landmine.

“I’ve… been better, but it’s not so bad. Everyone has been taking great care of me. Especially Luffy.” This was probably a better response than the one in your mind. There was no use in making him feel sorry for you when it seemed he already was.

At the mention of his brother’s name, Ace’s smile returned, “I’m not surprised. He promised to stay by your side until you were better, and he’s serious about his promises.” He leaned forward and flicked the brim of Luffy’s hat, “I am a little surprised he’s still letting you wear this, though.”

“That makes two of us,” you readjusted the hat to keep it from falling off. You contemplated asking about the promise Ace just mentioned. This was the first you were hearing of it. That would definitely explain his dedication to you. Who had prompted that discussion. Did Ace make Luffy promise or did Luffy come up with the idea on his own?

“You must be (Y/N).”

The question you had was going to have to wait. You look over to the source of the voice and see Marco for the first time. His posture is relaxed as he looks down at you, likely expecting an answer.

“Yeah, that’s me. You must be Marco,” you returned his smile and held out your hand to shake his.

“That would be correct,” he gently clasps your hand and gives it a brief shake before flipping it over and pressing two fingers against the pulse point on your wrist. He mutters ‘a little high’ before shifting his attention back to you, “Would you like to have our appointment now or do you need to rest?”

You could absolutely use some sleep, or even just a longer opportunity to sit down, but you wanted to get this done as soon as possible. You can’t wait any longer to find out if he can find a way to repair your lung. Or lack thereof.

“I’m okay, let’s do this now.” It dawned on you that he may be tired after being on Striker for who knows how long, “If you’re okay with that, that is. I don’t mind waiting if you want some rest after traveling all the way here.”

“I’m perfectly fine.” He nudges Ace out of the way and holds out his arms to you, “Here, let me help you up.”

Before you can accept his help, Luffy crashes into him, “I can do that!”

Marco, much to your surprise, barely budges from the human battering ram. He looks over his shoulder at Luffy with a raised brow, appearing more so amused than anything else, “I appreciate your offer, but I would like to use this as a chance to see how their recovery is coming along.”

“Then just watch me help them, you don’t need to do it.” Luffy, never one to be deterred easily, stands his ground.

Ace clamped a hand onto Luffy’s shoulder and pulled him back, “It’ll be for the best to let Marco do this. Don’t worry so much, they’re in good hands with him. How about you stay here with me and we can catch up?”

Luffy scowled, “(Y/N) isn’t better yet, I’m going with them.”

The disagreement was only escalating, so you cut in, “I’ll be okay, Luffy. Why don’t you relax for a bit?” You pull his hat from your head and hold it out to him, “Do you want this back?” Maybe he’s getting anxious about being away from his prized possession?

The offer seems to be borderline offensive to Luffy. He snatches the hat out of your hand only to firmly place it back on your head in a way that it completely covers your eyes. “No, you keep it.”

By the time you push the brim of the hat up enough to be able to see again, Luffy and Ace are walking away, though the former looks to be dragging his feet. You cringe internally and hope that you didn’t genuinely upset him.

“Your captain is awfully protective of you,” Marco notes.

He can say that again. You nod, “He’s been like this since I got hurt.”

“Well, now that he isn’t here, let’s see what I can do about that injury of yours.” Marco’s hands find yours and he waits for you to make the first move to stand.

You’re eager to get this over with, so you only take a couple of seconds to brace yourself before beginning the arduous task of getting onto your feet. The instant you sit up, your chest suffers a stab of pain as muscles tug on the wound and you wince.

“Take your time.”

You nodded but kept pushing forward. Now that you were upright, you planted your feet on the ground as best as you could and slowly lifted your body off the chair. All the while your hands were gripping onto Marco’s like he was your lifeline, which he may very well be at this point. Every movement and twitch of your shoulders pulled on your chest wound and you had to bite back the urge to scream. Something you’ve learned to do very well over the course of the last few days.

Marco studied you intensely, taking in every little reaction you had. Once you were finally on your feet, he paused and allowed you to catch your breath. A task easier said than done. “I-I’m sorry, just give me a minute. Please.”

“There’s no rush, don’t force yourself on my behalf. You’re doing very well,” he assured you.

This really did not feel like “doing very well”, but who were you to argue with him? This would typically be the point where you lean forward and rest some of your weight onto Luffy, but you didn’t know Marco well enough to be able to assume that he would be okay with you doing that.

Your breathing was about as good as it was going to get, “Okay. I’m okay. Let’s go.”

Luckily for you, the infirmary wasn’t far from where you were previously seated. Once you were properly up on your feet, walking wasn’t too hard on you. It was just the act of getting there and your rapidly decreasing stamina that got in the way.

Unluckily for you, you needed to be laid down once you got to the infirmary. It was even worse than sitting up since it required much more movement in your torso. Marco did everything he could to ease you back onto it, but you were still on the verge of tears by the time you were fully settled onto the bed. Luffy’s hat was placed on the bedside table for the time being.

Marco stepped away from the bed and rummaged around Chopper’s desk, pulling out some papers. He didn’t spend long reading over them before dropping it onto the desk and grabbing a stethoscope. He returned to the bed and sat down next to you.

The chestpiece was lightly pressed against where your remaining lung was and he asked you to breathe in and out a couple of times. You did just that. Every breath ached, but you’ve gotten used to it the last few days. The chestpiece was moved to the other side of your chest and you were asked to repeat the action again. You aren’t entirely sure what he’s expecting to hear over there, but again, what would you know?

It would seem he found whatever he was looking for and the stethoscope was discarded. His hands hovered over your ribcage, “I’m going to check your ribs, please let me know where it hurts at.”

You nodded and his hands began tracing over each rib. It didn’t take long for you to flinch and say, “Right there.” The process was repeated on every affected rib. All of them hurt and you said as much. Fortunately, Marco was extremely careful so it wasn’t anywhere near as painful as it could have been.

“I need to look at the wound now, so I have to unbutton your shirt. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, that’s okay.” Whatever he was going to see from undoing your shirt was nothing compared to the Luffy-bathroom-incident. You would live.

Marco made quick work of the buttons, then came the bandages. Rather than sitting you up again to unravel them, he pulled out a pair of scissors and cut through them instead. An act of mercy in your humble opinion.

You trained your eyes on the ceiling, not at all wanting to see the wound. “Am I going to need to roll over so you can see the exit wound on my back?” You really hope he doesn’t.

There’s a brief bout of silence as he examines the now exposed hole in your chest. A choking level of stress builds in your chest at the mere idea of how uncomfortable and painful rolling over will be.

“No, that won’t be necessary. Seeing this is enough for me to work with.” Marco leaned back, “So, do you want the good news or the bad news first?”

Your heart fell into your stomach at the knowledge of there being bad news. He hadn’t told you anything yet and you already wanted to scream and cry. “Give me the good news first,” you needed at least a little bit of time to mentally prepare yourself for the bad.

“The good news is that I can heal your broken ribs and the wound today. It’ll take some time and we’ll have to break up the sessions so as to not shock your system, but I’m confident that we can have this healed up nicely by the end of the day.” He offered you a smile, but you could see that even he wasn’t happy about what he was going to say next.

“And the bad news?” You wanted to rip the bandaid off and have it be behind you.

“There is nothing I can do about your lung. My ability to heal others is much more limited than my ability to heal myself, recreating your absent lung is beyond my capabilities. I’m sorry.”

His words hung in the air heavily, and you were trying desperately to not start crying. The efforts were all in vain, and you quickly found that you couldn’t keep it in. Frustrated tears bullied their way out of your eyes and poured down your face as the gravity of your situation hit you hard.

This was it. This was the end of your time with the Straw Hat pirates. Your body was permanently changed in a horrible way that you would never recover from.

“I know that this wasn’t what you wanted to hear, but not everything is bad. With some breathing exercises and practice you’ll be able to lead a normal life.” Marco tried to comfort you, but his words were falling on deaf ears.

“Wh-What am I supposed to do now? I can’t be a pirate anymore if I can barely breathe right! I-I’m just going to be dead weight!” You gasped for breath as all of your bottled up fears burst out of you. Your chest burned and throbbed from the activity, begging for you to stop but you couldn’t.

“No one is saying that you can’t. Who knows, maybe you’ll make a miraculous recovery and surprise yourself,” Marco attempted to ease your worries.

“What are the odds of that?” You asked bitterly.

Marco didn’t answer immediately. It seemed like he didn’t have one. Instead, he placed his hands over your chest wound and wisps of blue fire spread across the area. The flames were warm, not hot. An uncomfortable sensation filled your chest and muscle fibers were forced to regrow faster than they should be able to. You chose to close your eyes and try to ignore it.

After a few minutes of this, the fire dispersed and Marco pulled away. You glance down and see that the hole is very much still there, though noticeably more shallow. Marco stood from the bed and searched for some new bandages to cover what was still exposed.

“You know,” he started, “if you would be interested, perhaps I could make more progress with you if I had more time.”

“What do you mean?” Was he planning on staying here for a longer time?

He returned with a roll of bandages and motioned for you to get ready to sit up. You did so begrudgingly, but were surprised to find the experience not as painful as it previously was. It still hurt, but at a much more manageable level.

“I can’t stay here very long, but if you were to come back with us to the Moby Dick, I may be able to make more progress with your recovery. I can’t guarantee that I’ll ever find a perfect fix for your condition, but if you don’t think you’ll be able to stay with your crew as you are now, then what would be the harm in relocating for a while?” Marco efficiently begins wrapping the bandages around where the injury is.

The proposition leaves you speechless. Could you… Could you do that? Would it truly be okay for you to leave your crew behind for another one, even if it was just temporarily? What would Luffy think? He didn’t even want to let you have this appointment by yourself, how would he react to you actually leaving?

Sensing your hesitation, Marco continues, “We won’t leave until tomorrow, you have time to mull over this decision.” The bandages are pulled tight and tied in a knot. “I know that Ace would be happy to have you there, I can send him in to talk to you if you would like.”

“No, that’s okay. I’m exhausted and would like to sleep for a while if that’s alright.” At this point, you don’t know if it’s your lack of stamina or stress that is wearing you out. What you do know is that you need some time alone to unpack all of this.

As well as to make a decision.

#yandere one piece #one piece x reader #monkey d luffy #luffy #portgas d ace #fire fist ace #marco the phoenix #usopp #tony tony chopper #platonic yandere #emtynessinmyworld #x reader #reader insert #one piece x y/n #one piece x you

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politemenacephd · 3 months

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Arachnophilia: (Part Seventeen)

Drider!Miguel O'Hara x Reader (+18)

Chapter Masterlist 🕷️

Content: Mostly relationship fluff + some worldbuilding. Also Peter content.

Word count: 4890

It was early morning once more, and today light was streaming in through every hole in the nest. The sun was bright and high over the canopy in a sea of pale blue, sitting in an sky barely touched by clouds. It was quiet, calm, even verging on warm, with the morning heat creating a low mist across the grass.

You liked to believe the weather was a reflection of your mood, because today you were finally taking Mig with you to the Society. You were elated, almost giddy, but him? Not so much.

‘Ogh. Look at you. So handsome!’

You grinned up at Mig as he paced about the nest, his eyes solely focused on his chest. His usually bare torso had been covered by a single, plain white shirt, and he seemed to be struggling with the sensation.

‘Mm… It has been, far too long since I had to put one of these on. How do you wear these all the time?’ he grumbled. He kept pulling on the shirt, awkwardly shifting it in and out of place. You were trying to not get distracted by how tight it was. You’d gotten the largest size you could, but it was still sticking quite close to his chest and shoulders, the smooth white fabric perfectly highlighting the rounded pounds of his pecs.

It was rather unfair, really, how you teased him for his constant ogling. You weren’t any better. He was just so damn pretty, with the plain white sitting on his warm skin, hugging his hefty chest.

‘You’ll get used to it’ you reassured him, ‘I did argue with them about the clothing but… they said, you know, society protocol. No shirtlessness. Not even for this most beautiful of men.’

Miguel shot you a smile to acknowledge your praise. ‘Yes. I should have suspected it would not be easy. Still, I appreciate you trying, mi tesoro.’

With those dreary words he crept forward to comfort himself with your touch. His forelegs pulled you in and clutched you to his abdomen, and you nestled back so tight that the fluff went up your nose and caused you to sneeze.

‘Aw—Mi arañita, qué menso eres’ he murmured affectionately.

‘Mean’ you retorted.

He was purring now, his abdomen vibrating and rustling with joy. ‘I will be grateful to have you with me’ he said as he brushed your suit down. It wasn’t dirty, he’d just gone so long without clothes that he assumed you brushing off his shirt was a sign of affection, and he wanted to return it. ‘I would never have gone alone, even if the offer was made again.’

‘I’ll be there the whole time, I promise’ you said. As Mig smiled you sealed that promise with a kiss to his claws. ‘And if Miguel tries anything, I’ll rip his claws out one by one. I promise that too.’

You saw Mig’s smile falter a little. ‘Ah. Yes. Him. He will, be there as well.’

Your smile dipped too. You were trying to joke about the situation but you both knew, deep down, how strange everything had gotten.

There was a tension between all three of you, one that was strange and multilayered in ways you couldn’t discern beyond a constant, simmering, anxiety inducing pressure.

Miguel had remained on watch at your nest after the first time you mated in front of him, and for two days while you prepped he’d stuck to his stubborn word and remained. He’d mostly stayed outside, only coming in occasionally to ensure you were being ‘safe’ as he put it, but he never spoke a single word to either of you.

The only thing you’d noticed is that his eyes, when they fell on you, were no longer cold; they were burning hot, simmering and seething, filled with something unspeakably strong.

You shuddered at the thought.

Luckily Miguel was gone today as you were visiting the HQ, so he could monitor you there, but it felt like his presence was always hanging over your head.

‘Alright. Come on. Let’s go’ you said, gently urging him to follow you with a tap to his belly. For a moment he hesitated, his little paws tapping back and forth on the nest floor, but it was only for a moment. With your face beaming and urging him on he reluctantly followed.

You’d been prepared for Mig to struggle with the portal. He’d never gone through one before and everyone struggled at first, so you were as patient as possible with the big guy.

You just hadn’t expected how badly he’d take it.

The moment you stepped through the lack of weight and gravity seemed to throw him totally off balance. You were used to keeping with the flow, to angling your body so that you flowed seamlessly through the void of space time and out the other end, but Mig didn’t have that.

He immediately crashed into you and sent you both hurtling through the portal at a speed you could not keep up with.

You both rolled out of the portal at max velocity, his enormous body crashing into the HQ floor with such force that it cracked. In the safe, fluffy grip of his legs you were thankfully unharmed, but it didn’t stop you from being dazed. As he tumbled to a stop you gasped.

‘AH—Fuck, oh Mig I am so sorry, I should have done a trial run of—oh god—’

You tried to scramble out of his grip to check on him but he refused to let go. He was terrifyingly strong, with his spider legs folded in tight to his belly, pinning you to his abdominal underbelly.

‘Mig? Mig?’ you panted.

‘Mmm.’

His low groan vibrated right down to your core, and you nearly cried with relief. ‘Oh, Miggy. Are you okay?’

‘I did not enjoy that’ he said bluntly. You managed another breathy laugh. ‘No, no, I can tell.’

As his legs slowly loosened you crawled out from his grip and stumbled to the floor on all fours. You glanced up.

To your horror, hundreds of spiders were perched on every surface available, all of them staring directly at you. It was a sea of suits, a sea of bodies and eyes, all staring with a mix of disgust and curiosity. You turned and immediately patted Mig, urging him to stand.

‘Mig—Babe, uh—’

‘Argh—my, legs—who designed these portals?’ Mig grunted. He was struggling to stand as he unfolded his long legs. ‘They are not safe, didn’t you say there were quite young spiders who—’

A wide-ranging, multi layered gasp of horror momentarily interrupted Mig’s grumbling, finally drawing him to look around. Everyone was in a defensive position, their eyes trained on his body. You instinctively sank against his side.

‘Hey, hey, it’s okay’ you whispered to him. You could see his eyes sinking already. He tried to step forward, his claws outstretched, but when every spider jolted in fear he froze up.

‘Hey! Sorry, guys, don’t um—he’s safe, he’s fine’ you cried. You impulsively stepped forward with your hands raised, hoping to de-escalate the situation. ‘This is—Miguel, or uh, Mig? If that’s easier, he’s a variant, he’s safe! He’s fine!’

To your continued discomfort, nobody said or did anything.

‘Hey! You two!’

You turned to see Jess making her way through the ogling crowd. She seemed to be trying her best to ignore them. ‘There you are, you—did you break the floor? My lord—never mind. So, obviously you guys know about the mandatory work you gotta do before you can be sent on missions?’

You awkwardly nodded in response, but Mig was too fixated on the crowd staring him down. You’d never seen him look so small.

‘Okay, good’ Jess said, ignoring Mig’s discomfort. She just ticked a few boxes on her hologram. ‘You have a few today, just—do your best, you’ll be fine. I just needed to give you this to fill out for HR and then you can get to work.’

She handed you a pile of papers before turning back into the crowd. She paused briefly to gage the amount of spiders and their curious eyes.

‘HEY! What are we, a circus? Do none of you have work to do?’ she yelled. The overtone of her voice quickly scattered the spiders as they flung themselves in all directions, and with a huff she followed after them. You and Mig were left alone.

‘A whole… new world.’

You looked up to see Mig murmuring to himself. His eyes were fixed on the building, on the view of the world beyond the big glass walls. He shone with a deep melancholia.

‘A whole, new world. And… everything is the same.’

Your heart sank. You shyly took his paw in yours.

‘Well, that was… a bad start, but, it’ll get better. It’ll be fine. We’ll be-- fine’ you said.

…

You were wrong. The rest of the day wasn’t much better.

You had certain activities you had to finish before you were cleared. The society wasn’t a workplace, but it functioned like one, and you were constantly in life-or-death situations. That meant all relationships needs to be safe.

You were expected to do three things: mandatory couples therapy, de-escalation and crisis training, and monthly reviews with an elite.

All of them went terribly.

You went to HR to hand in your forms and found only one person waiting at the desk. They were curt, almost rude, rushing through your paperwork, and after leaving you peered through the door only to find six other people had been hiding behind desks. You heard them gossiping and left in shame.

At your first de-escalation training for couples, you couldn’t even fit Mig through the front door, and you were forced to both sit in the hallway with the door half open to listen in. Every other couple there barely focused on the course; they just stared at you both, making little whispers and comments to each other.

You ended up failing that session due to Mig’s heightened anxiety. Any mention of a scenario where you were hurt caused him to panic and clutch you close, with his fangs overproducing venom as a protection tactic. They had to tape off the area as a hazardous spill zone. More mess, more eyes, more morbid curiosity.

Even your mandated therapy was unbearably awkward. The therapist assigned kept making suggestive questions regarding your safety, your wellbeing, questioning if Mig had some kind of fetishistic problem.

It wasn’t just Mig though, or at least, not just his body. People were clearly fixated on your closeness.

At the start of the day you were as physically affectionate as you usually were, since that’s what you were used to. You kissed his claws and he held you with his forelegs, he would scratch your head and you would hold his hand.

But you could see, now, the overt morbid curiosity in those around you. Even when you tried to find time alone, either in corridor corners or darker rooms, you kept spotting people staring.

As the day wound on you got more and more stingy with your affection. Mig kept dropping your hand to avoid people staring at you, and you had to hide your kisses when they happened.

With every activity you attended you felt a little isolated, a little less welcome. You hadn’t expected it to be easy, or even good, but you just hadn’t anticipated how bad it would feel. You began to feel guilty for doing this to Mig.

After your last therapy session, you began making your way through the lobby together. It was here, whilst making small talk and enjoying the brief moment of solitude, that you felt the hair on your nape stand up. You turned.

Miguel was up in the rafters above, his masked eyes following your every move. In the shadows you could only see the deep, sharp red lines of his suit as they shifted.

‘You—fuck.’

With a hiss you turned and sped forward. Mig rushed to catch up.

‘Ah—arañita?’

‘It’s all him’ you hissed angrily. ‘It’s all- him! He’s spread it everywhere, because he’s trying to embarrass us into giving up!’

‘Who? You mean—’ Mig paused midsentence. He didn’t need to say it; he knew who you meant. You hurried into a small, darkened corridor between two other meetings rooms, a space where you could avoid any prying eyes.

‘That—fucking, asshole’ you whisper shouted. Mig squished himself into the tight space and tried to grab you for comfort, but you were too busy pacing. ‘Fucking—Who does he think he is? Why won’t anyone say anything to him?!’

‘Mi tesoro’ Mig whispered back. ‘what is it? What do you mean?’

‘He—’ you paused to breath as you felt that guilty tug in your gut once more. ‘I’m so sorry, Mig, I—I knew this would happen. I knew it. Miguel knew I wanted you to join, and he said he—he said if he did let you in, he’d make sure we, quote, would learn why he keeps his relationships private. Obviously he wants you to feel unwelcome.’

‘Ah—yes, that—sounds like something he would do’ Mig said slowly.

‘I’m so sorry, I really—I wanted you to feel better’ you stammered. ‘I wanted you feel, just… I don’t know. I wanted something. I wanted the OPPOSITE of this!’

‘Hey, hey, arañita. It’s okay’ he said softly. As his foreleg gripped your arm you felt a wave of hopelessness wash over you.

‘Is it okay?’ you whispered back. ‘Is it? Are you okay? After what he’s done?’

Mig opened his mouth, but no words came out. You could see it in the dim light; the flash of his red eyes as they drooped and narrowed, the way he looked down and to the side out of shame.

Not one person besides you had even acted neutral to him. They’d all treated him like an animal, a monster, without shame.

You didn’t want to call this effort a failure. He deserved to be loved, to be valued, to be heard, but how did you do that?

Something had to change. Even just one thing. You closed your eyes and sighed.

‘HI!’

You and Mig both jumped in unison as someone’s cheery voice erupted right against your ears.

Mig launched himself into protection mode. With his fangs bared and his claws spread he pushed you to his back, but it was you who stepped in to call him off when you realized who the assailant was.

‘No, no, wait—I know him!’ you stammered.

Mig obediently stayed his hand when told, and after checking you were safe he turned to the speaker.

Peter B was standing on the ceiling, his head upside but more or less at the same height as Mig’s. He beamed at you both. ‘Shoot, sorry—did I scare you guys? Wow that feels weird, me scaring the big spider’ he blurted in his usual chatty tone. You stepped forward to greet him.

‘Ah, hi! You’re uh—Peter, right? I mean that’s half the people here but—’

‘My name is Peter, yes, and as you just pointed out that’s really a lucky guess, but I’m ASSUMING what you mean is I’m Peter Peter, the uh—’

‘The sad one’ you said, far blunter than you’d usually be. He beamed and snapped his fingers.

‘There it is! Yes, that’s me. Or I was.’

‘R-Right. Well, um-- Hi! Can we, help you, with anything?’ you asked. You could sense Mig was still a bit tense, so you decided to step in and speak in his place.

Peter dropped to the floor with an oomph before responding. ‘Ah—well, sort of. I’m not here on an errand though’ he cheerily explained as he stretched. You raised a brow.

‘You’re not?’

‘Nope! I’m here for—him!’ With a gleeful squeal Peter turned to Mig, his eyes eagerly running up every inch of the man’s body. You saw Mig tapping his paws in confusion.

‘Have I- done, something offensive?’ Mig murmured awkwardly.

‘Oh, he’s exactly like I thought he’d be’ Peter cooed. ‘He’s so awkward! No, you haven’t done anything wrong. I just wanted to see if I could uh, tag along with you guys for a bit.’

‘You did?’ you and Mig both said in unison.

‘Oh you’re adorable’ Peter said with a dramatic sigh. ‘You’re both so… well, whatever. You don’t need me fawning over you. But yes! Obviously! Who wouldn’t wanna learn more about the Miguel variant with the spider body? I wanna hear everything!’

‘You do?’ You and Mig repeated together.

‘Yeah! I—look, I feel bad at how strict the others are being on you two. I mean I don’t get it, the whole, spider thing, I mean he is very handsome but the spider is a bit of a deal breaker for me. But I’m just like, hey, good for you guys, you know? Good that it works for you!’

You blinked in surprise as Peter continued to ramble.

‘Plus, look, uh—my wife, Mary, she—well, she’s pregnant!’ he squealed, ‘like, right now! Ah! And I don’t have anyone but Jess to talk to about relationships and I mean she’s always so busy, and Miguel can’t hear about baby stuff, but YOU two! You guys, I can talk to! So, can I? Can I uh—hang around for a bit?’

You glanced at Mig, expecting to see the same hesitation on his face as you felt in yours, only to find him utterly elated. He looked so happy.

‘Ah—yes, of course’ he stammered, his enormous abdomen shifting and vibrating. ‘Of course, a-absolutely. Let us, talk.’

Peter clapped his hands with joy, and you realized you had no other option.

‘GREAT! You guys wanna see the canteen?’

…

‘And I swear, I begged for HOURS, but Mary just wouldn’t come around to it! I said come on, what’s the worst thing that’s ever happened at a gender reveal party?!'

You chuckled politely as Peter finished his dramatic story, a sharp contrast to Mig who was erupting with his sweet, gruff, awkward laughter.

You were sat at a booth in the HQ canteen, with Peter on one side and you on the other, while Mig was awkwardly folded on the floor at the tables head. You’d tried to make room but there just wasn’t space.

You knew everyone was staring at you. You knew they were keeping their heads down so you didn’t suspect them of listening in, even though it was obvious they were. Even the people serving in the kitchen were craning their necks over the counters to watch.

You sank a little deeper into your chair.

‘Your mate sounds very responsible’ Mig said. He shuffled a little as a couple of people had to hop over his body to get around the corridor. ‘Ah—and it is, wonderful to hear your attempts to have offspring were successful. I don’t blame you for being excited. I would be, inconsolable in your position, from joy that is.’

‘Right! I’m just excited, like come on’ Peter said loudly as he grabbed a fry from his plate. ‘Like I was scared, you know? Who knows what my weird spider genes will do! It’s nice to talk to someone who gets it.’

‘Yes. I worried about the same things’ Mig said softly. ‘With my biology being so… poorly constructred, I often lie awake wondering what I would create. But it is hard, to deny yourself something when it is so… close, to your heart. It is what I always wanted, and I know many like us feel that way.’

‘Oh—yeah, sorry, I didn’t mean to be insensitive’ Peter whispered. Mig shook his head.

‘No, no. As mi tesoro says, we’re all strange on the inside.’ Mig turned to you with a smile as he spoke, and you returned it.

‘Right! Sorry, sorry, ah— enough about me though, I have so many questions for YOU. How DID you two meet?’ Peter asked as he folded his hands over the table.

‘Oh, that is an interesting story. Mi arañita, do you—’ Mig turned and gestured with his claws, politely offering you the chance to step in. You quickly swallowed the single fries serving you’d ordered and tried to respond.

‘Oh—oh! Right, um—I was sent to fix an anomaly in his universe, it was my first proper mission and I uh… I, botched it, pretty badly.’

‘Don’t say that arañita, you did well considering the circumstances’ Mig cooed. You waved him off.

‘Yeah, yeah. Well, I messed up and needed help, everyone was busy but I remembered Miguel saying he had a variant in that universe. He said not to reach out, but, I did. And I met Mig.’

‘Yes, I—found them cowering beneath a tree. Such a handsome creature, I thought. So pretty. Que chula, that’s all I could say. I was so attracted I momentarily forgot that they likely would try to kill me out of fear’ Mig dreamily reminisced. Despite your anxiety your smile widened.

‘Oh, you, you’re such a romantic. I could tell’ Peter added as he circled his finger at Mig.

‘Anyway, they—did not hurt me, which I was glad of. I helped heal them and fixed their web shooter, and, they offered to return. To, spend time with me. So we kept doing that and—became friends’ Mig said, finishing the brief and work-friendly version of the story.

‘Oh, that’s— nicer than I was expecting, honestly, considering how we first met you’ Peter teased.

Mig missed the teasing and responded bluntly. ‘Yes! Well, that is the first half. After that, one day they happened to visit while I was rutting, and when I pleaded to mate them, they agreed. We became a mated pair from then on, which is why they were hiding at my house, the poor thing went into quite a severe heat due to my presence.’ His soft, satisfied smile never wavered as he recalled that day.

You could hear a pin drop in the canteen; Mig was talking, but nobody else was.

You immediately sank so low you almost fell beneath the table. Oh god, you thought, why. Why. Why. Why did he have to be so blunt.

You’d shown off in front of Miguel in relative private, sure, but this was different. That was to humiliate him. It made you feel powerful to be in Mig’s arms, beneath his body, but the eyes on you were turning that power to shame.

Peter maintained his smile, but you could see he was a little surprised at the blunt swerve in conversational tone. ‘I—I mean I wasn’t gonna ask about it, you know, it’s rude’ he stammered. ‘You don’t seem like a man who’d kiss and tell—’

‘You mean the mating?’ Mig asked. You shrank into your seat as his words echoed.

‘Ah—yes, the—is that what you call it?’

‘Is that not what it is?’ Mig asked as he tilted his head. ‘I believe that is the proper term. Or, do you mean, here it’s called sex? Because that is also what I meant, and I see no reason to hide it. We’re all sexually mature.’

You noticed Peter stifling laughter as he listened to Mig. Instinctively your stomach clenched; was he just here to make fun of Mig? To make fun of you both? Had you been tricked?

Luckily, Peter spoke before you could spiral further. ‘Oh, you’re so delightful! Isn’t he delightful? I can see why you like him’ he said with his finger pointed at you. ‘I wish I had the guts to say half this stuff, my god, the confidence! I love it! And I can tell he clearly likes you.’

‘Oh, they are—wonderful’ Mig purred in response. His abdomen began to vibrate as he closed his eyes, his thoughts lingering in memories of you in his arms. You gripped the table and begged for the strength to not physically slam your hand over his mouth.

‘Isn’t the size difference a little difficult though?’ Peter whispered. ‘I don’t mean to pry, but—’

‘I was worried about the same thing, but, they take me remarkably well’ Mig said calmly. You thought your teeth would crack, and yet still Peter seemed utterly unphased. ‘I always ensure that they’re not in pain and that they’re enjoying it, and I’ve never had issues.’

‘Oh, well that’s good to hear! I know it’s tough, having issues, especially in those uh—very, intimate areas, and especially I imagine when you’re uh—well, you! So, different! And so early on in a relationship, I mean my god you’re doing better than I did at this stage. You guys must really get along.’

Peter turned to you as he spoke, as if prompting you to engage with the conversation a little more. He must have noticed your silence. Unfortunately, you were still too mortified to really say much more.

‘Y-Yeah. Yeah’ you stammered, unsure of what more to say. Peter seemed to notice your hesitation; Mig did not.

‘Yes. I—I like them, a lot’ Mig said wistfully. ‘It’s not been easy, even now, adjusting to this—body, but… In truth, I feel more wanted now than I did when human. When I was, considered attractive. When I fit into places. That means the world to me. They are, priceless. Mi tesoro.’

You felt your face start to glow as Mig looked down at you in the booth. For just a moment, in that silent space with your eyes locked on, you recontextualized your embarrassment. You felt, guilt.

You were struggling with all the attention. You couldn’t deny that. You knew this was Miguel’s plan to pry you apart, to leave you at the mercy of their constant ridicule. The eyes on you, the constant judgement, it was rough.

But, seeing how happy Mig was, it made you wonder: why did you care?

He looked so happy as he gazed at you. His soft, affectionately creased eyes, his upturned lips showing the thick fangs beneath. What a pretty man.

And Peter, despite your initial reservations, didn’t seem phased at all.

When you’d had everyone’s approval, when you’d been just another replaceable spider doing everything routine and by the books, you’d been ignored. They hadn’t wanted you then, so why did it matter if they didn’t want you now?

Now, you had someone who did. Who cares that you were infatuated with a monster? At least you were wanted.

You smiled. ‘Mig, is… Wonderful, at what he does’ you said softly. ‘I really couldn’t ask for more. He’s so attentive, he—knits me suits, the pillows, and blankets, he refurbished his entire nest for me, he’s always making sure I’m well taken care of. He never raises his voice, never avoids me. I am… very, very, happy.’

The emphasis and tone you put on ‘happy’ was more than enough indication of your sincerity, and was certainly enough to put plenty of unwanted images in the heads of those listening. You didn’t care. You let them imagine, and you beamed up at the real thing.

‘PETER!’

You, Mig and Peter all turned as that chilling voice echoed through the canteen.

Miguel was walking stiffly down the canteen corridor, his eyes roaming. He seemed to be looking for someone, most likely the man he’d just called for.

‘Peter, you’re supposed to be on mission with me. You—’ Miguel paused. He looked up to see you and Mig, sitting comfortably with his friend at the table. The two people he'd been viciously targetting. The two people who had humiliated him in the worst way possible.

‘What is this?’ he hissed.

‘OH! Hey big guy, big fella, big boss man’ Peter cried back, cheery as ever. He didn’t seem to notice the tension as he hopped the back of the booth. ‘I was just making friends! I can say that, right, uh—Mig, is that what people call you? Can I use that?’

Peter spun back to Mig who, under pressure, immediately nodded. ‘Ah—yes, of course. Friends. Yes.’

‘GREAT! Great! Oh, I got two Miguel friends! I’ll catch you two around, okay?’

‘You sure will’ you replied. Peter waved you off as he clapped Miguel on the back.

‘Man those two are great. You never told me your variant was so nice! He’s hilarious!’

You could see that hot, burning anger in Miguel’s eyes even from here as Peter rambled on at him. It was barely disguised beneath his usual calm, collected expression.

You saw him realizing that, even by a small amount, his plan was failing. Mig was being treated as normal, and not by just anyone, but by someone close to him, someone who he could never let find out about your voyeuristic escapades.

Miguel grit his teeth as he tried to find any words to say. ‘Peter, you—’

‘Come on, my god—you were so urgent a minute ago.’ Peter laughed as he dragged Miguel away by the shoulder, and while the man’s eyes lingered on you both he did not strain against Peter’s grip. He reluctantly followed.

Back at the booth, you made a choice. You crawled up onto the table, pushing the fries aside, and with both hands you grabbed Mig’s face. You turned him physically, as he’d been gazing after Peter.

You smiled up at him without a care.

‘My Mig’ you said softly, and then you kissed him. He eagerly kissed you back. In front of the whole canteen you nestled into his fluffy forelegs and let him kiss you from your forehead to your chin.

It wasn’t exactly a perfect first day, but it was good. It was enough for now. Mig had one more friend than he’d had at the start.

But you knew, deep down, Miguel wouldn’t just let this go.

Link to next part!

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x you #spider man 2099 #smut #smut with plot #arachnophilia #drider #miguel o'hara smut #drider miguel o'hara #monster human relationship #forbidden romance

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asexualbuthorny · 1 month

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spin off/epilogue/part 5 of "Simon has a bad time in the omegaverse"

His first actual heat started up slow with Simon stirring and whining lowly into your neck, his hips grinding down against your thigh while you both laid in the half assed nest you both built for him. He climbed on top of you to smash your lips together in a messy and sloppy kiss, robbing you of breath until you both have to pull away. You nip at his neck, savoring his scent and gently maneuver the two of you so he laid underneath you, splayed across the sheets and blankets as you made your way down his body, worshipping every scar and freckle he possessed, reassuring him of your love and chasing away the voices of insecurity. You reach his thighs, the same thighs you've been oogling every time Simon had worn those damn thigh straps. To die by your mates thigh is the way of the warrior. You pepper his skin with kisses, your hands going lower to massage his calves, sinking your fingers into his skin, assuring him of your presence. Your hands go back to his thighs and hips, groping the meaty flesh and making your omega whine out in surprise. You chuckle and glance at him, making sure he's good and ready and willing to let you continue and after a brief nod you slowly pull his boxers down, exposing his half chubbed, leaking cock and the cheeks of his ass which are covered by his slick. You nip at his skin, leaving slight marks and hickeys to signify your mark and bond with your Simon. He writhes and moans as the heat makes him sensitive even to the most basic of touches. You slowly nuzzle your way up to his dick, licking his balls and sucking gently on his skin making him jump and clamp his thighs around your head. You soothe him with gentle touches until he can relax again so you can move more freely, taking his half hard cock into your mouth, slowly suckling along and bobbing your head up and down while Simon writhes on the blankets, bucking his hips into your warm mouth, whining and moaning your name, begging for more. You bring him to his first orgasm, eagerly swallowing his cum as it shoots down your throat. You let him ride out his first high and then move on to lifting his hips up and propping them up on a pillow so you could reach his dripping hole, all wet and pink just for you. Simon whines in embarrassment and you shush him, nuzzling his thigh and purring into his hips. You lean close, burying your face between his cheeks and lick a broad stripe across his leaky hole and plunge your tongue inside him, making him squeal out and clench around your tongue. You lick up his slick like it's honey and thrust your tongue inside as deep as you can. Once you think he's loose enough you lean back and dive in for another kiss, letting Simon taste himself on your tongue. After a few moments of kissing you ask him if he wants to go further and he nods eagerly, kissing you passionately while you fumble around for a condom and after putting it on you line yourself up and begin slowly pushing in. Simon throws his head back as you bottom out, moaning loudly as his insides clench so tight you think you're loosing blood circulation in your dick. You purr into his neck, biting and marking his skin as he does the same, aggressively gnawing on your scent gland, sinking his teeth into it, marking you as his and only his. Once you feel his get a little less tight you start moving, thrusting in and out, hitting his prostate head on, making him grunt, growl and moan, clawing at your back while he holds you in a leg lock, making sure you won't go anywhere as his one and only alpha. Simon can practically feel your cock in his stomach with how deep you're going but it just makes it all better. He can feel his heat getting better and lets himself be moved along with your thrusts, letting his eyes slip closed while he enjoys being filled by his mate. It doesn't take long for you both to reach climax, Simons poor spent cock shooting his seed onto his chest and stomach while his hole squirts slick around your knot as he feels the hot cum coming from you even with the condom on.

Once you were both clean and sated you laid in the nest, underneath the blankets while you fed Simon bits of food and let him get as much of your scent and attention as he needed. For the first time in a very long while Simon "Ghost" Riley was happy and content, nuzzling up to his alpha, the person who would never leave him.

#my post #male reader x male character #dom reader #dom!reader #omegaverse #alpha male reader #my story #my writing #omega character #sub character #call of duty x reader #call of duty x male reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x male reader #call of duty ghost #this may be bad because i had to delete a lot of stuff because tunglr is stupid

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sentientgolfball · 2 months

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Hi golf, i saw your prompt list and was wondering could you do don’t worry about the damn clothes, i’ll just buy you new ones. With Cirrus and Phantom? :)

-🔥

Poor little bug did NOT know what he was in for

Send me a pair and a prompt!

Phantom and Cirrus were curled up together in her nest watching a movie. He had planned on watching his movie on the big TV in the common area, but when he had gotten out there Swiss and Dew were fighting over what to watch. He really wasn’t in the mood to try and stop them or interject and ask if he could play something. He stood in the hallway awkwardly watching them wrestle for the remote trying to think of something. He could’ve easily gone back to his room and watched it on his laptop, but he really wanted to use the TV. He didn’t really want to do anything else, his heart was set on his movie. After a moment an idea struck him, Cirrus has a TV in her room!

He had walked to her door, standing outside of it nervously debating if he really should knock. He hadn’t spent much one on one time with her, usually accompanied by Swiss or one of the other ghoulettes when he visited. He didn't want to bother her, but he really wanted to watch his movie. He sucked in a breath and brought a shaky hand to the door.

Cirrus opened the door dressed in nothing but her sports bra and a pair of shorts. When Phantom finally mumbled out his question, she happily let him in. They got everything set up before curling up in her nest of blankets and pillows.

The movie is halfway over and Cirrus couldn’t tell you a damn thing about it. She paid attention for the first few minutes, but that’s it. She tried oh she really tried, but she couldn’t take her eyes off Phantom. Every so often he’d excitedly go on a tangent about the little facts he learned about the movie and its production. Her heart swelled with affection every single time he did. Fuck she wanted to ride him until he saw stars.

The only problem with that is Phantom was either ignoring every little hint she threw at him or he hadn’t even noticed. She has him pulled close, arm slung around his shoulder keeping his head pillowed on her chest. Her claws were gently playing with the hem of his shirt, every so often dipping just below the neckline to flutter over his skin. She pressed kisses to the top of his head too often now for it to be considered just affection. Still he sat there, eyes glued to the screen happily purring away.

“Oh oh Cir! This is my favorite part!” He bolts up, tail wagging against the bed.

“So fun fact about this bit here the actor actually…”

She didn’t hear a single word he said. Sweet Satan she couldn’t take it anymore, she needed him. She pushes him back and straddles him with a growl in her throat. He squeaks with the force of it.

“Uh Cir…I can’t see the TV” his voice comes out high pitched.

“We can rewind it” she frantically works to get his shirt off, tail lashing behind her.

“Cir wait hold on you’re gonna rip my clothes.”

“Don’t worry about the clothes, I’ll buy you new ones.”

She pulls hard to get it over his head but the end of it snags on one of his horns, tearing a massive hole in the side of it. She throws it behind her and shimmies down his legs enough to be able to pull his pants down. Her eyebrows shoot up when she sees the alien print boxers he has on. She couldn’t fucking stand how cute he was. She pulls the boxers down just enough to free his already hard cock. She sits up to wiggle out of her shorts and underwear before straddling him again.

His hands instinctively find her hips and she bends to shove her tongue down his throat. He whimpers the moment her taste hits his tongue, a small ripple of quintessence sparking off his lichtenberg figure scars. While he was distracted with the move of her lips, Cirrus reached behind her. He gasps when he felt her grab his cock, slowly stroking from root to tip, twisting her fist around his head with every pass.

“Sweet Hells you’re so adorable” Cirrus watches his eyes flutter every time she squeezes.

The only reply she gets is a choke off moan.

She slowly raises her hips, readjusting her hold on his dick so she can lower herself onto him. She sighs when the tip slips into her cunt, taking her sweet time sinking down. They both moan when he’s fully seated inside of her. Cirrus only takes a moment to savor the feeling of him before she begins rocking her hips, pulling the cutest little noises from him. She plants one her hands on his chest so she can lift herself almost all the way off him before sinking right back down. She closes her eyes, brows furrowed, biting her lip as she focuses on the feeling of his cock sliding into her.

“Gonna cum Cir ‘m gonna.”

“Fuck not before I do buggy. Be a good boy and hold it.”

He whines and throws his hands over his face, digging the heel of his palms into his eyes. She knows damn well he’s not going to be able to hold it off for very long, so she speeds up her bounces trying to get there before he blows.

“Cirrus ‘m sorry I can’t I—shit” his back bows off the bed, spilling into her with a shout.

She rides him through it, hips never slowing in their pace even when overstimulation starts to set in. She feels his claws bite into her waist, urging her to stop. The little prick of pain is just enough to send her over the edge, head falling back as a deep sigh leaves her throat.

She rolls off of him and lays beside him, chest heaving as she gently rakes her claws through his hair. Phantom is staring at the ceiling, sucking in quick breaths. Eventually, he turns to look at her with a small smile.

“Can we rewind the movie now?”

She laughs “Sure buggy. Whatever you want.”

She gets up to grab the remote and a cloth from the bathroom to clean both of them up. On her way she notices Phantom's ripped up shirt. She picks up and cringes slightly.

“Sorry about this” she holds it in front of him “I promise though I will get you a new one.”

“Yeah there’s just one problem with that” he squeaks out with a high-pitched voice “It’s not my shirt. It’s Rain’s, I was just borrowing it.”

#the band ghost #nameless ghouls #phantom ghoul #cirrus ghoulette #phantom x cirrus #the band ghost fic #ghost bc #golfball writes

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cryptidsofwakemoor · 5 months

Text

Chapter 7 - Chillin

With the arrival of winter comes new challenges. Now armed with a blanket and pillow to help fend off the cold, Matchstick has started to make a daily trek to the mysterious fish person's house since it's the only reliable source of food... even though he still has no idea why they're leaving food out for him, or if he should even really be trusting it, but hey- beggars can't be choosers, right?

~*~

Mystic

That evening was the fastest Matchstick had ever fallen asleep. The apparatus that hooked him up to the facility wall couldn't compare to the comfort of this plush square of softness.

Time passes.

The weather gets colder.

The miracle cloth rectangle and square of cloud fluff made it bearable, though. He could sleep on the soft dirt of the den floor, wrapped in the blanket and resting his head on the pillow. The best damn sleeps of his whole life. Nightmares didn't come back to torment him when he slept with the soft stuff cocooning him. Must be some kinda magic.

And every day, he'd find a platter of food waiting for him on the steps of that house with the 'bird' feeders. It wasn't always the same food, but it was tastier than 'birdseed' and the sticky syrup from the cylinders.

He saw the fish-looking lady only occasionally, ducking in and out of their house to leave the plates of food, or heading out in their blue 'truck' to go god knows where. He saw the silver forest beast even less, the only signs of its presence being the fresh hole it dug into the earth a short distance away from his current hideout. It didn't leave any other gifts for him, either. Where had it gone?

Spooky

His breath was visible all the time now, even when he was calm. He noticed the people in town, in the times he ventured close, were starting to wear more and more stuff. And more noticeably, something seemed to be wrong with the trees? They were changing colors to something more red and brownish, and they were... shedding. A lot. The entire entrance of his den was getting crunchier and crunchier as the wind kept blowing the tree bits in. He would be lying if he said it wasn't fun to go bulldozing through piles of it, though.

Still, despite his naturally high temperature, the cold wasn't very pleasant. It seemed like the only time he was comfortable was when he was safely tucked away with the nesting stuff the silver beast had given him... So he started taking them with him whenever he ventured out.

He didn't have clothes like the people in town, save for the now VERY ratty and worn form-fitting shorts he'd been outfitted with at the lab... but the cloth rectangle was closest thing he had besides that, especially if he pulled it around his shoulders and over his head. At the very least it helped keep in his body heat and made him feel a little safer in regards to how easily a camera drone might spot him. The bad weather seemed to bring fewer of those, and it probably helped that he didn't actually enter the town in a while. He didn't have to, not when that one building with the pond had food out every day. It may not have filled him up entirely, but the feeling like he was going to die didn't crop up like it did when his food sources were less... certain?

...Part of him still wasn't sure about it, but he'd been going there daily for a while now, and still no ambush of any kind, save for the one time that person leapt out of the pond.

It was weird. He didn't know them, but he'd sort of gotten used to the routine with them. He knew when the food would be left out. Sometimes he'd arrive a little early and hide, watching from the safety of the trees until they went back inside, but it wasn't like they tried to look for him.

....Still had no idea what to do with those little metal things, when those were there. They almost looked like they could be some kind of weaponry- a blunted knife of some sort and a little four-pronged pokey thing- but they seemed kinda flimsy, and probably wouldn't be more effective in combat than the abilities he already had at his disposal... Not really worth the extra effort of carrying with him, so he left it be. Was it a sign of concern to want to arm someone...?

Either way, he would go there, eat, and somewhat cautiously go check on that second burrow on the way back. Still no sign of the silver beast.

...

Soon the day came when he poked his sleepy head out of the burrow, only to see the ground covered in a layer of... dust? No, as he climbed out and it melted around him, he realized pretty quickly that it was a powdery layer of ice. How'd all this get here? He shivered a little and pulled his cloth rectangle tighter around himself. His back stung when he did, but that feeling had almost turned into background noise for him at this point, and he gave it little notice.

The icy ground and dead tree stuff turned out to be a pretty slippery combination, especially since his footsteps melted it a little and made it more wet. Eugh, it was a quick way to make this walk completely unpleasant, though it still wasn't as bad as the days where water fell from the sky. He spent as little time outside the burrow as possible during those days, but would still accumulate mud on him regardless, that would bake in his body heat and come off in chunks.

...Okay, flaking it off was kinda fun, when he was bored. Which was kind of a lot of the time...

As he walked, he glanced over at the other burrow, which remained as quiet as usual. It didn't look like anything had come out of it, otherwise there probably would've been fresh marks of that big spiny tail dragging in the icy stuff. He was starting to wonder if maybe they left, and this had only been a temporary den...

Mystic

....

crnch

shfff

scrnchhh

Something was coming this way.

thnk

A mass of the powder fell from the branches of a tree at the edge of his vision. It lands with a dull whump.

"...hrmf."

The sound of a chain link fence rattling.

scrnch

thmsh

Then- the sound of something big letting out an equally big sneeze.

Spooky

He had been crouching at the entrance of the second burrow, peering into the darkness to see if he could catch a glint of light shining off one of those armor plates, when the sound of something huge slogging and crunching through the ice jarred him from what he was doing. He stood very quickly at the huge sneeze, looking like a kid who'd just been caught with his hand in a cookie jar, and turned around to look.

To his credit, he didn't try to hide this time. He was genuinely surprised to see the huge creature after days and days... How many days was it? A lot of days.

Mystic

He's greeted by the sight of- no surprise- the big silver beast. It's shaking its head back and forth, which... is covered in the white dust, freshly fallen from the tree. Said tree is making subtle vibrations, as though-

-it just ran right into the tree, didn't it.

Shaking its head wasn't doing the trick, so the shaking increased until it traveled all the way down the length of its body and tail. The chain link fence noise returned- ah, so that was what it sounded like when it shook out that pelt of metal plates. By the time it settled, a substantial amount of the white powder had fallen from its back.

At this point, it notices him. Squinting in the bright albedo from the icy coating all around them, they regard the kid, then hang their head, letting out another big sigh.

Stepping into the clearing, the shake off their limbs one by one, like a dog. A low humming rumble passes from their throat. Was that supposed to be a greeting? It didn't sound like words, but it didn't feel hostile.

Spooky

As... kinda silly as it was to witness a huge creature, the size of the trucks he had seen at Aria, go bonking into a tree... it was hard not to still feel somewhat intimidated when it approached him. Something about being near a living creature that enormous made him feel small, and that wasn't a very common feeling for him. At least he didn't feel like he was in danger this time.

It sighed again, he was pretty sure of it. Between that and how it hung its head while trundling along, he sensed it probably wasn't a fan of the cold, or the ice on the ground. Maybe wasn't feeling its best. Made sense though, it was covered in what looked like metal, and that would get really cold when exposed to this kind of temperature.

He stood there in thought for a few moments, then walked over cautiously... and after a few moments of uncertainty, he pulled out the pillow from his makeshift blanket cloak. He'd been hugging it for additional warmth and softness, and he gently pressed it against the side of the silver beast's snoot. It was kind of dirty by this point, but it was warm, very warm, like it was fresh out of the dryer.

"Aa.. hh..."

He'd opened his mouth and sounded like he was starting to try to say something, but his voice was a weak rasp from lack of use, barely above a whisper, and it was mostly lost beneath the sound of the wind.

Mystic

The beast blinked in surprise as- of all things- the kid approached them rather than ran away. It looked even more confused when the pillow is presented.

However, once the pillow is pressed against their cold snout, the frilled ears perk up. Their eyes widen, holding this strange position of mid-shaking a limb while the odd kid in the blanket burrito holds a pillow to their muzzle.

...they let out a snort. The edges of their mouth curl up. That was definitely a smile, and perhaps a laugh.

They enjoy the warmth for a minute or so, before retracting their head. Lifting one forelimb, the silver beast gently places their thick clawed digits over the hands holding the pillow, and pushes them back towards his chest. Plopping back down onto all fours, the beast stretches its back, tail curling into a spiral as they do so. Their tongue flops out as they let out a big yawn, showing off all those big teeth before they close the mouth again, rubbing at their muzzle with the opposite hand-paw from the one that nudged the pillow back.

"Mmmrf," the beast rumbles, the thudding steps continuing once more as it crunches its way through the snow towards the hole in the ground. Crawling through the entrance, it slips down to the base of the burrow, and wraps itself up in its tail at the bottom of the den. Faint shivers run through their chilled body, and they tuck the tail closer around themselves like a pointy cinnamon bun.

Spooky

Wrapping his arms back around the pillow, he felt himself smile a little as well, watching the big creature crawl into their den and get comfortable. Sure, the pillow was small, but he still felt like he helped, if only a little bit.

Also... it was weirdly kind of a relief to know they weren't gone.

Remembering why he was outside, though, he turned and walked back along the usual path he took to the food building. Curiously, as he walked along, he could see the big path in the snow the silver beast had taken to get to their den. Seemed they also walked this way. Actually... huh! He slowed a little, his eyes following the big footprints and lines where the tail dragged. It kinda looked like it swept its tail back and forth in some places, but for the most part...

He hopped from footprint to footprint as he followed that instead of the usual path, since it seemed to be running pretty parallel. It was kinda fun, though he cut it out when he slipped on some leaves and fell on his ass.

Ow.

Okay, had to be more careful walking in this stuff.

Still, it was strange... The trail was visible through most of the walk, but he lost sight of it somewhere around the time he was approaching the food building. Guess it was still a mystery where the silver beast had been... Oh well.

There was the white disc in its usual place on the steps, though the food seemed like it had been out for longer than usual. There was a very thin dust of ice on the two pieces of bread with meat and stuff in the middle that had been left out for him. No little stabby things this time, but whatever, he would've left them anyway. Maybe the person was in kind of a hurry this time.

Weird, though, their truck was still here...

Didn't look like they were inside, either. The windows were dark.

Mystic

The food, even though cold, was still delicious. It must have been sitting outside for a while. A few hours, maybe.

Sitting on the porch, wrapped in the blanket, he's able to sit back and take in the peaceful scenery. Despite the thick coat of white powder and ice on everything, the cylinders of food for the 'birds' (and ambitious fluffy rodents) were still out on their hanging hooks- with the exception of the sticky syrup ones. Those were put away somewhere he did not know. The tiny buzzing birds that used that feeder- which gave him a heart attack the first time one flew by his head- were absent once it got too cold outside.

...huh.

That was odd. There were scrape marks in the snow here, too. A lot less noticeable, due to the jumble of bird feet stamps around feeders, and snow mostly being replaced by thicker ice on the black stone path, but they were there for sure once he paid close enough attention. They looked like- scratches. Had a scuffle taken place here?

To the side of the house, on the small juncture of black path where the blue truck off-and-on rested, the scratches were deeper, and more numerous. Some wooden structure he couldn't fathom the purpose of had broken planks in the center, as though pushed by great force.

A small corner of something colorful poked out from underneath a haphazardly placed box at the side of the house.

Spooky

The pond was too frozen to drink from, so he scooped up a handful of snow into his mouth, letting it melt into water as his eyes traced the path of the scratches to the strange structure. Huh... he'd never really noticed that thing before. Mostly because there weren't any tubes by it, but the corner of something bright and colorful stood out like a beacon among all the white and gray and muted brown.

Soon, curiosity got the better of him, and the signs of damage and scrapes were concerning... He got up and moved closer to the box to investigate, too curious to just leave it be. What happened here...?

Mystic

The colorful thing was a piece of fabric, sticking out from under the edge of the box.

Removing the box entirely revealed it to be-

…a tattered shirt. It had been torn asunder, but even he would recognize this article of clothing from the shredded remains.

It was the fish lady’s shirt, the one she wore almost every day on her trips out of her house. Blue strings hung off the edges where something sharp had rent the once-whole article of clothing into many, many pieces. Most of those pieces were shoved under the box, and some were caught under the edge of the wooden porch.

Spooky

Realizing the implications of what he was looking at, he dropped the box in shock, eyes wide. The claw marks, upset snow and broken wooden structure- signs of a struggle, and now a torn piece of clothing, looking like it was hidden... And the fact that the trail seemed to lead back here...

Did the-

...Did the silver beast EAT the fish lady?!

There wasn't any blood, was the weird part, but maybe it swallowed them whole?? ...Minus the shirt? Somehow? It tore off the shirt, and then ate them?

Shit... Why didn't it just eat the food left out for him instead? It was a little cold but that's no reason to eat the person that made it!

Mystic

What was he even supposed to do, now? If the beast did eat them, his reliable food source was gone. He’d have to go back to swiping from trash cans as his primary method of scavenging. And on top of that, the bird feeders would be left empty, too- not only was he getting shorted on bird seed, but so were the birds!

If big silver animals ate people, how was one so close to town? And- why didn’t it eat him, then, when it found him trapped in that hole? Maybe he was saved by the trash smell- but then, it didn’t eat him earlier, and he was a bit less stinky now after a few rain showers. The beast never seemed hostile or territorial- or hell, even hungry.

…

Was that house just- going to be empty, now? It felt sad, in a way he couldn’t place.

Spooky

He paced anxiously in the yard as he tried to make sense of it all. If this happened- if the fish lady was... dead... there was nothing he could do about it, and that upset him even more. For the first time, he ventured up to the windows and peeked inside in hopes that he was wrong, but the place was indeed dark and empty.

...This was awful. He'd never really gotten to know this person, but... To feed random creatures outside even if they weren't people, just because they could...

Man, he didn't trust people, as a general rule... but this one seemed different. And they were gone now.

He sat on the porch for a while, staring blankly at the snow. Finally he got up, went back to the box, scooped up the tattered shirt remains, and marched all the way back to the silver beast's burrow. While it might have been a dangerous idea to confront it... It looked like he was gonna have to start risking his life for food again anyway. And he wanted some fucking answers!

~*~

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#stickman #stickmanoc #stickman oc #werecreature #werecreature oc #werecreatureoc #cosmic fiasco cryptids #cosmic fiasco #cryptids au #writing #originalfiction #fedoraspooky #mysticdoodles

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heliosthegriffin · 6 months

Text

Shadow Knight and Magic Girls XVIII

Ao3 Link

Chapter 18

------

In the passenger seat of a beat-up old pickup, Jaune sat quietly. He was bruised and very pissed off, his armor hidden in the backseats under some old coats.

"Look. I may have gone too far with training." Jeremiah began.

Jaune side-eyed his grandfather. "You shot me, my own grandfather, shot me."

"But, you made great progress moving in that armor of yours!"

"Because, you kept shooting at me."

"Hey! Being shot at isn't that bad! I've spent more time being shot at than I've had under the covers with you're grandmama!"

Jaune gagged. "That explains a lot."

"Trust me, you get used to it." He thumped his chest. "Ah, I've got about seven, or so, stuck in me from the Color Wars and the work I've been doing since." He coughed into his hand. "And, I didn't have fancy armor to keep them out!" He smiled at Jaune. "Look, I wouldn't have shot ya, if I didn't think you couldn't handle it, honest, Arc's Word."

Jaune looked at his grandfather, then sighed. An Arc's Word couldn't be taken back. "Alright. I'll forgive you then."

"I'm sure you've been shot at before."

"Yep."

"So, I'm sure you want to keep from getting hit. But, back during the Color Wars, those jackass noble's insisted on they're armor being bullet-proof, and as Nobles of the Land they had some-sort of divine right, that the bullets wouldn't be able to harm them thanks to some sort of supernatural importance."

"Did they?" Jaune's interest piquing.

Jeremiah shrugged. "I'm no scientist, but based on my observation," He paused in thought. "No, not at all. It was damn fine armor, but it doesn't help shit if you're charging across no man's land into a machine-gun nest with a hundred rifles aimed at ya! An entire generation of men and women, of some the oldest bloodlines in history, dead. Armor looked like a cheese graters, and the bodies were so torn apart they oozed out of the holes like a slurry of blood and flesh-" Jeremiah's voice became distant. "Not one of those idiots survived. Others like them didn't learn." He swallowed, his voice dry. "War changed, and they didn't."

Jaune looked at his grandpa, his knuckles had gone white from holding the steering wheel. "You ok? Need me to take over, and drive from here?"

"No." His grandfather shook his head. "I'm fine."

"Did you know any of them?"

"Know? Yes. Liked any of them? Hated all of them. Doesn't mean I wanted them to go like that."

Jaune nodded. "I understand, I think."

His grandpa glance at him. "Maybe." He sighed. "I guess I just wanted to teach you a lesson. One that those asshats won't ever learn. Seeing you in that armor, you looked every part of a noble... I fucked up, didn't think the lesson, through."

"Yeah, a bit." Jaune still felt a enraged at being shot. "But, I won't hold it against you, not forever."

They still had a long-way to go back to Vale. The cab of the truck going silent as they drifted off into thought.

"The first time I saw a Grimm, I was sixteen, and it was my second year in the forces. We were marching through mud and fog. We're made up of a mix of Valean & Vacuoans, about twenty men strong. We're to set up fortifications on shore, and then we're to intercept a invading force of Mantle coming from the north-east looking to establish a hold on Vytal Island."

Jeremiah spoke like he was making a confession, of finally telling something he's been holding back a long, long time. "We're had taken too long, they already establish a foothold there, on Vytal, had sent scouts onto Sanus proper, into the wilderness around the shores of the continent. We found they're camps, then we found they're bodies.

"You've seen what Grimm can do. Imagine my shock, 16 years old, going to war to protect my motherland, I've already seen the horrors of war. I had nothing but a rifle on my shoulder and Crocea Mors on my hip. It brought me no comfort, I had never seen anything like it, it was ... awful."

Jeremiah paused. Minutes passed as he stared at the road, not speaking, merely remembering.

"None of us moved. We're fresh-faced and green, we had no idea what we're looking at it. I think I threw up, or maybe it was someone else, it's so long ago, that I can't remember it clearly. Near the outpost was a cave, in that cave was screaming and sound of gun-fire, and It.

"All sense of kingdoms and the knowledge that we're at war fell apart then and there. A sort of primal tribal instinct arose in us all, that we needed to obey. Another person was in danger, in absolute terror. We went to help them and ... It was a bloodbath. Really and truly, it was. Twenty young men and a handful of Mantle Solider were in there, including me, most of them dying by the twos and three's." Jeremiah paused again, closing his eyes for a brief moment. "Give me a moment, please. It's getting harder to remember."

Jaune said nothing, doing his best to etch his grandfather's words into his mind.

Jeremiah breathed out hard, then continued. "It charged me, I used my gun to block and it broke my gun like driftwood, the force tossed me like a rag-doll. I saw It kill my best friend, Daimon, who had enlisted with me. He was a Faunus and a good one too, he wanted to make a reputation, not for himself, but for all Faunus during the war. To show them that they loved Vale just as much as the humans do." Jeremiah took a deep, shaky breath.

"That thing, it tore him in half at the waist, right above me. All his foulness of inside him falling on top of me. I snapped. It was like I fell into a deep, dark hole and lost myself in there, while my body climbed out and did all the work. Nothing else mattered. It wasn't rage. It wasn't hate. It was just ... "

"A call." Jaune said simply. Empathy in his voice

"Yeah. That." Jeremiah smiled, taking his knuckle and wiping his eye. "I drew Crocea Mors. It was the first time I ever wielded her. My mother had practically forced it into my hands when I went out the door. It had been my fathers, I didn't get a chance to know him. I only knew that he was a good man who died young. It was heavy, I knew that from carrying it on my belt, but I had gotten used to it's presence. I didn't realize that once I drew that, I needed to hold it with both hands. My arms burned and I nearly tore something swinging it.

"The thing, the Grimm, I couldn't begin to describe it, it's been so damn long, and I hadn't seen anything else like it sense. Might have been one of kind, or they're just too scared of me to come back. Heh. Not likely though. It had gotten back to tearing apart my brothers, and I ran at it's legs. I had never had a clean a cut in my life as when I swung her blade. It cut right through it's limbs, cut deep into it's body, it's like there was no resistances at all. I killed it. And, after it was all said in done, maybe five, aside from me, survived it's rampage."

"What happened next?" Jaune asked.

Jeremiah shrugged. "I passed out. I had never been in a fight like that before. Don't get me wrong, I rough-housed with other boys growing up, they thought since I didn't have a daddy I was easy pickings, so I had to school them rightly." He sighed. "When I woke up, the two surviving Mantelians had this look of defeat on them, and we did something, I still don't understand to this day."

Jaune waited for Jeremiah to continue.

"We took them in. Gave them spare uniforms, and said they were recruited rural towns, that they wanted to fight against the invaders. We began the biggest bunch of badasses this kingdom had ever seen."

Jaune looked at his grandfather skeptically. "Just like that? Didn't they have any loyalty to Mantle?"

Jeremiah laughed, long and hard. "Nope! Fuckers were happy to just be alive. Mantle was a shit hole back then, too. One wrong word, and welcome to the labor camps. Some call Atlas authoritarian bastards today, but they got nothing, and I mean nothing, on Old Mantle."

"I'll take your word for it." Jaune said. His grandfather look tired now, and almost fragile. "Thank you, for telling me that."

The temporary weakness passed, Jeremiah shrugging. "It's been so long since I told anyone, It was a much me trying to remember, as telling you." He sighed sadly. "I never had the guts to tell your grand-mama, ya know? I still regret that." The old man's eyes seemed to be looking somewhere far off. A sad smile on his lips, as he remembered other times.

Jaune had never really had the chance to meet his dad's mom, his grand-mama. She had died sometime during his dad's late teens, but she had been a wonderful woman from all accounts.

"Any other questions?" Jeremiah asked after a minute, reminiscing of other times.

"Did you ever report back to Vale, about the incident?" Jaune asked, curiously.

"Yeah, about that," Jeremiah began. "Have you ever heard of The Black Shields?"

"A bit, they're like a rumor- you're shitting me, right?" Jaune saw the smug smile on his grandpa's face.

"Oh, you better believe I'm not." He rolled up his sleeve showing his shoulder, showing a version of Vale's Symbol, except instead of two axes surrounded by a wreath, it was a blackened shield surrounded by a wreath. "The second we reported that shit we all got black-bagged and inducted into the Black Shields." He patted Crocea Mors. "Still a member, too. Even if the organization is mostly defunct. We're a task force of men and women recruited to deal with anomalies, aka Grimm and other wickedness."

"Did they even know what was going on?" He paused. "Or get any cool toys?"

"Hell no, and if they did, they did a damn good job convincing us that they were a bunch of dumbasses wearing lab coats. Not that they didn't try to learn, but since Grimm disappear as soon as they die, it makes it very hard to research them. All they were left with was theory crafting. Other anomalies weren't much better. Like short women who could mess with your sense and then disappear. Floating lights that went after Grimm and destroyed them. All kinds of crazy shit." He sighed. "It was mostly wait till something to reported, go there, interview the locals, debunk them publicly to preserve public order. Then do our own searches to see if there was any truth. Which more often than not, nothing at all.

"But, on occasion, when we found Grimm it was hell on wheels, then we got breakout the big guns. But, sometimes it just weird stuff, objects that could do things. Rods that shoot lightning, a bag that was bigger on the inside, a statue that followed commands. We took what we could into custody, or destroyed it if we couldn't. Or run away, that was sometimes the best option."

"So, what happened to the Black Shields?"

"Funding got cut by someone high up, which limited everything, and those same bastards then started putting stricter and stricter rules on us, till we could barely function. I had enough at that point and could see the writing on the walls, so, I left."

"Sounds like sabotage. They just let you leave?"

"Probably, was. Ancestors only know why. Maybe they started a new project, or other Kingdoms had caught wind and didn't like it, pressured us to stop. I really don't know why." He paused in thought. "Anyway, yeah, they really couldn't stop me, no reason too. I didn't have any records working for Vale after the Great War, and on paper, the Black Shields don't exist at all. Our funding was filed under a different name and buried in other paper-work. So, our agents could be cut off at anytime. As far as the Kingdom was concerned, I was no issue. Any information I leaked, would just look like a damaged veteran's mad ramblings."

"Do they still keep tabs on you?"

"Probably. Though, considering my age, they probably assumed I'm dead at this point. Anybody old enough to have worked there in my prime, is long out of business, unless they got some type of age treatment."

"Victory by endurance."

"Yep. Don't plan on croaking either, so no rest for this wicked bag of bones."

Jaune wondered. Would he too be doing this at his grandfather's age? Still fighting Grimm, and other anomalies? Or would he be dead? He only had so many chances before he ran out of luck.

"You think you have time to stick around? Maybe, give me a few pointers?" Jaune asked. Being shot at was a small price to pay, if it made him better. His grandfather was a survivor, and the best techniques are passed on by survivors.

A worn old smile appeared on Jeremiah's face. "It'd be my pleasure."

-----

"Girls." Ms. Purple greeted the girls in a secluded locations.

"Teacher." White responded, with the others giving a variety of responses, but all with a degree of respect.

"It has come to my attention, that a new threat has arisen in Vale, one that Crimson combated by her lonesome last week." Purple looked at Crimson firmly. "That was irresponsible of you, but I applaud your courage."

Crimson nodded sheepishly.

"As your teacher in the arts of Arcane, it is time I let you five into some deeper secrets of the Night-Side and the Otherworld." Purple said with a very serious tone, but laced with a hint of sadness. "You are not alone in your use of magic, there are beings out there who can rival you on equal footing, and more frighteningly ones could crush you all collectively the same way you might crush the Grimm."

A look of shock went over the girls as they're teacher dropped a revelation on them, except for Yellow and Crimson. Both, thinking back to they're recent encounters.

"The Dark Queen's Seven Generals, one of which you already encountered Crimson, the Four Horsemen, The Queens and Royalty of the Otherworld, Things that Sleep, and other horrors, are just some examples of those entities. That's without even going into things Man has made by themselves." She looked around at her students. "Or the various Relics left behind from previous Eras and iterations of Magical Girls as you call yourselves, or as properly known, Star-fated Maidens."

Purple paused, letting her words sink into her students. Red raised a shy hand. "Why are you telling us this now? Why let us know about this now?"

Purple looked at and past them. "I thought we had more time. Up-till now, I thought the Grimm would be the most of your worries." She bowed politely. "I was wrong. I thought you girls were born into a peaceful era. That thought, is quickly being proven incorrect. I fear that we are entering a new Dark Age." She took out her wand. "So, it is time for the training wheels to be taken off, since there is no telling how much time we have left to prepare. " From behind her, two adults appeared behind her from the shadows. "So, I've enlisted help."

A tall lanky man hooded by a ragged cloak. "Harbinger."

A tall bulky man whose face was hidden by a dragon-mask. "Sun Dragon."

Then a woman fell between Purple and her students. "Briar-Storm!" A woman with silver eyes and mature figure wearing what seemed to be a magical girl outfit.

Purple sighed at 'Briar-Storm', then continued. "Yes, these three will help you train and experience different styles of combat. From attacks from the shadows, frontal assault, and even," She paused looking at Briar-Storm vibrating in place with excitement. "learning how to counter magic."

#jaune arc #fanfic #Shadow Knight

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lettuce-on-toast · 11 months

Text

CATBOY STORY

Fyodor bsd x fem reader

i’m not doing content warnings for this read at your own risk i suppose? fyodor bites a mouse but its just in a flashback and it was mutual like they were both biting each other

you wake up with a jolt, drenched with cold sweat. a quick glance towards the digital clock on your bedside table tells you it’s already past two am. your field of vision is blurred and limited by the darkness shrouding your bedroom; your eyelids droop heavy with exhaustion.

you’re about to just close your eyes and attempt to go back to sleep... but then, at the foot of your bed, you see a shadowy figure standing there-- silent, unmoving. you can’t quite see their face. your eyes scan the room desperately as you attempt to find the fastest way to the door. your heart drums a frantic beat in your chest. terror seeps through your bloodstream and freezes over, paralyzing you. you realize that you may very well be about to die. then, suddenly, just as your life begins to flash before your eyes, they move closer, and their features become visible, illuminated by the faint moonlight that’s managed to creep through the curtains. a strange sense of familiarity comes over you. those brilliant violet eyes, piercing through even the shadows of the night.

it can’t be. that man... he died years ago. you’ve moved on, managed to live with, if not mend, the hole in your heart.

that raven hair, glimmering faintly in the moonlight.

stop. you must be dreaming again. it’s been so long since you last dreamed of him. you’ve almost forgotten the shape of his face, forgotten the way your lips would trace the outline of his jaw. the way you would kiss passionately at midnight in the IKEA parking lot. the way he refused to shower on sundays because he claimed they were holy days set aside for rest and as such it would not make sense for him to work on sundays by maintaining his personal hygiene and how once he just stopped showering period sundays be damned and hence a group of field mice made a nest in his head and you had to take him to the hospital when one of the mice bit him. you remember how he then bit the guilty mouse back-- “An eye for an eye,” he’d quoted in response to your horrified expression. “Exodus verse something. Judgement would have reached the poor creature eventually. In this case, it would seem I served as a mere vessel of this karmic justice. No more. No less.” yeah. that was pretty screwed up.

it can’t be him. it can’t be him. you repeat the words over and over again in your head, a prayer, a mantra, a plea. you won’t allow yourself to hope for something impossible. you won’t allow yourself to fall back into these delusions again.

but it’s all so familiar. it all seems so real.

those eyes, that hair, that... that.. shapely tail...

oh, god.

the figure moves closer yet, and somehow, some way, it *is* him.

standing in your bedroom is catboy fyodor dostoevsky.

catboy fyodor dostoevsky. surname dostoevsky. patronym fyodor. first name catboy.

seven years ago, you met him at burger king. he was throwing up in the parking lot after eating a bad ice cube. you thumped him on the back a few times, perhaps a bit too hard, as he collapsed soon after. besides falling flat onto the pavement and fracturing his elbow, though, he also ended up falling for you. you started dating the day afterwards, and though it wasn’t always perfect, you both loved each other, and that love carried you throughout several happy years together.

three years ago, he was drafted into the war. he left on a bright july morning, and never came back. he didn’t die in the war, though-- he got into a horrible car accident on the way there-- drove into a truck carrying copious amounts of explosives. exploded. etcetera. funny how things like that just happen. you were too grief-stricken to attend his funeral, but every year after his passing, you commemorated the anniversary by placing a new WonderPets DVD on his gravestone. catboy fyodor dostoevsky did not like WonderPets at all; in fact, he quite detested the titular pets. you hoped that his hatred for this piece of media would somehow propel his soul from the grave and bring him back to you. alas, it was all in vain.

or was it really?

for now, your once-lost love is standing mere inches away from you. you can feel his breath on your face.

he is purring.

he is real.

it’s almost too good to be true.

“good evening, Y/N,” he whispers, the sound of his voice clear against the quiet of the night. he still sounds exactly the same as you remember him, calm, almost smug, his words slightly accented. “MEOW are you doing?”��

“is it really you?” you stammer. “are you really alive? why are you making cat puns?”

he smirks. “what do MEW think?”

“please stop making jokes and just give me a straight answer.”

“i am bisexual.”

“oh, for real? congratulations on coming out!”

“meow.”

He kisses you. you spend the night Kissing each other. he keeps on meowing and it is a bit annoying. he does not explain how he came back from the dead. you do not ask. that’s just how things have always been between you, though, you realize. he never questioned the suspicious noises coming from your basement. you never questioned why he had only ever talked to three women in real life ever, the first two of which were his mother and sister. you’d lived together like that for years. and you were ready to resume life with him once more.

“i’m glad you’re back, catboy fyodor dostoevsky,” you mumble sleepily

“мяу мяу мяу мяу я кот мяу мяу мяу мяу мяу мяу мяу я кот мяу мяу мур мур мур мур мур мур мур мур мур мяу,” he replies back.

you giggle. “oh, stop it, you. you’re such a flirt.” you smile faintly before drifting off to sleep, catboy fyodor dostoevsky at your side.

AUTHOR’S NOTES

i want to shoot myself in the foot for writing this im so sorry bsd fandom

#bsd #bsd x reader #bsd x female reader #fyodor dostoevsky x reader #fyodor x reader #fyodor dostoevsky #bsd fyodor #bungo stray dogs x reader

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ironmandeficiency · 1 year

Text

drinking songs

pairing: established dwalin / fem!dwarf!reader

word count: 1607

summary: you got drunk off your ass at thorin’s coronation banquet, and now it’s up to your dearest dwarf captain to get you back to your rooms.

a/n: song snippets are from "rattlin bog” by the irish descendants. i have become dwalin trash, mostly thanks to @fromthedeskoftheraven

the captain of the guard was enjoying himself, truly. it isn’t every day that thorin is actually happy, that his cousin is able to swing his arms around the shoulders of his nephews with joy oozing from every pore.

peace is seldom found in the line of durin.

his eyes flit around the room, observing every shift of the light and tracking the positions of his family and friends. the boys are hanging off thorin with rosy cheeks, smiling wider than he’d seen in years. bofur is dancing on one of the massive tables, flute in hand, deftly avoiding plates and goblets while doing a jig to his own music. nori’s pulled ori into dancing along, the brothers almost tripping over each other in their laughter. balin and dori are watching said merriment from their seats at the royal table, casually drinking from their goblets with matching grins.

dwalin respects the duties of his station and would never stray from his responsibilities during a royal banquet or otherwise. it doesn’t matter how entranced he is with the way you’re going toe to toe against the others with the mead, the way errant drops of the beverage drip down your chin and neck. he’s not going to abandon his post and allow himself to sweep you to your feet, beckoning you into the energetic dances of celebrating dwarrow.

but he can damn sure wish to.

he doesn’t know how it started. all dwalin knows is that it happened, is still happening, and probably won’t stop happening anytime soon. he fell beard over boots for you many moons ago, the dam sent by dís to accompany them on the quest, your presence the only reason his dear cousin let her sons join the company.

it could have been the battle cry released from the pit of your soul when you downed a warg headed straight for him. or maybe it was the vicious glint in your eyes when you ripped the leg off a mirkwood spider with your bare hands, then promptly used it to skewer two others. it could even be the doting care you gave to every member of the company, your innate kindness off the battlefield a delightful contradiction to your ferocity on it.

those and many more were the reasons he, with some encouragement from his closest friends and family, found the courage to ask to court you while they were in laketown. it was why his eyes kept focusing on the courting bead in your hair that marked you as his, no matter how many other eyes followed you around the mountain.

mahal’s sweaty balls, dwalin was in deep.

even in the safety of the mountain, there were so many strangers that he couldn’t let his guard down. that was his excuse for not celebrating and he would stick to it like the honey in your beard when you ate the little honey cakes at the shifter’s cabin.

he spotted bofur taking your hand, pulling you onto the table to join him in whatever foolish drinking song that was being chorused around the table.

“ho, ro, the rattlin' bog the bog down in the valley o real bog, the rattlin' bog the bog down in the valley o!”

an obnoxious cheer cut through yours and bofur’s song before you continued with wide smiles and mead dripping from your beards.

“in the nest, there was a bird a rare bird, a rattlin’ bird the bird in the nest and the nest on the limb and the limb on the branch and the branch on the tree and the tree in the hole and the hole in the bog and the bog down in the valley o!”

it was an absolutely foolish song, albeit rather catchy. while he would never lower himself to singing along, he caught himself tapping his boot to it. the faster you sang, the more every other dwarf struggled to keep up. even bofur was occasionally lowered to simply making syllabic noises that didn’t quite make sense, though his current inebriation could be partly to blame.

you jumped off the table in a hurry, headed straight for him. if he were a betting dwarf that needed the gold, he would bet that you were going to try and pull him into your cheerful little song and dance.

“come on, ya big oaf! you’ve got to join us!”

“oh no no, dearie, you know i don’t-”

“correction, you didn’t dance! now you do!”

dwalin’s long-suffering sigh meant nothing to you. you’ve known dwalin nearly your entire lives, there wasn’t a moment spent under this mountain or another where he could successfully said no to you.

your strength in pulling him into the growing crowd, no matter how close to inebriated you were, shouldn’t have surprised him. his feet weren’t cooperating with the rest of him as he stumbled after you, the way he’s done since you were both wee pebbles.

he’s just glad he wasn’t asked to join you and the miner in the singing.

once you succeeded in pulling dwalin to the edge of your impromptu stage, you jumped right back into the song with ease. your drunken crowd was stomping their feet and banging meaty fists on the table. one of dain’s men had a banjo and was playing along with the steadily increasing tempo of the song. the increase in speed seemed to not affect you in the slightest and dwalin was gobsmacked.

“the rash on the tick, on the tick on the louse, on the louse on the hair, on the hair on the worm, on the worm on the feather, on the feather on the bird, on the bird in the egg, in the egg in the bird, in the bird on the nest, on the nest on the limb, on the limb on the branch, on the branch on the tree, on the tree in the hole, in the hole in the bog, in the bog down in the valley-o!”

you launched yourself off the table, still shouting the lyrics with a speed that rivaled the rabbits pulling the brown wizard’s sled. dwalin caught you with a wide grin. he almost didn’t catch you when you jumped into his arms, but his instincts were ahead of his brain.

with that one last line, ringed fingers tangled in the warrior’s beard, pulling him close so you could connect his lips with yours. it was a sloppy, rough kiss with just a little tenderness but overflowing with passion and impatience and devotion. hoots and hollers rang around you both, the loudest ones belonging to members of the company.

it was a very forward display of affection for two dwarrow who only recently started courting, but propriety could get shoved up the drake’s ass for all he (and you) cared.

he tempered your kisses, untangling your fingers from his beard before placating you with smaller pecks all across your face. “alright lass, it’s time for you to get to bed.” there was an affection in his voice that he couldn’t keep at bay when he was around you.

“rather forward tonight, are we?” you couldn’t help but tease your dear warrior. the sight of his cheeks wearing even the most faded tint of ruby was a reward that far surpassed the value of the treasure only a few rooms away.

dwalin rolled his eyes fondly at you. “not quite, kurdel,” maybe one day though. he wouldn’t even entertain the idea of doing anything untoward when you were giggly and rosy-cheeked from the spirits. “need to get you to sleep. ‘sides, it sounds like your voice is gettin’ hoarse.”

the resulting pout you gave him was very unconvincing.

a hiccup escaped your lips as your betrothed hoisted you into his shoulder, carrying you out of the grand hall like a very cherished sack of potatoes.

in the morning you were definitely going to regret the way you drank close to bombur’s weight in mead. it wasn’t a concern now, however, when drunk you had the best vantage point of your lover’s ass.

you could continue your singing after all, especially with the best hand drums this side of the misty mountains right there. deft hands began to tap an encore of your earlier performance. you were so distracted by this task you didn’t notice dwalin stop walking or his slight chuckle at your antics.

dwalin paused outside the door to your rooms, an impatient sigh falling from him. “are you quite finished, love?” just to spite him, you hum and give his buttocks a few more taps just because you could. “i’m done now,” you answer.

his grunt of acknowledgement made you giggle as he opened the door to your rooms, your intended making a beeline for your bed. he unloaded you with all the care a lover would give and once you were sobered up, you’d look upon the moment fondly. he was gingerly guiding your body as he removed your outerwear, leaving you in your pants and a loose tunic.

but that moment was not now, so you instead chose to grab up at him in a silent attempt to get him to lay with you. he should learn to say no to you eventually.

“if i lay down wi’ ye, there will be no funny business. understand?” he’s already ridding himself of his own boots and heavy armor, getting himself ready to crawl into bed with you. balin would definitely have his ass for this in the morning, but dwalin couldn’t find it in him to care when you were gazing at him with love in your eyes.

#dwalin x reader #dwalin #dwalin fanfic #the hobbit imagine #the hobbit fanfic #the hobbit reader insert #dwalin imagine #the hobbit #the hobbit fanfiction

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shuckinbeanz · 1 year

Text

My Incubus!Boyfriend: Hawks

warnings/notes: NSFW, quirkless(basically quirks are demon powers)?fantasy+modern!au, fluff and smut, Hawks is literally an aphrodisiac, reader has a clit and a womb, enthusiastically consensual, Incubus!Hawks, Incubus!Hawks goes into a rut(lol Shark Week), ya'll been dating for awhile now, breeding, light suggestion of multiple bbs in one pregnancy at the end, knotting, bonding, mating for life, wingplay, feral hawks, cumflation, reader dips into somft subspace Hawks is so sweet to reader 🥺, overstimulation, its Incubi = Loyal Love Demons who thrive on love, mutual pining, the hot sex that follows, and the relationship that grows bc consent is a huge thing in dis hous. As an Incubus, he produces so much cum and he stays hard so he can go for days it's no easy feat to milk him dry 😩 he's made for loving the reader and he's got so much love to give 🥺

~Masterlist~

MINORS 👏 DNI! 👏 AGE 👏 IN 👏 BIO 👏 OR 👏 DNI! 👏 Head on over to @candybowbeansies please for my SFW pieces, or be blocked if you interact here! 😇

Tags: @dynamightsdaydream, @zephyrr-x

The sound he lets loose as his fat cock gushes even more baby batter into your womb has you creaming even more rings around his thick, heavy knot; a mix between a debauched low moan and a deep guttural growl devilish in nature vibrates through your completely fucked out, cum-frenzied being, directly from the Incubus holding your overwhelmed squirming form into a mating press.

You're far too gone at this point, stomach distended from all the cum his balls kept producing in copious amounts. His vermillion wings were on full display as he whined and kept rutting into you, powerful hips desperately chasing relief for his instincts, pleading for more as you barely hung onto your last threads of consciousness, pawing weakly at his soft downy feathers.

Begging you to stay sane for him, to let him plant his brood in you, perfectly up your hot tubes and fertilizing all the eggs he can.

Feathers incessantly stroked your clit and played with your perked pretty nipples as he babbled on and on.

"You're s'gorgeous, pretty baby, s'perfect, fuck, I can't- -I can't stop, hen, take it, take it, yeah, take it all, fuck!" he howls, filling you up even more, sloppily grinding against you, more of his telekinetic feathers plucked from his beautiful wings in his ecstasy, hovering protectively above yours and his nest. The aphrodisiac your Incubus lover produced has long since soaked through your gummy insides, into your body, saturating through even your bones.

Your womb might as well be a second clit at this point, his thick, hot, slimy seed expanding your inner walls, his knot locking in every last drop.

Again, you squirt on him, your mind nearly broken from all the pleasure despite your best efforts to give the man you loved what he desperately needed.

Lovemaking-breeding like the last two lovers in the world, down to its most emotional, purest form.

You were a real trooper, too; having endured the brunt of a feral Incubi's instinct thus far, and you'll be damned if all that sex you had with him for months before this didn't raise your endurance enough for him to bond you, as planned.

Your legs were numb at this point, and your arms have long since felt like jelly, weakly swirling his sensitive feathers between your fingertips, making him croon.

You can only stutter out your love for him, your sweet mews grounding him, sharp molten golden pupils dilating as he finally lets up.

He's panting harshly, kissing all over your face and neck, the slow grinding of his hips barely restrained, the bulbous tip of his cock mixing up your guts. His cum burned your insides in the most pleasurable of ways, making you cream around his cock for the nth time, your whole body shuddering wantonly.

"Yes." he hisses as your hole milks him, "Fuckin' jus' like that, pidge, birdie, baby, m'broody hen." comes his voice, husky from sex, sweetly encouraging you as you melt into a subspace, tears gathering around your eyes as he kisses them away.

You loved him, so, so much.

"Went overboard, hah?" he pants, kissing your eyes, his brows furrowed. You choke on a weak sob. Mate.

" 'm sorry, pretty baby, stupid bird-brain, says keep cummin'." he whines with each grind of his hips. Mate, you hiccup tearfully.

A birdlike chatter reverberates from his broad chest. "Wassat, hen? 'm'may be a good listener, but y'gotta speak a li'l bit louder, baby." he inquires in a worried slur, hips still grinding against your welcoming heat, lending his ear to your pretty lips.

At least his feathers mercifully ceased attack on your overstimulated body.

"Mate." you finally manage to squeak out pitifully, clinging onto him with what little strength you can muster, tears streaming from your eyes, non-stop.

"Ah, fuck." you hear his grimace, "Didn't mean to, baby. Didn't mean to." he starts apologetically. "I know I promised, pidge, fuck me. You jus' feel s'good." you know he mentally kicked himself, from his pitiful whines.

"Jus' one more, pretty baby, jus' one more?" he pleads, his large calloused hands cupping your cheeks, thumbs wiping away your fat tears. "Can y'take it, hen? If y'can't, s'okay, I'll- -" you shake your head as vehemently as you can, his pupils blowing wider than before at your reaction, his hips briefly stilling.

"...y'sure?" he asks gingerly, and you nod as best you can.

Quivering wings fold and lower, protectively encircling your form, as his hips resume rocking against you. The feathers hovering above shudder in tandem with his desperate grinds, rut-drunk babbles escaping him.

You could feel his heavy, needy cock jolting inside you as his knot seemed to grow even more excited. His balls were incredibly hot and swollen, pressed up against your ass, more of his seed locked, loaded, and leaking you swore, his name passing your lips in a squeal as his weight sends you over the edge yet again.

"Yes, baby, milk me, milk me." he begs, his molten hues nearly rolling back into his head, despite his best efforts to see you broken down beneath him. "Mate." he releases a breathy growl, propping himself upwards on the headboard, his brows furrowed as his hips sloppily chase one more release.

"Make you mine, mine, mine." a devilish growl escapes him, and when you reach for and tug a particularly sensitive feather, you have him howling again, "Mine!!" for one last time, as he pumps you full with his final load.

His cock throbs enthusiastically with each gush of cum, your gooey insides stretching to accommodate every last drop as you cream around his knot, his breathy growls evening down to blissful shudders while tears start gathering around his eyes, all the overstimulation finally catching up to him. His feathers form a protective layer on your bulging tummy, littered about the rest of your form as he blinks the wetness away to take in the fruits of his frenzy.

Out of breath, completely limp, your features tear-streaked, utterly fucked out, your heavy eyelids threatening to tear away what consciousness you had left.

You love him so, so much. He can see it. He can feel it. You know this, the last thing you see being him licking his lips, and the last thing you hear before blacking out;

"Delicious, hen. Sleep now, pretty baby."

The next time you wake up, his feathers had bonded to you, resembling tattoos; very mobile proof of your love for each other which only other love fiends and their bonded sweethearts could see. They lingered around your tummy, protective of the life you conceived with him.

He'd plucked his own wings for you, the now much smaller appendages flapping happily as he embraces you, temporarily rendered unable to give flight.

"They'll grow back, broody hen." he promised you when you asked him, your worries about him being completely unfounded.

Though, maybe, you should worry about his high fecundity.

#boku no hero academia #my hero academia #mha #bnha #hawks x reader #keigo takami x reader #takami keigo x reader #keigo takami smut #takami keigo smut

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themarginalthinker · 6 months

Text

Saint 'Dimitri'

(also known as DMT. Paul and Michael get high, and go down a list of all the things they can put in their bodies because vampire bodies are only addicted to one thing in the long run. tw: Discussions of drug use, references to drugs. I wrote this very quickly bc the idea bit me.)

"Weed?"

"Obviously."

"Yeah." Michael flicks a finger towards the bong Paul was filling. "Obviously. Uh...coke?"

Paul raises a brow. "Jumping pretty far, there."

"So sue me, my mom was an ex-Hippy and I'm a good suburban boy. I don't know a lot of drugs. Have you done it?"

"Yup. Got some left too, if you wanna try."

"Eugh. No. You see those people on TV?"

Paul shakes his head. "Worst case scenarios filmed for the ratings, and like, you have to be using for years, dude, before you ever start looking like that. Which, even if you stuff a pound of the shit up there every night for the rest of your life, you won't, because you ain't human."

Michael still hakes his head. "I don't think I'd like the feeling anyway."

Paul grins. "Yeah, you're spooksy enough as it is."

"I'm cautious, which has kept my ass out of the fire more than I can say about the rest of you idiots," Michael shoots back.

"...Technically it wasn't fire, it was buckshot-"

"-and the pair of you still have it embedded in your asses. Next. Uh...morphine?"

"David likes it, but I also think the guy could ask Dwayne to conk him over the head with a metal pipe and it would work just as well."

Michael cocks his head.

"Sleep aid for the supernatural, Mikey."

"Oh. Yeah. I guess he is kinda fitful, huh."

"He's got his reasons- oh for fuck's sake, light!"

Paul snarls lowly and bangs the end of the little zippo on his knee, face screwed up in almost childish frustration. Michael snorts but spares him the continued pain. He reaches into his own pocket and pulls out the one he's been carrying for a while.

Paul takes it gratefully, and doesn't say anything about how Michael doesn't carry any smokes (or doesn't have Marko's knack for setting things on fire randomly), and how it's a much older model, well-cared for and refillable. Made to last from a past era. Not his.

If he had, Michael may have just thrown it at him instead.

But he doesn't say anything, and Paul doesn't either, and the two laps into comfortable silence as the bowl is passed back and forth.

Michael hums, fingers toying with the frayed edges of a hole in the knee of his jeans. "Um...okay, uh. Oxycodone?"

Paul, leaning back against the pillows, blinks owlishly at him, clearly trying to connect some dots. "...I got some random pills from that one car we pulled-"

"No, no, like. Have you ever taken it?" Michael corrects, getting back to the subject they'd been talking about.

"Oh! Uh, nah, gave me hives."

"Well. Okay, I wasn't asking if you liked it, just that you tried it, dude. So that's a yes."

"Like, I think I get it, pain relief," Paul says, leaning even further back, to look up at the hanging tapestries and the garlands of shiny knickknacks and rackam strewn above him. "But it's like. Different. Than this."

He shakes the bowl a little. Michael reaches out a hand to stop him before he spilled something. "Feels...I don't know. Flatter. It's not up here."

Paul motions to his head, and the buzz he no doubt has going. Michael is feeling it too. He makes a small noise of acknowledgement, and leaves it.

"...DMT?"

In an instant, barely as the letters of the acronym had time to leave his mouth, Paul was up. His eyes wide enough even in his relaxed state to see the whites all around them, mouth set in a grimace enough he was almost showing his teeth.

"No. Fuck no, Mike. That shit is- damn, like, I don't wanna have to feel all the shit in reality, but like. I still wanna be in reality, you know?"

Michael shrugs a shoulder, and when the action makes his head feel like it won't stop tilting that way, he follows it and lets himself rest back against the pillow nest they'd made of the bedding.

"It's not that bad," he says, and Paul just shakes his head slowly.

And then stops. A look of consternation passing over his features.

He squints at Michael.

"...Did you-?"

"Well-"

"Oh my God, Mike!"

He's suddenly sitting even further up, crawling forward. (Michael having to take the bong from him and finally set it aside so they didn't dump hot ash on the bed sheets or spill water over everything.) Paul gets into his space, face half a smile, half pure disbelief.

"You said you'd never done anything stronger than shots and dope!"

Michael, to his credit, does imagine he looks at least a little sheepish.

"I just didn't remember it when I said that. It was a while ago. I also don't really remember much of it, just that. Things got weird, some...guy one of the people hosting the party knew brought this stuff in a thermos, but I was also tired as shit, so I think I just thought most of it was dreams."

Paul laughs, "Pretty spacey dreams, dude."

"Yeah, no kidding, it was like. Dreams in dreams...I think I thought the couch cushions were cracks in an endless pit and I was gonna fall in or something...you've never had it though?"

The laughter turns a little darker as Paul pulls back a bit, giving Michael some air. He flops against him though, head sinking down to rest on his belly.

"Not on your life. Big damn predator, out of my gourd on the spirit molecule runnin' around the woods at night? With the sensory stuff that we can feel without drugs? Can you fuckin' imagine..."

Michael supposes he could. Granted, the images in his mind were mostly funny, and in the bond, the boundaries of which were deteriorating with every passing moment, he passed those on to Paul. It got him a chuckle, and the sound played like low timpani in his head.

The conversation lapsed on.

#the lost boys #drabble #drugs #drug reference #believe it or not there are places Paul ain't willing to go #and Michael maaaay not be as much of a good boy as Lucy thought

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achenetype · 1 month

Note

What would happend if Raven reader never left the nest?👁️ Love ur writing

THIS SPARKED SOMETHING IN ME OH MG GOD

MDNI; implied sex, hand wavey consent, abuse, raven-typical cult behavior and stockholm syndrome, riko is his own warning, injury/violence

listening to: sea, swallow me by cocteau twins

you can’t leave the nest, for a multitude of reasons. some of the other ravens still see their families; they go home for a weekend or for spring break every once in a while. they cite living close to the university, their parents being concerned or overprotective.

your family lives thousands of miles away and they hate you, so you stay at the nest. winter break, spring, summer. you know how edgar allan university looks baked in heat, drenched in rain, blanketed in snow.

riko moriyama and kevin day become your lifeline. he never leaves either. you spend more time together with them than you do with any of the other ravens, running perfect laps on castle evermore’s perfect court until all three of you are out of breath. you suck sparkling air into your lungs and laugh on the way back to your dorm, riko’s arms around your and kevin’s shoulders. perfect, perfect, perfect.

riko becomes captain and that perfection turns icelike and cold. he pushes everyone to their limits, especially himself. you and kevin push back. most of the other ravens are too scared to, but the three of you are perfect perfect perfect, the three of you are brilliant and nothing can stop you.

nothing can stop you until riko shatters kevin’s hand and you spend hours picking up the pieces.

nothing can stop you until riko shatters at the same time as your arm, when he does the same thing to you.

you spend weeks in recovery. riko sits at your bedside, murmuring apologies. murmuring we had to make it look believable, murmuring im so sorry.

your arm heals. clean break. clean hole where kevin used to be. clean, perfect number one, riko moriyama.

you still love him, which you’re not sure is a fact or a weapon. he is too tangled in you to separate what you are from what he is, and who hasn’t been cruel, in the nest? who hasn’t broken someone else to get ahead?

you have. riko has. this makes you a perfect match.

neil josten, newly rechristened nathaniel wesninski and number four, leaves as soon as he appears. some part of you resents him for it but a bigger part is, selfishly, grateful for riko’s attention to be back on you. you want your place by his side back—you want your life back.

you can’t leave the nest even when riko beats jean within an inch of his life. you can’t leave when that girl from the foxes appears and whisks him away, when riko breaks a window and punches a hole in the wall and screams about how his perfect court is falling apart.

everything is falling apart, you want to tell him. everything is falling apart and we can’t do a damn thing about it.

(instead you kiss his knuckles and help clean the glass off of the floor. instead you murmur distractions: how good his form was today, how pretty he looks with blood in his teeth, how you want him to shove you up against the court wall and take whatever he wants. you’d give it to him anyways. you’ve given it before, given everything else.)

(you fall asleep that night feeling hollow. riko’s arms around you and his head on your chest are no comfort. you want to hate yourself in a new, sick way, something that sways in your stomach and makes you want to puke or slash your wrists open like one of the freshman backliners did last week.)

(you want to hate yourself, but you can’t.)

and you can’t leave, either.

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undead-merman · 6 months

Text

Day Eighteen: The Call Is Coming From Inside The House

Beta read by @quietmageuietmage on but we both don't know internet lingo, so we used a translator.

Contains Kylar stalking, terrible internet slang, sexting, and masturbation

Ding!

The noise never failed to startle you, ever since you got a cell phone the ring always scared the shit out of you. Tonight though, that sound sent a flood of arousal right through you. Kylar made sure he was your first contact and message. He was insistent on it. You felt bad for everyone else who fought to be in your contacts, but the poor lad didn’t have anyone in his. So right at the top, you saved his name with a little heart.

Now, you're face to face with that heart and a little message.

I miss u ur hom ryt? I cn ’t w8 nmore

You reply as you settle down onto your bed and unfastening your pants with a shuffle of your hips.

Ur alone ryt? In ur bed?

Yes yes YES! You're sure he can feel your desperation with your message. A damn shame you couldn’t call, but with walls so thin and with how nervous Kylar was, you weren’t about to call and the others were too fucking nosey. Plus, as much as you love him, you knew he’d only breathe heavily and squeak as he masturbated.

Another ding and a photo came up. Kylar's leaking uncut cock. It was hard to see with how dark it was, the blackness creeping in and making it somewhat grainy. It was almost funny in a way. Your hand dipped down into your pants and started idly groping.

I din touch lk u asked.

You let him know what a good boy he is.

Pls cn i c u?

You fumble around with your pants pulling them down to your mid-thigh. You were leaking just as much as he was. You let your juices collect on your fingers and pull it away just enough to leave a strand, snapping an artful photo. You gently play with yourself, waiting for a response. You really hope he hasn’t cum yet.

Ping!

Ur so prfct. ru thinking abt me? I kept thinking abt u. U touching urself.

Not the best, but he’s getting there. He’s too cute. Maybe getting him worked up will net you something good? You tell him every little detail about one of your fantasies. A quick send and a hope for the best.

I cud do dat. I'll hld u dwn n watch u squirm. Tie u up so u cn ’t run. Leave ur mouth open tho so i cn hear u. I <3 ur voice. So ns. ur clothes r ns but tey ’d luk btr cut off small scraps and u while yer nakd on my bed in front of me. I'd cum u ova n ova til u couldn’t move. All we'd do is fuckk, we'd eat while still pressed against each other. u won’t be able to leave me ever, forever.

Right after he sent a video of his small fingers digging into the meat of his cock and rubbing it with vigor. It looked somewhat painful with how hard he was gripping himself, but in the haze of lust it made your stomach tingle. He was that excited for you? It only made you want to match his pace. Fuck, he was too cute. His freckled shaft, messy pubes, painted finger nails with chips all over digging into the crown of his cock, his stubby finger digging into the tip.

How desperately you’d like to have that in your mouth, or even desperately slamming into you as he tried to keep his eyes focused on you, but was twisted up from the tightness and pleasure you offered him. He was too cute for his good. You pushed your fingers inside yourself and tried to find the depth of Kylar when he was inside and tease that spot. Imagining him above you now.

You tell him what you are doing, even send a video back of your fingers pushing into your hole, all close up just like he enjoys. You swear you can almost hear him squeak with delight.

But then you hear another noise, muffled but surely there now. You weren’t about to have someone from school taking photos or listening in. You frown and throw your phone onto the bed and move to your closet. Without a missing a beat, you rip it open, and you see Kylar’s tiny form in a makeshift nest of your clothes. Hands still on his painfully hard cock. His eyes wide and his mouth open with a bit of drool still slowly creeping down his face.

You really should be shocked. You're not sure if it was the force of adoration you had for the little, scruffy man, or the lust still had buzzing over your flesh. Maybe it is the fucked up combination of both? You grab his shirt, and he lets out a string of apologizes filled with dread as his phone clatters to the floor and he holds his arms up to protect himself.

You press a heated kiss to his unguarded lips, you can feel his body go limp

Calmed instantly by your love. He kisses back, lowering his arms and peeking at your expression before latching on with desperation, grinding his cock against your bare leg, and he messily sucks you into his mouth. Tongue and all. He takes a long moment to get an aftertaste of you and your toothpaste before pulling away, tongue still peeking out of his chapped lips.

“Y-your not mad?”

How could you be when the object of your desires is now right there in front of you? You tell him just that and his face flushes even more and you can feel his cock twitch against your thighs. You yank him over to your bed and tumble over, pulling him on top of you with a smirk on your face.

You don’t need any more words. He understands your silent tango and dives in to taste you.

#dol #degrees of lewdity #kylar the loner #kylar dol #terrible internet text #tw: stalking

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trexrambling · 1 year

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Broken Heels (II / III)

Request: “There's a protective Dean and Sam some kind of thing. They're friends with fem!reader, a shy and graceful girl. A long time ago the brothers took her in and a deep friendship was born. She only helps with research because she suffers from a heart failure, which leads to her being often dizzy nauseated and breathless. The brother care for her and always keep an eye out on her. Dean is secretly in love with her and vice versa. But neither of them admits it. One night Dean brings home some of his flings and the girl is really cruel to the reader.... Reader spirals into a rabbit hole, taking the things the bitch said to her to heart.... And shit hits the fan?! Some angst, drama and fluff, protective Winchesters.” - by anon

Word Count: 2,350

Warnings: side effects due to heart failure, language, negative self-talk

A/N: Italics refers to flashbacks. I broke this request into two three parts because it ended up being much longer than expected. No beta, all mistakes are mine, please message me if you see any! Watercolor heart from the header image credit.

(Read Part 1)

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“What are you doing out here?”

You smile softly at Sam’s voice, scooch over to make room for him on the park bench. “Just thinking.”

“About?” He settles beside you, an arm automatically wrapping around your shoulders to help offset the cold.

You gladly lean into his warmth. “How all I’m good for is reading a book and taking notes. How I can’t fight, can’t protect you guys, can’t even protect myself. That I’m basically a potato lump you guys get to drag around. You know, the usual.”

He’s quiet, but you can feel him thinking. You resume your watch of a cardinal nest you’d spotted earlier, see the dad dart back in with a fresh worm hanging from his beak. The simplicity of their lives is lost to them, just another day being a creature that can fly above the rest of us.

“You mean so much to us, Y/N. You know that, right? You have more to offer than you give yourself credit for.”

“Dean doesn’t seem to think so.”

He sighs. “So that’s what this is about.”

You start to pull away, but his arm tightens around you. You groan in frustration, snatch some of the emotions rolling through your mind and string them into a coherent thought.

“I just got in the way today, made things dangerous for everyone. It’s like Dean said, it would have been better if I’d just stayed home.”

You feel him shake his head, and you lean back to look up at him with a scowl on your face. “What? You heard him. He literally said-”

“He loves you, you know.”

Your eyes widen, and your mind goes blank for a split second before a whole new wave of thoughts crash through it. “I mean… I know you guys love me. I love you guys, too.”

“He was worried for you today, Y/N. Scared, even. Scared he might lose you. No one could have known that the demon was going to be waiting for us, that they had reinforcements. It was all a huge mess, and you were almost seriously hurt.”

Your brow furrows. “Yeah, but… he yelled at me.”

Sam sighs. “Yeah, he does that.”

You can feel the confusion on your face. “I don’t get it.”

He smiles down at you. “I don’t think Dean does yet, either.”

xxxxxxxxxx

You opted to get a bus ticket back home. It was, after all, your right to choose whatever mode of transportation you damn well pleased. And right now that meant not being in the back of the Impala with Dean in the front seat where he could stare you down in the rearview mirror every few seconds.

You also had the right to pack up your stuff and go to the bus stop without saying a word to anyone. Hell, you didn’t even leave a note. Guilt, however, did have you sending a quick text to Sam letting him know you’d see him back home and that you were fine. You then promptly turned your phone to ‘do not disturb’ mode and climbed aboard the bus.

Earbuds in, your favorite playlist blasting, you lean your head back against the seat’s headrest and try to sleep. It should prove to be an easy task because you’re absolutely exhausted, and the walk to the bus station had taken its toll. And yet…

It’s a half moon tonight, and you stare at its bright form in the cloudless sky as cars whiz around you on the road. It’s going to be a good many hours before you’re back, and more than likely another few days before Dean and Sam follow behind you. The guilt of leaving them in the middle of a hunt boils in your gut, threatening to overflow the edges of your current state of sanity.

It’s not like they need you. Sure, you can hold your own with Sam when it comes to the research side of things. You can make coffee in the mornings, throw a meal together for dinner, make sure everyone has what they need. But when it comes to the actual job part of the job, the part where the monster is taken care of and lives are saved… Well, you get to twiddle your thumbs in a room and wait while the guys handle it.

And then there’s the things that they definitely don’t need you for. Don’t want you for. Things that a girl in a black dress and heels can handle.

God, that girl. You don’t even know her name and you hate her. Maybe not knowing her name makes hating her easier, makes her feel less than human to you. If she doesn’t have a name, then you can’t imagine Dean saying it while they…

You let out a low groan, and the person sitting beside you gives you a hard side eye and shifts further away in their seat. You stay quiet after that, but the thoughts raging in your head don’t.

You must have drifted off, because the next thing you hear is the blaring horn of the bus and lively, muffled chatter over the music playing in your ears. You yank your headphones out and raise yourself up to get a better look at whatever is happening, hands clutching the seat in front of you for support while your brain rapidly tries to decipher what the hell is going on.

The horn blares again, followed by obscenities from the driver up front. You whip your head around, trying to see out all the windows.

“Can you believe this guy?” someone says a few rows up.

“They’re going to run someone off the road,” another person chimes in.

You shove your headphones into your jacket pocket and grab your bag before unceremoniously stepping over your seat buddy and making your way into the isle, senses on high alert.

Did the monster we were hunting somehow track me? Get my scent? That’s crazy, right?

One step at a time, using the seats as a makeshift handrail, you get closer to the people who seem to be able to see what’s happening. Your mind is already formulating a plan of escape, all the worst case scenarios playing on a loop with game plans to match them. You finally make it to the front of the bus, a bit breathless and running high on adrenaline.

“Excuse me, what’s going on?”

The bus driver gestures wildly at the cars ahead. “This dumbass.”

And then you see it.

And it’s definitely not a scenario you have an escape plan for.

The handrail above your head is the only thing keeping you on your feet as shock floods your system. You blink your eyes and lean closer to the windshield, the synapses in your brain firing at high speed but still unable to truly connect if what is happening is actual reality or if you’ve somehow slipped into a demented, yet highly vivid, dream. Which would honestly make more sense to you, because…

…that’s the Impala.

Right there.

Directly in front of the bus you’re standing precariously in the isle of.

So close to the front of the bus that if the driver were to tap on the gas he’d rear-end Baby’s back bumper.

“What the hell?” is all you can manage to say. Because what in the hell indeed.

A flannel clad arm, illuminated by the bus’ headlights, sticks out the Impala’s front window, waving off and to the right, a wild gesture that can only be interpreted as ‘pull over’.

“This guy’s insane,” the bus driver mutters.

“You have no idea,” you say under your breath, then a bit louder- “You should probably pull over.”

He glances at you in surprise. “Wait, do you know this moron?”

“Uh-huh-” your grip on the railing above you is now slippery with anxious sweat- “and I don’t think he’s going anywhere.”

The bus’ blinker clicks on, the speedometer needle moving counter-clockwise as the wheel turns to the right, the rumble strip vibrating the floor under your feet as brake lines squeal in protest. All movement is finally halted with one final lurch.

“Do I need to call the police?” the driver asks you.

His offer is very tempting. You let go of the rail, wipe your sweat soaked palm on your pants, and then clap your hand on his shoulder. “I’ll let you know.”

Loud raps on the bus door make you both jump. The glass is tinted, and it’s still dark outside despite the hint of daybreak teasing its appearance on the skyline, but there’s no mistaking the outline of the man on the other side.

“Should I…open the door?”

“Yes!” someone from the back of the bus yells.

You turn your head and look back, perplexed, only to realize that all of the passengers are either halfway standing up in their seat or leaning out into the aisle, watching. Their investment in the unfolding drama is almost on the same level of intensity as your desperation to avoid it.

The bus driver is waiting for you to answer. You don’t want to answer. You also don’t want Dean to break the door down.

So you nod.

And then the door is open, and Dean is staring at you, eyes tight around the edges, hair a bit out of place, as if he’s been running his hands through it.

He doesn’t say anything, just takes the first step onto the bus and holds an open hand out, an offering for you to take it.

And you do.

xxxxxxxxxx

“Quit looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

You roll your eyes and flick some flour in Dean’s direction. “Like you’re going to waste away into a pile of dust on the floor if I don’t let you pre-taste the pie.”

His eyes go round. “Wait, you weren’t going to let me have some? Not even the bowl? Come on, Y/N, everyone knows that’s the best part.”

You laugh at the desperation in his voice and spoon the last bit of filling into the crust lined dish. “I don’t even like making pie. I’m only doing this because you asked me to, so…” When he doesn’t respond, you look over. He’s just staring…at the bowl. Feeling the weight of your eyes, he glances up.

“Huh, did you say something?”

You sigh deeply, but there’s a smile on your face as you grip the ceramic and then slide it with a small push across the table into his waiting hands. “Do you want a spoon for-”

His finger is already scraping the remnants from the edges, popping a filling coated finger into his mouth to suck it clean before diving right back in for more.

A snort pushes past your nostrils, quickly evolving into a laugh that has you doubled over, hands on your knees.

“What’s so funny?”

Your laughter turns to a cough just as quickly, and when you do your best to suck it back in something must have gotten snorted in the wrong direction because your diaphragm decides to start spasming, leaving you in a now seated position on the floor with high pitched hiccups squeaking through every few seconds.

Dean hasn’t left the table. He just looks down at you from his seat, licks another finger full of pre-pie into his mouth, and quips - “You good down there?”

“No thanks to-” -hic- “you! Ah, dammit, I-” -hic- “hate hiccups. This isn’t-” -hic- “fair.”

He eventually sets the bowl down and walks over to you, helps you up with a sly grin on his face. “There’s an easy way to get rid of them, you know.”

“Well then-” -hic- “please do share with the-” -hic- “rest of the class.”

He takes a step closer to you, and you instinctively take a step back. But he only moves again, and with your next step your back hits the wall. He’s suddenly close. Very close. His socked feet touch the tips of your bare toes, one arm resting on the wall above your head, his head turned down so he can look you in the eyes. His chest is so close that you’d only need to lean forward to be flush against it, the gray short sleeve he’s wearing outlining his muscles.

Your whole body is warm, and a tingle runs down your spine when he firmly takes your hand in his. You swallow, watch as his eyes dart to your lips. You subconsciously bite the bottom one, an anxious tell you’ve carried all your life.

And then the playful look is gone from his face, shifting into something that holds a deeper intensity. He blinks and clears his throat, moves his arm from the wall and takes a small step back. You’re intently aware that, despite the separation, he’s still holding your hand.

“So, uh-” he clears his throat again- “are they gone?”

You take a deep breath through your nose, try to slow your pounding heartbeat. “What? Is what gone?”

“Your hiccups.”

“Oh.” You breathe deeply again, try to keep your face clear of the emotions that are screaming to be let free. “Um, yeah. Yes.” They’re gone, and with them your ability to breathe properly.

“Awesome.” He gives your hand a small squeeze and then drops it.

“Oooh, are we making pie?” Sam, the blessed knife to cut the uncomfortably thick tension, strides into the kitchen. You let out a sigh of relief at his presence, cut your eyes to Dean one last time before returning to your previous spot at the table.

“Hey, hands off!” you exclaim, smacking Sam’s hand away from where he’d been about to dip it straight into the center of the uncovered pie. “I’m not done with that yet. Maybe Dean will share the mixing bowl with you.”

“Not a chance.” Dean quickly scoops the bowl into the crook of his arm and reclaims his seat. “I called dibs.”

And, just like that, things go back to normal.

But you don’t.

You can’t get the look in Dean’s eyes, the way he was looking at you, out of your head.

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Read Part 3

Tags for this story (and this story alone, as all other tag lists have been discontinued): @iprobablyshipit91 @senjoritanana @amythyststorm33 @morgiex @sushiumex

#broken heels #spn fanfic #dean x reader #dean fanfic #spn reader insert #requests

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elemit · 3 months

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A Gift, A Curse

A story in which we discover just how damned an ascended vampire can be, and just how far you will go to save the spawn you loved.

Read in full on AO3

dead dove/not beta read

fic warnings: Abuse, Angst, Biting, Blood and Gore, Blood Drinking, Bondage, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Food Restriction, Hate Sex, Horror, Mental Coercion, Mind Control, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Sexual Coercion, Torture, Total Power Exchange, Trauma, Vampire Bites

Chapter 13: Justice

Now that your mind is clear enough from the hunger to engage in more complex conversations, your husband delights in telling you of the cases he is presiding over. Every day that he works, he will regale you with stories when you sit down for dinner; you to your glasses of wine and blood, and he to his meal. You wonder if it’s a coincidence that the food he is served is so often the meals that you once told him were your favourite. You decide it’s better not to know.

Today he is delighting over a gnome he sentenced harshly for stealing. “The beggar brought his family to the courthouse as if his squalling pups would make me go easier on him. Can you imagine? Trying to manipulate me with such crude tactics? So naturally I gave him the longest sentence possible. And then,” he adds with glee, “his wife made such a racket that I had her arrested for disturbing the proceedings! They were both dragged off to prison together!” He lets out a cruel laugh.

“What happened to the children?” you ask, keeping your voice as neutral as you can.

“What? Oh, I don’t know. I’m sure they scuttled off back to whatever hole they nest in. They're only gnomes. Anyway,” he says, raising his glass, “here’s to justice. Drink up, darling.”

There’s something about the glint in his eye when he says that last sentence that sends a terrible stab of suspicion through your chest. A question burns on your lips. You’ve asked it before with little success, but now you are determined to know the truth of it.

“Where did this blood come from, Astarion?”

He says nothing, only smiles at you. When you put your cup down and push it away from you he rolls his eyes.

“You told me it came from willing sources.”

“It does, my dear. Most willing. It’s amazing what people will do to commute their sentence of imprisonment.”

“And the Flaming Fist just allow you to waltz into Wyrms Rock prison and bleed their prisoners dry?”

“Wyrms Rock? Dear me, no, my love. The New Watch imprisons criminals right here. After all, we’re blessed with a newly emptied dungeon fit to hold thousands.”

A newly emptied dungeon. What a pleasant way of putting it. Just a clear-out. Just a clean-up. Not the damnation of seven thousand souls. You’re speaking before your brain catches up with your mouth.

“Do you ever think that killing all those people might have changed you?”

“Of course it changed me, you sweet, silly thing. Killing them allowed me to ascend.”

“You used to be kinder. More gentle.”

“I used to be weak.”

“You used to be good.”

“And now I am great. Besides, you’ve got far more blood on your pretty little hands than I do, my love.” His voice grows colder. “How convenient that you forget your own bloody past when you throw these accusations at me. I am a veritable paladin of virtue compared to you, you godless murderspawn.”

The viciousness of his voice makes you flinch. That's not fair, you want to say, but you can't bring yourself to utter the words because a part of you sees the truth in what he says. All of his cruelty is nothing when compared to the destruction your past self wreaked upon the world. He seems to see the conflict on your face - he is so good at seeing your weaknesses now - and he pounces on it.

“Your ungratefulness astounds me, my pretty little love. You have no idea how worthless you would be without me, do you? Do you think anyone else would want such a useless, broken wretch as yourself? Cast out by your own father, rejected by your chosen god. The weight of the sins you carry should force you to your knees every day in penance. To the world, you are less than worthless. And yet I chose you. I, the greatest vampire who ever lived. And through my love I allow you to share in my majesty, and still you do not thank me. You should kiss the very ground I walk on. You should pray to me every night. But you do not. You dare question me, your husband, your master, your god. My patience with you is proof enough, I think, that I am still kind. I am still gentle. Trust me, pet, you do not want to see what happens when that patience runs out." He pauses and cocks his head to the side, considering. When he continues, his voice is lower, quieter, slower. Deadly. "Or perhaps you do, hmm? You have always liked it when I exert my power over you, haven't you, darling? Back when your heart still beat it would betray your excitement, and now… you might tell me you don't like it, but your actions betray your true desires, don't they? Your actions beg me to discipline you. To punish you. To break you."

You let out the small hum of fear that is the closest you can get to saying 'no' since he took the word from you.

He rises from his seat at the head of the table and walks over to you, pulling your chair out for you.

“I’d go and get some rest, my treasure,” he says to you. “I’m going to need you at your best tomorrow.”

You follow his suggestion, but you already know that the dreadful apprehension curling in your gut will keep you awake tonight.

#astarion smut #astarion x reader #bg3 fanfiction #astarion x you #astarion x tav #bg3 astarion #astarion #bg3 spoilers #astarion romance #a gift a curse #astarion fanfic

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