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darklydeliciousdesires · 3 years

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All Mouth and Cock.

Chris Evans drabble, as promised!

The bedroom window is wide open and likely, anyone hiking through the nearby woodland your secluded home borders upon can hear your wails, but you’re about five licks past caring. Your body writhes pleasantly against his mouth, Chris laying wet heat at your clit with repetitive tongue circles, moaning as he feels your dewy hole dampening further for him.

“Dying for my cock yet, baby doll?” Fuck, that accent. The Boston lilt has always done it for you.

“I am, but god, that tongue is doing magical things to me!”

“As I hear.” His observation has you giggling in an instant, circling your burning, wet little hole, the thought of him stretching you out causing his cock to harden even further. “Maybe I should keep giving you a little of both.”

Sitting up, he pushes your legs forward, your knees touching your chest, your gooey slit opened to him, the head of his hardness swiping your soft folds. He enjoys your warmth before pushing within, sharply drawing in breath as your plush sheathes him, your wetness bathing his shaft. “Fuck, that pussy is so damn hot.”

He watches you intently, the way your mouth falls open, your helpless gasps filling his ears as his big cock fills up your dewy centre, your reactions a feast for his eyes, gazing at the way his slippery cock glides so effortlessly into you. Already, you’re fluttering like mad around him, those tiny twitches around the girth splitting you so wide making him pulse. You feel bereft when he withdraws, but not for long.

Head dipping, you part your thighs as once more you’re given pure incandescence from his mouth, Chris sucking upon your aqueous folds with hunger, groaning around a mouthful of petal soft flesh, his blue eyes blown with near crippling lust. He presses his tongue against your clit as he continues to suck, the dual sensation almost too much to withstand.

The press has you reeling, shuddering against his face as your legs tense, enjoying it too much, if such a thing is possible, when he moves back to kneeling before you, sinking into your heat once more. You’re pounded ferociously by every last inch of his girthy hardness, the lewd noises of each thrust filling the air.

“Please don’t stop again, Chris. Please just fuck me. Oh god, fuck me.” He does, plunging your core, trawling your sensitive, slippery walls with each voracious thrust, his big, veiny cock feeling incredible to you. “Fuck, you’ve got me so wet!”

Your exclamation prompts a smile while he watches you reach down and feel his sodden shaft, your fingers settling on your clit and rubbing, knowing he’ll be too transfixed by the sight before him to cease again. However...

“Nah, babe. I gotta get me another mouthful of that sweet little cunt.” Throwing your legs over his shoulders, his tongue takes a long, slow, hard swipe at your slit, your little bud bobbing against the lick as you keen for him, hips rising further to his mouth, your nails digging into his thick biceps.

“You’re just all mouth and cock this afternoon, aren’t you?”

Your words prompt laughter. “Just the way you like me, my beautiful baby.” He continues to eat you like a starved man would devour the sweetest of peaches, groaning through each suck, his short beard adding to the stimulation before once more, he moves to arrow his cock deeply into you, dragging your walls as they flex around him.

His hips drive like a piston as you wail for him, tiny shocks skittering up your spine, Chris thrusting into you savagely until you shatter for him, feeling a hot flood of cum jetting into your spasming walls as he gutturally announces his own undoing.

You’re nothing but breathless and boneless in the aftermath, as anyone would be after being tended to so thoroughly.

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hot-wiings · 4 years

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Wanna be tagged in future ‘Confine’ chapters? Leave a comment, ask, or re-blog asking to be added.

Warning: Abuse, borderline stockholm syndrome.

Edited: 4-4-20

You dropped your hands from the silk ties of your dress and lowered your head towards the ground as you saw Kai come up behind you in the mirror. Your body tensed up as you felt his hands graze your waist before he grabbed the silk ties himself.

"I told you I would tie your dress for you, yet you still tried to do it yourself."

"I forgot. I'm sorry."

Kai grabbed the thick silk strings that hung off your dress and started to tie them together behind your back for you. He looped them in an x and pulled tightly, making your head snap up and gasp in pain as the silky linen was strongly pulled against your abdomen.

Tying your dress? This was a cute thing that a lover would do. This was a domestic thing a man would do for a woman, a way of helping her so she wouldn't have to reach. This was no nice loving gesture. This wasn't him cutely helping you, the look Kai gave you through the mirror's reflection said it all.

"Too tight?"

You bit your lip as you nodded your head up and down in response to Kai’s question. Truthfully it hurt to breathe, but you were too scared to tell him that. Scared out of fear that he would laugh and pull tighter. You tried to relieve the pain by sucking your gut in.

Kai finished of the tie by double knotting it. There would be no getting that tie off without tearing the silk tie off the dress entirely. He ran his hands over your waist and hips, smoothing out any wrinkles you might have had. Completely ignoring your obvious pain and discomfort, he grabbed your hand and roughly tugged you towards the door

"Let's go, I have an important meeting. You’re lucky I'm even letting you leave the bedroom."

You balled your palms into fists and dug the balls of your heel into the ground, stopping you from moving far. Irritated with the pain you thought over whether you should ask Kai to retie your dress. This would be your first time leaving the bedroom since he had separated you and Eri from each other. You had been stuck there for so long you lost count of the days. What if he got upset and made you stay there longer?

“We don’t have time to waste, we have guests coming.”

You took a few steps closer towards Kai but the pain as you walked was too heavy and made you grimace.

"W-Will you retie my dress? It hurts."

"If you want it retied, you’ll have to undo that knot and retie it yourself. Let it serve as a lesson. Remember that the next time you forget something I say."

It wasn't a sweet gesture, it was a reminder. A reminder that if you defied him in even the smallest way he would have to teach you a lesson. Everything with Kai was a lesson, but that was your fault. It was always your fault.

Kai was trying to do something nice for you, but you didn't listen. It was your fault that you would be stuck all day in a tight dress. Kai had said he would tie your dress for you, yet you tried to do it yourself anyway, you defied him. It was your fault that Kai's heart had teeth, maybe if you listened more than he could love you better.

You force a small smile on your face as you look up at Kai. If you made loving you easier than maybe he wouldn't have to hurt you as much. This was your fault, not his. Your pain was your fault, not his.

"I'm sorry, let’s go."

"Let’s go...?"

"Let’s go, love."

With a yank on your arm, Kai pulled you down next to him as he took his seat on the black leather couch. You scooted over closer to him knowing he would get mad if you distanced yourself from him. Warily, you watched the man he was meeting with as he took his seat across from you.

The man had light blue hair and red eyes, they instantly reminded you of Eri. The more you observed him you saw how the man’s hair and eyes were the only similarities that tied him to your sweet little Eri. His lips looked incredibly cracked and he had lots of hands placed on his body. He looked dirty or rather unkempt.

The man with light blue hair had an accomplice with him, however, instead of sitting with his friend, the blue-haired man’s friend stood off to the side of the room. Your eyes drifted over to the second man and you observed him just as warily as you were of the first man.

The second man had black hair and scars all over his body. All over. Under his eyes, on his arms, his legs, and they even peeked out from his chest. The black-haired man also had staples attached to his scars, like Frankenstein. For a minute you wondered if it had something to do with his quirk.

The black-haired man looked different than the blue-haired man. Whereas the first man looked dirty, his friend looked clean. The black-haired man didn’t necessarily look like he moisturized, but he wasn't chapped like his friend. Their eyes were very different too, the first man had red eyes like Eri, the black-haired one had icy blue eyes.

His eyes were the most mesmerizing shade of blue. You would have called them pretty if he weren't a villain, and you weren't taken. The man notices you staring at his eyes and he raises his eyebrows at you. You stared into each others’ eyes for a split second before you diverted your eyes to the ground. You were both embarrassed that you got caught looking and scared Kai would notice you did it in the first place.

"I was made to walk in circles underground for thirty minutes. I feel like I've become an ant. What's up with Yakuza's house anyway?"

“We don't know who’s watching or from where, nor do we know what our guests are thinking. A number of underground routes lead here. We've been able to survive until now because of small details like this.”

You weren't sure why Kai was even sitting in a meeting today. Kai had always talked with dislike towards the League of Villains. Kai said the league was unorganized and had poor leadership. The leagues lack of attention to the small details like this was exactly what Kai didn't like about them.

“Anyway, what you said the other day on the phone, you meant it right? That you'd join us along as certain conditions were met.”

Mimic answers the unasked question that you had been wondering. So that was what he wanted the meeting for. He wanted the league’s name for their newfound fame from kidnapping a student.

"We want a joint partnership. If that's what this is, then we'll help."

"So those are the conditions?"

"Don't interpret it in your favor. You guys want the name of the league of villains, we want to increase our strength. Our needs coincide."

The blue-haired man placed his foot on the glass table in front of you. You saw Kai’s fist flex and you were sure he would have beat the man for simply having done it in the first place, but Kai wouldn't do that.

"Put your foot down, it'll get dirty."

"‘Will you put your foot down, please?’ That's what you should be saying, young head. You should really be bowing to me."

If he hadn't wanted to earlier than he must have really wanted to bash the man’s head in now. But Kai was in the middle of making a business deal, he knew better than to lose his cool like that in the middle of a meeting.

Your lips quipped up into a smile at the prospect of Kai getting irritated over such a minor thing and having no choice but to let it go, but the fear of him seeing you’re joy over his stress brought your lips back down.

“First we won't put ourselves under you, we'll move however we want. In other words, a joint partnership. One more thing, that plan you said you had? Tell me what it is, that's a reasonable condition. I want to consider whether or not there’s merit in lending you our name–”

"Who do you think you are punk.”

Kurono places his Glock against the blue-haired man’s head while Mimic had an outburst. They were so quick to resort to violence.

Again, you find your eyes wandering over to the black-haired man’s icy eyes. You were shocked that he hadn't activated his quirk in defense as his friend had a Glock to his head. Of course, you didn't know what his quirk was, so how were you to know if he activated his. Then again, he is a villain. Who are you to say they were friends and not just accomplices.

“Who do you think you are? One of your disposable small fry versus our Hikiishi. Those lives are not worth the same. Plus the worth of one of compress arms. If we don’t get some concessions from you, it won’t be worth it for us.”

“Stay back, Kurono, Mimic. He came all this way with his offer. Let’s hear him out to the end. You weren't finished.”

“Tell me the details of your plan. Well, I have some idea of what it is anyway. It has something to do with this, right?”

The blue-haired man pulled out a tiny red pellet and Kai looked over to you. He dipped his head down to your ear and whispered, his voice full of authority.

“Stay here.”

Mimic and the blue-haired man got up and followed Kurono and Kai into a separate room to talk. Whatever the red pellet was, Kai obviously didn't want you to know about it. You suspected it had something to do with Eri.

The black-haired man walked over to you and sat on the glass table in front of you. You wanted to smile. Kai would just hate the fact that someone sat on his table, and Kai wasn't there to see or do anything about it. You wanted to smile but the presence of the tall villain towering over you prevented your lips from moving up.

Kai wasn’t in the room, so you did something bold. Something that might be normal for somebody else, but would strike fear in your whole body. You looked the man in the eyes.

“Do I have something on my face?”

You would have replied to the man verbally, but the pain from your dress was still there. You were sure if you spoke out loud he would hear the pain in your voice so you did what you were becoming accustomed to, you hid your pain. With a simple shake of your head, you answer the man with no.

“Cause’ you kept staring at me.”

Ignoring the man’s smirk, you looked down as your cheeks heated up. He had caught you observing him and his friend. He had caught you staring at his eyes. You hoped he didn't mention any of this to Kai, but something in the way he looked at you told you that he wasn't no’ snitch.

“Hmm.”

You looked back up at the man only for him to put his hand on your shoulder and his other hand on the side of your waist. He was close to you, so close you could smell the mint on his breath, and the smell of ash on his clothes. As he tugged on your dress slightly you worried that maybe he got the wrong idea with your staring.

The feared that Kai would walk in and catch you both in such a compromising position crept up in your mind. You were about to push the man away when he slid his arm that was on your waist towards your back. As quick as he was there he was gone.

“I don’t wear dresses, but I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to tie them so tight you can’t breathe.”

Of all people, this villain noticed you were in pain. He noticed you were in pain and fixed it. He fixed it when your own boyfriend was the one who caused it.

For the first time in a long time you didn't care if Kai could walk in and see. You didn’t care about the repercussions or punishments you might receive. You smiled up at the man without the fear that anyone would see. You smiled freely.

“I– I accidentally tied it too tight. Thank you...?”

“Dabi.”

“Thank you, Dabi.”

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aph-honk-kong · 4 years

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Fanged and Fair

When two equally-matched beings meet up for afternoon tea. [There’s really heavy making out please proceed with caution]

A fairy does not only invite one over for tea.

There is always an ulterior motive, the hope that they may ensnare their unsuspecting guest and steal all that they have, or subject them to a fate even worse. There is no rejecting the invitation, either, especially if you are one of the night folk.

When Aleksander finds the gilded card on his mantlepiece, sent by a fair one named Stellan, he is almost certain he will die. Many of the night folk who visit a fairy never return. But maybe he will change that. Maybe he will drain this fairy of his blood and plunge iron into his flesh, ridding the world of another of their kind. He will dodge the stakes and hide from the sun, and he will win.

He dresses in preparation, hiding every inch of his skin with his ebony-black robes and covering his face with a veil. The sun cannot touch any inch of him if he plans to leave the fairy’s house alive.

Just as an extra precaution, he slides an iron knife into one of his coat’s many pockets. One can never be too careful when dealing with fairies.

Aleksander reads up on the rules of etiquette while walking to Stellan’s house. If he violates even one of them, his fairy host is then allowed to punish him as he sees fit, which usually means killing him. He has salt in his pocket to counteract the effects of fairy food before it can magick away any rational thought.

He arrives at Stellan’s house, a pretty little thing painted beige with a forget-me-not blue roof. The porch is trimmed with pots of hyacinth. Aleksander steels his nerves and knocks.

The door swings open almost at once, revealing a young man too beautiful to be a killer. His sheer, pastel-blue blouse and shorts swirl as though in water, kept on his body only by the hyacinth blossoms around his wrists and ankles. Cornsilk hair falls into his eyes, and his blue-violet eyes are alight with dark glee. “Good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon.” Aleksander bows, mustering a smile when the fairy bows back. “I take you’re Stellan?”

“Yes, that is what you may call me.” Stellan holds out a hand. “May I have your name?”

Many a night-folk has died here. They gave their true name to the fairy, and in the process gave their life away too. He will not fall for the same trick. “You may not. But you may refer to me as Aleksander.”

The vibrant blue morpho wings on Stellan’s back flutter in agitation, but their owner shows nothing. “Very well. You may come in, Aleksander.”

He dips his head in thanks before stepping over the doorway and into the house. The living room smells of lavender, and the furniture he can see is plain and pale. It certainly does not have the frivolous flamboyity that fae homes are usually known for.

Stellan’s hands are on his shoulders before he knows it, finger drawing circles in the thick dark fabric. “May I take your coat?”

Aleksander glances back briefly; the fairy has a pretty silver ring on his fourth finger, one that’s far more beautiful than his own jewelled weapon. “No, thank you,” he responds. “It’s a bit chilly today, and I would rather not risk falling ill.”

Those eyes, lined sultrily with silver ink, narrow. But he does not insist. “Please wait in the sitting room while I set the table.”

How easy it would be, to lunge while Stellan’s back is turned. It would take no effort at all to pin him down, to drive his knife deep into his neck with the power that an explicit invitation gifts him. But he cannot. Not yet, at least.

He goes to sit down at the soft sofa. The sitting room happens to have two ceiling-to-floor windows, and Aleksander is suddenly very grateful for his veil. He stares at the assortment of items on the tea-table, at books and needles and blocks of resin. They all look too normal to be owned by someone so wicked.

Stellan is humming, and he can be heard even beneath the sound of clinking cutlery. Aleksander reaches into his pocket and touches his knife for good luck.

There is suddenly a soft fluttering of wings, and Stellan lands right behind him. “Tea is ready,” he announces in his soft, hypnotic voice.

He follows him to the dining room, watching the soft, fluid sway of his hips. He follows this floaty, pretty fellow to the most dangerous meal of his life.

The dining table, he observes, is set with a teapot, flower-painted teacups and a gilded, silver tea-tower. If it weren’t holding food with the ability to kill him, Aleksander would find it pretty.

“I spent so much time preparing for this afternoon,” Stellan wisps. His gossamery clothes flutter in the gentle breeze, long sleeves flapping at him as though trying to reel him in. “I hope you will like the food.”

He sits down in a chair the fairy pulls out for him, keeping his eyes trained on him. Stellan takes his seat across him and lifts up the teapot with long-fingered hands. “I brewed some rose tea for us today.” He pours Aleksander a cup. The cloying scent of the golden tea is nauseating. “The fae type, of course.”

The fae’s inability to lie comes in handy again — now he knows he will need salt to counteract whatever effects the fae food has. But he cannot simply whip out the pouch of salt he has in his pocket, not when Stellan is watching with those mad periwinkle eyes. So Aleksander slips his hand into the pouch and takes a pinch, then nonchalantly passes his hand over his teacup while reaching for the sugar pot. The salt falls in, thankfully escaping his host's scrutiny.

“Here.” Stellan places a canapé of sorts onto his plate. It is glistening with brown sauce; the puff pastry is glossy.

“Thank you,” Aleksander says. He cannot sprinkle salt on the pastry where it will clearly be visible, so he goes for the next best thing. He casually picks up his teacup and saucer, wetting the tip of his index finger while he drinks the tea. It is heavy and bittersweet, and he’d be long-gone if not for the salt inside. He then slips his hand back inside the pouch and picks up a few grains of salt with his wet fingertip. The canapé goes down harmlessly.

Stellan is watching him as he chews. Aleksander swallows and smiles behind his veil. “It is excellent.”

“I am glad to hear that.” He retrieves a tart from the bottom layer and nibbles at it. “Please, take more.”

To refuse would be a death sentence. Aleksander takes a dainty, cheese-filled choux pastry next, and wets his finger again under the guise of wiping his mouth. He manages to eat that without getting into trouble, but his veil catches a few crumbs. Swiftly, before Stellan can say anything about it, he brushes them away.

He must start a conversation soon, lest silence reign for too long and he is declared inhospitable. Aleksander wipes his fingers on his napkin and looks up, saying, “your cooking is truly phenomenal. I have never tasted anything like it.”

“Thank you.” Stellan bows his head in acknowledgement. His light, fluffy, white-gold hair glows in the abhorrent sunlight and resembles a halo about his head. “They do say that fae food has downright enchanting effects on the eater, after all.” He smiles, showing his pointed teeth from behind those pale rosy lips. “But one must be very careful with seasoning when working with them. Just a tiny bit of salt is enough to ruin the taste.”

Aleksander notices how his eyes linger on the tea. At least he can’t say anything about it. “If even somebody with such an uncultured palate as myself can appreciate this, it is most definitely good.”

His long eyelashes flutter coquettishly; those manic eyes seem to pierce right through him. “Don’t say that,” he whispers. “Some would consider you as a man who is quite well-versed with the gourmet. After all, I believe you are here for the most enticing type of fae food?”

He knows, he knows, he knows. But he must play the part of the polite host and cannot directly trap him. Stellan is fully aware of this, surely. Aleksander shrugs, feeling light-headed. He sneaks himself another grain of salt. “I’m not sure which type you speak of.”

“You don’t know? I’m talking about fairy’s blood. It is incredibly sought-after, especially by those who roam in darkness.”

“By those like me, you mean.”

“Yes.” Stellan grits his teeth; still he cannot lie. Grudgingly, he continues, “I do not know why they want it so badly when us fae cannot even be turned.”

“Some say that fairy blood has healing properties, but that’s not true.” Aleksander runs a thumb over the iron ring he has on — his only defence lest his host stop being amicable. “There are many rumours surrounding it and it’s difficult to know which is true and which is not.”

He drinks from his cup, lips shiny with enchanted tea. “Well, what do you think? You are one of those dark things, surely you must know the truth.”

Dark things. Not another of the folk, but a mere thing. And they wonder why the night folk despise the pretentious fae. This is his chance. “I do not know, for I have never had fairy blood before.”

“Really?” Stellan tilts his head, gazes at him from behind those long eyelashes. He brushes his hair away and exposes his neck, creamy and flawless. Though he has not yet tasted it, Aleksander knows that it will be more delicious and deadly than any of the foodstuffs on the tea-tower. “Well, you have a fairy right in front of you, and permission to taste their blood.”

It is so tempting. He cannot tear his eyes away from Stellan, baring himself so unabashedly. Every cell in Aleksander’s body screams at him to attack, to pin him against the wall and sink his fangs into his neck.

Stellan removes his silver ring and places it on the table in plain view, blinking placidly at him in a convincing image of surrender. “Go on,” he purrs, “you know you want to.”

Goodness, he does. The rowan berries around his neck protect him from the glamour of the offer, but the mere tone in which it’s said, magical or not, is almost enough to convince him. His velvety voice envelopes Aleksander, makes his heart race. Heat pulsing through his very being, he stands up before he can stop himself. He hides his hands behind his back and slips off his gloves.

The closer he gets to Stellan, the harder it is to hold back. His pretty pink lips are smirking softly; his eyes gleam. Aleksander drops the gloves onto the floor and reaches out to take ahold of his chin.

He strikes.

Grabbing his wrist, Stellan prevents the iron ring from making contact with his skin at the last moment. Fixing Aleksander with a frenzied glare, he takes his ring finger into his mouth and tears the ring away with his teeth, spitting it out onto the table. “You won’t take me that easily, night-folk,” he sneers.

“But I will have you.” Aleksander twists his wrist free and grabs his shoulder, pressing his fingers into the soft fabric of his blouse. He grabs Stellan’s chin with his other hand, hissing, “I will have you, and you will yield to me.”

“Will I?” His other hand is on Aleksander’s arm, nails digging in in an attempt to free the bruising grip on his face. That courteous host is long-gone.

Shaking his hand off, Aleksander pushes Stellan against the wall of the dining room. He bares his teeth and bites his neck, probing the marks with his tongue as he does so. He breathes him in deeply, all the while trying to keep Stellan pinned against the wall.

He’s writhing underneath him, trembling and teary-eyed. Aleksander feels him press against him beseechingly, as though he wanted to be bitten all this time. He bites him a second time, just to hear him gasp. When he pulls away, he’s light-headed too, panting against Stellan’s pierced neck. His fangs graze lightly against his skin.

Mere seconds after the bite, Aleksander’s vision begins to blur. His mind, which was running a mile a minute with a plan on just when to pull his knife out, goes fuzzy. He feels warm and floaty, as though he’s had one too many glasses of good wine. His arms slacken.

Losing control, he leans in and nips Stellan, not hard enough to draw blood but enough to sting. He sighs, tilting his head back to show more of his neck. The floaty fabric of his blouse yields to Aleksander’s insistent fingers. He cannot tell if he intended to bite and suck along his foe’s collarbone, leaving the tiniest pink marks along the pristine skin, but the sensation feels amazing. Aleksander trails them down to his sternum, relishing every twitch with every nibble.

Stellan is clearly as intoxicated as him, high on his bite just as Aleksander is high on the aphrodisiac that is fae blood. Stellan releases his piercing grip on his arm and twists his fingers in his hair, pulling him in until their lips brush together. He tilts his head slightly in question.

Aleksander smashes their lips together, tasting tea and sugar as he kisses him. He groans, butterfly wings fluttering lightning-fast. Stellan traces his bottom lip with his tongue. Heat seems to pulse from them both, setting them aflame with hatred that has miraculously transformed into desire.

He can hardly breathe when he pulls away, arms covered in the red crescents his foe’s nails left behind and lips stinging. Stellan looks downright ruined, with bite-marks all over his neck and collarbone and swollen lips. His eyes are glazed over. With dark satisfaction, Aleksander notices that his blouse has been pulled away to expose one of his slight shoulders.

They stay like that for a while, panting and delirious against the wall. Aleksander is the first to speak, breathlessly announcing, “if fae blood can make a night-folk do this, I am not surprised that many want it so badly.”

“You seem to be a peculiar exception, for most night-folk strong enough to taste fae blood never leave the fairy alive.” He smooths down his ruffled hair, trying in vain to cover the marks left by their passionate duel. “In any case, since you have managed to survive this afternoon, I see no reason why you may not come again.”

“To risk my life once more?”

He shakes his head. “No, to have more of this.” Stellan gestures at his bruised neck. “Though if you would like to be kissed within an inch of your life again, I would not be against it.”

“Neither would I,” Aleksander says. He cups his cheek gently, running his thumb over a mark at the corner of his mouth. “So when I arrive tomorrow, I expect I’ll be served un-enchanted food, and be guaranteed to leave here alive?”

“Tomorrow?” He smirks. “Certainly, Aleksander. I will be waiting tomorrow afternoon, with treats far more delicious than the ones served today.” He pecks him on the nose. “I will be looking forward to it.”

He bends down to pick his gloves up and slides them back on. “Until then.”

He must be the first of his kind, to not only survive afternoon tea with a fairy, but take their blood and nearly bed them. Aleksander leaves the cottage with a grin, already anticipating tomorrow’s thrill.

#aph romnor #aph romania #aph norway #aph fanfiction #my writing #owowo #never written romnor before but this was fun

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blarrghe · 4 years

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Lavellan Bros: Meet Kiara

Did someone say more Lavellan Bros? Did someone say THEO HAS A KID? Welcome to more Lavellan bros, Theo has a kid and I have died. @serphena‘s Theo in this with my Taren Lavellan, and it can be read as taking place in either AU tbh.

Theo was nervous as he led Taren out into the gardens. He didn't say much in the way of explanation, and what he did say was muttered and fast. "There's someone I want you to meet" was the gist of it, the rest was apologetic and evasive. "I promise I'll explain later I just," head shaking, hand wringing nervousness, "you should meet her first."

Taren followed him, curiously straining to look ahead into the gardens, searching for this big reveal.

There were several people about, tending to the medicinal plants or relaxing in their leisure time. He spotted Cassandra, keeping close to a small dark-haired child, an uncertain smile on her face. The child giggled and poked at Cassandra's armour, and the Seeker looked mostly amused, if a little stiff.

"Kiara!" Theo called out next to him, taking a wide stance with arms outstretched. The little girl and the Seeker both looked up with relieved smiles, and then the little girl was rushing toward them, springing into Theo's arms.

"Papa!" Theo took her up in his arms. She was a tiny thing, and she didn't share his winter pale complexion and startling silver hair, but she had his face; in the nose and eyes, even the smile.

"Taren," Theo turned to him, securing the toddler into a comfortable spot on his hip, "meet my daughter, Kiara." The little girl smiled at him, and it was definitely Theo's smile now, though more dimpled and sweet - like his had been, long ago. "Kiara, this is your uncle Taren."

AO3 Link or read the rest under the cut!

"Hi, Kiara." Taren smiled, offering the girl a friendly wave. This was the last surprise he would have guessed at, but it was a great one. She looked up at him with wide eyes.

"Hi!" Kiara wriggled her little face toward her father's, her smile expectant. "Can we play now?"

"Papa really has to talk to uncle Taren for a minute..." Theo began to answer apologetically, setting the little girl down again on the ground. Her disappointment was evident, and Taren was standing back, grinning at the entire interaction. He bent down.

"I think it can wait, right?" He confided in the girl, who nodded, "we can play for a bit first."

Kiara grinned, and in an instant was running back into the garden's grassy clearing, demanding that they chase her.

She was surprisingly talkative, for one so young with someone so new. She insisted on piggy back rides and on being spun in the air by both of them, chattered happily about her papa, the castle, herself, and asked quick, excited questions about everything and everyone else. And Taren, delighted, obliged her requests and indulged seriously every single curiosity she had:

"Why is your face like that? Pappa has swirls on his face too but you have so many!" She reached out, touching the spiralling tattoos on his cheek with curious pointing fingers, tracing the lines with a look of wonder.

"We get them when we become adults. You know I was there when your papa got his? He didn't like getting them, that's why he doesn't have as many as me." Taren was sitting in the grass next to her now, having won the game of “catch me” and then been directed to observe a pretty flower that sprang up outside of the sectioned off herb gardens. They were dandelions, but that didn’t mean they weren’t pretty.

"I like them. They're pretty. Can I have some?" She bounced with her questions, playing with the grass as she spoke, touching his clothes or hair or whatever other little thing caught her attention.

"Maybe, when you become an adult."

A thoughtful pause. "Do you like apples? The lady gave me an apple while we waited for papa."

"Sure, I love apples." Taren answered, plucking a few dandelions and weaving them into a chain. Kiara watched, enthralled.

"Do you like red apples or yellow apples?"

"Hmm.” Taren considered the question, come to think of it, he did have a preference. “Red apples."

"I like yellow ones!" Kiara volunteered happily.

"Okay, I'll give you all my yellow apples and you give me your red ones, deal?"

"Okay!" Another thoughtful pause. "Do you know any songs? Sing one! There's a singer lady in the big building but papa says I can't go there..."

He taught her a repetitive song about ducks, and he was pretty sure he caught Theo glaring at him some minutes later while she laughed and danced about the gardens singing it on a loop.

Cassandra had slipped away when Theo had taken his daughter from her care, and she must have arranged for them to be left unbothered, because by sunset no one had come to them with any work requiring attention, and the little girl had found her way onto her father's lap, still sleepily singing about ducks.Theo gathered up the little bundle of sunkissed limbs and dark hair who was falling asleep on top of him, and brought her inside. Taren followed him up to his chambers, waiting outside for what was sure to be a very long conversation.

---

"So I guess I have to stop calling you da'len." Taren said with a nudge at Theo's shoulder. They sat on the battlements just outside the door to Theo's room, while the sun dipping low behind the mountains cast the whole fortress in a soft violet glow.

Theo chuckled, and his smile was real. Peaceful. "I think you're her new favourite uncle. I'm never going to get that song out of my head, thanks to you."

"She's incredible. I can't believe you have a daughter. You!" He smiled, but there was silence for a moment, as soft rose coloured clouds drifted by overhead.

"You aren't mad, are you?" It was a silly thing for Theo to ask, but the nervousness in the question was serious enough.

"Why would I be mad?"

Theo shrugged. "Because I didn't tell you, didn't tell anyone..."

Taren frowned. "I'm not mad, Theo. But why didn't you?"

Another shrug, this one sadder. "We were going to. But after her mother... we weren't even bonded." He shook his head.

Taren sighed. The girl couldn’t have been more than four, which would have made his father only a teenager when she had been born, barely of age. As for not being bonded, well, perhaps there were some who might have cared, little as he liked to admit it, but it did hurt to think he might have been included in such fears.

"You think I'd care about that? Really? Me?" He nudged Theo again, prodding the smile back out of him.

"I just... didn't want us to be a burden." What an even sillier thing to say, but he supposed he understood it. Her birth would have coincided with the breaking of Kirkwall's Chantry; the beginning of the war between the mages and Templars. The chaos of the human world had been hard on the clans of the Free Marches. In those days they had been moving again, more frequently than ever; hunting was dangerous and food more scarce. Even Taren had taken to spending long stretches away from the clan, aiding their sister clans and gathering information when the fighting lessened the numbers of their scouts. Children born in those turbulent times did put a stress on the clan, but never anything but a welcome one. He wished he could have known then, had the chance to help.

"What happened to her? Kiara's mother?" The question had been in the back of his mind all afternoon. She was present in her daughter's skin and thick brown hair, in the colour of her eyes and the laugh that fell heavier than Theo's did, bold on such a little thing. But she was missing from Skyhold, and she was missing, as well, Taren realised now, from Theo's smile.

"She died." It wasn't a real explanation, but the weight of it was heavy. Theo looked away as Taren peered imploringly at him, telling his story to the sky. "We were traveling with some of her friends, they wanted to join the clan but... in the end, only Kiara and I made it."

"You didn't stay." It must have happened while he was away, out on some mission of his own. Why had no one told him that Theo had been back and gone again, with a child, no less? "Theo, you know we would have taken care of her, no matter what." She could have grown up with friends, family, a whole clan to look after her.

Theo shook his head. "I know." the admittance fell reluctantly, his nervousness giving way to something more apologetic. "The clan was moving again, and I had to go. I couldn't just leave her."

Taren nodded in solemn understanding. That, Theo did not have to explain. One orphan need not explain such things to another. “Tell me about what happened.” He suggested it softly, a request more than a demand. He wanted to know the full story, just as he always did, but he sensed too that it was about time that Theo told it, for his own sake.

Theo began by describing her, the short-lived and sunny love he’d found unexpectedly in his travels. He talked about how they had fallen together, become inseparable, made plans for a future she never got to see. He described some of her friends, too, the ones who had been their companions and which might have been a family, if things hadn’t turned against them so unfairly. Their deaths he got out with little detail, a quick summary of events that were violent and painful, his face twisting into a tortured grimace as he skimmed past that bit of the tale. It was a long story, full of sorrows and unfair circumstances. Some of the recollection was edged in anger, and even the threat of tears. But through it all, he returned always to Kiara, to seeing her grow and teaching her about the world as best as he could - how to be safe in it, but also how to appreciate its beauty; the names of plants and animals, badly remembered Dalish tales before she slept at night.

“And now we’re here, and it’s safe...and, it’s time I let us stay in one place for a while, I think.” He looked at Taren, straight in the eye and full of determination. “She’s not going back to the clan, understand? She stays with me.” As though he would have it any other way.

“I wouldn’t ask it even if I thought I had that power.” Taren replied, reassuring.

Theo breathed out, calmer, now that he was empty of his secrets. “You’re supposed to be the next Keeper. Isn’t it your job to send us home?”

“Da’len, you are home.”

#my writing #my fic #dragon age fanfic #dragon age inquisition fanfic #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #taren lavellan #theo lavellan #kiara lavellan #my ocs #other people's ocs #lavellan bros #familyyyyyyy #soft #also hi I teach kindergarten and I MISS KIDS

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thejamesoldier · 7 years

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if you're still doing the Drabble thing then can you do 99 with Steve bc that would be too adOrable. If you're not then thank for the ones you already did, I really enjoyed them.

This was so fun to write, like baking cookies and then binge eating them all the second they come out of the oven. Thank you for sending this in!! xxx

Prompt #99: “This bath is too warm.” - “This is why we can’t do cute things, you complain too much.”

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Tags: Literally just floof

{look at this gif…chris’ face did that}

Baths (aka Soul Healers)

Being Steve’s girlfriend is a tricky business sometimes.

The man practically has a flashing ‘FIGHT ME’ sign in red white and blue neon lights on his forehead. You and Bucky concur that Steve can be a right handful when it comes to getting himself involved in things that originally he had no business in, righteous intentions or mere stubborn determination aside. Steve’s one of those people who pushes and pushes and pushes. He’s like Tony in that way, though they express it a little differently (Tony with elaborate sarcasm and Steve with face slapping bluntness), and once Steve gets in a mood its nearly impossible to pull him out of it. You’ve learned to just let him get it out of his system and sweep in for damage control after.

In this way, Steve is what people call a high maintenance partner. Not in the usual way, and not even by choice, he just comes with a lot of baggage. Not that you minded really, you knew this going into a relationship with the Steve Rogers. You were a pretty laid back gal, you didn’t mind making room for him in your heart even if he damn near needed a football field, but most of all you loved the bundle of energy Steve always carried around with him; this spiteful will to live and fight.

That energy sometimes sputtered out because Steve is in fact human, and that’s when you step in to share your own energy, your tiny warm fire. With open arms and the promise of a safe embrace Steve’s huge soul will huddle in close to you like a moth to flame and let himself surrender to the vulnerability of actually needing someone else, of needing help, of needing support, of needing love, of needing to feel small again. The only other person Steve was even close to letting in like this was Bucky, but even then Steve still kept a good chunk of himself private. Bucky and Steve had an understanding, a silent special language that allowed Bucky to read Steve even if Steve wouldn’t say what he was feeling out loud. With Steve and you instead of that silent language, you worked your way up to actually voicing your feelings…out loud, actually speaking.

Yeah it took Steve a little more than a hot minute to wrap his mind around that concept.

At first you had to learn that unspoken way of communicating, quickly becoming a certified expert in all things Steve, reading him like a book no matter what his outward exterior was trying to convince you of. Eventually though as Steve got to know you and came to trust you not just with his life (because he honestly didn’t put much value on that so it easily was the first prize of trust to earn from him) but with his thoughts, his feelings, his honest opinions, the secrets of his heart, he crawled from the safe cave of his silent language, to the exposed naked vulnerability of the open fields of the spoken word. For him it was a big step, and a step he only maintained with you – for you.

You were always good at reading people and sensing what people needed before ever meeting Steve where this skill was a requirement for communication. This talent of yours is why you easily fit snug to Steve’s jagged, complicated side like a puzzle piece. You adapt to him, something necessary with someone with a past like his and the emotional destruction that’s practically choking him.

This big step allowed you to peel away his many masks and peer down into the very core of him. Down to a soul who was too big and bold for its original frail body and is still too big and bold even in its new large flesh home; a soul that’s always expanding, always reaching, always stretching, always trying to effect anything and everything in its path: body, world, universe and all.

A soul that’s truly meant to touch others on a worldly scale.

You can’t even begin to imagine how exhausting it must be to exist like that, to constantly strive to control or contain an instinct that’s not a conscious choice. Steve is strong – so, so strong – in the resilience of his mind and the will of his heart to not cave under such a demanding soul. People don’t realize just how much of a handle Steve has on his emotions and actions. If he let himself go completely, Steve would be a raging mad man screaming how the world betrayed him, how people – humanity – failed him, how he failed himself. Not only would he never stop screaming, but he’d probably punch and or kill anything that moved. He would be insane and you’re not too sure he isn’t. Insanity is objective you guess; humanity is insanity – repeating our mistakes since the dawn of our existence. Someone like Steve who sees the world for the weak unjust place it actually is, you couldn’t blame for going a little crazy and being just a breath away from exploding at any given moment.

Honestly it was dangerous to be so close to Steve. Not because you felt he would harm you – emotionally or physically – but because you sometimes worried that the weight he carried, the reality of life, would rub off on you; that the truth would be too much for you to handle. You aren’t as strong as Steve, you doubted many were, and sometimes you find yourself collapsing under the burden of that knowledge, of knowing how doomed we all are. It’s those moments when you realize just how resilient Steve is, how keeping his bitterness at bay under a maze of masks is the only way he can make sense of himself. It’s a miracle he withholds that bitterness from destroying him and only allows it to come out at times when Steve feels its safest and will do the least amount of damage. That kind of self control is Steve’s actual super power, not the serum in his DNA.

“Y/n the water is gonna overflow,” Steve’s voice is soft and lulling but it still wrenches you sharply from your pondering as you scramble on your knees, and reach over the bursting bath tub to twist the knob off.

When you stay on Steve’s floor in Avengers’ Tower Friday usually does the water control for you. Although you’ve never bathed at the Tower before, the AI always knows what shower head setting to use (especially when you two have shower sex) so your mind kind of slipped while you waited for the tub in your normal bathroom at your normal place to fill. Steve – the observant bastard – immediately notes your mood, having become an expert on all things Y/n like you being all knowing about him.

“Something on your mind?” Steve offers you, his tone neutral and open, giving you the control over the conversation and freedom to steer it however you wish.

Keeping your back to him as he rests the bottom of his butt against the edge of the tile counter where his and her sinks sit on top, you dip your fingers into the water and find it just on the right side of too warm. Biting your lip you stand and slip the robe you’re wearing off your shoulders to step carefully into the large tub, lowering yourself into the inviting water with a sigh.

You opt to ignore his offer for now and Steve picks up on that as he doesn’t say a word and disrobes too, sliding smoothly in behind you once you’re seated, supersoldier muscles bunching and stretching against your back as you position yourselves comfortably.

“This bath is too damn hot.” Steve remarks under his breath with a comical hiss through his teeth as he squirms against you, the water licking dangerously close to the lip of the porcelain tub as his big body moves in the tight fit of the bath.

You giggle and watch the pale skin on his long legs pressed along the outside of yours, turn a blushing spotty pink. Steve’s huge arms lift to rest on either side of the tub’s flat edges, taking refuge on the smooth cool platforms.

See, high maintenance partner.

“This is why we can’t do cute things,” Comes your lilting comeback as you melt into his impossibly wide chest behind you, slumping to slide lower against him so your head can be cushioned by his ridiculously large pecks. His washboard abs unfortunately feel like an actual washboard and aren’t very comfortable, but you catch yourself smiling fondly at the intimate touch of his half-hard cock pressing between the dimples of your lower back. “You complain too much.” You add in lazy jest, eyes closing softly in bliss.

“Well excuse me for not wanting to bathe in a vat of boiling lava.” You feel more than hear his words rumble familiarly out of the cavern of his ribcage and vibrate through your skin to settle in the marrow of your bones.

You’ve always cherish feeling this close to him, spiritually and physically.

Shaking your head (you roll your eyes even though their closed) you blindly draw designless patterns on his thick but long thighs trapping your hips, using your nails a little for a change in texture. You’re rewarded for your efforts when a delicate shiver shimmies down Steve’s spine and goosebumps rise under your fingernails.

“Always the drama king,” You simper completely content as you both soak there in the sacred privacy of your bathroom, steam curling up from the water to whisper against your skins, knowing despite Steve’s words you can feel him muscle by muscle, joint by joint, cell by cell letting everything relax.

“Am not,” He sighs on a soft exhale as his head leans back to rest on the generous ledge of the tub – you can vividly see in your mind’s eye the long thick line of his exposed neck, the hill of his Adam’s apple, the wide damp jaw sharp enough to cut through the moisture in the air.

Your lips buzz with anticipation on instinct at the thought of kissing, biting, licking, and marking up the offered skin as yours. But instead of getting riled up you let this desire swim slow and indulgently through your veins to simmer under your skin. With warmth on the inside and warmth on the outside, you glow like a mini sun caught in Steve’s orbit, a monster sun himself, enjoying the collision of different kinds of pleasures coursing through you.

“Are too,” The words hush from your throat like the wind through a small hollow log, the smile on your face sweet and resilient.

Steve only hums in response, too soothed and at peace to scrounge up one of his usual sarcastic snarks. His body temperature levels out, sensitive skin appeased, as the heat from the water is counteracted with the coolness of the porcelain pressing against the stretch of skin under his arms. You both lounge there completely stolen from the hardness of life and thrown up to float in a cloud of hazy unfiltered happiness. The intimacy of just being together, skin just simply touching, no other motive than to just be, is intoxicating. Steve did say once that he got drunk on the touch of your skin (you could have swore he stole that from Ed Sheeran even though he claimed up and down that he ‘didn’t no an Ed’) and you figured this is what he meant. Seeing as you don’t do this much, it holds all the more potency and meaning.

You’re not sure how much time goes by, neither of you really care, but a thought floats through your consciousness and you quietly break the silence.

“I really love you.”

You think Steve might have fallen asleep because he doesn’t answer after a full minute.

No matter, You hum mentally, he’ll hear it in his dreams.

But the silence is only due to him returning from his fluffy heaven and back down to a groggy mind,

“What?” His voice is scratchy, like flannel tearing, just like when he wakes up after a hardcore nap.

Steve sounds like he’s trying to orientate himself back to Earth, figuring out what century it is, what his name is and all that jazz, so you give him another minute to comprehend what you said. You feel a subtle but unmistakable shift in the air and know Steve’s come back to himself enough for you to continue. Your eyes remain closed, smile only growing before you clarify in your own gravelly sleep-voice.

“You asked me if something was on my mind earlier,” You speak slow and clear and quiet – profound, “I was thinking how much I love you.” Your fingertips had continued to caress his thighs this whole time but they stop now as you press both of your entire palms to spread lovingly against his thighs. A small but meaningful gesture you know Steve would understand much more than he would your words. “Just thought I’d share.”

Steve freezes behind you a second, gears turning, registering your touch, before lifting his head up from the ledge and sneaking his lips around the curve of your face to kiss your cheek with overwhelming tenderness. He lets his soft mouth linger there, dropping another gentle kiss in the same spot – I love you too – before pulling back to rest his cheek against the top of your head, tufts of your hair tickling his nose.

He didn’t mind the tiny aggravation as he wraps his cobra-like arms around you, holding you against him tight. You feel him smile – a sixth sense – and know that even though you both had graduated to verbally expressing your feelings, sometimes that silent language you both used to use is more powerful than any words Steve could have whispered to you in that moment.

Alrighty I’m melting. Now I wanna take a bath urgh!! Hope you guys liked it, writing content!steve was so therapeutic tbh lol xx

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