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#tag: green lanterns light
avianii · 6 months
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oh? what's this?? fanart for my other fandoms???? the infidelity!!!
anyways @calkale I'm also just now realizing this is 75% stuff you indoctrinated me into liking so congrats, it worked :)
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Hal finding out about one of Barry’s odder traits. I have a lot of thoughts about speedsters losing control of their powers when they’re making love. 
The way I totally forgot to post this. Which happens way too much lol.
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maximalismdaybyday · 2 months
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haljordangreenjedi · 2 years
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How long does a green lantern charge last and does it affect the other rings
Green Lantern rings stay charged for 24 hours, that’s kind of the standard understanding, it’s been around like even for Alan’s comics if i remember correctly. Now, if it seems like a lot of things happen in a “24 hour period” idk man, space is weird and makes time move differently?
i will say, the Honor Guard rings—which is what Kyle started out with, are the only ones that are mentioned to not have to be charged every 24 hours, rather they just need to be charged when the ring is depleted. So, i don’t know who has what type of ring, or if they’ve all been updated to this? Hal’s new ring was forged by his own willpower, and I believe John’s in the Honor Guard? so if there is still the 24 hour limit, they can get away without mentioning it. actually yeah that makes sense, let’s go with that. also it’s comics? so.
Now, Green Lantern rings don’t affect the charge of any others, besides like, you know whoever gets into a fight with them, making constructs will deplete their ring charge. but as far as i know, that’s a normal amount. HOWEVER, Blue Lantern rings recharge Green Lantern rings when they’re together, up to and beyond 100% charge. I know i’ve see 300-and-something-% at least once. They also, if i’m not mistaken, can deplete the charge for Yellow Lanterns and Red Lanterns? (I’m not 100% on the red lanterns but they definitely counteract the yellow lanterns, bc hope springs eternal and all that jazz.)
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mochinomnoms · 2 months
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"I want all of you. Every piece of you" + Sunlight with azul please! Fluff/nsfw
🦩
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azul ashengrotto x gn!reader [tags] — nsfw-ish, fluff, lots of reference to the myth of icarus [wc} - 910 prompt 15: “I want all of you. Every piece of you.” song: Sunlight (Hozier, “Wasteland, Baby!”) note - idk why but i had a hard time with this one, so it's more romantic that nsfw. it's more alluded to it than explicit francesca (1k event)
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“I had been lost to you, sunlight / And flew like a moth to you, sunlight, oh, sunlight / Oh, your love is sunlight”
Growing up in the deep sea, the only light was provided by bioluminescent algae shaped into lanterns. Not from sunlight. Growing up in the deep sea, the only warmth Azul experienced was from the embrace of his mother. Not from sunlight. 
So the early day sun peaking through the roof opening of the grotto over his eyes was still foreign, despite his time living on the surface. The warmth of the light was pleasant, however, it was currently blocked by something, or someone. 
“Azul, love?” you spoke softly as he sunk deeper into the water until only his eyes were visible. He felt a warmth in his cheeks as you admired him. 
“Come on, let me see you. My pretty, pretty boy.” 
It wasn’t the first time you’d seen him like this, but you’d only seen his merform once during his overblot. Azul wasn’t fond of the idea of letting you see him in his natural form, though. He spent so much time specially curating his image as a human, someone sleek, neat, and confident. Not this…squishy, wriggly, clumsy form he was born with. 
He was a creature suited for nothing but the dark, cold spaces of the deep sea, only seen by the bioluminescent patterning on his skin. 
“Are you sure you wouldn’t want to go back to the docks?”
He flinched as he heard a splash, hiding behind a rock as he felt you move through the water. Azul rested his forehead against the cool surface of the stone, sighing and closing his eyes. 
“Please, Angelfish, are you sure you want to do this? I don’t want to scare you…”
The sound of water alerted him to your movement again, though he couldn’t make out where you were without 
“I want you.” A soft hand threaded through Azul’s hair, making him open his eyes and look up at your form. You were sitting on the rock he rested against, leaning down as your hair fell over your shoulders the closer you came. The sunlight peering through the cave roof shone over you like a halo, you looked like a painting an artist made of an angel. 
“All of you. Please? My love?”
Despite his mind screaming at him to back up, to not let you touch his slimy, squishy skin, his tentacles had a mind of their own. 
One of his arms curled around your hand, another around your waist, two more around your hips, drawn to you. Drawn to your affections that you so freely give to a greedy man like he. Azul sighed again. 
“You’ve taken the water-breathing potion, yes?”
“Mm-hm, just a bit ago.”
“… Good.”
You gasped as Azul dragged you into the water as he sunk backwards. The water under the grotto was dark, almost black, except for the rays of sunlight turning the water into an ethereal green. Once again, Azul found himself beguiled by your visage, hair and clothes floating around you…his arms tightening his grip at the sight. 
They truly had a mind of their own, drawing their energy from Azul’s true thoughts and urges. And how could he resist when you so freely offered yourself, love and body, to him.
Azul tangled himself in your embrace, claiming your mouth with his, drawing your tongue into his mouth to suck and explore. He reveled in the whimper that left you, tightening his hold as his tentacles slithered under your clothes, groping and suckers leaving behind marks. 
“Mmmh, Azul…” You gasped, exposing your neck for him to suckle marks, trailing down your body. Several of Azul’s arms gently pushed your clothes and undergarments off to have easier access to you. His suckers attached themselves to your sensitive area, shivering in its taste. 
“I almost forgot the benefits of being in this body… I can feel and taste your entire being with more than just my tongue. Your pulse drums beneath my grip, the salt on your skin floods my senses, and the sweetness down here.”
One tentacle with a spade-shape was brushing over your hole, pressing in slowly as you clenched onto Azul’s shoulders at the sudden stretch. 
“S-slower, Azul please, it’s too much—AAAH~”
Pressing his tentacle dick into your heat, Azul nuzzled his nose against your own as he fell deeper into desire. He shuddered at the surrounding tightness, getting drunk at the pleasure of your being, at the kisses you fluttered against his face, at the thought of permanently mark you as his with more than just his seed. 
Like Icarus reaching for his love Apollo, Azul would gladly risk flying too close to the sun, and feel the intense burn of its fiery gaze. Unlike Icarus, the way you looked at him like he was the celestial body itself made him certain that you’d never burn him and cast him back to the dark sea. 
Perhaps it was the intoxication from the sybaritism in his veins, bringing him and closer to an orgasm, that would let you two see the god. But he had no need when you were before him, his warmth. The Apollo to your Icarus, the root to his pleasure.
The cry you let out as he brushed against a particularly sensitive spot, throwing your head back as the sun shone on you like a heavenly being, reaffirmed you as his own sunlight.
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comments and reblogs appreciated 🩷
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runningfrom2am · 2 months
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cold nights // part twenty
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summary: you showed him colours he knows he can't see with anyone else.
pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader
wc: 6.1k (YIKES)
masterlists / nav / requests
tags/warnings: tribute!reader and mentor!coriolanus, r is very sweet (too kind for this world. literally.), sunshine x grumpy trope kinda, he falls first, violence typical for the source material, depictions of mental illness, also she's is very smart (as she should), district twelve!reader.
a/n: guyssss guys guys guys omg :,) also s2 only has two parts left!!
my asks are also open to talk about this series! (i do have emoji anons open now too!)
send me any and all of your thoughts! here!
series masterlist // playlist
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The air is brisk as it surrounds you in the night, chilling you down to the bone, but with a book in your lap and a blanket draped over your shoulders, you don't mind the cold. Not one bit.
You're reading the same page over and over again- Romeo and Juliet. Act two, scene two. Your monologue. You flip the page, and that's all there is.
'Tis but thy name that is my enemy.'
You whisper this, smiling softly to yourself. The grass tickles the undersides of your arms and when you look up, you see the stars. Thousands and thousands of them- more than you could count if you were given a pen and paper and a month to try. It's beautiful.
You lay back into the wild grass, letting it consume you. You can smell it as the long blades brush across your cheeks.
"Y/N?" You freeze at the sound of your name, not that you are really moving. You just hold tight onto the air in your lungs, as if exhaling it could light a beacon to you. Your heartbeat was thrumming in your chest- you were afraid.
"Y/N?" The voice comes again. Coriolanus. He shouldn't be here, he doesn't know where you go at night when you need to end your unfortunate days. Why is he here?
You don't move, eyes wide open as you stare at the sky. Maybe he'll go away, maybe he'll ignore the lantern still burning close enough that you could read under its flame. As if.
"Y/N, you have to go." Now you can hear the grass rustling with every slow step he takes, and he's trying to be quiet. Whispering, as if there was anyone here for miles.
"Go, hide. It's not safe for you out here."
You sit up quickly, scrambling onto your feet. He's close enough now that he's certainly seen you. You get no chance to say anything before you realize you weren't in the field you thought you were. Grass covers the ground of the Capitol arena, and alongside the long green leaves, Coryo's scarf is draping down your side, brushing your legs.
"Coryo?" You say, but you're not looking at him. The compact weighs heavily in the pocket of your dress as you spin around, taking in the dark space. Your lantern flickers out.
"Y/N." He says again, and your eyes snap back to him. His hair is short, buzzed almost down to his scalp like the last time you saw him. "Hide. Now."
"But, I-"
It was too late, and quickened footsteps alerted you to someone else coming.
"Come on, come on!" Coryo grabs you by the wrist quickly, pulling you with him toward the exit glowing red in the night as you abandon your book and blanket.
His hand shifts to hold yours, attempting to force you ahead of himself. You want to look back, but he won't let you. The exit feels miles away. You can't take leave- you don't know why you're running with him. You'll be killed. You'll be killed either way.
You fall through the turnstiles, the mocking automatic voice from the speakers going ignored as you hit the ground. You don't know what you fell onto, you look and there's nothing there, but blood begins to pour from three linear wounds in your leg and a gash on your upper arm.
"Are you okay? Hey, are you okay?" Coryo is in your face now, kneeling in front of you and trying to get you up.
You can't speak, looking past him at the faceless shadow following you. Pushing yourself back against the wall, they glide through the gate and Coryo turns quickly, hands raised. "Wait! Don't! He shouts, but has to duck as they swing something at them.
"Y/N- Run!" He yells at you, but you can't move. You curl up against the wall, burying your face in your knees.
You hear the sharp swing of metal in the air. Once, twice, and you're waiting for an impact that doesn't come until you hear Coryo cry out in pain instead.
You feel the grind of cement next to you as something is lifted from the ground.
"I don't want to hurt you!"
Another swing.
And then a cracking noise, and the turnstile again.
"Enjoy the show!"
You look up then, watching just as the shadow hits the ground across the gate.
"Coryo?" You push yourself up using the wall. He doesn't look back at you, but you can see his shoulders rise and fall with his breaths as he stares at the shadow now sprawled out across the ground.
He swings the club again, the cement block disappearing into the grass with a hard thud.
You don't run.
"Coryo, let's go. Please... let's just go." Your voice comes out small, but he still hears you.
He turns, and you aren't afraid. "Y/N-" He drops the weapon and you take an involuntary step back. You look into his eyes, cleared of the blonde curls he recently buzzed off.
Sky blue. Angry. No- baby blue. Worried.
He's afraid.
"Y/N, wait." He pleads with you, hands clear as he takes a step closer. This time, you let him. "Please don't walk away again."
"What did you say?" You ask, brow furrowed at the familiar statement as you take another step back.
"Please, don't run from me."
When you wake, you feel different. You feel your blood pumping quick through your veins as you stare at the ceiling, the sun peaking in through the curtains like usual, but you feel more sick than scared.
It's a welcome change.
Crawling out of bed, you pull a dress on over your pyjama shorts, deciding that would likely be fine since you didn't plan on leaving the house today. Maybe to go out to the meadow, but with sleep still blurring your vision you weren't ready to make any big decisions like that yet.
You felt guilty about ruining the lake day for everyone. It wasn't a bad panic attack, they did have to jump into action the way they did and try to rush you home, but they had. You can't be upset at them, Lennox and Lucy Gray only wanted to protect you.
You wish Maude Ivory hadn't seen you cry.
The hike back is all you can think about while you make your morning tea.
You watched as Sejanus grabbed Coryo by the arm, pulling him back up and into the cabin and shutting the door behind them.
No one bothered to get you dressed again, the priority just being to get you home. Lucy Gray had helped you get your shoes back on, and Lennox practically lifted you to your feet. You were still shaking, but the tears had lessened and you could breathe again.
"Tam Amber, will you go ask the boys if they remember the way back?" Lucy Gray whispered to her cousin and he nodded, running off the dock.
"You're safe. It's just us here." She reminded you as you watched him hurry away.
"But... But Coryo-" You stammered, suddenly shivering.
"I know, I know, Hun." She wrapped the blanket back around your shoulders. "He's gone. You're okay."
"No, no I-"
You heard Tam Ambers footfalls returning, just as hastily as he had gone. "They remember." He nodded to your friend.
"Okay, will you tell them to wait twenty minutes before following us?" She told him and he nodded again, disappearing once more.
"Lucy Gray, it's, it's okay. I don't think they need to wait." You tried to explain, and she had to lean in to listen to you.
"I know, it's okay." Clearly, she didn't know what you were trying to say. "I promise you they can handle themselves, you don't worry about it." But you weren't worried about them. You wanted them to come.
"E-Every one can master a grief but he that has it." You huff through shaky breaths, frustration at their lack of understanding building in your tone. Why couldn't they see that he was helping you?
Lennox and Lucy Gray look at each other on either side of you, but say nothing.
You looked back at the cabin over your shoulder as your brother and best friend guided you away, the rest of the Covey in tow.
You hadn't seen either of the Capitol boys since.
Coryo walks into Sejanus's room, expecting him to still be sleeping. It's early, the sun just peaking over the mountains, but he's not there. He was out late the night before, so maybe he hadn't come home. He did mention something about possibly staying with Lucy Gray after her show.
They would only be in town for another couple of weeks, he was getting down to the wire of time he had to earn your trust back. He was fucking it up royally, and he wasn't even sure he could go home without any conclusions. He just needed to talk to you, if it was him who was hurting you, and you said the best thing he could do was leave and never look back, he would do it in a heartbeat. He'd never recover, but he'd be willing to do anything to know you were happy. Or at least getting there.
But you hadn't said that. Remembering your conversation at the lake, he didn't feel like all hope was lost. Even if Lucy Gray and Lennox wouldn't let him anywhere near you. He couldn't give up yet.
This is why, in all honesty, he is lucky that Sejanus didn't make it home last night.
He saw his friend writing in a notebook the other day, so he opened the bedside drawer to try and find it. He'll just leave a note saying he's going for a walk, and Sejanus likely won't suspect he's going to go try and talk to you and come stop him. If he even wakes up from his hangover with enough time to find the note and then catch him.
When Coryo opens the drawer, that's not what he finds. Well, it is, and he pulls the pad of paper and pencil out, but his eyes catch on something else. Cash. And lots of it.
He looks over his shoulder at the door before picking it up and picking through it. It must have been in the tens of thousands. Why would Sejanus bring so much money to District Twelve of all places? He wishes he could understand rich kids.
He sits on the bed and opens the notebook, pausing again when he sees some scribbled notes.
'Hob, 10 pm, 08/17
Broken fence, storage shed. 4 am, 08/18
Lennox ?'
Brow furrowed in confusion, Coryo turns the page. Nothing else. No other context clues as to what on earth this could mean. It was meeting places and times. He looks around again as if he could find answers in the walls of the small bedroom.
Nothing.
He quickly shoves the notepad back into the drawer and leaves. Maybe he didn't need to leave a note after all.
Coryo had to move quickly. Collecting yet another peace offering, some kind of treat, and then make it to your house before Sejanus or Lucy Gray can intercept. He does it, but there was still the biggest obstacle yet- your brother. He prays as he knocks that Lennox doesn't open the door.
When there's a knock on the door, you leap from your bench on the back porch, quietly slipping back in the door. You were home alone, only for a few hours while your mom handled some business in town and Lennox went to hang out with some friends. Your mother didn't want to let you, she wanted you to come, but you insisted. You were an adult, you could be home alone for a few hours.
Who on earth would knock on the door right in that window of time?
Sneaking into your parents' bedroom, you peek out of the curtains to try and look at the front door.
No. This is ridiculous.
You force yourself to straighten up, smoothing the front of your dress and taking a deep breath. You're home. You're safe. No one at the door is here to hurt you.
You pace up to the front door just as another quick three knocks ring out. Deep breath. You twist and pull the handle.
"Y/N." Coryo grins, relief washing over him like a wave that only lasts a moment. "Here, these are for you." He holds out a small bouquet of flowers before you get the chance to slam the door in his face.
You can't help the smile that pulls at your lips when you look down at the hand he extends to you.
Butterflies. The very same ones you felt the first time he gifted you a flower.
"Coryo, you don't have to bring me flowers every time you see me." You giggle, and he smiles. The relief is back.
"Well, I'd like to. You deserve nothing less."
You look up through your lashes at him, slightly shaking your head. Your smile doesn't slip as you examine his features, checking his eyes. As blue and clear as the lake you swam in last week. "Would you like to come in?" You offer, unsure of yourself up until the point the words leave your mouth.
"I would love to." Coryo smiles so wide you feel as though your own heart could burst. You're doubting yourself for ever being afraid of him, but as he passes you into the threshold of your home, you remember why. Deep breath.
"You came at a good time." You joke, closing the door behind him and stepping into the kitchen as it's laid out next to the front door.
"Oh?"
"Well, Lennox isn't here to push you down the front steps." You giggle. Maybe you shouldn't be telling him you're home alone. Your heart stops for a beat.
And then he laughs, and everything is okay again as you pull a vase down from atop the fridge, placing it in the sink to rinse off. "That is true." He agrees.
"But, I'll warn you, Tybs is here somewhere. He's always watching." You look at him over your shoulder as you place the flowers down and run the tap into the ceramic vase.
"Noted." Coryo chuckles, looking around his feet to see if the cat had come to say hello.
He watches you as you turn back around to focus on your task. Watching you wash dishes was a privilege he never even considered that he wanted, but now that he had it, he was more certain than ever that he could never let you go.
It was so good to see you have some peace.
"I brought some things for a picnic, I was hoping you could take me to the meadow you told me about. I'd really like to see it." He asks as you dry off the outside of the vase, proceeding to fill it with water.
"I was going to head out there myself, actually. That sounds perfect." He watches your hair move as you nod, popping the flowers into the vase and turning to show him. The smile on your face makes his heart melt. He didn't know that feeling was real.
"How do they look?" You ask, quickly adjusting some.
"Lovely." Coryo grins and your lips pull together, looking back down at the bouquet in your hands.
"Thank you, by the way. I realize I didn't say thank you." You say, carrying the vase out to the living room and he follows while you place it on the coffee table.
"You don't have to." He shakes his head. "To be honest, I didn't even expect you to accept them."
"Oh, would you like them back?" You ask, worried.
That's not what he meant, you were just too sweet. "No, I picked them for you."
"Would you tell me if you did want them back?" You ask, wiping your hands off from stray water on the front of your dress.
"Probably not." He admits with a smile that matches yours, shaking his head. "I suppose you'll just have to trust me."
"Here we are!" You grin, flipping out the quilt you brought from your room for the two of you to sit on.
Coryo looks around. It's a big open field, with trees and hills in the distance. He did imagine it would be beautiful at night like you said, but he never thought that during the day it would be as much of a sight. After years and years of coming to this exact spot, the grass is shorter here. Already conditioned to not grow where this family could come and sit during the days and nights of your childhood- you had built the perfect little spot to lay down a sheet.
You're already sitting down cross-legged on the hand-sewn material when he looks at you again. "Thoughts?" You ask, tipping your head up at him. "You look like you're thinkin'."
"Yeah, yeah. It's beautiful. This isn't what I pictured."
"No?" You ask as he sits down next to you, adjusting on the blanket and placing his bag on the corner.
"No. Nothing like this." He answers. "It's much bigger."
You giggle, looking around. "So you understand what I was missing, then."
"Yeah." He breathes the word out with a slight nod, but he's still staring at you even as he pulls everything out of his bag. Some cookies, and the book.
"So," You start with a smile, and he looks up at you. You look down at the book, your train of thought completely leaving you when you see it. "You brought it..." You mumble, reaching out to touch the cover.
He lifts it to hand it to you, but you quickly pull your hand away as if the book could bite. You look between him and the leather-bound book in his hand, cheeks flushing. "I-I don't, I'm sorry. I don't know why..." You laugh awkwardly, looking instead out to the woods that surround you.
Your trauma had consistently manifested in the strangest of ways. That book had done nothing to hurt you, you knew that, but it did remind you of the nights and days you spent reading it before the games when Coryo was locked away in the hospital. The memory almost makes you sick.
"Don't be." Coryo shakes his head at you. "I get it." He puts it down on the other side of himself, just out of your view. "I just... I know you usually read out here. So I wanted to bring a book too. It's the only one I have here."
You smile nervously and nod. "I'm glad you like it." You look over your shoulder when you hear a soft 'meow' from within the grass. "Someone followed us."
You let out a soft gasp, smiling as your cat emerges from the tall blades next to you. They were only about knee height to you, but they completely swallowed his small form. "Tybs!" You grin, opening your arms to him and he crawls straight into your lap. "Good King of Cats, there you are." You scoop him up, kissing him on his fluffy head.
"Y/N," Coryo says, drawing your attention again. You hum, face still pressed into Tybalt's fur as you hug him. "I... I was hoping we could talk about some things, if you feel safe enough. I know with just me it's scary but there's some things I really need to tell you before I have to leave and no one will let me talk to you, so now feels like my only chance."
"Okay." You nod, lowering Tybs down onto your lap again, holding him close. "But... I just, I don't want you to have to deal with me if I... I don't know, panic. I can't promise you I won't, and it's embarrassing."
"That's okay." He assures you, scanning your face closely even as you avoid his eyes. "I'm not going to hurt you, so if you can't talk about it it's totally okay. I can try my best to say what I need to say without scaring you."
"No, no I... There's stuff I have to say to you too." You confess to him. "I just, it is so frustrating to not be able to talk about anything without feeling like... I can't communicate what I need to say. Or like I'm dying."
Coryo nods, chewing on the inside of his cheek. "I'll be as patient as you need me to be." He promises. "I can't imagine what that's like for you." He adds, almost whispering. You have always expressed yourself so eloquently through words, and in a way, the games, he has taken that from you.
You pull your bottom lip between your teeth and nod, focussing on petting your cat. You can feel the vibrations of his purring against your body, and that helps already.
"It's hard." You admit quietly. "I still sometimes feel like no one wants to listen to me when I can talk about what happened. It's always the same thing." You shake your head, letting out a slight laugh. "Do you know how many times I've heard 'You're safe now'? Or 'you're home now. It's okay'? Because it's a lot. And I know that. I know they're just trying to help, but... It's more complicated than that."
"There's no guidebook on living with this stuff." Coryo agrees. "That's what your father told me."
"He's right." You mumble. "No one knows what to do, Twelve has never had a Victor before. I'm lucky number one, and it feels like nobody sees me as human anymore. Not even Lucy Gray. Not even my family."
"I do."
You smile sadly at him. "Coryo, I..." You sigh, shaking your head and grounding yourself in feeling Tybalt rub his head against your palm, begging to be pet. "Is this real?"
He furrows his brow slightly with confusion.
"I mean, I don't-" You sigh. "I feel like I am being so daft but Sejanus says he thought you actually cared about me but that was back in the Capitol so I just need you to be honest with me."
"Y/N..." He shakes his head at you, fully in disbelief. "I have never lied to you. I don't think I could even if I wanted to."
"No, not- not like that." You sigh, shaking your head. "I mean, the way you acted. The things you did- I feel like I don't know who you really are."
"You know me. Better than anyone." He assures you, voice soft with sincerity. He doesn't want to be offended, but he'd still like to understand.
"You said... you said you wanted to start over." You say after a moment, looking into his eyes and loosening your grip on your cat as he adjusts the way he's laying over your bare legs. "So... can we?"
Coryo smiles, giving you a quick nod. "My name is Coriolanus Snow." He starts, and he can see how closely you're watching him, a small smile growing on your lips. That's not exactly what you meant, and he knew it. "But you can call me Coryo. That's what my friends call me."
How could he miss the apples of your cheeks turning slightly pink under the sun?
"I was born and raised in the Capitol, and I'm an orphan. My mother died in childbirth, and my sister didn't make it. My father died here, in Twelve. I live with my cousin, Tigris, and our Grandma'am, and my whole life I have been starving." He admits, swallowing as he monitors your reaction closely. Sadness. Empathy. "One time, during the war, I even ate a jar of paste just to stop the pain in my stomach." He smiles as he says it, it's meant to be funny- to try and keep you with him as he speaks.
He raises an eyebrow at you as you can't help but giggle. "I'm sorry, that must have been awful."
"It was certainly... pasty." He chuckles, shaking his head slightly. "But then, the moment I first laid eyes on you and was told you would be my tribute, I knew that everything was going to change."
You think back to the reaping, and how he must have watched. One of many memories that haunted you now doesn't seem all that scary, knowing he was with you even then.
"I was angry, I knew Highbottom was trying to sabotage me- to give me no chance at winning the prize but I didn't know that the universe was just bringing me to you."
"Coriolanus." You grin, tilting your head at him. "It's a pleasure to meet you again."
"Did you know that I was named after a play?" He asks, a teasing smile pulling at his lips knowing that the only reason he knew that was because of you.
"Oh? What's it about?" You humour him, and he chuckles shaking his head at you.
"Well, it's a long story, really, but it's about a man in ancient Rome who gets put in a position of power, and makes some pretty big mistakes." He quotes as much of what he can remember you telling him. "Then the people of the city hated him, and he was cast out because he betrayed people who trusted him."
You don't say anything, hanging on every word of his interpretation.
"And sometimes I feel like it's a fitting name." He continues, voice lowering with seriousness now. "But I don't think I am like him, because I regretted my mistakes the moment I made them. And I think that if he was more like me, and had someone who made him want to be a good man, his story wouldn't have ended too tragically."
You feel the telltale burn of tears brimming your eyes, and Coryo watches you closely. Your breathing is steady, the ghost of a smile still on your lips.
"Are you okay?" He asks quietly, reaching up to push your hair from where a piece is beginning to fall into your eyes. He's careful not to move too quickly, or even to touch your skin.
You nod, briefly drawing your lip in between your teeth while you think. "A rose by any other name would smell as sweet."
Coryo smiles, almost in disbelief. "You forgive me, then?"
"I'm a Victor." You state, although your whisper sucks almost all the confidence out of your voice as you focus on Tybalt purring against your lap. "If I expect forgiveness in return I need to give it, don't I?"
"You don't need forgiveness from anyone." He insists, smile fading. "You didn't do a single thing wrong."
"I think I did." You admit, lip beginning to wobble as you try and remember, looking down at your cat and stroking his back almost obsessively. "I should have gone back for Wovey, I should have stayed with Jessup, and... and I think I killed those boys, Coryo. I haven't told a soul and it's been killing me."
When you look back up at the boy next to you, his heart breaks. You hadn't done anything wrong; you even tried your best to be a pacifist when thrown into the Hunger Games, of all things, and still, you found things to blame yourself for. "Do you remember what I told you?" He asks, very slowly and carefully reaching out to swipe away a tear from your cheek. "That we all do things we aren't proud of to survive. That doesn't make you a wicked person."
"Is it true?" You ask, resisting your gut and it wanting you to lean into his touch. "That... that I killed them?"
"No." He answers. "I did. I gave you the compact."
"But I used it."
"You had no choice." He reminds you. "That was my fault, and I'll take the blame for it but I won't lie and tell you that I regret it."
You take a sharp breath in. His eyes. Look at his eyes.
"I did it to save you, and I would do it again in a heartbeat. I couldn't live with myself if I let you die. You saved my life first, and you could have ran but you didn't." He wouldn't let you beat yourself up about something that was his fault. "You could have saved yourself, but you gave up that chance for me. I couldn't let you die. It would be such a waste for the world to lose a girl like you."
"Coryo... That's not right." You say, shaking your head. The way your face fell made him nervous. "You can't tell me you did it for me. That is not as noble as you feel like it is."
He felt stupid for telling you that, despite its truth. You wouldn't like it, he knew that. "I know, but I don't want to keep anything from you. I have to tell you why I did the things I did, I have to get you to trust me again. I'd speak every thought I'll ever have if that's what it takes."
You take a shaky breath. "What about when you killed Bobbin?" It took you a moment to even get the words to leave your mouth- and he waited all the while. Powder blue. Patient.
"I... okay." Coryo nods to himself. "I was scared, I didn't want to do it. Sejanus was injured, I remember realizing he couldn't walk. I tried to talk to the boy, but he wouldn't listen..." He trails off, not daring to break eye contact with you. "I felt... desperate. I was panicking, and then... powerful. That's the only way I can describe it. That I wasn't helpless anymore, the way I always had been."
His words are terrifying to you, but you can't look away as you tuck Tybalt closer to your chest. He's stopped purring, but he's breathing against you, craning into your touch. It's actively keeping you grounded through your fear.
"Then I looked at you," Coryo continues. "And I thought that I should have let him kill me instead, because maybe that would have hurt you less."
You swallow the anxiety sitting heavy and thick in the back of your throat. If it was you, you would have thought 'Yes. I should die before taking the life of another,' but since it was Coryo, your gut reaction was telling you to say no; to reassure him that he was only protecting himself and it was scary but he had done the right thing. The realization that he outweighed your own morals and the fact that as much as you wanted to say that, you weren't sure you would stick to it yourself now was a sick combination of things to grapple with all at once.
"Stop, please." You say quietly, feeling your heartbeat picking up just behind your ears. You don't even notice when you had looked away, but your eyes are shut tight.
"Okay, okay. I'll stop." Coryo quickly promises. "But I need you to look at me, okay? Can you do that?"
When you don't immediately respond, he takes the calculated risk of rubbing your back. It didn't scare you last time, it almost seemed to help for the brief moment you were able to look at him.
"I'm sorry." You say quickly, voice cracking.
"Don't be." He says softly, feeling how quickly you're breathing with the hand he has so delicately placed on your back.
It almost makes him cry, too, not knowing what to do to help. It was his fault, again, and this time there was no Lucy Gray or Lennox to come running. He looks around anyway as you cling to the cat in your lap. Tybalt. Quickly, he looks down to the book at his side.
"Oh sweet Juliet," He says, no better ideas surfacing on how to help you. He would make a fool out of himself if he must, but he had to try. "Thy beauty has made me effeminate, and in my temper softened... valor's steel." He tries to remember, and prays that he remembered it correctly.
Under his hand he feels you shake, and he tries to catch your eyes again. It takes him a moment to realize that you weren't crying harder- he hadn't made it all worse again. You were laughing.
He grins, chuckling slightly. "There she is, hey, hey... Look at me."
You turn your head, your smile already mostly gone by the time your eyes reach his.
"I don't remember it, can you refresh me?" He asks, trying to give you an adequate distraction.
"That... that scene? Uh-" Your mind is short-circuiting, running a million miles a minute to try and remember more details. What came before, what came after?
"Anything. Any part you want."
"Okay. Okay..." You nod, trying as best you can to take a deep breath. "Come, gentle night; come, loving, black-browed night. Give me my Romeo, and, when I shall die, take him and cut him out in little stars, and he will make the face of heaven so fine that all the world will be in love with night..."
Just like at your interview, Coryo watches your anxiety begin to melt away as you recite every line. Something about it was so calming to you. It forced you to focus on something other than the tightness in your chest and the tremor of your hands.
"Atta girl..." Coryo nods, proud as he keeps rubbing your back. "Are you feeling a little better? Do you want some water?"
"I- I can get it." You nod quickly, reaching for the bag and digging for your water bottle, careful to not disturb the cat on your lap.
"I'm sorry." He says, withdrawing his hand so you can drink in peace. "I hate that the games have done this to you..."
You seal up the bottle again, wiping your lips on your wrist and shaking your head. "No one can come out of that unchanged, but... let's talk about something else, please."
"I just... I hope you know how much I truly care for you. That's real. That will always be real." Coryo promises, allowing you to put the bottle down before taking your hand.
His hands are slightly cold against the one of yours he is holding, and you attribute that to your no doubt increased blood pressure. There's nothing but pure, undiluted honesty in his eyes.
"I read your note." He continues, wanting to explain but you look away quickly, letting out a slight laugh. He's never seen your face so red.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said the things I did. It was foolish and I was feeling so confident knowing that that day very well may have been my last and-"
"It wasn't foolish." Coryo smiles slightly, moving so he can look in your eyes again. "It was sweet, and all this time I have been dying to tell you that I love you. I do." The confession has his heart pounding as if he were the one who is still coming down from a panic attack.
For the first time maybe in your whole life, you were speechless. It didn't feel like all the love stories you had read in books that made your heart flip the way it just had- it was more. It was your story, and no quote felt quite fitting to describe your own feelings. They were all yours.
"Is that... is that okay? I don't want to scare you but-" Coryo doesn't even get the chance to finish before your lips are against his.
You are kissing him. You're real, you're alive, and he is finally getting that second kiss that he never thought he would have. You were still his.
Your cat had long abandoned his post on your lap by the time Coryo processed this and moved his hands up to grasp your cheeks. He's as gentle as he possibly can be, he knows he's being somewhat irrational to imagine you just vanishing from his hold like you had consistently done in his dreams. This wasn't that; your lips against his, your unbelievably soft skin under his hands.
"I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest." You mumble against his lips, having finally found something close enough to express it.
This was real, you were there, and Coriolanus would never let you walk away again.
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waywardxwords · 6 months
Text
I Always Have
Summary: Dean reluctantly agrees to visit a haunted house with you.
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Reader
Word Count: ~2.1k
Warnings: Slight language, small mention of claustrophobia, fluff!
A/N: Day 3 of the #flufftober2023 (@flufftober) prompt challenge! The prompt is: "Wait, you love me?" - "I always have." Side note: if you are on my tag list, I am planning/attempting to post once a day during the month of October. I know that’s a lot of tags and mentions, so if you’d like to be removed you can do so through the Tag List linked in my bio.
Enjoy!
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Haunted Houses weren’t really Dean’s thing…well, of course real haunted houses were. But this was different. This wasn’t haunted by real spirits or monsters; mostly just local high school and college students who needed extra money in the fall so they dressed up like ghosts and ghouls. 
Dean had always hated the idea of actually visiting a haunted house. “You’re gonna pay money to go into an old building and have idiot kids try to scare you? Seriously? That’s the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard.” 
“It’s not just a haunted house, Deanie,” you had egged him on with the nickname he didn’t seem to appreciate. “It’s the pumpkins, and the apple cider, and that fun feeling of experiencing fall and Halloween as a kid.” He had just rolled his eyes. You loved getting under his skin, and as much as you would tell Sam you didn’t know why, you knew (and Sam knew, for that matter).
“Would you two just kiss already?” Sam had teased you from the kitchen of the bunker one night after you had poked and pushed on Dean so hard he had given up and retreated to his bedroom. 
“Ew,” you had forced yourself to shudder at the thought. “Don’t make me puke.”
He laughed so hard he tossed his head back as he did it. “Yeah, okay. The tension between you two is about to make me puke, so do me a favor and just keep it outta the main living areas, got it?” He wasn’t able to dodge the sponge you had been washing dishes with as you tossed it right at his head. 
So here you stood on this October night in the bunker looking at Dean blankly. You blinked twice. 
“You comin’ or not?” He drawled with mock frustration as he pulled his army green jacket over his red and black buffalo plaid flannel. He grabbed the keys off of the counter top and looked at you expectantly. 
“You’re taking me to the haunted house?” You still didn’t believe him. 
“I was plannin’ on it, but you better hurry the hell up before I change my mind,” he grumbled but couldn’t hide the tug at the corner of his lips as you practically squealed and ran by him to get your jacket. 
“Dude,” Sam eyed his brother as soon as you were out of ear shot. 
“I don’t want to hear it,” Dean held up his hand and went to wait for you in the Impala. 
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“What made you change your mind?” You finally asked as Dean pulled the Impala into a parking spot in the dirt field. There were tons of other cars—this wasn’t just a haunted house, but a haunted trail as well and you could hardly hide your excitement. 
“I was tired of hearin’ you bitch and moan,” he shot you a cheesy, over exaggerated smile with his eyes squinted. You rolled your eyes and flung the door open. “Hey, careful with my Baby!” He chirped, his face suddenly morphed into a small scowl. 
“I’m not gonna hurt your precious car, Deanie,” you teased as you met him by the front of the Impala. Each step you took almost had a skip to it, and you couldn’t help yourself as you slipped your arm through his and linked it just at his elbow. 
You weren’t sure if you imagined it, but you felt like his demeanor softened. The two of you walked like that as your boots crunched against the gravel and dirt. There were quite a few others there and a line had formed. The trail was dark but lit by yellow glowing lanterns strung from trees and solar path lights on the ground. 
“Fifteen dollars per person,” there was a teenaged boy at the front of the line with a cash box. Dean’s scowl returned. “Cash only.” He added on at the end. 
“Seriously? Fifteen bucks?” He looked at the kid who just pointed to the sign taped to the front of the table he was at. It read in printed font, ‘$15 per adult’. “Great,” Dean fumbled in his back pocket for his wallet. 
“I got it, Dean. You brought me here and I know it’s not your thing,” you reached for your cross body bag to fish out the money. 
“I got it,” Dean huffed as he retrieved a $20 and a $10 from his leather wallet. “Here.” He handed it to the kid. The kid nodded you both into the event. “What first? Trail or house?” 
“Hmm,” you pondered, your excitement had returned. “Let’s do the trail first.” Your eyes wandered for a second and a squeal left your lips again before you could reign it back in as your gaze noticed a booth just ahead. 
“Jesus Christ,” Dean mumbled, but there was a slight chuckle tucked behind it. 
“Apple cider!” You practically pulled him towards the stand. There was no line, so you were under the lights of the vendor almost immediately. “Two apple ciders, please.” This time, you were sure to pull out your wallet first. 
“That’ll be six dollars,” the woman returned with two cups of cider. You handed her the cash and handed a cup to Dean. 
“Cheers!” You beamed as you clinked your paper cup against his. You noticed a small eye roll from him, but he obliged and took a sip. 
He made a sour face. “Why do you love this stuff?” He rubbed his lips together to get the sweet sticky substance off. 
“I think the real question is, how do you not love this kinda stuff,” you threw back at him as you looped your arm back through his and slowly walked towards the trail. “Halloween is so magical, Dean! It’s literally the best time of year. I think they’ve even polled people on that and determined it is actually the majority's favorite time of the year.”
“Yeah, well, they forgot to poll me on that one,” he grumbled. “We fight this stuff every day. Not this stuff, because it’s fake. But the real deal—the kinda stuff that could kill us. How are you not jaded by that?”
You took a moment before you answered. Your feet stopped moving, so Dean’s stopped too. He turned to look at you as your arm fell out of his. 
“When I was a kid, my Dad loved Halloween. I swear, his whole mood changed when fall rolled around. He built a wooden casket and rigged it with fishing wire to open when our front door opened. We scared every kid that came to our house. And kids would literally come from all over to get spooked,” the memory brought a smile to your lips. “I didn’t even want to trick-or-treat half the time. I just wanted to be at home with my Dad scaring the local middle schoolers. My Dad could be difficult,” your smile fell for a moment as other memories tried to make their way through—memories that Dean was well versed in at this point in your friendship. “But when Halloween came around? Man, those were the best days.”
Dean was silent as his eyes watched your face. He saw the emotions ebb and flow as you spoke. He nodded once. “Okay, then,” he said simply. “Let’s go get spooked.” This time, he held his arm out for you to link yours through, causing you to smile. 
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The trail ended up being more hilarious than terrifying. But you and Dean had thoroughly enjoyed watching others jump and yell as they made their way through. 
Next up, the haunted house. This was a little bit different than the trail, as the hallways were so tightly constructed, only one person could walk ahead at a time. You shuddered slightly as you waited, but it was enough for Dean to notice.
“Oh, come on,” he teased as he glanced over his shoulder at you. “You’re not scared, are you?”
Your face scrunched at him as you gave him a slight nudge. “Not scared,” you emphasized. “Just jumpy…” sounds of other haunted house goers ahead of you erupted from just inside the corridor–it made you excited all over again. 
It was your turn to enter the main hallway next. They paused between groups to give everyone the full experience. Dean led the way with you closely behind. The house was even darker than outside, if possible, so it took your eyes a second or two to adjust. 
There were fake cobwebs and a strobe light tucked away somewhere that sent flashes of light in the hall. Screams filled your ears, and you weren’t sure if they were from other patrons or if there was an audio playing in the background—probably the latter. Your eyes danced around in sensory overload as you tried to take it all in. As Dean rounded the first corner, you missed the memo that there were holes cut out in the wall, so when the first pair of hands reached out followed by someone growling behind the plywood, you couldn’t help the way your body jumped or the scream that followed. 
Dean tossed his head back in laughter and turned briefly to look at you. Your heart beat pretty hard against your chest, but you still reached out to swat at him. He surprised you by catching your wrist with his large palm and carefully pulled your arms so they were around his middle. He held them there, and you realized he was giving you something to hold onto. 
“Alright, Kat Harvey,” he referenced your favorite Casper-loving character from the classic ghost movie. “You’re alright.” The hum of his voice vibrated through the layers of clothing on his back. Even though you didn’t feel scared anymore, you couldn’t pull your arms away. 
You inched behind Dean throughout the rest of the haunted house, laughter erupted from both of you as teenagers tried to scare you. It was refreshing to see Dean laugh—truly laugh—and it made you smile. 
As you exited the house, he released your hands he had clutched against his middle and cleared his throat. “That was…”
“I know, I know,” you rolled your eyes as you shook off the empty feeling you felt without his touch. “It was lame, you can say it.”
He hesitated for a moment as he looked back to the house and then shrugged towards you. “Nah, I was gonna say it was actually kinda fun.” A smile tugged at his lips. 
“Oh…” you grinned back. “Yeah, it was fun. Thanks for bringing me here, Dean.” You tucked a fallen strand of hair behind your ear and turned to head back to the parking lot. 
“Where are you going?” He asked. When you turned back, you noticed he hadn’t moved from his spot. 
“Uh…back to the car? That was all you had signed up for…heck, you kinda threw me a bone agreeing to do both the trail and the haunted house.”
“Nuh uh,” he shook his head. “I spent thirty bucks to get us in here. There’s a pumpkin carving booth over there. You said ‘pumpkins, apple cider and haunted houses’. We’re doin’ all three, dammit,” he said firmly but followed it up with a smile. 
Your eyes beamed at at him and you bit your bottom lip gently before striding back over to him, “God, I love you.” Your breath caught in your throat after the last word and you froze. With widened eyes, you refused to meet his gaze. 
There was a long pause that felt much longer than it probably was. But very quietly you heard his voice, “Wait, you love me?”
You paused again, but put on your big girl panties and turned to him slowly. “I always have.”
His eyes watched you closely for a moment, and then he moved to you so smoothly. His lips brushed against yours for a moment before he pulled away, but went in for another. 
“I love you, too,” he murmured gently just as your lips parted. Butterflies fluttered in your stomach before he held his arm out for you once more. “Let’s go carve some pumpkins.” He smiled at you, and this time you knew it was different. It was a smile of contentment. Like everything he had needed, had come to fruition in that moment. 
“Let’s,” you beamed back at him as you tucked your arm through his. He leaned towards you for one more kiss before you made your way to the pumpkin carving station. While you weren’t sure what this meant or how your life was about to change, it didn’t matter at that moment. You had pumpkins, apple cider, haunted houses and Dean Winchester at your fingertips. And with that, you couldn’t think of a more perfect autumn evening.
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Thanks for reading!
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magicalbats · 5 months
Text
Kinktober Day 15: Noncon
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Rating: R-18+
Word Count: 6908
Warnings: Afab!reader, gendered language, familial death, noncon, like super noncon, debt, monetary coercion, references to prostitution and public use, implied master/slave dynamic, piv sex, blowjob, throat fucking, double penetration featuring a Fatui debt collector 
A/N: at this point I think anything I write for a Harbinger is just going to be exceptionally dark and gross so tbh consider that a warning in and of itself. This one’s rough so please pay attention to the tags before proceeding any further! I love you guys and I want you all to stay safe so feel free to skip this one if you think you need to!
Snow crunches under heavy boots as you make your way through the small village you called home. It was late, and the moon was out. Its muted, hazy glow casts over the snowdrifts and the shoveled heaps piled away from silent doorways to make it all glitter and shine like mountains of precious silver. You wished that was what it was. Wished you could dig your hands into it and scoop out palmfulls to spend on food and clothes, firewood for the hearth at home so you wouldn’t have to break your back chopping it for yourself every day. Maybe even a new comb for your hair, as a treat. 
You would have been able to afford anything at all if it was something of actual worth stretching out around you as far as the eye could see, so of course you would splurge on a comb. Perhaps even two. And a dress, a fancy one that would make the other girls green with jealousy while the boys threw themselves at your feet like shameless dogs. Anything and everything would be just at your fingertips in this perfect world of whimsical fantasy. Even your freedom. 
It was a nice thought. A tempting one, even. But if snow could be somehow transmuted into silver or any other precious metal then Snezhnaya would be the financial capital of Teyvat rather than the far distant Liyue. Your father had told you about it on occasion, what kind of place it was. How bustling with business and commerce the streets were. You’d thought it sounded like a strange but exciting place. So much potential for success bursting at the seams, just waiting to be struck upon, that you’d once even dreamed of going there yourself some day. Of making a future beyond the hopeless deadend you saw here. 
But that was little more than a long forgotten flight of fancy now, much like your silver-snow. Fantasies were just idle hopes and wishes for children who hadn’t yet learned the crushing truths of the world, and the weight of that sags your shoulders as you work to jostle your front door open. You were tired and cold, and quickly running out of options. 
The door finally gives way with a creak, and you stumble inside to knock the snow off your boots before bending to unlace them. You’re halfway through the motion, one shoe already undone and half kicked off, when you suddenly realize you’re not alone. 
You aren’t sure if it’s a shift of movement at your peripheral, if the redistribution of weight had displaced one of the old floorboards to issue a squeak of warning or if it’s something in the air that just feels … occupied. But you’re immediately aware of it on an intrinsic level and your heart seems to play hopscotch across your ribcage. Frozen to the spot, you just listen to the resounding silence for a long, horrible beat. Then your head comes up to glance across the room at the open doorway that leads into the small kitchen. A warm flicker of light greets your horrified gaze, taunts you with a beckoning sputter. You certainly hadn’t left the lantern burning this entire time, otherwise you probably wouldn’t have even had a home to return to. 
Slowly straightening, you hastily shove your feet back into your boots and reach for the knife hidden under your jacket. You grasp it in a tight, squeezing fist, just the way your father had shown you, and creep towards the doorway. It feels like you're hardly breathing but your pulse still jumps when the floor creaks under you. Nothing to be concerned about though, you try to tell yourself. They would have heard you come in anyway, especially since your damn door never wanted to open right. It was fine if they knew you were there because you knew where they were and it was your house, so you still had the upper hand. Probably. Maybe. 
Oh, please don’t let there be more than one of them, you pray to whichever god might be listening. 
Edging yourself close to the entryway, you’re more than a little relieved to find that it is indeed just a single figure standing over your rickety dinner table and you almost breathe out a heavy sigh. But then that shadowy mass turns, the cast of the lantern illuminating the face, and you nearly drop your knife in surprise. 
“L - lord Regrator?” 
He smiles at you, always soft and always gentle. “Hello, pet. Finally off work are we?” 
You just stand there, mouth moving wordlessly around any number of things you could have said to him in that moment. ‘What are you doing in my house?’ for starters. Maybe even an impulsive ‘why are you sneaking around at night like a thief?’ But all you finally manage to croak out is a threadbare, “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting, my lord” because you simply don’t know what else to say. 
“Don’t worry your pretty little head about that. I haven’t been here for very long.” Still smiling, still soft, he reaches out with an elegantly poised gloved hand as if to touch the top of your table but he stops short. Seems to hesitate. Thinks better of it, and instead sweeps those long fingers outward to gesture at the kitchen at large. “Your home is lovely. Quaint.” 
Pantalone hides his grimace exceptionally well. You only barely manage to make out the slightest tension that settles around his mouth in the cast of the burning lantern that sits sentry on the table between you and him, tossing odd shadows across his face. His contempt for your lodgings is clear though and you self consciously dart your eyes around the room as if seeing it all for the first time. The old, dilapidated iron stove that looked like it was on its last leg, the crack in the wall where the foundation was starting to give, bit by bit, and the rusting coffee carafe sitting in the tub sink. It probably did look abhorrent compared to what he was in all likelihood used to but it was all you’d ever known. The only thing you’d ever had that couldn’t be taken away. 
Swallowing hard, you center your focus back on him and try not to think about how much he looked like a finely dressed specter standing in the ruins of your life like this. Beautiful and nice to look at but you knew too well the venomous fangs he was hiding beneath that deceptively pleasant veneer. Like a wraith come to life to haunt you endlessly. Tirelessly. Ghoulishly. 
“Please forgive me, my lord.” You whisper into the eerie stillness. “Had I known you would be coming I would have cleaned and made preparations. Would you like me to make tea?” 
“Not at all.” 
You wince, and try not to wither. “Then is there something I can help you with?” 
Noising a thoughtful sound, Pantalone casually shifts into motion and you very nearly go scuttling backwards to escape him. But, to your surprise, he doesn’t approach you and instead wanders over to the stove to give it a shuttered but no less judgemental inspection. You start to bring your hand up to wipe the beading sweat from your brow only to abruptly realize you were still holding onto the knife. 
Stealing a look at where you’ve got it clutched in a death grip, you quickly decide to keep it out for the moment. You very well might need it. 
“One would think that old fool would have used some of the loan he borrowed to do a bit of upkeep on the place.” He murmurs, more to himself than you and perfectly offhand, but it still makes your chest squeeze tight. You probably should have seen this coming but the hurt catches you off guard. Makes you hate him just a little more. 
“I’m sorry my home is not to your liking, lord Regrator. I could have met you somewhere else if you’d just - -“
“Oh?” Pantalone cuts across you, neither raising his voice nor sharpening his tone. It’s the same soft, gentle refinement in his voice as usual that makes you cower in the doorway when he turns to make his long cloak flutter outward like a dancer. “And why would I give you the chance to run out on me like that? I know this isn’t exactly your area of expertise, dear, but surely even you must know that that’s just bad for business.”
You find yourself prickling defensively. For him to even insinuate such a thing … “I wouldn’t do that, my lord. I’ve been working hard to pay you back this entire time, just like we agreed. I even got a second job at the mill so I could make ends meet and still be able to make my payments on time. To up and leave after all the effort I’ve put into - -“
“Then can you give me your next payment now?” 
“I … my lord, I still have another week to get it.” 
Looking at you through the creeping gloom, Pantalone finally allows a small frown to tug at his mouth. “So that’s a ‘no’? Such a pity. I’d really rather hoped you would be better than your father.” 
You feel like you’re going to be sick. Hot and nauseous, and increasingly dizzy, you just stare at him for a drawn out beat before finally giving your head a numb shake. “No. That’s not what you said. My lord, you agreed - -“
“Let me explain something to you.” He cuts across you again, the faintest note of displeasure coloring his voice now. Sedately, he folds his hands together and moves towards you with the slow, rhythmic thud of his boots on the floorboards making your heart pound even faster. It sounded deafeningly loud in your cotton stuffed ears. “Loans are not granted out of goodwill and charity. There are terms that must be agreed upon by both parties before any mora can trade hands. Would you care to take a guess what terms your father took his loan out on?” 
You shake your head and back up a step, still clutching the knife beside your hip. Every fiber of your being was screaming at you to run, flee as fast as you can and never look back, but that would just make things worse, wouldn’t it? Prove that his wariness to trust you was well founded. You couldn’t afford to test the limits of his benevolence any further, figuratively or literally, so you stand your ground even when he comes within arms reach where he finally stops. Tilts his head to one side and then draws a calm breath. 
“Twenty-five percent interest. That is what accumulates every single day you don’t make a payment in full. To put it in layman’s terms, the only way for you to even make a dent in your fathers loan would be to pay around, oh, let’s say … 16000 mora a week?” 
Your knees almost give out right from under you. That couldn’t be true. There was no way … “Do — do you really expect me to be able to pay that much?” 
Softly tutting at you, Pantalone fixes you with a truly pitying look. “Oh, sweet girl. I would never ask something so unreasonable of you. But, as it stands, you did agree to take responsibility for the loan. Rather than a personal expectation on my part, you now have the obligation to pay it back regardless of my own personal thoughts on the matter.” 
“What choice did I have?” You croak. “What else was I supposed to say when you showed up at his funeral and started talking about stuff I have no knowledge of? You made it sound like I didn’t even have a say in it.” 
“Well, that’s hardly my fault if you agreed to something without understanding the full consequences.” 
You were starting to pant even though you hadn’t moved for some time now. It was like you were a tea kettle on the brink of boiling, so hot and messed up inside that you weren’t sure what the inevitable explosion was going to look like. You wanted to scream at him, throw yourself on the floor and sob like an inconsolable baby. You wanted to curse him, spit at him, hurt him — hurt him? 
Your fingers desperately clench around the knife to make sure it was still there. 
You could hurt him. 
Maybe you should hurt him. 
“You’re a monster,” You hiss, finding strength in your conviction, in the blade that had become a part of your arm, an extension of it. Stiffly, you shift to the side so he won’t see the way you readjust your grip on the handle to make sure you’ve got a good hold on it. “A twenty-five percent interest rate? That’s insane. No average person could pay that back in a single lifetime and you know that. You’re just a thief taking advantage of people.” 
Seamlessly, Pantalone’s placid little smile slips back into place. “Is that so?” 
“Yes.” You hiss the word at him, and try to work up your courage to follow through. You’d never stabbed another person before but in this instance, for him, you were quite certain you could. All you needed to do was goad him into closing the distance and get him near enough for your knife to reach. “You prey on the poor and impoverished like it’s some kind of game, don’t you? Is this what gets you off?” 
“That’s a rather crass thing for a young lady to say, isn’t it?” He simpers at you. Then, much to your heart pounding surprise, he takes a step towards you. And another. “But since you asked I feel it would be remiss of me not to give you an answer. How does a demonstration sound?” 
Your eyes go big, startled heat warming your cheeks quicker than you can even process it. There wasn’t enough time to think about that right now though. He was almost right on top of you, looming over you like some horrible, menacing beast in his fine furs. You seem to have forgotten how to breathe when the only thought flashing through your mind was sinking the blade in your hand through his chest. His neck. Whatever you could reach in the split second chance you were going to get to deliver the blow. Jaw clenched painfully tight, you squeeze your fingers around the knife so hard it hurts. 
And you lunge. 
An unseen hand materializes out of the darkness behind you and snatches your upraised wrist before you can bring it down. You’re so caught off guard that you don’t even have the wherewithal to gasp. A rough jerk on your arm yanks you off balance and right back against a solid wall of muscle that doesn’t even shift at the impact. Your animal instincts seem to take over and you wildly jerk your head up, just catching a glimpse of a red mask, a black hood, and then sharp, tearing pain is shooting up your captured limb. The masked fiend — a man, judging by his frame — twists and mercilessly bends your wrist until you drop the knife with an earth shattering clatter on the floor. Dully realizing you were caught and unarmed now, you violently wrench against his hold in an attempt to free yourself but he just drags you against him again. 
Screaming and kicking, he heedlessly maneuvers you further into the kitchen but even trying to turn into dead weight in his arms doesn’t dissuade him in the slightest. All he does is haul you close, lift you up in the air and then slam you down on top of the table with enough force to knock the air from your lungs. You’re distantly aware of him shuffling back a step as you lie there, gasping and wheezing while you weakly try to pull your body upright again but it’s useless. The teeth rattling impact against the sturdy wood had effectively stunned you. Your limbs didn’t want to cooperate and it was hard just to breathe, let alone try to run or fight back. 
And somehow through all the agony you’re vaguely aware of Pantalone’s approaching boot steps on the floor. 
“Goodness, was that really necessary? You could have set the whole place on fire.” He tut tuts at his underling and you slowly turn your head to watch him pick up the lantern where it was tipped over. The only thing that had stopped it from shattering or rolling off onto the floor was the protective cage around the glass but you weren’t sure if you wanted to thank whoever had designed it or curse them for it. There was no telling what they were going to do to you, and you may have preferred going up in a puff of smoke when all was said and done … 
Archons above, how were you supposed to get out of this? 
“Now,” Intoning, Pantalone gracefully moves to set the lantern on the adjacent countertop where it wouldn’t get knocked over again. The glow from the flame dances and moves with him, and you groan when it seems to make your nausea double down. You’d never felt quite so sick in all your life. “As I was saying, I think a hands-on demonstration should satisfy your curiosity well enough. As an aside, though, I would suggest not asking men about their sexual proclivities in the future. It just might keep you out of trouble.” 
“Bastard …” 
He comes close again, reaching out to close his fingers around the roots of your hair so he can yank your head back against the table. Seething, you glare up at him but he just keeps smiling that same polite smile. It was hideous. 
“My, my, that really is a filthy mouth you’ve got. Did you learn that from your father? Perhaps we should wash it out with soap while we’re at it.” 
“Stop it! Do not speak of him!” 
Chuckling faintly, Pantalone slowly lets up on your hair before moving to step around the table. Wheezing, you hastily try to roll over so you can slip down to the floor but the masked man stops you dead in your tracks. He was just standing there. Watching. Still and silent as a statue but you didn’t have to see his eyes to know how attentive his focus was. Like he was just waiting for the slightest hint of real resistance so he could use it as an excuse to rough you up again. Evil and loyal to a fault. 
From out of the void, Pantalone’s gloved fingers abruptly brush over your pants leg to make you jolt and whip your attention around so fast the room starts to spin. But once your vision clears enough to see, you just find him standing over you and as at ease as ever. He would have looked completely unassuming if you didn’t know any better.  
“Do try to keep your eyes on me, darling. After all, I’m going out of my way to give you a thorough and worthwhile answer, so the least you can do is pay attention.” 
“Please don’t …” 
Drawing a stilted breath that seems to shudder at the tail end, he slowly drags his palm up to your knee and then back down until it hits the top of your boot. Casually, much too casually for your liking, he disinterestedly nudges it off your foot to hit the floor before repeating the process on the other side. You cower on top of the table, biting back a sob when he reaches up to unbutton your jacket next, but you understood too well just how trapped you really were. The masked man was standing between you and the entryway, much bigger and much stronger than you were. You’d never be able to fight your way past him. In front of you was Pantalone and to the other side … the small kitchen door that led out into the yard was a non option because you hadn’t shoveled away the snow in months. You’d thought it was a good idea to leave as few points of entry into the house as possible now that you were alone, but you realized just how foolish that really was. You had no way out, no viable exits. 
“Are you really going to do this?” You fearfully whisper into the still air. 
With a soft click of his tongue, Pantalone gets the last button undone and brings his hands up again to push the jacket over your shoulders. “Only because you asked.” 
A full bodied tremor tears through you at the pur in his silky voice. Sucking in a ragged, gasping breath, you turn your head against the table to fix your attention on the beckoning door while he works on the next layer, and the next, leaving everything bunched around the bends of your arms, until he at last gets down to the bottommost chemise. You shiver at the loss of heat and the chill that rushes in to replace it, your nipples already cutting up into the thin material, but your reaction doesn’t so much as give him pause. 
Gloved hands drag up your front to cup around the swell of your breasts and squeeze, making you whimper in the back of your throat. “Well, this is certainly a pleasant surprise. I had no idea you were hiding such a voluptuous body underneath all those clothes.” Humming softly, as if in consideration, Pantalone readjusts his hold and shoves your tits together to make them squish under the final layer. “These are nice, aren’t they … have you ever considered going into prostitution? I’m sure you could make a pretty mora for yourself.” 
You screw your eyes shut but it doesn’t do much to block out the sound of his voice. “I would never …” 
“Oh? What a shame.” Pausing, he releases your chest in favor of neatly folding the material up to bunch under your chin and you outright writhe when the chilly air hits your stiff nipples full blast. “Though, if I’m being honest, I am quite tempted to take you with me back to the palace and start selling you myself. You’d be quite popular, you know. One look at this body and every man in the room would be tripping over themselves just to give me their entire savings for a mere hour with you. Perhaps you could pay me back that way, hm?” 
Whimpering when Pantalone lightly brushes his fingers over the pebbled peaks of your breasts, the leather stiff and cool to the touch, you twist your neck back in a blithe attempt to escape that velvety croon. It was no use though. Like you were smothered under his presence you could feel him, hear him all around you. You could even taste him on the back of your tongue where the cloying scent of expensive cologne swarmed your senses. It was too much. You didn’t want this. 
“Please … I’ll do anything, just — please don’t do this to me.” 
He gently shushes you even as he takes a moment to tweak your nipples, almost idly plucking at them until you hiss and choke on a broken little sob. Leaning over you then, hunching close, Pantalone puts his face near enough to yours that his exquisite eyeglass chain slides forward to brush against your cheek. He just looks at you like that for a long moment, still pinching your teats like an afterthought. 
Then, “You’ll do anything except the one thing that might actually get you out of this mess? My dear, I think you’re even more confused than I first thought. You do not have the luxury of choice here.”
Your stomach clenches. Roils and heaves. The dread that settles over you is debilitatingly crushing but you can’t quite stop yourself from looking up at him now, brows drawn in confusion and agony alike. “What do you mean?” It’s barely more than a whisper. 
“What I mean is simple. I own you.” He hisses it, punctuating that statement with an aggressive twist of your nipples to make you shriek. “Until that loan is paid off in full, you belong to me. Your life is in my hands, pet. If I decide you’re going to go stand naked in the town square and present yourself to every man walking by until you find a taker then that is precisely what you are going to do. Is that clear enough for you?” 
You squawk out a frantic, wild sound that might be a ‘yes’ and, to your reeling surprise, he immediately lets up on your poor breasts entirely. Just like that his mood seems to shift back to the usual placid tone and soft smiles, and you violently shudder as he soothes his palms over your aching teats as if to lessen the hurt. You can’t even begin to make sense of it but the relief you feel is staggering, and you force your quaking body to relax into it as much as you can manage. Of course you’d known what he was hiding under that pleasant facade, had seen it peek out on more than one occasion, but this was far beyond what even you had thought him capable. 
Perhaps you shouldn’t have been surprised though. Maybe you should have expected it on some level, but you now knew how very fine the line you were walking really was. He could do anything at all to you if the notion struck his fancy and something told you making you sell your body on the streets was only a small drop in the bucket. He was evil and deranged. Cutthroat. You had to play your cards very carefully if you wanted to avoid the worst of it. 
You repeat that to yourself, over and over again in your mind like a mantra when he finally reaches for your pants. It takes everything you have not to scream and kick, spit at him like a wild animal, but you manage, somehow, to just lay there, allowing him to get them pulled down your legs right along with your soft drawers. Left in nothing but your socks and the rumpled up heap of jackets and shirts bunched around your arms, you shyly squeeze your legs together to hide from him. You didn’t want him to see your most intimate spot. To look upon you like a lover would, but you don’t fight it when he grabs your hips and pulls you closer to the edge of the table. 
You had to play nice. Had to be good for him so he wouldn’t sell you to anyone that could afford to pay the hefty price tag he would no doubt ask for. Just the thought of him taking you makes bile rise in the back of your throat but even in the jittery panic coursing through your system you still recognized exactly how limited your options were. This was the lesser of two evils. You hated it beyond measure, but it was the far more bearable alternative. 
So you hold your breath, head spinning at an alarming rate, when he nudges your knees apart. Let them fall open in a shameless spread that leaves you bared to him and vulnerable. Your face feels like it’s on fire and furious tears sting your eyes, but you just clench your hands into tight, shaking fists. The nails dig in to lance pain through your palms and it helps ground you. Steadies your nerves even when he coos down at you with a saccharine sweetness. 
“And such a pretty pussy too … I admit, I’m rather impressed. I didn’t take you for the sort.”
You adamantly refused to respond to him now, leaving your mouth pursed in a thin line and your head turned away so you could keep your attention locked on the door. You should have shoveled the snow. Should have considered your situation a little more carefully. 
The featherlight brush of Pantalone’s fingertips on your cunt makes you jolt, almost pulls your head back around, but you stay firm on this. Prone and pliant for him as he traces a brief path down your slit before nudging into the lips to feel for your entrance. You wince at the contact, grimacing when he worms one long digit into your body even when he meets resistance, even though your shuddering muscles try to keep him out. The drag of his glove along your inner sleeve pulls a muffled hiss from you but he doesn’t even seem to notice. Or maybe he just doesn’t care.
“Tight too. That will help your value price a great deal. Tell me, poppet. You wouldn’t happen to be a virgin, would you?” 
You don’t much appreciate the note of humor in his voice, the sly inflection that would seem to suggest he found the prospect amusing. Delightful, even. Seething through your teeth at the uncomfortable penetration, you can’t help but squirm with the overwhelming urge to run away. “No.” You practically growl the word. “I’m not, you sick bastard.” 
Chuckling softly, he takes a moment to fuck into you with his finger, soon adding a second to stretch you out, but it does little in the way of good. There was too much tension thrumming through your body; too many aches and pains, and fast pumping adrenaline, and not nearly enough pleasure to be found on his cool digits to draw any amount of wetness out of you. But you keep your legs spread because you know that’s what is expected of you. You don’t protest when he eventually withdraws his fingers and reaches up to flick your shirt back open where you’d tried to pull it closed over your chest to stave off some of the cold. And you just lay there, unmoving save the harsh rise and fall of your labored breaths, when he reaches down to spread open his cloak before working to free himself from his pants. 
You don’t look. You can’t look, your heart painfully wrenching as he shuffles close to line his cock up. The blunt pressure of the head sinking into your slit steals the air from your lungs and you freeze, holding yourself so still it makes the joints scream in protest when he slowly starts to sink into you. Inch by excruciating inch, he bullies his way into your cunt and you choke on a pitiful little sound when your body is forced to grant him entry. It hurts. The smooth, silky texture of his length does nothing at all to ease the discomfort when you were trembling so stiffly and your guts were tight with fear. Pantalone just grunts over top of you though, his fingers sinking into the flesh of your hips tight enough to make bruises bloom under the pressure. 
And finally, an eternity later, he settles against you at long last. 
A wounded groan spills from your mouth as you sensitively twitch on his cock. He was so hot, so blindingly warm inside you, it felt like he was branding you from the inside out. Leaving his mark where no one else would ever be able to see it. You’d never be able to forget the claim he’d made on your body though, with or without his stamp seared into your flesh, and you wheeze, trying very hard not to hyperventilate. Somehow spewing your guts up all over him didn’t seem like it would do you any favors. 
“Oh, that is a tight fit, isn’t it?” He murmurs, allowing himself a moment to just bask in the squeeze of your body. The weak palpitations trying to push him out which only succeed in milking at him. A pleasurable tremor works through his frame, and he reaches up to adjust the position of the glasses on his nose where they’d started to slide forward. “You certainly know how to make a good case for yourself, pet. I admit, I’m suddenly feeling less inclined to sell you for a profit and more partial towards keeping you for my own personal use.” 
Stiffening on the table, you shoot him a quick, wild look before you can stop it, but he just laughs, very softly. 
“Don’t look so surprised. You aren’t nearly as clever as you think.” Loosing a breathy, almost dreamy sigh, Pantalone starts to slowly pull out and you jolt so hard at the gripping drag against your innards that you slam your head back into the wood with a resounding thud. “I had my suspicions when you stopped struggling but you didn’t even have the decency to beg me to stop. Although I do appreciate the cooperation on your part, I still wasn’t entirely convinced you would be worth the trouble. Housing, feeding, upkeep … there are so many different things to consider when one is thinking of taking on the responsibility of a new pet.” 
He pauses, the head of his cock just wedged inside your cunt now. Tipping his face down, he regards the sight of you spread out for him, on your back with your legs curled open around his waist and his rigid length poised to spear back into you. It makes him hum a quiet groan, his usually placid smile growing a little sharper. Hungrier. He looks at you like a finely dressed conqueror about to lay ruin to a yet untouched and fertile land. His for the taking. 
Slowly, he starts to sink in again. “But this sweet little cunt of yours is taking me so well. Even without the proper preparations you still fit me like a glove. Like you were made just for my cock … tell me, darling, will you be a good pet for me?” 
“Y - yes …” You seethe, once more screwing your eyes shut so you won’t have to look at him. Flawless and beautiful, and horrible hunching over you. 
There was an end in sight though, if you could just reach out and grasp it. Clutch it to your chest with fervent hysteria and never let it go. He’d already damned you but you were willing to take your salvation wherever you could get it. The mere thought of other men having you like this, all strangers, faces you’ve never seen before; the old and the young, the sick and the drunk, is enough to steel your resolve. If this was to be your fate you would much rather suffer solely at Pantalone’s hands than anyone else’s. 
And he moans, ever so faintly, at your acquiescence. Starts to pump into you a bit quicker, ignoring the way your face pinches in pain and discomfort. “Will you do everything I say, poppet? Will you be a nice and obedient dog for me? Will you call me master?” 
The breathy quality of his voice makes your stomach wrench and threaten to regurgitate all of its contents, but you force yourself to stiltedly nod. “Yes, I will. Anything … m - master.” 
“Such a good, smart girl you are.” He laughs. “Then will you suck his cock for me?” 
You go ramrod stiff, a fresh surge of horror washing over you. It crashes against you like turbulent ocean waves hitting the rocks on a beach, slamming with enough force to slowly chip away at their density over time. You’d forgotten about the masked man. So caught up in your own misery his presence had completely slipped your mind for the last however many minutes, but when you stiffly turn your head, you find him already working to undo the front of his pants. Evidently he did not need to be told twice. 
And, to your lurching horror, you clearly had very little choice in the matter. 
“Wait — that’s not what you said!” You squeak, shooting Pantalone a wide eyed, wild look, but he just purses his lips at you. Coos like he would at a baby. 
“Although I might be willing to keep you for myself that doesn’t necessarily mean I won’t deign to share you from time to time, for my own amusement. Besides, it’s just your mouth. I’m much more concerned with this tight cunt of yours.” 
He groans, low and faltering as his pace starts to pick up more. The dull whap of his clothed hips meeting the fleshy give of your thighs grows louder, more insistent, his cock relentlessly carving out a space within you now. It seems to punch the air out of your lungs and you gasp, bleating helplessly there on the table.
A hand suddenly materializes under your chin and locks around your jaw to yank your head back at an awkward angle. You catch a split second glimpse of the cock bobbing in your face, chest hitching in surprise and distress, and horror at what was happening to you, but it was too late. The masked man angles his pelvis forward and roughly shoves himself into your mouth. You shriek around the intrusion, tears stinging your eyes at the cloying taste of him. Salty and musky, bitter enough to make your skin crawl, but there’s nothing you can do about it. He just keeps your neck pinned down while Pantalone fucks into you even harder, his moans becoming louder when your body subconsciously squeezes him every time you writhe.
It was like you were being stretched between two equally unrelenting forces and even trying to twist away does nothing to make it better. Your breasts just jostle violently with each thrust from the man positioned between your legs and your throat constricts painfully when the masked stranger tries to shove his length straight down your gullet. Coughing and sputtering, struggling just to breathe, you force yourself to go still again and just accept what was happening on the slim chance that would make it somehow more tolerable. 
But of course it doesn’t. The unknown Fatuus doesn’t stop trying until your face is covered in a slimy, bubbling sheen of spittle and saliva that slowly runs back into your hair. Finally, after many attempts that have left your throat bruised and raw, he at last manages to sink himself halfway into the squeezing passage and you violently jerk when you realize you can’t breathe. A tiny, muffled noise manages to escape your constricting airway, but he just groans in response and shudders as if it felt good. You quickly become lightheaded, stomach heaving as if to finally throw up but — he suddenly pulls out to leave you desperately gasping and choking in the aftermath. 
Weakly, you try to lift your head with the intention of sending Pantalone an imploring look but the other man just palms the top of your skull and manually turns you back towards his cock again. Not having a choice, you pitifully roll your eyes up to look at him instead even as you take his length back into your mouth. You can see him snarling under his mask from this angle, his lips pulled back in a sneer of concentration while he thrusts towards the back of your aching throat to drag out more sticky sheets of drool that run down your chin in messy clumps. 
It is not this degradation that finally breaks you, nor is it the fact Pantalone is using you like a mere toy for him to get off on. What eventually does it is the sticky wet click you just manage to make out over all the other lurid sounds buzzing around you, and you dully realize it’s coming from between your legs. Your cunt was slicking for him. Against your will, defying all logic and reason, your body was responding to this cruel treatment. That horrifies you perhaps more than anything else and, letting out a wailing sob, you let the tears spill out to track hot, stinging paths down your burning face. 
The masked man clicks his tongue as if disgusted to see you crying like this, and he finally lets up his hold on your jaw. Allowing your head to loll bonelessly on the table, you just lay there while he reaches down to grab a pinching handful of your swaying breast, squeezing it so hard you groan in response. 
Between your spread legs, Pantalone issues a quiet, insidious chuckle. “Poor thing. You already look so tired … not to worry though. I’m sure a nice warm bath back at the palace will have you back to sorts quickly enough.” 
You hiccup at the thought, distantly realizing how cold you were. Yes, this was certainly the best outcome you could have hoped for. Pantalone would take care of you. Feed you. Keep you warm and clean, and comfortable so long as you were obedient. A nice pet for him to play with whenever the mood struck. It wasn’t exactly the life you’d dreamed of, but at least it was something. 
It wasn’t the prosperous lands of opportunity in Liyue you’d longed for as a child when your father was still alive, but at least it was a marginally better life than the one you currently had. 
The toll it would have on your body and mind alike seemed a reasonable price to pay for your freedom from debt. After all, what other choice did you even have?
Crossposted: here
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clovercrafted · 1 year
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🌺🌿 the flowering azalea tavern 🌿🌺
In terms of interior there is no interior. But the exterior is pretty and it came out exactly how I wanted it too! Was not expecting to use dark prismarine for this, the original plan was gonna be green concrete but then I thought it’d be too similar to my last build, ah well!
Tag list ☘️ (ask to be +/-): @gronglegrowth @flyingfish1234 @absintheaftershock @pumpkinicing @adairctedgibbgirl @tend-rmeat @lesbianpercyblofis @yourfriendphoenix @entomolodee @grymmdark @polnareffsbrows @podcasts-on-the-brain @sculkgrowths @berieecraft @asynchronouscommunication
blocks used below v
Walls: granite, polished granite, bricks, terracotta, dark prismarine
Roof: oxidised copper, oxidised cut copper stairs, oxidised cut copper slab, prismarine stairs, prismarine slab, light blue concrete powder, warped wart block, warped planks, warped plank slab, warped plank stairs, prismarine bricks, prismarine brick slab, prismarine brick stairs, dark prismarine, dark prismarine stairs, dark prismarine slab Frame and Windows: oak log, oak planks, oak slab, oak stairs, oak trapdoors, white stained glass panes, light blue stained glass panes
Extra Decor: flowering azalea, flowering azalea leaves, azalea leaves, plantpot, jungle trapdoor, spruce trapdoor, moss, hanging roots, allium, peony, vines, glow lichen, grass, long grass, barrels, jungle fence, jungle gates, brick wall, granite wall, lanterns, glow berries, brick slab, granite slab, polished granite slab Path: moss, green wool, moss carpet, mossy cobblestone, stone button, ferns
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dollwritesarchive · 1 year
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𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 & 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐮𝐭 — 𝐡𝐚𝐥 𝐣𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐚𝐧
𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!lantern!reader, rough sex, dubcon in the beginning, suggested age gap ( undefined but hal is significantly older ), sir kink, improper use of constructs, pet names ( little girl, baby girl, sweetheart ), hal is a condescending asshole, very light impact play ( face slapping ), brief knife kink mention, size kink, slight pain kink, all characters featured are 18+
𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ requested by my bestiest maguroni. do not repost or translate. please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3
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this should’ve been a dream come true.
your very first, official mission with Honor Guard, legend, and your personal role model— Hal fucking Jordan. after all, he was the reason you worked so hard to become a lantern yourself, and protect your very own sector of the universe. he was a living, breathing interuniversal hero, and that was unheard of for a human. you wanted to be just like him.
out of all the cadets freshly trained, you were hand picked to tag along. to follow his every order, and to learn from the best.
and you’d fucked it up in a major way.
you were only trying to help, and thought that you made the right call by abandoning your post to chase the culprit— until you realized it was a fluke. and the prisoner had slipped by your perimeter as easy as could be while you were chasing your wild goose.
needless to say, your Honor Guard supervisor had been pissed, and tore into you right there, civilians watching and all. he’d gripped your face when you’d attempted to stare at your feet and wrenched it back up towards him, hollowing your cheeks with how much pressure he’d applied as he leaned close to hiss in your face. “Don’t ever disobey my orders again, rookie. I say jump, you jump. I say sit pretty, you sit pretty. You got me?”
your eyes were wide— he didn’t yell like Kilowog who’d trained you, but growled, threatened with dilated pupils and furrowed brows. “Yes sir.” it was all you could muster: a pathetic and humiliated whisper. you could feel everyone staring, and you wanted desperately to disappear.
“Get in the cruiser.” he’d murmured, clenching his teeth. you glanced to the vessel waiting. it was sleek and only required one to man it. it had been designed specifically for this mission, for you and Hal and the prisoner. you nod, obedient, and expecting some form of punishment awaiting your arrival back on Oa. however, Hal adds, gruffly, as he gives you a subtle shove when he releases your face. “Your ass is mine.”
“What did I say, huh?” Hal barks, the emerald specters flowing from the ring on his finger, branching off into a multitude of massive hands, all grabbing at you, pinning you to the control panel of the oh-so-shiny, brand new intergalactic cruiser. “I told you that your punishment for insubordination would be severe, didn’t I?”
“Y—yes sir.” it was hard to think about anything other than how he’d managed to wrap you up in constructs, glowing green fists that cinch your wrists together above your head, coils of them that spread your legs, the glowing blade that’d sliced your suit to shreds, exposing most of your body to him. you couldn’t even concentrate to fight back, and knew better than to try, anyways. your head lolls back, eyes tracing along your bound wrists, nervously gripping at them.
“Look here, little girl.” Hal demands, and your attention snaps back to your superior before you. he’d finished his cock from his suit, and now pumped it to life, and you stare with widened, awe-filled eyes as it swells. he was big and strong, the tip swelling right beneath his thumb as he teases his own slit with a grunt of pleasure, one hand gripping himself at the base as he takes one step closer to you, and then another, until he stands in the gap provided by your split thighs.
there’s a faint bubbling in your belly, an urge nestling deep inside you, just as you take in the full visage of Hal; the thickness, the bulging vein that spiderwebs the underside of his shaft, and the broad head that you could imagine would force a cry from your lips if he speared into you. you can’t help how wet it made you. “S—sir…”
Hal tilts his head, jutting his hips to drape his length over your belly, to emphasize just how much bigger he was than you— how deep he would go. it made your head swim. by the looks of it, he would never fit. “Oh yeah, I’m definitely going to ruin your pretty, little pussy.” he smirks, as if replying to the disbelief in your mind and written all over your face.
“I’ll never disobey your orders again, sir.” you breathed out, chest heaving with anxiety ( or, was it anticipation ? ). “I’m sorry…”
but Hal quirked a brow, running one hand up the length of your body, he made sure to give your tender breast a hard squeeze before caressing your cheek, taunting you by running the pad of his thumb over your trembling bottom lip. “Oh, it’s much too late for that, little girl,” he croons, pushing his thumb between the threshold of your lips. he hooks it against the corner of your mouth to keep it anchored there. “You’re gonna take your punishment like a good girl, and then you’re going to know exactly what happens to insubordinate whores.”
the hand holding himself on your belly has, instead, directed his herculean cock to your exposed, slick sex. but, he didn't plunge right in. Hal takes his time, using the bulbous, pink tip to spread your netherlips, running it up and down, gathering your essence over it. “You’re fucking dripping.” he hums, but it’s guttural as he tries to muffle his primal snorting. you can still see it, though, in the way his massive chest rises and falls. “I think you like my punishments.” his eyes, which had been admiring just how he can split you open, and how each time he’s blessed with a flash of your hole clenching on air, just begging to be stretched. “Want me to stuff you?”
you wished you could hide your face, because your body was already agreeing— back arching whenever the head of his cock bumped your sensitive clit, squirming and soaking him with slick, you didn’t need it to be anymore obvious, but your face would give you away yet again. big eyes, lips trembling and forced open by his thumb, you slur against it, looking down at where your bodies were meant to join. “It… it’s too big… that won’t fit inside me.” you say, incredulous.
but you can tell Hal wants to chuckle, and maybe if he wasn’t so angry, he would’ve. the corner of his lip twitched, threatening to etch into a wickedly dashing smirk, but he stops it. he simply says two words.
”Let’s see.”
and forced his way inside.
you cry out with your head thrown back, for once straining against the constructs that held you down. your body wasn’t meant to stretch as much as it had to accommodate his size. your walls spasm around the girthy intruder, clamping down, and Hal releases a bestial groan. “Fuck,” he mutters, and pushes his thumb against the flesh of your cheek, “you’re right, I am too big for you, aren’t I?” you can’t even think straight enough to nod, but it didn’t matter. it didn’t stop Hal from falling into a hard, deep rhythm. with each, powerful snap of his hips against yours, he fills you to his hilt. “Doesn’t matter to me, sweetheart, I’ll stretch your little pussy out until I fit right. I don’t care if I gotta pound it out over and over again. You’re mine, anyways, until we reach Oa.” oh fuck, you’d forgotten exactly how long the trip back to HQ was. it felt like weeks, but it was hard to tell for sure. no day or night, just the inside of the ship.
a knot forms in the pit of your gut; would he really keep you twisted up and spread open like this, right here on the control panel? would you be so easily accessible that all he would have to do is reach over and he could fondle you? the whole trip back?
with the power behind his thrusts, and the way the head rammed deep, it was clear that you weren’t meant to be the one enjoying this. he’d gone beyond any of your sweet spots, and instead jabbed relentlessly at the edge of your cervix. he was fucking you the way that he wanted, even if he thought you wouldn’t like it. it even hurt, each time, taking so much more than you were designed for, but you couldn’t help but moan out loud. it still felt good, no matter how much you knew it wasn’t supposed to. his girth plowed through your canal, and you squeal for him to please be gentle, but you don’t mean it. not really. it feels too good to look up at this titan of a man, and watch him decimate you. watch him use you.
it made you so fucking wet that, when he dives in this time, you squelch in response, and Hal moans louder, grabbing a fistful of your hair with one hand, whilst the other grabs your face and forces your chin into your chest. you sounded sloppy, and he liked it. “Come on, baby girl, go ahead and watch me destroy that pussy. ‘S what you deserve, after all. A good, hard fucking to remind you who the fuck’s in charge here.” you mewl pathetically, staring down the length of your belly. your emerald suit was merely a chunk of threads against your ribs, your breasts spilling out the gash at the neckline and the entire crotch ripped out. you could see his shape and size, the imprint of it, bulging against your stomach with every thrust, and your hands ball into tight fists. but you stare, and whine, and come undone without so much as a warning from your body. it was almost as if you were so overloaded with sensation that you just snapped. your orgasm wasn’t big the first time, but you were now twice as sensitive. each thrust feels like it has double the power and malicious intent behind it, now. Hal seems to like it, too, because he smooths his palm over your heated cheek before planting a rough smack against it. “Takin’ orders just fine now, aren’t you, little girl?” the slap temporarily stuns you, or maybe it’s the orgasm that was wracking you, but Hal brings you back with another thwack against your cheek. “All I had to do was shove my dick in you and you’re ready to comply now? You wanna be your Honor Guard’s good, little fucksleeve?”
it stings, a lot. and your eyes widen again, flickering up to watch his face— offended, but incredibly turned on. he hit you. twice.
“The answer is ‘yes sir’.” he threatens between hot puffs of strangled air, his rhythm never even faltering. but he was glaring at you, palm rubbing the pain of the slaps into your cheek, as if reminding you that he can do it again if he wanted to.
“Yes s—sir!” you squeak.
another slap.
you whimper and flinch, and try to turn away from it, but his grip on your hair is too tight to escape. you had to take it, whether you liked it or not.
the worst part was: you fucking loved it. it twisted your guts into knots when he hit you, coupled with how ferociously he was rutting into your body, you were only moments from cumming. again.
“And you’re gonna do whatever the fuck I say from now on?”
“Y—yes sir!”
“Damn right,” Hal grinds his teeth, yanking on your hair harder, but his other hand travels down to knead your breast and pinch at your nipple. he can feel when you unravel for a second time, this time your climax has you spasming and babbling, fingernails digging into your own palm.
“C—cumming,” you whimper, helplessly thrashing, “I’m cumming aga— again!” it was a cry for mercy, mostly. in shock that your body could even function after the first one, but this one was strong and, seemed to be, never ending. wave after wave of torturous pleasure washes over you, and Hal refuses to ease up. he’d so much rather force you to ride it out, and before you knew it, your legs were trembling. your eyes could hardly stay open, and you couldn’t think. “P—please, sir,” you were gasping, punctuating each, violent thrust with a syllable, “p—please c—cum, I— I need… r— rest…”
you knew he must want to. he was throbbing inside you, moaning, breathing ragged, and his jaw was sewn tight. but he only scoffs. “You’re done when I say you’re done. This is your punishment, remember?” he spat, and the constructs melted away, freeing your arms and legs. the only problem was that you were now too spent to move, so you could do little but lie there and tremble. squinting, you peer up in time to see his power morph into a chain-like ring that clamps around his engorged base before a heavy, green lock snaps into place, swinging back and forth as he ruts. he snorts at the sensation of the ring tightening around his cock, squeezing. it would keep him from cumming, you realized, until he felt like you’d earned the break you so desperately wanted. you whine again, and he plows into you harder to accentuate his next statement, “It’s gonna be a long ride home, little girl.”
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sprout-fics · 1 year
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Machinations
(König x F! 'Maus' Reader)
Part 8 of Little Mouse
Word Count: 4.9k Rating: Teen and up Tags: Enemies to lovers, Slow burn, Dark König, Hints of yandere König, König POV, Tending to wounds, Uneasy alliances, Jealousy, Unrequited pining Warnings: Mentions of brutal character death A/N: I am no longer doing a tag list for this series as it is has gotten too large to handle. Consider subscribing to this series on AO3 for updates
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Sunset.
The Kodori range is pretty this time of year. In the dying embers of summer, the light takes on a golden hue, bronze and warm against the steep cliffs that harden with oncoming frost. In the golden hour before sunset the light ribbons through the Colchian forest, golden strands held aloft by invisible threads. It illuminates the muted greys and greens of the trees, coaxes them towards emerald, the birch a glinting silver.
A beast prowls these woods, his steps cloaked in silence, massive form brushing against thickets and yet still barely managing to make a sound. He's at home in these woods, knows their wilderness like the scars that trace his back, a map forged by history, struggle. He prowls with a primal awareness, steps measured, form hunched, coiled with a taut, focused tension like that of a predator.
Even so, König admits the dewy, golden sunlight reminds him of the illustrations in the fairytales he would read as a child. It streams through the canopy, catches bits of dust and pollen like fairy lanterns. There's a strange magic in these woods, an inexplicable energy that makes the ground seem softer, more pliant under his feet. Moss and pine needles, owl feathers that float down from above, a distant call ringing like the toll of a mournful church bell.
It isn't enough to distract him from his mission. Not when he's finally tracked the two enemy soldiers who have been on this mountain for half a day now, slowly and stealthily making their way through the groves to the periphery of the base where König's allies are guarding. They walk endlessly for hours, their endurance unwavering. He follows them at a guarded distance, blending into the foliage, tracing their steps with his own.
König had been told of this group before. British, mainly. Special forces without a doubt, arguably some of the finest soldiers on the planet. Enough to be an irremovable dagger in the side of KorTac's handler. Yet the information on them remained scarce. Like shadows into the night, they waver at the edge of flames brought from destruction- sinking back into the darkness. Spirits. Ghosts.
König had found two sets of footprints on his patrol. On larger, one smaller, both in the direction of the compound. Like a wolf in the woods König had tracked the scent, followed at a distance until at last he found them at a ruined building on the outskirts of the compound, quietly setting up camp for what appeared to be reconnaissance.
From a bluf above the sniper nest he watches, observes how these two ghosts secure themselves, concealing their forms under camouflage, hiding themselves from sight. It's unclear if they know what is inside the compound, sheltered and isolated as it is. Perhaps they think it's the warehouse of a maverick Russian general, an obscure hideout for an oligarch's private army. Maybe they don't know that the very enemy they seek is the same one that watches them keenly from the woods.
The conversation between you both is muted, consisting mostly of hand signals. Obscured in ghillie suits as you are he doesn't truly take stock until he watches the smaller of the pair pause, pull back their hood and shake their hair and face free.
He sees you then. You turn at the exact right moment, just as light seeps through the trees in a gentle, radiant hue. You don't see him, lifting a hand to blot out the dying sun at his back as you speak to your comrade. Yet the sun catches against your face anyways, glinting off your bright eyes, the tone of your skin, catching the color of your hair. He can hardly hear whatever you say, but for some reason you laugh, the sound muffled at this distance and yet feeling for all the world like the particles of feather light pollen that hover in that same sunlight.
König forgets himself for a moment then. The mission, his company, the intrusion you two pose to the compound, all of it fizzles out into nothingness for the briefest of moments. In its place König feels the strange magic of those childish fairytales appear once more, whispering with unknown words into his ears. Strange, unfamiliar incantations haunt the corners of his mind, and between it all he can make out only a single word, echoed from his own lips like a magic spell.
"...Schön."
-----
"Hey, focus."
König snaps to, blinking for a moment as he regards the man beside him. Aksel. The Norwegian is facing forward, looking at the table the rest of the KorTac operators are perched around. Yet his eyes slide over to König meaningfully, lips scowled into a frown.
"I am focused." König returns seething, arms crossed, gaze grazing across the table where his three other teammates converse.
"Aksel, König, pay attention." A voice snaps, and König's eyes land on the leader of the company, their captain. Declan O'Conor.
The Irishman fixes both König and Aksel in his narrowed stare, his hands braced on the steel table where a map is splayed. He doesn't speak, allowing his glinting, deadly stare to sink into both men, imbue them with an unspoken demand of obedience.
"Sir." Aksel murmurs deferentially beside König, his smaller stature shifting with unease for a moment before settling. König lets his eyes slide to the man, observing the way he crosses his arms, biceps bulging under his gear. Like König, he's brutally strong. The Austrian has seen him snap many an enemy soldier's neck with his bare hands. König himself still has a lingering bruise left from the last time the two of them sparred.
Sensing O'Conor's eyes on him still, König tilts his head at his captain, fixing him with a slow, blinking stare. He doesn't speak, and for a moment König thinks he might be reprimanded for that too, for not supplying an immediate response of acknowledgement.
Yet his defiant silence only seems to amuse O'Conor, for the captain's lips twist into a slight smile under the ginger hair of his beard.
"Right then." He declares, leaning up off the table and fasting his hands to his tac vest. The air in the room shifts, all eyes now focused on the Irishman. "With that out of the way, let's move to business."
König's brow arches under his hood, listening as O'Conor's face settles into a serious grimace.
"We have actionable intel that says the 141 is ready to hit one of our supply rendezvous points in Serbia. Roze-" He turns to the dark haired woman to his left. "This is the cache you set up, so you're taking point on this op, understood?"
König's eyes slide to the smallest member of the team. Roze. Their supplier, their strategist and intelligence operator. Slender, subtle, König has seen her work from the shadows. Like a snake, she hides in the underbrush, coiled ready with hungry, glinting eyes. A wry smile crawls across her lips, and for a moment König sees her glance at him with a smug, hidden knowledge.
"Affirm, cap." She returns, voice even but failing to contain her excitement. "Who's coming with me?"
"That'll be Aksel and König." O'Conor returns, and König's eyes widen at that, surprised. Yet that shock is hidden under his hood with a glower, irritation simmering low inside him. He doesn't like working with Roze. Aksel, he can manage. The two men have come to an understanding in the course of their time working together, though perhaps not a brotherhood of sorts.
Roze, however, he can't help with dislike. The woman is full of hidden agendas and concealed plot. She seems to see straight through the men around her with her keen, knowing gaze. Yet that knowledge is hidden under a needling, almost malicious teasing that digs uncomfortably into König's skin. He feels transparent around her at times, and the realization that Roze may somehow know more about him that he cares to admit is a wavering, thorny discomfort at the edge of his periphery.
"Sir-" A voice states, and four sets of eyes turn to O'Conor's right, revealing the final and fifth member of their team. Horangi.
The Korean's eyes are hidden under his sunglasses, worn even indoors in the crackling, fluorescent lighting of their planning room at their base of operations. A mask conceals the lower half of his face. Like König, the soldier has scars he refuses to bear, the silvered flesh revealing secrets about his past only he cares to know. Despite that, the man is fairly outwardly spoken, his voice a calm, steadying presence that binds the uneasy alliances within the team.
"König has been on the last two missions. Allow me to go."
König tilts his head in consideration, watching the sniper. Horangi keeps his eyes locked on their captain, ever attentive, entirely focused on his mission, gaze unwavering. His eyes never falter from their target, watching like a tiger from the jungle, unblinking, predatory in their fixation when he's behind the scope of a rifle.
König almost wants to shoot the man a grateful glance, but is stopped when O'Conor speaks again.
"No, you're still recovering from your last encounter with this team. I need your arm completely healed before I send you back into the field, understood?"
Horangi deflates an inch, but he never breaks eyes contact with the captain.
"Understood, Sir." He replies, voice clipped. Yet when O'Conor's eyes turn back towards Aksel and König, König sees Horangi offer him a small, conciliatory shrug. The Austrian smiles under his hood, despite knowing his friend can't see it.
"Good." O'Conor declares. "I'll be coordinating from off-site. As I said, Roze is on point for this mission. Should the comms go down or anything happen that I can't help with, it'll be Roze's call to make. Clear?"
"Affirmative." Aksel confirms, but König narrows his eyes at the woman beside his captain, her head tilted a little haughtily at him. He sneers.
"Crystal." König at last responds, voice betraying his displeasure. Yet O'Conor doesn't comment on it, not yet at least. Instead, he nods at Roze, who withdraws another smaller map from her side before splaying it across the table before the team. She begins detailing the logistics of the mission- transportation, targets, enemy movements, expected timelines and ex-fil.
König listens half attentively, idly soaking in the information but providing no questions or comments. Again, his thoughts begin to wander, eyes going blank as a different image begins to filter across his gaze, replacing the scene before him.
----
"Please." You whisper, eyes bright in the dimness of the safehouse. You've taken another step closer to him, like a gentle thing trying to tame a wild, hungry beast. König's eyes fix on you, his heart thumping erratically, excited as you raise a hand to him. Beckoning, an entreaty.
There's an anxiousness in your eyes that pulls at a part of him, makes the primal, starving part of his pull taut with a barely restrained eagerness that hums through his coiled form. Like a wolverine watching a rabbit in the glade, König can't quell the instinct to reach out, pull you to him, see the glint in your eyes up close melt into something softer, something like desire.
"I'll do anything you ask-" He watches, eyes settling on the plush bed of your lower lip as you speak. "So please don't hurt him."
Anything.
He loses himself for a moment then, forgetting his mission, his duty, the man at the other end of his gun. Instead, the world narrows down to just you, your smaller form drawing close, almost close enough to reach out and touch him. The phantom sensation of your fingers grazing across his form is enough to make König stifle a shiver. His mind runs wild with possibilities, of taking you, of escaping with you in his arms, of finally, finally having you completely to himself.
He feels like an electric coil, lightning fizzing in his thoughts, the sparks of him barely constrained. His heartbeat drums higher, like the adrenaline fueled thump of a rabbit caught in a snare. Under your eyes, your anxious, glinting gaze König can't help but feel, for a moment, as if he's the prey here, awaiting the fatalistic end of your touch.
"Anything, Maus?" He asks, unable to contain the tremble of excitement in his voice, watching the way realization, burning and bright, passes over your gaze.
He loses himself in the possibilities. The memory of your form, small, lovely in his arms, tiny like a baby bird and yet imbued with surprising strength, resilience, makes his blood sing a primal, thrilled symphony.
He smiles.
"Then-" He takes a step closer, eyes flashing, heartbeat rising. You're so close now. if he just reaches out-
He sheathes his blade, the blood still coating his fingertips, eyes never leaving your smaller form.
""If I ask, you'll come with me?"
----
"-The taskforce-"
König blinks, ears honing in on the mention of your company. It's Roze talking now, one hand cupped under her chin in thought as she regards the maps. When König shifts, however, her eyes flicker up to him for all of a moment with a keen, knowing smile.
"We don't know how many members there will be. However, considering the specifications of the team members I can make a guess as to who will be on the mission for sure."
Her fingers land on a set of photos near the edge of the map, stopping first over a man with a mohawk.
König recognizes him. The one who stole you away after you were injured in Uzbekistan, hiding you from sight and tending to the wound that the team had allowed you to receive.
"MacTavish." Roze declares almost absently. "He's their demolitions expert. If they decide to bring down the warehouse as opposed to taking control of it like I expect, we should expect him."
"Agreed." O'Conor concurs, and his own hand drifts towards a different photo- a man, grizzled and bearded. He reminds König a bit of Declan himself, exuding an unquestionable authority with his stare alone.
"Price." He announces. "Skilled in convert operations. They'll need to go in quiet, and knowing him, he'll want to do this himself."
"You know him." König speaks at last, and it's not really a question so much as a demand for information, eyes narrowed, head cocked curiously as he leans on the wall behind him.
"I did." O'Conor answers simply, but König sees the way his eyes grow distant, angry, hurt. "Once."
Interesting.
König makes a note to study the thought later, recognizing by the expression written on O'Conor's face that he's unwilling to share more. Yet when his eyes flick to Roze, she doesn't seem surprised at all, instead staring back at König, watching his eyes for any indication to his thoughts.
He returns the gaze passively, refusing to allow her the privilege of seeing inside his mind. She huffs a little, but then, curiously, offers him of all things a smile.
"And her-" She declares, and her fingers stop over one more photo, and König can't contain his surprise under his mask when he recognizes it.
You.
"Their sniper. No doubt Price will have her on overwatch as he and MacTavish clear the interior. She'll be the first to notice if anything is off."
"You think she'll be alone?" Horangi asks, tone lilting in disbelief.
"She's capable." Roze returns. "Sneaky, as I'm sure some of us have seen." Her eyes dart to König, and he makes another note to ask what that is about later.
"She's surprisingly slippery too, like a rat. Hard to trap."
A mouse. König corrects silently, frowning.
The thought that your captain would send you out alone to cover him and MacTavish, put you by yourself, vulnerable, chafes at the inside of König's thoughts. The reminder that this is the same team that allowed you to get hurt, that allowed you to get captured, makes irritation simmer inside him. They don't know how to take care of you. Not like he can.
Still, the familiar excitement of getting to see you again shivers inside him. The idea that with every encounter he peels away a little more of your shield towards him, revealing the beauty, the intoxicating honesty beneath your stare makes a familiar rise of warmth flush through him. He wants it, wants to hear your voice, wants to see the dizzying truth of you, the way the steel exterior of you melts away into something softer, more tender.
"We'll rig the building." Roze declares, and that draws König's attention. "Moving most of our supplies first covertly, and then using it as bait to trap and hopefully eliminate Price and MacTavish."
O'Conor hums then, a hand grazing his beard in thought.
"MacTavish, their sniper, I don't care about. Price however-" and there's a glint in his eyes then that makes König pause, try to understand his abrupt fixation on the enemy captain.
"I want him alive."
Roze hesitates, brow furrowing as she digests the expression on her captain's face. She looks like she wants to challenge him, mouth briefly opening before she decides against it.
"Fine." She then turns to Aksel and König. "You have full execute authority for MacTavish and the other. Price is to be captured. Copy?"
König doesn't respond, desperately trying to hide his growing panic at the thought of you getting caught by either of his team members. The image of your eyes going blank, your final memory a single flash of red at the end of Roze's aim, of your face caught between two of Aksel's massive hands, mouth opening in a desperate plea before there's a sickening crack-
He shivers.
"Copy." Aksel manages beside him, and König's eyes find Roze's once more, glaring.
"...Copy." He offers, even as his stomach churns with a putrid, hateful anxiety.
"Good." Roze offers, and her smile is sickly sweet somehow, knowing. It coats the back of König's tongue and leaves a burning aftertaste. "Captain?"
O'Conor nods once, seemingly satisfied. He looks up, regards the operators in his team before nodding once more.
"You have your orders." He states evenly. "Do not fail. Dismissed."
The rest of the team stands at attention, and on instinct König does as well, his eyes trailing O'Conor as the man vanishes beyond the doorway of the planning room. König waits until the other have begun to follow, shuffling and ducking under the too short doorway before making strides down the corridor.
He doesn't get all of ten steps before there's a voice behind him, high and feminine, teasing.
"Gott im Himmel." He mutters to himself, head raising as if asking the heavens for absolution  as Rozlin trots up to catch him. He turns, fists already curled in irritation. "What?"
Roze pouts up at him, eyes twinkling in mischief.
"Oh, don't be like that big guy." She whines, a single finger prodding at him. it only makes his frown deepen, face drawing into a scowl. "We're going to be working together, you should try and be nice to me for once."
He brushes her hand aside. yet the motion does little to deter her, seems to only encourage her as she smiles.
"What do you want, Rozlin?" König asks tersely, not bothering to hide his irritation. "I'm busy."
"Busy being distracted, you mean?" She asks impishly, and König feels a prickle of warning crawl across his shoulders at that. it must show through his eyes, because Rozlin seizes on it, like a coyote with a piece of meat. "I saw you in the meeting. You were zoning out."
"I was bored." He shoots back. "Your plans are not exactly enthralling, frau."
There's a thrum of satisfaction when Roze actually does look annoyed at that. Yet then that annoyance fades as that damned, knowing smile crawls across her lips once more.
"You didn't seem so bored when I mentioned her." She purrs.
König stiffens.
Shock, a dawning horror at the realization that somehow she's found it, that she knows about this secret infatuation he's developed has him pausing, muscles drawn tight in shock. Yet he tamps down on it as quickly as he can, refusing to offer Roze even an inch of ground on which to advance.
"I don't know who you're talking about." He seethes in return despite the uneven thump of his heartbeat.
"Oh?" Roze doesn't buy it. He can tell. There's a keen, sinister grin twitching on her lips. It digs at him, inside him, sends a prickle of defensive fury tickling along the underside of his skin. "You're telling me all this sneaking around on missions you've been doing has been for no reason? That you didn't linger in that safehouse in Mozambique to see her?"
"Unlike you-" König growls, stepping forward, looming over the smaller operator. "I have more important things to worry about than keeping track of a single enemy sniper."
It's a movement meant to intimidate her, and for a moment he sees Roze's eyebrows rise, craning her head to look up at the taller soldier. Yet when she opens her mouth to retort, there's another voice that floats down the hallway.
"König."
Both König and Roze turn, catching sight of their own sniper hovering at the edge of their conversation. he glances between them, taking stock of the confrontation before turning to König.
"I need to assess your stitches before you're deployed." He states calmly, almost clinically, voice careful not to provoke either of his team members. Then he turns to Roze. "I'll be borrowing him for a few minutes."
It's not a request, but neither is it a demand. Horangi's voice is smooth, even as he speaks, as if talking down an animal.
Roze wrinkled her nose at him in distaste, obviously displeased the sniper has ruined her fun. Still, she takes a step back, withdraws so she can regard both men fully.
"Fine." She bites with a roll of her eyes. "Go on an see the doc, big guy."
Roze turns with a little dismissive wave, pausing to give König a look over her shoulder.
"And König? Remember to kill your food after playing with it." She hums, then paces down the corridor back the way she came.
König watches her leave, still trying to tame the simmering frustration and anxiety roiling in his blood. Roze's needling, her smug knowledge, her ceaseless almost malicious teasing reminds him too much of the things he used to endure, of sneering expressions and laughing voices that even now makes anger, red and warm, flush through him.
Horangi settles beside him, watching Roze vanish around a corner before at last looking up to the taller man beside him.
"What was that about?" He asks curiously, and König only shakes his head.
"Nothing." He murmurs, trying to clear his thoughts before looking to the shorter soldier. "What was it you said? Ah, my arm, right."
Horangi offers only a small nod before jerking his head down the hallway, towards an unused room. König follows, larger form all but dwarfing his friend.
It doesn't take long before König is divested of most of his gear, shirt removed so their temporary medic can properly assess the long, snaking wound left as a parting gift to him by Garrick.
"You were lucky." Horangi tells him, lifting a single hefty arm above him to peer at the underside of König’s tricep. "If you hadn't reacted quick enough, he could have sliced through your artery. You could have bled out."
"I know." König growls, the reminder smarting against his skin. He didn't consider himself an easy man to get the drop on, and the fact that Garrick had not only managed to avoid being shot, but had injured him as well was as worthy of irritation as it was of respect.
One he'd have to return the favor for.
The reminder of your smile, of your easy gentleness and camaraderie around the sergeant itches at him. One of his legs bounces against the floor. Impatient. Irritated.
He's seen you with Garrick a few times now. First in the forest, at sundown, hours before you had even set eyes on him for the first time. Your laugh, bright and airy, echoed out in response to something Garrick had said. König had seen the way the sergeant's eyes had softened at the sound, his lips a tender, pleased smile.
So too had König seen the way you'd clung to his arm in Mozambique, hidden as he was from the shadows of an alleyway as he hastened to the safehouse before you could beat him there. The gesture then had been a feigned one, meant to disillusion any passerby around you into thinking you two were simply a couple. Even so, König had seen it then too, the hidden smile Garrick tucked away from your worried expression.
Even now he can hear the accusation the sergeant had levied at him, thunderous, venomous, absolutely fatal in his intent.
"Don't touch her!!"
"If you hurt her again, I'll-"
König hadn't had time to deal with it then, but now the reminder of his words made him scowl under his hood. Hurt you? His Maus? Of course, König could see why the sergeant made that assumption, but it remained far from the truth. Kong would never hurt you. He wasn't above stealing you away to some place quiet, ensuring you were safe from the hail of gunfire and smoke, but hurting you?
A grumble, low and deep, rumbles from him just as Horangi prods at one of the stitches close to his elbow.
"Ah, I'm sorry." He offers to König, but the Austrian merely shrugs, not caring to explain the true source of his irritation.
Yet then Horangi pauses, and without looking at him König knows he has fastened him with his gaze.
"What?" He asks without meeting the Korean's stare.
"She's right, you know." He starts gently. "You...have been distracted."
Ah, so he did hear that conversation after all König realizes, closing his eyes with an irritated sigh.
"I'm tired." He explains half-heartedly. "I barely got a chance to breathe after getting back from Minsk before I was sent out to Mozambique."
Horangi nods, seemingly accepting the explanation he's been given. Even if he doesn't believe it, König is grateful that he doesn't press the issue.
"She wants to get a rise out of you." He states then, and König blinks, looks at him. Horangi keeps an even stare with the larger man. "Roze, I mean. She likes getting reactions from people, and it's easy with you."
"She's a petty little witch." König hisses in return, scowling. "Why O'Conor keeps her around is more than I can understand."
"You haven't thought about it?" Horangi asks then, pressing an inch forward, only for König to automatically draw back. "That she and O'Conor seem to know more than the rest of us?"
König pauses. He hadn't really considered it before. He took this job because he enjoyed the adrenaline rush of being in the field, the ring of bullet rounds singing against his veins and thrumming through his ribs. He craved it, loved the violence of it, the bloom of red against a wall with the slash of his knife in the throat of a worthy opponent, the disastrous cacophony of a frag grenade thrown into a hiding space, echoed by his thunderous battle cry.
"No." He responds, slowly, curiously, eyeing Horangi from the corner of his vision.
Horangi settles backwards in his seat, stripping his hands of the latex gloves he used to inspect König’s arm.
"I think about it." He declares simply. "We were never told where our funds come from, our supplies, we're only paid enough not to ask questions."
König watches him, at last locking on Horangi's gaze, trying to find something beneath his sunglasses, trying to discern the true meaning of his stare.
"There's something here we don't know about." Horangi offers at last, voice low, distant. A warning.
König scoffs then, ignoring the prickle of awareness, of curiosity that itches along his thoughts.
"Think about it on your own time." He mutters dismissively, reaching for his shirt and gear. "And make sure your own injury is healed before your next mission. After all-" and he turns, offers a tilt of his head that betrays the smile under his hood. "If you were killed, who would stitch me up after?"
Horangi chuckles at that, with a little toss of his head that lets König know he's rolling his eyes.
"You're all set. Try not to get injured this time, so I have more of my own time to think." He offers as König stands with a roll of his shoulders that has his joints pop. "And don't forget to bring home your captive."
König smiles then, under his hood, feeling a familiar excitement boil higher in his veins. His heartbeat picks up, racing in time with his thoughts. Hungry, driven, fixated on the thought of you once more, of your wide eyes as he springs his trap on you, hands reaching forward to grasp you once more.
"No." He promises, grinning, shivering with an untamed, frenetic energy. "I won't."
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pillow-anime-talk · 8 months
Text
his talented baby. {pt.2}
synopsis: You as a person with a huge (and hidden) talent, and also a person who really surprises your boyfriend.
# tags: scenarios; current relationships; romance; some comedy; big fluff; some PDA; sfw
includes: gender neutral reader ft. sebastian michaelis & undertaker {kuroshitsuji} + josuke higashikata & rohan kishibe {jojo 4}
part one {click}
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— SEBASTIAN (ft. chess)
Sebastian was perfect in everything; in cleaning, in cooking, in playing various instruments, in foreign languages, in gardening, even in singing and dancing. There was, however, one thing he couldn’t achieve fully well, and that was the game of chess.
Of course, he defeated others (I mean here; Grell, Agni, Bald or Finny) with ease, but when you offered him a game one day, his so far intact worldview changed dramatically. Eventually he found someone better than himself, but at the same time he felt so damn frustrated that he couldn’t win against your person. You were better than him, than Ciel, and even better than Mr. Tanaka, who was almost equal to him and the young lord.
“... Your move, Sebastian.” You announced by moving the bishop to the field of your choice, taking his black rook at the same time. “Are you going to give up, my love?” You smiled gently as you took a sip of delicious English tea with the perfect amount of sugar. The man looked at you in response, frowning and looking at the chess alignment after a short while.
“No. Everything is fine, I just need to think for a moment.” He said calmly, though his face expression seemed to hide the urge to swear. “I am impressed with how quickly you made such a confusing setup, darling.”
“Well, well. My grandpa taught me to play. As the saying goes, the student has surpassed the master.” You chuckled as you put your chin on your right hand while looking at the fingers of your man surrounded by white gloves, who decided to move the king to space F5. “Maybe someday you will surpass me, who knows?”
Sebastian stared at you out of the corner of his eye, nodding in delicate, almost invisible amusement.
“Maybe someday, dear. For now, I will give you the honorable title of the best chess player.”
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— UNDERTAKER (ft. drawing)
Drawing has been your passion since you remember and you loved to paint literally everything; still life, nature, huge landscapes, other people, animals, and even things that didn’t make much sense (Picasso was one of your biggest inspirations when it came to cubism). In addition, in your bag you always carried your favorite blue sketchbook in which you drew tiny thoughts or things you noticed while walking, working or drinking coffee in a cafe.
That day, however, you were sitting quietly on one of the chairs in the funeral parlor, and the Undertaker was also sitting nearby – he was writing names with concentration, calculating in his mind the number of deaths in the last month and year.
His calm face was really handsome from your perspective; the faint light of the lantern caressed his pale complexion, and his green eyes full of mischief stood out behind his fair hair. Every now and then you glanced at the tall man, then your eyes focused again on the small notebook whose pages were blank. I mean, they were not all empty; some of them had sketches of dogs on them, others sketches of flowers, and others featured the figure of a tall Grim Reaper.
When you finished your illustration, you smiled and nodded, satisfied with your work. A beautiful play of light, self-confident pencil strokes and small additions in the form of ivy and rosemary beautifully composed the whole black-grey picture of Adrian.
“Excause me, darling...?” You whispered hesitantly, not wanting to interrupt his work. Nevertheless, the man quickly looked in your direction and a wide smile appeared on his face.
“Yes, my little flower.” He asked, instantly standing up and forgetting about the paperwork – you were definitely more interesting than the dead, after all. You showed him your drawing with a slight blush on your face and he opened his mouth in slight shock. “It’s me?” You nodded, and the Grim Reaper just chuckled. “Am I really THAT handsome?” He joked and you just rolled your both eyes. A short time later, Undertaker praised your talent, asking if you’d like to hang some of your sketches on the board next to the entrance.
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— JOSUKE (ft. playing drums)
More than five years ago, you and your three friends started a music band. Since then, you’ve been focused on making your dreams come true, on small concerts played in the Morioh, on school performances, also on learning notes and practicing singing. You were the drummer and leader of ‘CR△WL’; your vast musical knowledge, willingness to develop your passion and daily rehearsals aroused great admiration from the rest of the band and from people who watched your slowly growing career. Of course, Josuke was no exception, on the contrary – he considered himself your biggest and most faithful fan, who with the greatest pleasure went on dates with you to music shops or bookstores with records of old bands.
The young man was delighted every time you played the instrument – just like years ago in your garage when you first played ‘Paranoid’ by Black Sabbath for him. He was smitten and would come over to your house to listen to your covers or help you make a video for your YouTube channel (you were pretty popular for tutorials, trivia, and drum videos).
“...Y/N, Y/N. Would you be able to play this song?”
That day, Josuke visited your house once again. Your mom made you two some snacks, and you grinned as you practiced another song for an upcoming concert at one of the smaller festivals this summer. Your boyfriend seemed to be excited like never before, so you asked what is the title of mentioned song. Hearing the familiar words, you just smiled, nodding your head in response.
Instantly, your both hands and right foot began to beat the drums, which making the dark-haired teenager’s face look very surprised.
“Y/N... You really know every song on this planet!”
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— ROHAN (ft. rapping)
Karaoke, bowls full of ice cream and fruit, carbonated drinks, hot snacks and great company were what you’ve been missing for the last few weeks. Focused on studies and work, you didn’t have time to rest properly; but you finally met with your closest friends and you also took Rohan with you.
You had a great time gossip with besties who talked about changes in their lives and new achievements, for example, at work. You were telling about your experiences as well with a huge smile, while Rohan was sitting right next to you, talking to some people from time to time. He wasn’t interested in large gatherings, but he couldn’t say ‘No’ to you either because you were too sweet that evening.
Suddenly, one of Cardi B’s songs was played in the background and you almost squealed.
“Ooooh, I see that someone want to sing, huh?” The blonde haired girl asked, and you just laughed, thanking her for the black microphone.
Rohan almost spit at his new shirt as soon as you started rapping the verses without any problems, without even looking at the screen where the lyrics were displayed. You had a great time dancing a bit in the middle of the small room. You looked at your partner with a smirk, sometimes sending a kiss or wink in his direction. You were literally in your world; you showing your energy and love for music so perfectly.
Rohan was really surprised.
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oncewhenalongtimeago · 4 months
Note
Do you have more of " Sorry, but I Think I Lost Your Plot"? It's so good that I'd like to read more about it <3
Sorry, but I Think I Lost Your Plot pt 10
Pairing: Onesided!Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Modern!Fem!Reader
Words: 2,963
You hitch a ride with the Twins. 
Tags: Time Travel, Reader into Movieverse, Dragons: Defenders of Berk, The Night and The Fury, unedited
<Previous - Next>
“Okay, seriously, who’s going to watch the dragons?” Came the muffled voice of Hiccup from outside. 
You shifted around, arms pulled tightly, together, rubbing against rough, frayed, grainy fabric, too busy trying to reorient yourself to pay any real attention. You were certain this was going to give you a rash.
You ignored the ruckus going on outside, a dragon attack or something, trying to shift so that you weren’t curled completely around, feet pressed against the knot holding your sack closed. 
This wasn’t necessarily what you expected when the Thorston Twins said they had a job for you. You wished you had more time to react before they’d shoved you into the sack. At least enough time to ask for some air holes.
You puffed hot air against your hands, blinking roughly before, all of a sudden, you dropped. You winced as your shoulders met sand, tumbling onto the floor, tumbling out of the sack.
“Yeah, we knew you were going to make us do something stupid like this-”
You landed half on your back and stayed there, staring up at the sky for a good minute as you made an effort to blink away the vertigo.
“-That’s why we brought someone else to take my place.” 
Then, you dug shaky hands into the ground, feeling sand catch under your nails with discomfort. 
“Hey,” You heard the indignant voice of Ruffnut grumble, “What about me?”
“You snooze, you lose, sister.”
You pushed yourself up by your hands, making out the faces of Berk’s Dragon Riders by the dim light of their lanterns, and hoped with a vague suspicion that you hadn’t stumbled your way into another television episode.
“Hi,” You said, swiveling your head slowly in order to get a good view of all of the riders. For some reason, your eyes landed fixedly on Hiccup, who was very notably refusing to look you in the eye.
You furrowed your brows, wondering where the dragon was.
“Tuffnut,” Astrid reprimanded.
They all held simple box lanterns.
Hiccup had his shield, made of Gronckle Iron, on one arm. It reflected dim light, shining silver and white. Pristine, well taken care of and very, very new. And soon-to-be sullied, probably, too.
“Why doesn’t she stay behind and take care of the dragons?” Fishlegs suggested, “Or-or she could take my place instead.”
Their dragons convened behind them. Toothless snuffled at Stormfly as Barf tried to nip at him from behind. His scales were chipped and a dull green and turquoise. He’d probably need a wash soon. 
“We’ve already been over this, Fishlegs.” Hiccup suggested, turning and squinting at him.
You shrugged and turned your eyes to the coast, listening to the sound of claws digging into sand and boots kicking it up. You kept a careful eye on cooling glass, sand red and melted into a small crater, and made a point to stay carefully positioned away from it.
You wondered how difficult it would be to swim back to Berk on your own. Not that you wanted to, anyhow.
“Do you know how to take care of the dragons?” Astrid asked, “We can’t just fly back now.”
“No idea,” You said, just as Tuffnut suggested that they did. Besides that one time during Snoggletog with Hiccup, you weren’t sure you’d ever ridden a one. 
“See?” Fishlegs protested, as they quickly fell into chaos, “I didn’t want to do the exercise much anyways.”
“Well, she-she could always come with me?” Hiccup suggested uneasily, as you dug the toes of your boots into the sand, scooting back slightly as the tides swelled, “I could fly her back and meet up with you guys after you finish the exercise. Or I could go and try to find her a dragon. To fly back on.”
You hoped not. That seemed like a lot of responsibility.
“Dude.”
You sighed, completely disconnected as you stared off at the horizon line. The sea was eerily black this late at night. You wondered how things were doing back where you came from, and whether the ocean back in your world was just as cold.
“Hiccup. Really? Now isn’t the time for that.”
“She’s coming with me,” He said, tapping His prosthetic soundlessly into the sand, as if resisting the urge to shuffle.
“For what?” You asked finally, turning around as you pulled yourself from your musings.
“Do you ever wonder what goes on at the breeding ground when the dragons aren’t there? Is it just one big hunk of rock? Or do you think some of them stick around?” You walked alongside Hiccup, trying not to let your feet drag as you walked alongside him.
“Actually, I’m not sure.” Hiccup nodded shiftily, still not able to look you in the eye. His mouth opened and closed once or twice, as if he wanted to say something but thought better of it.
Your hands rubbed at your arms through your thin tunic as you very much wished you were back on Berk, in your bed. But your landlords had just started taking rent.
You wrinkled your nose, trying not to chatter your teeth.
“Do you want my, ah, coat?” Hiccup asked, eventually, before trying awkwardly to pull it off. It was a bit hard considering his hands were full, and so you held out your hand in an offer to hold the lantern.
“No, it’s okay. I mean I wouldn’t want to- take it from you. It’s cold. You can keep it. I can carry- oh.”
Hiccup had settled down his shield and pulled off his coat, offering it to you. You took it with unsure hands, your knuckle brushing gently across his fingertip.
“It’s fine, I have plenty more.” Hiccup said, picking up his shield. It looked like he was about to try and dust it off but thought better of it.
“Really?” You asked. You sniffed it suspiciously, feeling the fur in hand. It was a lot shorter than it had been before, nearly down to the leather and definitely singed in some parts, but it was still just as cozy.
“Well, no, but I was outgrowing it anyways.” Hiccup shrugged with false casualty, head facing away but his eyes looking back at you, just in his green tunic. 
You couldn’t make out much else, especially not just by lamplight. He didn’t look like he was outgrowing it.
The fur was incredibly soft between your fingertips, though even without leaning your head in close you could smell the heavy scent of smoke and metal. Hiccup had probably left it in the forge overnight or something. You had heard the Chief complaining about it before.
“Wait, you mean you’re giving it to me? Like, giving it, giving it?” Hiccup flushed under the scrutiny. You decided to dial it back.
“Well yeah, the red-” He stammered.
“-Tunic. Right. Well, I promise I’ll return it to you after.”
“No, you won’t.” He insisted stubbornly, metaphorically digging his heels in. You wondered how neither he nor any of the other Vikings on Berk were ever cold at all. 
“I will,” You stared stubbornly back, the two of you locked in a sort of staring contest until you saw Hiccup’s eyes focus on something behind you.
Mournfully, you broke eye contact, and turned to look behind you where, just over a ledge were the smoky beginnings of a fire.
“...Great.” Hiccup sighed, taking the first few steps around you.
You weren’t even sure how they got so far ahead of you two and had the time to put up a fire, but that was just as fine. As long as there was something warm.
“Oh, cool.” You said, tossing Hiccup’s coat back at him as you quickly sped your way out of his range, “A fire. Are we allowed to even have fires?”
“I don’t- you’d have to ask Astrid…”
“What happened to only dragons being able to find Dragon Island?” You mumbled to yourself drowsily, though you were sure you already knew the answer. 
A lot of the smoke around the island had cleared since most of the dragons fled it, and it was a lot more accessible now that it didn’t have an armada of scales to defend it.
You wondered if coming back was at all traumatizing for the dragons. Honestly, you were surprised the island had any shrubbery at all, though you supposed that the Timberjacks might need it. 
You wondered how the Berserkers discovered this island, if at all an island suddenly appearing from the mist was startling to them. Or if they were too unfamiliar with the area to notice or care. The island was in Hooligan Territory, after all.
You stood at the edge of the treeline as Dagur lifted Hiccup into the air, angrily recounting their last meeting on the island. You had a small dagger clutched in hand, though kept it vaguely out of view, waiting for either Hiccup to signal you, though he was currently enthusiastically shaking his head ‘no,’ or for Dagur to start acting just a little bit too deranged.
“And then you kicked me off!” Dagur grit out angrily, “Why are you here? Are you planning to steal my kill, again?” 
Dagur ended the last bit slowly, holding out his sword, the tip of it pointing threateningly towards Hiccup. 
“What am I doing here?” Hiccup asked nervously, and irritatedly, somehow, looking back and forth between you and Dagur.
You had to resist the urge to back away as your heart picked up speed.
You asked yourself what in the world had happened between the two the last time they were on Berk together; if this was supposed to happen.
You mouthed a nervous ‘What do I do?’ back at him as you took a hasty step past what looked to be the flayed skin of a Gronkle.
“You know what? I know exactly what you’re doing he-...” Dagur paused, following Hiccup's line of sight. His face scrunched up as if he had only just realized you were there. In all fairness, he probably had.
“You.”
You tried to pull your dagger- well, Hiccup’s, really- further behind you so that he wouldn’t see it, though you had very little hope as his eyes caught it, probably glinting back the light of the fire.
“Nothing! We’re doing nothing.” Hiccup said, laughing nervously and pushing Dagur’s sword down with his fingertips by the flat end as dread coiled in your gut.
“You…” Dagur began with a sneer, shoulders high. Then, suddenly, like the sky after a heavy rain, his face cleared, “You’re on a date!”
You let out a heavy sigh, which morphed into mildly hysterical laughter as the aggressive lines of his face smoothed itself out into a false, strained grim. Then you grimaced, certain you’d missed something in between then and the last time you encountered Dagur.
“A date?!” Hiccup asked, as you attempted to smother your confusion. You weren’t quite sure where he got that idea. You wondered next when his mood would flip.
“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you!” Dagur finished, opening his arms wide and taking the first steps forward into your direction, “I’m going to enjoy tearing the both of you apart!”
“I wish you had.” You grumbled sourly, very pointedly ignoring the last bit, afraid to poke the proverbial dragon.
You kept a safe distance from the swords and other various weaponry buried into the ground everywhere in sight around the campfire. You took a moment to stare wide-eyed at a skull, a Nadder, presumably, sticking out from a branch hanging over the clearing.
“A firecracker, that one.” The orange firelight flickered menacingly across Dagur’s face, whose eyes were narrowing again. You could see a vein on the corner of his forehead beating. You imagined it might be very easy for him to over take you with an axe, and even easier to hide your remains somewhere on the island.
“No, not really,” You mumbled, wincing, relaxing the hand holding the borrowed knife. You really did need to get one of your own. 
“The two of you! Like two elements! Fire and,” Dagur looked over Hiccup, “Something else just as… Ferocious.”
You grimaced as he turned around, shifting away as best you could without being noticed.
“Fire isn’t an element.” You muttered under your breath as Hiccup shuffled his way uncomfortably back towards you. You wondered if it was too soon for you and Hiccup to leave and get the heck out of dodge.
Dagur laughed erratically, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. Though, to be fair, you preferred this version of him a lot more to the version you met on Berk. He was much less aggressive this way. Or, at least, purposefully aggressive. Towards you.
“Huh?” Hiccup asked disconcertedly.
“Fire isn’t an element. It’s a reaction. I think,” You stared blankly at Dagur’s retreating back.
“So, what are you here for?” Hiccup asked Dagur as your shoulders bumped into each other. He pulled his dusty shield higher in front of you and further to his left to it covered some of you both as Dagur pulled up an especially wicked serrated blade from the dirt.
Scouring through your memories, you tried to look for something, anything to get you out of this situation. You glanced at Hiccup guiltily. You felt a little bad sometimes, for keeping all these future things to yourself. But you weren’t sure who would believe you, and it had been a whole year and you realized with alarm that you were beginning to lose a few things. 
You tried not to think too much about it. The concept was frightening to say the least.
“The only thing worth being out for,” Dagur paused, “Dragon hunting.”
“What happened?” You asked under your breath, leaning sideways closer to Hiccup. You felt the tips of a tuft of his hair scratch the side of your face as you searched Dagur’s, loathe to look away as if it might tell you the answer.
You were half inclined to believe it was your little tussle back on Berk that caused it, but you were sure that wasn’t enough to inspire manslaughter, at least not to any sane mind. 
“Oh, well, I said somethings, he said some things, a few words were exchanged-Most of which I probably should have kept to myself-” Hiccup mumbled hurriedly and ruefully back, speaking just above a whisper, “We really need to get out of here.”
“Tell me why I shouldn’t cut you down where you stand?” Dagur scowled, turning back to you.
You felt a bead of sweat slide down your neck, noting from the corner of your eye Hiccup forming the beginning of an answer.
“We’ve got somewhere else to be!” You grinned testily, answering before Hiccup could, “Supposed to meet up with, uh, the rest of our group. A large amount of people. Training exercise. Everyone knows about it, really.”
“What a coincidence. I didn’t come alone either. You’ll have fun explaining where you and your little friends are to my armada.” Dagur stalked up to the two of you, pulling weapons from the ground as he strode. 
“Gods, what is it with you and your armada?” Hiccup exclaimed, gesturing with his shield. 
As Dagur approached and Hiccup’s shield became less and less of an obstacle between the two of you, you took the opportunity to kick up between his legs, not at all taking the time to watch as Dagur folded over, voice wrought with anger, “Now, that was a little-”
Hiccup engaged his shield partially, dropping it hard so that he delivered a heavy blow to Dagur’s head, and dropped his lantern right by the fire, its metal skeleton bouncing against wood and stone.
Hiccup was smart, sometimes. More mechanically inclined than booksmart, at least outright. You found that to be one of the most intelligent decisions Hiccup ever made.
“Come on!” You began, just as Hiccup began shouting for Toothless.
Hiccup sprinted slightly ahead, collapsed shield in hand as he jumped fully onto Toothless’ saddle. 
You followed with a nervous laugh, a skid and a kick of dirt as you stumbled, nearly tripping as you slung your leg over Toothless’ saddle and slid close to Hiccup’s back.
Hiccup was bent forward with the ghost of a fright and a shade of awkward confidence in his voice as he urged you forwards and Toothless into the sky.
Said dragon launched very soon after, making a quick effort to catch up to the rest of the Rider’s dragons, Dagur storming behind you across the clifftops.
You turned to look back quickly, bringing your hand up to Hiccup’s shoulder in an attempt to stay stable even as Toothless flew like a rocket, splitting through the air.
Your heart pounding, adrenaline doing numbers. You felt Hiccup’s heart through his back, like some sort of war drum. You worried he might actually have a heart attack.
You felt his torso stiffening as you wrapped your arms around his middle, though he remained razor focused on the sky in front of him. On the gently curved horizon line in the distance.
Hiccup’s shoulders jumped under your hands as you moved your hands onto his shoulders. Quickly, you pressed up close to his back, so close your upper thighs were pressed to the back of Hiccup’s, in an effort to fight against the pushing wind, and brought your head over his shoulder, resisting the urge to bury your wind-bitten nose into the collar of your tunic. 
Being in the sky gave you the perfect opportunity to say it. It was probably inappropriate timing, but as you found Dragon island becoming more and more of a speck in the distance, you found that you didn’t care.
“See? The Earth is round!”
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niiwa-angel · 1 month
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Hal and Barry have been dating for a while and both of them have been hunting about getting married. They've been talking about where they'd theoretically have the ceremony, where they'd take a honeymoon, who would be their best men, etc. the only thing they haven't done is actually asked the question.
And that's what Hal is pondering as he's doing a really BORING mission for the Lanterns. But if he wants to propose, he needs a ring and there in lies the problem. Rings are expensive and he is broke as fuck because being an intergalactic space cop somehow doesn't have a salary. And while he's thinking this, he stumbles onto some pretty red and green rocks and has a light bulb moment. He doesn't need to buy a ring, he can make a ring! Here are all these pretty rocks just laying around on this dead planet!
So he takes some rocks, a big ish chunk of iron from a nearby comet, brings them back to earth and gets to work. His lantern ring can do anything needed to make Barry the perfect ring and that's what he's going to do. He puts a ton of thought into it, because Barry works with his hands a lot at work and often has to wear gloves that prevent him from wearing jewelry, he makes it specifically so that the ring will still be pretty if he pins it to his shirt or wears in on a chain. The centerpiece is a big, pretty green rock with lots of red in it that he manages to polish into looking shiny, and it's surrounded by little pieces of sea glass that's red and green too. He gets the iron purified and into a perfectly sized ring for Barry's finger and polished that to a shine too. The most expensive thing about the ring is the dollar store box it came in because he didn't technically have to pay for materials or labour.
So he proposed, Barry said yes, they have their wedding, they both say "I do", Hal steps on the glass, and they honeymoon in Italy. It's beautiful, they're madly in love, everything is going perfectly.
Until Kilowag shows up and is like "Hal, the Guardians want you. You've broken intergalactic law."
And it turns out that the law Hal broke was bringing the rocks back to earth. The Guardians have a rule against that so that rocks that a valuable on one planet can't be brought from another planet and tank the economy. And Barry is wearing the evidence.
So now Hal and Barry, because if his idiot husband is appearing before space court, he's coming along. Their vows said through thick and thin, he just hadn't expected it to happen so soon. And if course, John Stewart, Guy Gardener, and Alan Scot tag along. One for support and two because this is the funniest fucking thing to happen all decade. And then the Justice League finds out about it and they have to go too. One for support and two because this is the funniest fucking thing ever.
The entirety of the case, Bruce is sitting beside Barry whispering to him "it's not to late to leave. We can get out of here right now. I have amazing lawyers, we can get you an annulment and it'll be like this never happened" because he's a supportive friend and also (perhaps even more importantly) he does not like Hal.
But Barry's like "we definitely don't qualify for annulment and I don't think any lawyer is going to believe us if we tell them this"
Hal and Guy are arguing that Hal didn't take the rocks to profit off of them, he took them to make them into a gift. John is talking about earth traditions of giving pretty things to your partner to try and make it seem like this was a weird instinctual thing Hal did by accident to get an insanity plea.
Alan is arguing to give Hal the death penalty.
And then one of the Guardians says that Hal intended to profit off the Bloodstones he took by selling the ring when Bruce freezes and then slaps himself. Hard.
"Bloodstones are pretty much worthless on earth" he says.
And then the Guardians freeze because they've been basing their whole argument on Hal somehow profiting of the pretty rocks he found on a dead planet, only to find out that he basically took beer caps.
So now they have to find out how much the ring is worth, to see if they even have a case. And it turns out they do not.
And it turns out that the entirety of the ring is worth MAYBE, generously, $30. Maybe, if the appraiser is blind. Or new. Because Bloodstone is cheap. Iron is in no demand on Earth. And there are no valuable gems in the ring. Hal didn't even use his ring to know for certain what rocks he picked up off the ground, he literally just thought they were pretty and that Barry would like them because Barry is a nerd who likes space rocks. The only value the ring has is its appearance.
And now basically the entirety of their honeymoon has been spent keeping Hal's dumb ass out of space jail over a pretty ring that, while resilient and made with love, isn't worth anything. So now the Guardians feels dumb and everyone else is asking "how the hell did you even know Hal took the rocks?"
And it turns out the Eobard found out and told Sinestro, who got it back to the Guardians. It's the dumbest thing ever.
They get back and the other lanterns basically look at Hal and ask "so despite all the research you did on how to make the ring, you never stopped to consider the laws of the universe?"
Hal never gets to live it down and it's why Barry gets to put a finger down for "Never Have I Ever Seriously Considered Killing my Beloved Husband After Less Than A Week Of Being Married"
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wren-dy-flowergarden · 8 months
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hello! i really enjoyed your newest sebek fluff that you wrote its rlly good! 🫶 i love it!
if you have the time, maybe write another one ? maybe one where sebek takes reader back to his hometown where they have a little cafe date in the cold weather? super cute cozy stuff 🥺 tysm
*ੈ✩‧˚₊⁀➴ A/N: Awww thank you for the request! I hope that I'm able to fully give you the same Sebek energy he is so funny. Cozy Coffee dates are my favorite trope every- and also flower shop AU hehe. I really hope you enjoy this!!! I tried a new style also, so let me know if you life this as well!!! Request are still open! *ੈ✩‧˚₊⁀➴ Sebek x f!reader *ੈ✩‧˚₊⁀➴ WC: 680words, bulletpoint story *ੈ✩‧˚₊⁀➴Tags: fluff, cuteness overload, comfy coffee dates disguised as invading an evil castle, light teasing
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When Sebek invites you to his hometown- Briar Valley- it comes as a welcomed surprise. He talks of his hometown with such enthusiasm- the training range, the lakes his grandfather used to take him, the best places to hunker down on stormy nights.
It was cute the way he stopped by Ramshackle to help you pack, holding up mismatched pair of gloves, exclaiming that due to the number of holes in them, they would not keep you warm. Neither will your thin long sleeves... Neither will your ankle socks... The next day you see him rush in with an oversized jacket that hit your kneecaps, a warm, cream-colored hat, and gloves that matched his.
You can see the way his eyes shine when you step out of the mirror, close to night. Dark trees contrast against snow-topped mountains, the city itself bustling with the use of magic. Gems embedded into their heaters leave the cobblestone path clean of any sleet that may cause injury. It felt like a city made of fairytales.
Sebek sees the way your mouth is open in awe and tuts his head in victory.
“See human! Nothing can compare to the magnificence of Brair Valley!” His hand extends as if decorated the whole plaza by himself, smile widening, “Not even Night Raven Academy can compare to this brilliance.” You just laugh, tiny pearls of sound echo out of you as he pulls you, side by side explaining each detail of his childhood.
How he hit his knee on the fountain there and dented the fountain itself. His favorite candy store now turned into a small grocery pop-up his mother would take him and his siblings. A café that the grownups would never let him or his childhood friends enter because they make too much of a ruckus. He said it looked like the castle to conquer as they trained as small squires back then.
You can see his point. With a dark green roof and muted brown paint, painted against it were murals of gargoyles and delicate rose flowers blooming by the windows almost alive. Tacked to the forehead of the door you see the sign open- warm orange lights calling you from the cold outside, no matter how many layers you wore. You tug his sleeve, breaking Sebek from his monologue, “Let’s go in. You know- to fulfill your childhood dreams.”
It doesn’t take much to convince him when you make it a challenge and he sputters how he is a real knight now that he is ready for anything now trained, and how he could protect Lord Malleus-
A chaste kiss to his lips for silence, you pull him behind you opening the front door as you lead into a comfy café. Antique wooden chairs that were decorated with mini gargoyles, a candle- lantern spiny lazily with small- what you can assume fairies keeping the fire warm. You take the table next to the fireplace, Sebek hates it cold.
Lifting the menu, you see delicately painted pictures of lattes to teas- you thought that this be a bar considering what he said about grownups not letting him in before. Sebek brows are furrowed as well as he flips the menu back and forward- he must also have the same confusion as you. It’s too cute not to tease!
You reach over the table and take his hands, “Stop that. I know we are at the center of the evil headquarters but that doesn’t mean you can give yourself away oh knight.” Sebek scoffs but doesn’t pull away from your warmth, “What can a weakling life you do to protect I?” You give a soft smile as you pull his hands closer to your side of the table, “Why I’m much stronger than you?” As you do you lean over to kiss both of his knuckles, and he sputters retracting his hands like fire touched them. Another laugh leaves you as you pick up the menu again, Sebek squirming in his seat, “Now, what shall we order?”
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abigailmoment · 3 months
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In The Absence Of Stars
Tags: Tragic Kindness, Post-Solitary Confinement, Disassociation, Vampire Spawn Culture, Terrible Hurt and Strange Comfort, Starvation, Healing from Trauma, Polyamory, Community Building, Eating Disorder, Codependency, Self-Harm Through Neglect, Prevented Suicide Attempt, Familiars As Service Animals, Learning, Getting Better, Hurt and Actual Comfort
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Astarion's neck prickled and his hands tightened around his mug. He knew he had limited time. And he knew he was doing this wrong. He was at a table in the back corner, and that was wrong of him. He should be at the bar. He should be on display. That's how you drew people. Pretty didn't work if it was hidden in a corner.
Pretty didn't work if it was hidden under stone.
"Are you all right?"
Someone was close. Someone had gotten close, and Astarion hadn't even noticed. Something inside of him flinched, but the impulse didn't make it to his body. There was a strange delay between mind and movement.
When he did move it was to look up and try to make sense of the shape next to him. Tall. Green. Teeth.
"You're not all right," said the half-orc.
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This was inspired by this story by @ineadhyn.
I made the Samaritan a half-orc because I needed someone who would be completely unafraid to walk someone else home at night in Baldur's Gate. By the end I realized that the kind but assertive voice I had for him was based quite a bit on Finch, who belongs to @everchased and who therefore should be credited for inspiration.
It obviously isn't actually him, because that would be unbearably hideous, and also he's in the future, smiting evildoers. Possibly this is some great grand-uncle.
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Astarion couldn't talk properly.
He was out, but his voice was back in the crypt. Trapped under a slab. Dusty and broken.
He ordered a drink by pointing. He had coins in his pocket. He had found them months ago. There was loose change in tombs, if you looked hard enough. For long enough. Funerary rites. Coins for the dead. Meant for a different corpse. His now.
Five copper for a year of solitude. Not…not a very good price.
It was enough to buy a very cheap drink that he didn't want. A necessary prop, he remembered.
He remembered the rote things. The need to get a drink to justify existing in this space. He remembered where this space was. The taven's name had changed, he was fairly sure, but it was much the same. Dingy, but not filthy. Populated by few groups, mostly solitary drinkers. Poorly lit.
Even the dim lantern light made his eyes hurt. Everything seemed so bright.
The light was better than darkness, anything was better than darkness, but it had been so abrupt. Nothing and nothing and nothing and then an assault of light and hideous movement. Dragged out by Godey. Washed by Aurelia. He had mauled a rat to tatters and not had time to pick the skin out of his teeth before he had to leave. He had to find someone. As he always did. As if it hadn't happened. As if the last year hadn't happened.
He wanted to scream. He wanted to fold down on the floor and cry.
He took his drink and went to find a place to sit. He held it with both hands. His grip was about as reliable as his voice. He found a table. He held his drink as if it meant something to him. He sat still.
This was…this was bearable. This moment. Sitting here. Away enough from the lanterns that they didn't blind so much. There was movement and noise, which was good because if it got too quiet he might actually scream, but it wasn't all around him, like it had been on the street. It wasn't doing anything to him.
At the moment.
Astarion's neck prickled and his hands tightened around his mug.
He knew he had limited time. And he knew he was doing this wrong. He was at a table in the back corner, and that was wrong of him. He should be at the bar. He should be on display. That's how you drew people. Pretty didn't work if it was hidden in a corner.
Pretty didn't work if it was hidden under stone.
"Are you all right?"
Someone was close. Someone had gotten close, and Astarion hadn't even noticed. Something inside of him flinched, but the impulse didn't make it to his body. There was a strange delay between mind and movement.
When he did move it was to look up and try to make sense of the shape next to him. Tall. Green. Teeth.
"You're not all right," said the half-orc.
He leaned over and Astarion didn't know what to do. Scripts were jumbling together in his head. There were all sorts of things he was supposed to do when someone leaned into his space and he wasn't doing any of them. Just sitting there. Like a mouse. Or a statue.
"I think you've had a little too much…" the half-orc was saying, because he was leaning over to look at Astarion's drink. He stopped talking briefly when he saw it was untouched.
"…something," he still maintained, with a fair amount of confidence. "Are you here with anyone?"
Astarion shook his head. Always no to that.
The half-orc looked relieved that he'd actually responded, and eyed him critically for a moment. Then he sat down in a chair across from Astarion.
"Did you drink something?" he asked Astarion. "Or eat something?"
A rat. It had been a moment of abject ecstasy and nowhere near enough. But that's not what was meant. Astarion shook his head.
"Did something happen to you?" the half-orc asked.
Astarion didn't shake his head. He didn't nod. What was he supposed to say to that?
"There's a Fist officer on the street outside," the half-orc said. "Do you need me to…?"
"No."
Then Astarion coughed, because there was still dust in his throat.
"Okay. Okay." The half-orc was holding his hands up. "Not that. That's fine."
Astarion finished coughing. He took a drink of pointless liquid. His hands were shaking. He was so useless right now. If even this was too much, he had no idea how he was going to…
"Do you live nearby?" the half-orc asked him.
That ticked a familiar note in Astarion's brain. That was part of a script, but it wasn't part of this script. Whatever this was. Astarion just stared at him.
"Look. I'm going to get you home, all right?" the half-orc said.
Something inside of Astarion froze. It couldn't be this easy. It was never this easy.
He nodded.
And it was easy.
Astarion was helped to his feet. He was steered very gently around the tables, chairs and other solitary drinkers. The door was opened for him.
They walked through the dark streets. No one bothered them, because one of them was six feet tall and had tusks. Astarion didn't even have to talk. He just pointed down the streets where they needed to go.
The half-orc kept a hand on Astarion's arm. Not possessive. Astarion knew possessive. It was like he was concerned Astarion might fall over and wanted to be in a position to do something about that if it happened. And it had been a year. A year since any kind of touch like that. And it was light enough that it didn't overwhelm, and Astarion felt like his body was somehow devouring it through the point of contact on his arm. Like the rat. Abject ecstasy and nowhere near enough.
And Astarion kept pointing down streets leading them closer and closer to his home.
It felt like there was a mortar and pestle inside of his chest. And every step he took turned the pestle and ground away at something. Something slender and enduring. Something that he hadn't realized he still had, didn't remember the name of, and that he was slowly destroying by doing this. A feeling like watching the night sky and seeing stars winking out.
They stopped at the base of the main stairs, that led up to the familiar mahogany door of the least convoluted entrance.
"You gonna be okay from here?" the half-orc asked.
He sounded a little intimidated. Because Astarion had led him to a castle.
And there was a moment, when the dying, ground down thing inside of Astarion's chest fluttered. A keening desire to do something, anything, other than what he was currently doing. But it was an impulse that didn't translate into motion. A death rattle. Because he was fresh from a lesson about sentiment. And the night sky was black, like the inside of a tomb.
"Would you mind…" Astarion started quietly, and stuttered, but managed to thread the words together in the end: "I may have trouble with the stairs."
"Sure," the half-orc said, immediately.
And he helped Astarion up the stairs and into the Szarr Palace.
-
This was supposed to be a short story about the POV character.
It is now an ongoing series about the half-orc. There are going to be about twenty chapters. I have all of it outlined and much of it written.
Gods preserve me. The rest of it is on AO3. -
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