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manjibunny · 5 months

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"I JUST WANNA SEE YOU SHINE 'CAUSE I KNOW YOU ARE A ✶STARGIRL ✶"

★SYNOPSIS★: Being the good wife that you are, you decided to treat your husband to breakfast in bed. Takashi being a good husband, decides he'd much rather indulge in you ★

★C/W★: fem! reader, sub! reader, dom! Mitsuya, ptv, nipple play, unprotected sex (stay safe yall), fingering, mentions of food, petnames used (baby, my love, my girl), Mitsuya really said "My kink is true love", good ol' kitchen sex

★W/C★: 1,8k+

★A/N★: I got inspired by "Stargirl Interlude" by the Weeknd and Lana del Rey, so I had to write my thots down for @rinterlude The Weekndcollab 💜 Special thx to @avatarofstars for listening to me ramble about this fic at 2 am <333

Streaks of light shone through the blinds, kissing you awake from your peaceful slumber. Upon opening your eyes, you’re blessed by the sight of your husband’s sleeping face. Taking a moment to admire his beauty, you thanked every God that you’ve had the pleasure of meeting, falling in love with, and marrying Mitsuya Takashi. Life is wonderful right now, you thought to yourself.

You stood up from your comfy bed, making sure not to wake Takashi up. He is always so busy, you thought to yourself. Always waking up early, always going to bed late. He deserves to rest a little more.

Tiptoeing out of your shared bedroom, you made your way to the kitchen. You wanted to surprise your husband with breakfast in bed. You hummed to yourself as you got all the ingredients to make pancakes. Getting ready to start making the batter, a set of strong arms wrap around your frame, pulling you against a warm body. You let out a surprised gasp, not expecting Takashi to wake up so early.

“Good morning baby” you giggled. “Wanted to surprise you with breakfast in bed, but of course you had to ruin it” You teased your husband, feeling heat creep up your face as you felt his face buried into your neck.

“Good morning my love. Was hoping to wake up next to my beautiful wife. Imagine my surprise when I found the bed cold and empty without you in it” He mumbled teasingly, his husky morning voice making you feel butterflies in your stomach.

“Yeah? Well, I would have been quick, you know?” You teased back. Takashi chuckled, letting his hands roam your body. Takashis hands lightly gripped your hips,

“Not fast enough for me, my dear” He mused, gently nibbling your earlobe. Heat crept up your face as Takashi gently bit down on your earlobe, earning a light moan from you. He always knew how to get a reaction out of you. As his lips pressed yearning kisses on your sensitive neck, Takashi’s hand slowly crept under your, well, his shirt, fingers caressing your skin.

“You know, I wanted to surprise you with breakfast in bed” You breathed out, drunk of Takashi's gentle touches. He always managed to make you feel so incredibly hot and bothered without trying hard. It was natural for the both of you, your body reacted to him, and his body reacted to you. A gasp left your lips as you felt something hard poke your lower back.

“I’d rather have you” He breathed out, lips attacking your neck as his hips grinded against your ass, his fingers traveling along your torso, sending a chill down your spine “Can I please have you? My love?” You eagerly nodded, biting your lower lip to prevent moans from slipping out of your mouth. No matter how many times Takashi touched you - and he touched you plenty of times - you still felt so shy to show him how much you wanted him.

“Love” He stopped kissing you “I need to hear it. Can I have you?” His tone was gentle, he didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. Forcing himself onto you or making you feel that you were obligated to do anything with him, so having you verbally confirm your wants and needs was routine for him. Besides that, Takashi loves hearing your needy whines for more.

Heat rushed to your cheeks, the coil in your stomach grew tighter as Takashi pleaded with his hoarse morning voice for a signal to to remove your clothes. The want for him outgrew your shyness, and you whimpered “Yes, please have me”

A satisfied grin spread across Takashi’s face. His hands swiftly traveled up your body, lightly kneading your breasts. His lips soon found their way back to your neck, gently nibbling on your tender skin. Passion ignited inside you, your love and lust for your husband overwhelmed your senses. Your moans got louder and louder as Takashi continued to touch your body. You couldn’t feel any shame anymore, not when Takashi pinched and rolled your nipples between his fingers.

“Please, want more” you whined, the throb between your legs becoming unbearable for you. That was all Takashi needed to hear to move one of his hands lower, hooking his fingers on the waistband of your panties and pulling them lower. You slightly spread your legs to give him better access, at which Takashi chuckled.

“My my, you are so eager, aren’t you?” He teased. You were about to retort back with a witty remark, until his index finger gently rubbed your clit. A sinful moan escaped your lips as Takashi teased your clit with one hand, while the other was preoccupied with your nipple.

“Ah, music to my ears” Takashi mused, biting your earshell.

Takashi is a very skilled man, he always knew how to please his woman. He rubbed tight circles on your sensitive bundles of nerves, making you feel desperate for his dick. His fingers haven't even been inside your greedy hole, yet he was able to tell that you were soaking wet when he felt your slick dripped out your hole, coating your panties and his fingers with your essence. The sounds you made as he played with your clit were beyond pornographic for Takashi, his dick was leaking precum just by your erotic mewls.

You on the other hand felt like you were on cloud nine. Feeling so sensitive, you swore you could cum just by Takashi circling his fingers on your clit, but you knew that you wouldn’t be satisfied until you felt his pulsing dick inside you.

Feeling as if he teased your poor little clit enough, Takashi dipped his index finger inside your pussy. Your needy cunt welcomed his finger greedily, sucking it inside and clinging to it for dear life as he pumped - or rather, attempted - to pump his finger in and out. Soon, he added a second finger, and after that a third finger. Finding your sweet sweet g-spot wasn’t hard for your husband, after all it wasn’t the first time his fingers were knuckles deep inside your cunt.

He curled his fingers, making sure to hit your g-spot repeatedly. You were seeing stars at this point, chanting his name as if it were a gospel. The coil in your stomach grew tighter, before eventually snapping.

“Fuck, Baby!” You cried out as you climaxed on his fingers, coating them with your juices. Takashi helped you ride out your orgasm before pulling his fingers out of your pussy. He lifted his fingers to his mouth, tasting your release.

“So fucking sweet” He hummed pleased “You did such a good job, baby”

But you weren’t satisfied quite yet. You haven’t even properly come down from your high, but you still wanted more of Takashi.

“Baby, want your dick inside. Please” You begged, already salivating at the thought of your pussy getting stretched out by his cock and filled with his cum.

Takashi groaned at your plea. Truth be told he was barely able to contain himself, he just wanted to sink his painfully hard cock sink inside your dripping pussy and feel your spongy walls clench around him. He quickly retreated his hand from your hardened bud and pulled his underwear down. With an angry red tip, his long, thick cock springed free from Takashi’s boxers.

“Your wish is my command, my love” Takashi grunted into your ear as he aligned his throbbing cock to your cunt. Tears welled up in your eyes as his tip split you apart, the pain adding to your pleasure.

He barely fit inside, no matter the amount of prep Takashi would do to loosen you up, he would always have to slowly and carefully push between your ever so tight walls, trying to contain himself from cumming on the spot. After all, your pleasure always comes first. He pushed his dick deeper inside you, kissing your neck once he was fully inside you.

“Good job, love. Always taking me so well” He huskily whispered into your ear, waiting for your signal to move. You were panting hard from feeling him inside of you. Your knees were jittery and your breath was hard, so you tried to calm yourself down. He wouldn’t move otherwise. He needed to know that you were able to take him.

Takashi lovingly wiped your tears as your breath steadied. “You’re doing so well. My big, strong girl can handle her man” He gently kissed your cheek.

“But you know, we can also stop-”

“No, I want you. I need you” You stated firmly. “Please move. I’m ready”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Takashi set a slow pace, trying to not overwhelm you. Still, his dick hit all the right places. A choked moan escaped your lips as you felt him grind his hips against your ass. A mixture of slapping sounds, your high pitched moans and Takashi’s low groans echoed through your kitchen as Takashi made love to you.

His chest was pressed against your back, and you were able to feel his heartbeat thumping loudly against his ribcage. You felt strangely relaxed feeling his heart beating so quickly as his thick cock parted your gummy walls. You never doubted that Takashi loved you, but realizing that he wanted you as badly as you wanted him made tugged on your heart.

“Taka, I love you so much” You mewled, feeling yourself getting close again. Gripping the kitchen counter, you arched your back, feeling overwhelmed by all the stimuli you were feeling. Takashi’s hands lightly gripped your hips, careful to not hurt you or leave any marks on your skin.

“I love you too” Takashi groaned “So, so, so much. Can’t live without you”

Your walls tighten around his dick as you heard his words. Takashi’s thrusts became more sloppy, you and him were both so close. He kissed your cheek gently, his hand soon finding yours and intertwining his fingers with yours. Moving your head to the side, you met his lips with yours.

“Cum with me baby. Cum for me, my love” Takashi grunted, so close to spilling inside you. Getting the confirmation you needed, you finally released. Your eyes rolled back into your skull as you sobbed out Takashi’s name. Takashi soon followed suit. He kissed your lips, effectively muffling his moans as he came inside you.

Once both of you came down from the high, Takashi cupped your face before kissing you tenderly.

“Are you ok, baby?”

You hummed in response “Never felt better in my entire life” Takashi chuckled, peppering your face with small kisses before eventually landing on your lips again.

“I’m glad” He exclaimed “Now go to bed. I can feel your legs shaking, "he teased.

“Let me make you breakfast in bed, ok, baby? My girl deserves is after being able to take me so well”

Oh indeed, life was great.

#mdni!#★ zaria's the weeknd collab #mitsuya x reader #mitsuya smut #mitsuya x you #mitsuya x y/n #mitsuya x reader smut #tr mitsuya #tokyo revengers x reader smut #tokyo revengers x reader #tr smut #mdbi banner by @benkeibear #mitsuya takashi #mitsuya takashi x reader #mitsuya takashi x reader smut #star dividers by @grundgenglam

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utahimeow · 2 years

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atsumu was begging me to write him ok (cw degradation)

NSFW CONTENT MINORS DNI

it’s a tradition for you and atsumu to “christen” every new piece of furniture you get.

it started when you upgraded from a queen bed to a king—moving into a new, larger house meant you were blessed with far more space. and of course, a brand new bed needed to be broken in.

then came the new couch, armchair, hell, you even christened the new carpet.

the most recent addition to your home? a beautiful, fancy dinner table. and your husband’s eyes are starving.

“absolutely not, ‘tsumu,” you say with a shake of your head.

“aw, c’mon, baby. it’s tradition! we gotta test to make sure it’s sturdy.” he couldn’t care less about it being sturdy, you know that for a fact. he just wants to get his dick wet.

“people are going to eat there.”

“yeah, me. won’t be eatin’ food though,” he says with a wriggle of his eyebrows. he’s shameless. you think he needs to be ashamed.

“‘tsumu, i swear to god,” you say but it’s without any real warning. the man strides towards you, lips curled into his signature grin, fox eyes heavy with want. “we have a perfectly good bed. you can do whatever you want with me there.”

large, warm hands find your waist, trailing slowly to your back until they land on the fat of your ass. atsumu leans in close, brings his mouth to your ear, his warm breath sending shivers along your spine.

“or you could save me the hassle of carryin’ ya’ all the way there, n’ let me fuck your pretty pussy here on this damn table.”

he’s insatiable, yes, but so are you.

it’s all too predictable that you would end up with your back on the wood dining table, pulled to the edge as your husband’s thick cock ploughs through you.

“fuck, baby… can feel you creamin’ all over me,” atsumu breathes, rough fingertips digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. his strength lets him guide you effortlessly to meet against his pelvis, a wet smack echoing against the walls with each time he bottoms out inside you.

he’s got one of your legs dangling over his shoulder and the other over his arm, and he’s putting his entire strength into every. single. thrust. arms bulge as he bullies your poor little cunt, blond hair falling over his eyes.

“‘tsumu-fuck!” you shriek when his cockhead meets one particularly sensitive spot. “right there!”

you don’t need to say it for him to know—he’s mapped out your body in all the years he’s had you. the moment he feels your walls clench, feels your nails sink into whatever part of his flesh they can find (this time it’s his wrists), he knows to get a move on and fuck you harder.

“g’na cum for me, pretty girl?” he growls, grasping at one of your tits as they bounce in time with his strokes.

“mhm,” is all you muster, but it’s closer to a moan than a reply.

“y’are, huh? gonna cum on the fuckin’ dinner table? what a dirty girl,” he says, and the rasp in his voice pushes you over the edge, sends your muscles coiling and your back arching to the sky as white hot pleasure floods your body.

and your husband follows not long after, fills you up with a nice warm load that effectively turns your limbs into jelly. he huffs as he pulls out, watching the cum that follows as it drools out of your spent hole.

“baby…” you whimper, stretching your arms out to him. “carry me to bed?”

he doesn’t even hesitate, swooping you into his arms as you grumble about him having the audacity to call you dirty for wanting to fuck on the dinner table.

#atsumu smut #atsumu miya smut #hq smut #haikyuu smut #atsumu x reader #atsumu miya x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu x reader #꒰ lovers. ꒱ — atsumu

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kevcanwait · 2 months

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Felix. Gaming.

This definitely didn't happened to me except it was just me in my bed and the high definitely didn't wear of quicker than expected and I definitely wasn't suddenly in the mood to play minecraft, not at all, that'd be weird. (I swear I didn't use just wipes, I'm better than that.)

He didn't know why he was so needy but suddenly, in the middle of gaming with his boyfriend, he just got super hot and uncomfortable. He was on a call with his boyfriend, Felix, as they played and he over heard the other saying he had to go pick up his food with the boys cause he lost a bet and has to pay. He didn't hang up but since he knew he'd be gone for a while, he didn't waste time in pulling his sweats down in order to rub himself over his boxers. He shakily sighs as his unoccupied hand grips the chair arm, tension in his abdomen building up as he spreads his legs while lowering his boxers enough to touch himself freely, pre-cum his only lube as his thoughts proceed to become incoherent and he's solely on the thought of releasing before his boyfriend gets back, not that it'd be a bad thing if he didn't finish when he got back. He stroked himself in the familiar way that has his head falling back against his chair, proceeding to feel the band of his headset and it hits him that the other never muted himself. The thought of his boyfriend actually being on the other side, even though he knows he's not, has him releasing a deep, shaky moan as his hand picks up speed, his thumb swiping over his tip before he goes back to fucking into his tight fist, so close, the coil so tight and ready to snap. He hears something on Felix's end and regrettably stops before subconsciously saying 'Fuck it' and his hand immediately goes back to getting him back to that building high, almost on the edge, his head tilts back against his chair and with a few small thrusts and a hard squeeze at his base, he cums with a choked groan as he strokes himself quickly, following the high before slowing down as he doesn't really like the feeling of overstimulation. He breaths heavily, attempting to settle his racing heart pounding in his chest before he looks down, at some point he had brought his left leg up onto his chair and slouched further down in mentioned chair, his hand cover in his cum as a few drops slid down his shaft. He sighs, sitting up in his chair before looking around, eventually finding and rolling over to the wipes on his dresser. After cleaning himself, albeit not in the best way, he collected himself and rolled back over to his computer only to be met with a softly illuminated room and the adorable head tilt of his boyfriend. "You okay?" "Uh, yeah, why?" "You look like you just ran a marathon." "I wasn't doing anything." "Okay." A few minutes went by, both of you joining into a new game, before he spoke again. "Did you just jack off then go right back to gaming like it was nothing?" "Felix!"

#real life #stray kids #lee felix #random #bleh #stray kids x male reader #k pop male reader #male reader #x male reader

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soov · 4 months

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LOVE iN TV WORLD 𝄢 O8. oh... yikes

⚠ : cursing, profanity, kissing, pet names, mentions of food — 848 words.

After being chosen to carry on the legacy of his members and company colleagues, Lee Heeseung finds himself having a wonderful time hosting Music Bank every Friday. What he did not expect was falling in love with his rookie MC partner.

꒰ 📺 ꒱

Monotonously jiggling some coins in your hands, you made your way to the vending machine in Starship Entertainment’s café.

Sheon had never asked for any kind of tea after a few years of living with your group.

There were countless times where she complained about the sight of mugs of tea being prepared at your dorms. That, and the smell of it, the way it was “just hot juice”, and the iced version “just infused water, but tasteless”.

You were overly suspicious of her asking you to buy a can of Lipton. If it was for a staff member or a member of Kazino, she would’ve told you. She never shuts up, anyways.

Inserting the coins into the machine, you pressed the number 17, waiting for the can to fall. Inevitably, you thought of Heeseung when he bought you a Pepsi. you were seriously going crazy without him, and the fact that he didn’t reply to any of your texts, drove you even more mad.

You wanted more of the jokes he most likely stole from his members, him calling you his flower, begging for you to stay longer at the SBS building with him, only because you couldn’t hang out anywhere else, and his hugs. God, you really missed his hugs. You missed Heeseung badly.

It was like you could hear his voice calling out your name — delusion was getting to you.

But why did it sound so real?

“Flower!” Heeseung shouted, snapping you out of your trance as he sprinted towards you. There wasn’t time to question how he was at Starship when his arms coiled around your lower back and twirled you around, one of his melodic chuckles coming out.

As he tightened his grip on your body, you let out a gasp, wrapping your own arms around his neck and burying your face there. He smelled like caramel and vanilla, a different scent from his usual flowery fragrance, though it didn’t stop from being comforting. You felt safe in his hold.

You smiled, landing a kiss on his ear, “I missed you.” Your words weren’t needed, because he knew you did. It felt like everything had already gone back to normal.

“I missed you way more,” the singer countered, carefully putting you down and kissing your forehead, a hand steadying your head by the nape.

“Liar.” You frowned in a joking manner, feigning anger, but he saw the twinkle in your irises, showing that you had already forgiven him. Heeseung adored your eyes, and even more, staring at them. “You didn’t reply to any of my messages, Seung.”

He was a sucker for when you called him by the nickname you made for him, and how your voice curled around it. He loved your voice just as much as your eyes. Sighing, he apologized, “I’m so sorry. I was so busy with the interviews, then I had to do two Weverse lives, and jet lag hit me like a truck, and I barely got slee–”

The words once leaving his mouth were stuffed back in when you pecked his cheek to calm him down, “Seung, it's okay. I’m just glad you’re not mad at me or anything like that.”

In sequence, Heeseung felt his face flush, heart beating erratically and trying to match his breath, “Okay…” he nodded, his lovesick gaze skimming across your features. “I could never be mad at you, baby.”

Your brain went all fuzzy with the pet name, nearly stopping working. Usually, he called you ‘baby’ on text, but now, he confidently let those words out, and it had an instant effect on you.

“You can’t be mad at me.” You repeated, not sure as to why you were mirroring his sentences.

He nodded, “Couldn’t ever be mad at you.” And without even registering it, he gently tilted your face towards his and sealed his lips to yours, briefly kissing you.

Freezing in place, your eyes widened. The purple-haired boy then pulled away, resting his forehead on yours, and you only realized it when he spoke up. “I really, really missed you.”

When you regained composure, it was your time to take the lead, and your palms quickly made their way to Heeseung’s rosy cheeks, kissing him. You could taste the chapstick that you once gifted him on his lips, one that he always used during plane trips.

It was hard to think of anything when you were trying to figure out how to kiss well, but an intrusive thought came up. You finally lived up to your private account user, and that snatched a giggle out of you.

Lee disconnected your mouths and smiled, eyebrows sewn together in confusion, “What’s so funny?”

His question only made you laugh harder, and your head and hands fell to his shoulders, “Nothing, nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

So he didn’t, hugging you tight in front of the vending machine as you kept shaking with laughter in his arms.

Neither of you noticed how Sheon was bemusedly staring at you from afar with her phone in hands and your messages open.

“Oh. So the plan worked… Yikes.”

REWiND ⋆ EPiSODES ⋆ SKiP

MiC ON 𑑑 SHEON AND SUNOO SAVIORS OF THE WORLD!!!!!!

GENRE friends / coworkers to lovers, fluff, smau | PAiRiNG lee heeseung & f!reader

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gloomwitchwrites · 8 days

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Captain John Price x Female Reader Dark Romance

Chapter Specific Warnings: explicit sexual content, explicit language, multiple creampie, punishment, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), oral sex (female & male receiving), breeding undertones, missionary, cowgirl, face fucking, table sex, light gagging, light spanking, light biting, brief edging, praise

Word Count: 5.1k

A/N: Finale of Dangerous Pursuit (for @glitterypirateduck)

You submit to Price at the safehouse. Price finds out what Makarov is up to.

Chapter Nine

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // dangerous pursuit masterlist

Between your ribs is a drumbeat.

The drumbeat is your heart. Pounding. Pounding. Pounding.

Warm water falls upon your body, droplets rolling over skin to land on the floor where it rushes to the drain.

Price’s hands are on you. Seeking. Touching.

It is just the two of you standing under the cascading water, steam rising to the rafters to unfurl in gently dispersing clouds. Price’s hand is between your legs, those thick, calloused fingers of his pressing and teasing your clit. One finds your entrance, and it easily slips inside, revealing to Price just how goddamn needful you are.

“Fuck, love,” he groans. “Fuck.” Price elongates the vowel, drawing it out until it’s dripping from his lips.

His earlier words return, spiraling and twisting until they become tangled ribbons in your head.

Do you miss him?

Did Obolensky ever fuck you like I did?

Did he kiss you better? Taste you better?

No.

The answer is always no.

Price is the only one for you. You know this down to your marrow.

“I will fuck you,” he groans, emphasizing his words with a light thrust of his finger. It is a promise, one that tells you exactly how this encounter will go.

Price licks his lips. Exhales. And you know what comes next.

“But there’s a punishment to be dealt.”

There is indeed.

The chase. The mud. Price tossing you over his shoulder to bring you back to the safehouse. You have brought this on yourself. You ran from him. Ran from safety. Why? Because it’s what you do. Survival is all you know, and a small part of you insisted, and you gave in like a dog staring at unattended food on the counter.

The very idea of what Price plans on doing to you sends a gentle quiver to your thighs. Your breath shakes slightly with coiled anticipation at Price’s idea of punishment. Against your skin, and falling down around you, the water starts to cool, more lukewarm than hot.

Price’s finger thrusts again and then slips out, retreating from between your legs. The loss is immediate, and you long to reach out to draw him back. You need him. You crave him. It is an unrelenting pull that rages behind your eyes and stirs in your head.

“Give me your hand,” he says, and it’s almost a growl.

Your body snaps into action at the primal quality of his tone, presenting your hand without hesitation. The quickness in which you respond to him is almost frightening. It is an electrifying sensation that tingles throughout your limbs.

Price’s head dips, the line of his nose pressing against your temple, his hot breath a caress against your cheek. It stands in contrast to the cooling water. Reaching between your bodies, he clasps your wrist, guiding your hand to his cock. Your fingers instinctually wrap around him.

In your palm, Price is heavy, thick, throbbing. Holding him like this feels a bit powerful, as if you’re in control in this moment and not him. When your fingers fully wrap around the shaft, Price groans, his hand around your throat tightening slightly as the edges of your nails lightly graze over his skin.

Price does not remove his hold on your wrist. His grip is strong, and with that strength, Price begins to rock his hips, his length languidly moving back and forth in your encased hand. You cannot look away, and you certainly cannot let go. You don’t want to.

Your gaze is fixated on his cock and how he fucks your hand. The desire to explore and touch is adamant, and all you have is the hand at your side. It rises, and comes to rest against one muscled pectoral. Price is nothing but heat, your palm warming at the contact.

Price nuzzles closer, pressing you harder against the shower wall. But your gaze is still on Price’s cock and your hand. You are mesmerized by the languid roll of his hips, and how he uses you for his pleasure.

Did you ever get a good look at him? Not that you can recall. Now, you have a completely unobstructed view of Price’s dick, and the only urge you have is to sink onto your knees and take him into your mouth, to know what he tastes like, and how much you can make him squirm.

But you’re unable to move. He has you pinned, but you still want to play, even though this is supposed to be your punishment for fleeing like a gentle doe.

Wrist and palm flexing, you go to stroke him, but Price squeezes, halting all movement. “Don’t move,” he growls. Everything in you freezes. Becoming silent like an undisturbed pool of water. “Hold still,” he says more gently, his grip on your wrist releasing to fall against the swell of your hip.

You don’t dare move that hand, only clinging to him by the one on his chest. Fingertips curling into his muscled skin, you remain utterly unmoving, too focused on how his pace starts to increase or how Price’s breathing hitches at the end only to melt into gentle groans.

This man is rugged and gorgeous, with power behind every movement. You know this to be true. His hand around your throat could easily cut off your air supply or snap your neck. But Price is all control. He flaunts that strength and it is a sinful thing.

And it doesn’t scare you. If anything, it makes you feel safe. He’d never turn it on you, would never harm you. Price has proved that to you time and time again.

With your back pressed against the shower wall, and Price caging you in, you are the one possessed. He is claiming you for himself. Marking you as his. Deep in your core, you know he’ll have more than just your hand. By the end, the two of you will be tangled, sparking wires, completely inseparable without cutters.

Price’s hand around your throat shifts, turning your face into his. His lips find yours, and there is nothing soft about it. It is rough, completely primal, and when you open for him, his tongue dips inside for a taste.

He pulls away from your lips, the corners of his mouth turning upward into a hint of a smile. “You asked for this by running away from me.” Price’s voice is slightly hoarse. A little raspy like he’s just awoken from sleep. Price presses his forehead against yours, hips stuttering against your hand.

He’s close, coming to an end. You can feel it in the way his cock throbs, nearly pulsing with need.

“Fuck,” he mutters, hand falling away from your throat to grasp the underside of your thigh.

In one fluid movement, Price lifts your leg off the ground and wraps it around his hip. Surprised, your hand releases his cock, going for the back of his neck to hold on, thinking that he’s about to completely lift you off the floor.

Instead, Price guides your hips forward, finding purchase, the swollen head of his cock pressing to your entrance. He eases in, the intrusion already a stretch, but he does not sheath himself entirely. Your head falls back against the shower wall, exposing your throat. Price keeps himself partially inside of you. Staying there, his mouth comes down on your throat to nip and suck at your skin.

You inhale sharply, pussy clamping down around what he has given you. Your own pleasure is a seeking beast. It has you wanting to slide all the way down on him, to fill you like he did all those years ago at Thirst. But Price keeps your hips still, warding off the creature that wants to show its teeth.

With his one free hand, Price reaches between your bodies and strokes himself. Every pass of his hand pulls a little shiver from him, and the very image of Price falling apart is sweet like syrup. You savor it, and then smile as he empties himself inside you.

That is what he said he’d do after all. Give you just the tip. Fill you with his cum first before he fucks it all into you. Right now, it doesn’t feel like punishment at all. Just foreplay. Just a bit of fun.

“John,” you murmur, and the sound he makes in response goes straight to your pussy.

He lightly shakes his head, hands squeezing tighter on your hips. “We’re not fucking done, love. Far from it.”

Of course he’s not. You already know what he plans. And you are eager for all of it. You want to drown in him.

Price’s gaze roams over your face. Several emotions pass over his features but they come and go so quickly you cannot catch them all. But you know the last. Lust. It’s all over him, and you want him to take it all out on you in whatever way he wants.

Gently, Price releases your leg, bringing it to the ground. He reaches to the left, turning off the now cold water. It shuts off, and all that’s left are the droplets dripping from your hair. Price grabs you by the waist, pulling you away from the shower wall, taking three steps back.

“Get on your knees,” he commands, voice low and husky.

You drop instantly, the heat of his cum threatening to slip out. Price has one hand wrapped around the base of his cock, pumping slowly. Already, he’s back to hardness. The man has stamina, and that alone is a tease. You desire to test it out, to see how far it goes.

Price’s other hand reaches out, tracing your bottom lip in a gentle caress as if he’s assessing your mouth.

“Let me see that mouth.” You promptly part your lips and Price slides his thumb over your tongue before retreating. “Good girl.”

Price shifts forward, one hand going to the back of your head to draw you close. He runs his thumb over your cheekbone, but does not indicating that he wants your mouth on him. Instead, he inhales deeply, as if steadying himself, like he’s moments from losing control.

“Keep me inside you,” he says, and Price does not need to elaborate. You understand.

Reaching between your legs, your press three fingers to your pussy, stopping his cum from escaping. The smug smile that spreads across his face only stirs heat in your belly. You’re not running from him or pushing back like you’ve always done. You are submitting, giving in to him.

That makes him happy, and it makes you happy.

Every part of you is singing, skin tingling in all sorts of places. It is a gentle buzz just beneath and between the bone as if you are made of carnal desire and that desire flares only for Price.

Gently, Price takes your arm, sliding to your hand, bringing it to rest against his muscled thigh. He steps closer. “Hold on to me. Signal if it’s too much.”

This is punishment, but Price won’t take you past your limits. He is still thinking of you even as he only seeks his own pleasure.

Price’s hands smooth back your wet hair, only to twist the soaked strands in his fist. He tugs, pulling you up, the backs of your thighs straining slightly at the position. Drawing you closer, your tongue darts out to run along the slit, swiping up the pearly bead blooming there. Price inhales sharply, fist twisting tighter.

“Be good,” he rasps, and you have to force down the little purr that wants to crawl up your throat. “Wider.”

You comply, and then Price is sliding the head past your lips and over your tongue. He slowly gives you more until he hits the back of your throat and your gag reflex triggers. Price pulls back slightly as your lips suction around him and your nostrils flare.

“Relax,” he coos, and you do.

Price has both hands on your head. One tangled in your hair at the top, and the other grasping the back of your neck. He shifts position, and he nods, hinting at what comes next.

Price tests with a roll of his hips, and then he’s holding on, keeping your head still as he fucks your mouth like he did your hand. This too is a possession, marking you as his. Your body belongs to him, and that is perfectly fine. You’re eager for it, and for him.

He is all sharp grunts as you hold onto his thigh. Price has a salty bite to him, one that has your pussy clenching, your fingers pressing harder against your sex knowing that more will go there soon.

“This is how you learn,” he says between thrusts, each word ending on a slight burst of air. “That you’re mine.”

You want to respond, to tell Price that you’re his completely, but you can’t with his cock down your throat. Instead, you slide your hand over his thigh and between his legs, gently cupping him.

Price’s hips stutters. He hisses between his teeth, head falling back slightly in pleasure. You’re not supposed to be in control, but does he entirely care? Not really. Because when Price gazes down at you, all you see is an intensity that squeezes your chest.

Price’s hands move to the sides of your face. With every roll of his hips, he brings you down on him repeatedly. Each one threatens to illicit a gag but you breathe through your nose, keeping your throat relaxed even as your eyes begin to water.

He is using you for himself, and it’s fucking delicious.

A punishment you’ll happily take.

When you do finally gag, Price drags you off his cock. It is coated with your saliva, glossy and shiny. You cough once, and then Price is reaching down to lift you by the arms. Clinging to him, Price walks you backward until your ass hits a nearby table. With a growl, Price hauls you up by your thighs, setting you down on the smooth tabletop. His hand presses against your chest, and then you’re on your back.

Within seconds, Price is dragging you to the edge of the table, pushing your legs wide. His hand is around his cock, pumping, and then he does it all again. Just the head and his warm release filling your pussy.

He holds there a moment, chest heaving. Yours is moving just as deeply.

You haven’t gotten off, but Price has. Twice.

Slowly, he eases out, and sighs with contentment. “Look at that. See how I drip from you.” Price hands stroke up and down your inner thighs before he steps to the side.

The mirror in the bathroom alcove is right there, and your reflection is clear as day. Between your spread thighs, you watch his cum bloom there. There is a pause. A stretch of breath. Then it starts to roll out slowly.

Price allows you only a few seconds before his fingers return to your pussy, drawing up is cum to press it all back inside. “That stays.”

Blocking your view of the mirror, Price slots himself between your legs again. His fingers drop away from your pussy, and then he’s wrapping his arms under your thighs, making sure you’re on the very edge of the table.

His hardness rests against the space between your sex and your thigh. “One last lesson,” he says.

Lifting one of leg, Price rests your ankle on his shoulder. His hand curls over your shin, and then he’s leaning in, his other hand pressing your other thigh to the table.

“John,” you whimper, as the head of his cock pushes in.

The stretch is perfect. Delicious. Is this how he felt at Thirst? He probably did but you vaguely remember. You only remember how he made you feel during that solitary hour.

Rocking his hips back and forth, Price gives you a bit more each time until he’s completely home. You’re so full it’s nearly painful, but it evaporates almost instantly when Price gently rocks his hips against you.

“Oh, love,” he purrs, his gaze darkening. “Let’s make a fucking mess.”

Price retreats, and comes forward in a sharp thrust.

You cry out, one hand clawing at him while the other latches on to the edge of the table. Price is relentless, fucking you in near desperation. Droplets of water fall from his hair to land on your skin. Some rain down across his bare chest and the urge to lick them up flares within you unbidden.

All you can do is hold on, head falling back against the table as Price gives you everything he has. It is rough, nearly brutal, but fuck is it good. Price was rough with you at Thirst but this is different. He was almost reserved then. This is unleashed need.

Price’s hand on your thigh travels, moves upward only for his thumb to press against your clit. The touch is a shock, one that sends your pussy fluttering around him. Price grunts, stills, keeps toying with your clit until your thighs quiver and everything in you begins to clench down. Then it all disappears as Price pulls his thumb away and resumes thrusting.

You push up on your elbows in disbelief as Price smirks. “Think you deserve an orgasm?”

He’s teasing. Toying with you.

“Yes,” you reply sharply, chest hot with both irritation and arousal.

Price laughs, and grinds against you, pulling forth a moan you’ve never made before. His hand that was previously on your thigh now grabs the nape of your neck, pulling your upper body off the table.

He stares into your eyes when he speaks. “Promise me,” he begins. “You won’t run.”

“I promise,” you gasp, fingers slipping against the slick wood.

“You promise what?” he prompts.

You shake your head as best you can. “I won’t run.”

His brow softens, tone smoothing into something delicate and syrupy like honey. “Are you mine?”

This one is easy. “I’m yours.”

Price sighs and gently returns your body back to the table. He adjusts his grip and then he’s pumping into you, his thumb rubbing quick little circles over your clit. Everything that tightened earlier rebounds in full force, flaring white and hot and bold beneath the skin.

“Come for me,” he grunts between thrusts.

Nails dig into wood. Your back arches. Slams down into the table. Hips twitching, trying to move away from his deft fingers, your orgasm crawls to life, digging its way from out of a grave, wanting to consume. Price does not let up. His thumb works and works, swirling circles mixed with your slickness and his cum.

It is too much too quickly. You’re falling then. Fast. Unable to cling to the dangling rope. You cry out his name, and it is strained.

“That’s it,” he groans as your pussy clenches around him. “So good for me.”

Price’s own thrusts stutter out, and then he’s grinding forward. Your name on his lips is distant. You hardly hear it. Your body trembles. Aching.

“Come here.”

That is what you hear. Price’s voice coaxing you from the lust-laced fog clinging to the edges of your consciousness.

Price guides your ankle off his shoulder and brings your leg back to the table. Then he lifts you into his arms, bringing you over the queen bed that’s shoved against the wall. You cling to him, feeling heavy, like you’d fall into a void if you didn’t.

When Price gently eases you to the bed, all you feel are his hands caressing your skin. They move up and down your body. This softness is strange. Price has been plenty soft with you in the past but this is different. It’s a comfort.

You hum with pleasure, eyes closed in bliss, and Price’s low, rough rumble of a chuckle reaches your ears. You are on your back. And then you’re not.

Price turns you over onto your stomach.

Confused, you whimper in protest, reaching back for him even as you start to scoot forward, eyelids open now but heavy. Price’s hand stroke up and down the backs of your thighs before landing on your hips, drawing them up.

You are on your knees, face pressed into the bed.

Anticipation coils in your belly, and you grin against the sheets.

Gently, Price’s hands slide between your thighs and spread them. Again, Price strokes the backs of your thighs, and then his mouth is on you, placing little kisses there, moving upward. His lips brushes against the curve of your ass, and then he bites. Not hard, just takes a bit of soft skin between his teeth, sucking.

You whimper, and you’re rewarded with a sharp slap.

You twist as best you can, shooting him a look over your shoulder.

Price grins against your skin, kissing the spot he just spanked. He rises slightly, and you feel the flush roll up your neck and to your cheeks. You quickly glance away, staring down at the off-brown of the bedsheets.

It’s such a strange thing, to be wanted like this. You feel equally used and worshipped.

Price makes a sound in his throat that sounds like pleasure and you immediately forget this line of thinking. The bed sinks behind you, and then Price’s mouth is on your clit, swirling and teasing. He doesn’t seem to care that you’re full of his cum, because Price sucks and licks your clit like a man starved, like it’s all he wants in the world.

Pressing your forehead into the bed, you moan loudly, everything in you stuttering and shaking. One knee slips, your body unable to keep you aloft. But Price is right there, gripping your hips, licking your perfectly until the orgasm roils up and bursts on impact, spreading out to every limb.

Your next cry is choked. Closed off.

But Price is unsatisfied with his.

“One more,” he groans against your pussy. “For me.”

Price returns to your clit, and the orgasm you just had staggers on. Unending until Price allows it.

And he does. Eventually.

Price is rolling you onto your back, hands soft as he settles between your legs.

Gently, he takes your wrists, guiding them above your head with one hand, pinning your arms there. His head dips and your mouths meet. You taste yourself and him but you hardly care.

This is good. This is sweet.

Already, Price is aligning himself to your entrance, sliding home, filling you up perfectly. You are pinned by his pelvis and his hand. There are no formalities, just carnal need and consuming pleasure. Price’s thrusts are deliberate, his entire weight behind each forward momentum. You are fucked into the bed, thighs gripping Price’s hips in desperation.

Price’s lips keep brushing against yours but it’s not a kiss. It’s just an exchanging of breath.

“What are you?” he asks, a slight growl on the end.

“Yours,” you answer. “I’m yours.”

Price purrs with contentment, closing the distance, lips crashing into yours. He thrusts once. Twice. And then stills, hips pressed roughly against yours. He groans into your mouth, hand gently wrapping around your throat to keep you from breaking the kiss.

But you wouldn’t. Never.

“That’s it, love. Like that.”

Price’s head sinks into the pillow beneath him. His hands are on your waist, his gaze focused on the spot where your bodies meet. You are on top, riding him. Your hands are on his chest as an anchor. You rock back, fucking yourself on him. Price is unmoving except his hands. You are taking what you want.

There is a lazy smile on his lips you long to kiss, but you’re too focused on moving atop him, grinding and rocking in the way you need to. You are chasing your pleasure this time.

You moan loudly as Price’s hand slides up your stomach to between your breasts. That moan, which is lust-laced, is broken by a rapid beeping.

You and Price pause, that lazy smile of his morphing into confusing. Glancing around, you don’t locate the sound until your gaze falls on a little green flashing light.

Next to the bed is an old looking radio. At least, that’s what you think it is. It is large and bulky. It has been silent this whole time. Until now. The beeping is coming from a tiny speaker.

“Fuck,” groans Price, his hands dropping to your thighs. His head tilts in the direction of the noise.

“What it is?” you ask.

“Probably Simon,” mutters Price, sighing heavily.

“Well,” you sigh, rolling your hips. “Answer it.”

Price shoots you a knowing look. “Don’t fucking stop,” he growls. “You keep riding me no matter what. You understand?”

You nod, smiling victoriously as you lightly grind down on him.

Price squeezes your thigh and gives it a light smack. “Behave,” he says, reaching out with the other hand.

It is then that you realize it’s a communication device. The piece that Price removes it attached by a looped wire. It looks just like the comm Price has on his gear.

“Bravo Six,” he answers, releasing your thigh to grab the headset.

You press your hands against Price’s firm chest. Using it as leverage, you thrust back on him. Price glances at you, eyebrows raised. Fixing the headset between his shoulder and ear, Price grabs onto your waist.

He squeezes. A warning.

You ignore it.

“I’m listening,” growls Price into the microphone as you come up and then back down on him. You shift onto your elbows and then your forearms.

“Good,” he says, but he’s not speaking to you.

Your head dips, and then your mouth presses against Price’s chest. You graze over his skin, teasing one nipple with the tip of your tongue even as your hips lightly bounce up and down his cock. Price chokes back a groan.

“Heard,” he snaps. “I’ll be there.”

The moment the call his done, Price is tossing the headset and microphone aside.

Price’s hands return to gripping your waist, bouncing you on him as he meets you with each thrust of his hips. Your fingers dig in, and then Price is rolling you onto your back, pounding you into the bed. All you can do is cling to him, smiling against his shoulder as Price takes what he needs.

After, the two of you are tangled and sweaty, skin and against skin in the low light.

“You have to leave,” you say into the air.

“I do,” he replies softly.

You push up on your elbow to look down at him. Price’s mouth is turned down in a slight frown. He reaches up, running his thumb across your cheek.

“Is it because of—” You lick you lips and swallow down the temporary moment of pause. “Alex?”

Price’s frown deepens. “Partially,” he answers. “It’s…complicated.”

This time you frown. “You don’t want to tell me.”

“I do,” he says. “But your safety is more important.”

“I want you to talk to me. Please, John.”

Price sighs, glances away, and then glances back. “We’re closing in on Obolensky’s business. The father’s business.”

You lean back a bit. “How can I help?”

“No,” replies Price automatically. “Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

Price’s eyebrows rise slightly. “After everything, you want to help?”

You look away, blood-laced images coming forth. Price must know your unease because he wraps his arms around you, pulling down against his chest.

“You’re staying here. I’ll come back for you.”

“Will you?”

“Always.”

Price stands behind a smooth mahogany desk. It has real gold accents. Simple. Rich. Quiet extravagance

This is a rich man’s desk. Not new money but old. Deep pockets and deep connections.

Price’s gloved hands click away at the keyboard in front of him. The computer holds a history, and he is extracting every fucking piece.

In front of the desk are two men in perfectly tailored designer suits. They are bound. Gagged. On their knees. One is Alexandr Obolensky. The other is his father, Damir Obolensky, the patriarch of the family. He is owner of the family’s consulting company.

“Consulting” is just a fancy word to cover up what is really happening. Price truly doesn’t give a fuck about Damir or Alexandr. Not anymore. They are just a means to an end. A means to an answer.

There is anger on their faces but Price completely ignores them. Gaz and Soap stand behind the men, guns in a relaxed positioned but their fingers still hovering over the trigger. They know that these men aren’t active threats, but they could become one rather quickly.

Damir might be old, but he’s a big brute of a man. Alexandr is fucking psychotic. He loves dealing out the violence himself. Expect of course when it came to you. Then he couldn’t do it, and Price is fucking thankful for that.

Simon comes into view and Price withdraws the external drive, depositing it into the behemoth’s hands.

“Alpha and Delta teams just arrived, Captain,” says Simon in his gruff voice.

Price nods. “Send them out.”

Simon reaches up and starts speaking into his comm. The main doors to Damir’s office open, a team of tactical glad men entering. Soap and Gaz turn, nodding toward them, stepping back. Alexandr and Damir are dragged to their feet. Damir tries to fight, to throw his weight to unbalance the man gripping him, but he’s knocked in the back of the head, halting all resistance.

This entire extraction confirmed every suspicion. Makarov is working to get out of prison. Those loyal to him are shifting, moving in the dark, waiting for the perfect moment to release their leader.

Which means Price needs to make some goddamn phone calls.

But that isn’t all he found. Your name is buried in their records. On the surface, the spreadsheet appeared nothing more than a simple list of clients. But nearly everyone on the list is dead or missing. Even your name is marked as killed, which means that Alexandr lied to his family. Which means the fucker did care about you on some level.

But that information is gone. Price made it so.

Soap and Gaz follow Delta squad out of the room, Simon right on their heels, still speaking into his comm. Price comes around the desk, following the large group at a short distance.

There is a little cottage in the Scottish Highlands that has his name on it. When he returns to you, he’ll take you there first. After? He’ll go wherever you want.

But you’re his now.

And that is all Price needs.

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tadpolesonalgae · 2 years

Text

Azriel x Reader - Bad Dreams

Synopsis: set after the war, reader is not at all used to death and is haunted by memories of the carnage. Gets intrusive thoughts about corpses beneath her bed or inside her wardrobe. That her food is rotten and blood-slicked.

Warnings: blood, mention of dead bodies, possibly disturbing imagery, fluff

A/N: I just had a horrible intrusive thought so I’m going to write a comfort fic :’)

Visual Prompt here

You reached toward your closet door, in a hurry since the others were down for breakfast. You grabbed the handle, cool metal contrasting with your warm palm.

‘There’s a corpse in your closet’

You froze, hand still half turned, suddenly feeling a foreboding presence emanating from behind the door. Your heart rate sped up and your throat became hot and dry, and itch forming from within. You twisted the handle, about to pull it open.

The body would be a putrid grey, a thin layer of sweat gleaming on the damp surface of the clammy skin. Big, vacant eyes swallowing yours, the pupils relaxed, with it’s jaw hanging abnormally open, the muscles having stopped their permanent constriction. The tongue would be a bloody red, the rotting flesh easily pulling apart from the infesting moisture.

You slammed the door closed before you could see what was inside, a sheen of cold sweat cresting your forehead. You took in a shaky breath, nearly vomiting on the exhale, stomach contracting violently as you smacked your palm over your mouth. A dizzying sweat burned in your brain, a ringing in your ears as you gripped onto the wood of the wardrobe.

The door was swinging open, the force of you shutting it making it wind back open. You gagged, staggering back as it swung open menacingly. The clammy swollen skin, the vacant eyes, bloody tongue. Legs giving out on you, you crashed to the floor, pushing yourself away from the closet.

The darkness inside stared back at you, bodiless clothes hanging limply within like empty sacks of skin. Your bottom lip trembled as you remained petrified on the floor.

‘Behind you.’

Your head twisted backwards staring to your bed, the duvet hiding what was beneath it.

‘The closet.’

Your nails dug into the floorboards, head snapping from the bed to the open closet, certain something was getting closer, nearer and nearer until cold clammy hands would wrap around your neck with wet breath dampening your ear as it opened it’s rotten mouth the stench coming from it making you gag so violently as your breathing shot into hyperventilation with your throat constricting as you shoved to your shaky feet dashing for the door opening it and slamming it shut as soon as you were out practically able to feel that damp rotten breath on the back of your neck making your hair stand on end and hands tremor.

You inhaled deeply, hand covering your mouth to try and limit the fast breaths. Your hand remained on your door handle that was now slick with sweat. You made your way to a washroom hastily, moving faster and faster along the hallways.

It had been a few months ago these thoughts had infested your mind, insidiously creeping further in through the cracks of your sanity. Tendrils of madness sliding and coiling round your mind, twisting your perception, warping your sight and sound. Most nights you managed to sleep, but none of them peaceful. Murky images of rot and disease plaguing your sleep making you wake in the same state, clammy skinned and pale-cheeked. Most mornings you were the first awake, sometimes having being jolted awake mere hours after falling into the depths of unconsciousness.

The feeling of discomfort became your safety, feeling uncomfortable and nauseous when the true illusion of comfort tried to worm its way into you skull. Slowly the nights grew worse. On a good night you got a few sickening nightmares, on others the images refused to fade until daybreak, consciousness doing nothing to ward off the dreams and humanoid figures that slunk in the corners of your room, waiting to send their infection slithering across your skin. You knew the dark circles beneath your eyes had grown, giving the appearance of a sunken gaze to whoever tried to look.

You made your way to the High Lord’s office, trying to keep a maintained level of speed because there was nothing behind you.

You knocked twice as you came to a halt in front of his door. You heard his voice but not what he said as a hot, damp breath breezed down the back of your neck. But you kept your gaze on the wood because there was nothing behind you.

The floorboards creaked - probably from you moving - while you remained still, listening for something that was not behind you. Was not behind you.

Not behind you.

You turned, looking behind you, back to the wall. Nothing. A cold breeze on your neck and you turned on you heel, coming face to chest with Cassian. You reeled back a step, hand on your heart, muttering a curse under your breath.

He raised an eyebrow, “I thought you were against us cursing,” he grinned down at you cockily. “You do it in excess,” you spoke, “I do it when necessary.”

“And I’m necessary for a curse?” He grinned. You exhaled heavily, looking at him head to toe, “yes,” you muttered, hand on your heart still. As you looked at him closer though, his grin seemed forced, like there was something bothering him, but he turned, reentering the office. You spared a single glance down the hall before you stepped in firmly shutting the door behind you, if not a bit hastily.

You walked further inside, spotting the High Lord by the desk, Azriel in a dark corner and the warlord on Rhysand’s left - your right. You didn’t enter far enough to reach the centre of the room.

“What did you want to speak to me about?” You asked, calming your breathing because there had been nothing behind you. The High Lord sat down, gesturing to the seat in front of him. Hesitantly, you walked forward, passing the centre, sitting in front of his desk - Feyre smiling on the wall behind him. The warlord’s face had turned serious.

“It’s about Nesta,” the High Lord began.

Ah.

“As you know, she’s been acting…” he gave a compromising gesture, “a little off,” he decided on, making you raise a brow, eyes darting to the warlord, searching for an explanation then returning to the High Lord. “Naturally, Feyre is more than a little concerned for her well-being as it’s getting out of hand,” he continued, Cassian’s jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. “Do you have any idea what could be causing this?” Your brows furrowed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you replied, making the High Lord pause. “Her…behaviour, recently?” His violet gaze scanning you for a response, making you lean back in the chair, giving a look that told him you had no idea what he was talking about. “She’s been getting drunk a lot, not socialising with any of us, seemingly not caring about her self,” Cassian prompted from Rhysand’s left, - your right - “shutting herself away in a nearly collapsing building?” He finished, watching you intently.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I haven’t seen her in…” you paused, thinking, “…since…” the war? No, really? Hadn’t you seen her since? “…a while.” You decided on, vague enough. Your eyes had drifted and were now set on your youngest sister’s, looking down upon Rhysand with laughter in her sparkling eyes. You swallowed, heavily, a heavy sensation drawing your shoulders together.

The warlord looked troubled, Azriel remained blank. “I was under the impression you and Elain saw her last week,” Rhysand asked, casually. You blinked, “maybe?” His brow furrowed. “You don’t remember?” The warlord asked incredulously from the corner, making you relax back into your chair, crossing your arms and rolling your eyes. Your spine straightened immediately as your hair stood on end at the texture of the not-quite-cool wood.

“I have other things on my mind,” you relented, shooting a mock-annoyed look at Cassian. He frowned, not returning the look. Your own brow furrowed, “is something wrong?” The High Lord now leant back in his chair, hand slightly covering his mouth as he studied you.

Your ears twitched and shoulders tightened as you thought about the open space behind you, the empty, open space behind you. Because nothing was there. You shifted in your seat, disguising you reaching for the wood of the chair with crossing your legs anxiously. The wood was cold this time, the grain easy to trace out and focus in on, to ground yourself. Nothing behind you.

“I’m considering having her moved to the house of wind, so she can train up at the mountains,” the High Lord elaborated - the mountains meaning the Illyrian mountains. “Is that really necessary?” The harshness in your tone appearing out of habit over the separation of your only older sister. You swallowed again as he remained watching you, “I mean, is it really that bad?” You corrected, speaking slower, more normally.

“It’s reaching that point, yes.”

“Oh.” Had you really missed something big enough to warrant her being sent to the mountains? Just how long had it been? She seemed the same as always the last time your had seen her: contained, cold, stern. “You’re sure you aren’t…well…mistaking it?” Your throat tightened, remembering the empty space behind you. Nothing there.

Again they were quiet, waiting for you to continue. “Well she’s always a bit distant from you.” You point out.

“And from you?” The High Lord asked. You averted your eyes as you felt the space being filled, choosing to look into your youngest sister’s eyes, as if a tell-take reflection might be there. “Well, I haven’t seen her recently, so I can’t say.” Her eyes seemed duller than before, more grey than blue.

“Isn’t that odd in itself?” The High Lord pushed, reluctantly you looked back to him. “How?” He sat straighter in his chair, “the way I’ve understood it, the two of you were very close,” he pointed out, “so it’s more than a little odd that seems to have simply vanished.” A thorn of guilt lodged its way between your ribs, pricking into your heart.

You ignored the buzzing that was surfacing in your ears, circling your mind, pounding at your skull. “I still don’t understand what the problem is? You’re saying she’s becoming an alcoholic?” You asked slowly, struggling to formulate the sentence. The High Lord nodded, “is there anything you can think of that would result in her acting in such a way?” Your brow furrowed. “Well…” that one was pretty obvious, did he mean aside from that? “Go on,” he encouraged, gesturing to continue. “I mean…” your brow furrowed further. There’s no way he would have overlooked that, right?

He was watching you intently, as was the warlord and the Shadowsinger. “Isn’t that to be expected? Her behaviour, I mean?” You asked slowly, hesitantly, eyes wandering across the office, scanning over the High Lord’s desk, the bookcases. “What do you mean?” The general asked, an abnormally serious expression remaining on his face. You swallowed. “I mean, well, from the War…” you began hesitantly. They appeared to be listening. It was making you nervous.

Your eyes wandered again, looking up at the painting of Feyre. “I mean, none of us had really ever had to see that much death. Even in the mortal lands… I mean, it wasn’t rare for someone to die, but actually seeing it…being so close to all those…” you trailed off as you looked deeper into Feyre’s eyes, now leached of colour. “…all those bodies…” Her eyes moved, looking behind you and you felt your hairs stand on end, nails digging into your thighs.

“You think she’s finding the adjustment back to normal life difficult,” the High Lord observed. You nodded. “That’s reasonable,” Cassian spoke from the side. Your eyes remained glued to Feyre’s, still looking behind you. “Nesta’s never been through a war before. Our first wasn’t easy either, we should keep that in mind,” Cassian seemed to be trying to convince Rhysand of something. Maybe if you had been listening to him you would have noticed how he centred in on Nesta, but you were staring into the painting, face draining of colour.

Azriel shifted in the corner, snapping you back into the room. The space behind you still wasn’t empty. You knew it wasn’t. Still you kept facing forwards, pretending it away. “Do you have any idea of something that might help? To help her to cope, if that is the issue,” Rhysand spoke, turning back to you, drawing your attention from the grain in your chair. You shook your head, “no idea,” you managed, nails digging into the wood.

You felt the thing behind you grow, filling up the space behind you until your could feel it behind your ears, down your spine. You clamped your jaw shut. Because there was nothing there. Feeling your throat tighten you took in a deep breath, closing your eyes momentarily, releasing it and reopening them.

Feyre’s eyes were blank. Unseeing. Her skin had a damp sheen to it. Her lips were a bloody red, looking like they might be able to be pulled right off her mouth. The skin around her eyes had loosened, revealing the rot that lurked beneath. Her jaw was slack, muscles having relented in her jaw.

“Is everything okay?” The High Lord’s voice came in distantly, along with the ruffling of wings.

Your eyes widened and you snapped them to the floor. Nausea stirred in your stomach. “Everything’s f—” you heard a floorboard creak behind you, a footstep. Your heart stopped. Another one followed, then another after that making a slow procession. They were getting closer. And faster. It was a steady lope. A lopsided walk. A hurried gait. Approaching from behind from behind you it got louder and louder getting closer and closer.

You turned.

Nothing.

Nothing was behind you.

Silence in front of you.

You looked back to the three before you, who had turned completely silent. The skin of their faces looked as if it had been melted, then smoothed over, sealing them within. Your mouth hung open in terror. Rhysand’s figure cocked its head to the side, Cassian’s taking a step forward. Upon seeing him approach you stood suddenly, knocking the chair back. Silence continued and you took in another shaky breath.

Even Feyre’s face had been removed from the painting. Tears prickled at your eyes. Rhysand’s figure rose from behind the desk, standing tall. You held your hands out, as if it would hold them at bay, “stop,” you managed, terror shifting the pitch of your voice. One hand reached behind you, desperately grasping, searching for the chair to anchor yourself without taking your eyes off them. You hand wrapped around the back support, leaning your weight onto it.

You took in another deep breath, shutting your eyes.

One.

Two.

Three.

You didn’t get a chance to open your eyes because you collapsed to the floor, unconscious.

————

You cracked your eyes open, molten sun pouring like honey through the window panes. You looked around, trying to figure out where the hell you were.

The bed you were lying on was more of a patchwork sofa, a quilt made up of odd fabrics decorated your lap, small sequins and beads glinting in the sun. There were a couple of large squarish pillows around the room, seemingly to sit on. The sofa you were reclining on had a window by its side that was parted, the sil resting a couple of worn books, their spines wrinkled.

Looking around, the room was fairly large, with a set of stairs leading down near the centre of the room. The ceiling and floor were made of wooden boards, though the floor was concealed by various earthy coloured rugs, colours of turmeric, lavender, and curry gliding over the wooden panels.

You blinked your eyes slowly, clearing the blur from the edges. A warm breeze glided through the room, playing with wisps of your hair cheekily. It was so calm here, so tranquil. Life seemed to be be existing in the air. The room wasn’t filled with the stagnant silence you were so accustomed to, this silence had energy. A thrum of life beating soothingly beneath the beautiful colours.

Footfalls came from the stairs making your tip your head against the back of the sofa, peering to the centre of the room. Azriel came padding upwards, his wings appearing first, followed by the dark, soft curls of his hair, then the amber gleam in his eyes from the setting sun.

As he ascended to your level, you remained still, watching as the sun poured over him. He looked as if he belonged in this room, was so familiar with is that he became a part of it. The usual blacks of his hair and his wings melted into the scape, seemingly becoming softened by the light. Mother above he looked like he had been made from ambrosia.

His honeyed eyes poured over you, checking how you appeared before approaching where you lay smoothly, the faint rustle of his wings the only sound. He stopped before you, “what’s been going on with you recently, hm?” He asked softly, almost to himself. He crouched down, lowering himself to your eye level, gently pushing some of the hair from your face to put his palm to your forehead. “You’ve cooled off a bit,” he murmured, palm remaining there for a second longer than necessary before slipping away.

“I didn’t mean to make you worry,” you began, “I just haven’t been sleeping well, is all,” you lied, keeping your eyes away from his, looking to the floor. He stood and moved to one of the large pillows, dragging it over then slumping down on it so he was beside you. “Where are we?” You asked hesitantly.

“This is the attic,” he gestured around the room, “Rhys decided this would be my room in the house,” he looked at you as if he were a boy whispering about some sweets he had stolen, “though I’m sure it wouldn’t look nearly as nice if I had been allowed to design it.” That brought an easy smile to your lips, your heart lifting at the normal conversation. “I thought you stayed up at the House of Wind?” You asked, softly, eyes tilted in a smile. “Rhys has a habit of keeping us all nearby,” Azriel replied, a grin on his mouth, “or at least giving us the option of a room to drop in on.”

Your smile widened at the slight mischief in his tone, it being unfamiliar to you. “How would you have designed it?” You asked, curious. His brows rose, a devious glint residing in his eyes, “I don’t even know the names of more than half the furniture in here,” he indicated toward a chest of draws that had what appeared to be planks for a bookshelf sticking out of it, equipped with thin posts for hanging clothes coming from the sides. Your brow furrowed as you smiled at the strange piece. “I don’t usually go for bright colours either, though that’s probably why they’re slightly duller in here,” his eyes had moved to the quilt on your lap. “I like the sequins,” you offered, holding the edge of the quilt in your hands, “it adds a nice bit of sparkle.”

“I suppose it does,” he replied, though his eyes were on you, not the quilt.

“What happened today?” He broached quietly making your hands release the fabric, choosing to settle in your lap. “Just a bit tired,” you kept your eyes on your palms. Azriel shifted, outside of your vision, slowly placing his hand atop both of yours, giving you chance to pull away. “You can talk to me,” his thumb rubbed in soft sways over your skin, the touch so delicate you nearly caved. “Just—my mind’s a little…full, at the moment.”

His thumb continued its soothing circles, “this is about the war, isn’t it?” He questioned, though you were sure he had already figured it out. So you nodded. His hand wrapped around one of yours, secure but not tight. “What about it?” He encouraged, head tilted, trying to catch your gaze. You swallowed heavily.

“Sometimes, I just—I don’t know…see things? From the corner of my eye?” You glanced at him sidelong, looking for anything in his face to suggest he thought you were mad. There was nothing but openness there: he was listening to you. “Or…sometimes, I feel like…” heat stained your cheeks, “…like there’s something under my bed…or hiding in my wardrobe.” You hid your face in your spare hand, embarrassed at how silly it sounded, “I know: it’s stupid. But…it really feels like there’s something there. Something…dead, and rotten. It feels clammy, and cold, like a fish, but then it looks like it’s so heavy with decay it would tear apart like wet tissue paper.” A tear dropped from your eye, rolling over the back of your hand. “It’s scary.”

Azriel’s hand left yours, instead his arms carefully wrapped around your shoulders, pulling your close to his chest. His large hand found placement in your hair, his fingers woven between the strands, stroking soothingly as his other hand held your far shoulder, keeping you wrapped within his warmth. “It’s not stupid,” he mumbled against your head, “it’s not stupid at all.” You bit back a sob, trying to stop the tears from flowing, the misery of the past weeks returning. “War is a horrible thing. It’s not supposed to be something that will leave you contented with yourself. It’s difficult, and scary. You just need to work through it, with me, okay?” He murmured against you, his voice sounding like a lullaby wreathed in dreams. You sniffed but nodded, “okay.”

“Atta girl,” he encouraged, you pulled away to look at him, making you smile stupidly at the name. He looked at you, “what?” You smiled wider, “I just didn’t put you down as an ‘atta’ kind of person,” you laughed softly. He raised a single eyebrow, “what did you put me down as?”

“More of a ‘touch me and I’ll kill you’ kinda guy,” you laughed quietly.

You suddenly became aware of his arms that were still holding onto you, of your hands that were resting on his broad chest. “You’re touching me now, aren’t you?” He breathed, forehead lowering to yours and you were sure that if he hadn’t heard your breath hitch, he would have felt it. “I suppose I am,” you whispered, eyes on his. The sun turning the golden flecks in his eye the colour of molten glass.

“And you’re still alive, living, breathing, in my arms…” you could feel the shape of his words against your mouth, feel how close he was. “I suppose I am…” you replied against him.

“You might need to reevaluate how you see me, then,” his lips tilted into a cheeky grin, making you huff a short laugh. “You just didn’t strike me as someone who would use abbreviations like that,” you couldn’t help the butterflies that were softly tickling your heart, featherlight brushes sending you soaring. “Abbreviations, huh?” He asked, returning your hushed laughter. “I’ll reevaluate,” you smiled, mouth still so near to his own you could feel every breath, every small movement.

“That’s my girl,” he breathed, lips finally pressing to yours. The butterflies that were circling your heart now seemed to be flocking, each wing stroke tipped with the softest of dust, making your heart ache. Your fingers tightened slightly in his leathers, desperate for something to ground you, something to hold on to, to keep you from being whisked away on those butterfly wings.

His lips were so much softer than you had expected, so much more caring that you had ever dared to imagine, the affection having your mind go dizzy.

He pulled away hesitantly, waiting for your reaction. You, however, pushed forward, returning your lips to his, making his eyes widen ever so slightly before shutting as he pressed back against you.

The sun was beginning to burn into the back of your head so it was well timed when Azriel pushed forward, lightly shoving you back into the sofa’s cushy pillows. Your head tilted back as he leant over you, strong arm bracing beside your head as his free hand cupped behind your neck, pulling you closer, allowing him to kiss you better; deeper.

You released a small moan into his mouth when he pried your lips apart, his tongue entering you; creating a hot mess wherever he furrowed. His hand gripped tighter when he heard the sound, heat sparking in his chest.

It didn’t help when you brought your own arms to hang round his neck, hands gliding over the muscles of his upper arms, his shoulders, until they laced in his hair, your mouth opening further as your chest brushed against his and a sound rumbled within him.

You pulled away, looking at him with heat flushing your cheeks, eyes partially widened. He couldn’t hide the way his pupils expanded as he took in your complexion, lips ever so slightly swollen and hair in disarray.

Similarly, your own gaze traced his mouth, his tinted cheeks, his blown out pupils shining in the evening light. The inky black of his hair making your heart pull at the natural beauty he possessed.

“Azriel?” You asked softly, breaking him from his haze. “Yes?” His replied, brushing over your lips. “You… Are we…” you looked at him desperately, pleading him to understand and answer.

He huffed a laugh, a grin playing on his lips, “if you want,” his nose grazed yours, your heart fluttering helplessly. You nodded, so close your lashes tickled his cheeks, “I do,” you mumbled breathlessly, “I do want.”

“Then that’s that,” he murmured, lips finding yours again, pressing softly, thumb stroking gently beneath your ear, coaxingly.

You heart gave a jump for joy at his willing acceptance, a smile tilting your lips as you felt his own lift against yours, both of you smiling like fools in the other’s arms as you basked in the warmth of finding peace together.

#acotar #azriel #azriel x reader #acotar fluff #azriel acotar #azriel fluff #azriel one shot #acotar drabble #azriel x reader fluff

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jungle-angel · 10 months

Text

Sleepy Summer Nights (Sequel to “Too Hot For This Shit”: Rhett Abbott x Reader)

Summary: In which you, Rhett and Amy all settle in for the night

Fourth of July was always yours and Rhett’s favorite time of the year, swimming at the lake on scorching hot days, eating at the local food stands when it was too hot to cook, barbecues and picnics with your family and friends and of course the fireworks which were always the highlight of your evenings.

You and Rhett pulled up the driveway to the house, both of you exhausted and bug-bitten from the night so far. It had been a long day, a long day of being out in the sun at the church barbecue and having to do a late afternoon Wal Mart run before heading to yet another event. The fireworks had run late into the night and already, poor Amy looked like she was going to pass out.

“Alright Princess, time for bed,” Rhett mumbled as he unbuckled her from her carseat and lifted the two year old into his arms. You took her ragdoll from her hands and followed the two into the house, the night air still muggy and the peepers chirping loudly in the pond nearby.

Rhett switched on the light in the entrance hall, your Siamese cat curling around his ankles and meowing loudly before Diesel came barreling down the stairs.

“Should we giver her a bath?” Rhett asked.

“We could but she’ll probably sleep the whole way through,” you chuckled.

Rhett took her right upstairs and stuck Amy in a warm bath, but she was too tired to really splash around much. Of course she played with her ducky and a few of her other bath toys, but Rhett could see she was growing sleepier by the minute.

Out of the bath she came and wrapped warmly in her little yellow towel before Rhett had put her in her thin pink summer nightdress. Amy couldn’t even walk to her bedroom and kept falling asleep before Rhett picked her up and carried her down the hall to her room.

Amy’s room was without a doubt, yours and Rhett’s favorite room in the house. It had been finished shortly before you had first moved in, the walls painted a peaceful shade of pink and her dresser made from old cedar wood. In her little cozy corner was a little teepee where she often went to hide and play with her dolls, while her bed was always ready and waiting for her at the end of the day. You were absolutely astounded when you had first seen it, warm and cozy with a stretch of spider thin canopy that had been stitched with fake rose vines that seemed to creep halfway down, their pink blooms livening up the room.

Rhett carefully placed Amy into her bed, her little form nesting into the summer quilts with her ragdoll tucked under her arm. “Sweet dreams princess,” he whispered before kissing her head and turning out the lights.

Rhett walked into your shared bedroom to find you already crawling under the thin covers, the house already cooled down as the central air was still going. “Man, what a fuckin day,” Rhett groaned.

“Sleepy already?”

Rhett groaned again and coiled his arm around your waist. You both quickly fell asleep, listening to the peepers outside as Rhett’s quiet snores became more audible. As you both fell into a deep sleep, your dreams were filled with fireworks and all that reminded you of your favorite season as you lay side by side with the man you loved.

#rhett abbott #rhett abbott x reader #amy abbott #outer range

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quinloki · 3 months

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I had a thought about your host club au but like

All the hosts that are trained well/play well with others and an event for more experienced clients and they just throw all the names in a box and you gotta pick 2 and that’s your partners for the night

Get some variety and some situations that normally might not happen 👀👀

Okay also on Kid&Marco… I get the feeling that Kid would THINK he’s in control but he’s really not at all Marco’s sly so I just get those vibes idk I haven’t been able to think about it too too much but 👀👀

Kazieai.

I was going to spare you. I was. I was going to just sit here with my debauched thoughts and spare you.

But now you're feeding me.

I love that event idea, I'm putting it on my list. Cause that's brilliant and boy is that just a lot of possibilities. I could even use a literal randomizer and challenge myself as much as anything else XD

But Kid and Marco and the Reader.

Kid and Marco are both open and flexible and experienced. Marco has *more* experience sure, but Kid's not really that far behind. I honestly don't know if Kid would think he was in charge - he'd act like it, he'd move and command like he was, but I think he's worked for long enough in the Club to understand Marco.

There's things that let you know they're hunting you, and there's things that ambush you without warning. Some things present themselves as harmless and coil poisoned claws around your throat with the kindest smile.

And then there are things that let you walk into their fingers on strings you neither see nor feel. When they hunt you, you thank them for the privilege of death at their hands, so sweet a mercy it is.

Eustass Kid might revel in playing with his food, but Marco will have you saying thank you before you pass out - and Kid is well aware of the difference between them.

Not that he backs down from the proverbial challenge, but if you can keep your wits about you, it is an extra treat to watch the red head slowly fall apart under the guidance of the blonde. They're the same height (or close enough) and about the same build (Host Club AU Eustass Kid has not lost an arm or hulked out like Canon AU Kid), though Kid is certainly a little wider than Marco.

Lithe applies to the elder, Kid's just a liiiiiittle too thicc for that word.

But there's nothing quite like sitting in Marco's lap with Kid between your legs, his hands and lips switching between you and Marco, bringing you both pleasure in near equal measure as Marco lavishes attention on your neck and chest.

the fact that their similar heights means they can hoist you up, standing on either side of you, filling you up to near bursting at the same time. Hot hands on your thighs and chest, keeping you steady as they piston opposite one another, never losing a beat even as you twitch and cry in pleasure.

The aftercare is top notch, probably the highest rated in the club because Kid and Marco are both top rated in providing it. When he's paired up with Marco, Kid can be extra aggressive, since the phoenix can soothe the deeper bruises and bites marks easier than most.

#quin answers #One Piece Host Club AU #eustass kid #marco the phoenix #kazieai #I was going to work on other stories #but I might have to start on the Host Club outline...

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rebelliousstories · 1 year

Text

M.E.R.C.Y.

Relationship: Paul x Reader

Fandom: The Lost Boys (1987)

Request: Yes by Anon

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Violence

Word Count: 3,990

Masterlist: Here

The Lost Boys Masterlist: Here

Summary: It’s better to have loved and lost, then never loved at all.

Santa Carla, California. 1965.

The summer was blazing hot, then cool at night. Perfect time for the boys to strike. The baby of the group, Paul, was being taken out for his first solo hunt. He made sure to get plenty of tips from Dwayne and David; now he was on the hunt. Beautiful woman in short skirts caught his eye, while muscular men tempted him on to the beach. He had only been turned for a year or so and he loved it. Sleeping all day, and partying all night. This was his dream. Even if he left his lady behind.

Sure he felt bad, but it was better like this. He couldn’t provide for her in life, so he’d become a ghost in death. All he could hope for was that she was out of Santa Carla and somewhere safe, with a house, and a couple dogs. Just like they always talked about. David stalked away a little bit ago; finding himself a cherubic young man, with blonde coils on his head. Dwayne preferred to take the more gentlemanly approach, and wine and dine his food. So Paul was left alone, but not for long. A tall, beauty caught his eye with her mod outfit and long legs; he was like a dog in heat.

He could do this. So, using all the skills he had practiced with the pack, he was able to charm the girl into a little fun time alone. The little baggy of weed in his pocket he was able to steal from someone a few days ago probably helped, but he got her on his own anyways. She was a messy meal, or Paul was a messy eater. One of the two. Either way, her screams fell deaf under his palm; her throat making way for his teeth and insatiable hunger. By the time he pulled back, the life had long since left her eyes. Paul made quick of the body at a nearby, unoccupied bonfire, before washing up in the ocean. He felt good. He was able to hunt on his own.

The young vampire made his way up to the boardwalk once more to look for his pack, when he noticed something tickling his nose. Vanilla, sage, a small underlying smell of weed, and his cologne? All three of the first scents he could explain with all the people around but his cologne was difficult to explain away. He hadn’t smelt it at the boardwalk since coming here regularly, and he hadn’t worn it since he was turned. Now he was curious. Paul trusted his nose to lead him towards the scent and that it did:

His lady.

She was wearing on of his jackets, which must’ve been the smell of the cologne. Her eyes darted around as if looking for someone, never finding them. He wanted to run up to her and kiss her, hug her, tell her everything that has happened; but he stopped himself. He couldn’t do that to her. They were a part of two separate worlds, and he needed to protect her from his. So he turned to leave. But he wasn’t fast enough. As he turned away from his girl he left behind, he felt someone barrel into his back. The vampire stiffened under the small, warm arms.

“I found you. I actually found you.” The figure behind him pulled away from his back, and was able to turn his body around. Paul was in too much shock to fight her.

“Paulo? Is that really you, Casanova?” Her eyes held un shed tears that threatened to fall at any minute, but her smile betrayed the sad tears. How he longed to hear those names fall from her lips once more. He felt his hands shakily come up to gingerly touch her face, like she would disappear if he touched her too hard.

“It’s me, Angel. It’s me.” The tears dropped. She burrowed deep in his chest like she was trying to get to his heart, and he would have gladly given it to her. Paul wrapped his arms around her waist and picked her up. He needed her close, closer than they were. When gravity finally won, and she was on the ground, she began to talk rapidly.

“Oh God, Paul! I’ve looked every for you, baby. I just woke up one night and you were gone. All I had was your note and I’ve spent all this time trying to find you. And you’ve been underneath my nose the whole time! I always hoped you would find your way back home and now you’re here. We’ve gotta get you home though. You smell like you live on the streets. Come home with me, Paulo.” She begged as she tugged on his hands. He began to follow, before he remembered what he had done.

“No!” He exclaimed, startling her and nearby patrons. She looked at him in disbelief.

“Paulo, are you okay? Is there… is there someone else you love? Is that why you don’t want to come home?” And like that, the tears were back but they weren’t joyous. These were heartbroken tears.

“No, no, Angel. I’m sorry for yelling, but I can’t come home. Not ever.” He looked down at his shoes, while he felt the confusion sweep over his girl.

“Why,” was all she asked. Paul looked her in the eye.

“Because, I did something and now I can’t come home.” He admitted. Paul saw the pondering look in her eyes.

“Then I’ll come live wherever you are.” He began to give protest, but she swiftly cut him off.

“I don’t wanna hear it. I don’t care if you’re on the run from the law, or found some hippies to hole up with. I’ve finally found you again. I’m not letting you go again. Not after a year of missing my Casanova.” She pressed her hand to his cheek, and let him nuzzle into the warmth she provided. Before he could answer, a harsher, colder hand clapped Paul on the back.

“Who’s this, Paul? Little pleasure for tonight?” David said, with all the teasing and condescension in the world. He wasn’t prepared for Paul to spin around as if he had gotten burned, and growled. Deep, low vibrations bursted from his chest. David immediately took two steps back. He chuckled at his younger pack member clearly marking territory.

“Remember who you’re talking to, Paul.” But the natural blonde refused to back down. Even going as far as to step closer to David, who just stepped right up to the challenge.

“Paul, it’s okay Casanova. Please, drop it.” Her gentle hand came to rest on his chest and lightly tug him back. Only then, did Paul start to back off a little bit on his leader. David smirked at his pack member before he opened his mouth yet again.

“Why don’t you bring her to the cave? I’m sure Dwayne would love to meet her.” He turned away as soon as he finished speaking, sharing a look with Paul, and sending a wink her way. Once he was gone, Paul turned back to look at his Angel.

“So, you live in a cave?” She asked, in all seriousness. Paul bursted out laughing at her tone. Once he had recovered, he took her hand in his.

“Yeah. It’s our own little spot away from the world. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to-” her hand stopped his mouth from moving anymore.

“Anywhere you call home, I want to be at. I love you Paul, you’re my home.” He smiled and they made their way to his bike near the others. The blonde boy from earlier was on the back of his own bike near David, who looked pleased that Paul brought the pretty thing along.

They raced down the beach, kicking up sand and shells in their wake. But she felt free. The wind in her hair, and on her face felt liberating, and the speed made her heart race. She held on tight to Paul, but howled along with him into the night air. They made their way down into the cave; Paul helping her down every step, and even picking her up and carrying her in some instances. Dwayne went around and lit the fires, while David went to walk around the fountain. He gave his usual spiel to the newcomers who looked around in wonder and amazement. Eventually they all sat down, Dwayne in a little pocket away from the main area, the unknown blonde was on one end of the couch, and the couple was cuddled on the other. David sat in his wheelchair, chatting and interacting with the unknown blonde while Paul talked with his girl.

He let her tell him all the things he missed in his absence. Her losing the apartment and her job in her quest to find Paul. It made him feel awful that she lost those things because of him, but she reminded him that all she lost was stuff; she was more happy to have him back. She still played his guitar when she needed some cash on the street, and she couldn’t go to the bank. Most of the clothes she had left were his clothes, including his cologne and favorite hairspray. All of the things to make the items to smell like him.

“So where did you find this pretty little thing, Paul?” David called out, the unknown blonde looking over at the couple near him as well. His hands gripped her tight; he didn’t want David intruding upon his Angel. She was his.

“I was with Paul before he went missing. I’ve spent about a year looking for him, only for him to be right here, at home in Santa Carla.” She looked over her shoulder at Paul, who gazed lovingly down at the girl in his arms. Anyone could tell they were in love, especially David. The bottle blonde waved Dwayne over to get their bottle, and smirked when it was placed in his hands.

“What if you never had to part from him again, Angel?” He called out, but Paul stiffened. Could he possibly curse her to live like him? She leaned up partially out of Paul’s arms at David’s words.

“I’d do anything to keep Paul around. What do I need to do?” She volunteered. Paul wanted to protest but he could feel David in his head.

Don’t you want her to stay forever, Paul? Never grow old, never die. Eternally young and ready to party. That’s what you always wanted from your life with her. All I’m giving you is the option to keep her forever.

The young vampire watched David drink from the bottle, and flinch a little bit. He looked at the other blonde first, and passed the bottle who drank enthusiastically. David and Dwayne cheered him on. When the bottle touched David’s hands again, he walked over to the couple on the couch. He loomed over the both, highlighted by the bright light flooding from above. He pressed the bottle towards her, and she took it. She looked at Paul for conformation, who looked at David. The leader looked expectantly at his pack member, who turned back to the girl in his arms. Paul nodded at his Angel, and helped her drink from the bottle, before taking a swig himself.

The rest of the night was a blur. Eventually, the unknown blonde was introduced as Marko, and he was a welcomed addition for Paul. Finally someone to match his level of chaotic energy. Paul did eventually pull his Angel up to party and maybe have a little make out session in a pocket in the cave. But sunrise called, and they needed to rest. Marko took to the couch, and already content on living there since he had no family to go home to. Dwayne helped Paul make a little nest out of some old blankets, pillows, and clothes they had. The mattress had seen better days but it didn’t matter to her. As long as she was with Paul, she was happy.

Santa Carla. 1967.

Two years had passed and the pack was thriving. Marko had adapted very well to vampiric life, and Paul’s girl? Well, she came around. It was an awkward month or two where she was so upset that Paul hid that information from him that she hung around Marko durning the night. She still slept in the same nest as Paul, but boy was she mad. Eventually, she decided that it would be silly to be mad at her lover for the rest of eternity, so she sucked it up and carried on with her life. She spent a very weird three months as a halfling, before making her first kill with Paul. He was so proud of her, his Angel slowly being corrupted with blood and sin. But she would remain an Angel.

After their usual night of partying came to a slow down, the pack made their way to leave the boardwalk.

“I’ll be right back, Paulo. I just really want these earrings and the shop lady only has one pair. I’ll be right back.” She left him at his bike, waiting on her to return. She was standing in line, earrings and cash in hand, waiting for her turn to check out when she caught a sniff of something that didn’t belong. It was musky, but like gunpowder, not like cologne. A strong garlic smell accompanied the musk, and she didn’t like it. Of course, the pack made sure to let the younger members know everything that can and can’t hurt them. That doesn’t mean that the overbearing scent of garlic wasn’t something she liked smelling. The smells got closer and closer, and before she knew it, she was sandwiched in between a group of men around her age.

“Hey pretty girl, fancy a ride tonight?” One of them asked, leering close to her face. She backed away which only led her straight into the chest of creep number two. He smiled a yellow grin which made her recoil.

“Need some new earrings for our date tonight, sweetness?” He chuckled as did creep number one. She looked around to see if Paul was nearby but he wasn’t. She tried to talk to David through the pack link, but felt like she was talking to a brick wall.

“Listen, I just wanna buy these earrings, okay? Besides, I have a boyfriend.” The creeps backed off as she went to the teller and paid for her earrings. With her purchase in bag, she sped over to where she left her lover and pack mates. She kept getting turned around as she tried to look for her pack, but also look out for the creeps. She ran into a chest and looked up with relief. Paul. She hugged him tight, and he asked her what was wrong.

“Just creeps on the board walk,” he tensed and wanted to find these pricks, “I just wanna go home. Please, Paulo?” She begged, looking up at him with sweet eyes. He smiled and kissed her nose.

“Of course, Angel. All aboard the Casanova Express!” The pack took off. Howls filled the air. The sound of wild whipping around them fueled their adrenaline. Music coursed through their veins in the cave. As well as a little bit of weed, curiosity of Paul who managed to trade a belt he had on for a few grams. Soon enough, sunrise came, and all of them were off to their perches. Paul still slept with his Angel in her nest; she had never gotten used to sleeping upside down, and didn’t like falling on her face every time. So they opted for the nest.

Sunrise came and everyone in the cave was asleep. Well almost everyone. Humans wandered in.

“So this is where that chick went last night?” One of the men asked.

“I know she did. I found the bikes above on the cliff so this has got to be where their lair is.” Another replied. They moved around the common area and tried to locate the beings inside.

“Hey guys! Over here!” A third one hissed. They had found the nest. Sleeping peacefully, was Paul cocooned around his Angel. One of the humans pulled a stake out from his bag, and got ready. The other stood by and watched as he raised it high, and brought it down fast. Screams erupted from the nest. Screams of physical and mental anguish. Paul was startled awake by the stake and rose up to fight his attackers. He tore the throat out from the one closest to him before his pack mates tried to go after the others, but were stopped by the sun. The blonde vampire watched as the hunter bled out in the cave, before his ears caught a whimpering sound. He turned fast to see… oh no.

She had been staked.

Paul rushed over there and felt as if he had been staked himself. He tried to figure out what to do, but his brain fell short.

“Help me…” he begged, “HELP ME!!” Paul roared at the boys behind him. David held a sad look on his face, Dwayne’s was full of melancholy, and Marko was trying his best to take in the situation.

“Paulo…” she called softly. His attention shifted immediately back to her.

“I’ll find some way to help you, Angel. I promise. David’s gotta know something or maybe Dwayne-”

“Paulo,” he stopped his rapid speech, “I love you. So much. Don’t cry, please. Just.. hold me… please…” she trailed of, getting weaker and weaker by the moment.

“Yes, God, I- okay.” He managed to get out. Paul moved her into his arms, stoping at any whimper of pain she let out. When she was situated in his arms comfortably, she began mumbling. If Paul didn’t have his hearing, he would have never caught what she was saying.

“May God have mercy on my soul. I do not regret how I lived with love and purpose, and I do not regret straying from the path of God in pursuit of love. I only took what I needed and gave what I could. May God have mercy on my soul. In the name of the father, son, and Holy Spirit, amen.” Her voice kept getting quieter and quieter until it finally trailed off. She felt unusually cold. It was in that moment, Paul knew he lost his Angel. The anguished scream he let out shook the cave they were in; David wouldn’t be surprised if the patrons of Santa Carla could hear him.

Paul collapsed onto her body and the boys didn’t have the heart to move him. They found him at night, in the same position but awake this time. Whenever one of them tried to move Paul, he would snap. If they tried to move or touch her, he tried to bite at them. Marko was distraught for the next few nights. She was his pack buddy; the one he went to when he needed someone who could relate about being a new vampire. He went to her when he wanted to go thrifting for new patterns and textures to mesh together.

Dwayne had to keep the pack together. He pulled Marko out to go hunting, leaving David to watch over Paul. He reminded David that he needed to eat as well, forcing him to at least have one bite every night or two. He really liked Angel. She always had great book recommendations, and was a lover of classic pieces. They would watch classic movies together when they could find them on the T.V. in the cave.

David. David was almost as much of a wreck as Paul. She was his responsibility. His pack mate. He was suppose to watch over everything, and everyone. She helped him wrangle the terror twins, or pulled Dwayne from whatever hole he found himself reading in.

But Paul. Paul was a mess. He hadn’t eaten in days following her death. He tried to keep her body close to him, despite the boys trying to take her away gently. It wasn’t until David held him down and tried to make him look away from Dwayne and Marko placing her gently in the sun on a blanket. The ashes were collected and sealed in a decorative jar she found at a store with Marko. Paul spent his nights instead sobbing and wailing in the nest they had built. The boys didn’t know what to do. Paul hadn’t eaten in weeks; he had long since lost the strength to hunt. That’s when David got an idea.

Marko stayed with Paul about a month after his Angel had ascended, while Dwayne and David went out hunting. Marko felt himself sobbing listening to Paul’s wails, which had decreased in volume the last few nights. Soft sniffles came from the nest, when Marko heard a commotion from the entrance of the cave. He immediately stood up; on guard and ready to protect his pack. But he only saw Dwayne and David, with one hunter each in tow.

“Get Paul.” David called, holding down the wriggly hunter in his clutch. Marko ran as fast as he could to the nest, and saw Paul, with one of her shirts under his head, and a photo of them in his hands. This was the early 60’s, and Angel was rocking the old Hollywood curls and circle skirt. Paul, in the photo, had much shorter hair, and an impeccable suit.

“Paul,” he cautiously approached the vampire, “Paul? You’re gonna wanna see this.” But Paul made no move to acknowledge Marko.

“Leave me be, Marko. I’m not in the mood.” He said weakly. His voice was betraying just how little strength he had.

“I promise, it’ll be good.” The cherub faced vampire reached his hand to touch his pack mate on the shoulder, who looked weakly at it and turned back.

“No.” Paul said bluntly. Marko was getting fed up listening to the hunters outside the nest, and made an executive decision. He gently took the photo out of his hands, which earned him a weak growl, and hauled Paul on to his shoulder. The vampire began to protest at the treatment but stopped when he was dropped to the wheelchair and saw what was before him. It was the other two hunters from that night.

“Here you go, Paul,” David said slowly, “they’re all yours.” Paul looked up at David, but got distracted by one of the hunters.

“That pansy couldn’t protect the other one. And he’s too weak to-”

Gurgling filled the air. Paul had leaned forward and slit the man’s throat with one of his claws. The warm fresh blood filled his nose and his mouth watered. David helped to guide his head to the man’s head and help him feed. Dwayne’s captive began screaming but Paul ripped into him just as quickly as the first.

Have at him.

The boys had a feast that night. Slowly, with some more help, Paul slowly started returning back to normal. Well, as normal as he could be. He began hunting again, even if he needed help those first couple weeks back. He switched his pack earring out for one of the ones she got at the boardwalk. A silver skull, with beads, and a sword on the bottom. Paul still had trouble adjusting back to the upside down sleep of his pack, versus sleeping in the nest. Every year on the anniversary though, everyone slept in the nest. They would laugh, cry, and mourn their lost member. Paul always smoked one more joint for her every night, and couldn’t even bring himself to target anyone that resembled her. Over the years, it got easier to deal with the pain, but it was always there.

Pain have mercy on me.

#rebelliousstories #writing #the lost boys #paul lost boys #paul lost boys x reader #dwayne lost boys #marko lost boys #david lost boys #lost boys #lost boys imagines #lost boys imagine #horror #horror imagine

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the-world-annealing · 3 months

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Witnessing Orcs: Literary Tradition (1)

(reviving a long-dead series of posts, introduction here, further posts in the tags or my writing page)

When orcs on a long hunt gather round the fire, when children ask their peers great questions, when a roaming Brakmor must prove himself worthy of a share of meat, it is then that orcs tell their stories. Already I told you the myth of Yurtrus's death, but a poor guide I would be if I allowed it to remain your sole example.

(though a better guide, still, than those humans who cherry-pick accounts of city orcs, and pass on only the most gory and thrilling of stories, so that their readers are led to presume that even in peaceful tale-telling orcs only think of war)

Here then follow a number of tales, gathered from my birth tribe and others, explained where they may confuse, questioned where they might mislead.

The Tales of Rokal the Oaf A great number of these tales exist, with countless variations for each, unified only by their protagonist. Rokal is a foolish, greedy, and incompetent orc, whose actions inevitably end in disaster, and who thus serves as an counterexample of good behavior.

One tale, for instance, describes how Rokal's hunting band raids a small forest town. As his comrades make off with what they can carry, Rokal comes across a large store with a hand-cart in front. Scoffing at his comrades' simple-mindedness, he loads the cart up with all the store's meat and fruit. As he begins pushing the heavy cart homeward, he loudly dreams of the glory that this haul will bring him.

But quickly, his plan is exposed for the foolishness it is. His cart struggles to move over the rough terrain, gets stuck in mud, and is upturned while crossing a stream, forcing Rokal to scramble to right it and recover the food. He falls far behind his comrades, and when a party of vengeful villagers catches up with him, he is forced to abandon his haul and return empty-handed. The other orcs, whose feast just ended, mock his witless scheme and toss him their table-scraps. But Rokal, who is and remains an oaf, has not learned his lesson, and already plots to tame a feral bear, shoot down the moon with a mighty bow, command a fire with whip and chain, or accomplish some equally foolish feat.

The tale of the lost child This is a story told among the children of the tribe where I grew up. I know not whether it is told still, and place it here to immortalize its tellers as much as anything else.

The tale, told haltingly and inexpertly, and never quite the same way twice, speaks of a young orc who wanders too far off, and loses its way back home. While looking for the path-markers that the adults make, it suddenly finds itself facing down a great dragon.

The dragon is a terrible beast; a twenty-feet long limbless serpent, composed entirely of roaring fire, covered in flaky white ash, with teeth black as coal and eyes yellow like the sun (those in my audience who know this to not be what dragons look like, rejoice! you have proven yourself cleverer than a child of nine summers).

It roars triumphantly, for (so the narrator tells us at this point), dragons love the meat of orcs more than anything, but would never dare attack the bold and mighty adults, and so must make do with the odd child that wanders off too far.

The child runs, and the dragon gives chase, approaching closer and closer, its fiery coils scorching the earth and wilting trees as it snakes around obstacles. Already, its terrible maw is slavering at the thought of this delightful morsel, dripping red-hot oil and setting fire to the grass.

In the tale as I first heard it told, the child's mad flight happened to lead it back to the tribe, who at once formed a line to protect it and chased off the dragon with mighty cries and brandished spears. But on one notable occasion, I heard another ending told, which I will share as well.

There, the running child finds not its people, but a thin and deep shaft, filled with cold and clear water. The child dives in, and the dragon eagerly waits for it to surface. After a moment of indecision, the child turns away from the dragon hovering above, kicks its feet, and dives down into the dark waters. Having said so, the child telling the story simply ceased to talk.

This distressed the children in attendance greatly, but no matter how they begged, the tale-teller refused to utter a single word more, and in fact remained silent for all that day and the one that followed. Shortly after, I left for my now-hometown, and thus I never learned if the story was ever concluded.

How bones became as stone Long, long ago, in a time when the oldest trees alive today had not yet even sprouted, Yurtrus god of rot was much stronger than he is today. In that day, though bones were pale and strong, they were things of flesh and corded muscle, and endured but briefly beyond death. A corpse would decay into nothingness and seep away into the dirt within mere days or weeks, leaving the soul within to crawl away, unbound and unfeeling.

The worthy dead were spared this fate, of course. Their souls would be taken by Gruumsh' servants, and join him among the blessed, as they still are today. But the cowards, the braggarts, the kin-slayers: their souls would toss and turn as they withered away, and bemoan their fates and weakness, and suffer the rot of their bodies.

And in his malice, Yurtrus granted those cursed souls a portion of his power, and allowed them to move once more, not alive yet not truly dead. They became frightful and monstrous things, which shambled from their graves to visit their wrath upon the living, for by Yurtrus' will they would not rot so long as they killed and maimed.

The dead ever grew in number, and the orcs of the land despaired, and prayed to Gruumsh sky-father to embrace the unworthy dead, so they would no longer consign themselves to darkness. But Gruumsh refused to bow to such trickery, for to taint his heaven with the unworthy was the worst thing in the world to him.

And so the orcs prayed to Luthic earth-mother, who visited the restless dead as they rose from their graves. And the monstrous orcs bowed to her, for loathsome as they were they knew to honor she from who their souls sprang.

"Great mother!" one croaked. "Why have you come here? Your power does not extend to us, who are grown and dead. Will you admonish us for killing to avoid final death, as all already must? Though it will fill our hearts with sorrow, we will not change our ways, for it is better to live a life of torment than to rot and disappear."

And Luthic's brow furrowed, for there was truth in these words. And so she left the rampaging dead, and traveled beyond the stone, to that dark and sodden place where Yurtrus dwelled.

"Yurtrus Once-Son!" she called out to the corpse-god, whose white fingers snaked through the dirt like worms. "I propose a bargain! Tempt the dead no more, let their bodies lie still, eat of their flesh as you wish! In return, I shall draw upon my own power, and ensure that worthy and unworthy dead alike deliver pale death from beyond the grave. Should I fail to keep this bargain, then may every leaf on every tree wither away, never to return."

And though Yurtrus was mistrustful, he could not see fault in Luthic's offer. Either she would break the terms, and all life would surely die, or somehow she wouldn't, and even the Gruumsh-chosen would be made to kill. And so, the verminous god whispered a word of agreement through his crooked and worn teeth.

At this, Luthic traveled to the heart of a tall mountain, and retrieved an useful kind of rock in great supply, which she cut into many shapes. And in a great miracle, she gifted these carved bones to orcs dead, living, and unborn alike, and did away with the skeletons that they used to possess.

Having done so, she commanded her servants to take the bones of the dead and make use of them as spear- and arrow-points. And Yurtrus, as he watched arrows tipped with orcish bone fly through the air and bring down great prey, could not but admit that Luthic had kept her bargain, for both worthy and unworthy orcs now killed after death.

And this is why bones are sacred to Luthic, why they are hard enduring things, and why they are white. And most of all it explains why orcs must fashion the bones of the dead into tools and weapons, as they do to this day.

Next, I shall share a single tale that has earned some recognition among humans: the Epic of Ilneval.

#witnessing orcs #worldbuilding

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elmatadorisgay · 1 month

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❤️‍🩹 virgsson for the heart emoji drabble

Don't have anything specific, it's up to you, but something like Virgil comforting Ali with the goalie's hamstring injury knocking him out of some games

Oh yay I've been waiting for another one of these. They're fun to do and good writing practice.

Virgil Van Dijk/Alisson hurt/comfort

"Ali?!" Virgil shouts into the house as he enters. The tall Dutchman pushes his leg against the door, shutting it with a soft thud. A pair of keys is wrapped around his fingers in one hand as his other cradles a to go box, containing food. The container still feels quite hot against his arm. Silence rings through the house as only the sound of Virgil's large steps echo through the hall. He makes his way into the living room. There he finds Alisson laying on his back on the couch. His injured leg is raised onto some pillows as it's sheathed in a compression cast. Along with that a pair of crutches sits propped against one side of the couch. Virgil smiles slightly as he sees the man still where he left him. He approaches quietly as Alisson turns to face him, eyes opening slowly. Virgil sets the box of food down onto the coffee table before the couch. He leans down to give Alisson a hug, gently squeezing his waist. "How are you feeling?" He asks softly. Alisson leans into him, nuzzling against his neck soft and sleepily. "I'm still in pain but it feels better. I have been really missing everyone and being able to work." He admits drearily. Virgil gives him a sympathetic frown and pats his shoulder gently. "We all get like that. The team misses you too." The Dutchman nods to his Brazilian counterpart. He leans in and kisses Alisson's cheek softly. His pale fingers come up to Virgil's dark, luscious curls, pulling at the bun they're secured in. His nimble hands make quick work of releasing the elastic holding the curls in place. Virgil doesn't try to move away as his hair falls out to just barely brush the tops of his shoulders. Alisson's fingers run through the tight coils of Virgil's black hair, getting caught by them slightly. The Dutchman lets out a soft hum at the touch as he allows the Brazilian's fingers through his hair for a moment. Virgil soon pulls back, turning away slightly to the coffee table. He picks the to-go box up and brings it over to Alisson. The man shifts slowly to sit up.

"Anyway I brought some food back for you." Virgil adds. He made sure to text Alisson while the team was out for dinner today. Virgil brings the box over, setting it on Alisson's lap. "I got the Salmon dinner for you. I think you'll like it." His hands come to the lid of the box, opening it up with a styrofoam creaking. The scent of the dish is warm and fishy with a slight lemon aroma. Inside the box is a filet of salmon sat atop a bed of rice along with a few lemon slices as garnish.

"Thank you, amorzinho." Alisson smiles greatfully at him. He grabs the fork from inside the box, taking it into his hand. Virgil nods, standing up straight once more. He turns slightly to leave the room and get himself cleaned up until Alisson stops him. "Could you also get me a glass of water please?" He requests softly. Virgil turns back towards him at the question. His soft blue-green eyes look up at Virgil almost as if they have hearts in them.

"Of course sweetheart." Virgil smiles with his pearly whites. He makes his way into the kitchen. Virgil opens the glass cabinet, pulling one out before closing the medium toned wooden door. He brings it over to the fridge and places the glass under the tap in the fridge. The filtered water pours into the glass. Virgil waits until its almost completely full, only stopping it when there's a few inches of air in the glass. He ambles back into the living room, where he hears metal scraping against the styrofoam quietly along with Alisson's chewing of the fish meat. "Here you are. I hope you weren't too lonely while I was gone." He remarks with a smile as he hands the glass to Alisson. The Brazilian's pale hand curls around the glass, their hands coming in contact gently.

"To be honest, it is a little bit. Especially with how quiet it is here." Alisson admits. He pauses to take a sip of water from the glass. "Thank you, though. It makes things better to know you and the others are looking out for me." He adds with a sweet fondness in his voice.

Also if you want the original post for this heart emoji drabbles see my post here:

#football #football rpf #writing #ao3 #writer asks #heart emoji ask game #virgil van dijk #alisson becker #virgsson

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canyouhearthelight · 2 months

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It Runs in the Family

Hello!

This is another of my short fics I promised. It's been done for nearly a year and change - longer if you recognize it from part of "The Miys" (It was one of the stories told during a camping trip).

Short explanation is that this is the story of Red Riding Hood's grandmother, somewhat modernized.

Long explanation is that there are a LOT of trigger warnings on this one. A lot. I avoid getting graphic for the vast majority of the ones I am about to list, but I am still going to say to take these at face value. With the exception of the last one, none of these are glorified, excused, or otherwise without consequences. The person who does them gets what they deserve (spoiler, but a needed one).

Grooming

Domestic violence

Financial abuse

Parental kidnapping

Murder

I promise the next story has no trigger warnings whatsoever, however. None. Not one.

Credit for this goes to @baelpenrose for being patient in waiting for this to be dropped, and for the author Tanith Lee, who's story "Wolfland" is a very clear and blatant inspiration.

When I was a young girl, I became the Lady of the estate. At eight years old, my mother passed away, leaving me the heir and only child of my father. I grew up spoiled - a princess, ruling the forests of the Schwartzwald, where my father leased mining rights for a percentage and sold the timber for dear cost. The howling of the wolves at night was my wonderland and my lullaby, and I never took it for granted, knowing that I would inherit such riches.

When I was thirteen, I became a debutante: old enough for marriage, suitors knocking down my door. My father warned me to be as choosy as choosy could be, because none of them would be good enough for me, and I needed to find the one who was close enough.

Rolfe came to court me when I was fifteen years old. He came in the darkest of winter, with a basket of peaches from a hot house in the south, still firm and ripe like nothing I had ever seen. The dessert of royalty. When I was seventeen, he returned with a carriage and six shining black horses pulling it. The entire team would be mine if only he could come again.

When I was nineteen, he proposed marriage and handed me a thick velvet cloak, lined with the fur of a wolf, with a clasp that held the sigil of an arrow and a shield. When I accepted my proposal, he promised me that, once we were wed, he would court me properly. For the last four years, he had showered me with expensive gifts. I laughed at him, “How much more properly could you court me?”

We were wed the winter that I was twenty, and that night, after we had said our vows, as I lay in our marriage bed, he came into the room. Red in the face with drink, with a cloth covered basket over his arm, just as when I was fifteen. He handed the basket to me, and with a smile I took off the cloth to find the perfect, hot house peaches, still firm.

But once I lifted one from the basket, I found something coiled and black at the bottom of the basket, like a snake. Pouring the peaches from the basket, there was a bullwhip. As soon as the whip struck the cover of the bed, he snatched it up, wrenched me around with my hair, and proceeded to beat me until I couldn’t breathe any more.

This was my marriage. Rolfe either drank himself to sleep, or beat me until he was satisfied. He needed no pretense - if he was awake, he was beating me.

Finally, when I was twenty-three, somehow, I became with child. When I grew ill and couldn’t keep food down, he called a midwife from the village, hopeful that he finally had an heir. The midwife checked on me, and whispered that I would have a daughter. She then turned to Rolfe, chin held high, and confidently told him that I was with a son, but that I could not be hit, or fall, or trip - that I was not to lift anything heavier than a gown, for risk of losing the child.

Those were the sweetest eight months of reprieve in my life.

The day that I went into labor was the day my husband struck the midwife, who had become my confidant and ally, dead as soon as the child was born a daughter. But what Rolfe did not realize was that, throughout those eight months, she had been by my side at night. “To keep me healthy,” she had said. But in reality, as I drifted to sleep, she would smile with her long, yellow teeth, and tell me stories and lullabies that reminded me of the howling in the woods, putting my mind at ease. I would dream of blood, and meat, and the yellow flowers that grew on the grounds in the dead of winter.

Once I had recovered from the birth, and a wet nurse was found, Rolfe did not hesitate to pick up his whip once more. As he did, my mind often strayed to those flowers and to the wolves I could hear hunting on the grounds. Whether it was these thoughts or having become a mother that made me bold, I never gave it any thought. What I did know was, where before I had done everything to keep Rolfe’s attention away from me, now I demanded to see Annika, uncaring in the knowledge that he would beat me either way, whether with his fists or that damnable whip. I wanted to know that my daughter - my heir, not his - was safe and healthy and loved. He would, inevitably, lash out, and as soon as my mind would drift to the howling in the forest, he would beat me harder.

The wolves became a special enemy to him in the months to follow, as though he blamed them for my boldness. He began carrying a pistol so that he could shoot them on sight as he left the property to spread his malice and my wealth down in the city. When he returned from these trips, I would laugh as I saw his fury, knowing the wolves had been, again, too quick for him. No small part of me hoped they would, maybe this time, be so quick as to relieve me of my burden.

It was the winter that Annika was two when things changed dramatically for the worse. At this point, Rolfe had taken to organizing many unsuccessful hunting excursions on the grounds, inviting his odious associates into my home. My home, I always thought of it, Annika’s home. Never his. The only saving grace of these intruders under my roof was the distraction they provided for my husband, keeping him downstairs to carrouse loudly with them, rather than coming upstairs where I hid. During these invasions, I was able to steal quiet moments with Annika and her nurse. My daughter would babble to me endlessly about all the things she learned and seen, giving me small tokens that she found - a pretty stone, a perfect pinecone, endless amounts of feathers.

It was during one such stolen visit that Annika was particularly demanding toward her nurse, fussing and pulling at her. The nurse seemed to realize what was so urgent, and gave me a soft smile. “Annika picked flowers for you today. I have them in water. Just a moment.” She lifted my daughter and left the room, leaving my heart to momentarily ache at the absence. Soon enough, however, they returned, Annika holding a small vase with the solemnity only seen in a Small Child with an Important Task. I was both startled and delighted to see a small posey of the yellow flowers found only on our grounds.

“Mama!” she cried, holding the flowers out to me.

The nurse smiled again at her antics. “Every one that she saw during our walk today, she would point and say ‘Mama’ until I would pick it for you. I think they remind her of your hair.”

I touched the end of one lock, reminded again that Annika had inherited her father’s dark looks rather than my fair ones. Thankfully, it seemed the only thing she had inherited, as she was fast proving to have a very gentle nature. “I will treasure them, my love,” I promised sincerely and honestly.

Far too soon, however, that visit ended as they all did, with the nurse taking Annika for her afternoon nap. From habit, I went to unlock my wardrobe and pull out the carved box in which I kept all of my daughter’s gifts, quickly and gently touching each one like a talisman before sealing them away again. I then turned to find a place to set the vase of flowers, so that I may be able to enjoy their sight before I dried them and stored those away, as well.

So absorbed in my thought as to whether I should hang them or press them, I committed a terrible error. I did not notice the door to my chambers opening until I heard the crash behind me. I turned, dreading what I would see. Surely enough, the distraction provided by Rolfe’s companions had failed me, and he was now standing in my private space, kicking and swearing at the table he had broken upon falling into it. When he turned his attention towards me, fury shone even through the glassiness of drink. He stomped his way to me, hand reaching already to grab whatever part of me he could.

And then he paused, hand hanging empty in the air, staring at the small table beside me. His hot anger abruptly turned into cold, shaking rage. “What are those?” he growled.

“Flowers, from our daughter,” I whispered around the vise of fear in my throat.

“That useless thing is to be kept away from us both,” he reminded me. His hand suddenly returned to life, a backhanded blow like a hammer knocking me to the ground. Before I could pick myself up or even object, he threw the vase, flowers and all, into the fireplace. My body was wracked with sobs as I watched them wither to ash, only for the sound to be cut off with a boot to my stomach.

The mind is a wonderful and terrible thing, as the nurses that surrounded my bed when I next knew consciousness explained that they had needed to treat me on the floor for the first day, unsure if I was safe to be moved after such a brutal beating. Indeed, though I did not remember the act, a mental catalogue of my injuries implied it had been the most savage one to date. When I asked after his whereabouts, I was assured that he had left for the city shortly after they had arrived, and had not yet returned.

“Bring me my daughter, please,” I sighed. Though I did not want her to see me like this, I needed to know that she was unharmed.

They looked between each other, nervously, before one covered my hand with her own. “We cannot, Lady. I’m sorry.”

“He needn’t know,” I begged. “Please, she is my child and the only good thing left in my life.”

“It isn’t that - “

I struggled to sit up, pain flaring from every part of my body. “Is she hurt?” I demanded hysterically. “Tell me she is alive and unharmed.”

The one holding my hand stood and pressed me gently back onto the bed. “She is alive and unharmed,” she assured. “She has been sent to the city to live with her nurse and her family.”

“He sent her away!?” I screamed, now thrashing to be allowed out of the bed. “I need to retrieve her! Let me go!”

The nurse was far less gentle in her tone, now. “You are not well enough to travel, though I dare not let you out of this bed for fear that you will kill yourself in the attempt. Lay down and stop making your injuries worse, or I shall restrain you without telling you exactly how safe your daughter is.”

“You will tell me either way, or it will not be Rolfe you need fear when I am out of this bed,” I snarled before relenting.

While the other nurses were appalled, the one who had been speaking was an older woman, and clearly used to difficult patients. She simply arched an eyebrow and sat back down, still holding my hand gently. “The Lord of the estate ordered the child sent to the city to live with one of his associates, who recently lost a daughter. The nurse was to travel with her, before being dismissed. Before she left, she confided in me that she knew this man from his many stays here, and would not trust him or his wife with a dog, much less a child too small to bite him if abused. She instead took Lady Annika to stay with her at the home of her sister, who is widowed. She will raise Annika and keep her safe.”

Tears rolled down my cheeks, knowing that there would be no way for her to send word, for fear that Rolfe would see it and find where our daughter truly was. “She is no longer under his control,” I assured myself, surrendering to once again being alone in the hell of my marriage.

Convalescing was a long journey, made no less frustrating by the threats Rolfe made towards those responsible for my recovery. Several of the attendant nurses could be overheard discussing how truly sorry my husband must be, how much he must truly love me, that he was so concerned I recovered. I sneered to myself and the eldest nurse, both of us well aware that Rolfe held no such love. Instead, this was another form of control - if I were to die, I would be free of him, and if that were to happen, he would punish anyone close by for letting me escape his reach. Everything in my life - including my death - was to be decided by him and him alone.

I was able to walk a few, painful steps by the time he organized the burning. Winters in the Schwartzvald were long, and the sight of the yellow flowers reminding him of the daughter who escaped grew too infuriating for him to bear. His solution was to burn them out, each and every one within the grounds of our estate. His associates brought their servants and hired men, placing bets on which would find and burn out the most. I could only watch from the window of my chambers as my beautiful, wild forest became speckled with mud from where the defenseless plants had been uprooted, followed by great bonfires where they were burned. Even the wolves had left when the commotion began, as though knowing that so many men would guarantee that someone would be able to kill them.

Throughout the rest of that winter and the following spring, a madness possessed Rolfe. I was still too frail to so much as leave my chambers, and he was unsuccessful in his many attempts to locate my daughter. When the wolves returned in the brief summer, he would jump and shoot in the direction of any snap of a twig, screaming at the distant howls that taunted him. By the time autumn crisped the air, I was able to sit at my desk and balance the accounts, scowling at the great amounts of money Rolfe had burned through as though it had been heaped on the bonfires instead of the flowers. On one such afternoon, while the sun was still in the sky, I heard my team of horses returning, pulling the magnificent carriage that he had gifted me all those years ago. As I put the account records away, I braced myself for what new fury had taken him over, wondering if this would be the day he would cease caring about my recovery.

The door to my chambers slammed open, and rather than an angry and violent beast, I was treated to the sight of a drunken and rejoicing man. I was immediately even more suspicious of what could possibly make him so.

“I have found her!” he sang, stumbling in a circle. “I have been celebrating, for I believe I have found the child. I shall go to retrieve her tomorrow!”

I hid my hands in my lap to conceal the trembling fear that had overtaken me. “That’s wonderful news,” I said carefully. “Where has she been?”

He flopped back onto my bed, staring at the ceiling, an empty bottle dangling from one hand. “Freiburg im Breisgau,” he laughed. “The stupid bitch took her to the wrong city. But she will be home tomorrow, where I can keep an eye on her again.”

You wanted her kept from your sight and mine, and she is, I thought. Can you not leave her be? I pressed a hand to my forehead, willing the fear and the headache to retreat. “I will have the servants draw you a warm bath. I am sure you are cold, and would like to be clean when you see our daughter again.”

He mumbled from the bed, incoherent, and I carefully limped to the door to summon someone. After I made my request, I painstakingly made my way down the stairs for the first time in nearly a year, stopping again and again to let my dizziness fade before venturing further. Despite my slow and deliberate progress, my mind raced to find a solution that would keep my child safe - far safer than I currently was. It was only when the howl of a wolf rang out from far too close to the house that my attention was drawn outside. A great, black beast with wild yellow eyes stood in the first snowfall, no more than thirty meters away. “You don’t scare me,” I scolded it quietly. “I have lived with a far more terrible beast than you. I would welcome your teeth in my throat if not for my daughter.”

To my surprise, the wolf made a yipping noise, as though it was laughing at me, and turned to walk away. Immediately behind where it had been sitting, as though its eyes were still staring at me, spots of yellow broke through the snow. Impossibly, the yellow flowers had returned. Although this time, it was autumn, and the flowers had always bloomed only in deepest winter. Hypnotized, as though not in control of my own body, I walked to the great doors I hadn’t been outside of in years, painfully pulled them open just enough, and walked, barefoot, into the snow.

The lullabies and stories from the midwife who died to bring Annika into the world came back to me. There is a wild magic in the flowers that grow on the grounds, but only when they grow out of season. Eating these, and only these, will make you strong enough to change your life. However, no one alive can tell what form that strength will take, only that you must be willing to sacrifice everything in order for the magic to take hold.

Soon enough, I stood in the snow, looking down at the flowers that should not exist anymore. Falling to my knees in reverence and exhaustion, I plucked one, holding it to my face so that I could smell its fragrance. The thought crossed my mind that the midwife had been insane - after all, she had lied to a violent man - and that the flowers would poison me instead. “My life is the only thing I have left to lose,” I whispered.

That is where Rolfe found me, after night had fallen: kneeling in the snow, surrounded by the stems of over a dozen flowers, their yellow heads now gone. “What do you think you are doing?” he roared, yanking me to my feet by my hair. “You are not allowed outside, stupid woman. The wolves will eat you.” It was only then that the flowers that had been too far to reach caught his eye. “Did you plant these!? Only to spite me??”

“No,” I choked out. “They grew back on their own, I planted nothing.”

“You lie,” he spat before walking back to the house, my hair still wrapped in his grip. I cried out in pain as he dragged me up the stone stairs, my wet and numb feet scrabbling and failing to find purchase. Once inside, he turned me to face him, hand still in my hair, and gave me a measuring look. “Still too frail,” he muttered.

Relief flooded me, believing that I was safe. Instead, to my horror, he grabbed the front of my dressing gown, tearing it from my body and throwing me painfully against the stairs. I fought and struggled with what little energy and self-preservation I had left, but in the end, he left me bruised and bleeding on the cold stone as he stood to re-lace his pants. “This one had better be a son,” he instructed me before spitting a mouthful of blood onto my bare skin - mine, from the bite now oozing on my neck.

Slow, hot, impotent fury filled every fiber of my being. I would have laughed at myself, if enough of my mind had been present to think - I was too exhausted and injured to cover myself, much less to exact any revenge or violence on him. One servant came into the hall, and stepped toward me to assist, only to be stopped by a second. “The Lady’s husband does not want us to touch her, on threat of death. He ordered that if she can move enough to disobey him, she can move enough to clean herself up.”

Tears of frustration rolled from my eyes and into my hair. I could barely move my head enough to look out through a nearby window, and that is what I stared out of for the coming hours. Snow falling, the moon slowly climbing higher and higher into the sky. When I could keep my eyes open no longer, I closed them and listened for the chiming rustle of the flakes falling through the trees, for the crunch and howl of the wolves.

At some point, I drifted off, cold and alone on those stairs. But in my dreams, I was warm, and powerful. Stronger than I had ever felt in my life, even before I had been married. I felt boundless, free. And dangerous, oh so dangerous. I wanted to run, and dance, and laugh at all the things that thought they could control me. In my dream, I could pick myself up from the stairs, and I did, smiling. I danced up them, leaping powerfully toward my chambers. I felt no fear - not of Rolfe, not for what he would do to Annika, none. I revelled in the unfamiliar sensation, wrapping it around myself like a blanket. As I drifted further to sleep, I registered the sound of Rolfe shouting, but let myself drift deeper and deeper, until I was dreaming like I had when I was pregnant - dreams of blood, and meat, and yellow flowers. Those dreams had been so comforting, left me so happy, and I let myself feel those things now. I remember thinking that this must be what dying felt like, as everything fell away.

But alas, it was not to be death, for I did awaken the next morning, as a servant I did not recognize stoked the great fireplace in the sitting room. I found myself lying on a chaise, covered with a blanket. That must be what Rolfe had been shouting about, I realized. Wrapping the blanket tightly to my chest, I saw the child that was tending the fire - too old to be Annika, thankfully. I ignored them, instead taking stock of my condition. I felt far less injured than I expected myself to be, although still naked, dirty, and covered in blood. A gasp told me that the child realized I was awake, only to be confirmed a moment later as I heard them take off towards the kitchens, crying “The Lady is awake!”

It must still be early morning, for the head nurse who had stayed on as my personal staff came from the kitchens, where the servants typically ate. Swiftly but unhurried, she came to my side to check me over. “You are filthy my lady. I already have them preparing two baths for you - one to clean you, the other to soak the chill of that damned floor from your bones.”

“Can you help me to my chambers?” I asked, accepting the second blanket she wrapped around me as she helped me carefully stand.

“We are preparing temporary rooms down here for you,” she advised in her typically brusque manner. Her no-nonsense nature had been the main reason I took her on, so I waited for the rest. “There was an incident last night, and unfortunately your chambers will need much repair.”

“An incident?” I started.

She would only shake her head. “I will explain after you are clean, not one minute sooner.”

True to her word, she insisted that every inch of my body be scrubbed, including my scalp, and then checked me for injuries again before allowing me to lower myself into the second bath. Finally, when I was seated up to my chin in warm, fragrant water, I asked again. “The incident.”

She sat on a stool and took a deep breath. “Some idiot left the doors open last night, with you laying on the stairs for all and sundry to see. Unsurprisingly, the blood must have attracted a wolf, for one made its way to your chambers and attacked my Lady’s husband. He was found this morning with his throat torn out and great chunks of him eaten.”

I was grateful that she and I were alone, and that no one could see us. I felt only relief that he was gone, and confusion that a wolf would have walked right past my hurt and bleeding body, only to attack a strong and healthy man. My nurse, who had never held any illusions about Rolfe, seemed more irritated that my rooms were damaged than bothered by Rolfe’s death. “So, he is dead?” I asked for confirmation.

“I do not recommend that you see the body,” she insisted. “Very messy business. But yes, you are a widow, my lady. I would offer my condolences.”

Left unsaid were any actual condolences. We did not lie to each other, and apparently were not beginning to.

Once my water started to cool, I was dried off and again bundled up, this time in warm clothes rather than fashionable ones, and taken to a small, cozy room on the ground floor. It was too small for a fireplace, but seemed to share a wall with the kitchens, as it was far warmer than my chambers had ever been. I was tucked into the bed and covered with several quilts before she would allow me to touch my account books - apparently someone had taken the foresight to retrieve them for me. “You may work on the accounts, but you are only to get out of bed to relieve yourself for the next four days.”

I tried to protest, but she was not alone in her assertions. The cook stepped into the doorway, bearing soup and a scowl. “You get your rest now that you can. Nothing needs done that would need you on your feet.”

Accepting the requirement was the first in a great many changes on the estate after that day. I was able to return my finances to a more stable state, although it required the sale of more lumber than I was entirely comfortable with. I was able to write to Annika’s nurse, who agreed that it may be safer for my daughter to stay in the city, although now she would be able to visit and be better provided for. Once Rolfe was buried, word traveled fast that I was now quite a young widow, but any potential suitors were too put off by the wolves that once again freely roamed the grounds to return after being told they were, under no circumstances, to shoot a single one. If this gave me a reputation for being strange, so be it - my first husband had made my life hell, and I had no wish to repeat the experience.

Annika grew to be a lovely girl, then an even lovelier woman. She never developed her father’s vicious nature, although she never developed the wild nature I had as a young woman, either. She was very gentle and kind, and if I was far more discerning of the men who courted her than she was, she never complained. In the end, it was a businessman she married, one who was fascinated by the wolves and terrified of me, but loved her enough to ask me for permission to marry her. When they had a daughter of their own, I was told fairly but firmly that I could only give her lavish gifts on her birthday, for fear she would be spoiled.

It was when Lena, my granddaughter, was nineteen that Annika passed after a long illness, and her husband passed shortly after of a broken heart. When I wrote to give my condolences, I also advised Lena that this meant she was now my heir, and would need to travel to the estate to learn what that meant. I knew, through Annika’s letters, that Lena had grown into a beautiful, opinionated, somewhat wild young woman. She would be unwilling to visit, so I sweetened the invitation with a cloak of thick velvet, lined with wolf fur, from when I was her age. And I explained that it was not a request, but a requirement of her inheritance. She had much to learn of estate handling and finances.

And even more to learn about the wolves, both human and animal. About yellow flowers and the special liquor we made here at the estate.

#it runs in the family #red riding hood #fairy tale #adaptive fiction #abuse #domestic violence #revenge #vengeance #my writing

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twst-the-night-away · 2 years

Text

Profile : Sparky Aetos

[ picrew by savannyan - template by @unfinished-projects-galore - art by @twstinginthewind ]

Here's Sparky's profile, at last!

Sparky is one of the few Ignihyde students who enjoys athletics, but he’s also into scientific pursuits and gaming like most of his dormmates. He has a rather high opinion of himself. He’s arrogant, competitive, and sometimes a troll. He’s also a flirt, and he casts a wide net when it comes to his preferences. After all, he figures anybody would be glad to have him come down from his high mountain and grace them with his presence …

[ an accurate picrew of Sparky (he has to have his long curls!!!), and a potential overblot form, courtesy of this picrew ]

Dorm: Ignihyde Grade/Class: Sophomore/Class B Birthday: March 29 (Aries) Age: 17 Height: 175 cm/5’9” Dominant Hand: Right Homeland: Sage’s Island Club: Science Club Best Subject: Alchemy Worst Subject: Musicology Hobbies: Electronics, gaming, weather spotting Pet Peeves: Superstition, weak coffee Favorite Food: Gyros Least Favorite Food: Junk food - he wants something substantial Talents: Physical strength, weather prediction Physical Description: Thick, tightly coiled curly black hair that reaches his shoulders. Hazel eyes with thick eyebrows. Medium olive skin. Broad shoulders and chest, muscular arms. Has a tendency to look angry when he’s just neutral. Floyd’s Nickname: Electric Ray Rook’s Nickname: Monsieur Tempête (Mr. Storm) Twisted From: Zeus (the party-wrecking troll from Fantasia, not the one from Hercules)

Relationships (changing as needed)

OC Friends: Punch & Joker (@twstinginthewind), Tristan (@atwstedstory), Yume (@comingyourlugubriousness), Del (@bunnwich) Canon Friends: Idia, Ortho, Jamil, Floyd, Riddle (they were in the same class together as freshmen, and Riddle stepped up to lead the charge when he nearly overblotted, so he’s a special guy in Sparky’s book) Club Members: Sparky’s in the Science club with Trey and Rook. He thinks Rook’s hilarious, but he doesn’t think much of Trey. Respects/Admires: Riddle, Idia, that’s about it. Sparky thinks he’s pretty hot stuff and his respect isn’t that easy to earn. Avoids: Jade (gives him the creeps), Cater (the most annoying guy on campus as far as Sparky’s concerned), Leona (still mad at him from Book 2) Avoided By: Violetta (but she avoids almost everyone) Potential Ships: Sparky’s a bit of a flirt. He could be shipped with a lot of characters, but I don’t see him committing unless his partner is serious about it. He has a lot of chemistry with Joker, for sure, and I've toyed with the thought of Riddle or Jamil as well.

Character Opinions

Housewarden: Sparky feels protective of Idia. He secretly feels like it’s a victory when he convinces his housewarden to come out of his room to do something. He might mess with him occasionally, but if anyone else does, that’s a different matter entirely. Dormmates: Ortho is The Most Special Boy and Sparky will go run or play outside with him if Idia’s being difficult about it. Sparky was always the littlest brother, so having Ortho around makes him feel like he has one of his own. He hates that he can't ever fool Ortho, though. He likes telling harmless lies to little kids. Crowley: Does he ever do anything? Sparky wonders what his whole deal even is. Trein: His classes are dry as toast. Sparky needs a good coffee before a morning lecture or else he’s likely to fall asleep. Crewel: His classes are more interesting to Sparky, as they’re science-based and have visible results that can be manipulated. Vargas: Sparky needs to do something physical every day, so Vargas’s classes are a welcome break. Sam: Sparky just thinks Sam’s neat. He’s never been able to find out anything about the mysterious shop man, but he won’t give up trying. Also, Sam's shop has the really good coffee beans.

History

Sparky is the youngest of six brothers. His father is the owner of Titan Construction Company. When his parents were still married, his mother stayed at home, but now she works for a flower shop.

Sparky’s parents don’t have magical abilities, so they weren’t expecting their children to have any. (There are some magic users on his mother’s side, but none of them are very powerful.) When they married, they consulted an astrologer who told them that they would have a son who would use magic, and this son would tear their family apart. His father became paranoid, and all of their children were discouraged from taking any interest in magic.

Sparky first demonstrated magical abilities when he was seven years old. One day, he overheard his mother say the plants really needed a good rain. He knew he could make little clouds happen by just thinking about them really hard, but he wondered, could he make rain? He tried as hard as he could, and when his mother went outside, there was a small cloud hanging low over the garden, giving the flowers a nice rain. Sparky, very proud of himself, told his mother that he made it. Instead of being happy, she lectured him about never doing that in front of other people, and to never tell anyone about it, especially his father.

The next ten years or so were spent with Sparky having to hide his magical abilities, but he never lost interest in them. He’d read about them and practice them by himself, and by fifteen or so, he was able to summon small storms. That was when the invitation to Night Ravens College appeared in the Aetos family mailbox. Sparky was excited about it, although his mother went into panic mode. When his father came home that evening, before Sparky could say a word, his mother instantly jumped in and bragged about how Sparky had just been accepted to a “normal” school.

During his first few weeks at NRC, Sparky had to live a double life, pretending that he was attending a totally different school whenever he spoke to his father. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a ruse that could last forever. One of Mr. Aetos’s coworkers came to NRC to visit a son he had there, and word got back to the boss. He came to NRC to confront Sparky, and the argument got out of hand. Sparky completely lost his temper and nearly overblotted. Fortunately, it was in a public area, and a lot of students were around (messy kids always want to hear about the drama), so someone was able to get help from the staff and he was brought back down from his near-OB state.

It turns out that the astrologer who predicted Sparky bringing down the family wasn’t too far off, after all. After the incident at the school, his mother finally had enough, and she divorced his father. She now lives by herself in a small apartment and works for a flower shop. If Sparky visits any family on his holidays, he either visits her, or meets up with some of his older brothers somewhere. (It turns out at least two of his brothers had magic, but they hid that, too.) He and his father have absolutely nothing to do with each other, and for now, it seems like neither of them want to change that.

Actions During the Story

Prologue: He thought it was kinda funny how that weird fire-weasel and that magicless kid crashed the ceremony. He stood somewhere in the back of the crowd, snickering as the chaos unfolded.

Book 1: At first, Sparky didn’t notice anything odd going on, until he started to realize that a lot of Heartslabyul kids were wearing those collars. He doesn’t find out about Riddle’s overblot until later, and he feels genuinely bad that he wasn’t around to help the way Riddle helped him.

Book 2: Sparky is one of Ignihyde’s few athletes, so he ended up getting hurt during Ruggie’s sneaky campaign. He landed wrong on his arm and ended up spraining it. When he found out about the whole plan, he lost a huge amount of respect for Leona, and still holds a grudge against him. They used to be cool, but not so much anymore. Not that Leona cares.

Book 3: Sparky thought it was hilarious the way all those poor kids were running around with the anemone on their heads. He thought it served them all right for getting involved with Azul.

Book 4: Sparky went to a ski resort with some of his brothers for the winter holiday. When he came back and found out what happened in Scarabia, his reaction was mostly “huh, took him long enough”. He had an inkling about Jamil’s bitter feelings, so he was wondering when they would end up coming out. Too bad he missed it.

Book 5: Sparky was working tech at one of the other stages. He didn’t notice anything going wrong, as he hadn’t paid much attention to the SDC anyway.

#twisted wonderland oc #twst oc #daisy's ocs #sparky aetos #this is IT folks this is the big extensive profile he deserves #sorry if it's a bit long in the history section

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