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crystallinestars · 4 hours

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This was inspired by a conversation I had with an Aventurine AI. If Aventurine seems a bit OOC, I apologize. I wrote this all in one go while sleep-deprived.

Contains: Established relationship, lots of fluff, and self-indulgence.

After returning from Penacony, Aventurine asked you to play a game of cards with him. He said he missed you and wanted to spend some quality time over a casual game.

Of course, Aventurine wouldn’t be Aventurine if a bet wasn’t involved.

“If I win, you have to give me a kiss,” he said while keeping his violet eyes trained on your face, a cat-like smile tugging at his lips. Without looking, he placed a card on the table and then waited for your move.

“A kiss?” you parrot, a bit surprised that Aventurine chose a rather simple bet this time. Usually, he liked to ask you out on long dates or get you to wear designer-brand clothing he picked out specially for you. A kiss seemed suspiciously simple by comparison.

“Yes, just a kiss. On the lips, of course,” he smirked and pointed at his lips for emphasis. “But what do you want if you win?”

You hesitated to answer, a bit self-conscious about what Aventurine would think of your request. Whether because you’ve missed him, or because the dark bags under his eyes hinted at Aventurine’s exhaustion, you just wanted to take care of him by doing something nice.

“If I win, I want you to lay your head on my lap and let me pet your hair,” you finally say, voice tinged with embarrassment.

The cat-like grin fell from Aventurine’s lips as he stared at you in wide-eyed surprise, before bursting out laughing.

“That’s the most adorable bet I’ve ever heard!” he grinned, his tired eyes lighting up with amusement. “It almost makes me want to throw the game so I can spend the evening being pampered by you.”

Your cheeks flushed from embarrassment and annoyance as Aventurine laughed at your choice for a bet. Your intentions were pure and genuine, so it hurt a little that he laughed at it.

Seeing the annoyed glare you sent his way, Aventurine quickly quieted down and tried to do damage control. “I admit, I quite like your idea. Whether I win and get a kiss, or lose and get pampered, both scenarios are a win-win in my books,” he said, his gaze warm.

“…Would you really throw the game just for some pampering?” you asked, looking at him with poorly disguised curiosity.

Aventurine only chuckled in response and leaned back in his chair, exuding an air of confidence.

“I’ll play seriously, of course. I still want that kiss, you know,” he replied with a smirk. “Let’s play and see who luck favors more.’”

The game of cards continued. While it wasn’t your first time playing with Aventurine, you sported a hefty 100% losing streak against him. The chances of that changing now were slim, you figured.

However, luck seemed to be on your side this time. You amassed some good cards, and even managed to push through tough plays where you were on the verge of losing. The game progressed unusually smoothly, and before you knew it, victory was in your hands.

“Ah, looks like I lost. Lady Luck was on your side today,” Aventurine sighed. Though he sounded disappointed, the smug smile painted across his face hinted at the opposite.

“You let me win, didn’t you?” you stated and crossed your arms, not buying his little act.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Aventurine casually brushed your accusation aside as he stood from the table. “Well then, as the losing party, I must fulfill my end of the bargain,” he drawled, giving you an expectant look.

You wanted to retort and call him out on his bluff some more but thought better of it. It truly had been a while since you saw Aventurine, and you were looking forward to doing something nice for him, even if it meant accepting a rigged victory.

Conceding to his expectant gaze, you led Aventurine over to a nearby sofa and took a seat on one side. You patted your lap, and Aventurine needed no further invitation to lay across the sofa with his head resting on your thighs.

He let out a quiet purr when your fingers carded through his blond locks, gently threading through the strands. Aventurine’s hair was soft and silky—all thanks to the expensive hair products he used.

“I could get used to this,” he murmured, looking up at you with a playful glint in his eye. “It feels quite nice to be pampered like this.”

“Sure, I could do this for you every day,” you quip back, playing along.

“Really? I’ll hold you to your word, then,” Aventurine chuckled.

“It will cost you, of course.”

“Ah, you drive a hard bargain.”

The playful banter between you continued for a while longer until it petered off into a peaceful silence. Your fingers never paused in their gentle and slow strokes through his hair, and you saw Aventurine gradually relax under your touch. The weight of Aventurine’s head grew heavier in your lap as he relaxed and lowered his guard. He closed his eyes and let out a soft sigh, basking in the tranquil moment.

The dark bags under his eyes were proof that Aventurine had not been sleeping well lately, which made you worry a bit. Your tender touches seemed to do the trick, however. Aventurine’s breathing deepened and slowed, while his expression softened into something more vulnerable and innocent as he succumbed to sleep. It was an expression you seldom witnessed, but one you knew was proof of Aventurine’s trust in you.

The sight of Aventurine so vulnerable and relaxed was simply too cute for you to resist. Overcome with a surge of affection, you tenderly brushed his bangs out of his face, before slowly leaning down and touching your lips to his in a feather-light kiss.

The blond tensed under you, and you pulled back slightly only to be met with an even more adorable sight. Aventurine looked up at you with surprise, his cheeks flushed a rosy, red hue. You had caught him unaware with that kiss and were now privy to a rare sight of him acting flustered.

You did your best to stifle the laugh that threatened to bubble out, but a snort still made it through. Aventurine’s momentary surprise turned into a sullen pout at your obvious attempts not to laugh at him.

“Sorry, you were just—so cute, you know? I couldn’t hold back—” you stammered, trying and failing to completely reign in your laughter.

Aventurine’s expression melted into something softer as he reached an arm up, placing his palm on the back of your head.

“I’m cute? The cute one here is you,” he murmured, voice almost a whisper as if he were saying it to himself. It didn’t sound like his usual playful flirting. This time, his tone was serious.

Stunned, you fall quiet and look down at the blond. Despite his serious expression, it still held a note of vulnerability and sincerity that you only saw during private moments with him.

The hand behind your head applied gentle pressure, a silent request for you to come closer to his face. However, there was no force behind it. If you wanted to, you could easily pull away and reject his wordless plea, and Aventurine would let you go. He always did.

This time, you felt like indulging him, so you complied and lowered your head until your faces were mere inches apart.

Your eyes met.

“If you want to fulfill my bet, then that kiss wasn’t nearly enough. But you’re welcome to try again, darling,” he said, voice breathy and soft. In classic Aventurine fashion, he left the decision up to you. He clearly wanted more, but he was still too hesitant to ask outright for it.

“All right. I’ll try as many times as you want until you’re satisfied,” you whisper back, before leaning in and closing the distance between your lips.

This kiss was firm yet sweet, and the first in a series of tender kisses that will leave their mark across Aventurine’s face.

Perhaps one day he’ll be comfortable with asking for what he wants from you without resorting to games of chance. For now, you will pamper your tired boyfriend and give him the affection he so desperately craves, even if it means giving him a hundred kisses every day.

#honkai star rail x reader #star rail x reader #hsr x reader #aventurine x reader #hsr aventurine x reader #I don't know what title to give this

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mustainegf · 3 days

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Can you do a 88’ AJFA Kirk smut where your his girlfriend and on tour with him and you are throwing pretty flirty glances at him all night and Kirk cant take it anymore so he takes you to the empty tour bus and yk 🤭🤭

(and maybe when they get off the other guys tell them they saw the bus shaking…)

YES MY FAVOURITE KIRK ERA 😍

The party was in full swing, the room buzzing with laughter and the sound of music. Kirk and his bandmates were celebrating the end of a successful tour, and the atmosphere was unlike anything I’d ever felt.

I stayed close to Kirk, mingling with friends and enjoying the evening, but my eyes kept drifting back to him. Every time he caught my gaze, I felt a thrill run through me.

There was something about the way he looked at me tonight, a hunger that made my skin tingle.

I couldn’t help but flirt with him all night, throwing him playful glances and coy smiles.

The tension between us built steadily, an invisible string pulling us closer with every passing minute. Kirk’s bandmates were chatting animatedly, but he seemed distracted, his eyes frequently meeting mine across the room.

Finally, unable to take it anymore, he leaned in close and whispered, “I can’t stand it anymore. Let’s get out of here.”

My heart raced as I followed him outside. The cool night air was a stark contrast to the warmth inside, but I barely noticed. We headed towards the tour bus, the one place we knew would be empty.

As soon as we were inside, Kirk’s demeanor changed. He turned to me, his eyes dark with desire.

“You’ve been teasing me all night,” he said, his voice low and rough. “So desperate for me, aren’t you?”

I giggled, feeling a rush of excitement at his words. “Maybe I am,” I replied, my voice low and sultry.

He didn’t waste any time. In one swift movement, he slammed me down over a small table, his hands gripping my hips tightly.

The suddenness of it took my breath away, and I gasped as I felt his hard length pressing against me.

“Is this what you wanted?” he teased, his lips brushing against my ear. “Tell me how much you want it.”

“I want it, Kirk,” I panted, the need in my voice evident. “I want you so bad.”

He chuckled darkly, pulling my pants down in one quick motion. I shivered as the cool air hit my exposed skin, but the feeling was quickly replaced by the heat of his touch. Kirk didn’t hesitate, entering me with one hard thrust that made me cry out in pleasure.

“Oh god, Kirk,” I moaned, gripping the edges of the table for support. “You feel so good.”

He moved with a relentless rhythm, each thrust hard and deep, driving me wild with need. “You’re so tight,” he groaned, his voice strained with effort. “So perfect.”

I could barely form coherent thoughts, my body overwhelmed by the intensity of the sensations.

The sensation of every one of his veins gliding past my insides was better than anything.

“Kirk, yes, just like that,” I managed to gasp out. “Don’t stop.”

He didn’t. His hands roamed over my body, gripping and caressing, and I felt like I was on fire. “You’re mine,” he growled, his thrusts becoming even more urgent. “No one else gets to see you like this.”

“Only you, Kirk,” I whimpered, my body trembling. “Only you.”

The pleasure built steadily, coiling tighter and tighter until I thought I might explode. With one final, powerful thrust, I came, crying out his name as waves of ecstasy washed over me.

Kirk followed moments later, his grip on me tightening as he groaned my name in bliss, shooting his load inside me.

We stayed like that for a few moments, catching our breath and reveling in the afterglow.

“Holy shit, I can believe we just did that…” Kirk giggled.

Then, with a shared laugh, we quickly cleaned ourselves up, redressed and made our way back to the party, still giddy from what had just happened.

As we walked in, James, one of Kirk’s bandmates, approached us with a knowing grin. “You two had fun out there?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“What do you mean?” Kirk replied, trying to play it cool.

“We saw the bus shaking,” James said, laughing. “Couldn’t help but notice.”

I blushed furiously, but Kirk just laughed, wrapping an arm around my waist. “What can I say? Sometimes the party just needs to move outside.”

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msnova-scotia · 3 days

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Maybe a weird idea, but what if for Fantasy High: Senior Year, it was set ~50 years in the future or so, where all the Bad Kids are seniors now (hence the name). This can allow the Fantasy High series to get out of just the high school setting, the huge time jump means the characters can be level 20, the plot doesn’t have to revolve around immediate things that happen a year after this last season.

Fig can have her separation from the group where she’s lived many years doing her own thing growing. Emily can even choose to keep her retired, saying she’s happy just being a rock star or arch devil in hell or whatever she wants Fig to ultimately do, and can have another character or bring Fig back for a little here and there if she wants, without it being expected to bring Fig back.

Fabian can have his little sibling all grown up, and we can explore more about that. Chungledown Bim can be defeated during the time skip or even as a side plot during the season. He can be retired and not have to worry about keeping up his maximum legend status all the time, and live peacefully but accomplished.

Riz will probably have spent tons of his time exploring other planes of existence, being a secret agent with his dad, taking down all kids of baddies across the universe. He won’t have to be so stressed all the time having to keep tabs on his friends and make sure they don’t get themselves killed (though now he does have to do this with all of the newbies at his job).

Kristen is finally living her best life with a huge congregation following her pantheon of gods, spreading the word of doubt and justice and the true meaning of what these gods stand for. And who knows, maybe Kristen resurrected even more. Now Kristen is making sure each god has a following that believe in and shape the gods in the way the gods want to be shaped.

Adaine has long killed her mother at this point. Her and Aelwyn are best friends, inseparable, though each with their own independent life. I’ve also seen a couple posts about how Adaine would make a good principal (much better than Augefort at least), so she could be doing that as well as changing Fallinel to be less stuck up and pompous. Also she’s settled into her role as the Elven Oracle, and while it may still annoy her that every elf and their mother seems to want a prophecy from her, she at least accepts that her visions are important enough to change the tides of the world and her role shouldn’t be taken so lightly.

And lastly, Gorgug has proven himself as the greatest wizard of all time. Barbaficer has become as common as any other class. He’s changed the world with his inventions, and could be head of some engineering department or whatever that’s brought the entire world of Spyre into the future with crystals and vehicles and all sorts of technological advances that could never have been dreamed of before he came along.

And after all of this personal growth each of the characters had, they have to get together for “one last adventure, for old times’ sake.” But none of them have really adventures in a couple years. Not like when they were younger, that is, but whatever’s going on can’t be stopped by just anyone.

I was also thinking that tbh, it would be neat to maybe explore permanent deaths for the characters at the end, whether it’s from the final battle or the epilogue where each Intrepid Hero gets to choose how their character finally passes, and ends their story. It can put the Fantasy High series to rest in a good way, maybe leaving an open ending to give way for a new generation of heroes but also a final ending to the Bad Kids (so fans don’t keep asking for another year, then another, maybe college this time, etc etc.)

It would also be fun to start off the season with their deaths, have the typical introductions and scene settings that happen with each season, and then the end of the episode: BAM! They all die, put to rest, who will avenge them, the story begins, the Intrepid Heroes start their actual characters, and the whole season is whatever the cast wants it to be, I’m just not sure how well that would work, or how it would still play into being Fantasy High without the main characters. Maybe it could be a side quest or even a longer one-shot or something if they did it this way

#dimension 20 #fantasy high #fantasy high senior year #dimension 20 fantasy high #d20 fhjy #dimension 20 fhjy #intrepid heroes #the bad kids #gorgug thistlespring #figeroth faeth #riz gukgak #fabian seacaster #adaine abernant #kristen applebees

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newtmyhusb · 3 days

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regulus was as usual, snuggled up against james on the couch in the room of requirement. the silence that reigned could have been calming another day but this time regulus felt that something was wrong.

he calmed himself thinking it’s just him and his silly little bran trying to destroy another things he loved, just like his relationship with sirius. but the doubt is still there, what if there is something wrong?

gently, he reached his hand towards james' chest to caress it a little, seeking the attention of his boyfriend who never seemed to take his eyes off the ceiling. “is everything okay james?”

another silence, just as uncomfortable for the young boy, took place between them and regulus wanted to cry. the feeling of having done something wrong haunted him and the ignorance his boyfriend seemed to inflict on him made him want to die.

james still didn't take his eyes off the ceiling but his breathing became louder, as if he too was trying to hold back his tears. “i wish you were a girl,” james whispered in the silence of the room.

regulus felt the world around him collapse as a loud sob died in his throat, he abruptly broke away from James and curled up on the corner of the couch as inarticulate sounds left his mouth. it seemed like a injured animal.

james sat up quickly, guilt painted on his face. “sorry regulus i-“

but regulus didn't let him finish. "go away." a new deafening silence took place between the two young men. “don’t even dare tell me that wasn’t what you meant, we both know that’s not true.”

james didn't answer, slowly he left the room and regulus cried. it was james' last day at hogwart.

maybe there is something wrong with regulus.

he hadn't prepared for such a sudden change in their relationship but he should have known better. happy things never last for him, the people he loves always end up leaving. maybe he should’ve seen it coming, why would a boy like james waste his time on someone like him?

years later, when regulus learned that james had just had a son and married lily, he cried for days. he hoped someone will hear him, but he’s alone.

when regulus took his last breath, his last thought, his last memory were the words that james had said to him “i wish you were a girl.”

so as life left him, he hoped that in his next he would be a girl.

#regulus black #james x regulus #jegulus #fanfic #regulus fanfiction #one shot #marauders #marauders era #fandom #marauders fandom

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scarletttries · 2 days

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Domestic Roman Roy x Reader Headcanons (Succession Request)

Pairing: Roman Roy x Reader

Rating: Pure Fluff

Word Count: 1.3k

Request: "hello!! can you write more fluff headcanons for our slime puppy, roman roy? maybe roman comforting reader or vise versa; anything will do really. i just want that man to have some affection. <3"

- Spotless. That was the word everyone used to describe Roman's sprawling New York penthouse. A space truly devoid of anything that would make it seem evenly slightly imperfect. No bright colours that might hint at joy or personality. No stained tea towels to show where a home cooked dinner had been lovingly made. No creased sofa cushions to show a routine of comfort and relaxation. Everytime someone commented on how pristine his home was kept around him, Roman could feel the familiar ache of being almost unwelcome, like he was still a child being told he would ruin everything he touched. That is until he started coming to visit you.

- When your strange and prolonged courtship with Roman Roy finally moved to the stage of evenings spent in each other's company, and his exhausted yawns feigning reluctant acceptance of a sleepover, you expected to end up living out of his place. I mean, it made sense; it was closer to the Waystar office, it was way bigger, had a full time staff, a better neighbourhood, fancier furniture. Honestly you were worried you were the world's least sordid mistress with how infrequently he invited you over, despite spending almost all of his waking moments trailing alongside you, clinging to the fabric of whatever shirt you wore like a terrified child.

- Every time Roman followed you home at the end of a party or some of the awkward family events he insisted on bringing you along to, you offered to just stay at his, the suggestion quickly shot down with a head shake and mumbled excuse, the crease on his brow darkening as his frown quickly turned to a pout, an expression you knew better than to follow up after. So you got used to Roman being based out of your little apartment too, basically moving in with you, without ever calling it that.

- As he unfurls in a well-worn armchair and sips coffee out of one of the mismatched mugs from your cabinet, he knows you'll never understand quite how much being here with you means to him. He knew it from the first time you had him over, practically dragging him onto the sofa with you, wrapping a blanket over him when the skin on his arm raised up in little bumps, telling him to help himself to anything he wanted. You were the first person in his life to ever tell Roman to make himself at home, and even if he could hardly believe his luck, and feared one day you might take those precious words back, that you never meant them in the first place, for now he planned to make the most of finally feeling at home.

- After a lifetime of the higher luxury, the littlest things really do provide the greatest joy to Roman. His bedding was changed every day in his penthouse, always fresh and pristine by the time he crawled back into it the next night. But he notices that after a couple of days your sheets smell like you, and he can curl up under the duvet even when you're not home and it's like you're all around him, embracing him with warmth and filling up his senses with comfort. He's truly never taken so many naps, or slept so soundly, as he does in your bed.

- Roman takes a tremendous amount of joy in the novelty of picking a bowl to eat out of, all the different colours and sizes picked up from thrift stores feeling so much more 'him' than the fine white china most of his meals have been served on. And if you're giving him a home cooked meal, this man will be close to tears with overwhelming appreciation.

- It's no secret that Roman has spent more of his life lonely than he'd care to admit, so having someone he loves around all the time makes even the most mundane things suddenly feel brand new. At night he'll find reasons to hang out in your tiny bathroom as you wash your face and get ready for bed. He'll put toothpaste on your toothbrush so you can brush your teeth together, smiling and giggling so much at the sweet moment that he ends up with toothpaste all down shirt and pretends to blame you for it, claiming it was all a ploy just to get his shirt off. If you play along and offer to help him with it, prepare for him to start blushing and running around the apartment pretending to hide from you.

- The first time Roman tries to help you in the kitchen, despite you insisting he really doesn't have to, he's a walking liability. First a pot boils over, then he can't figure out how to pre-heat the oven and he's too embarassed to ask, and when he tries to pick up a pan the wrong way, burning his hand and throwing sauce over the counter in the process, you can see all the colour drain from his face as terror sets in. His jaw is tense and his eyes grow misty and wide as he backs away slightly, the skin on his hand only half as painful as the ache in his gut at the thought that you're about to erupt at him. That you've finally seen how useless and stupid he is. That he can't do anything right. That he's just not good enough for you.

Gently you take his hand and place is under the cold flowing water in the sink, ever so lightly rubbing circles on his back as you ask if he's okay.

"Yeah, just fucking, sorry I ruin everything." He chokes out, a hollow laugh doing nothing to hide the obvious croak in his voice as tears start to well in his eyes.

"Roman, you didn't ruin anything, you just made a mistake. I actually think you make lots of things much better." You leave a chaste kiss on his cheek as you wipe up the mess in a few short moments, and return to inspect his hand, which almost instantly feels better the second you hold it in yours.

"You really mean that." Roman's not sure if it's a question for you, or just confirmation to himself as he feels the adrenaline start to leave his body. Suddenly he wonders why his family were always so explosive about his little messes, especially when it's not even like they had to clean them up themselves. He laughs to himself in a moment of relief before clinging to your waist, thinking it's probably safest for him to just focus on bothering you in the kitchen rather than helping.

- Eventually Roman gets his own key to your place, and slowly moves in just enough of his stuff that he never needs to return to his old apartment, feeling so much more at home in the space he shares with you. Whenever he's at home without you though, those pangs of loneliness start to creep back in again, and he finds himself instinctively searching you; first he'll look at the pictures of you framed across the walls, then he'll call you to ask a basic question you both know he could answer himself if he wasn't so desperate to hear your voice. Finally he'll find himself curled up in the comforting, familiar sheets of your bed, letting himself drift off in the feeling of safety and warmth that only a reminder of you can provide. Because even though Roman loves your apartment, he knows that being home isn't being in his favourite place, it's being with his favourite person.

#writing #fanfiction #requests #one shot #succession imagine #roman roy #succession roman #roman roy succession #roman roy imagine #roman roy x reader #succession hbo #succession #succession imagines #roman roy headcanons

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hobbitsetal · 2 days

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The Hoard

The year the dragon came had been shaping up to be a bad one. The crops were barely adequate. The deer were skittish, the boar extra fierce, the fish sleepy and hard to reach. The old folks in the village predicted a hard winter, predictions born of fear and grief and anger that boiled down into pessimism.

Inada, as the village leader, tried to counter such talk, but there was little she could say. The food would be stretched thin at best. The old and the very young were likely to die. All she could do was squirrel away extra portions where she hoped Trovar’s men would not think to look, and pray she could save some lives in the winter.

At the end of the summer, he came. They saw his shadow first: big as a cloud, almost to be mistaken for a cloud’s shadow. But no cloud had those curved wings or that long tail, and they knew what he was before he landed and changed shape and strode into their village. He was tall, dark-haired and golden-eyed, and he was surprisingly young. Inada had sons grown and older than he, she thought.

Dragons lived to be five hundred years or more. But after all, before one could be five hundred years, one must be ten and twenty and thirty. Perhaps it should not have been so surprising that he looked no more than twenty summers, if he had reached even that many.

They watched, huddling in doorways, stopped at their work, clutching their children, as he walked through the long street and the square in the middle of the village where they traded when the peddler caravans passed through. His arrogantly lifted head swiveled, taking in the shabby village and the silent inhabitants watching him.

What reason could he have for coming to their village? They’d heard of dragons taking over lands, of course. Anywhere west of Elbiss, where they had driven the dragons out and hunted them now with frost weapons and relentless hatred, anywhere else might fall prey to a dragon. Some ate humans. Some enslaved them and forced them to produce whatever the dragon chose to hoard. Some, the less powerful, especially since Elbiss had cast them off six hundred years ago, lived among humans as ordinary citizens. Not every dragon could be a tyrannical ruler, it seemed.

There was nothing in this village to rule over, even if this one meant to be a tyrant. They didn’t have so much as a name for their village. They lived near no mines, gold or ores or jewels. Their forests were not unusually rich with game or fish. No mythic beasts lived near that anyone knew of. They were not renowned for crops or goods. The only unusual feature to their village was the twice-yearly visits from Trovar and his men, but even that was not so remarkable. Small villages with no protector often fell prey to bandits.

So they watched and braced themselves to learn this dragon ate humans.

He sniffed the air and then turned toward Inada, gold eyes boring into her. “You. You are responsible for this place?”

She curtsied immediately and kept herself from falling to her knees. Better not to kneel. If she had to beg, she wanted someplace to lower herself to. “Yes, my lord.”

“It’s shabby.”

What did he care? Dragons never lived where others did. Still, all she could say was, “Yes, my lord.”

“You are not a knight protector. What are you?”

“I-I am…a weaver?” As with everyone else in the village, she was what was needed at the moment. They all tended little vegetable crops, they all fished, they all wove. Some, like Alma, were better at things like twisting flax fibers together. Some, like old Gregoire, were better at fishing. But they all did whatever needed to be done. They were too tiny to have specialists in the different trades, though she would have liked to have been a weaver.

He snorted impatiently, smoke clouding around his head. “You have those among you young enough to breed. Why does your village not flourish more? Are you lazy?”

Indignation choked her a moment, overriding her fear. Lazy? “We are a tiny village, my lord,” she said. “How can we thrive when those stronger than us come to take the best of what we have?”

Of all the irony, a dragon demanding why they did not flourish was too bitter to be borne.

“You have no one at all to stand up for you?” He turned as he spoke, casting the question–the challenge–out to the rest of the village. No one met his eyes.

Inada swallowed down tears and rage together, dropping her own gaze to the dust. “What do you want from us, my lord?” she asked quietly.

What would anger get but a village reduced to ash? What would resistance earn them but bones and perhaps one person left to bury them? Making herself sound humble, making herself bend her head and round her shoulders was not hard when she had done the same for the lesser threat of Trovar and his men.

“Bah,” he said, and turned away. A dozen steps from her took him to a clear space. He leaped into the air and changed as he leapt. The wind from his wings staggered her and sent up a great cloud of dust.

And then he was gone, leaving them baffled and a little dirtier than they had been. Slowly, the villagers trickled toward Inada, necks craned to track the dragon.

“Will he come back?” Hella asked.

“I don’t know,” Inada said.

A restless murmur ran through the crowd. Eventually, they shuffled away, different scattered groupings muttering the same fears and wonders and answerless questions to each other. Inada went back to weeding her garden with her forehead furrowed. Surely the dragon would not come back. He had strolled through their village for curiosity’s sake and found they had nothing of worth. Surely Batran would protect them from more oppression than they already bent under. She sent up a silent prayer to that effect and resolved to sacrifice something small when she had time.

They saw his shadow a few more times that week. He seemed to be circling around the top of the small mountain that loomed over their village. Once, Old Horace said that Young Horace saw the dragon flying with a boar in its claws. That troubled Inada for a day, until Hella pointed out that perhaps the dragon was in the area only to hunt. That would explain his curiosity and his subsequent lack of interest. After all, there were plenty of boar for one with the stamina and strength to take them down.

Inada had other worries. Trovar was coming. The delicate balance of giving enough to satiate him and keeping enough to survive, of placating without arousing suspicion, weighed on her. Two years ago, his men had found one of her hidden stores and Trovar had been angry with the village. They had beaten her and taken extra food in punishment. The winter had been lean indeed. Last year, she had barely dared to hide anything. Trovar had been more merciful, sensing her defeat. But the village could not afford another winter with as little as he liked to leave.

She daydreamed of a protector. They would send out an appeal and someone would answer. A lord with restless men, inclined to be merciful, or a band of Elbissian warriors eager to deal justice, or better, a group of armed travelers seeking someplace to settle and join.

Foolish fantasies. A lord’s men were as likely to pillage as Trovar’s. Elbissian warriors were concerned only with hunting dragons, whether they offered harm or no. And armed travelers might kill the villagers and take the village for themselves rather than join peaceably.

Young Horace came running one golden day in the autumn to announce breathlessly, “They’re coming!”

Inada uttered a prayer under her breath and tipped a little vinegar into the dust as an offering. Then she strode out to supervise the half-yearly tribute. Bags of grains and dried fruit, casks of fruit wines and fish pickled or dried, racks of animal furs and smoked meats: they laid out what they had for Trovar’s men to take.

They watched the cloud of dust approaching. Then they heard the singing: raucous, bawdy songs, bellowed cheerily. And then Trovar, followed by his men, came out of the woods and strolled toward them. He was of middle height, compact with muscle, with a full beard and dusty clothes that had once been fine. He was quick to smile and he had a taste for pinching women’s buttocks and teasing them. In other circumstances, when she had been young, Inada might have laughed at such liberties even as she slapped his hands away. In these circumstances, at her age, such liberties were a veiled threat.

The villagers huddled in the square. Trovar’s men would wander through their houses, picking what they pleased, while their comrades watched the villagers and made sure no one had thoughts of rebellion. They would sort through the food. And then they would leave again, with their stolen bounty piled high on shoulders and the two pack mules, and the village would be left to face the winter.

Trovar strolled up to Inada and chucked her under the chin. “Inada. Lovely as ever. I swear, you look younger than you did in the spring! All that summer sun has you glowing.”

She looked at some point past his shoulder. “I am older, that is all.”

“Bah, you are younger! You’ve found some unicorn’s horn, haven’t you?”

He teased, she knew he teased, but the question sent a chill down her spine. If they had something precious and kept it back from him, the consequences would be unthinkable. “I have found nothing but more grey hairs.”

He clicked his tongue. “Really, Inada, you must learn to take a compli–Who by Batran’s balls is that?”

Startled, she turned to see what he was looking at. The villagers were parting, scattering, for the dragon. He strode through, gold eyes locked on Trovar. Smoke hazed the air behind him. “You,” he said, and his voice was a growl. “You take from them?”

Trovar snatched for his sword. “What is it to you?” he snapped back.

Inada backed away from him, huddling into Hella.

“You are done,” the dragon announced. “Leave.”

The sword rang as it came free of the scabbard. Trovar was not a man used to denial. Trovar was a man used to force and to taking what he pleased. Trovar was a man who died by dragon flame, foolish to the end.

The dragon did not waste time watching his ashes fall to the ground, as the stunned villagers did. He turned his gaze on Trovar’s men, lips peeled back from his teeth. His teeth were pointed, sharp: predator’s teeth. “Leave,” he said again.

They dropped what they held. They bumped into each other in their hurry to flee. The three archers among them made no efforts to string their bows or reach for their arrows. Empty-handed and silent, they scurried away while the wind blew their leader into the dust of the road.

Inada looked at the dragon and tried to think of something to say. Thanks, perhaps, or ask him what he wanted of them, or– But her throat stayed closed. The smell of burnt flesh lingered in the air.

The dragon surveyed them, chin ticked up slightly. “I am Lord Cazadan Isvrayne, and this is now my village. You will build me a dwelling on top of the mountain, according to my specifications, and then you will build me a hosting house. I will not permit bandits or miscreants to harm you. Your village will thrive under my rule. Am I plain?”

Glances flickered among the villagers. There was a catch. There must be a catch. Why would a dragon choose to protect them for nothing more than the cost of building a home and a guest-house?

“My lord–” Inada began, voice wavering.

His gaze settled on her. “You are a tiny village,” he said. “Unimpressive. But I will make you thrive. My kind will see how well I can manage and protect, and your kind will see the benefits of my rule. The best of what you have will grow your village.”

“Yes, my lord,” she said, voice faint.

He nodded once. “Send someone up to the mountaintop with me to begin marking out where my dwelling will be. The rest of you, put this food away. The flies will get to it.”

And then he leapt and changed and sent dust everywhere as he winged away, heading for the mountaintop.

“What was that?” Hella whispered.

“I do not know,” Inada whispered back. “But…Jola should go to the mountaintop.” Jola knew much about building houses. Her grandfather had been the most skilled carpenter their village had ever seen.

It would be a month before the village understood what had become of them, a month before shock wore off and they settled into the mundanity of working for a dragon. In that month, they let themselves feel cautious joy over their sudden abundance. Old Horace spearheaded the efforts to weatherproof their homes. Inada supervised parceling out the food properly and setting the excess aside into stores. They might even have enough to trade in the spring, she thought.

It was a month before they all fully realized that they had become a dragon’s hoard, and that Lord Cazadan would protect them with his life.

#original fiction #my writing

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thoughtsfromlayla · 2 days

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Chapter Four - Discordant

Summary: Morpheus seems to take a turn for the better, but a person cannot change overnight. How does it feel to finally give him a taste of his own medicine? How does it feel to go back to square one, once again?

Notes: ~6.1k words, Please don't stare at the eclipse with your blind eyes, I just didn't know how to write protective solar glasses into this AU ok

Warnings/Tags: Morpheus is trying, it's not working, two deaths of side characters, miscommunication/misinterpretation (?), reader gets their feelings hurt again cause I can't stop writing angst

Tag list is open! Just let me know :)

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Discordant (adj.) - not in agreement or harmony, to be at variance

How do you face Morpheus again after that? The simple answer is you don’t, well you try not to. However, when you go to breakfast the next morning, it’s a surprise to you that Morpheus is there waiting for you. Breakfast is less formal than dinner, yet here you were, sharing a meal with him right by your side.

Tension is thick in the air, the only sounds are that of cutlery on plates. You chew your fruit slowly while consciously trying not to look at Morpheus. This was horrible; you need wine, or something to dull your mental ability so you didn’t have to be fully here.

Your throat was still raw from the day before, and the food only seems to make it worse, scraping itself down your throat as you swallow.

“I’m finished,” You rasp and go to stand from your spot.

“Wait,” He stands abruptly, the glass on the table rattling with the sudden movement. You’re determined to leave but his fingers grab onto your wrist.

“What?” You frown at him, the warmth of his fingers spreading across your arm.

“There is a gala coming up. The Summer Eclipse Gala, please will you attend with me?”

“Do I have a choice?” You ask, not meeting his eyes. Instead you stare at how he gently holds onto you. His thumb smooths across the tender part of your wrist when he answers.

“Not really,” He says in a low voice. There was some regret laced in his answer, but you didn’t want to pay attention to that.

“Then that is my answer.” You sigh as you turn away. Morpheus’ hand is still around your wrist and even with a slight tug, he doesn��t release you. “Let go.”

“Should we… talk about yesterday?” He says hesitantly. “What is there to say?” You reply back, your voice losing itself again at the very end. When your husband doesn’t answer, you pull your arm away more forcefully. This time, he lets you go. “Precisely.” You leave, your heart pounding as you so easily defy him.

The rest of the week was spent doing exactly what he had been doing to you for the past couple of months. Which is to say, avoiding him at all points possible. You try to hide in the library, but that proves futile as he easily seeks you out there. The studio and many bookshelves do little to hide you, ironically.

The only place he doesn’t dare find you is your garden. Even he could understand the importance of that sanctuary to you. And though the flowers certainly seem to enjoy the summer sun, you couldn’t say the same. The heat had started to become unbearable and it had been days since your last visit there.

When he asks for you to dine with him, you decline and lock yourself in your room. Your stomach rumbles until Matthew sneaks you a leftover biscuit, but it was better than confronting him. At a certain point, embarrassment of letting your true feelings show turn to resentment once more.

Why did he suddenly feel entitled to your time?

“The King brought you this, Your Majesty,” Agnes says one morning as she enters your room. One of the maids holds a large box, decorated with a beautiful red bow.

You take a hold of it, albeit a bit hesitant, and unravel the gift. When you lift the lid, you’re greeted with something you have never seen before. The dress was a beautiful golden yellow, with gems that represented the sun inlaid amongst the sweetheart bodice. Lacey loops come off the bodice in a delicate design that would wrap around your upper arms. The bottom skirting was decorated with glittering swirls and the fabric soft to the touch.

“Oh! It looks lovely,” Agnes compliments with a soft gasp. She’s looking over your shoulder as you continue to stare at the dress.

“Hmm, I can’t deny it either. It looks beautiful,” You sigh as you run your fingers through the soft fabric. Your fingers come across a piece of paper with a note.

Please do me the honor and wear this tonight. Written in Morpheus’ handwriting.

“And so shall you, your grace, when you wear it today,” Your lady’s maid hums.

Right… the gala is today. It seems your plan of avoiding Morpheus would have to come to an end. But, you still have the rest of the day to yourself, best to start savoring it. You start with a bath, with extra Natterhorn milk per your request, and something else to calm your nerves. After which, Agnes starts pampering you to get you ready for the event.

Hands are grabbing at you at every angle, tugging, brushing, wiping. You felt like a marionette puppet as they direct you on where to step, where to hold your hands so that they may dress you accordingly.

“Agnes,” You gasp as she gives you another sharp tug. “I request you loosen this horrid corset for my sake.”

“Apologies, Your Majesty,” She says, giving one last tug and tying the knot, more than less ignoring your request.

In the end, both you and Agnes are huffing and puffing when you’re finally done. You watch as Agnes puts on a pair of white cotton gloves and reaches into a wooden box you didn’t have the liberty of noticing before. From it, she produces an ornate crown.

It pairs with your dress nicely, a warm gold with white gems. The points of the head piece were a bit excessive, but your inner judgment was cut short when you realized it was supposed to represent the sun. When Agnes places it on your head, you grimace at the weight of it.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty, but it is part of the uniform,” Agnes apologizes once again as she notices your contorted face.

“It is not your fault, do not fret. You did well,” You grunt as you step away from the mirror. Agnes is positively gushing as she looks you over. Her beaming increases as you give your compliments to her hard work.

Despite the heavy crown, the dress itself was light and made for easy movement. Agnes opens the door and you follow the entourage of silver knights as they lead you from the comforts of your bedroom. Matthew’s presence settles your nerves a bit as you feel his protective presence three paces behind.

“Are you excited, boss lady?” You hear him ask with a smile hidden behind his helmet. He had recently polished his black armor and you’re sure if you turn around now, you could see your reflection.

“In all honesty, Matthew? For the event, yes. For seeing my husband again, no.” You pause as the unified metal footsteps descend to the first floor of the castle. “What of you?”

“If I get to see Jessamy again…” He says beneath his breath, quiet enough that you almost didn’t hear it.

You can see the sunlight from the entrance and you’re about to ask Matthew to repeat himself. However, the silver knights stop on the final set of stairs, leaving you standing at the intersection that leads to Morpheus’ wing. He comes down in time with your steps and meets you in the middle.

Morpheus is dressed in his typical black, simply more detailed than usual. He switches his flowing robe for an off shoulder cape that only reaches his mid thighs. His black tunic and pants were dusted with silver and dark blue, giving the illusion of the night sky at certain angles. Sitting comfortably on his head was a crown: silver with curving onyx gems that resembled the moon.

He’s close enough now to take you in your full glory. The dress he bought for you was the correct choice. It hugs your figure in all the right places; the dress was, after all, altered to your size. When the fleeting rays of sunlight come through the large window, it reflects off your dress and illuminates you. The Sun only shares a portion of His light, but you’ve managed to take it and make it your own.

“You look radiant,” He breathes the truth as he comes closer to you. You notice his finger twitch as he resists the urge to touch you.

“Save your falsities for someone else,” You snap, surprising yourself even. The crown was way too heavy on your head for pretenses.

“Very well… but we should at least pretend to like each other for the guests tonight.” Morpheus offers his arm to you and turns, the breeze from the entrance coming through the hallway.

“Then let us begin,” You reply as you hook your hand to his arm.

Crossing the castle threshold, the eclipse was already beginning to start. The trees rustle in the gentle late spring wind, its shades creating crescent shadows on the ground. You’re able to enjoy it from afar as the two of you walk the distance to the grand ballroom.

Slowly, daylight surrenders to night and the nocturnal critters emerge from their slumber. Crickets chirp, fireflies float around you, and moths fan their wings in the moonlight. The smell of petrichor turns heavy once more as you reenter the castle, the doors opening wide with an announcement of your and Morpheus’ arrival. The silver knights part, Matthew leaves your side, as does Jessamy, as Morpheus leads you to the center of the ballroom.

“Welcome, esteemed guests of the Dreaming. Tonight, we shall once again celebrate the astral lovers of Sun and Moon,” An announcer bellows into a horn. Cheers and unified clapping follow. “During Totality of the eclipse, we welcome you to witness the first dance of the night, to be shared with King Morpheus and Queen Consort Y/N.”

A fanfare plays and the crowd turns to the open ceiling, watching with shielded eyes as the moon slowly clips into place. Night dominates the sky, the moon blocking the sun except for the defining ring around it. Footmen scurry around as they quickly light the abundance of candles and chandeliers they could reach.

The grand ballroom gleams with the light of a thousand crystal chandeliers as you and Morpheus turn towards each other. The light fractures and creates halos across the marble flooring and stone pillars. Morpheus bows and you curtsy low, and the action reminds you of your wedding night. Slowly, he clasps his hand over yours gently and a firm arm wraps around your waist.

The string ensemble starts and you try to fight the smile that creeps on your lips as you’re easily pulled in time with his steps. Morpheus smiles as he studies your face closely. You're dancing once again.

The candle light seems to be absorbed into your figure as you glow under its warm light. Spinning hand in hand with your husband, you’ve long since given up holding back your smile. You’re grinning, radiant and warm like the sun.

You and Morpheus glide across the ballroom floor, floating like stars amongst the clouds. He is fluid in his movements and leads the dance easily. You hold on tight as the lights begin to blur together, all together have you forgotten how heavy your crown was. To onlookers, the two of you were beacons of elegance and the definition of harmony.

The music stops and you’re face to face with Morpheus, breathing hard. The sound of applause is muffled in the background of your mind. Morpheus looks pristine as well, perfectly composed as he softly gazes at you through starry eyes. You’re the first to break eye contact, the raw emotions he tries to show you too much for now. You can see that he is trying to be better, but after months of neglect, one dance is hardly enough to make up for it.

Morpheus doesn’t try to hide his emotions, and with deflated shoulders, leads you quietly to the matching thrones at the front of the ballroom. There, they stand high and mighty, dark, and carved with intricate designs of stars and ravens. You see Jessamy and Matthew waiting for the two of you there and some relief returns to you knowing that Matthew would be there to watch over you.

The roofless ballroom makes it hard to believe that it is only noon. Save for the ring of sun, the sky was casted in perpetual night. The stars make their appearance, as they always do, and accompany their moon, twinkling with admiration at viewing the people of the Dreaming early today. Even the critters of the night came out from their slumber, and if you listened carefully enough, you could hear their chirps and songs of night past the orchestra.

The throne is stiff and uncomfortable to sit in. When you glance over at Morpheus, he takes to it easily, spreading across the throne like a lounging cat. His presence fills the space and it’s easy to see how he is so perfectly fit for this role.

An emissary comes before you and bows, the lady on his arm following suit. He wears his best for the ceremony and when he speaks, it smells of rich alcohol and fruits.

“Congratulations on your marriage, Your Majesties. As emissary of the Kingdom of Kreya, we wish you a wonderful Solar Eclipse celebration,” The man smiles at the two of you and you smile back.

You take another glance at Morpheus and see his jaw ticking in the low candlelight. A second passes and he still doesn’t respond.

“Thank you, we hope to visit Kreya soon,” You reply instead. It has been long since you’ve heard a rumor of your failing marriage. At the very least it’s good to know that to people looking in, there was nothing wrong between you and Morpheus.

This is what he wanted, was it not?

From his perspective, your urge to take control basked you in a new light that he’s never seen before. Your response seems to snap him out of whatever deep thoughts he had and a cough brings him back to the present. Or, if he wanted to be honest with himself; your presence brings him back to the present.

Others follow in his footsteps, giving their congratulations, their salutations from their kingdoms, and other comments they wished to address to you. Morpheus and you take turns responding, each one vague and surface level.

The last emissary was a face you knew all too well. Soft brown curls wrap around a kind face. She dawns on flowy fabric of white and gold and a cape made of olive leaves. Calliope smiles when she sets her eyes on you, and you hear Matthew’s armor clink as he attempts to move from his post. The promise he made early into your relationship is evident in his mind.

A subtle hand rise from you was enough to stop him and the black knight settles back. The tension remains thick as she ascends the steps. She bows and speaks.

“I congratulate the King and Queen of the Dreaming on their union. From Boeotia, my sisters and I give out blessings for a bountiful year.” Calliope speaks to you specifically, and even when there is no ill intention written on her face, something ugly deep within you dares not to look at her.

The pain and suffering you had to endure, half of the reason is because of her. Your anger and despair leave you and instead reveal itself as its true form. Is it jealousy? Perhaps. You’ve long since stopped fighting it. Your bracelet tightens around your wrist once more, as it’s always done when it doesn’t agree with your thoughts.

“Thank you…” Morpheus responds to her. It was your turn to respond, but you still couldn’t bring yourself to speak to her.

Calliope opens her mouth again, as if to add something else, but stops herself after some hesitancy. It’s not before long that Calliope accepts the short answer and leaves you. An even shorter amount of time for a footman to come to you and Morpheus with goblets of wine that you all too eagerly grab at.

If it weren’t for your position, you’re sure you would be drunk beyond comprehension. It is a tradition of the celebration: to relieve oneself from their physical bodies and dance amongst the Eclipse. And you can only do that by drinking until your body can’t understand the physical world anymore.

The dark wine glitters as you swirl it around in the silver goblet, and you feel the tingling sensation as it goes down your throat. Other nobles mingle with each other, the occasional ping of glasses touching echos in the large room.

Squinting, you notice a certain blond standing alone in the corner, his dark glasses still covering his eyes. He is talking to some other man, his charismatic smile never disappearing, even when he takes another sip from his glass. As if sensing your gaze, he turns to you and raises his glass in your direction. You were the first to break eye contact, taking another sip of your own drink. You see Lucienne and Hob enjoying themselves at the snack table, watching as Lucienne looks away when Hob stuffs several cookies into his coat pocket.

The alcohol was potent, leaving you feeling light and dizzy, but a sudden commotion on the other side of the room leaves me sober. Yelling and clashing of metal against metal piques your interest as the ballroom doors slam open.

“I apologize, we-we tried to stop him!” A silver knight huffs out, chasing after the man who barged in.

A calm hand from Morpheus quiets him and the knight stops. The elderly man is still charging towards the two of you, dancers parting quickly from the marble floor as they watch.

“Where is she?” The man asks—or demands, more accurately, standing strong in the center of the dancefloor. He wears red, unblemished armor that stands out like a sore thumb against the Dreaming’s more subtle colors.

“Whoever you seek is not here, stranger,” Morpheus’ voice booms across the room.

“You, Teleute, will bring back my dead son. I will kill you if it means I will get him back…” He bravely points at your husband, completely ignoring his statement.

You and Morpheus share a quick glance at each other. Yours is riddled in confusion, what could this random man possibly want with his sister? Morpheus shares with you a more concerned look as he finally pieces together the information.

He recalls the conversation he had with the Corinthian under old moonlight about a madman named Rodrick Burgess. Briefly, his eyes meet with Corinthian on the far end of the room, who seems all the more pleased that his target has waltzed right into his grasp. The Corinthian had taken a small break in his chase so he could attend the festival. In the end, it seemingly works out for him anyways.

“Are you challenging the throne?” Morpheus accuses, looking down at him. You hear the shifting of feet as Jessamy and Matthew squirm with anticipation.

Morpheus remembers once more of his nightmare regarding this specific man and you. How you laid cold in his arms, blood blemishing each portion of your body. That no matter how much he wipes away at it, the blood continues to seep and stain into your clothes. His hand slowly ghosts over yours and covers your fingers. He feels the quickening pulse underneath his fingers and allows himself a moment of peace for your still beating pulse.

“I am challenging Teleute,” Rodrick repeats.

“Death of the Endless is not here. I will accept your challenge in her stead.” You’re not sure where the courage was coming from. Perhaps it is how Morpheus is gently holding onto you. Or, more likely, how the alcohol is coursing through your system. That seems to be the more logical reason… right? “Who do you wish to be your champion?”

“I am my own champion, the Great Magus Rodrick Burgess.” He brings forth his sword, covered in elaborate jewels.

“Sir Matthew?” You call, head held high. The weight of the crown is no longer an issue for you.

“Yes, Your Majesty?” Matthew responds immediately.

“You will be my champion.” You declare. “You will not disappoint.” It is your first order as queen.

You watch with fixed eyes as Matthew crosses to the dance floor. The white marble is a stark contrast against his black armor. Your hand turns and interlaces with Morpheus’ as Matthew draws his sword.

It’s longer and broader than Rodrick’s and even before the fight begins, you know Matthew would be slower than his opponent. But your belief in him is strong and unyielding.

The two knights face each other, their stances ready. Murmurs from onlookers hush around the room, the tension as thick as the wine they drink.

Rodrick moves first, his impatience showing easily as he lunges for Matthew’s heart. Your champion gracefully steps to the side, bringing up his broadsword in a low arch to parry the attack.

Blade against blade, the metals gleam in the low candlelight. The symphony changes from a string quartet to that of steel. The two knights dance around each other in the intense duel as both display their mastery of the blade.

An unhonorable heavy strike to the head from Rodrick leaves Matthew dazed. It’s enough for the blunt of his blade to strike at the young knight’s helmet. You watch with an agape mouth as the force is enough to knock off Matthew’s helmet, the helm flying across the floor. Your grip in Morpheus’ hand tightens as the anticipation grows.

Matthew is quick to be back on his feet, his black hair tousled from the fight. You catch glimpses of his determined face as he returns to the duel. Each block that Matthew predicts, each strike that he parries leaves Rodrick flustered.

Matthew notices, and when Rodrick was starting to lose strength, he advances with a series of long arching and forceful blows. You and Morpheus watch as Rodrick meekly holds his denting blade up in defense.

With a powerful kick to the chest, the Great Magus crashes to the ground, his sword falling from his hand as the last of his energy leaves him. Matthew advances still, dragging his broadsword on the ground. The teeth-grating sound of metal on marble igniting sparks.

Your knight points the sword at Rodrick’s throat, panting from exertion. “Yield,” Matthew commands.

“I will not!” Rodrick spits at him, pushing the imposing blade away from his throat.

“Yield!” Matthew shouts, bringing the blade back and pushing pressure onto the side of his neck. A thin string of warm blood follows the cut.

Rodrick looks around the room, conscious of how the people around him start to whisper about his loss. He makes eye contact with you and glares at his defeat.

“I yield,” He says hesitantly as his eyes remain on yours.

You swallow thickly as silver knights drag him out of the ballroom, your eyes following him. Rodrick was glaring at you until he could no longer see you, his cheeks still flushed from the duel and from the embarrassment of losing.

You let go of Morpheus’ hand, wiping your palm against the softness of your dress to get rid of the excessive sweat that started to accumulate. You go to grab at your wine again, finishing the rest with large gulps to calm your nerves. The alcohol is quick to work its magic as it seeps into your system.

“Congratulations on your victory, champion,” You grin when Matthew comes back to your side. “Where’s your helmet?”

“I, uh, can’t find it…” He mutters, embarrassed. He scratches at his hair as his cheeks flush red.

You smile once more as Matthew’s true personality shows itself again. He was quite young to be a knight, and his face had left the battle without any scars; a testament to his effectiveness. A server comes by and tops off the goblet with more glittering wine.

Morpheus hovers a hand over his own cup as a silent decline for more alcohol. Meanwhile you were more than inclined to continue drinking. The excitement of the day is already taking its effect on you. When you set your drink back down, you notice that no one is enjoying the gala anymore.

They stand to the side, muttering to themselves behind open feather fans. No one is drinking, or feasting, and they share unsure glances with each other. The duel was a mood killer for the festivities.

You take another slow sip from your wine, what should you do? You watch through slightly lidded eyes as Morpheus stands from his seat. His hand falls before yours in a silent invitation of another dance. Baffled, you silently stare at the upright hand. Morpheus wants another dance?

Should you? When a bird has been locked in a cage for so long, even when presented with the opportunity of flight, it often finds itself staying. It takes comfort in what the bird knows. The outside world is dangerous, after all.

“Please,” He whispers when he notices you hesitating. You see his other fingers twitch against his leg, a tic that you’ve long since noticed he does whenever he is nervous. You place the goblet down and grab onto his hand lightly. One more dance wouldn’t hurt.

Before you leave, you turn to Matthew with a smile. “You should go dance, too. You’ve done well to deserve it tonight.”

Matthew all but perks up at your invitation, his eyes darting to Morpheus, who simply nods in approval of his request.

The two of you take to the floor and amidst the onlookers and mutterers, for once, you only notice Morpheus. “I trust you,” You say slowly.

Morpheus nods before he places a gentle hand on your waist and leads the dance once more. The music is romantic somber as the two of you glide across the floor.

Nobles and invitees around you stop whispering amongst themselves and enjoy the spectacle. Soon enough, more and more couples return to the dance floor.

The orchestra is quick to change its tune and an upbeat swell of strings has everyone clapping and jumping around in a country dance. Your smile brightens your face once more as you witness how your small dance was enough to bring people together.

You part from Morpheus as a new dance partner whisks you away for the next portion of the song. You grab onto your dance partner as you watch Morpheus spin with a new partner of his own, a soft smile gracing his lips as he witnesses your lingering gaze.

“Enjoying the ball, Your Majesty?” The new voice interrupts your thoughts. Your head turns to your new dance partner and you feel yourself jump in the middle of a spin.

“Corinthian,” You greet curtly, smile dropping.

“Hello again, Your Majesty.” He grins down at you, sunglasses still on. A silence follows and you’re desperate to change partners again.

“It seems you and His Majesty have started to become amiable with each other. I heard rumors that your marriage was in rocky waters.” He whispers into your ear as he spins you again.

“They’re just rumors,” You lie again.

The Corinthian hums, easily reading between the lines of your statement. “Well, well, would you look at that?”

Corinthian focuses his attention behind you and you turn to match his gaze. Couples waltz around you, but your eyes immediately seek out Morpheus. Your newly healed heart shatters as you watch Morpheus and Calliope spin across the dance floor. The two of them look beautiful together, her light colors clashing with his darker ones is a sight out of the romances you’ve read in your books.

Were dance partners always supposed to be that close to each other? Their gazes lock with each other as they share private words amongst themselves. Morpheus says something that causes Calliope to smile, something that lights up her entire figure in delight.

“Perhaps the rumors are quite true,” Corinthian chuckles.

You let go of him as if he suddenly caught on fire. “I need some air… Please excuse me.”

The Corinthian doesn’t try to stop you as you weave your way through the dancing couples. Before you leave the ballroom, you briefly overhear a conversation between Mervyn and Matthew.

“Huh, I thought you were some beast with how you were swinging that piece of crap around. But you’re just some normal kid,” Mervyn scoffs as he lights another cigarette.

Matthew scratches his head in confusion, the refound helmet rests between his arm and torso. It is liberating to not have to wear it for a while, and he can smell the food more clearly like this.

“Actually, I’m 1/16 pure Ravenfolk on my mother's side. Not so normal now, huh, Mervyn?” Matthew brags with a high head.

“Pah!” The pumpkin man scoffs again, a cloud of smoke following him. “And Jessamy is pure Ravenfolk so what you got to say about that!”

You’re sure you see smoke steaming out of your knight’s ears and his face turns bright red. It’s a conversation you would have loved to entertain, but in your emotions, you don’t linger long. The door is right there and you escape from all the distracted gazes.

By muscle memory, your feet take you to your garden sanctuary. The summer sun is no longer an issue for you as the night wind calms your fraying nerves. You run your fingers along the petals of night flowers and watch as they sway in tandem with the tides.

You take a seat on a nearby stone bench, watching the eclipse reflection in the small pond of your garden. An uncomfortable feeling like stone settles in your throat as you push down a hiccup. Silent tears still make it past your eyes.

You wipe away your tears with the back of your hand as you silently berate yourself for always crying. Taking a deep breath, you close your eyes and try to relax your over eccentric heart. The rustling of leaves and citrus smell of flowers calm your nerves quite well.

You hear a rustle that feels out of place and a presence behind you and you sigh deeply.

“Not now, Matthew. I really just want to be alone,” You indirectly ask your knight for solitude.

“Not Matthew,” The presence spits out the name and you gasp as you feel the cold metal of his blade against your throat.

Rodrick.

How could you forget his voice? You don’t move as you watch him circle in front of you. The point of the dagger in his hands remains pointed at your throat. You swallow your nerves, the slight movement enough to scratch your skin against the sharp blade.

“You embarrassed me. In front of all of your citizens,” Rodrick begins to monologue. It’s hard to make out his face in the dark light and the angle at which you sat, but the glare he emitted was easy to feel.

“No, you embarrassed yourself. Who told you killing someone else would bring back your dead son?” You ask to distract him. Your eyes dart around your space as you try to find a path to run away from him, or something that can hinder him while you find help.

“The ruler I serve said so. And I believe in their word.” He continues.

“Who? Desire of the Endless?” You scoff as you look at his red armor. The lustful color and crest he bore on his chest plate was easy enough to piece together. “Have you ever considered your ruler is merely using you as bait?”

“They would never,” Rodrick says back in disbelief. The blade dips slightly for a moment as he backs away.

You take that slight moment as your chance, grabbing at the layers of your dress and sprinting back towards the castle.

“Matthew!” You scream at the top of your lungs and you pray that it's heard past the music.

Hedges and thorned flowers scrape at you and get caught in your dress. The sound of pounding feet catches up to you and a yelp leaves your lips as Rodricks tackles you to the ground. Your crown dislodges itself from your head at the impact and you’re screaming as you fight back as best as you can.

His hands come around your throat and you grab at his wrist in panic. Rasping breaths leave you in huffs as he squeezes harder and harder. The edges of your vision start to go black as the lack of oxygen leaves your body wanting.

“M-Morpheus,” You call out weakly.

“No one can hear you now, you pathetic queen. No one can help you—”

The weight is lifted off of you abruptly and you turn on hands and knees as you intake as much air as you possibly could. You turn back around and stand on wobbly legs and watch as two silhouettes fight each other. One, you knew to be Rodrick but the other was new. The person was armor clad in silver, so it was neither Morpheus nor Matthew. One moment, Rodrick was standing, and the next he fell to the ground in a slump.

“Come, let’s get you back to the palace, Your Majesty,” Your savior comes closer to you. The dagger that Rodrick had threatened you with is still in her hands.

“Who are you?” You ask as she takes your hand and begins a fast walk away from the dead body.

“You may call me Gault, Your Majesty.” Her pace is faster than yours and in your still shocked state, you fall to the ground. Gault turns around quickly and bends to help you up from the elbow.

“Jessamy, subdue her,” You hear Morpheus' voice nearby. The sound of armor accompanying him.

“What?” You question as you fall back to the ground. Matthew is by your side in no time, holding you up steadily.

You watch with confusion as Jessamy holds both of Gault’s hands behind her back and kicks her knee in so that she kneels to the ground.

“Forgive me, for not coming sooner,” Morpheus whispers to you. He unclips the half cape he wore and drapes it over your shoulders. Your abrasive run through the gardens leaves you more exposed than what would have been considered appropriate.

“Wait, no, stop,” You interject as he returns his attention to Gault.

Morpheus ignores you, insisting to himself that your ramblings were from shock. It’s obvious to him that Gault was going to hurt you. As soon as he noticed that you weren’t in the ballroom anymore, he was quick to leave the dance and come looking for you.

To find you being hovered by one of his own soldiers with the weapon in her hand was evident enough in his eyes of treason. You looked horrible, your dress in shambles and thin cuts scattered across your body.

“I was protecting the queen,” Gault states the truth slowly. “I had no intention of hurting her. I merely wish to keep her from harm.”

“Listen to her, my lord. Please, I beg you, she is speaking the truth,” You plead once more. The hold that Matthew has on you shifts from protection to restriction as you try to fight against him.

Morpheus ignores you once more, and while your cries hurt him, bringing you justice will satiate the pain. “You do not get to decide what I saw with my own eyes. How do you think you should be punished for the attempt on my queen’s life?”

Gault pushes her head up higher even as the realization dawns on her. “I am not afraid.”

“You should be.” Morpheus stalks closer to her.

“I will rather die afraid than knowing I lived without truth, my lord.” You hear Gault whisper.

Morpheus doesn’t bother with a response. The shadows of the eclipse seem to elongate his shadow as he paths closer to her. Your pleas once again fall on deaf ears and tears sting your face red. Your screams have turned raw in your throat as you helplessly watch.

In the darkness of the eclipse, you barely register the sound of Morpheus unsheathing Jessamy’s blade from her scabbard. You don’t see it, but you feel it—the sticky warmth of blood splattering across your face. The iron taste rests heavy on your tongue as your mouth falls open in a gasp. It mixes with the wine and creates a concoction that makes you dry heave in the grass.

You hear it, too. As Gault doesn’t die from the first strike and her blood effectively drowns her as she tries to breathe. Morpheus swings again and the head thuds to the ground, her body following quickly after as Jessamy lets her go.

Your scream echoes across the vastness of the night.

Ah, Morpheus you walking red flag you. Also, I'm not going to lie, idk how to redeem Dream boy over here after this chapter cause wtf is this bitch on (I know I wrote him but what the fuck?)

Someone tell me I did good, it's summer and I no longer get academic validation

♡ Yours, Layla

Tags: @dnarez @arunawayheart @acdassenza @ella33 @karma-is-a-god @bluespecs14 @boo8008 @dragon-kazansky @i-voluntears @deniixlovezelda

#the sandman #dream of the endless #morpheus #morpheus x reader #the sandman fanfic #dream of the endless x reader #dream x reader #the sandman x reader #sandman x reader #destined dreams of love

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talialovesmiw · 3 days

Text

You make everything better. (Ricky “Horror” Olson x Reader)

A/N: Felt like writing some fluff for Ricky today. Enjoy <3

Warnings: Language, light angst and fluff

Taglist: Tag List: @skulliecadaver-blog @witchyweeb34 @cookiesupplier @raydenrrobertson @sakuracyberhex @beaker1636 @lyschko666 @black-damask1999 @synthetic-wasp-570 @jilliemiw86 @tearfallpixie @vinyardmauro @thatchickwiththecamera @bloody-delusion-expert @th0ughts-pr4yers @zuberweirrd @bxrnthyfears @yournecessaryevil @arkiliastuff @abiomens

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

It was another long day at work. Customers were jerks and I didn’t even get to go on my lunch break today. I was exhausted and hungry.

I trudge my way out of the mall and into the parking lot. I find my car and get in. I let my head rest on the steering wheel as I let out a groan mixed with frustration and exhaustion. I run a hand through my hair with a sigh and start the car.

The drive home wasn’t easy. People drove like morons and some idiot almost side swiped me. It seemed my bad day was only getting worse.

Finally, I arrive home and pull into the driveway. Ricky was still at the studio with the guys and wouldn’t be home for a couple of hours. I turn off the car and grab my purse and get out of my car. I walk up to the door and dig in my purse for my keys.

“Damn it, where are they?” I grumble, getting more annoyed as I can’t find my keys. “Fuck, come on!”

Eventually after some digging, I find my keys and unlock the door. I get in and throw my bag to the side. I go to the couch and sit, soon to slump against it.

I was tired.

Mentally, and physically tired.

I could feel tears prick my eyes as I hugged one of the pillows. Today was a rough day, and all I wanted to do was cry.

So, that’s what I did. I let the tears run down my face as I hugged the pillow closer, shoving my face into it. I wished it was Ricky. Ricky always made everything better.

But he wasn’t here. He was working. All I wanted was for him to comfort me, and I couldn’t have that. Not for a couple of hours. Now I was sobbing.

I don’t know how long I was crying, but I heard the front door open. I didn’t bother to acknowledge whoever it was, I really didn’t give a damn. I just hug the pillow and keep my head down as I hear the sound of footsteps. I had cried so much that my voice was tired.

“Sweetheart? You home?” Ricky’s voice calls as he gets closer. I don’t answer.

Ricky finally approaches me, and frowns when he finds me like this. He crouches down to my level and gently takes my face.

“Baby, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?” He asks softly, his voice filled with worry.

“Bad day…really bad day..” I mutter, my voice on the verge of cracking.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

I shake my head in response. Ricky nods. “That’s perfectly okay. Have you eaten yet?”

Shit. Ricky hated whenever I didn’t get the chance to eat. I gulp and look away. Ricky frowns again.

“I’m going to take that as a no.” He says with a sigh, then places his hand on my leg. “You need to eat, sweetheart.”

“Not hungry..” I mumble. That was a lie. I was starving, but I didn’t want to get up and eat.

“Uh uh. We’re not doing that. You need to eat.” Ricky stands. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. You’re gonna go take a nice shower while I make food, change into comfy clothes and then we’re gonna have a movie marathon on the couch. I’m not letting you be sad.”

That actually sounded pretty nice. I nod and sit up, rubbing my eyes. Ricky extends his hand and I take it as he helps me up. He walks with me to the bathroom and places his hands on my shoulders.

“Just relax, okay? Take your time while I cook pasta. I know it’s your favorite.”

My eyes light up a little. “Thanks Rick..”

Ricky smiles and presses a kiss to my forehead. “Of course baby, you deserve the best. Now go shower, okay?”

“Mhm..”

Ricky pulls away and leaves the bathroom so I can shower. I undress and turn on the shower. I end up taking a nice, long everything shower using all of my favorite smelling products. It made me feel a bit better.

I step out of the shower in my towel and walk into the bedroom. I put on my favorite body lotion and put my hair in a jaw clip. I change into comfy clothes and leave the bedroom.

When I walk into the kitchen, the smell of cooked pasta greets me. Ricky was almost done. I walk up behind him and wrap my arms around his torso, nuzzling my face into his back. Ricky turns his head and looks down at me with a smile.

“Hey beautiful. Have a nice shower?”

“Mhm…”

“Good. Dinner’s ready, go sit.”

I nod and let go of Ricky, a little sad to let go due to him being so warm, and smelling good too. I go to sit at the table.

Ricky plates the pasta and walks over, setting a plate down in front of me. I pick up my fork and waste no time devouring my pasta.

Ricky smiles as he watches me eat. “So much for not being hungry, huh?” I hum in response as I finish my first plate. I happily get up to grab another.

“You always make it just the way I like it, thank you.” I say as I sit back down, picking my fork up again and eating.

“It’s no trouble, really. I knew it would make you happy. It’s easy to make as well.”

We finish eating and Ricky sets the dishes aside in the sink, saving them for later. He grabs my hand and leads me over to the couch. He pulls me with him to cuddle. He sits me in his lap and wraps his arms around me. I lean into him, resting my head against his shoulder.

“You didn’t have to do this for me, Rick..” I say softly as he turns on the tv.

“I wanted to, baby. I never want to see you sad.” Ricky says as he settles on a movie, sets the remote down, and pets my hair. “It makes me sad seeing you upset.”

I nestle into him, nuzzling my face into his tattooed neck. “You always know what to say, and how to make me feel better. I love you..”

Ricky presses a kiss into my hair and pulls me closer. “I love you too, sweetheart. I’m always here for you.”

“You’re the best.”

We spend the rest of the night cuddling on the couch and watching movies until I end up falling asleep. Ricky carries me into our shared bedroom and lays me down on the bed. He pulls the covers over me and kisses my forehead. He lays on his side and wraps an arm over me. It isn’t long until he’s asleep as well.

He always made everything better.

#miw band #motionless in white #miw #ricky horror x reader #ricky olson x reader #rickyolson #rickyhorror #Ricky Olson #Ricky horror #Ricky Olson fluff #Ricky horror fluff #MIW x reader #ricky miw #x reader #fluff #light angst

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starfall-spirit · 1 day

Text

Read on Ao3

Summary: After one last screaming match and a good cry, Feyre is finally ready to move on from her lousy ex and rebuild the life he took her away from. She didn't imagine she'd be right back in the thick of it, reviving buried feelings for her best friend's cousin.

OR;

Feyre dumps Tamlin, moves back to big city life, and gets herself an alpha who will treat her right.

AN: Omegaverse!Feysand, as promised. A gift for @whatishowedyouinthedark. If you hadn't posted Too Sweet, I don't know that this would have left the drafts. This ended up being 4.3k, but there will be a morning after chapter as well.

CW: NSFW, mildly dubious consent/coercion

Chapter I

“You sure you’re alright, Feyre?” Another ounce of weight seemed to lift from her shoulders at the soft worry in Mor’s voice. “I know you don’t really want to talk about this yet, but I’m always here for you.”

“I know. And I’m okay, Mor. I’ll be even better in, oh—” She lifted her wrist enough to glance at the time. “—six hours when you meet me outside SFO.” Her friend stayed quiet a moment longer. “I’ve wasted so much time and energy on that guy. He doesn’t deserve my tears too.”

“Damn right. I can’t wait to see you. It’s been so long, Feyre.”

“I know.”

That’s what it had really come to. The lost time. The isolation. A year ago, Feyre had been at the center of it all, her art sales lucrative enough to keep her head above water, her friend circle close but full of life. When Tamlin’s work had taken him out of the big city and to someplace more remote, Feyre had imagined it would be temporary. Her “nest egg” from her art sales would only need to hold her for a few months before she could dive right back into dealing with her clientele face-to-face.

But whatever silver lining her situation came with was in short supply. Hopeful as she had been once upon a time, nothing could change the fact that this move halfway across the country was made with only the purpose of separating her from the life and people she knew. Feyre was just ashamed it had taken her so long to see it herself. She’d confronted him last night and the truth had all come to light. “So what if your account is running low? Do I not take care of you regardless? I thought this was what you wanted, Feyre. Isn’t this what all omegas want? Someone to depend on?”

It turned out Feyre and Tamlin’s views on designations were worlds apart.

After a devastating break up fight and a good long cry, Feyre had locked herself in the guest room and called Mor with the promise that she was scraping together what she had left and coming home the next afternoon. “Say no more, Feyre. I’ll get Rhysie to make that ticket first class for you.”

“Don’t you dare, Mor.” But for the first time in months there had been laughter beneath her words. For once she didn’t find herself rolling her eyes when Mor reminded her that her older cousin was rich and single, last she heard of it. Not that Feyre’s memory needed jogging on that point. Ever since Rhys had stepped into her first art showing, oozing raw confidence and control, she’d been no better than a school girl doodling hearts and initials in her journal margins. But he’d then flown out to manage his father’s New York business, his return to California only in the past few months, when Feyre was long gone herself.

She shook off the flush running through her body, trying to focus on Mor jabbering in her ear about events around the city. Served her right, lusting after an alpha so far out of her league. Rhys might be nice enough to buy her paintings or bump her flight ticket to first class, but she certainly had no illusions that he would be the male helping her through her next heat. Hell, by now he likely had an omega of his own, hand-selected by his prick of a father.

Not exactly fond of the flare of… something… that thought sent through her, Feyre stood, pacing the few feet she dared from her carry-on in the crowded terminal. “Hey, girl. We’ll be boarding any minute. Can I let you go for now?”

“Absolutely. Love you lots. I’ll see you tonight. Don’t eat anything huge. We’ve got dinner plans.”

~~~~~

Dinner plans amounted to a delivery of Feyre’s favorite chinese food not even five minutes after she was settled in from the car ride home. “You spoil me, Mor,” she said, setting down her chopsticks long enough to shrug into the oversized hoodie behind her that smelled absolutely delightful for some reason and debate the nearly identical bottles of red nail polish in front of her. Her friend certainly had a signature color.

“Someone has to,” Mor groused, starting an episode of a cop show they’d seen one too many times. “If you won’t spoil yourself, your bestie’s gonna do it for you.” She eyed Feyre’s newly acquired hoodie with a slight smirk. “Among a few others.”

“What? I was cold. And what do you mean, others?”

Mor just waved a hand in dismissal. “Rhys, Cass, and Az are around here all the time. Rhys lives a floor above me, for that matter. You know they’re all thrilled you’re back in town. Emerie is excited to meet you too. I think you guys will really hit it off.” Mor sighed, a wistful look in her eyes.

“You really like this one, don’t you?”

“She’s amazing. And she’s been so patient with me. You know how my family can be about my preferences. She hasn’t said much, but I think her family gives her a lot of the same shit about it. She gets it. Gets me.” Feyre’s heart just about melted at that and she reached across the couch to squeeze Mor’s hand. “I even asked—”

The front door opened then, to both their surprise, Cassian falling through the frame with a shit-eating grin on his face. “She’s back! Feyre Archeron, where have you been?! C’mere.” She squealed as he lifted her by the hips to spin her around

Mor shook her head, mumbling about how this was supposed to be girls’ night before everyone saw her at Rita’s the next evening. “Sorry, Mor,” another voice said from the door, warm, rich, and amused. “We saw you ladies pull in earlier from the window. I kept him there as long as I could. It’s good to see you, Feyre.”

Grinning ear to ear, Feyre braced a hand on Cassian’s chest until the vertigo faded. “Yeah, good to see you guys. I—What?” she asked, finally looking at Rhys.

He was just as she remembered. It had been fice years since he’d flown out to manage that east coast business after earning his business degree and he hadn’t changed one bit—still the most beautiful man she’d ever met. The only thing that truly caught her off guard was the odd glint in his eyes, focusing on the hoodie she was wearing—almost pleased, if she was reading him right. Another step into the room and his scent hit her, citrus and the sea, the same soothing fragrance that clung to the sweatshirt she’d thoughtlessly pulled on with the assumption it was one of Mor’s baggier favorites.

Fuck.

Rhys smirked then, every bit the smug alpha she knew he was. She wasn’t ready to analyze the response that inspired in her. The fluttering in her stomach that quickened as he approached, the heat that flushed her check when he stepped into her space, fingering the ratty sleeve that fell well past her fingertips. “I was wondering where that had wandered off to.”

“I—”

“Keep it, darling. It looks better on you anyway.”

She shuffled back a step, uncharacteristically flustered by his proximity. Omega or not, the flirtation of men didn’t usually affect her this way. Even in the early days between her and Tamlin she—She would not be comparing her ex to anyone. She came back to San Francisco to wash her hands of him, after all.

“I—” She sighed. “Thanks.”

Mor cleared her throat, though her shameless grin was a near mirror to her cousin’s. “If that’s all, boys.” She batted her eyes, looping her arm back through Feyre’s. “This was girls’ night, remember?”

Cassian chuckled, ignoring the dismissal and slumping into the couch. “So, how goes the move in?”

Feyre scoffed. “My plane touched down only an hour ago. Can I finish my dinner and wine before tackling my bags?” The other three exchanged a look, Mor seeming suddenly guilty. “What?”

“With how quickly this all came together, I suppose I never got around to mentioning I… I asked Emerie to move in. It doesn’t change the fact the extra room is yours,” she hurried to say. “You have a place here of course.”

“Or you could have one upstairs,” Rhys mumbled.

Feyre blinked. “Excuse me?”

“They get their privacy, you get a good night's sleep every night.” She narrowed her eyes. “It’s just a room, Feyre. You know I’m a gentleman.”

“I wouldn’t suggest otherwise.” Eyeing his reaction, she sipped from her wine glass. “Out loud.”

Cassian cackled. “God, I’ve missed you. About time you traded the hills for skyscrapers again, little sister.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

~~~~~

“I told you,” Rhys sang as Feyre stepped out of the elevator and into his apartment. It had only taken two nights to change her mind about his proposal. She adored Mor and Emerie was a delight—a perfect match for her oldest friend. But that didn’t change the fact the walls were paper thin.

“Hush. Emerie is a wonderful woman. I could never begrudge them their happiness, even if it costs me my sleep.”

“Of course not. Anyways, welcome to my humble abode. The first door on the left down the hall is your room for as long as you want it. Just across from mine, if you need anything. I’ll let you get unpacked.”

“Thanks.” She smiled, heading down the short hall and into the room he directed her to, only to stop short in the doorway. “Rhys.”

“Yes?” he called back, presumably from the living space.

“What is all of this?”

He approached slowly, looking almost sheepish. “Too much?” She gaped. “I can return it if you don’t like it. I just happened to overhear you tell Mor you had left behind some of your favorite nesting things and… Here, I’ll just pack it up and—”

“No.” His brows rose as she shifted to block the doorway. “I—” She cleared her throat softly. “It was sweet of you to consider it. I’m not far from my next heat, actually. I really appreciate you letting me crash here and letting me nest.”

He scoffed. “Nesting is natural. It isn’t something I’d try to stop any omega from doing.”

“If only my ex had seen it that way.” She flinched. “I shouldn’t have said that. Sorry.”

He growled softly, eyes dark as he dropped his head to hold her gaze, one hand braced against the doorjamb she already leaned against. His scent washed over her once again and Feyre hoped her full body shutter wasn’t as obvious as it felt. “Your ex was an alpha?” She nodded. “Not one with any honor, it seems. You are what you are, Feyre. If that bastard ever made you take shame in it, I hope you’ll soon change your way of thinking.”

“I’m not ashamed of anything,” she murmured.

The knuckles of his free hand brushed along her cheekbone. “Good. I’ll let you finish up here. As I said, if you need anything for the nest or otherwise, I’m here to help.”

“I’m not a charity case, Rhysand. I always manage to get back on my feet quickly enough.”

“I know that, darling. That doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy spoiling sweet little things like you rotten.”

A quiet, shocked sound escaped her, but her usually sharp wit had been neutralized, it seemed. And all by a few charming words. Sweet little things like you.

“No,” she muttered to herself, refusing to watch him walk away. Approaching heat or not, she was not getting tangled up with an entitled alpha ever again. And that vow would not be changing

~~~~~

The next few weeks were normal, all things considered. Rhys went to work in the morning and Feyre either arranged calls or set out to reopen contact with previous buyers interested in her art. In the evenings they alternated cooking meals and washing dishes, occasionally enjoying a movie or game together before returning to their separate rooms for the night.

Everything was perfectly platonic if you excused a few mildly flirtatious remarks. The only thing that left her unsteady was the surprise treats and little actions to take care of her, each one either frivolous or thoughtful. It was as frustrating as it was pleasing and she hoped Rhys couldn’t see how she truly felt about each little favor. She didn’t know what she’d do if he came to learn about the pure satisfaction she felt each time she saw that he had snuck into her room to switch out the sweatshirt she’d so carefully placed among the pillows and blankets in her nest the moment his scent faded from the fabric.

She had dared to ask him after the third time he’d replaced the garment why he was so attentive to that specific want.

“You may not be my chosen mate, but you are an omega under my care. Just as you follow your instincts to keep something with an alpha’s scent, I will follow my instinct to provide for you as long as you live with me. A missing sweatshirt is hardly a great sacrifice, Feyre.”

He’d stood from the dinner table with a smile, mumbling something along the lines of, “Such a pretty little blush you have, darling,” before loading his plate in the dishwasher and heading for his room. Any other remarks had been few and far between, but each one stuck with her for days afterwards.

She gave a sharp huff as she stirred a spoonful of honey into her tea, prepared to do nothing more than hole up in her room with a good book and a hot drink as the Saturday storm bathed the city. “Read my book and not think about this a second longer.”

If only she’d realized what a hopeless endeavor that would turn out to be.

She was only two chapters into her newest read when the first hot flash came. Her heat. And damn if she couldn’t already feel this was going to be a rough one without a partner. Jumping from her chair, she started to head for the bathroom, reaching for the tub’s faucet. Then, a cool bath wouldn’t do her any favors. As quickly as she felt her skin burn, she knew she’d be shivering in a matter of minutes, that first cycle of hot and cold lasting for a few hours before the endless heat became constant, especially without an alpha to soften the effects of her episode.

“Fuck.” She needed to get off the floor and back to her room. To her nest, whatever small comfort it could offer her. “Fuck,” she repeated.

“Eloquently put,” a too-familiar voice said. She didn’t bother peeling her eyes open, letting Rhys drop to a knee and slip his arms beneath her knees and behind her back. “Come on. To bed with you.”

“Put me down. I’m fine.” Never mind that her teeth were already chattering and a cramping had started low in her gut.

“I’m sure you are, darling.” Shifting his arm so her back remained supported, he pressed his palm to the back of her head, pressing lightly until she caved, letting him guide her nose to that special spot on his neck where his scent was strongest. The tension that had claimed her body vanished in an instant. “There, little one. Better, hm?”

She mumbled something equally proud and bitter that she could really only half understand herself with this fog stealing over her mind so quickly, then, “Hurts,” she whimpered.

He hummed, laying her down in the very center of the nest of bedding and clothes she’d so meticulously arranged and rearranged over the past few weeks. She should have realized she was days from her next cycle when the impulse to perfect the space became so prominent. Now she would be glued to it for days on end. The problem? “Why are you so far away?”

Rhys chuckled. “You said you wanted to work through your heat alone, little one. That you don’t need an alpha. Have you changed your mind?” Feyre bit her lip, contemplating her options. Endure this alone and maintain her pride, or welcome his help and pray she was only opening a physical connection, rather than an emotional one. “Feyre.” She blinked up at him. “Temper your pride. Invite me into your nest, little one. This doesn’t have to be so painful.” It only took a moment for her to grip his hand, tugging softly. “Such a good girl,” he murmured, settling in carefully, so as to not disturb her arrangement.

“Don’t need a knot,” Feyre told him petulantly. “Just…” Nose buried in his neck, hand tucked under his shirt, Feyre stopped protesting for the moment, the only sound leaving her a soft whimpering.

That’s when he began to purr, summoning a gush of slick, to her humiliation. “Rhys—”

“Hush, sweet girl. Let’s see what we can do about your little problem here.” She couldn’t help but squirm a bit as he peeled her leggings away inch by inch, face flushing hot when her slick clung to the fabric of her panties on their way down. “Settle now, pet. You just lay back and let your alpha take care of you.”

“You’re not my—I didn’t ask you to—” Feyre hadn’t realized her pants had been completely cast aside until his tongue was stroking up her slit. “Oh, god.” Another drag of it and her fingers were threaded in his hair, tugging sharply. He hummed. “Rhys.” She tried to lift her hips, only for Rhys to reach up and lay his arm over her waist, keeping her mostly still. She let out a groan of frustration.

“All in good time, little one. All in good time.” He looked all too pleased by the frustrated growl that passed her lips, her protest cut off the moment two thick fingers pushed inside of her, curling in a way that had her hurtling to the edge of her release. “That’s it, darling, he encouraged her, repeating the motion while twisting his hand enough that he could rub her clit with his thumb. “Come for me.” Considering the state she was already in and how it only seemed to worsen with time, it took nothing more than those few words for her to shatter, clenching around his fingers so tight he cursed—even as he stroked her through it. “Good girl.”

Feyre shuttered beneath him, She didn’t need to peel her heavy eyes open to know she would find him smirking down at her. There wasn’t a chance in hell a man as observant as Rhys would misread what his praise did to her. She felt the tip of his nose skate across her cheek before his soft mouth was pressed to the flesh of her throat, his fingers already beginning to curl inside of her once again. “Rhys, wait.”

“Darling, do you really think that little knotting toy you bought the other day is going to be enough to satisfy you in this? You know what you need and you know who can give it to you.”

That unbearable cramping began anew, and Feyre knew she had no hope of resisting.

~~~~~

Most days, Rhys would consider himself an honorable man. He was capable of detaching emotions from matters of business and handling what needed to be handled without causing a fuss. Taking losses he earned himself with grace. Regarding his personal life, he never stooped to pursue someone who’s capability of consent was so precarious. He’d certainly never attempted to coerce a hesitant partner.

But he’d walked into the house and her heat scent had hit him in full force. Finding her slumped on the bathroom floor and burning up had his protective instincts rearing their head. Now he was in her nest, had his fingers buried inside of her, the taste of her lingering on his tongue, addling his own mind.

He could reconsider the standing of his honor tomorrow.

He’d get rid of that last edge of nerves his little omega was facing, then he’d show her where she belonged. Right here in this apartment, in this nest, for him to come home every day and spoil senseless. He had already come to enjoy their evening bonding immensely, and could only imagine he’d be even more delighted to share those talks when Feyre had her studio up and running, resuming the work she cherished so dearly. And whatever her reservations about alphas may be at the moment, she’d come around to the thought as well, he was certain. Every omega needs an alpha to lean on.

“God,” she hissed, palm pressing low on her stomach. Eyes shut tight once again, Feyre let her nails bite into his wrist, spurring him into action. He stripped the shirt she wore, baring her entirely before bringing that hand back to her center, this time with the intention of preparing her to take his knot. At the rate her heat was progressing, her pride would fall away momentarily and she’d be begging for the relief she knew it would provide her, he was certain.

Her next groan morphed to something softer, her head falling back to the pillows when his mouth closed over her nipple. Once again, her fingers found a home in his hair, tugging just harshly enough he felt justified in nipping her breast. “Be nice, darling.”

Scowling, Feyre surged upwards, gripping his shirt front as her lips finally found his. “You know it’s really, really unfair that I’m the only one undressed here.” She didn’t give him the courtesy of unbuttoning the garment himself, yanking hard enough to send the buttons flying, lost to the fabrics of the nest. Her teeth sank into his bottom lip hard enough he groaned, his free hand sliding up around her throat. “Rhys.”

He couldn’t help but smile as her eyes fluttered shut, her body relaxed enough for him to manipulate, guiding her back down into the pillow and removing his hand from its home between her thighs. “Sweet thing,” he cooed when a little pout began to form. “So needy for your alpha.” Moving his hand from her throat to her waist, he pushed those two slick fingers past her swollen lips, swallowing the growl building in his throat at the stroke of her tongue, letting himself watch as she fell deeper into that haze of lust and need.

“Well done, sweet girl,” he praised, withdrawing his fingers.

“Alpha,” she whispered, one hand sliding down until it rested over the hard line showing through his jeans.

“You need your alpha’s cock, pet?” He began working his thumb over her clit, just letting his fingers graze the rest of her. “You think you’re ready for that? Think you can take my knot, Feyre?”

“Please.” The next down stroke was rougher and he knew she was close to coming again when her body bowed towards him. “Please give it to me. Need your knot.”

There it was. And how sweet it sounded.

Kissing her neck, he let himself enjoy that lilac and pear scent for a moment before peeling out of the last of his clothes. Feyre had a hand around him before he could reach down to stroke himself, painfully hard beneath her touch. The moment she grazed his knot he jolted, one hand closing over hers while the other fisted one of the pillows beneath them. “Fuck, Feyre.”

“I want to taste you.” He clenched his jaw tight. This woman would be the death of him.

“Soon, darling. But first I need to be inside of you.” She lifted her hips, bending them at the knees in invitation. “Soaked for me,” he purred, lining up to claim her. “You’re going to take me so well, Feyre. Every inch.”

She swallowed, but nodded. Pinning her hips to keep her from rushing to take him, he pushed the tip in, grunting softly as she clenched around him. At this rate he wasn’t going to last long. “More,” Feyre begged, heels digging into his back. “Need more.”

“Patience is a virtue, pet.” Still, he fed her another inch, rocking in and out, working into her until only his knot remained. Smirking at the blissed out look covering her face, Rhys leaned down to whisper in her ear. “So fucking beautiful, filled up like this. Open those eyes for me, Feyre.” She trembled, eyes remaining closed. A sharp flick to her clit and she cried out, eyes flying open and snapping to his. “Watch, Feyre. Watch me give you my knot.” Her eyes darted down. Her nails bit into his back the moment he bottomed out. “Hot little cunt, taking me so well.”

Rhys didn’t let her catch her breath before he started rolling his hips again, dragging in and out of her, animalistic pride beginning to build when he felt her thighs trembling around him and the hot little puffs of air against the shell of his ear, when each thrust was made easier by another gush of slick soaking his length. “So close,” she whined, writhing beneath him, his name falling from her lips in a constant chant.

His rhythm faltered, feeling his release within reach as well. “Come for me, Feyre.” She keened, needing that push over the edge. Flicking her clit, he slammed home, spilling into her the moment her teeth latched down on his shoulder, nails cutting into his back. A moment later she shuttered beneath him, her grip going lax. He couldn’t help but push her damp hair back from her sweaty face, kissing her brow. Not wanting to crush her, he turned on his back, repositioning her legs on either side of him.

“That was…” She sighed, eyes drooping. “Thank you.”

“Rest, Feyre. Before the next wave hits. I’ve got you."

~~~~~

Taglist: @lulling-night-sky // @edgyellie // @shallyne // @the-lonelybarricade // @darling-archeron // @goddess-aelin // @the-lost-changeling // @faeriequeensuriel // @pandavelaris // @s-uppertime // @elentiya-whitethorn // @acotar-fanns // @jealousveronya // @acourtofwips // @reverie-tales // @gwynkyrie // @corcracrow // @thelovelymadone // @rosanna-writer

#acotar #feysand #feyre archeron #rhysand #feyre x rhysand #omegaverse #omegaverse!feysand #feysand fic #fanfiction #pure self indulgence #i hope you enjoy it too #omega nesting

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deafsignifcantother · 1 day

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if music be the fruit of love, chapter two

♥ here you go lovies, it's series time | chapter one ♥ relationships: aroace Alastor x deaf female reader (queerplatonic tp romance) ♥ word count: 2.8k ♥ notes: reader is known for wearing dresses, reader has a tendency to squeeze her fists which causes her to bleed so it's kinda selfharm but it's not on purpose ♥ tagged here based on comments from first post: @abbyismywife @temptressofthetarrot

When he notices your bent fingers clawing at your palm, he politely puts his hand over yours. His eyes remain forward as if he didn't even move. It takes everything in you not to lean your head against Alastor's shoulder while you walk side by side. Your former position as an overlord operates you more than whatever affection you have. You slip your hand away from him, keeping them at your side, being conscious about not clawing at yourself. This close, with your shoulders nearly touching, you can bask in the moment of publicity.

You last walked through the public many years ago, in the days before you isolated yourself, you and he would walk side by side to the overlord meetings, signing drama and making fun of the annoying people in your lives. You remember how much he used to make you smile by enacting his killings in perfect (and rather specific) motions. He told those stories over breakfast, no matter where the two of you were.

Hell has changed a lot. The colors are brighter. From your little house in the forest, the red sky was all you could see; there were no blues and purples and pink. Alastor's ears were particularly stiff in this area, primed for a threat. You try to ignore it, not showing any emotion that can spark conversation. You're tired of hearing about the V's. It seems the V's have got hold of Pentagram City; how scary is that? They still reek of impertinence and idiocy.

Alastor's used to having eyes on him when he's out and about, but today is different. Eyes dart between him and you, some demons grimacing while others speedwalk away. People hear your music over the sound of his static. It's odd, why are your songs so pleasant now? Before, demons would physically push you out of buildings and cover their ears whenever you walked by. The tunes from you either reeked of aggression or grief, equally miserable.

One would assume that now, Alastor was controlling that little stereo in the center of your chest, which is far from the truth, lest the thought of metaphorically.

There is absolutely no way you would want to know whether the strangers on the street were staring at you in fear or with sadistic pleasure at your happiness.

A part of your brain thinks they're staring at you because of your outfit. You had no plans for going out today and didn't bother to prepare a gown for the walk (certainly not through this terrain). Your little getup is the most casual common folk have seen you.

Oh, how you've changed.

Again you have to come into the present to stop yourself from clawing, Alastor would be worried, perhaps doing something as idiotic as touching you again, no matter how light.

You stare at the ground while the the sidewalk becomes more of an ascent until his steps stops and his breathing evens out next to you. He's calm on this side better side of the Pentagram, that's for sure. Before you can look up to meet his eyes, your gaze locks onto a stone path that splits up, both reaching this dazzling red building. Ah, so here it is.

His smile widens as your songs quiet down, the decrescendo sounding as if one were turning down the volume on a radio. The best part is that he can never tell if you do that intentionally or not.

He nudges your shoulder before putting a more serious look on his face.

"Now," he signs. "I could only assume they haven't even seen a Deaf person."

Charlie has. But you don't interrupt.

"You're quite the magnet for nosiness, but I know you can handle it. Won't you?" He ends the sentence by pulling on the skin of your cheek and shaking it as one would a child.

Beneath the pads of his fingers holds a warmth that not even his gloves can cease. The longer the wait, the more you want to turn back. You didn't ask to be here, and this is all because you knew he wasn't going to give up until you at least visited. He was eager, as he always is. You know better than to ignore him when he gets like that. Perhaps that's why he likes you so much.

With no response to him other than a roll of your eyes, you turn your body and continue up the path. The building is looming, way too big, and the exterior is intimidating.

Alastor watches as you trot along before him, not even turning back. His smile widens. It reminds him of when he'd have to make your lights flash green to alert you he arrived to convince you to join him at the overlord meetings. You'd fear making everybody sad, but the moment you both neared the building, you entered the elevator first and excitedly sat at the table. Carmilla had those slides up, spending her time before meetings, making them easily understandable without verbal explanation. No one in that room felt miserable, and though you convinced yourself it was due to them not having experienced love, you didn't realize it could have been due to Alastor's presence, the way you looked at him with stars in your eyes.

Assertive, that's a word he still uses to describe you. Hesitant but assertive.

It's a cool afternoon; the hill only gets colder the higher it goes. He hardly spends time trudging up this thing. But seeing you and the way you eye the floor in front of you as if you could fall at any second is worth the hike. Hundreds of lights illuminate the terrain, drawing particular attention to the golden door you find yourself in front of.

You stand still while waiting for his instruction. All he does is put a fist in front of his mouth, which you understand as him clearing his throat, before throwing the door open dramatically.

His slipping into his little performances will always be so charming. Sooner than later everybody's eyes land on you. Alastor was right; only a few people came forth to stay.

"Husk," you whisper under your breath, one of the few moments you use your voice, always impulsive and out of shock. Someone else in the room is also in complete shock.

Charlie points a finger at you, motioning loudly, before rushing over. She waves, not a casual hi but a practiced hello.

The two words that come from her lips are easy to read.

"It's you!" She says.

You bow your head, keeping your eyes on you, a small smile forming on your lips. Your hands don't lift to sign. You remain quiet. That snaps her out of her enthusiasm.

"Oh, right!" But before you can attempt to distinguish anything else, she turns her body away and faces Alastor. Expected.

A few people in here you recognize. Nifty gains your attention by how she circles you quickly, looking you up and down.

"No dress?" She signs. You just shrug, eyebrows twisted up with a more nonchalant smile. Your peripheral spots a tall, lanky figure approaching.

She wiggles her fingers, more to herself than to you. "Weird."

The figure steals your attention by pressing a finger hard into the visible speaker that protrudes from your chest. As if surprised, he immediately backs up, having expected to feel vibrations of music and not your direct heartbeat.

The longer you stare at him, the more he doubles down, hearing the music transition from major to minor. Angel's eyes start to widen, and his heart sinks as he feels that familiar pit in his stomach.

Savior as he always is, Alastor summons himself and grips Angel's shoulders, leaning in and speaking something you don't hear.

Charlie grabs your hand and pulls you to her. Everything around you is crowded; there's constant movement and many people to try to pay attention to. This is the most people you've seen in over ten years. Mortification lodges itself within you, as sudden as an arrow. Sure, you recognize more than half, but that doesn't offer relief. At least they aren't annoyed with you, not yet, anyway.

Instead of trying to communicate again, Charlie puts her hand on your shoulder, exaggerating her cheeks as she breathes in and out. You can see the gentleness in her eyes. Submitting to her care is like second nature. Perhaps this place isn't as bad as you thought.

Vaggie stares at you with thought. Her expression softens, but for only a moment before her soldier-like exterior snaps back into place. She knew signs of war efforts, but that was from Heaven. She had no clue what sign language you were fluent in, but it certainly wasn't hers. She wouldn't be able to help you in your situation. Your only hope, she realizes, is Alastor. What a difficult position to be in.

Vaggie peels her eyes away when Alastor manages to take your full attention. Using the window of opportunity, she grabs Charlie and relays her thoughts.

Alastor's gaze catches on the stereo speaker in your chest. "No fingerprints, that's good."

"Rather rude, wasn't it?"

"Very."

His smile calms to match yours. Angel, out of everybody, is the most put off by how content Alastor gets when he is within close proximity to you. It's as if you're flicking a switch. Even Angel felt a wave of sadness, which he would describe as despicable recollections, the moment he approached you. He watches as you take Alastor's hand, and how the wicked Radio Demon doesn't pull away. This is insanity, he thinks, I need a drink.

Alastor only retracts his hand when beginning to sign. "Now, where should your room be?"

Your cheeks heat. "You really are making me stay, aren't you?"

"Well, you're already here, darling."

He leads you up a beautiful staircase. Everybody steals a glance at the two of you, walking in perfect sync, close together, while your heart radiates jazz. Charlie can't help but jump in happiness.

"Now, my dear, would you like the pleasure of choosing or shall I?"

A tremendously long line of doors greets you. You half-expect a spotlight to snap into existence and illuminate whatever door he wants you to pick.

You shake your head, putting a hand to your temple while the other signs. "You can choose."

"Delightful! Right across from mine will do just fine."

And once he opens the door now assigned to you, the first thing he does is start to decorate. You don't move a muscle as he summons furniture similar to the one in your home. Your eyes stay on your bed. Having Alastor so close to it makes you smile. He's in your bedroom again. The last time he was anywhere near your chambers was years ago when he had walked you to sleep, tucking you in after hours of you saying you wanted to stay up and continue talking to him. He had promised to visit again before making sure you were safe in bed, touching his staff to your bare sternum, sending comforting vibrations of soft music to your skin. He didn't visit for many moons after that.

If he's making it like home, you'll give it a chance.

You pause when you notice what he placed above the fireplace. It's a painting of you, one that definitely hadn't existed before, with an elegant dress of red. It is reminiscent of portraits of royalty. He needs to stop being so sweet; it's starting to get overwhelming, but god, the way his eyes watch you to witness your reaction is captivating. It's enough to convince you to stay.

"Maybe I should put it up in my room, too." He signs while rounding a lounge chair he had snapped in. With one last snap, the fireplace lights, blazing the room with the might of a thousand candles. You've never seen a fireplace before.

By the time you look at him again, his jacket is draped across the back of the chair.

You sit next to him. "This will make it a lot easier for you to come visit, won't it?"

Even without the intention of the jab, his smile still widens in retaliation.

"I like our time alone, such a shame you chose the most inconvenient place."

You laugh, the noise croaky as you realize it was a jab in response.

He shrugs, breaking the eye contact by staring into the fire, resting his cheek against his knuckles and pressing his elbow into the armchair. His free hand continues to sign. "And now you're here."

If you thought to see it, you could notice how his gaze softened, but you were focused on how subdued his hand movements became. This is the Alastor you love to see, one so content by your side, one who trusts you with his life. You're his 'sweet little thing,' his 'cherished other,' his 'best friend,' and yet still his 'sweetheart.'

The longer you stare at him, the more uncovered his sentiments are. With the slight droop of his ears and the lowering of his lids comes the acknowledgment that this isn't a fantasy. You push your foot close to him and gain his attention.

"Then I should apologize."

His ears are erect again, and his head lifts. "For what?"

"Being so far away from you."

As quick-witted as he tends to be, his response came slower than he would have liked. To the average person, it would have looked like he was attempting to interpret English into signs, but to you, he was analyzing your intentions.

You really did hate burdening him with your isolation and your sensitivity. He has always been so lenient with you, and you've never tested his patience as a result. You're not going to push your luck.

"Far away?" Alastor leans back, gaining character again. "A simple stroll through the forest never harmed anybody, my dear. There's no need to worry about silly ol' me."

You close your eyes to hide how they rolled. You hated how he interpreted that, the pouting of his lips through his smile.

You mimic how he signs, "Inconvenient place."

"Just a jest," he waves his hands dismissively. How eager he is to console your worries, even if it's true or not.

"Always so funny, aren't you?"

"Very much, my dear, it's such a burden."

The most treacherous men smile at the desire-filled state of others, and that's what Alastor is known for. Yet here he sits, lying through his teeth once he realizes his words might have hurt you. He is conditioned to this, isn't he? Realizing the emotional pain he could cause someone he enjoys being around. The soft touches he always tends to give you, the ones you accept without fear, do not belong to someone who is truly treacherous.

He watches as you bite your lip in thought. "My dear, which do you believe is true?"

You tilt your head. "I don't think it matters, you came and visited me either way."

"That's good." He leans forward and dips his head. "I'm off to bed."

He stands, grabbing his jacket and not facing you, not watching for a goodbye.

Ending any meeting this way is not exactly rare, but it's always him teleporting rather than walking out.

Another eye roll. He's such a baby sometimes, so used to withholding affection to the point where even his own tenderness irritates him. One day he'll get over it.

Husk pulls Charlie aside. Of course with that comes Vaggie, and then Angel who only wants to know what everybody is hanging around the bar for. The group listens to Husk as he talks. He keeps his voice low, speaking fast before his owner hears your name and arrives. But Alastor is still in his room, somber.

Husk has all the time he needs.

Back when you were an overlord, the sight of you made people believe they were in a nightmare. Your music enchanted people, making them cower beneath you, bursting into tears as they recounted the evil people they'd been around, specifically the wrong people they loved. It was the curse that Hell gifted you. Initially, when you first fell into these depths, you cherished your ability, recognizing your unique circumstances. But then the reason you were given the capability became clear: it was a mirror of your living, a constant reminder of the sorrow you were forced to endure.

Regardless, Husk hated being around you. You gave him fear, but that didn't stop him from seeing your effects on those suffering from your grief. Their eyes got bloodshot, and their minds raced to the point where they could hardly form words.

The sadness you provoke dissipates after days of non-contact, but your impression lasts forever.

During his monologue, the sound of your music was still heard in the distance, too faint to recognize and put a tune to the melody but audible enough to send an unease through Husk and his recollection.

When asked why none of them were affected, he just shrugged, putting a bottle to his lips.

"Must be something in the water."

#x deaf reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #x reader #alastor x reader

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malu-uchiha6492 · 2 days

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Undesirable encounter

(Claude Frollo X Female reader)

Synopsis: You were the new seamstress in Paris and Frollo suspects that you were harboring Romani in your shop. It looks like your first start was more tense than you expected...

A/n: I confess that I am in love with the Hunchback of Notre-Dame and I especially love the book. I hope you readers like it, and if you want to give me tips I accept (you can correct me too) If you want other Disney characters, you can ask me💕.

(Guys, I don't know if you know, but the word "gypsy" is a slur and should not be used, the correct one is "Roma" Or "Romani people" I put "Gypsy" only in Frollo's lines since you know the type of person he is.)

It was just another ordinary day in Paris, you had arrived in the city a few months ago and worked as a dressmaker. You immediately became known for the beautiful dresses you produced for the girls and the beautiful clothes for the boys too. You had an excellent aesthetic sense.

But what you had in the way of talent, you also had in the way of kindness. When you heard about the persecution of the Romani people, you felt touched by the situation and decided to help them. It was very risky, but you weren't going to stand by and let it happen like the other citizens of Paris were doing, letting themselves be manipulated by Frollo and his hate speeches. There was a basement in your house that you used to store fabric and sewing materials. You took advantage of that room to help some Romani hide in case of emergency if they were being chased by the guards and if there was no time to run to the court of miracles.

And so it went on, you were extremely careful not to leave any traces, until one day or another these "rumors" ended up reaching the judge.

You were sewing up the sleeves of a client's dress, which had been placed in the moulage to make it easier for you to work, and your attention now turned to the bell that rang as soon as the door was opened. Immediately, the atmosphere of the place changed when you saw who had entered. You knew those clothes, the face worn by age and you couldn't forget that look of superiority and pride, because himself thought he was important and better than everyone because of his opposition and faith. Looking behind those glass windows, you could also see some of his men at the front of the store:

“Bonjour, ma'am.” Frollo said sternly, snapping you out of your thoughts. That thick, authoritative voice gave you the creeps. “I'd like to know who owns this establishment. Your husband is here?”

“A-Ah! Good morning...” You forced a smile and stuck the needle into the moulage so you wouldn't lose it. “Your Honor, I'm the owner, and no, I don't have a husband.”

As you said this, the judge looked you up and down with contempt. Of course, in the 16th century, a young woman like you not being married was a disgrace to society, and on top of that, being able to read and owning your own business was even worse. You weren't tense or nervous with him in your store, on the contrary, you were so calm... After all, you cleaned out the basement and removed any evidence as soon as a family of Romani's moved out recently:

“I've received information that you've been harboring gypsies in your house and I'm here to find out the facts, have you been harboring gypsies?” He got straight to the point.

“No, sir.” You pretended to be as honest as possible, fortunately you were good at lying.

“You know that if you lie, the sentence for insubordination is death...” He moved closer in an attempt to intimidate her.

“My conscience is clear. You have permission to investigate my store, since my words don't apply to you.”

“If I wasn't allowed to, seamstress, I'd still make a point of searching this place from top to bottom, whether you agree or not.”

The older man signaled for some of his men to enter the store before you could protest or complain. Since you were the only one who seemed to have enough courage to go against the judge's ideas when you were right. They went in and started rummaging around for clues, looking everywhere, even under the skirts of the dresses on the mannequins.

Frollo looked you up and down in an nothing unobtrusive way, you didn't notice the glances, but as soon as you did, it gave you the creeps and you avoided looking back at him. He had never noticed you in the city before and he noticed your accent, deducing that you might be a foreigner. The judge couldn't take his eyes off you, you were a very beautiful woman and seemed so delicate, and it seems that some feeling awakened in him when he saw that you were without gloves and your dress showed your shoulders. He came out of his thoughts when a guard approached:

"Sir, we've looked everywhere and found nothing..." Being a clever woman, an idea came to your mind: perhaps it would be better if they looked at everything to leave you alone.

"Have you looked in my basement, gentlemen?" you asked, kicking the rug that hid the small door in the wooden floor of your store.

Frollo was suspicious, but sent his men in to search every corner of the small cellar. Fortunately, they didn't find anything either, just sewing materials and expensive fabrics. After looking around in vain, the men left the store, leaving you and the judge alone:

“I apologize for this inconvenience.” He said as you went to the moulage to finish the dress.

“You shouldn't believe every rumor out there, Your Honor, not all of them can be true.” You said politely. “but apologies accepted, I know it was for the good of Paris and you care a lot about the city.”

Returning to work, you thought he would leave after all that had happened and notice you "busy" sewing, but no, he stayed in the store while walking slowly around analyzing his surroundings:

“This basement...” He pointed to the carpet above the small door. “Why was it hidden?”

“I don't see the need to show everyone that I have a basement here.” You replied nonchalantly. “and besides, I think that old door would spoil the pretty look of my store.”

Frollo didn't seem to believe in that very much, but you shrugged and continued sewing. There were a few seconds of silence, you could only hear his footsteps coming towards you and could feel that man's gaze on you all the time, causing you a certain nervousness or fear. What did he want anyway?

“Do you want anything else?” you asked in an attempt to break the silence and take your mind off the discomfort of feeling his gaze on you, stopping your sewing and looking at him now.

“I just want you to know.” He said, standing close and looking at her with disgust. “I'll keep an eye on you, I won't trust a literate, single woman so easily... I know women of your kind.”

“I don't think who I am or what I do has anything to do with helping... Ouch!” You interrupted yourself with pain when you felt the needle pierce your finger. It was normal for this to happen when were working with sewing, but it had never been this deep, Maybe it happened because of the anger you was feeling at that moment.

Immediately you dropped the needle out of sheer instinct, and in a quick and daring moment Frollo grabbed your hand with a certain amount of force, bringing it in front of his face, which had a small smile of satisfaction on it. The judge was a sadomasochist, he enjoyed seeing someone in pain, especially when it was someone he thought deserved such a punishment. You were shocked by his attitude, you weren't expecting it and didn't know how to react. What was he doing? Frollo continued to hold your hand, watching the small drop of blood ooze from your pricked finger, but his attention wasn't just there, it was on your fingers, your soft skin and the sensation it brought when you touched it with the contact of the warm hand and his, which was a little cold:

“What are you doing?” You asked, with a bit of hatred for such a vulgar and daring attitude, and he laughed a little.

“What would the church think of a woman exposing her bare hands in front of a high-ranking man like me?” You had no reaction for fear. Gradually his fingers entwined in yours and you saw that his eyes went to your small cleavage and your bare shoulders. “And it's not just your hands that are exposed...”

You quickly pulled your hand free and he looked at you incredulously:

“My hands are only exposed because I can't wear gloves when I sew, and you still don't have the right to do that. It's in the Bible; If your eye or your hand causes you to sin, throw it away!” A small smile came to Frollo's face when he heard that.

“So bold... It's typical of women like you to turn away from guilt in order to confuse men's minds with pagan thoughts, but that doesn't matter any more...”

He walked away, heading for the door to leave, but first his attention turned to you:

“It was a nice chat, seamstress... I want you to make me a cloak and sew me a pair of gloves, I'll be expecting you to deliver them tomorrow night.”

After saying that, he left, leaving you with no reaction to what had just happened. You were angry, but at the same time relieved that he hadn't found out. As soon as he left, you stared at your hand, which he touched and intertwined with his large, thin fingers. You'd have to be more careful now, he'd be stalking you and the reason wouldn't just be because he suspected you of helping the Romani people, it would be because of something else and you know exactly what it was and what his intentions were...

End...

#the hunchback of notre dame #disney #disney x reader #fanfiction #claude frollo #frollo x reader #judge frollo #claude frollo x reader #clopin trouillefou #judge claude frollo #thond #esmerelda #disney villains #disney villains x reader #captain phoebus

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afreakingdork · 3 days

Text

Weak Spot - Finale - Chapter 70

RotTMNT Donatello x Reader

Warnings: Aged-up Turtles, Romance, Meet Cute, Villain Donatello, Cussing, Crushes, Xenophobia, Fear, Intimidation, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Hurt/Comfort, Love, AFAB Reader, Vaginal Sex, Sex Rough, Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Creampie, Teasing, Scent Kink, Sexual Tension, Breeding Kink, Multiple Orgasms, Cunnilingus, Fellatio, Marathon Sex, Somnophilia, Bondage, Feral Behavior, Feral Donatello, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Public Sex, Dom Donnie, Human/Turtle Relationships, Turtle Noises, Roleplay, Sexual Roleplay

Synopsis: A love story of villainous proportions! Though it hadn’t come easily, as these things rarely do, you found yourself in a whirlwind romance with a handsome and mysterious mutant. His idiosyncrasies had been easy to ignore as attraction grew into something more. However, will love endure when the unknowns about him end up being far darker than you ever considered?

Also available on Ao3

First 💜 Previous

LAST WARNING FOR THE 🍋 UNDER THE CUT. MINORS DNI!

Warm.

Sun kissed, you were drunk on cradled heat.

Even under the gorgeous umbrella, it only felt like a momentary reprieve from the caressing warmth. It lingered, bouncing off granules of sand, before trying to sneak up onto your huge towel. Bits sprinkled your feet and legs from where you’d traveled back from the ocean and you cared little as you were hunkered down in an oasis.

Your honeymoon.

What a great descriptor for such a vacation, you thought. It was the epitome of nature’s sweetness and it was by the moonlight your charted days. With little fanfare after your wedding had eaten up the rest of everyone’s excitement, the trip to the airport a few days later had been a simple affair. Everything else had been accounted for so all you had to do was make it to the plane. The only surprise had been Spencer’s wedding gift; a pass for Donnie to legally traverse international lines as a temporary brokered deal with the US government, it seemed silly at first.

The trip had long been booked and Donnie had gone through all the back alley protocol necessary. He had his pseudonym down, the cloaking brooch, and all necessary, albeit illegal paperwork to sneak away. Having a formal printed document saying he was allowed to do what he was going to do anyway was something was the epitome of superfluous.

Donnie didn’t see it that way.

From his choice of a white suit, his marriage to you was his new beginning. He was not some unsullied being, but instead the color change represented his yielding. He was moving beyond what had come before, his darkness, and with it he was made anew. His legitimate work had always been, for him, some petty agreement as officials saw use of his mind after they found they could not forcefully obtain it. He had then later committed to it being his only job title as he explored his new self that had options. Having been acknowledged by his legitimate work, through Spencer’s hand or not, still spoke something of trust. Someone above in the hateful industry believed he could safely leave the country and that struck him deeply. It was validation upon the thousand he already had and you’d seen him hug Spencer unprompted.

It was probably the most contact the two had ever had and Spencer exploded into tears which he sobbed into darkened dots onto Donnie’s pale tux until his wife hauled him away.

She was a nice lady.

You liked her very much.

Donnie ditched the fake paperwork, successfully fought the airline for the corrections, but kept the brooch in the end. Traveling in human form afforded him more freedom which he appreciated in movement. Even with first class’ luxury accommodations, the seats sat human bodies better and you had seen him doze off for a few decent hours in the middle of your flight. You sipped champagne, perused a few movies, and indulged in first class fare all the while.

It was only the beginning of your decadence.

For what seemed like all the money in the world, you were greeted at the airport.

All the small irritations of travel were taken care of and you took a cushy bus ride along stunning carved paths with views of the sea. Lapping waves and stunning views had you glued to the window and Donnie had the driver pull over twice so you could admire. Your husband had ditched his brooch since leaving the airport as all staff from now on were known and under his dime. His scales glistened from the sea and you excitedly took picture after picture before finally allowing the car to get to the resort.

The manager there reminded you of Spencer because he was still trying to upsell such loaded guests, but Donnie dispelled the eagerness with ease by giving a stern acknowledgement of his ploy and telling him there was no need. It startled the man and Donnie requested only privacy before you headed to your room. An enormous suite that put not only your apartment, but the Kumonosu room to shame, it was almost like you’d rented an entire house. You gallivanted through each room after Donnie sent his baubles out for their scans. They sat dutifully in your protection and after touching just about every object that was temporarily yours, you approached your husband with open arms.

He took you in not only for a hug, but to bed.

It was where you stayed, only straying to desecrate literally every other part of the room in your promised fuck fest.

No one could ever say your union wasn’t consummated.

It was waking up dreary and delighted on the mid-morning of day five that you were finally weary of not your partner, but the room itself. There was only so much of the menu that could be delivered via room service and you had heard tell of incredible, but timely buffets. Donnie had tried bribing the bellhop, but not even the manager could make an exception as the food out there was being made for present guests. The chefs stood their ground which your mate accepted as it was a marker of pride.

You kissed your sleeping partner’s head before you snuck off to the shower.

He found you as you were lathered up and you were soon mounted against slick marble tiles.

You just barely made the breakfast buffets and thanked the ancient Italians for their pastry making.

Refreshed, it was a quick trip back to the room to prepare for time away. Asking your partner to apply sunscreen to your back had quickly led to a small diversion, but only about an hour later than you hoped, you were hopping down paved steps in sandals. You avoided the resort’s pools in favor of the actual beach. A whole section had been marked off just for you and by the time you hit the sand your shoes were gone. Donnie followed suit remembering the supposed protocol and you jokingly taught him how to skip on the way to your umbrella.

You’d played in the ocean for what seemed like hours until lunch was brought to you. Donnie spoke of how the foods were specifically chosen to complement the sea air and how it affected the palate. You listened with a dreamy expression before cuddling into him for a nap. You supposed on some level you should probably fear a vacation, but you didn’t have it in you. Unlike the Hidden City, neither of you had history here. Though mutants had spread out around the world over time, most of them still resided in America. Here in Europe, they were mostly seen in bigger cities.

That might have meant Donnie’s existence would bring about whispers, but this resort was one that catered to a specific clientele. Celebrities and the like came here to be free from judgment and paparazzi. The company had built a reputation on such safety and with it the hush ran similarly through the guests. Parties rarely looked up from their own bubbles which meant Donnie could move freely and he did.

Outside of doting, it was impossible to miss the wide-eyed way he was taking everything in. A new culture, a new history, and travel he was never before allowed to take, he was devouring everything with a hunger similar to your own. Shreds of him clung to concerns, but on the whole, he was more free than you’d ever seen him.

You could also feel his composure.

Your rings linked and spoke of only happiness.

You were moved lightly from your cozy cocoon and you chirped sleepy.

“I’d like to swim again.” Donnie brushed a hand against your cheek.

“How’s the salt?” You murmured as he set you down, fully on the blanket.

“Drying, but not unmanageable. I brought a new body wash formulation to correct my skin’s pH. I’m interested in its effectiveness throughout our stay.”

“On you?” You nuzzled against his hand and didn’t bother opening your eyes.

“Yes.” He tapped your nose.

You giggled.

“An employee passed not too long ago and I signaled him to bring drinks in about an hour.”

“Do we have to leave!?” You stretched out your complaint.

“Technically…?” Donnie dipped to kiss you.

You opened your eyes to see your husband.

You committed his smile to memory.

“I’ll join you in a bit. Gonna get up nice and slow.” You decided, feeling particularly lazy.

He chuckled. “Understood.”

“Find me a cool shell.”

“The ecosystem…” Donnie complained.

“I’ll throw it back? I want to see one.”

Donnie made a slight grumble before he agreed.

You got a second kiss and he was off.

You rolled over and stretched languidly. A few cracks gave way to another wave of drowsiness and you decided that the drinks arriving would wake you. Drifting off, it felt like only seconds passed when you heard steps in the sand. Your throat felt parched right on time and you lolled your head to see not a staff member, but a regular man approaching.

You blinked at him a few times before you sat up on your elbows.

“Hey.” He raised his hand and tried to make his posture disarming. “Sorry to bother you, my wife lost her anklet and since we had this space yesterday, I wanted to come down and look.”

You stared at him.

He was a liar.

It was plain as day.

No man staying at this resort would lift a finger.

They’d have a lawyer here ready to sue before they thought of doing anything so menial.

There was more.

He’d asked no question.

He hadn’t asked to look.

The farthest he’d gotten was his pathetic story.

He now stood.

Obviously nervous from where you’d left him hanging.

Hands rung.

Dart of his eyes.

More signs of lying.

Above all though, you recognized this man.

He was the adult son of one of the other guests.

He’d been clearly hungover at the buffet just this morning.

You registered him only because his dad had been on a stern business call while his airy mother drank mimosas.

He’d been contrastingly catatonic and you’d heard staff try to rouse him so they could clean after he overstayed his welcome.

They offered him his choice of sparkling water and medicine for his headache.

He’d nearly slapped the tray away and stumbled to the pool.

Why was he here?

You continued to stare.

“Uh…?” He strung the sound out as if you should have bent over backwards for him.

“You know…” You rubbed your face and gave him a bored glance. “I’m over it. Over the interrupting. Over the bullshit. It’s my honeymoon. Is this gonna be a violent thing or a stupid thing?”

He jarred.

“Do you know what I have to deal with? No. I’ll answer that for you. You have no idea. I just, just, got my husband on the first vacation of his life. So please, whatever the hell you want, I’m busy. Just spit it out and go.”

“I love you.”

Your mouth opened and stale air came out.

“I know! Too fast, but you asked! Ever since I saw you this morning, you were all I could think about-“

“What time is it?”

He didn’t seem put off and rushed to get his phone. “3:14pm.”

“That’s what? Four…? Hours…? Ago… You’ve been in love with me for four hours?”

“Yes, I-”

“I mean, I guess I’ll give you that. That is a new one.” You pulled your legs up to lean forward on them. “Haven’t heard that one before.”

He stood and took on an appreciative quality where he was still wincing against the sun. “I just wanted-”

“What was your big plan with the anklet thing? Not enough that you’d try to pull me from my husband, but you added a weird cheating aspect to the mix…?”

“That’s well-”

“Like which one am I supposed to believe? The first is starting to sound more believable. Your plan is weirder the longer I think about it…”

He didn’t try to speak again.

It was his only saving grace.

You’d interrupted a few times, but he didn’t appear mad.

He was either patient, honest, or that stupid.

You’d believe all of the above, but mostly you believed he was dumb enough to still think he had any sort of chance..

“Have you seen a kelp man, by chance?”

He balked openly.

You chuckled.

He perked up at the sound “May I…?”

“No.” You smiled.

He looked newly put out.

You weren’t playing by some unseen script.

In his mind, you should have been kinder.

It spoke of privilege.

He’d probably never been denied a thing in his life.

“I’ll bite. What about me did it for you?” You tucked your cheek against your knee.

His chest puffed as if he’d been granted permission to state his claim.

He prepared the whole of himself before he resigned to word vomit. “Your smile. The way your eyes lit up when you took a bite of maritozzi. The way you laughed. You were totally open and you didn’t care. You didn’t give a shit about anything else. You just reached out and told someone how good it was and more. You kept talking, but it mattered. What you said mattered. You weren’t saying what someone wanted to hear or what you thought might be the best thing to say. You were talking because you wanted to. You wanted to share your joy and all I could think was, that’s what I want. Something real. Something honest. Something happy.”

You wanted to laugh.

Instead you pasted on a face of thought.

Looking out to the ocean, you couldn’t see Donnie.

Through your ring he didn’t feel mad.

You reached through the connection.

He wasn’t far off.

A few miles off the beach which was a distance he could swim back in seconds.

You felt him respond to your probing with curiosity.

You soothed him intangibly, but the bubbles of comedy and strangeness must have come through because he started to head back.

You now had a timeline to respond to this stranger.

You could tell him how selfish he was for trying to leech happiness off someone else.

It wasn’t your problem that he couldn’t find it himself.

You could complain about all the things he’d made up about you just to fit his narrative.

You could ask him his age, the clear younger side of twenty, to validate your criticism.

You could even venture a guess at all the partners he’d had that had left him unfulfilled.

He even pegged you as the type to read romance novels.

He’d deluded himself thus far.

Instead, you picked the only piece you cared about.

His omission.

“Didn’t care that the someone who made me so happy, made me want to talk, made my everything, was my husband, huh?”

“That… thing!?” For the first time, his face contorted in disgust.

You let the same openly paint yours.

He waffled. “T-that-! I mean-! W-well it’s not l-legally binding, right?”

You held up your hand to show your ring. “State of New York begs to differ.”

“You’re not in New York.” He argued, hackles high.

“On my honeymoon, dipshit.”

“D-dip-!?”

“You come down here. Against the rules, by the way.” You stood and dusted the latent sand off your legs before throwing up pure hatred at him.

The man seemed to rethink his entire life.

“Which, oh I’m gonna tattle. I don’t give a shit. I’m telling your bigwig dad and the fucking hotel. I’ll get a fruit basket and you’ll get the bitch session of your fucking rich ass life!” You stormed toward him and he shrank a few fearful steps back.

You had a hand up and jammed an angry digit into his chest. “That’s not love! I’m not your fucking fantasy! I’m me! I’m with the love of my life! Who makes me happy! Who I had my fucking awesome meet cute with and guess what!? It was love at first sight! It was awesome! It’s been the best thing that’s ever happened to me! So don’t you dare even pretend to imagine me with anyone else because ‘that thing’ is the best damn person I’ve ever met!!”

You watched the man’s form wiggle as his knees spasmed. “But h-he’s a-!”

“Mutant!?” You roared in his face. “Yeah and the dick is out of this world!”

He trembled in time for the ocean to explode in a crashing wave.

The man fell to the ground and you turned to see a glorious image of your mate bursting from the sea as if he were Poseidon himself.

You smiled at him, not needing to do anything to make your expression as uninhibited as this man supposedly liked.

Donnie took long and seemingly languid steps to your side where he dripped muscle and his full height. “This beach is reserved.”

“I’m sorry!” The man broke out in actual tears before he scrambled, kicking sand up and back, and ran straight towards the hotel.

Donnie watched on for a moment before looking down to where his wet body had made him a sticky platform for the beach granules.

“He’s my new suitor.” You joked lifelessly.

“What.” Donnie graveled out, already annoyed with the sand.

You shook your head and led him back to the water while explaining what had occurred. Donnie reared to pursue, but you splashed water on his legs to rinse the sand off. It didn’t exactly quell him, but when you finished, the staff member was finally arriving with drinks and Donnie had a few choice words. The manager of the resort was soon at your umbrella, apologizing profusely and offering appeasing gifts. Stakes were raised in a negotiation type fashion and you were given a reservation at a luxe restaurant in the next town over. Along with a few bonus amenities and a special boat ride, the manager departed to enact his promises along with a few punishments.

You hoped no employees were caught in the crosshairs, but got little else out when your umbrella toppled around you. The huge thing encapsulated you and you yipped confusion until Donnie pressed into your space. You could still see, but the dreary orange hues from under the cover made space tight. You felt your mate’s breath more than saw him as his face shoved into yours. Sharing oxygen that was rapidly heated from the enclosed space, you imagined the umbrella jostled only a few suspicious times before Donnie was between your legs.

He settled for a damp space, set a pace, and you were soon leaking his possession down your ass and onto the towel. You were kissed affectionately and left deliciously full. Once again curled up, Donnie took to cleaning and making you decent before he finally lifted the umbrella. It came with a breath of fresh air that you gulped down.

“You’re insatiable.” You moaned in fading euphoria.

“You’re my spouse.” He nuzzled your neck.

“I love you.” You spouted and pulled him closer.

He came with adoration which you pecked back. Finally enjoying your melted drinks, you lounged before returning to the water where Donnie had been so rudely interrupted. You played a bit, vowed to get snorkels from the front desk, and returned to the resort building for that dinner reservation. The chariot came in the form of that original bus and you headed to a town where there was a lively seaside feel. Pebbled walkways spoke of age and the residents authenticated with their generations. Here townsfolk spied Donnie as an oddity, but his perfect Italian had them hollering excitement. After eating you were invited to someone’s home where Donnie’s translations skills were put to the test as he was both ruthlessly drilled and tried to explain to you what was happening.

The bus driver ended up joining and you didn’t start driving back until the wee hours of the morning. Light had yet to permeate the sky when you returned and you pretended to deboard the bus in return to the hotel, only to divert course for the beach. Donnie followed after, clearly fatigued, as you toed through sand. You led him straight to the water, where you stared out as it lapped at your ankles.

“Sun rises in the other direction.” He murmured as he slumped against your side.

You planted your feet to hold him up. “I’m betting on that.”

He made a soft, curious trill.

You leaned your head against his.

He lounged in your presence until the weight of standing wore on him.

The moment he lifted his body from yours, you took a few steps away.

He watched on, a little too tired to comprehend as you shed a soft shawl the family matriarch had draped over you. A little flick had the light fabric floating to the dry sands and Donnie trailed the flutter. When he returned you were getting your zipper and his eyes opened up as he caught wind of what you were doing. He leered openly, resisting coming close as you stripped down with an eye flicking back to the resort routinely. No one appeared around, but the second you were naked, you flung yourself into the water.

It rushed back and forth around you for a lazy current and in a glimpse you saw Donnie fight with his clothes. He stumbled once for the tired rush of it all, but got similarly nude before he too dove in. He was upon you immediately where he churred up a storm that rivaled the waves and twirled you around with his superb swimming. You giggled and reigned him in with slippery limbs. “Water’s warm.”

“Seventh warmest…” Donnie nuzzled your neck.

“You would know that…”

He hummed agreement and kissed you.

A gentle flow, you melded with his shape. He guided your hips, anchoring them to his and you tied the knot tight by locking your legs around him. You ground, feeling little more than water and his plastron. It took some adjustments from him with buoyancy, but he soon had a sturdier position to spread his legs. The moment he did, you felt his tail come up, trending in the direction necessary to copulate. You met it and brought your hand down to the smooth triangle. A few angles had you sliding the needle of it against your sex and made him all the more needy as with each pass you got closer to his pelvis.

One such bump felt his cock pressing at his entrance and you angled so he could drop inside. He tightened his grip on your waist and tipped you out for him so it’d be a comfortable entry. Two grinds and he slid slick straight into your heat and you groaned.

“So unfair we’ve been denied this! We were supposed to have done this forever ago!”

“Safer here…” Donnie rocked to get you both more comfortable. “Better.”

You groaned from the stretch of him and felt the moment he settled just right.

He snapped your body flush to him.

His intensity stoked you and you loved that he could still bring heat to your cheeks. “Do you think we'll always be like this?”

He leaned in so the tip of his beak touched your nose. “I do.”

“Marriage kink.”

He gave a single puff before he gave into open laughter.

“It’s a thing, probably. Everything’s a thing.”

“Is that what you’ve thought?” He bounced you in his lap.

You whimpered only once before you caught his shoulders to meet his strides.

He churred openly with a satisfied grin.

“We-we’ve been going at it nonstop…!”

“Because we can.”

“We always can!”

“Not like this.”

“Like what?” You were shifted and moaned wanton as he hit you in just the right way.

He was quiet.

Too quiet, in a way that said he was pushing your pleasure to distract you.

You dug your nails into the back of his head, above the scar there so he’d feel it.

He groaned and moved to switch pace, but you bucked your hips sharply, sending him into your recesses.

His eyes rolled and you yanked him down.

“Say it.”

He flicked his eyes away with shame.

“Say it, Don.” You squeezed your legs as hard as you could to prevent further movement.

He could easily break out, but he acted put off instead.

“Donatello.”

“Not married…”

You kissed him in reward.

“Time to make up for. Newly entwined.”

“Marriage sex isn’t different.” You chuckled and took the lead.

He focused only on keeping you afloat and melted into the water at your movements.

“I’ve been pushing you too, though. This one’s all me. I know you were tired.”

“Don’t change. Don’t stop.” He lifted you only a little higher than you were hiking yourself up.

“Want me?”

“Always.”

“Even when I’m old and gray?”

“Always.” He doubled down and pulled you harder.

You hooked his plastron to keep your mind right. “Even when I can’t do this?”

“This.” He was the one to pull you down and force you still. “Is a bonus. Always has been. Unnecessary to our bond. Enhances it, yes, but never has been a requirement. Exists outside my love for you.”

You wilted into him and tucked your forehead into his cheek. “Donnie…”

He pet your back.

He didn’t need to press its honesty.

You both knew.

You loved him.

You loved him so much.

His words stirred you like his wedding vows and there was something apropos about that.

You gave him a single look and he knew to continue.

This time slower, you moved together where your foreheads were cemented. The closeness meant you heard every little twitch and breath despite the water. The water sloshed in time and the whirlpool was the all consuming nature of your love. It swirled on, bigger than the sea and when high tide rolled in, it took with it your tandem cries.

You continued to linger, too close and making each other blurry images, as you twitched with the fill. To the brim as always and right where it needed to be, you hugged Donnie. He held you close in the water and you drifted as he stilled. A gentle to-and-fro with your proximity to the beach, prolonged soak in the salt soon stung your overtaxed sex. Sensitive, Donnie pulled out when necessary and it was with loose limbs that you crawled back to shore just as light streaked the sky.

It brought with it a sense of urgency and you decided to only wrap yourself in your shawl. With the rest of your clothes in hand, you teased him with a wink before running up the beach. He gave chase with his clothes waded up and both of you snuck your way through the hotel to not be spotted and berated for your nude states. It was an exhilarating additional high and he scolded you with kisses once you safely locked your bedroom door. It led to a quick boiling shower where you were both too fatigued to do much else and promptly passed out, still wet, in bed.

When you awoke it was late afternoon and you kicked away from dampness. Your husband was so exhausted, he dozed straight through your jostling and you spied something white sticking out near the door. You didn’t remember seeing anything on your way in, but there were a hundreds reasons why you might not have. Padding over to it, you found it to be on hotel stationary and could only think you were caught. Opening it and looking over, your worries evaporated as it was an invitation to go to town with the other patrons to explore local shops. “Donnie!”

He grunted in bed.

“Get up! We have like an hour!” You hopped over to him and bounced him on the bed.

He groaned loudly and only stopped when he noticed the paper in his face. “Hrm?”

“I’m gonna get ready!” You jumped off and headed toward the bathroom. “We need housekeeping to switch the sheets anyway!”

“The sheets-?!” He made a loud noise of disgust as he felt the latent moisture and was soon behind you brushing his teeth.

You pecked his grouchy form to raise his spirits and he surfaced with little excitement. The night out had been more than enough interaction for him and you offered for him to hang behind for some quiet. He resisted on the case of your honeymoon, but the moment you opened your mouth to say you’d stay too, he staunchly decided it was all he’d do.

You sighed, giving up against his stubbornness and vowed to have a casual day. Digging through your suitcase for something breezy to a city exploration, you frowned as you couldn’t find a particular pair of bottoms that you thought would be perfect. “Hey, Don, where are those… linen pants I had? I thought I packed them.”

“My case. I put them in the mesh bag since the fabric can be delicate.”

“Ah.” You moved to his suitcase and rummaged through a few items until you found it. “Thanks!”

He murmured an affirmation from the bathroom and, as you were putting the mesh bag back, you spied something.

“Don…!”

He stepped out in time and raised a drawn brow.

You held up an apparatus that clinked against itself.

“Ah.” He leaned in the door frame with a cocky smile. “Did I not mention I finished this?”

“You didn’t tell me you started! We talked about this like a year ago!”

“That long?” He churred as he approached. “Time flies.”

“Planning a wedding, so fun.” You gave him a sarcastic stare.

“My wedding?” He knelt down on one knee to kiss the side of your head. “To you? Quite.”

You bumped him and one of his arms came down to keep his half propped form stable. “When were you going to pull this out?”

“If the moment arose.”

“What kind of moment?” You laughed at his casualness.

“You know…” He hooked a finger into a loop. “One where I need to accentuate my possession. That is why it was created.”

“This not enough?” You maneuvered your left hand to his so your rings would click.

The action did nothing as the spell was now active, but still, its movement held meaning.

The highest being it made Donnie melt into a large green puddle every time it occurred.

He churred so loud into you, it stung your ears.

“I have… an idea…” You murmured against his shoulder.

He couldn’t break the rumbling and instead shifted its pitch to ask you what.

“I know you said you would never subject me to it again, but….”

The bus ride over to town was a rambling affair. Loud and boisterous as people tried to one up another on things they’d done so far on their various vacations, you leaned into Donnie. He tucked against you and was trying his best to zone out from the noise. You held his hand to help and he cradled your fingers in a way that said it did. Behind you, there was a fearful presence of the man who proclaimed his love for you. You’d glanced at him when boarding and the way he shrank away said he had his comeuppance.

He wouldn’t be a problem and he didn’t appear to register on Donnie’s radar at all so you rested on the ride. Eventually arriving at a different locale to the one you went to yesterday, you were filed out and lazily given instructions on when to return. People immediately left, thinking staff was on their time and it was sad to know that was partially true. You hoped the employees would be mean to those who lagged and you moved to pull Donnie along a thoroughfare. He recovered with the air and sun as it hung lazy in the sky. Joined fingers held you together as you looked and eventually came upon a market. There was chatter and hundreds of colored objects had you checking in with your overstimulated mate.

He passed you a fatigued smile and made mention of the open air. While there was noise both visually and aurally, the crowd was thinned out by the abundant space. It meant he was okay, but his eyes roved. You knew he cared little for the goods and you had a sense that the similarities to your last vacation were weighing on him. Change would help recontextualize these moments, so it was here that you excused him. He pecked your cheek and gave you a heated gaze that had promise of his protective gaze from afar before he walked away. You watched after his form with affection and then continued to shop. Buying some souvenir coral jewelry for Coral and a few trinkets for your family, you walked with your bags along the streets. You came out to a view of the ocean and lingered there for a long while.

It was beautiful, but the sun beat down mercilessly until it hummed in your ears. Taking it as a sign, you turned your back to the view and looked down the quiet street you’d come down. Its shade had a blue hue to it so when you entered it, it had a similar reprieve as dipping into the sea. You waded through stone paths, submerged, and headed towards the piazza. That thrum echoed and when you stepped out it was dead silent.

All the people from the resort and town were gone. If this were a movie, you imagined a wind would kick up a leaf just to accentuate the desolation. Instead, blocks of shadows from the late afternoon light begged to take the square. As the only occupants, they carved sharp figures of darkness out of the white shining stone ground. A severe contrast, it was only broken up by the trickle of water from a fountain. Donnie had taught you that these were installed in many stone cities to cool the air.

Walking towards it as a focal point, you looked from stall to stall. The shops sat empty with their wares lined up, waiting for both customers and salesmen alike. With no one around, there was no fear that anything would be stolen so you walked along and did a warped version of your earlier shopping.

You neared the end of one side of the square and out of the corner of your eye you saw something fly by. Turning fully to study the space, it was similarly empty, but you approximated the figure had dropped from a sloped roof on the south end of the piazza and had stowed themselves away down a thin strip between buildings.

In a quick jog, you took a wide curve around the fountain to look into the mouth of the alley from afar.

You had a straight view down the space and there was nothing there.

Humming loudly to dismiss the incident as no bother, you tucked your hands behind your back to stroll.

Out of the piazza and down another shade cooled walkway, you came upon a road that was darkened by tire treads. Motorbikes and the like took this path and you looked up and down to hear nary an engine.

The town was deserted.

You joked aloud about missing the bus.

You painted teasing woes about missing dinner.

In a skipping turn, you mooned over your husband and your interrupted honeymoon.

The city did not respond.

You made a sudden leap at the next alley, but it was equally empty.

Frowning, you turned to lean against a building just outside the mouth.

From the clue you had gotten, this seemed like the most likely direction.

The alley was also the only one you’d seen on the street, but Donnie wasn’t here.

Pursing your lips to one corner of your mouth, you wondered if you’d missed another signal.

You were both on similar yet different hunts.

This had been your proposal and what you agreed upon.

The chase that was on both your terms.

You gave Donnie time to prepare.

Donnie would toy with you while also dropping hints of his direction.

You’d both follow him and he’d have his game of cat and mouse.

Your bond was more than strong enough.

You were curious how he’d achieved the hypnosis this time.

You were pretty sure Hypno’s streetlights had been the cause before, but it was far too bright for such things.

Pondering how to get your leg back up in the chase, said sun glinted off metal in your periphery.

“Ha!” You spun towards it and saw nothing. “Now, wait! I just looked there! You weren’t there so why are you leading me back!?”

Grabbing the wall you looked into the alley which was just as empty as it had been before.

Narrowing your gaze, you studied the space.

You reached out and waved a hand in case there was camouflage.

Finding nothing, you wondered if it had been a trick.

Donnie could have thrown a coin which meant he was in the opposite direction.

No, you would have heard it land.

What else reflected light?

You did a quick cycling of your mental databases and came up with heliographs.

They used sunlight and mirrors which meant to shine one in your direction, he’d have to be on the roofs across the street.

Turning to study them, you walked out of the alley and tried to guess the angle.

You were squinting at the corner of one particular building when you felt something slither around your ankle.

Your body shuddered at the cold steely texture.

The shiver allowed the metal guise to wind and snake up under your pant leg.

“You jerk. I did find you…!”

Donnie churred and it echoed in the alley behind you.

“How’d you hide?” You wondered and felt another of his mechanical claws lick your other heel.

You didn’t need to turn because in a quick python’s coil, your legs were wrapped and you were brought to the mechanic’s master. “I wonder…”

Donnie stood in the mouth of the alley with his battle shell latched tightly to his back. The stabilizing piece around his waist now appeared more intricate and matched what was above it. Visible because he’d unbutton his baggy vacation top, straps of black leather belted his upper body. Disappearing over his shoulders, what crossed his chest was laid so that it perfectly fit around his pectoral scutes. The harness gave his chest a particular perky illusion and smaller neon purple o-rings connected the network to a large one riveted in his center.

It was the item you found in his suitcase.

It was the cinching piece that had him considering another chase.

It was a physical and weighty reminder of how he deferred to you.

With him wearing it, you both knew that he would keep a level head.

You also had your own role to play in the reassuring pantomime and it was why he’d left your arms free.

Reaching down, you set your purchases on the sidewalk and went for your little bag. It had a lengthy strap which was bolt snapped on either side in purple that not so coincidentally matched Donnie’s harness. “You letting me win?”

“Never.” He spoke in his own voice.

You smiled as you leaned forward.

The mechanical arms brought you in close.

He puffed out his chest with pride.

Pulling back the pin, you hooked the snap bolt into his center loop.

You let the bolt close and then wound the length of leather around your hand before yanking the leash hard.

He came forward with an all too eager jolt.

You pulled so he was positioned below you and you felt the mechanical arms raise you in reverence. “Admit I won then.”

“You won. You’ve always won.”

You smiled and pulled harder to kiss him.

“My heart.” He spoke right before your lips met.

💜THE END💜

For a final time in this fanfic, allow me to thank @tmntxthings and @thepinkpanther83 for all that they've done.

Thank you all again for reading and I hope you look forward to the sequel, Soft Spot, that will be premiering in a few weeks.

#weakspotfic #rottmnt #rottmnt donnie x reader #rise of the tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt x reader #donatello hamato #donnie x reader #rise donnie #rise donnie x reader #rottmnt donatello #rottmnt donnie #me #fanfiction #my fanfiction

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httpkaulitz · 3 hours

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PAIRINGS: Vampire!Bill x Female reader

CONTENT: Smut

SYNOPSIS: Bill is a little addicted to you.

WARNINGS: mention of addiction, mention of blood and bite, manipulation, fingering, oral (f receiving)

You met Bill by chance, after another day of work you were coming home and literally bumped into him. Staggering and somewhat disoriented, he didn't know where he was.

Against all your thoughts of self-preservation you took him home and took care of him.

When Bill told you he was a vampire, you thought he was crazy and when he showed you what he was you strangely remained calm. Somehow you felt like he wouldn't hurt you. And he never did.

All the blood he had from you was given to him willingly. You wanted to help him and so you did.

And it was by wanting to help him that you ended up in this situation.

"What do you want?" Bill asked impatiently.

"What I want?" You repeated, looking at yourself in the mirror. "Nothing. I'm happy."

He let out a frustrated groan before taking a deep breath. You watched him straighten up, though the action was considerably less intimidating. His bleached blonde hair was disheveled and tangled with a light sweat on his forehead.

"Damn it." You observed. “you’re worse than an addicted.”

“Brilliant deduction! Do you want a fucking medal?” You raised an eyebrow.

Bill slapped his face, rubbing his stubble tiredly.

“Can’t you just help me?” He was always ready to dramatize, you already knew his tactics. You turned to him.

“We have already had this discussion. No." You said firmly.

"I can give you-." He started to speak but you interrupted him before he could even continue his speech about how good he could be and give you expensive things that you never had. You've been through this before.

"Nothing." You interrupted, crossing your arms. “I don't want anything from you, Bill. I like my life. I like my boyfriend. I like my job. There is nothing I want from you that can change my mind. Plus, I’m pretty sure I can think of a handful of humans who would be more than willing…”

“I DON’T WANT ANY IDIOTS OFF THE STREET!” His jaw was tense. If he applied more force, you'd think he might break his molars. “I want your blood. Yours. Do I need to spell this out for you?”

He approached you, brown eyes glaring at you.

"Please." His voice was almost pleading.

Inhaling silently, you studied him with half-closed eyes.

A second later and you shook your head.

“There is nothing special about my blood. You're being needy because I was there for you when no one else was. It was my mistake. I won't let that happen again.”

Before he could lift a finger, your arm flew forward. Either he was too weak to fight back or he wasn't even trying. Whatever the reasoning, you were easily able to make him fall back into a chair.

He didn't seem surprised by the gesture, nor did he try to fight it.

“I’m going to meet my boyfriend.” You said approaching him. “When I come back, you will be gone.”

“Liebe.” He whispered with furrowed brows and doe eyes.

“Bill, stop. You're better than that." You paused, grimacing. “I'm serious, control yourself.”

His head fell back and despite your better judgment, you went to his side. The last thing you needed was a drugged-out vampire in your apartment.

The moment one of your hands wrapped around the back of his head, Bill grabbed your wrist.

The pressure was gentle but sticky. His reddish brown eyes tried to mask a poorly concealed despair. Both pupils were dilated.

"You know." He drawled, bringing the back of your hand to his cheek. "You're my favorite human."

“I’m not yours.” You corrected, unable to not find his attention somewhat amusing.

“Oh, but you are.” He snapped and you rolled your eyes, the stubble rubbing against the skin of your hand like sandpaper. “It means your blood is very special. You are my special human. I don’t want anyone’s blood but yours.”

He continued stroking your hand. You found it slightly disturbing and strangely adorable.

“Quick fix.” He whimpered softly, pulling your fingers up to his lips as he blinked rapidly. “Just a taste will be enough for me. I won’t bother you again after this.”

You let out a pained gasp, your thumb thoughtlessly brushing his upper lip. He responded by kissing the tip of your thumb.

“I won't do it again. This is the last time, okay?” You always said that and you both pretended to believe it. The truth is, you couldn't say no to him even if you tried.

"Sure." He agreed, releasing your hand. "Last time."

✮✮✮✮✮✮✮

“Oh, Jesus, not again.” You exclaimed impatiently.

This time, he was lying in your bed, with the sheets piled up beside him. Your comforter was thrown somewhere on the floor.

“Liebe.” He greeted you lazily. Despite knowing his name, he never used it. Always using some German word that you didn't know what it meant. “I'm glad you're here. Would you mind giving me some liquid?”

You shook your head in disbelief.

"Unless you want me to piss in your mouth, I suggest you get out of here." You responded sarcastically without patience.

“Piss in my mouth?” He repeated slowly. Without warning, he burst into laughter, fingers gripping the sheets in delight.

You made a mental note to change them after he left.

“I’m an eccentric bastard, but not that eccentric.” He said. “You said last time that you wouldn't donate again, but you don't understand. You don't understand the euphoria you give me. It’s… I imagine it’s magical.”

''I'm sure you can live without it.'' Spinning around, you quickly rid yourself of the shirt, tossing it onto a nearby chair. You took a deep breath, arms reaching for the ceiling. The position was maintained until you felt the pleasant burning in your muscles.

"But I do not want." He says thoughtfully.

“That doesn’t surprise me.” You mumbled, taking off your jeans.

He didn't respond to your joke. Instead, he got up from the bed. Not that you heard or noticed it.

Until you felt the unexpected pressure of two warm hands resting on your hips.

“Bill.” You warned, looking at him over your shoulder.

"Hmm?" He hummed, shamelessly pressing into you.

“Get off me.” You whispered seriously hoping he would respect your request.

"I don't want." His grip tightened. You tried to ignore his hardened length digging teasingly against your ass.

“I heard a rumor that you’re not happy with your little toy.” He whispered in your ear huskily. You were so shocked by his boldness that you ignored how your skin crawled.

"You don't have ri-."

"It is not?" Bill asked with a raised eyebrow. “I keep tabs on my favorite human.”

You weren’t sure if he was serious or bluffing.

“So, you have romance, flowers, blah, blah, etc.” He listed, two fingers slipping under the band of your panties but not going any further. “But when it comes to being naughty, he falls a little… boring.”

A calloused hand brushed against your ribcage, nails grazing the skin experimentally. Involuntarily, your breathing became shallow.

“A little sexually frustrated, aren’t you?” He continued.

You were ready to lift a heel and tap his toes when, without warning, he grabbed one of your breasts, smirking when you shivered.

“I could do anything you wanted.” He suggested, brushing the outline of your hard nipple with his thumb. “I could be a good boy for you, if you want. I could easily spend hours paying attention to your pretty pussy, you know. I spent a beautiful day or two thinking about it.”

His breath sent a wave of goosebumps across your shoulder.

“Playing with your clit. Sucking it. Making you all nervous. Always giving. I don't have to worry about my own needs. I’ll put my tongue to good use, ma’am.”

Your hips moved forward as the two previously inactive fingers slid across the opening, not penetrating but brushing the sensitive wetness with tantalizing intent.

Protesting the action would have been counterproductive. Despite Bill's irritating nature of manipulating and being a general jerk, his words were leaving you embarrassingly wet.

And that was what was confusing you.

“You are a pathetic addicted.” You tried to sound angry, but your voice came out shaky.

You felt his shrug before he rested his chin on your shoulder.

“You are my conflicted and sexually frustrated supplier. I don’t think we need to point fingers” He said amused.

Biting your lip, you forced yourself not to think about the hand massaging your breast or the two fingers caressing your pussy.

It was a trickery. The word alone made an unpleasant feeling of guilt in your stomach. Your boyfriend was a nice guy. Better than you dated in a long time. He treated you with a respect that's hard to find these days.

So, the sex wasn't the best. Was it really worth throwing away months of a well-paced relationship just for a few seconds of mindless pleasure? Especially with Bill, of all people!

You may not be the best person in the world, but you tried to be good.

On the other hand, befriending him wasn't exactly a step in that direction.

“Mistress?” He was gone. There was no longer Bill in that tone.

You would have found his submission more comical if it hadn't worried you so much. And it intrigued you more than anything.

“I’ll be a good boy, I promise.” He insisted. “Our little secret. Fair deal, I guess. In fact, I'll give you a free sample.”

Unexpectedly, he removed both of his hands and moved away from you. The disappointment you felt at the loss of contact was not something you wanted to reflect on.

You saw him kneel before you, his eyes wide but focused. More focused than you usually witnessed when he craved your blood.

"Come here." He gestured.

When you stayed still, he snorted softly. With a few quick movements, he knelt so he was eye level with your hips.

You knew what he was about to do. This, perhaps, was the worst part. You knew and you felt…excited. Relieved, even. For the first time in months, you were about to receive as much as you gave. Appropriately.

It was selfish and terrible, but equally thrilling and exciting.

“Open your legs a little for me, baby.” You did as he said, teeth firmly gripping your bottom lip.

"My God, you've been a lecherous young lady, haven't you?" Bill smiled, hands steadying himself on your hips.

"Shut up." You mumbled, ignoring his embarrassment.

"Yes ma'am." His fingers hooked into the elastic and slowly slid your panties down. The entire time, his tongue was stuck between his teeth while his eyes never left your pussy.

You took off your panties, almost shaking with excitement when he threw them over his shoulder.

“Hmm.” He marveled, tilting his head. "I was right. Beautiful."

The compliment made you not only blush but also become slightly irritated. Were your priorities really that far off?

That depressing thought spurred your next action.

Quickly, a hand grabbed Bill's hair by the roots. With a push, you pulled back, ensuring his eyes locked with yours.

“If you want my blood, you work for it. Got it?" You didn't even realize you had a dominant streak until Bill's obedient nod made you smile. “If I don't reach my high, you certainly won't reach yours.”

"Yes ma'am." He responded obediently. No sign of sarcasm or mockery.

You looked at him for a second longer and let go of his hair. Bill wasted no time.

It didn't take more than five minutes for you to cum. Whether this was a result of not having pleasure for so long or Bill's genuine talent, you weren't sure.

What you could be sure of, when a hand found his hair again and kept his tongue and lips attached to your clit, was that you were entirely willing to make that bargain again.

✮✮✮✮✮✮✮

This arrangement lasted a solid month. Which surprised you. You thought the moral of exchanging blood for sexual acts would disgust you. At least enough to present a bigger argument the next time Bill showed up again. But that wasn't the case.

The next meeting was certainly a little awkward. You came home from your shift and found him sitting patiently on your bed. He didn't say anything. He just watched you as you tiredly took off your clothes. His submission was strange but attractive. It wasn't until you were blessed with a quiet Bill that you realized how much you appreciated him.

"How are you doing?"

It was strange, but you couldn't help but ask. Bill may have been an addicted and willing to do anything to get what you wanted, but he was still a living creature beneath that stupid desperation. Completely degrading him brought you no pleasure and wasn't something you felt completely comfortable doing.

“You won’t hurt me.” Bill complained. “I'm a big boy. Do your worst."

“Do you want a safe word?” Yet you asked.

“Unless you have plans to kill me, I really don’t see the point.” That was the last discussion about a safe word or words in general.

Bill came three times a week, sometimes four. Always when you were alone. His snark, thankfully, wasn’t present and he did everything you requested of him.

At first, you were careful about boundaries. The first week was spent mostly in your bed, with Bill buried between your thighs. He was surprisingly energetic, licking and sucking you like a hungry animal. His fingers were excited too, starting to pinch your clit and moving in and out of you at deliciously insane speeds.

No orgasms were faked, and if you were taking a while to cum, Bill worked with impressive voracity to ensure you reached your high.

That's what made you bolder.

In the second week, you ordered him to touch himself.

"What?" He asked confused.

"I want you to touch yourself." He studied you with half-closed eyes.

"You understand this isn't about my pleasure, right?"

"Yes. It's about mine. Drop your pants, sit on the chair and touch yourself.” Your voice didn't even tremble.

His confusion was evident, but he did as you asked.

As you guessed, watching him masturbate was a deeply satisfying sight. On some level, you wanted him to feel pleasure from this arrangement, but that had more to do with fascination. Fascination with being able to make someone bigger and stronger take off his underwear, sit down, spread his legs, wrap his hand around his generously sized cock and slowly start stroking himself. In front of you. Simply because you ordered it.

The control was intoxicating.

You didn’t ask him to do anything else after he climaxed with a strangled moan. And it was one of the first times you realized that Bill had no idea what your game was. Or at least why you were enjoying watching him cum.

The rest of the month followed roughly the same schedule. You would give him an order and after a brief but curious glance in his direction, Bill would obey.

Many of the commands required you to cum. At you request, Bill got into the habit of bringing a vibrator. Which he used on you very well.

Some days the commands were to get him out. You were creative and it was never the same way. True, he always touched himself, but sometimes it was kneeling on the bed or bending over a chair so you could admire his cute ass. Once, you even deprived him of his vision with a scarf, taking advantage of the slight uncertainty his hand felt when caressing himself.

By the four week, you were comfortable enough to ride his persistent tongue into pleasure without an ounce of shame or embarrassment.

On the days Bill didn't show up, you questioned what you were doing with him. In public and surrounded by friends, you were passive and sociable. On nights when the two of you were alone, you were loose and experiencing some serious dominance kink.

For a long time, you were puzzled and faintly appalled by your actions.

Then one night, it hit you.

When would you ever get that kind of sexual freedom again? That ability to explore what made your toes curl and grip the headboard until your mind went blank and your voice hoarse.

Nights with Bill made you feel liberated. They made you feel like a woman. The vampire never judged you, although in the end he received your blood, so that was his triumph.

Regardless, the ability to delve deeper into your sexuality and learn the new ways your body responded to stimulation was one of the biggest reasons you never withheld your blood from Bill.

If there was any guilt you held onto, it was because Bill did the things you asked for your blood, nothing more. It would have been nice if his actions were genuine. But he was an addicted, you reminded yourself.

This, when you looked back on the whole fiasco, was ultimately where you made an error in judgment. Assuming Bill regarded your meetings as nothing but a necessary task in order to gain the true source of pleasure: your blood.

In fact, you were completely unaware that after only two weeks together, he’d completely kicked his blood habit.

And that he was testing you.

It wasn’t until the month was complete that you found out why.

✮✮✮✮✮✮✮

He wasn't sitting on the bed this time.

Instead, he was standing tall and physically looked immaculate. Hair combed, beard trimmed and he looked at you differently.

The moment you absorbed all these changes, you felt a distinct shift in power.

It was definitely not in your hands anymore.

“You look healthy.” You greeted. “Who finally got to talk you out of it?”

A part of you couldn't deny that you were a little disappointed. You sessions would probably come to an end. And the Bill before you certainly didn't look like he was taking orders.

But you weren't selfish enough to deny feeling genuine happiness that he was no longer an addicted. No one deserved to be a victim of this desire. Of course, he will always have to live with the desire to drink blood, but now in a controlled way.

“That’d be you, darling.” Re revealed. “Put plenty of things in perspective for me.”

"Good." You encouraged, offering him a soft smile.

He continued watching you without blinking.

“See yourself in the mirror lately?” He asked.

Immediately, a hand patted your hair.

“Did a bird shit on my head again?” You walked over to the mirror, fingers examining you head.

Bill appeared behind you and stopped your search by grabbing your wrist.

You looked at him.

“Skin doesn’t have the vibrant glow it normally has.” He whispered calmly.

Eyebrows furrowed, you looked at yourself in the mirror.

Wow. How did you miss that?

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m flattered.” He continued. “Always giving me the amount of blood I ask for is not an easy task. Or a healthy one. But I can’t allow you to get hurt.”

You nodded absently. Your brain became more fuzzy at the consideration Bill was giving you.

"Why are you being nice?" You asked, looking at him warily.

“Like I said… I got a little perspective on things.” He replied.

“Do I need to be worried?” You asked apprehensively.

"Hardly. Not only have you fulfilled my needs, but you did so discretely. As an added bonus, you even made personal sacrifices. That right there... that's the way to a man's heart."

“I think you’re overestimating my worth.” You pulled your hand away. The conversation starting to make you uncomfortable.

“Honey, you’re underestimating yourself. Let me explain what happened last month to you. I was vulnerable, needy and weak. Instead of making a name for yourself - which I'm beginning to doubt even crossed your mind - and taking advantage of me, you quietly gave me my fix. With me so far?”

“Anyone would have done it.” You knew this was a lie the moment it passed your lips.

“Mm… I’m afraid not, liebe. I don’t find that kind of loyalty.” You weren’t sure if you should feel flattered or flustered.

“Now, this is where it gets interesting. After I got my addiction under control, I couldn't help but wonder why you were helping me. So selflessly, in fact.”

“I got off on telling you what to do.” You defended.

“No, I understand that part. But you started making small sacrifices.” Swallowing hard, you took a step back.

"Like what?" You asked confused.

"Well, like breaking up with your little toy, for example." Bill hummed in amusement.

“He didn’t deserve to be betrayed. It had nothing to do with you.” Bill smiled at that.

“If it weren't for my mouth on your pussy three times a week, you never would have let the poor guy go. I had a little input into that.” Something inside you twitched with discomfort and pleasure.

“So, as we saw, you neglected your appearance a little. You didn't even realize how much blood I was taking from you. And yet, you continued to give.” Taking a careful breath, you tried to get your thoughts in order.

"You deserved to get what came to me for." It seemed like a lame excuse, despite its veracity.

“And that’s the fun part!” Bill exclaimed. “This whole time you were under the impression that I hated it. I hated making you cum, I hated cumming while you watched, I hated the total attention you gave me. I'm not sure if you've heard, but I have a bit of an ego. And you caressed it until I was weak in the knees. You had so much control in your hands and had the courtesy to worry about my own pleasure. Not very mistressy of you, liebe.”

“If you were so confused about it, then why the hell didn’t you stop?” You retorted. “If you didn’t like me not playing my role, you should have stopped playing yours.”

“Ah, but I liked my role.” He assured, eyes slowly scanning your body. “In fact, if you knew how much I enjoyed it, you would be more worried about disappearing so I could never find you.”

"Are you-?" Your voice died in the middle of your throat.

“Ah, I left my favorite human speechless. Well, let’s see if I can remedy that.” Before you could blink everything went dark.

When you woke up you were in a huge room with incredibly expensive furniture. The place was well lit and looked very modern, you could see some paintings on the walls around it. The tables held a variety of food and drinks. Some, you noticed, were among your favorites.

Your mouth officially dropped open when you noticed it was king size and the sheets were brown. Also expensive, it seems. Above that, your eyes sharpened on the silk ties tied provocatively to the headboard. That was certainly a vision that spoke for itself.

“I will not be your mistress!” You argued, quickly getting up from the bed.

“I prefer the term girlfriend.” He didn't move from his seat once.

This gave you the confidence to try to escape. You ran towards the door but it was locked.

“Nice trick, isn’t it?” Bill mentioned, pride coloring his voice. “I blocked your exit, my dear.”

“Bill let me go.” With a tight frown, you stared at him.

“I will give you anything you want.” He promised. “In the meantime, you might consider this vacation a little more…permanent.”

“You are imprisoning me!” You screamed, anger burning through your veins.

"Keeping." He corrected. “I'm keeping you. Considerable difference in terminology.”

You tried to regain control of your breathing, but your current situation didn't allow for that.

“I like you, liebe.” Bill stated seriously. “You are charming, adventurous, and deceptively thoughtful. More than that, you are trustworthy. And has a sexual appetite that rivals mine.”

“And you couldn’t have told me that without kidnapping me?”

"Keeping." He remembered. “What would you honestly have done if I told you I was pretending to be an addicted because I was more addicted to you? Which sounds as terribly sentimental out loud as it does in my head. Shame. I thought it would translate better.”

You backed away until the backs of your knees hit the bed. Tremblingly, you sat up, palms hitting the sheets beneath you.

“I was kidnapped-.”

“-kept-,” Bill said helpfully.

“-all because I was…nice.”

Bill shrugged. "Opposites attract?"

You lost consciousness right after you finished laughing. Rest assured, you found the situation more grim than hilarious.

Sighing, Bill walked over to your unconscious form. He sat up and gently picked you up so you rested against his chest.

The urge to smile and grimace fought violently within him.

“This could have been worse.” He confessed, looking at you.

He rested his chin on your head. The desire to smile won. He was happy.

#bill kaulitz #tokio hotel #bill kaulitz x reader #bill kaulitz smut #tokio hotel smut #tom kaulitz #georg listing #gustav schäfer

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butterymangowrites · 1 day

Text

permanent fix

soulmate au + a/b/o

paring: alpha atsumu x fem beta reader

warnings: bullying, atsumu is not nice, smut, slight breeding kink, biting, blood, choking, mirror sex, possessiveness, jealousy, alpha rut, atsumu talks shit, dramatic atsumu

word count: 2.2k

english is not my first language. please excuse any mistakes

Born as a beta, you never thought fate would toy with you by giving an alpha as your soulmate. Especially not one like Miya Atsumu, the one whom you went to school through college with and still having to see his face ever so frequently as if he had sworn to never not let you live in peace.

For someone who made faces when seeing the lunchboxes your mom packed for you and proclaimed a beta was weak when you first presented at fifteen, Miya Atsumu couldn’t seem to detach himself from you.

So when you had a crush on one of your colleagues at twenty five, having his nose in your business as usual, Atsumu knew instantly.

“Another beta.” Lying comfortably on your couch, Atsumu scoffed. “Predictable.”

“Didn’t ask for your opinions.”

“I’m giving it anyway,” he said in a singsong voice, but his face was without mirth. “You can fuck whoever you want, but I’m getting my fix. That’s non-negotiable.”

Oh, yeah. His fix.

He patted his lap. “Come here.”

Then it all began again. Him cradling you in his lap, hands going all over, lips spilling hateful words.

‘Weak fucking beta.’ He would say. ‘Even Osamu got an omega soulmate. Makes me jealous as fuck.’

But then he would kiss you like the world might end tomorrow, doing everything opposite of what he said. This time was no different. His hot tongue was everywhere he could reach, acquainted itself with yours before leaving a wet trail down your neck.

You protested when he nipped a little too hard, scared he might leave marks. He did that once. The deep purple hickey you saw in the mirror after he left your apartment scared the shit out of you. A little more force and teeth could have broken the skin, and that thought caused chills to run all over your body. You didn’t want to bear his marks.

Yet, Atsumu didn’t care. He never did. His hands were now on your buttocks, squeezing hard through your thin pajama bottoms. He moved you to one of his thighs for better concentration. The hands on your butt now rolled your hips back and forth, to the point your moan finally slipped out of your tightly zipped lips and you forgot about the harsh nibbling on your neck.

“Go whore yourself out,” Atsumu whispered. “Like I fucking care.”

Same here, asshole.

You thought, didn’t say out loud.

Touching each other lifted the heavy weight in the heart caused by the act of not accepting the soulmate bond. Nothing more, nothing less. If not for this calling of intimacy both of you obliged to feel, he wouldn’t be here. You knew that. He said it way too many times.

Still, your cheeks were licked, your lips were tasted, neck wet with saliva. You felt like a prey about to be eaten every time he was close. Yes, he may not care. But he sure was possessive enough of things that were given to him.

Whenever you tried to wiggle out of his firm grasp, he tightened his fist. This time was the hardest you ever felt.

—

In more than twenty years of knowing each other, never once did Atsumu come to you when he had gone into rut. So when he called you two in the morning one week after his last fix, ordered you to pack a bag and tell your boss you would be on leave for a week, you were baffled. It was never more than kisses and touches with him. Your clothes were always intact and on. The idea of that being changed had you flat out saying no.

That didn’t stop Atsumu from coming to get you one hour later though. When he saw that you did nothing to get ready, his jaw was clenched. A split second later, he packed your bag himself, shoving clothes and toiletries in without any care. You were still in pajamas when the passenger door was slammed closed and he hit the gas.

—

There were reasons why betas are not for alphas. Physically, they were incompatible. Betas weren’t designed for alpha’s stamina, not to mention one in rut. At one point, you did not care to count anymore how many times you had blacked out. Fading in and out really fucked with your memory. All you remembered was the non-stop pounding, Atsumu’s breath against your face, and his uncharacteristic cooing, praising you as his good girl.

“Knew you were built for me.” The blond menace pulled on both of your wrists, never stopped his thrusting. “Let me knot you again, okay?” When you shook your head, face wet with tears, Atsumu shushed you softly. “Shhhhh. You can do it, I know you can.”

And you could. But it was not without pain.

“Shouldn’t have waited this long,” Atsumu said close to your lips. “You almost got away.”

He talked too much. But it would have been a big fat lie to deny that his words didn’t turn you on. That his vile confession didn’t affect you.

“Bold of you to even think I would let someone else touch you.” He sounded out of breath, closing to his end. “All the effort goes to waste. No no no no.”

You felt it coming, just seconds before. Then your whole body was taken by the waves of thrills and your whole vision turned white. Atsumu was not your first, but as if he was the harbinger of agony, it hurt when he first penetrated, hurt when he knotted. And when you felt a sharp sting at your sensitive neck, you knew he defied the rule of nature once more by marking you.

Fruitless. That was what it would be. Betas were not made for alphas. Mating bites did not forge any bond with the wrong person and would fade over time. But Atsumu had always been stubborn. One bite turned into two, three, then countless. All you felt was pain and the wetness of blood before darkness took your consciousness like the many rounds before.

—

The mating bites faded within two weeks, all except the first mark, proving to you that even biology could not win over destiny. Same went with all other beta-alpha couples out there after you had done some research. They were rare, but they were there. You shouldn’t have let Atsumu bite you. Should have known better that things could get weird when it came to soulmates. Now, he wouldn’t get off your ass, had the audacity to move his things to your apartment and yours to his, calling you his girlfriend in front of everyone and expecting to see you as his games.

You didn’t even like volleyball to begin with. And as you watched his magnificent tosses to any players he deemed to have high chances to score, you thought of a way to get out of his clutch.

He needed an omega, the correct designation he always longed for. Because even with all the protective caresses and the promise to never let you go, Atsumu was still mean. Like going back to the ninth grade when you put makeup on for the first time and he gave you the nastiest comment that made you go wash everything off in the school toilet, his words still stung badly when he chose to weaponize them.

‘Samu’s mate smells like she needs to be bred.’ He said that nonchalantly one day at Onigiri Miya, sitting side by side with you at the counter where his twin and his mate helped each other with cooking and serving the hungry athletes who were there to celebrate the day’s victory ‘Don’t know how he stands that. So sweet’

Hearing that made your conversation with Hinata pause. His steely gaze was the first thing you saw when turning to face ‘your boyfriend’.

It didn’t end there. For days Atsumu was in a devilish mood, his jabs that you knew most of them were meant to just rile you up for fun had become a real emotional harm. He still fucked you, make no mistake about that. And it was as devilish as his temper.

‘Too hard, Miya. Too hard.’ You still wouldn’t call him by his first name.

Veiny hands wrapped snugly around your neck, Atsumu only went faster after hearing that. The bathroom mirror was foggy with hot steam from the shower, but you can see enough. One of your legs was perched on the counter, allowing the view of his cock pistoning in and out of you, your breasts bouncing fast.

‘Would have been pregnant already if you were an omega.’ The sentence came out coated with his accent, thicker than normal, like he didn’t have full control of how he spoke. ‘But that’s alright. I can take my time with you. We’ll get there,’ he purred. ‘Still, what a shame, huh?’

Shame his ass for saying that and not letting you leave. ‘Go fuck an omega then.’

He smirked. Pissed you off. ‘Nah.’

As his toss to Sakusa scored a winning point, the loud cheer brought you back to the present. You saw Atsumu eyes staring up at you from the court below and knew what you had to do.

—

Getting an omega who wanted to spend a heat with Miya Atsumu was easy enough. Sending her up to your apartment where he was already there waiting for you was as simple. You drove away then, not far, stopping at your favorite 24-hour cafe because you needed somewhere to sit and waited for the first feedback from the omega girl. Half an hour later, you got a call.

The screen showed the female omega’s name. You picked up and said hello, expecting to hear that everything went well and that you could go find somewhere else to sleep for the next five nights.

But you only heard cries. Not of pleasure, just a full-blown crying with hiccups.

“Hey, are you okay?” you asked, frowning. “Talk to me. What happened?”

“He—he screamed—at me,” she spluttered, almost incoherently, “and only asked where you were.”

You cursed quietly, finally able to stop stirring the poor coffee you ordered without any interest in taking a sip. “Where is he now?”

“I don’t know,” she cried. “He left—after the screaming.” Her voice wavered all the more when she kept on trying to speak. “You had to see him. He looked murderous. There was not even a hello. He straight up shouted at me, accusing me of breaking in. When I tried to explain—mentioned you, his face was all red.” A hiccup interrupted the long babbling. “He said he was married to you and showed me the ring.”

You were not sure what crack Atsumu was on, but there was definitely no ring or marriage.

The call was still on when you heard the cafe’s door pushed open. And it was as if you saw the devil with your own naked eyes.

Atsumu walked in.

His strides declared no peace or mercy when he saw you, ignoring the greetings from the two night shift baristas.

Not wanting to cause a scene, you stood up and didn’t say anything when he put his hand on your shoulder and led the way out.

The drive was silent. Your car was left at the parking lot near the cafe, you would have to come and get it as soon as you could before the parking fee turned as murderous as him. When asked where he was going, he answered solemnly, “My place. Yours stinks.”

You just knew it was going to be a long night.

—

Atsumu was the one who got the car out for you the next morning since he was the one who could still walk without wobbling. The sheets you slept on rumpled and reeked of cum.

You reeked of cum.

‘You think you’re so funny?’ he asked, knowing you couldn’t answer with his cock occupying your mouth but did it nonetheless ‘You wanted me to fuck her? What was going on in that pretty little head?’

He pulled you by the nape of your neck before pushing your head down, forcing your throat to take more of him till you felt the urge to gag.

‘I thought we had an understanding, baby,’ he said, finally relenting his grip on your head. ‘No whoring yourself out.’ Then he stressed, ‘And no whoring me out. I’m yours.’

‘Do you understand?’

You only nodded.

‘Words.’

‘Yes, Miya.’

‘Atsumu,’ he said, looking like he wanted to throw up. ‘You’re not fucking my brother. Don’t make me imagine that. Call me Atsumu.’

‘Yes, Tsumu.’

Looked like you delivered. Atsumu grinned from ear to ear. ‘Good girl. My best girl.’

That was last night.

A warm kiss to the cheek woke you again, must have dozed off after Atsumu left, but those scenes were not a dream. You heard him whisper,

“I got your car. Parked it at your place.”

He looked like he got a ten-hour sleep while you could not move a limb without feeling sore. Not fair. And the way he looked so good in sheep’s clothing, his wolf’s skin all hidden. Not fair at all.

“Shower.” Your voice was hoarse, but you got the message through. That was good enough.

#miya atsumu x reader #miya atsumu smut #miya atsumu x y/n #miya atsumu x you #haikyu fanfiction #haikyu x reader #haikyuu smut #hq smut #hq x reader #atsumu x reader #atsumu miya x reader #yandere haikyuu #haikyuu dark content #soulmate au #a/b/o au #omegaverse #a/b/o #haikyuu x reader

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