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valyrianvibranium · 1 year ago

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STRESS RELIEF.

Daemon Targaryen x female!Reader

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT-MINORS DNI; implied canon typical incest/ targcest (no named relationship other than husband & wife but reader speaks high valyrian), oral (m receiving), balls sucking, balls worship, cock slapping, breeding kink, fem reader (no mentions of appearance)

WORDS: 2.9 K

NOTES: I KNOW I said you won't get anything from me for the next two weeks, but this is an old story I love and edited, and I'm always in the mood to suck his balls. Ty Lana @zaldritzosrose 🤍

❗️𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

The door to your chambers bursting open with a thud, the thick wood slamming against the old masonry of Maegor’s Holdfast, is what forcefully pulls you out of your slumber.

As your eyes shoot open, you need a few seconds to adjust to the dim light of your chambers, the flame of the fireplace long extinguished and indicating it’s been a while since you found sleep.

Every sense of tiredness that has lingered in your bones vanishes suddenly at the noisy intrusion, more so as you spot the armor-clad silhouette of your husband standing at the threshold of your marital quarters.

He appears to be even more bulky and bull-like with the natural broadness of his shoulders accentuated by the heavy armor and the golden cloak, and just that sight alone has an aching desire filling your veins.

It’s the closer look you take that makes you aware of his labored breathing, chest rising and falling with heaving breaths, almost seeming as though he’s in great stress.

Whenever Daemon barges into your chambers at this hour, still wearing his armor, you know he needs to be consoled and pampered.

“Husband?” Your soft voice finally pierces through the silence, still thick with sleep from being awoken so abruptly.

A few, determined strides is all it takes him to enter the room, closing the door behind him as loudly as he’s opened it before. Although you know something is plaquing his mind, and that he’s not usually as harsh towards you as this, you still flinch at the thud.

Sitting up straight with the bedcovers bunched in front of your breasts, you have a puzzled look on your face. One of the few things Daemon has established fairly early into your marriage was the strict prohibition of you wearing any kind of smallclothes or nightgowns to bed, as he wants you to lie just as bare next to him as he always does.

He always states that there are quite a few practical reasons for it, with easier and quicker access to your cunt being the main one of them. Albeit you know for certain that he just loves to feel your skin on his when he falls asleep, solely embraced by the warmth and softness of your body snuggled up against his.

Clashing of metal accompanies his heavy footsteps as he approaches you, stern gaze fixed on your small frame.

The closer he gets, the more you are able to make out his chiseled features with long strands of his silver-blonde hair framing them perfectly. Even in the almost non-existent light of your chambers you notice the dark blown eyes, the adored lilac almost fully eclipsed by pitch black.

“Va aōha ybon,” he rasps, voice deep and commanding, and leaving no space for any kind of objection. On your knees.

You comply swiftly, the bedcovers thrown aside to reveal your naked form. A somewhat feral growl ripples through your husband’s chest at the sight, the curves and dips of your body enhanced by the light the moon casts through the windows.

The stone floor feels cold and hard as you sink to your knees, causing you to shift your weight from one knee to the other and back, trying to mend the discomfort at least slightly.

It usually requires your help to strip him off his heavy armor, but much to your surprise, Daemon manages to shred himself out of the majority of it all by himself, driven by sheer lust and hunger for you.

Where his silver hair is usually well combed and neat, the loose tresses now cascade down his shoulders and back visibly tousled and dirty.

Your hands lie folded in your lap, thumbs brushing over each other in a way to keep yourself calm. You have been married to Daemon for two summers, but know his silence never means anything good. It is threatening, and more often than not getting you into trouble, because he always has something to say.

As he stands in front of you in his full glory, only clad in a pair of dark breeches and a loose tunic, you hesitantly reach to place a hand on his sturdy thigh while his hand cups your cheek in return. Finding yourself leaning into the touch, you’re quickly repulsed as you catch a whiff of what smells like sweat, dirt and… iron.

“What have you done today?“ you ask innocently, though you aren’t sure if you want to hear his reply – that means if you even get one.

While the pad of his thumb brushes over the curve of your lips, his other hand slowly unlaces the front of his breeches, easing the confines of his half-hard member, and causing a wave of arousal to seep out of your cunt, anticipation making it clench around nothing.

“Oh, we have restored law and order,“ he purrs, the cocky smirk on his lips indicating that he’s more than satisfied with the outcome of it all. “The Kingsguard cleaned the streets from the city‘s scum.“

Listening intently, you just nod in acknowledgement, not at all surprised by your husband‘s actions. “And does the king know you did that?“

“I do not care if the king knows or not,“ he spits, impatiently tugging the front of his breeches down just enough to free his cock and stones. “He is blind, guided by the incompetent leech that claims to be his hand.“

A musky scent hits your nose when you catch sight of his thick cock. His musky scent, mixed with the salty smell of sweat. It has you licking your lips like a greedy whore, and if anything, you love it. It’s a sharp reminder that you have married a hardworking and ambitious man, and not a boy.

Your hand instinctively curls around his member, your index finger and thumb barely touching. His girth has always been something that impresses you. He’s considerable, leaving you wondering at times how it even fits into your mouth and cunt.

You slowly tug him to full hardness, stroking him the way you know he likes, even though your pace is a bit slower than usual. You listen to him rant about his brother, and the insolence of his hand, Otto Hightower, merely humming whenever your husband expects you to.

Once his cock stands to full attention, throbbing in your hand, you release it and instead fondle his stones, heavy and hot in your hand. The fleshy pouch they sit in is a bit darker than the rest of his pale skin and visibly sagged, but doesn’t hang too low.

Your actions earn a disapproving tsk from Daemon, despite the visible twitching of his cock at the new stimulation, and he wastes no time in fisting a good bit of your hair to shove your face towards his crotch. The scent is more prominent the closer you get, but not at all repulsing. Instead, it arouses you even more.

You’re not sure if it’s Daemon‘s usual lack of patience or his abnormal obsession with the king and his entourage that makes him greedy and needy for your touch, but you decide to not give in to him so easily.

Gently squeezing and fondling the sack of his stones, your tongue licks a flat stripe from the base of his member up to the bulbous tip of it. A salty taste lingers on your tongue, the few beads of his arousal quickly gathered and swallowed by you. You hum appreciatively at the taste, seemingly pleased to witness the affect your touch and presence has on your husband‘s body.

A sharp tug on your hair catches your attention and makes you yelp, your wide eyes finding your husband‘s demanding ones. “Quit playing games,“ he growls. A warning. But he should know by now that you are not one of his hounds, and what works with them doesn’t necessarily intimidate you.

Your tongue swirls around the tip of his cock, kitten-licking it until his heavy pants are replaced by annoyed huffs and grunts. Daemon doesn’t like you teasing him – not when he craves relief.

You keep your eyes neatly trained on him, studying his changing expressions to know whenever you’re playing with fire, and when it is best to follow his commands. Switching the positions of your mouth and hand, warmth brushes your face before the familiar musk seeps into your head.

Closing your eyes as all your senses are clouded by him, you latch on Daemon’s sac of stones, nuzzling your nose into the dark, coarse hair to take one of them in your mouth. Low purrs ripple from your throat, sending vibrations through his body.

You haven’t noticed, but your thighs clench and unclench repeatedly with each suck of your mouth, trying to soothe the aching settling at the apex of your legs. However, it doesn’t grant you the friction you crave.

“My, my, now look at that,“ Daemon coos. “Sucking my stones like a common whore. So desperate to have your mouth filled by me, hm?“

The condescending tone of his voice sends shivers up your spine, and you keen at the degrading nature of his words, moaning around his slightly slacked flesh.

Daemon is unable to tear his dark blown eyes from your full mouth struggling to take both of his stones. You’re trying so hard, but your mouth isn’t slack enough, causing you to nearly choke yourself trying to please him.

Droplets of your saliva dribble from the corners of your mouth down your chin, gathering in your jugular notch, and really making you look like you belong to the Street of Silk; a common whore desperate for her mouth to be stuffed by something, and not caring if it was filled by his stones or cock.

While you are messily suckling the sack of his stones, you tease a few licks up his length, tracing the prominent vein on the underside of it with the tip of your tongue.

You relish in the way he twitches and squirms under your touch, the deep grunts only spurring you on even more. But you also are soaked for him, core clenching and aching, begging to be used.

Daemon has started to tug himself off at the sight of your lips around his flesh, big hand the perfect size for his considerable length, while his other tightly fists into your hair to keep you where he wants you.

You hollow your cheeks around him, sucking with the tip of your tongue dragging over the sensitive skin. The familiar taste of manhood lingers on your tongue, and your jaw goes slack, finally managing to engulf his whole sac with your mouth. But when you try to pull away for a breath, Daemon only snorts and pulls you right back to his stones.

He harshly tugs on your hair, tilting your head back so you are forced to look at him when he slaps his hard cock against your face. Your saliva adds a sheen to his flushed skin, making him glisten in the dim light, and catches your attention, your eyes trailing over the length of his cock – you want nothing more than to feel those veins on your tongue.

As his cock repeatedly makes contact with your swollen lips and cheeks, the indecency of it all sends heat straight through your body, for it’s the first time he has ever done something like that.

Daemon bows forward, looming over your frame but coming close enough for you to feel his breath fanning over your face. Goosebumps prickle on your skin, and his intense lilac eyes send desire straight to your jumbled mind.

“What a wanton harlot you are,” his tongue darts out to wet his lips. “Whores of the Silk Street do such things.”

While his degrading words go straight to your head, making you eager for more, you still cower beneath his dominating presence. “Yn ao hae ziry,” you reply, cocking your head sideways in an innocent way. But you like it.

It seems that your feigned innocence doesn’t convince him, because you suddenly feel something warm and wet dripping down your cheeks; his saliva. He has spat on your cheek, spreading it over your heated skin with a satisfied smirk ghosting over his features. Daemon rarely enjoys having you talk back at him, to tease him, and right now clearly isn’t one of those moments.

At the realization of what he’s just done, you feel your voice tighten in your throat, your lips pressing into a thin line as embarrassment floods your veins.

“Gaoman, yn…,” he muses, bending back and tracing the tip of his length along the slit of your pouty lips. “...nyke hae ziry tolī skori gaomā daor ȳdragon rȳ mirre.” With these words leaving his lips, his cock hits your cheek once again, almost as if he’s making fun of you. I do, but I like it more when you do not speak at all.

The grip on your hair loosens only for him to cup your cheek, fingertips digging sharply into the flushed skin of your cheeks. His other hand repeatedly taps the tip of his cock against your swollen lips in a demanding manner, begging for entrance.

“Open your mouth, or else I am opening it for you.”

You wet your lips, just the mere thought of having him down your throat causes a sense of soreness to linger in the back of it, and Daemon seems to notice your apprehension.

“I see your mouth begging for my cock, you filthy slut. Don’t act like an insufficient brat for you have done this plenty of times before.” He is right, but that doesn’t mean you’ll ever get used to his sheer size. Your thoughts, however, are cut short because Daemon isn’t Daemon, if he doesn’t take matters into his own hands.

The tip of his cock prods against your lips, and with the grip on your face tightening, you are all but forced to part them for him. There’s only little to no time to adjust to his size granted to you, because he sheaths himself inside of you in one, swift thrust.

A few seconds pass in which neither of you moves. Your nose is nuzzled against his pubic bone, the tip of it brushing the wispy trail of his hair, and you try to stifle the urge to gag and choke around him, your hands getting ahead with clutching his muscular thighs to keep yourself grounded.

Every muscle of his body twitches with pleasure as he grows accustomed to the warmth and tightness of you, his head tipping back to release a bawdy groan.

And then his hips start to buck into your mouth, allowing a wave of fresh air to fill your lungs when he almost completely pulls out; only the tip remaining embraced between your lips. A firm hand locks behind your head to stop you from pulling back.

Daemon’s hips thrust into your mouth with reckless abandon like he belonged into it, the bulbous tip hitting the back of your throat but never giving you anything you can’t handle. He knows you can take it, and that you like it.

The lewd noises of his soaked cock easing in and out of your warm mouth fill the room, spurring him on even more. At this point, you are soaking wet for him, droplets of your arousal leaking onto the stone floor beneath your legs.

Your cheeks hollow around him as you choke and sputter around his length, spit dribbling down your chin and bosom. His stones tighten with his cock throbbing on your tongue, ready to spend himself down your throat at any given moment, your previous teasing clearly coming in handy.

There are tears brimming in your eyes, unhelpful when all you want is to look up at him, watch how he scrunches his brow and puckers his lips as he gazes at you in rapture.

“That’s it,” Daemon groans, the pace of his hips faltering as he chases his release. “Take it all.” And that is when you felt it.

His hot seed spills down your throat, coating your tongue. You gag slightly when his hips start to stutter, cock twitching and pulsing with the force of his peak. Droplets of his seed spill from the corners of your mouth, mixing with your saliva and dribbling down your chin while you struggle to swallow the rest.

Nonsense spews out of his mouth as his groans grow more wanton, no doubt losing awareness of his volume. You are destined to be the main topic of the court's whispers in the morrow, just like your mother and father have been before you.

His fingers comb through your hair slowly, stroking your head as if he’s thanking you for a job well done, while he rides out his peak with languid thrusts of his hips.

When he finally stops to regain his composure, chest rising and falling with each heavy breath he takes, he allows you to pull back from him, a string of your saliva connecting your swollen lips with the bulbous head of his cock, only breaking as you lick your lips to gather the remnants of his spent.

“Ñuha sȳz riña,” he rasps, pulling you up on your feet to capture your lips in a heated kiss. The taste of him on your tongue spreads over his tongue and causes him to groan. My good girl.

Like a man possessed, he flips you around and easily throws you onto your marital bed. When you land on your stomach with him following closely behind, mounting you and straddling your arse, you squeal and chuckle, ecstatic that it’s finally your turn.

“Tonight is the night I shall put a child into you. I want to see your body swell with my seed.”

Daemon Taglist: @barbiedragon @hypocritic-trash-baby @schniiipsel @avalyaaa @baizzhu @yn-jackson

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slytherin-princess-x · 6 months ago

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Slytherinmas day 28

New year wishes

Theo x y/n

Warnings: Nothing but a whole lotta fluff

Word count: 1262

A/n: sorry for the late one I rewrote this so many times to make sure it was perfect for you guys xoxo

The Slytherin common room buzzed with energy as the clock inched closer to midnight. The flickering green flames in the fireplace cast a warm glow over the room, illuminating the lavish decorations that hung from the stone walls. Streamers in shades of silver and emerald fluttered overhead, and a lavish feast sprawled across tables, laden with an assortment of delicacies. I could feel the excitement vibrating in the air, but my mind was elsewhere.

Everyone around me seemed to be caught up in the revelry, laughing and toasting with glasses filled with sparkling butterbeer, but I found it hard to concentrate on anything but the way your eyes sparkled when you laughed. I had been searching for you since I stepped into the common room, weaving through the crowd of students clad in their best robes, feeling a gnawing urgency to find you before the clock struck twelve.

“Oi, Theo!” my friend Draco called from across the room, a glass of fire whiskey in hand. “Come on! Join us!” He was flanked by a couple of his usual entourage, but the laughter they shared felt distant. I offered a distracted nod but kept scanning the crowd.

Where could you be? You had mentioned you would come, and I could almost picture you in that elegant dress that hugged you in all the right places. The thought alone sent a thrill through me and blood rushing round my body. I pushed through clusters of students, trying to catch a glimpse of your familiar silhouette, but all I saw were the faces of people I barely knew, or cared about for that matter. I needed you.

The music swelled, and I could hear the laughter growing louder. In a desperate attempt to keep my composure, I poured myself a glass of fire whiskey, the vibrant colors swirling together in the goblet. I took a deep breath, hoping the taste of the sharp drink would calm the anticipation swirling in my chest. But it only heightened it.

I paused for a moment, my gaze lingering on the large clock that hung over the mantle, its hands moving steadily toward midnight. I scanned the room again, hoping against hope that I would spot you before the countdown began. As I turned, I felt a sudden surge of determination wash over me. I couldn't let the night pass without at least having a moment with you.

I slipped into a quieter corner of the room, where the noise faded just enough for me to think. I could still see the revelry happening in the main area, but I focused on what I wanted. You.

Then, just as I was about to lose hope, I saw you across the room, sitting near the window under a table. Your laughter floated toward me like a beacon as you scrolled on your phone, and my heart raced. You looked radiant, framed by the soft light spilling in from the moonlit grounds. I felt an urgency welling up inside me, and I knew I had to get to you before the year changed

“Y/n?”

“Oh hey teddy.”

She looks up at me with that lopsided smile, no thought behind her beautiful eyes.

”Y/n, mi cara. What are you doing under that table, it's almost midnight.”(My dear). I can't help but question her offering my hand to help her up just as I notice her holding something.

“Uhm, well apparently if you eat 12 grapes under a table at Nye, good things will come to you in the year ahead. Pans did it last year and she got with draco on Valentine's.” I can't help but laugh slightly at her reasoning.

“So you’re doing this....how do you say it...ritual? For a boyfriend?” She shakes her head at me, a bashful smile plastered her face tucking a strand of hair behind her ear

“More for good luck teddy, but I wouldn't complain of a boyfriend came along with it. Come sit, I have plenty of grapes left for you” The small giggle that leaves her lips draws me in, shes like my own drug but she doesn't even know it. I comply, obviously, sitting beside her under the table my head ducked uncomfortably so I didn't whack it off the table.

“My good luck better be not getting neck cramp“ I huffed ever so quietly earning a small hand on my arm and her head on my shoulder muffling her laugh

“If you get neck cramp I'll give you a massage to make up for it”

She bats her eyes at me. I know she's joking but the thought of her hands dragging across my body can only send shivers up and down my body, kind of hoping I do hurt my neck.

I fixate on her eyes, her hair, just her. She breaks our eye contact with a nervous laugh.Like clockwork my hand reaches under her chin turning her head back to me. My eyes flicker all over her face, the way she nervously licked her lips gently biting her bottom lip. Without thinking I let my thumb rub her bottom lip pulling it from between her teeth. Her chest rises and falls more frequently heat rising up my neck as I realize what I did. Fuck, theo. I pull away clearing my throat.

“It's almost midnight, when do we have these?” I lean over her grabbing a handful of grapes.

“Uh- have what?” I suppress the smirk on my face nodding towards the grapes in her hand

“Those Principessa” (princess) she fumbles around to pick up her phone and the time read 11:59. Chanting began all around us

“10…”

“Shit we’re 2 grapes behind” she laughs putting one in her mouth

“9….”

“Hurry up teddy” I laugh at her muffled words her mouth filled with grapes, dio mio she’s gorgeous, even with her mouth filled to the brim with grapes. I watch her with an amused smirk as she picks up a grape, parting my lips and putting it in my mouth with that goddamn innocent look on her face. Fuck. Grapes. Grapes. Think about grapes, Theo. Mental images of feeding her grapes naked in Italy definitely isn’t helping

“5…” god 5 seconds and I’ve only had 1 grape. Fuck sake I want this, nah I need this. Yeah this definitely isn’t about the grapes anymore.

“3..” her laugh infects me, my mind, my body. My heart.

“2…” I can’t breathe when she isn’t near, I can’t go a day without hearing her call me Teddy. That stupid name that never leaves anyone else’s lips.

“1…” I watch her throat bob finishing her good luck thing. 1. ‘Happy fucking new year’ I tell myself before grabbing her throat and leaning in to kiss her. It was tentative at first—a soft brush that ignited a thousand butterflies in my stomach. I could taste the sweetness of the grapes her breath, and I was lost. She responded, tilting her head slightly to deepen the kiss. My heart soared, and I lost myself in the moment. It was everything I had imagined and more—her warmth enveloped me, grounding me while lifting me at the same time.

The kiss grew more urgent, more alive. I pulled her closer, wrapping my arms around her waist, feeling the softness of her body against mine. She fit perfectly, as if we were two pieces of a puzzle that had finally clicked together. I pull my head back holding her jaw so she’d facing me and not look away all cute and flustered.

“Is that enough luck for you?”

Taglist: @yootvi @redeemingvillains @littlemadamred @smut-anarchy

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aussiestonetechptyltd · 1 year ago

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trulyumai · 1 year ago

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His Little Wife

Synopsis: Messmer is away, fending off the shadows of the land; for weeks, months, his wife awaits his return until finally, she's by her husbands side once more.

Pairing: Messmer x Reader (Pre-Fallen Messmer)

Warnings: None

A/N: Finals are kicking my ass. RIP to my GPA. Also, so anxious for the drop of the DLC, this man has invaded my thoughts. Because of no release yet, I can only go off of so much information/lore, some things I just had to fabricate.

Enjoy!

Listen and read with my Messmer playlist ! https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4Lv2RUNKH2voR45QP07ryd?si=WjtWV47iSiywnT7JhADyUg&pi=u-iz0Wfu53T36-

The crackling of fire danced across her pupils, illuminating the worried expression delicately held upon her face.

Glancing upon the door repeatedly, thoughts incessantly pushed and shoved into her mind. Fears, doubts, all involving one man.

Messmer; he was to return today.

After a long voyage and incessant errands for his mother, he could finally retire home to his little cottage: his little wife.

With her index and thumb, she twirled the silver and gold inscribed ring placed upon her finger, circling it on and off as troubled worries paraded around with ease.

Not being able to bear it once more she bolted up, needing something- anything to occupy the heavy mind she bore.

Picking up the nearest broom, she heard a small, frail creaking of a door being unlatched.

Her front door was inches open, the iron latch swung to and fro as the material of the door grinded against the floor.

Pulling her shawl close, she skirted across the room before eyeing the garden entrance. It was pouring; the rain was coming sideways, she noticed, repeatedly making the woman blink the wet, unwanted drops from her lashes.

The light shine from the Erdleaf flowers littered the stone clad walkway, making a perfect path to the cozy home the younger lady made home merely months prior. .

Grabbing the door, she stubbornly tried to latch it closed once more, the wind fought with the action, pushing against it with a rebelling strength.

Letting out a huff the girl placed herself entirely on the frame, letting the door shut with a loud slam.

Reaching up and fiddling with the lock her hands were wet; slippery from the invaded droplets of rain.

Finally having it closed her figure slouched against the wood, lightly out of breath and now soaked, the smell of petrichor invaded her senses, shoving past the natural wood and honey scent that usually parades around the cabin.

It was then she noticed the figure standing just beside the fireplace, warming their limbs like they announced their being in the humble home.

The tiny gasp that emitted through the air caught the gangly man's attention, slowly he tipped his head to the side to look at the woman.

His darling wife.

“Messmer,” shaky steps bounded towards the red-headed knight, to which he smiled at. Turning to meet her grasp he wrapped the length of his arms around her body and with ease lifted her so their gazes could meet, noses merely inches from one another.

She laughed sweetly, touching the tip of her nose to his before descending down to place her plush lips onto his cracked and weathered ones.

He was so tired, exhaustion seeped through his bones like a newfound plague and if he concentrated enough, little black dots would enter the spaces between his vision, signaling for the man to rest.

He ignored the blackened shapes, blinked them away as his little wife littered his battered face with small, sickly sweet kisses.

“My Lady,” Oh, by the gods she missed the deep timber of his voice, how it resonated just right with her ears, nestled safely between her heart and mind, and echoed between the cavities of her chest.

“I've missed you, Darling!” Tears sprung from the woman's face and he could do nothing but coax them away. His hands were massive, engulfing the whole side of her face before swooping under her eyes, dismissing the flowing liquid entirely.

“And I, you. I apologize for the delay, my sweet, there were more filthy curses laying about than usual.”

Ah, curses. It was his job to protect the golden order; lay waste to any ill fit redeemers that defied the natural rule.

With Godwyn holding dominion over the Golden Order, he was soon to be King of Leyndell. Now, his mother stepped in, ordered more protection, and more soldiers to be present in the East and West ends of the capital.

This meant that everyone had to be present and in support of his newfound excellency. Even Messmer.

“They don't deserve you,” she mumbled against his neck, tracing her fingertips up and down the column of his throat.

“Perhaps not, but mother does not seem to understand my devotion just yet.”

He walked, not bothering to hold onto her as each of the woman's legs was tightly wrapped around his torso, with her arms looping around the muscles of his shoulders.

Messmer reached out, grabbing the oak railing around the stairs before ascending up, trying but failing to ignore the sloppy kisses below his jaw.

Noticing the kept bed he softly growled, grabbing the woman's legs with a newfound strength and lightly shoved her on the soft furs.

“Thou hasn’t been sleeping?”

It was then he took in her state; the darkened bags, messy hair and wrinkled clothing.

Smiling sheepishly up at the man no words needed to be said, the answer was clear.

Blowing air from her mouth she moved the strands of hair that littered her face, they blew with the pressure, lightly tickling the man that stared down at the woman.

Too tired to argue he sighed instead, shrugging off his armor and worn down boots.

Not bothering to fall as gracefully as his wife he allowed his legs to give out, toppling onto the woman even as she let out a desperate squeak.

Before entirely crushing her with his weight, he places his elbows on either side, digging his nose into the side of her face.

He dreamed of this moment for weeks.

The rain slammed against the wood of their home and usually, he would be worried of its pressure.

But today, he would clear his mind.

He would simply cease to be, with his darling little wife sleeping soundly under him.

Yes, the order could wait.

For how could he spread such a message of hope when his wife missed him so?

#Elden Ring #Elden Ring DLC #Messmer #messmer the impaler #messmer elden ring #Messmer x Reader #Messmer x you #Elden ring x reader #Elden Ring x you #Video game #Video game x reader #Not entirely lore accurate pls forgive me #Spotify

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operationslipperypuppet · 1 year ago

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Home is Where the Hearth Is - Emily Axford (2024)

they made a pact. they broke the pact. they spent tens of thousands of years alone. and now, perhaps, they can start to be whole again.

image description under the cut:

[ID: two images that are show comic panels.

the first image is 16 comic panels showing words and drawings to correlate with the words.

from left to right, top to bottom, they are:

1: a light green background with the words "they say the" and then a gold circle with a cross stitch inside it, with the words "home is where the hearth is" stitched in, with a roof above "home" and a fireplace between the i and s of "is".

2: a light yellow panel showing a gold dragon breathing fire and a large yellow divine heart with blue and green veins with a humanoid with yellow hair, yellow skin, green pants, a brown tunic, and brown boots, (Telaine, the gold dragon) reaching out to touch it. there is a green and gold overlay to both so they appear to be glowing. the words over it say "and fire heals the soul".

3: a light blue panel with darker blue footprints moving through the panel, as though walking through snow. the words read "but you've been trudging through the cold".

4: a wintry scene with a humanoid in a green cloak with yellow pants and green, leaf-covered boots (Melora), cloak blowing in the wind. the sky is gray and the ground in front of her shows a blue patch of ice. blue snow overlays the entire scene. the words read "you have been traveling through ice and snow".

5: a light green panel showing a teal pocket watch and a green arrow with green, yellow, and blue feathers. the words read "'cause time isn't an arrow".

6: a light blue panel with a dark blue man, Aryox, with his chin tilted upwards, a blue knife pointing at his throat, lifting his chin upwards. the blue knife is inscribed with runes. the words read “it’s a dagger at your throat”.

7: a light blue panel showing two figures, frozen statues, one teal (Aryox) and one a different shade of light blue (Raedak). Raedak’s arms are extended and he is holding a sword, which has intercepted Aryox’s head. Aryox’s elbows are bent and shards of ice, the same color as him, extend into Raedak. the words read “and you are numb from head to toe”.

8: a light yellow panel showing a gray divine heart with golden veins. three hands; one blue, one green, and one yellow, extend toward the heart, as though to take it. the words read “and all your blood has turned to stone”.

9: a light green panel showing a log cabin with one side blue, one side green, a yellow roof with a green chimney, and a green window and door. below it is a green hand reaching out to the right as though to take another hand that is not there. the words read “so come home to me”.

10: a light green panel with a small fire on two logs and a purple and white tea pot with leaves as part of its design and steam coming out of the spout. the words read “the fire’s warm and I am making tea”.

11: a light green panel showing an image of the sun with an orange center and yellow rays surrounding it and a cream yellow crescent moon below it, surrounded by stars. the words read “the day has turned to night”.

12: a light blue panel showing a blue hand turned downward and blueish gray snowflakes extending down from the hand. below it is a smaller image of the frozen statues from panel 7, one teal (Aryox) and one a different shade of light blue (Raedak). Raedak’s arms are extended and he is holding a sword, which has intercepted Aryox’s head. Aryox’s elbows are bent and shards of ice, the same color as him, extend into Raedak. the words read “and all the snow has hardened into ice”.

13: a light green panel with an image of a pair of green boots with leaves drawn into them that have green laces, the boots Melora is wearing in panel 4. the toes and bottoms of the boots are speckled with light blue water stains. the words read “your boots are stained with slush”.

14: an outdoor scene with Melora, clad in her green cloak and green boots which are blowing in the wind approaching a light blue cave with a different blue interior. in front of the mouth of the cave is a light blue arctic fox, Lumi, who is glowing with a blue aura. the wall of the cave immediately inside of it is carved with an image of a gray divine heart with golden veins. three hands; one blue, one green, and one yellow, extend toward the heart, as though to take it, from panel 8. the sky is a grayish blue and snow overlays the entire image. the words read “and the northern winds ain’t letting up”.

15: a light yellow panel showing an image of an intricate gold cloak with a hood and many shades of yellow to create shadows and an intricate pattern. the words read “and your best coat can’t compete”.

16: a light green panel with a wooden window showing a purple night sky with the cream yellow crescent moon and stars from panel 11. in the foreground is a dark wooden table with two pairs of arms and hands on it, one pair is yellow and the other pair is green. the arms are resting on the table and the people are holding hands. the words read “with an evening in good company”.

the second image is 15 comic panels showing words and drawings to correlate with the words.

from left to right, top to bottom, they are:

1: a light blue image showing the teal head and torso of the frozen statue of Aryox from panel 7 of the above image. halfway down the torso, the color changes to the dark blue color he is in panel 6 of the above image (when he was alive). the dark blue is giving way to the teal. the words read “frozen half to death”.

2: a light blue panel showing an image of a pink bowl of hot soup on a matching pink plate with a spoon resting on the plate. the broth in the bowl is tan and has green onions floating on its surface. there is gray steam coming out of the bowl. below it is an image of a bed with a brown wooden frame. the made is made with purple sheets and pillows under a royal blue blanket. the words read “you need a hot meal and your bed”.

3: a light blue panel showing an image of a cushioned purple armchair. draped over the chair is a flannel blanket, the majority of which is yellow but has dark blue vertical stripes and dark green horizontal stripes. there is a fringe at the edge of the blanket that is alternating with the blue, green, and yellow of the rest of the blanket. the words read “you need a blanket and some rest”.

4: a light blue panel showing an image of a small purple teacup with brown liquid inside and steam coming off the top. there is a lemon wedge on the rim of the cup. below it is an image of a piece of brown bread with a layer yellow butter covering its surface. the words read “you need a toddy and some buttered bread”.

5: a panel that is twice the size of the other panels, separated into three triangles by gray lines. the left triangle shows a gold dragon flying upwards with its mouth open with a light green background. the center and largest triangle shows a temple with dark and light green stones constructing it, and large columns at the front. the top of the temple has a craving of a wavelike swirl at the center, the symbol of the goddess Melora. the right triangle shows a gray divine heart with golden veins. three hands; one blue, one green, and one yellow, extend toward the heart, as though to take it, the image from panel 8 of the above image, on a blue background like the cave wall in panel 14 of the above image. there are a pair of blue hands in front of it, holding a chisel and mallet, carving that image into the cave wall. the words across the top of the three triangles read “wear the mantle like an albatross” and across the bottom read “and never take it off”.

6: a light blue panel showing an image of the teal torso and head the frozen statue of Aryox from panel 7 of the above image, with the light blue sword of Raedak overlaying his head, as it does in the statue. the words read “you let yourself grow numb”.

7: a light blue panel showing a green hand reaching out to the back of the frozen teal statue of Aryox from panel 7 of the above image. between the statue are layers of blue and purple energy, keeping the hand away from being able to touch the statue. the words read “‘cause you’re too proud to need someone”.

8: a light yellow panel showing a log cabin with one side blue, one side green, a yellow roof with a green chimney, and a green window and door. below it is a yellow hand reaching out to the right as though to take another hand that is not there. the words read “so come home to me”.

9: a light yellow panel with a small fire on two logs and a purple and white tea pot with leaves as part of its design and steam coming out of the spout. the words read “the fire’s warm and I am making tea”.

10: a light yellow panel showing an image of the sun with an orange center and yellow rays surrounding it and a cream yellow crescent moon below it, surrounded by stars. the words read “the day has turned to night”.

11: a light blue panel showing a blue hand turned downward and blueish gray snowflakes extending down from the hand. below it is a smaller image of the frozen statues from panel 7 of the above image, one teal (Aryox) and one a different shade of light blue (Raedak). Raedak’s arms are extended and he is holding a sword, which has intercepted Aryox’s head. Aryox’s elbows are bent and shards of ice, the same color as him, extend into Raedak. the words read “and all the snow has hardened into ice”.

12: an image showing the blue cave wall with an icy blue floor and the feet and legs teal statue of Aryox. there is an additional layer of blue ice overlaying the feet of the statue. the words read “the cold has got its claws in you”.

13: an outdoor scene of two figures walking together through the snow up a light blue hill. on the left is Melora, in her green cloak, green boots, and yellow pants, braid peeking out from the cloak which is blowing with the wind. to her right is Telaine, with a golden yellow cloak, brown boots, and light blue pants. the sky is a slightly darker blue than the ground. snow overlays the scene. the words read “oh, the weather she can be so cruel”.

14: a light blue panel showing the torso of the teal frozen statue of Aryox. on the part of his leg that is visible is a pair of snowdrops, white bell shaped flowers drooping off of green stems. at his back are two hands, a yellow one above a green one, both of which are touching him. dark blue emanates from both hands, spreading throughout the rest of him in concentric circles. the words read “but home is where the healing starts”.

15: a light yellow panel with an image of 4 arms and hands, one yellow and one green each holding the hands of the two blue arms, as though to guide them somewhere. below that is an image of a fireplace, with brick walls, a stone border, and wooden mantle and baseboards. there is a fire at the center with two logs, the same one from panel 9 of this image. the words read “so come in from the dark and find the hearth”. /end ID]

#naddpod #not another dnd podcast #ba2mia #bahumia #aryox #telaine #melora #crumb mountain #3x60: peregrine #my art

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bambiraptor9blog · 5 months ago

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'It's Complicated'-Sonadow Fan Fic-Chapter 1

Posting this chapter here in its entirety from my AO3 page. If you like what you read, please feel free to add notes, blaze, comment and read the rest on my AO3 account-thanks! :)

Chapter 1-The Mean Bean Coffee Co

The black quilled Hedgehog with crimson tips looked up at the entrance to the corner coffee shop, raising an eyebrow curiously while folding his arms against his chest. His white patch of chest fur puffed up with the brisk icy wind—Montana was not known for gentle climate, especially not in the dead of Winter—and he stowed the thought that he was freezing cold deep down inside his mind, letting his child-self seize in pain whilst he took on a dour expression.

“The Mean Bean,” he grunted softly to himself, his hot breath instantly becoming a miniature cloud on the cold breeze. He blinked his bright red eyes, shook his head, and let out a bemused, “Tch!”

“Hello, other Hedgehog,” the more heavy-set Dr. Ivo Robotnik—Sonic often called him Eggman—had somehow snuck up behind the black and crimson quilled creature in question. He dramatically pivoted to block the creature from entering his beloved slice of Americana—as well as his secret lab. “I see you’ve found my quaint establishment in the heart of Green Hills! I trust you—hoofed it—all this way okay?” He swept his white gloves through his comical moustache, getting icicles off its wiry mass, and grinned maniacally, his red snow goggles obscuring his eyes from the Hedgehog before him. “You know—all you Hedgehogs look awfully alike. What’s your name again?” He paused grooming his moustache to fold his arms across his chest, doing his best to mimic the Hedgehog’s pose. “Don’t tell me—wait—it’s something contrived and simplistic, isn’t it? I mean, the red one with those big, meaty paws is called Knuckles, the fox with two tails is called Tails, so you must be—”

“Shadow,” the Hedgehog grunted, rolling his eyes. “And I know who you are. Move aside, Doctor. I’m here to investigate this little…coffee shop…of yours.”

“GUN didn’t make you part of the Health and Wellness Advisory board, did they?” Robotnik spread his arms out wide, lightly tapping his fingers to sections of his palms as he did so in a rapid-fire text. Agent Stone, within the shop, shuttered the blinds and switched out the F- grade placard to an A placard, catching a glimpse of Shadow with fear in his large brown eyes.

“Doctor—who is that?!” Stone typed frantically while shutting down his Robotnik Cosplay Device 2.0, now with an added Sims 4 component.

“I have no idea, Stone,” Robotnik typed back while facing Shadow. “Let’s play nice for now and see where it gets us. You know my order by now, baby.” He smiled even wider at the scowling creature.

“Latte—with steamed Austrian goat milk!” Robotnik heard Stone say, and the lab was now a storefront once again, with warm lighting, a fireplace in one corner, and coffee grinders revving up, crunching down the beans that sat within them loudly.

Shadow sniffed the air. A memory hit him—one where he found a container of Professor Gerald’s prized Arabica coffee beans while he and Maria were playing hide and seek aboard the ARK. He let the memory stay, the cold mountainous town drifting away into a sea of starlight below his air shoe clad feet. Robotnik marveled as he levitated, watching the fire from the boosters instantly melt the snow on the ground.

“Oh ho! Where did you get those? I haven’t seen air shoes since…since…!” Robotnik was about to sink into his own reverie when he broke Shadow’s.

“I must get inside,” Shadow gruffed, and pushed past Robotnik toward the doors. Robotnik’s jaw dropped and he whirled about with a sound mimicking one of his badniks turning on its chassis.

“Eager to try our Mean Beans, I see!” beamed Agent Stone, in his barista outfit. The slender, olive-skinned man with short black hair and a well-groomed beard-and-goatee rushed around the counter to meet Shadow, and to ensure Robotnik’s rage was quelled long enough to develop a customer service façade.

“Coffee,” was all Shadow could mumble, overwhelmed now by the sight of the grinders and state-of-the-art dispensers, in polished stainless steel. The smell of coffee is what made his head spin more than when he performed a homing attack—the rich, heavy, earthy smell that reminded him of home, of the love of his beloved Maria and her comfort. His air shoes hit the tile floor and singed the grout slightly, making Stone inwardly sigh, Oh great. Another space porcupine to clean up after…I hope Ivo knows what’s he’s dealing with this time…I’d…I’d really like for just us to… “Barista…Stone. I’d like to try some of your coffee, please.” Shadow read his crooked nametag, which Robotnik narrowed his eyes at, and then Stone straightened it nervously.

“Absolutely—uh--?” Stone replied as he scuttled back behind the counter, holding the creature’s cold, soul-piercing gaze, waiting for the name. He swallowed hard. This space porcupine…why does he remind me of Ivo in our younger years? Focus, Stone! Focus!

“Shadow,” the softest hint of a smile started to thaw the iciness in his gaze. “Shadow the Hedgehog.”

Stone scribbled on a cup while Robotnik ambled over and took a seat in a booth by the front counter, staring at both of them curiously. Why my fate continues to be tied to these…Hedgehogs…is beyond me. Still, the gems they keep bringing to this world will make for an incredible source of power…and this one. This one will be the one to beat! I wonder…what makes this creature tick? He seemed to be lost in thought with the smell of the coffee—perhaps a loved one? A lover? Maybe both? Who cares? I have to get into his head before he gets into mine! Robotnik thought, all while Stone served him a lovingly etched cup of hot Austrian goat milk latte.

“Would you like a latte? An espresso? If you’re feeling cheeky, maybe a flat white’ll do ya right, mate!” Stone tried to impress Shadow and failed miserably as he returned to the counter of the shop. Shadow just stared at Stone, blinking. Robotnik rolled his eyes and sipped his latte slowly, loudly.

“Stone,” Robotnik’s tone made the other man freeze. Stone looked down at the floor, his eyes wide, his smile fading. He was expecting a rebuke, a sharp retort, a cruel jab at his big heart. Robotnik lifted his chin, and winked. “You did excellent, adding just the right amount of mushroom. Keep it up, and you might get a raise!”

“Yes, Doctor!” Stone felt the spring in his step as he continued to address Shadow. Shadow raised an eyebrow again, staring at them both even more curiously than he stared at the false storefront moments ago. What an odd mating ritual. Humph. Pathetic humans, groveling for attention.

“Mmh,” Shadow thought for a moment. Then, “Can you do me a favor, Barista Stone?”

“Yes, whatever you’d like!” Stone felt his voice crack. Robotnik furrowed his brows at that, and Stone cleared his throat, waiting expectantly while leaning over the counter slightly.

“Put only your finest roast beans in the cup. No water, no espresso, no grinding. Just whole beans.”

“You don’t drink coffee?” Robotnik mumbled aloud. “Fascinating.” What a little weirdo, he thought, finishing his cup.

“Of—of course?” Stone asked Shadow, looking over at Robotnik for clarification. The doctor shrugged and started adding notes into his watch. “Any specific flavor?”

“Hm…” Shadow stood there, thinking, letting the recesses of his memory rise to the surface, like the twisted tendrils of Black Arms aliens, turning his gaze distant. He recalled popping open Gerald’s glass coffee container and eating the beans with his hands, soiling his gloves, struggling to chew them. He read the small white label on the container’s glass surface as he ate. “Ah-ra-bick-uh,” he grunted aloud, phonetically sounding out the word as he did when he was young.

“Dark or light roast?”

“Dark, of course,” Shadow returned from his reverie. Just the way Gerald and Maria liked them…as did I… “Oh, and please include a serving spoon. I don’t want to get my hands dirty.”

“Not yet you don’t!” Robotnik chortled, a glint in his eyes that only Stone could catch.

“What’s that supposed to mean, Doctor?” Shadow asked, genuinely unsure of his double entendre.

“Nothing at all, my fine black and red quilled fellow!” Robotnik grinned, wandering over to Stone and Shadow. He set his goggles on one end of the counter and balanced his weight with his elbows against it. “So. What brings you here tonight? Your…usual den too cold?”

Stone prepped the coffee and listened in on the conversation attentively.

“I’m no mere Hedgehog, Doctor. I thought your grandfather clued you in on that ages ago,” Shadow gruffed in response, avoiding the man’s eye contact.

“Well an alien Hedgehog, at least to us here on Earth, yes,” Robotnik nodded, fidgeting with his moustache. He steepled his fingers beneath his chin, raising an eyebrow at Shadow.

“You know why I am here. I was sent by Gerald and GUN to investigate your establishment,” Shadow gruffed.

“Are you familiar with the other Hedgehog that lives here on Earth?” Robotnik wanted to know, ignoring his statement.

“There’s…there’s another?” Shadow wondered. I thought they were all extinct, wiped out with the Siege of Longclaw! I thought I was the last…!

“Yes, and he’s been…antagonizing…” Robotnik gritted his teeth, “the residents of this town for years, including yours truly. His name…is Sonic. Sonic the Hedgehog!” and with Hedgehog! Robotnik shouted angrily, making Stone wince and Shadow’s eyes widen in alarm.

When the echo of his voice died down, Robotnik caught his breath, and he cleared his throat.

“I take it you know of him? I know GUN does…”

Shadow was quiet for a long time. Stone peered at him from behind the counter, blinking slowly.

A blush had risen to Shadow’s cheeks. He tried to force down his feelings, tried to hide the years of longing that welled up in his chest and in the tears he felt moving to the corners of his eyes. He closed them, taking in a few deep breaths, his chest hairs quivering with the attempt to calm down.

Another Hedgehog? A…a chance to have a mate at last? A chance to…be happy?

Then, aloud, softly, “The story goes all Hedgehogs, as you know of us, died out along with the owls years ago. I…I didn’t know…another had…escaped that fate!”

“You see,” Robotnik continued, chewing on a cookie Stone presented to him. He wiped away the crumbs with taps of his fingers, infinitesimally tiny bots cleaning them away from his suit, and started to pace the floor between Stone and Shadow. “I’ve been trying to track the origins of that blue quilled menace for a while now. Alas, I can only pinpoint a comet that orbits close to our solar system once every 50 years.”

“A…a comet?” Shadow felt an internal shudder. An unbidden memory arrived, a roving slimy yellow and red eye, moving listlessly in a black and red skinned alien being, hissing his name after he emerged from his incubator tank…

“It turns out that my grandpapa, as brilliant as he was, had to make a deal with an extraterrestrial devil to keep his business alive. And this devil was involved with these…Hedgehogs…and this comet, too.”

“I am more than a mere Hedgehog, and more than Gerald’s business, Doctor,” Shadow growled, his quills and fur hackles rising with the implication. He pointed a finger at the mustachioed man and continued, “I am the Ultimate Lifeform on this planet! The only hope we have against such…intruders! How dare you insinuate that I am allied with them!”

“Ah, but Sonic is allied with this comet and this devil, it seems!” Robotnik nodded, pausing in his pacing to face Shadow.

“What!” Shadow was taken aback. At that moment, Stone gave him a cup full of the roasted beans.

Shadow chewed on the new information and the dark roasted Arabica beans. He grunted in pleasure, which Stone and Robotnik found oddly arousing, and they stared at him as he ate, enraptured.

“It’s never good,” Shadow continued while swallowing, “to dilute the flavor.” He cleared his throat, noting the shocked expressions of both men.

“Stone,” Robotnik whispered. Stone started to blush and sweat, adjusting his collar.

“Yes Doctor?” Stone wanted to know, unable to take his eyes off Shadow as he dug in another spoonful and ate, rolling his red eyes in bliss.

Robotnik hissed to Stone: “This Hedgehog is not the same as Sonic. Clearly not. He’s got to be some kind of mutant hybrid. I mean, who eats raw coffee beans?”

“I…I honestly don’t know, Doctor. I can’t help but watch him…! I mean, how does he--?!” and Stone let out a gurk! as Robotnik grabbed the man’s necktie below his barista smock and yanked him close.

“The way he looked when I mentioned our blue rat…do you think there’s a possibility, an inkling that he could be…attracted to Sonic?”

“I thought they were related!”

“No, you buffoon! I was using that information as a decoy, to set him up into thinking that somehow, someway, they might be distantly related. Obviously not direct, Shadow was supposedly a project my grandpapa kept secret from the government for decades! But is this Shadow…my Shadow? Catch my drift?” Robotnik set Stone down, who gasped for air gratefully.

“I…I think so, Doctor…” Stone swallowed, recovering and adjusting his tie, straightening his barista smock.

“This coffee…is…most…excellent,” Shadow proclaimed, nearly finished with his cup. His quills began to stand on end and he started to rev up his air shoes instinctively. “I will need to go on a run soon to burn it all off. So tell me, Doctor and Barista Stone…is this Sonic…am I…somehow involved with this…comet? Is Sonic allied with the ones known to me as the Black Arms? Did he betray us, betray…me?”

The Black Arms? Could that be the devil alien race my grandpapa knows?! Robotnik leaned in even closer to Stone, his voice an imperceptible whisper that made the latter’s neck hair stand on end: “He’s into him, Stone. Hook, line and sinker.”

Then, pulling away and ambling toward Shadow: “This Sonic…ever since he came here, he’s been nothing but trouble toward me and Stone here. He’s nearly destroyed this town with his buddy cop daddy, and last I checked, he has the Chaos Emeralds.”

“The Chaos Emeralds?” Shadow wanted to know. He coughed slightly, the coarse beans sticking to his throat. Then, Robotnik continued:

“We both know the kind of power he has with those—he could be some kind of terrorist, out to conquer the world for Hedgehog kind! So we’ve been trying to get the Emeralds back—”

“Why?” Shadow wondered, tossing his cup in the trash and giving the spoon back to Stone, who grimaced in disgust—it was covered in his saliva, and teeth marks made divots into it. “Doctor, there’s no need to safeguard the Emeralds for GUN. That’s my job, last I checked.”

Robotnik sneered and then put on a wide fake smile. “I’m the smartest man on this planet. Well, aside from Stone. And I know what’s at stake here, Shadow. I know what that power means, in the wrong hands. Shouldn’t I—I mean, shouldn’t we, as humans that are the stewards of this blue planet—do the responsible thing, and prevent chaos from reigning supreme over this world? Isn’t that what Maria wanted?”

Maria! Shadow’s heart nearly stopped on hearing her name. His angel, the blonde human girl with blue eyes deeper than the ocean floor; the one who, despite being sickly, loved him unconditionally. The one who sent him to Earth 50 years ago…the one whose name once again brought him back to life.

Shadow’s rage began to rise on thinking of his loss, and he scrunched up his nose in a deep scowl.

“A Hedgehog like Sonic cannot be captured. Only bested, Doctor,” Shadow tsked. His eyes glowed red like coals on an open flame, and energy started to surge through his quills, turning them neon orange. The lights in the Mean Bean began to dim and flicker as Shadow’s energy started to build. Shadow’s limiter rings tightened on his wrists and ankles, making him wince for a split second.

Robotnik noted the rings and tapped on his watch, taking photos of them silently. Then, “Race that blue rat to the ends of the Earth if you have to, Shadow. I want you to fulfill my grandpapa’s—no, Maria’s!—promise. You say you’re here to protect mankind? Prove it, and bring that Hedgehog back to me, so I can…deal with him…accordingly.”

Then, he snarled, “Sonic will be mine, Doctor. I will make sure of it, because I am the Ultimate Life!”

Before Robotnik could give a single quip in response, Shadow was gone, blasting out the doors of the Mean Bean Coffee Shop in the dead of night, his quills and air shoes the only brief light before total darkness surrounded the streets of the mountain town.

#shadow the hedgehog #sonic movie 3 #fanfic #sonic fanfiction #shadow fanfic #sonadow #stobotnik #agent stone #ivo robotnik

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curioushappenstance · 7 months ago

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fic title: do you like my dress? it's got pockets [chapter 1]

[next chapter]

[ao3 link]

Summary: 9:19 Dragon – Varric Tethras loses his virginity to a pretty dwarf girl at the bar. 9:41 Dragon - The consequence walks through the gates of Skyhold. - In my childish fantasies, I used to dream of being the Champion; going places, meeting people, loving them and being loved in return, never discarded nor kicked nor beaten; love, in perpetuity, the likes of which a girl under the heavy and forceful hand of a mother could not begin to dream of, because she could not dream at all. - aka, the fic where varric has a daughter that he didn't know about until five minutes ago.

My father was not what I expected him to be.

What had I expected? I knew his name first from the books in the local library, then later from whispers in back alleys or drunken merchants.

So––a sleazy businessman? A corrupt merchant prince who’d sold his soul for sovereigns? He was a dwarf. He was a womaniser. He wrote books, and I wasn’t allowed to read them, but I would stare at his author’s portrait with an intense vigour in the middle of the night when mother was asleep.

Seeing my face in that man––the hooked nose that was flat against my face, the underbite that made my teeth ache, the red hair that mother made me cover––him, all him. I didn’t like him. I didn’t like looking like the man that mother sneered at when she heard his name, a name I was forbidden from uttering aloud.

Varric Tethras. A merchant prince, a famous author, a rogue with a crossbow that could take down the carta.

My father.

Skyhold was much too grand for a man like that. I sneered passing through the gates, accidentally offending the human woman who took our names. Was I staying long, she asked? I told her I was here to deliver a message, nothing more, and it was the truth, but really, I didn’t know how long I would be staying. There was nothing for me in Kirkwall. Mother was dead, and the dwarves who killed her were after me, too. If Tethras was safe here, why couldn’t I be?

Something kept him here. It wasn’t the goodness of his heart. Security, coin, business, an opportunity to cosy up to important people like the Inquisitor or the Lady Ambassador.

But that vision––that imagined man, sneering in the back of my mind, shaking a bag of coin in his palm––wasn’t what I saw when I climbed the stairs to the main hall.

He was older. Wrinkly around the eyes, rosacea flaring on his cheeks. Pay an artist enough and you could have them paint you however you liked, such as surrounded by scantily clad dwarven women, but this was… I didn’t know.

He hunched over a desk next to a roaring fireplace, scribbling fiercely on hastily torn parchment; his hands were stained in ink, and there was dirt under his nails, on his clothes, and in his hair. A muddy coat, which probably used to be hanging over the back of the chair, was splayed out on the stone tile.

He didn’t notice my shadowing presence. I was inclined to keep watching, in silence, until the sun set and he retired to bed.

What was that? Fear? My heart clenched at the sight of him, and I didn’t know why. What was so fearful about passing on a letter? I was a messenger, and he didn’t raise me; there was no reason for my throat to tighten, but it did.

I cleared my throat.

He looked up.

My hands shook as I held mother’s letter, but I held it nonetheless.

“Varric Tethras?” I asked, finding my voice weak.

“Yeah?”

If my voice was raspy, his was worse. It broke, and he winced, and licked his dry, cracked lips.

“I’m to deliver this message to you.” No. Too formal. Too distant. He was my father, whatever that meant, and he––he––

He had bloodshot eyes.

Ancestors, I had the worst timing.

I tried again.

“My mother,” I said, deciding that if I was going to do this, I would do it properly, “wrote you a letter before she died.”

It was actually many years ago. The parchment was old and torn by now, wrinkled then flattened again, stained with coffee and dried tears. Mother held onto it, and now here I was, her messenger after death. Her will forbade me from reading it. It felt wrong to give it to a stranger.

“Uh, yeah, sure.” He took it, and put it on his desk, unopened. “Thanks.”

I stifled a sudden flash of anger. “I think you should read it. Messere.”

The honorific was an afterthought. Perhaps it would endear him to me, I thought, if I pretended to respect him… but he flinched instead.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but it’s very important,” I said, feeling quite sorry after all. He looked down at what he was writing, then at the unbroken wax seal of mother’s letter, and picked it up with a sigh.

The crack of the wax snapping in two was like the dam that floods the river.

It didn’t belong to him––it belonged to mother! I should’ve buried it with her, the secret dying when she did, and with her gone, I’d pretend to live a normal, happy dwarf life with a caste boy husband and a dozen dwarf children.

How many bastards did Tethras have running around Kirkwall? How many were unwanted daughters? My mother could not have been the only whore he fucked. She was not special, I was not unqiue, and she made sure I knew it in my heart, body, and soul.

And yet; a letter.

A letter that he could read, but I could not.

How was that fair?

The wax seal broke. He thumbed open the letter. My head was heavy and my arms weak, or I’d have snatched it from him, because if there was anyone in this world who deserved my mother, it would not be him––

“Varric…”

Both of our heads snapped up. A human woman in Inquisition armour hovered over the desk, her expression taut and her hands linked together.

I watched many emotions sequentially pass through Tethras’s eyes, until a mask fell over them, and he grinned. “Seeker?”

Seeker. Seeker?

He dropped the letter, folding it again and using it as a cover what what he’d been writing. That was all it was to him.

“Varric,” she said again. She was blushing, but not in the romance way; I knew delicate, flushed glances, and this was something else. She shifted her feet. “I have come to… express my condolences.”

Tethras’s grin turned into more of a grimace. “Ah. Well. That’s…”

“And to apologise, for how I have treated you.”

“Uh.” He gave a stinted thumbs up. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“I should not have blamed you. You have been a good friend, Varric, and…” She paused. I didn’t realise why until I caught her eye––staring me down, like the templars in the streets at night. “You have company. I will come back later.”

He looked at me, surprised––had he already forgotten I was here?

Of course he had.

What a fool I was.

A Maker-damned fool, clinging to the end of a rope that severed when mother’s blood ran rivers through the grout between the stones. She was gone, and this man, just as much a stranger to me as he was to any bastard child, was not my family, and could never become one.

Knowing this, accepting it, feeling it in my heart and allowing it to sink into my bones, did not stop the bitter tears when I lifted my hood and turned away.

What had I expected?

He didn’t know me. What I knew of him was imagined from long nights of rumination, roaming the back alleys in the aftermath of one of mother’s rages.

I met the Champion that way, once. He was not the Champion then, only Hawke, if you knew his name at all. I didn’t, as a child of yet twelve, but I remembered his face, the glint in his eye and the kind smile as he draped a blanket over my shoulders and ushered me into the warmth of the tavern.

I remembered red hair like mine, catching the light of the candles, and being struck with a fear so deep that I fled back into the streets, the blanket cocooning me from the wind.

This was not unlike that night. Though the magicks of its walls kept the snow at bay, Skyhold was imbued in a bitter cold, a chill that ran deep. And here I was again, fleeing from the warmth and the light, back into the fog to freeze, fearing what might await me when I stopped to breathe.

I still had that blanket.

It had smelled of alcohol, and smoke, and sex, but a child knew nothing of these things, and it was softer than mother’s hand.

Most things were softer than mother’s hand.

Skyhold’s tavern bustled, and that was where my stout legs carried me, with my mind wandering. I stared at the plaque on the door as it came into focus, feeling again like that child of twelve, gazing at The Hanged Man and wondering what it meant.

“Hey, Varric!”

My breath snagged against my ribs. The woman laughed when I turned my head.

“You’re not Varric. Sorry!”

Another dwarf. Red-haired, like me, but a darker shade. She had a kind smile, a pretty voice, and freckles like constellations amidst the stars. Did she know him? Were they friends? Were they…

“Hey, you okay?”

I had been staring, and though her smile still lingered, she stepped close with concern. Her eyes crinkled in the corners, and I didn’t realise how near she was until her hand grazed my elbow and her breath tickled my jaw.

“You’re freezing! Here,” she guided me to the door, shoving it open with her boot, “let’s get you warm. Not really dressed for the mountains, are you?”

“I couldn’t afford much better,” I admitted quietly. It was a half-truth. Kirkwall’s weather was mild, if you excused hurricane season, and merchants didn’t sell clothes built for the snow. I had spent most of the journey on the back of a cart, huddled between a dozen elven refugees who took it upon themselves to keep the ‘shivering dwarf girl’ warm.

It was more than humans had ever done for me. It was no surprise, then, that a dwarf such as her, saw a dwarf such as me, and thought; I want to protect her.

“I’m alright.” I stopped walking. The bar was warm, rowdy, smoky with the stench of alcohol, and at any moment I felt like Tethras might burst through the door still ajar behind me. “I lost my way. Do you know who I talk to about boarding?”

“You weren’t assigned quarters?”

I knew should’ve stuck around at the gate.

“Harding!”

A booming voice echoed above the noise and the music. I couldn’t imagine the type of man who could make that noise––until I looked up, and my legs went numb.

Horns like a dragon’s, peering over the crowds and the tables; attached to them, a grinning grey head, teeth glinting. In Kirkwall, the roar of the oxmen, mother’s hand clutched over my mouth, the closet’s spider crawling up my leg.

“Save my seat!” Harding called, so close yet far and muffled, and guided me to a far table closest to the bar, where the crowd was thin. Her warm smile as she tapped the bar shielded the qunari from my sight.

A Tal-Vashoth. Nothing more.

Nothing more.

“Cabot,” she signalled the bartender, who barely looked at me, but when he did, it was with a passing concern, “something warm?”

I failed to stifle my temor. “Is there something special about me in particular, or do you buy drinks for every passing dwarf girl?”

She smiled. “Just the half-dead ones. No offense, you know, if that’s what you’re going for.”

“Not typically.” But I wasn’t surprised. “I’m fine, I was just… delivering a message.”

“Oh yeah? Long-lost lover?”

“No! No.”

I knew flirting when I saw it, and Harding––flushed in the cheeks and smelling faintly of alcohol––was batting her eyelashes. It was not the first time a stranger had dragged me from one end of a bar to another in search of a tryst or a public rut, it’s just––usually they were men. And human. And old.

Harding was none of these, and she wasn’t grinding against me yet, either. I took small victories where I could find them.

Cabot thunked down an appropriately-sized dwarven mug that sloshed with the force of it. It was steaming and smelled like chocolate.

It was rude to reject gifts. I used it to warm my hands.

“Your accent’s familiar,” Harding said. “Reminds me of–hmmm. Free Marches?”

“Kirkwall,” I affirmed.

“How funny!”

“Is it?”

“Mm, you remind me of a friend, that’s all.”

My throat tightened again. I sipped the hot drink to burn the knot away. “The one who you mistook me for?”

“Mmm-hm. Sorry.” She looked sheepish. “Just from the side, you know––”

I did know. There was a bitter reminder of it hidden in the bottom of my pack, sketch after sketch that I would compare to myself in the mirror. I could never get my face right, but I always knew his.

“Who is he?” I asked, against my better judgement. Harding leaned forward, and I regretted it immediately, but it was too late to take it back just as it was always too late for anything else.

But she laughed. “Varric? He writes books––I didn’t have much time for reading, as a farm girl in Ferelden, but––when we first met, he said… what was it?” She paused, then with a deep breath and her best gruff, grumbly voice, “ ‘You ever been to Kirkwall’s Hightown?’ I said; no, why? And he said, ‘Because you’d be Harding in Hightown!’ I didn’t get it, though.”

“That’s awful,” I said.

“The Seeker thought so too.” Harding shrugged. “We struck a good rapport though. You look a lot like him!”

I sipped my drink. “How funny.”

“It is.”

And to her it was. To me––a roiling, boiling sensation in the pit of my stomach. The burn of my drink, the pain as it grazed my already scarred throat, not even that could distract me from it.

I felt sick.

“So––” She leaned back again, elbow against the bar, lightly tipsy. “You boated all the way from Kirkwall just for a message?”

“I suppose I did.”

“And you’re gonna go back to Kirkwall?”

I hesitated. “I suppose I will.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow.” After that––I didn’t know. It wouldn’t be safe there, but I didn’t want to stay here either. Either way, I wouldn’t miss mother’s funeral; I needed to be there when she was returned to the Stone.

Harding nodded, kohl smudged just below her eye where she’d rubbed at it. “I’ve never been to Kirkwall. I’ve heard it’s… well, in the words of Dorian Pavus, ‘a bit of a shithole’.”

I chuckled. “The understatement of the century. I grew up in Lowtown, which was…” No. Wait, what was I doing? About to spill my guts to this stranger, by virtue of our shared race? She was pretty, but nothing suggested trustworthy, and I knew enough about my kind to know you couldn’t trust a dwarf as far as you could throw one, which was not as far as most humans tend to think.

Harding looked lithe, though. I could probably pick her up.

I shook my head. “You know. Muddy.”

“Just like Ferelden, then,” she smiled. Then, before she could open her mouth again––

“Harding!” That booming voice. A deep growl that vibrated inside my skull, like a bug crawling into my ear. If I didn’t look, if I didn’t see, I could pretend it wasn’t–– “You joining us, or what?!”

“Just a minute!” She faced my again, sheepishly flustered. “I should go, or he’ll have me by the ear. Unless you wanna––”

One of the human men from the qunari’s table landed a heavy hand on her shoulder. The qunari’s horns shadowed him from far behind.

“Who’s your friend?” he asked. Harding grinned up at him. “She joining us?”

“No,” I said, too quickly.

“Shame. Lace and Rocky could use the competition.”

“Is Rocky…” I squinted, “a dwarf?” What kind of backwards, offensive to the point of non-offensive, ridiculous sort of nickname was that? The human chuckled.

“It’s not what you think. We all get nicknames. Part of the job. Lace, come on, Chief’s cracking open a new cask!”

“Didn’t you already burn through the last one?” She paused. “Literally?”

“Sacrifices had to be made.”

I stared incredulously between them. “You set your alcohol on fire?”

“Not me. Dalish did. With her––khm––bow.”

“...And I suppose Dalish is Dalish?”

“Well, yeah, she’s got the––tattoos, right?”

“That’s not a very creative nickname.” I was understanding ‘Rocky’ more now.

“Yeah, well, makes it easier for the Chief. Not like Varric’s. Half of his doesn’t even make sense.”

I couldn’t escape him. Varric this, Varric that. I turned away, suddenly bitter. The human dragged Harding away, and under his breath murmured to her, who’s she?

Damn, I forgot to ask, she said.

Most people did.

“Harding! Harding, hey have you seen––”

In my childish fantasies, I used to dream of being the Champion; going places, meeting people, loving them and being loved in return, never discarded nor kicked nor beaten; love, in perpetuity, the likes of which a girl under the heavy and forceful hand of a mother could not begin to dream of, because she could not dream at all.

“––red corset? Yeah, I was just––”

I downed the last of my drink.

“––thanks, I’ll catch up with––”

Some dreams were unattainable. I would never be the champion of anything; that was fine. But to beg and plead, my knees in the mud, for someone to want me for some reason other than pity…

“Isana?”

Why was that too much to ask?

A finger grazed my shoulder. I yelped like I was burned, and with my empty mug, snapped around and smashed it over their head.

One arm flung out to the bar, the other flew to catch a chair––I didn’t realise who it was until him, the chair, and several peoples’ drinks were askew on the tile floor, and a steady stream of blood began to soak his red hair.

I slammed my hands over my mouth.

No, no! I hadn’t meant to! Alive?! Yes, he was groaning and grasping at his skull, his gloves coming away red, the stone below him slowly stained––dying?! No, but breathing too fast, yes, and surrounding patrons rushed to him, closed in, panicked shouts that turned into whispers, whatever I’d done, it was bad.

Ancestors, I had truly done it now. Even if I hadn’t killed him––Maker fucking forbid––I had still lost him forever.

“Argh!” The qunari, high above the crowd, cut through it like butter, lumbering like one of the horned beasts I’d seen when coming up the mountainside, “Give the guy some air or you’ll trample him, fucks sake!”

I reached him when Harding did, and she helped him stand. With glazed eyes, blood caking his hair and streaming down the side of his face, Varric––he grinned at me.

“You… you hit hard, kid!”

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r-memberme · 6 months ago

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snowman | k.m

⎯⎯ ‘Oh look, it’s Greg—the gallant snowman of the yard!‘

warnings: fluff

Outside, the world had transformed into a breathtaking winter wonderland, a pristine blanket of snow covering everything in sight. Each tree wore a delicate frosting, and the rooftops resembled the whimsical illustrations from childhood fairy tales. The air was crisp and infused with the sweet scent of pine, inviting you to frolic in the soft, fluffy expanse.

You stepped outside, bundled up in layers of warm clothing, ready to embrace the chill. The soft crunch of snow underfoot sang a delightful melody, prompting you to take a moment and soak in the beauty of the world around you. Meanwhile, inside, the flickering flames of the fireplace cast a cozy glow, illuminating Klaus, who was lounging on the couch, lost in an ancient tome that spoke of forgotten lore.

With his dark hair tousled and a brow slightly furrowed in concentration, he was a striking sight. You couldn’t help but admire how enchanting he looked even while wrapped in the shadows of a lazy winter afternoon. Leaning against the doorframe, you watched as he flipped through pages, deep in thought. This was the perfect moment to spring your idea upon him.

“Wake up, Sleeping Beauty!” you called out, striding over and lightly poking his shoulder.

He stirred slightly, blinking up at you with undeniable charm, though he feigned irritation. “What on earth could be important enough to disturb my well-earned rest?”

“Just look outside!” you urged, gesturing dramatically to the winter paradise enveloping the yard. “It’s perfect for building a snowman!”

Klaus tilted his head, the slight smirk tugging at his lips hinting at his amusement. “A snowman? You’re joking, aren’t you?”

“Not at all! Picture it—a magnificent snowman standing proud and tall, like a winter sentinel! We could drape him in a scarf, add a carrot for a nose, stones for eyes! It’ll be legendary!” Your excitement bubbled over at the prospect.

He raised an eyebrow, a mixture of amusement and playful skepticism painted across his features. “Is this what you spend your time thinking about? I could conjure something far more entertaining—like a roaring, fiery dragon or even a charming little devil—instead of a mere ball of snow.”

“Like what? Host a vampire gathering?” you shot back, unimpressed by his stubbornness. “Or perhaps you could entertain them with a tale of your many conquests—oh wait, that’s just every century of your life.” You crossed your arms, a grin dancing on your lips as you added, “Live a little, Klaus! You’ve spent an eternity in the shadows. Embrace the frosty fun!”

With another dramatic sigh, he leaned back, considering his options for a moment longer. “You do realize that I am nothing short of a snow king, don’t you? Yet here I am, being lured to partake in childlike frivolity simply because you want to play in the icy realm.”

“Ah, but you’re my snow king. And what is a snow king without a magnificent snowman? You wouldn’t dare let down your royal subjects!” You leaned closer with a teasing smile, batting your eyes dramatically.

Klaus chuckled, shaking his head slowly. “You’re quite relentless, you know. This better be worth it.”

“Absolutely! Just think about the joy it’ll bring! A snowman with impeccable style; we could make it a work of art!” You leaned in closer. “Plus, you get hot chocolate afterward—extra marshmallows, my lord!”

“Hot chocolate, you say?” His smirk widened, intrigue glinting in his eyes. “You drive a hard bargain, my sweet little snow elf.”

“Deal!” you chimed, practically bouncing on your toes with glee. You rushed to the door, throwing it open wider to let the cold air envelop you. “Let’s make this magical snowman come to life!”

As you stepped outside, the snow crunched delightfully beneath your boots. The sight of Klaus following you outside, clad in his dark, brooding elegance, made you grin even wider. The contrast of his figure against the bright white backdrop was striking, and you felt a warmth swell in your chest at the sight.

“Now, where to begin?” you pondered, surveying the expanse of white that stretched before you. “I think we should start with the base. A solid foundation, yes?”

“Of course! We must lay the groundwork for this masterpiece,” Klaus replied, humor lacing his voice as he knelt to pack snow into a perfect sphere. You watched with admiration as he expertly shaped the snow.

“See? You’re a natural!” you praised, clapping your hands in delight. “And I have just the vision! This snowman will be nothing short of a masterpiece!”

As the first layer began to take form, you moved to start rolling another, laughing and sharing jabs about whose ball of snow was superior. “Mine is definitely rounder. Yours looks like a deformed potato!” you teased, poking fun at his creation.

“Excuse me! This deformed potato will tower over yours!” Klaus retorted playfully, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he rolled his snowball larger. “A mere worm could outshine your pitiful efforts!”

You gasped in mock outrage. “A worm? How dare you insult my craftsmanship! My snowman will be regal, a beacon of winter delight! Yours will merely be a snow abomination!”

“Regal, is it?” Klaus replied, smirking, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth banter. “We’ll see how regal it looks once it’s squashed by the sun tomorrow. Your snowman has no chance against the forces of nature!”

“You underestimate Greg!” You grinned, a mock-seriousness settling on your face. “He’ll fend off the sun with his icy brilliance!”

As you both continued shaping and stacking, the snowman began to take form—a hefty, snow-laden body that rose higher than you had anticipated. “Look at it! We’re creating a snow giant fit for Disney!” you exclaimed, marveling at your creation.

“Disney? Are you sure you haven’t lost your mind?” Klaus scoffed, rolling his eyes playfully. “This is hardly a grand moment worthy of animated songs. I doubt we’ll find any woodland creatures singing praises anytime soon.”

“Who says a snowman can’t inspire joyous melodies?” You nudged him playfully, giggling. “Now, we must give him a personality! We shall paint him with vibrant flair!”

“You do realize I have lived through centuries of song and music,” he remarked with a chuckle. “I have watched humans create soaring ballads that would put this snowman to shame.”

“Yet your tune is about to become ‘Let it Snow’ as we breathe life into our creation! Now for the accessories!”

As you rummaged through your pockets, you pulled out an old scarf, a couple of buttons that had made their way into your jacket, and an oddly shaped carrot you’d sneakily snagged from the kitchen before heading out. Klaus raised an eyebrow, bemused. “Where on earth did you manage to smuggle a carrot?”

“Let’s just say I came prepared!” you declared with a wink, unfurling the charming accessories. “Greg deserves the finest, and I will not hear otherwise. Look at his little scarf; it’s crying out for a dramatic flair!”

With quick movements, you wrapped the scarf around the snowman’s neck with gusto. “This is no ordinary snowman; he’s going to be the talk of the town!”

Klaus leaned closer, inspecting your work with an amused smile. “A splendidly dressed pile of snow,” he said sarcastically, unable to help but admire the way your eyes sparkled with excitement.

“Be careful! You might find yourself envious of Greg’s style,” you teased, placing the carrot on his face to form a nose. “What do you think? Perfectly charming, isn’t he?”

“Charming? If you say so,” Klaus replied, crossing his arms with faux indifference; yet you could see the fondness in his gaze. “But he still looks like a low-ranked nobleman who forgot his royal duties.”

“Greg is a distinguished gentleman of great taste!” you insisted, adding buttons for eyes and stepping back to admire the symmetry of your creation. “We’ve done a marvelous job, haven’t we?”

“I suppose I shall acknowledge that we’ve created something, let’s say, unique,” he conceded, his tone playful. “But now we must think of a name worthy of his mightiness!”

“Greg!” you declared triumphantly. “He shall be known as Greg the Magnificent! A true icon of winter splendor!”

“Greg?” Klaus echoed incredulously, barely able to suppress his laughter. “A most uninspired name for such a proud creation.”

“But it’s simple and classic! Name him whatever pretentious title you wish, but Greg fits! Besides, when the townsfolk hear of him, they’ll say, ‘Oh look, it’s Greg—the gallant snowman of the yard!’”

“Well, well, if you truly believe that will catch on…” he chuckled. “You know, I could always convince his royal majesty to become a vampire-hunting snowman should the need arise.”

“Now that’s an amusing thought—imagine Greg of the Royal Guard…” You couldn’t stop the giggles that escaped as you pictured him jumping into action, hurling snowballs at pesky intruders. “But for now, let’s let him be the lovable snowman who warms the hearts of those who pass by.”

The two of you stepped back, both admiring your work. The afternoon sun cast a golden hue upon the snow, and for those few moments, the world felt perfect—filled with laughter, warmth, and a little bit of magic.

“Isn’t this lovely?” you remarked with a content smile. “I think we’ve done a fantastic job! Greg has star potential!”

Klaus looked over to you, reflecting on the fun you’d shared. “Remarkable, how one can find joy in such trivial pursuits. But this doesn’t clear you of your duty to provide a steaming cup of hot chocolate afterward,” he replied, a twinkle of humor in his blue eyes.

“Ah! How could I forget?” you replied, feigning shock. “How dare you even suggest that I might withhold warm beverages from the Great Klaus Mikaelson? The snow god must be pleased!”

“I’ll remember that when the sun rises and threatens Greg’s existence!” he countered, rolling his eyes playfully. “But you know how to keep your noble vampire satisfied.” He moved to stretch, standing and shaking off the remnants of snow before reaching for you. “Shall we return to our domain?”

Hand in hand, you strolled back toward the house, laughter resonating in the crisp air. In that moment, you felt light, as if the heaviness of the world had dissolved with every giggle and tease. Klaus glanced sideways at you, a smile playing at his lips.

“I’ll admit,” he started, a slight smugness in his tone, “there may be some small amount of joy in this winter foolishness.”

“See? I knew I could convince you!” you replied, triumphant. “Not all adventures require life-threatening peril, my fearless snow king. Sometimes, it’s just about finding laughter in a snowman.”

“Well,” he mused, pulling the door open for you with a flourish, “I suspect I’ve been dragged into worse adventures. Sharing a moment of ridiculousness with you? Not so tragic.”

As you stepped inside, the warmth enveloped you like a cozy blanket. With the embers from the fireplace crackling, you both settled onto the plush sofa, a newfound closeness settling between you. “Now, to complete the experience, let’s make that hot chocolate!” you exclaimed, your voice filled with excitement.

“And I expect extra marshmallows, my charming little snow decorator!” he teased, leaning back against the cushions.

“Of course! What kind of snow elf would I be without marshmallows for my noble snow king?” You sprang up, giggling as you rushed to the kitchen, preparing a steaming pot of cocoa as Klaus watched with amusement.

As the rich aroma filled the air, you turned back to Klaus, who had now shifted to a lounging position, seemingly at ease with a glint of mischief in his eye. “What are you plotting now?” you inquired, an eyebrow raised.

“Merely contemplating how I can convince you that I’m less of a snow king and more of a snow god,” he quipped. “Perhaps I shall transform Greg into a vampiric guardian—he needs to reflect my true nature!”

“Now, that would be something.” You stifled a laugh as you carefully poured the hot chocolate into two mugs, adding a generous helping of marshmallows to both. “But in all seriousness, Klaus, I’m grateful you took the time for this. It means a lot to me.”

“I wouldn’t trade such moments for all the power in the world,” he replied, his expression softening, sincerity shining through. “Nothing could hold me back from moments of happiness shared with you. Even if it includes a ridiculous snowman named Greg.”

With mugs in hand, you presented one to him, and your hands brushed momentarily, sending a warm thrill shooting through you. “To Greg—the bravest snowman ever created!”

“To Greg! May he stand strong against the rising sun and forever warm the hearts of those around him,” Klaus proclaimed dramatically, raising his mug like a goblet.

As you both took a sip of the warm, sweet chocolate, laughter bubbled between you once more. “This is absolutely divine—much like your exquisite taste in names,” Klaus addressed with mock seriousness.

“And your unwavering commitment to the arts of snowman-building, oh mighty one,” you shot back playfully.

In that cozy living room, warmed by both the fire and the joyful banter that flowed like the hot chocolate, the worries of the outside world faded away. It was in these moments—the joy and silliness, the laughter shared over a ridiculous snowman—that you truly found magic, and it lit a spark of warmth within you both that promised to endure far beyond the winter snows.

i really liked this one <3 hope you guys do too!

#klaus mikaelson #klaus mikealson x reader #tvd fanfiction #klaus mikaleson imagine #klaus mikealson fanfiction #fluff #the vampire diaries

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