#at least enough for him to fled | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

konigslittleliebling · 7 months ago

Note

so real about the sandor thing. like i’m sure he wasn’t intended to be liked like that, but i can’t help it! one of my favourites honestly!

what about sandor escorting reader, as he did arya (but readers an adult obviously), and reader, being a lady or princess, is acting all spoiled/bratty? huffing at every inn (“it smells!”), whining about the food (“rabbit?? couldn’t you have caught a goose?”), until he finally has enough and puts reader in her place, talking back to her for once. he doesn’t miss the way reader blushes and shifts at his harsh tone, maybe all she needs is to be bent over a dusty inn bed to improve her mood?

him in the books is. . . questionable lmao. but his onscreen counterpart on the other hand? BARK BARK.

and honestly you read my mind, i was hoping someone would make a request like this *rubs hands together*

cw 18+; strong language, sexual language, mentions of violence, mentions of sa (not by sandor), sandor gets his own warning for saying cunt all the time, hostage situation, lightly implied stockholm syndrome, age gap, size diff, p in v sex, you’re a virgin, guys it’s fucking dirty i dunno what to tell ya. oh and black cat x golden lab cause i’m a sappy old shite.

pairing; sandor clegane x female mallister!reader

your feet hurt. you’re not sure if it’s the dampness that’s soaked through your stockings, the bitter chill that nips through your footwear, or the uneven terrain you clumsily navigate.

the ground is loose and rocky, the air is unforgiving to your tangled hair and the way your stomach growls to be filled only casts a shadow on your already dim mood. the wind whistles in the silence, occasionally interrupted by the crunching of earth beneath your feet. you wince when a particularly sharp stone jabs the sole of your foot and you lift it up, checking it has not pierced the underside of your shoe.

“what the fuck’s the problem now?” a gruff voice carries through the breeze to your frost-bitten ears and you throw him a sidelong glance.

sandor clegane, better known as the hound. once king joffrey’s sworn shield and brother of the kingsguard, now a stray dog. he’d fled the red keep when faced with, in his words, ‘a swarm of aflame cunts’. he later claimed stannis’ men took their king’s flaming heart sigil too seriously. you wagered it was thanks to tyrion’s wildfire stunt.

and with him, you. you’d found him in your chambers after leaving queen cersei’s henhouse of flocked maidens. you couldn’t handle another prayer or hymn, nor a single drop more of that blood-red wine cersei kept offering you; though it did better than the harmonies and entreaties to calm your nerves.

« i’ll keep you safe, girl. they’re all afraid of me »

the wise words of a man who runs with his tail between his legs at the sight of fire.

when he offered to take you with him, you didn’t realise that meant you’d become his ransom. he was always kind to you. you saw the look on his face whenever joffrey would beat you — like he wanted to unsheath his sword and drive it straight through the cruel bastard’s cold little heart, if he even had one.

sandor clegane who hates everyone, perhaps hated you the least. now you laugh to yourself for wondering such a thing. he only protects you because of the sum you’re worth, so he surely hates you the most. if there’s anyone he hates more than himself, that is.

“i hurt my foot.” you tell him, staggering on one leg whilst you inspect your boot. the stone has indeed lodged itself into the tatty sole and you yank it out with dramatic effort. you’ve half a mind to send it flying right into his face, but it’s seen enough damage. plus you’d probably miss anyway. you never had a strong throwing arm, even before you were starved and weak.

“is it hanging on by a fucking thread?” he asks you, one large hand on his sword’s hilt.

you frown at him and return to a two-legged stance. “no.”

“so fucking move your arse, then.”

your mouth opens and closes again, trying to find the words. your tongue has always been your greatest, if not only weapon, though cersei insisted it was what lived between your legs. her younger brother told you that the mind is the sharpest of them all. you hoped you could rely on the latter.

“i’m starting to really loathe you.”

your words stop him which surprises you. you had hoped he might not hear you, were certain he wouldn’t. only one of his ears possesses that ability anyway. he turns on his axis and saunters toward you.

“there’s far worse than me.” he’s told you that before, like he means to convince you of it. “rapers, plunderers, child beaters and fuckers, cults. i might’ve killed, hells i even enjoy it, but out here it’s kill or be killed. being a killer is a far cry from what else i could choose to be. you think joffrey’s a menace? imagine a man unbound and unburdened by royal code. the only code out here is the moral one, and i might be the only sorry cunt that has a shred of it. you ought to be glad of me, girl.”

“so you’re above rape? oh, thank the gods.” you feign relief, even going so far as to wipe imaginary sweat from your forehead. “i must instead call you sandor the saint.”

he looks down at you with a glint you’ve not yet seen. his chocolate eyes are full of pain and sadness, you know that. anyone who has the courage to look him in the eye longer than a few seconds will notice the hurt that seeps from their dark pools like tears. but this is different. like your words have caused the pain that stares back at you, rather than the shackles of his past.

suddenly you find yourself regretting yourself, not that what you’d said was completely true in the first place. but it doesn’t matter now, he’s already walking away, head shaking as he does.

you limp after him, gaze down.

the sun hides behind the trees, blackening their outlines. the watercolour pastel of the skies above is possibly the prettiest thing you’ve seen since the gardens of king’s landing and you smile as you marvel. you’ve been unsure if you’ll ever smile again, but here you are.

“what’re you doing?” that gravelly voice makes you jump, he’s not uttered a word to you since your tantrum earlier today.

“the sunset.” you tell him, pointing at the ombré horizon as if he needs guidance on where to look. “is it not beautiful?”

he surprises you again when his gaze follows your finger, scarred face illuminated by the sky’s shades of pink and orange.

the sight of him warms you and you tilt your head, studying him. he must sense your eyes and averts his own to greet yours.

“i’m sorry.” you barely whisper. “i did not mean it.”

it occurs to you that yours may be the first apology he’s ever received.

his eyes narrow, the undamaged side of his face still highlighted by the sinking sun. you must be the only living thing in westeros that does not look at him like he’s the most dastardly creature you’ve ever encountered. the only person who does not cower in his presence or desperately avoid the hardship of looking at his half-burned face. you’ve yet to refer to him as ‘dog’ or treat him like such. you haven’t made a single remark about his appearance. the word ‘monster’ has not once left your mouth when referring to him.

you call him sandor. the last person who called him by his given name was his mother. . . probably. he does not remember her well. he thinks he was her favourite. he recalls her nice treatment of him; the last niceness he ever experienced, fleeting and not enough.

“we rest here.” he finally says, as soft as he can muster. “the riverlands should only be a few days walk from here.”

your feet ache at the thought. “i wish we had horses.”

he doesn’t respond, already making himself comfortable on the grass below.

your nose scrunches up. “it’s wet.”

“what?”

“the grass is wet.”

he rolls his head to the side, returning your unimpressed expression with his own exhausted one. “and what the fuck d’you want me to do about that? blow on it until it dries?”

you press your lips into a thin line. “no, but maybe we could light a fire?”

“no fire.” he snaps.

your hands find place on your hips and he arches his only brow. “my father will not pay you in full if you bring me to him sickly and ailing.”

“what the fuck’s ~ailing~.”

his mind immediately arrives at the beverage. oh, how he’s missing alcohol. you’re making his involuntary sobriety intolerable.

you fold your arms across your chest, leaning your weight onto one foot. “it means to be indisposed.”

he snorts at that, crass. “indisposed? sit down, will you.”

you huff in defeat and gingerly lower yourself onto your knees. the dew seeps through your skirt and you groan, pulling your cloak around yourself in the hopes that when you lay back, your back won’t get too wet.

he watches you fidget and shuffle, lips curled in disgust whenever your bare hands touch a blade of grass. he rolls his eyes, rather enjoying the coolness of the green blades against his irritant skin.

“worst day ever.” he hears you mumble as you continue to restlessly squirm and huff through your nostrils.

sick of your bellyaching, he bolts upright and leans over the narrow gap between you, clasping you by the upper arm to drag you toward him. you gasp at his iron grip and yelp when he situates you against him, your back to his front.

you squirm. “what in seven hells are you doing? unhand me!”

“stop that.” he grunts, flattening one large hand over your stomach to keep you still.

he becomes rigid and unsure, correcting his position against your smaller frame. you wonder if he’s ever been this close to someone before. you noticed during your time in the capital that he often dodged touch.

the heat from his body radiates through his armour and wraps you in a warm embrace. you realise his intention then and it thaws you. allowing yourself to relax, you let your gaze drift to the sky again, now a deep blue in colour. he tenses again, his fingertips refusing to make contact with you. only the heel of his palm rests on your front, almost covering it entirely like a weighted blanket. his company starts to soothe you, not that it really unnerved you to begin with.

“sandor.” his name travels to a deaf ear, despite coming from your mouth. he couldn’t possibly be asleep already, you suppose he’s ignoring you. it wouldn’t be the first time.

“i do not loathe you.” then sleep takes you.

the breeze isn’t so nippy and the rays of the rising sun warm your cheeks, rosy from last night’s cold. you trudge behind your captor though he’d rather label himself your saviour, which in a twisted way he is, grimacing at the way your toes feel as though they’ll snap like frozen twigs in the cramped pockets of your boots.

“can we take a break?” you plead, whining like a kicked dog when you tread in a puddle. you lift your skirts and your face wrinkles at the mud-sodden hem of it. your dress had the likeness of emerald when you departed, now it’s brownish and ripped in places, the delicate embroidery worn and frayed.

he doesn’t stop to wait for you this time. “we’ve been on the road an hour. . . if that.”

you take that as a no and trail after him, practically stomping although it hurts to do so. “we’ve been on the road for the better part of a month, actually.”

he scoffs. “hardly.”

now he graces you with the courtesy of throwing a brief glance at you over his broad shoulder. “keep up.”

you scowl. “you have a quicker stride.”

“jog then.”

“i’d rather not.”

he sighs and backtracks his steps, marching in your direction. you brace yourself for the confrontation that’s been brewing since the crownlands, straightening your back. “go on, then.”

he eyes you, searching your face for a sign that you’re surely not being serious. “is that what you think of me?” he spits, cursing the night he wandered into your chambers and invited you to accompany him from the stinking city he’s since wished he left you in.

you blink, bewildered when he spins and squats down on his haunches, arms outstretched behind him. “what are doing?”

“jump.” he simply says, fed-up.

you hesitate. “a piggyback?”

“aye, it’s a heroic piggyback.” he kids, impatiently wriggling the thick fingers that reach back for you. “it’s this or you walk.”

you’ll take anything over having to walk another metre and plant your hands on his steel-clad shoulders. his hands envelop the backs of your thighs and he hoists you onto his large back, adjusting you when you start to slide down the metal surface of his armour. he’s so wide that it actually hurts your center to wrap your legs around him. he hooks his elbows under the backs of your knees like chain-links and huffs. “better?”

“much.” you hum, revelling in the relief of your throbbing feet and perch your chin on his shoulder.

“other side.” he gruffs, jutting his head to the opposite shoulder. your body jolts with each of his heavy steps and you side-eye him. “pardon?”

“i’m not listening to your sniffling and mouth-breathing the whole way.” he drones. you roll your eyes and switch to his other shoulder before exhaling a deliberately loud sigh against what remains of his burnt ear. you’re certain you feel him chuckle beneath you. “brat.”

“i don’t mouth-breathe.” you banter, feeling the safest you have since leaving your homekeep of seagard after the announcement of sansa stark’s betrothal. a comfortable silence settles and you’re thankful for the civil atmosphere that replaces the previously frosty one. “how much will you demand from my father?”

“as much i make him cough up.” sandor grunts, pausing to hike you further up his back before resuming his brisk pace.

“you won’t hurt him?” you ask, lulling you head to peer at him.

“not if he pays me generously for my trouble.”

your fingers curl nervously into his breast plate. “i’m asking you not to hurt my father.”

“is lord mallister a compliant man?”

“yes, but i shouldn’t imagine he’ll be too impressed by you or your terms.” you warn.

sandor’s speed slows to a stop and you lift your head to peer beyond the woodland brush. smoke floats until its one with the canopy of clouds and the smell of bread tumbles from the same chimney. your stomach rumbles in tandem with the flare of your nostrils and your mouth waters greedily.

“hungry?” he prompts.

“famished.”

the inn is about as dismal as it is antiquate. cobwebs hang like chandeliers from the wooden ceiling which sandor has to hunch beneath to avoid head-butting, and the room falls silent once his presence is noticed. sandor stares them down.

“find somewhere to sit.” he tells you, leaving to approach the bar. as soon as he’s absent from your side you feel the eyes of several drunks land on you and your guts twist.

spotting an empty booth in the far corner you scamper like a mouse afraid of its own shadow and slump yourself down with your back to the wall, hands poised neatly over your lap and head bowed. you fiddle with your fingers, picking at the cracked skin of your cuticles when the bench opposite you creaks.

sandor settles himself down, sliding you a bowl of something steaming-hot and muddy in colour. you catch a whiff of the aroma, meaty. “what’s in it?”

“dog.” he rasps through a mouthful and stuffs the spoon back into his mouth before swallowing the first bite.

you gawk at him and nudge your bowl away with a disapproving finger.

he glances at you, strings of sauce drooling from his beard. “it’s rabbit.”

you don’t find him funny, wanting nothing more than to jam your fork into his leg which squashes yours, too long not to encroach on your side of the table. picking up your spoon, you cringe at the rust that tarnishes it and wonder if it was even cleaned since its last use. you wrinkle your nose up, attempting to polish the grubby utensil with your sleeve.

“eat it, or be in it.” sandor bellows having watched your fussing.

you slouch and dip your spoon into the stew, barely scooping up a substantial amount. with an agitated growl, he clasps your wrist and forces you to pile too much food onto the spoon for you to fit in your mouth, and shovels it into your gob. you almost choke when he practically gags you with it and your eyes water as it scorches your tongue.

the chunks of rabbit are dry and chewy, the toughness almost hurting your teeth when they try to mash it up. “gods,” you manage to say. “it’s like leather.”

“have much experience eating leather, do you?” he retorts, scraping every last speck of sauce from his bowl. you glare at him once you’ve finally swallowed, the rubbery meat dragging itself down to your stomach. you swear you actually feel it hit the bottom of its empty pit.

you’ve lost your appetite.

the barmaid places two cups of ale on your table and leans over to take sandor’s empty bowl from him. you clear your throat and pass her yours. “are you hungry? please, have mine.” you offer. she looks stunned but reaches to take your meal from you with a shy smile.

sandor snatches it back and slams it down in front of you. “i didn’t use the last of my silver to feed some kitchen wench. eat your fucking food.” his tone startles you and the poor girl scuttles back to the kitchen.

“sandor—”

“no, woman.” he cuts you off. “you’ve been chewing my ear off about how starving you are — i got you food — so fucking eat it.” he throws his head back with the tankard to his mouth, gulping back his ale like a baby at its mother’s teat.

“it’s disgusting,” you argue, and slouch back against the wall. “i am no longer hungry.”

he leans toward you on his elbows, the amber stickiness of his drink sloshing onto the table’s oak. “eat your food.”

“you eat it if you’re so concerned about it going to waste.” you challenge, squinting at him. “you’re not losing out on any profit. soon, my father will make you richer than the lannisters ever did. it’s a bowl of sludge and your way of life is doing little to influence my standards, hound.”

oh dear, you shouldn’t have said that.

he chews his lip for a second. maybe he plans on snuffing you out like a flame and gifting your father just your head instead. you wonder how much your head is worth.

sandor stands, swigging the dregs of his drink before allowing it to slip from his hand to the wooden floor. you watch his every move, preparing to kick and scream like your life depends on it. he walks around the table and ducks down, hoisting you onto his shoulder. you squeal and hammer your fists against his back. “put me down!”

the inn’s other guests do nothing to assist. some watch him carry you up the staircase, most don’t bother to look up from their drinks. you see the maid from before watch you disappear to the upper floor with sorry eyes. you don’t expect her to step in, not after her encounter with him.

“you said you’re no rapist.” you remind him tearfully, lip quivering when he unlocks one of the rooms and steps inside.

you’re then lowered to your feet and you make an immediate break for the window but he’s faster, grabbing your cloak and spinning you back to him. “that’s the first thing you think? really?”

you avoid his face, for the first time since you met, you can’t bear to look at him.

then your back hits the door, a little blade that’s seen more death than the kingswood and claimed more men than a common whore finds itself at your neck. you gasp, not daring to move.

“carotid artery.” he says, barely kissing your skin with his blade.

he shifts it, expertly and practiced. the cold steel presses just under your chin where the skin stretches from your jaw to your throat. “lingual artery.”

your breathing is shallow, pupils trembling within your irises.

the knife grazes down your chest, stopping to the left of your sternum. “this is where the heart is. what was it they told you? that your cunt is your greatest weapon? no. . . your mind?”

he chuckles bitterly and draws the blade so it’s adjacent to your nose, forcing you to look at it. “this is a weapon. this will kill you. especially if someone sticks it here.”

he repositions it to your throat. “or here. . .”

under your chin.

“or here.” at your heart.

you’re struck by him, no longer scared. just utterly astonished.

then the sharp point pinches your thigh and you suck in a staggered breath. “femoral artery.” he’s looking down, almost predatorily. said artery starts to pulse under your flushed skin. “you’ll bleed out for hours if someone nicks that.”

you’re close, and you didn’t realise just how close until his hand coasts your naval on its way back up. “which you will, if you don’t have me.”

so it’s a lesson.

“you promised to keep me safe.” you whisper, eyes flitting between his. “i don’t want to be alone.”

“show some fucking gratitude for the fact you’d be dead ten times over if not for me. maybe then i won’t leave you to fend for yourself.” his hard features are betrayed by the softness in his stare. perhaps, his threat is empty.

“i don’t care that much about money.” he admits, propping himself up with a hand beside your head. “i can always get it through other means.”

you call his bluff. “i thought you weren’t a plunderer.”

“who said anything about plundering?” his voice barely succeeds a whisper.

your eyes fall to his parted lips. they’re thin but his mouth stretches wide. chapped, only a little. you think a portion of his upper lip is concealed by the thick bristle that grows above. you can smell the ale on his breath, feel the heat of it waft over your skin.

when you allow your eyes to part from them, you find his own eyes are drinking you in. from your lips, to your hair, to the skin that pads your collarbones and finally south. if it were any other man you’d slap him across the cheek for looking at you in such a way, but you don’t feel violated at all.

“i am grateful to you.”

your words regain his attention, his eyes snap up to burn into yours. an intense and animalistic stare that you’ve only seen on him after he’s taken a life.

“don’t seem it. you’re a snooty little bitch, aren’t you.”

you open your mouth to speak, only for him to swallow your dispute with his. your head bounces off the door with the force of his lips crashing against yours and you gasp, muffled by the kiss.

its classless. tongue, teeth and claw. you’ve never been kissed before, not even a peck. no amount of talks with your septa could’ve readied you for this.

you whimper into his mouth, hands flat against the silver of his chest plate. he grunts, manhandling you against him so he can lift you onto the bed. you hit the mattress, body bouncing with his aggression and he pins you there, knee bent between your legs.

he’s unbuckling his armour, hands moving so fast they’re almost blurry. you had no idea those massive paws of his could be so nimble. the various plates fall from his front and back, shoulders, elbows and forearms. you jump when they clash with the floor, and suddenly you’re embarrassed that the people downstairs may’ve heard.

his belt clinks, gauntlets and sword forgotten somewhere with it.

“i’ve never. . .” you trail off, cheeks blushing an unforgiving red. sandor looms over you, left in his undershirt, trousers and boots. his chest hair pokes above the neck of his cotton top, dirty skin glistening in the lowlight.

“been fucked.” he finishes on your behalf. it’s a statement, not even an assumption. he already knows.

you nod wearily, averting your eyes.

“good.” he simply says. “get rid of this.” he rips your dress from top to tail, exposing your underskirts and the corset that sinches your waist. you gasp when your cloak is torn out from underneath you next, leaving you almost bare.

not bare enough.

he lifts the white material of your skirts up past your hips, revealing the height of your stockings — they stop mid-thigh. a low rumble reverberates from him.

“here.” you offer your help, lifting your bottom up to unclasp your undergarments. you’re not sure he even noticed, eyes glued to what your mother referred to as ‘your flower’. freshly bloomed but not yet watered.

“i thought only whores walked bare.” he thought aloud, traipsing a finger up the inside of your thigh. you shiver and clamp them shut.

“i had to rid of them.” you grow nervous again. “i bled last week.” which is true, but wearing the same underwear for days on end wasn’t particularly comfortable either.

he forces a hand between your legs, wedging them open. your folds flourish for him, also glistening in the low light.

“heavens.” he shudders, cock pressing painfully against his trousers. “pretty cunt.”

the mere outline of his size aches your core and you huff.

“you really are teaching me a lesson.” you force out a nervous laugh.

“so you can keep up.” he jests, mattress dipping and bed frame groaning when he crawls over you.

you swallow. “i’ve heard that it hurts.”

“it will,” his fingertips brush your hip, then slip to stroke your thigh. you’re bent awkwardly in half, your bottom angled against his crotch. “but not for long, and not once you’ve been broken in.”

“will i bleed?” you already know the answer, you’re not so naive to that extent.

“aye,” his thumb finds the throb of your artery. “but not as much as this would.”

the lesson continues.

he reaches between your bodies, the sleeve of his shirt grazing your slick. you feel it pucker in response, the heat returning to your cheeks. sandor frees himself from his trousers, the engorged head of his cock springing to slap your inner thigh.

you suspected a man of his build was probably well-hung but seven hells, he’s been blessed by the gods.

“does it scare you?”

“no.” you lie.

“it should.” he slides a long digit through your slit, circles the bundle of nerves at the top and drags it down toward your opening. knuckle-deep, he crooks it inside of you. your stomach caves in and your mouth falls agape.

he studies the subtle switches in your expression. hooded, glossy eyes and furrowed brows.

you don’t notice him retract his finger until the pressure of it is replaced by an insatiable fullness, driving through your loins and piercing the narrowness of your innocence.

you arch into him with a high-pitched cry, eyes squeezed shut and teeth gritted.

“catch them by surprise.” he grunts, the veins in his neck bulging and the muscles in his arms rippling. “remember that.”

surely he’s not still teaching. he stills for a second, revelling in your tightness whilst you try to accommodate his intrusion.

he twitches within you, desperate to fuck you silly. his lips confront yours again, furious and messy. you squeal like a wounded boar when he pulls his hips back, rocking into you again. the weight of his thighs hugging the curve of your ass tilt you up so you slot against him like a jigsaw, the juices that coat his dick in a crude sheen enticing him to growl.

he moves in, out, and in again. you start to adjust, focusing on the pleasure that rockets up your spine every time his cockhead jabs at your cervix. the sensation is alien and completely unpredictable.

your head rolls to the side, breaking the kiss. he pulls all the way out this time, then plunges back into your depths until all of him has disappeared within you. your mouth hangs open with a salacious mewl, you feel so stuffed. your fists twist to scrunch the bedsheets, breathless pants tumbling from your puffy lips.

a warm and callused palm closes around your neck, enough pressure in its hold to make you dizzy. you arch yourself into him through subconscious desire and his cock slides impossibly deeper inside of you.

he groans and that’s that. he slams into you, ripping a guttural moan from your chest. rising on his knees, he throws your legs over his shoulders, pinning your core to his crotch so only your head and shoulders remain on the mattress.

his rhythm is rough and steady, balls smacking against you with each poignant thrust. “fuck, that’s it.” his jaws are clenched, nails cutting into your skin. your feet curl into a cramp either side of his head and you whine, lightheaded. “gods. . .”

your enjoyment sings to him and it’s music to his ears. the sounds of your little virgin cunt slurping around him and the way you weep for more become his new favourite melody. you sound angelic and look the part, too.

you swear you can feel him everywhere. in your stomach, in parts of you that you didn’t know existed. filling you, taking you, and ruining you for whom ever you may one day wed.

in this moment you don’t feel real. all you can do is whimper and clench around him, sore and swollen. used.

you try to speak, unable to find the power of speech. your toes curl into his hair, eyes rolling until you see darkness and stars.

“little lady wants something?” he punctuates each word with a harsh rut, humping into you clumsily but not caring for his sloppiness.

he fucks you deeply, and of all the women he’s laid with, all for a price and double the usual for the trouble of having to look at a face like his, never has he been taken so well. you swallow his entirety with every snap of his hips, the wiry bush that grows from his pubic bone kissing your clit every time.

and then you fall completely silent, body tensing like a plank of wood until it hits. its blinding and overwhelming, all you can do is spasm around him when finally you let out what one could describe as a howl. you’ve never made such a noise in your life. its the kind of noise you’d expect to hear from men charging into battle.

“fucking hells—” sandor curses, lurching forward when you gush around him. he fucks your climax back into you, adding to it with his own thick seed. you feel it surge through your spent little hole and your cunt gladly milks him of everything he gives you, sucking him dry.

he collapses onto you, your legs falling from the barrels of his shoulders. his cock coerces you through the aftershocks and you hum, now aware of the dull pain between your legs. you lift a shaky hand, almost too weak to do that, and pet his hair. surprisingly, its softer than yours. he purrs into the crook of your neck like a cat, the flip-side of the coin to the rabid dog you believed him to be not so long ago.

you give his shoulder a pat and he groans, lifting his weight off of you. he withdraws his softening cock as he stands, you whine at the loss of him and the way your combined climaxes trickle from your fucked-out hole and pool beneath you. you feel a sting down below where you’re returning to your usual size, no longer speared by something to stretch it out. it’s rather a pleasant pain you feel and not as bad as you feared. that, or you’re still dazed by the afterglow.

once he’s tucked himself away, he offers you a rag from his pocket. “here, clean yourself.” he places it in your hand when you make no effort to move and you’re scarcely aware of him when he sits beside you, a little short of breath. “we stay here tonight.”

“we have no money to rent the room.” you manage to mumble, slurred.

“i already did.” he tells you. so that’s where the rest of his coins went. you hadn’t been convinced that a stew that terrible would cost so much. “you’ll need the rest.”

the revelation gladdens you. if you couldn’t walk before, you don’t fancy your chances now.

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talaok · 6 months ago

Text

At your mercy

Pairing: Joel Miller x Sister-in-law!reader

Summary: You must have put some sort of spell on Joel, because no matter how hard he tries, no matter how wrong he knows it to be, he's never able to say no to you.

Warnings: infidelity (reader is tommy’s wife), joel is very much miserable, smut: sub!joel, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected piv, creampie, a tad of breeding kink, degrading and teasing joel.

a/n: This fic is very much inspired by Ledipa and Paulinus' story (or the first part at least) in the book 'Mistress of Rome' because i am sick and i'm obsessed with them. Also,pleasepleaseplease read that book, it's genuinely perfect.

Joel wanted to die.

He hated himself, he hated every single molecule of his traitorous body, mind, and soul... and yet he couldn't stop.

Every single time he tried to deny himself, he begged his brain not to fall victim yet another time, to find his sanity again- and every single time, it did not.

With just a glance, a curl of your fingers, he was back at your feet.

He remembered the day it all started, the day his downfall began and the gates of hell had opened up to greet him in the afterlife.

He had brought you back home one night, and you had insisted - oh how you'd insisted- that he stayed the night, given it was dark out already, and you didn't want him to drive at this ungodly hour in the pouring rain.

And he, like a fool, had accepted.

His brother wasn't in town—if only he had been, if only he hadn't asked to drive you back home that night, perhaps none of this would have happened.

Perhaps he would still have the strength to look his little brother, your husband, in the eyes.

It was such a small decision, and yet...

He was walking out of the bathroom when he noticed some light leaking through your cracked bedroom door, and like a moth to a flame, like a stupid damned bastard, he walked closer, closer and closer until before he realized it, he was peeking inside the room- seeing something he definitely, absolutely shouldn't have seen.

You were sprawled on the bed, your eyes shut closed and your mouth gaped as little whimpers fled your throat.

The covers were pulled down enough to reveal your breasts, your gorgeous, perfect breasts, and underneath the linen, Joel could see movement, he could make out the shape of your hand as it worked at your core- as you pleasured yourself, looking like a dream straight out of Joel's imagination.

He remained there, frozen, feeling his cock harden beneath the sweats you'd let him borrow from your husband- mesmerized and hypnotized by the image.

It was only when your moans started getting higher, louder, that he hastily looked away, that he took a stumbling step back, and then another, and another, until he turned, and while doing so, his arm caught on a vase- he tried to save it from falling to the ground, but his hands were shaking.

The noise broke through the house, and Joel, like a child, ran. He ran to the couch where he should have already been asleep as your moans stopped for a moment, before resuming all over again.

He didn't sleep that night.

The image of your face twisted in ecstasy and the sound of your moans had tormented his mind for hours on end until he felt on the verge of tears.

He couldn't think of you that way, you weren't his, he couldn't...

And yet the next morning, when you took his hand in his and led him to the bedroom, he followed you.

He felt his insides twist into a knot and red-colored shame took over him every time-

every single time your foot caressed him under the table as he sat beside his brother, every single time you'd call him and had him at your doorstep with a simple "come", every single time he kissed you, he entered you, he fell apart, a part of him died- and yet every single time, like clockwork, he succumbed to you.

To your doe eyes, hidden behind your lashes, to your sweet voice, to your perfect body...

He felt awful, he felt like a zombie walking through life with only shame to fuel him.

Even Tommy had noticed it, so many times he'd worriedly asked:

"what's goin' on with you?"

"You're always late to work, you take long ass lunch breaks and you look like you haven't slept in years"

"Whatever it is, you can tell me, man"

Oh but he couldn't

he couldn't tell him that the reason he was always late was that his own wife called him to the house the moment Tommy left for work- he couldn't tell him that sometimes the mornings weren't enough and he was summoned during lunch too- he couldn't tell him that his own conscience hadn't allowed him to sleep in months, that every time he began to fall asleep he would imagine his brother's face the moment he would find out what he'd been doing behind his back.

But things were only getting worse.

You and your husband were hosting a get-together at your house. A bunch of people Joel didn't know were there, and he didn't bother trying to talk to them, he hadn't bothered talking to practically anyone actually.

He'd started to plan at what time he could have gotten out of this without being rude from the moment you greeted him at the entrance- from the moment your arms wrapped around him and you stood on your tiptoes to murmur a simple, devastating, "Hi Joel" into his ear.

Tommy had appeared seconds after,

and he'd wanted to die.

Just like when he watched you dance with your husband in the garden, your eyes inevitably finding him the moment you and Tommy kissed- a wicked shadow lurking behind your iris.

He was almost at the door when he felt a hand on his arm, and he knew it was yours before he even turned.

"Come with me"

"I-I was goin-"

He didn't even finish the sentence, all you needed to do was give him that look, and he was trailing behind you like a dog.

You pulled him into the laundry room, closing the door behind you.

"get on your knees"

You were leaning against the washing machine, looking almost bored with the situation, with him- oh how many times he prayed you would tire of him, that you'd throw him aside like a discarded toy... he knew it would devastate him, but he also knew it was the only way he could put an end to your spell.

"I-I"

"Joel" you cooed, a tad more sweetly now, your eyes trying to lock in with his wavering gaze.

"T-there's people-- and- and Tommy-"

But you'd grabbed his hand and brought him closer, your soft breath fanning over his skin and leaving shivers in its wake.

"Get on your knees"

He made the mistake of looking down at you, and he felt his knee hit the ground before he even realized what he was doing.

You smiled triumphantly as you propped your leg on his shoulder, hicking up your skirt and moving your panties to the side until your foot on his back finally brought his face right where you wanted it.

You watched the fight die in his eyes with just one blink, and in a second his tongue had found your core, slowly, sweetly licking and tasting all he could reach.

He was always gentle, caring... he was pathetic even when pleasing you- he just couldn't help it.

A series of satisfied hums spilled from your lips as he continued his work, his hand going to your waist to get a better angle, but never daring to tighten his grasp, to keep you in place... as I said: pathetic.

Your foot's heel pushed him even closer, trapping him and basically robbing him of all oxygen as your right hand traveled to his hair, fisting a handful of his locks.

His focus shifted to your clit and you couldn't help but throw your head back, a breathy moan climbing up your throat.

"just like that- fuck" you grinned into the air, your eyes shutting as ecstasy took over your body "You're so much better than your brother- so responsive- such a quick learner"

He'd asked you times and times again not to do that, not to talk of his brother, and yet you kept on- it was like you enjoyed seeing how miserable it made him- watching how even when you were breaking all the rules, all the morals, he still couldn't bring himself to stop.

He closed his own eyes as he tried to shut your words out, but his tongue didn't dare stop, he didn't dare stop sucking your clit... especially when he knew you were so very close.

Your hips started moving on their own accord until you were practically riding his face, unabashedly using him for your own pleasure until you felt that sweet sweet bliss build inside your belly.

"oh fuck" you moaned, your back arching "so good-"

And just like that, pleasure took over your body. You writhed above him as he lapped between your folds like a starved man, stretching your orgasm until you literally had to pull him away from your core.

He seemed dazed as he looked up at you, like a lost kid or a kicked puppy- and you couldn't help but smile before unhooking your leg from him and simply curling two of your fingers to beckon him closer.

He obeyed without question, standing up as you eyed him with only pure lust in your eyes.

"Do you wanna fuck me Joel?" you asked, your voice low and sultry and Joel's worst nightmare.

You watched the hurt, the pain in his eyes as they fell to the ground.

Oh how you loved this game

Two of your fingers pulled his chin up, forcing his gaze to meet yours.

"tell me" you purred, your fingers slowly trailing down his body until you were torturously drawing patterns on the bulge in his jeans.

A strained groan rumbled from his chest.

Your lips pulled to a smirk as you started undoing his zipper, watching his breath get caught in his throat the moment your hand fully grabbed his manhood.

"'s this what you want?" you taunted, your hand now finding its way underneath his boxers and oh so softly giving his dick a stroke.

Joel felt on the verge of a heart attack.

You freed him from the confines of his underwear, his dick red and already leaking precum.

You gave it another stroke and he couldn't help but moan.

Again, you smirked, hopping onto the washing machine behind you and making quick work of getting rid of your panties.

He watched your every move like he was hypnotized, and you only needed to look at him that he was getting closer- right between your spread thighs.

He was already breathing heavily as he positioned himself at your entrance, and just when he started finding his way inside you, a grin pulled at your lips as you breathed "You want to fuck your brother's wife?"

Joel could only shake his head, his eyes closing- and yet he kept filling you up more and more

"Your own sister-in-law?" you laughed, as Joel - Oh poor Joel- his face contorted in shame, pain, whatever it was as his head fell to the crook of your neck.

"please" he begged, his hips retracting and thrusting in deeper, his cock fully seated inside you now making you gasp and hum in pleasure.

"please what?"

He'd started his usual pace, slow and deep and so fucking good.

"please-s-stop"

You simply smiled, your hands going to the back of his head as your fingers dove into his curls, your mouth finding his ear to murmur:

"You're bigger than him, y'know?"

The groan he let out was one of absolute despair... and yet his thrusts only got deeper, better, stronger.

He always knew how to hit it just right-

You threw your head back and he used the opportunity to kiss your neck, every single inch that he could reach, as your legs wrapped around him and forced him as deep as he could physically go.

He was lowly moaning with every thrust while you were biting your lips to silence your own cries.

"What if he walked in right now?" you purred, making him hide his face again- but oh you didn't leave it at that, your lips found his ear again "What if he came through that door and saw you balls deep in his wife?"

Joel of course didn't know that was an actual possibility... you hadn't bothered to lock the door.

"what do you think he'd say?" you chuckled "I bet he wouldn't even be able to look you in the eyes... his own big brother"

His dick kept hitting your sweet spot over and over as Joel's soul called for mercy.

"y/n-- please"

But you grinned as you said:

"I bet he'd never forgive you"

A much too loud groan left his mouth as he kept pleasing you oh so well.

"Careful there" you smiled, biting your lip as your hips started meeting his thrusts.

You knew this was wrong... which is why it was so fun. You also knew that if it ever was to go sideways, if say, Tommy actually caught you two, it would be Joel who got the worst of it.

You knew perfectly well that Tommy would forgive you in a heartbeat... you'd just look at him all sweet, bat your eyes and everything would go back to the way it was- your husband loved you to death... and he had never been very smart.

Joel on the other hand... you were certain that Tommy could never forgive him- his own flesh and blood- and so what if it was cruel... you were just having a little fun.

"Oh fuck" you cried as he hit a particularly good spot, your left hand going to the back of his neck, your nails leaving new scratches right where the old ones had started to fade.

"That's good- keep doing that-"

Joel was back at leaving hot wet kisses on your neck, your collarbones, your face, until his mouth had found yours.

You were the sweetest thing he'd ever tasted- your mouth was the most addictive poison to ever exist.

"You're gonna make me come Joel" you breathed onto his lips "He never makes me feel as good as you"

And just like that, with a smile on your lips, your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you crashed your lips with his, feeding him all your moans and cries as pure bliss blinded your vision.

He watched every second of it- of you falling apart

He looked barely there when you opened your eyes again- his thrusts were sloppy, his eyes droopy and you couldn't help but grin.

"You're gonna come?" you purred "You're gonna fill me up?"

He nodded, his breathing a ragged mess.

"yeah? you're gonna knock me up? fuck a baby in me?" you cooed, watching the plead behind his eyes as he kept going, relentless "What are we gonna tell him when the baby has your eyes instead of his?" you smirked, and without warning, without even wanting to, Joel reached his peak, rope after rope of his come filling you up as your name spilled from his lips.

You kissed his forehead, chuckling softly, before getting out of his hold and off the washing machine, not even bothering to put your panties back on.

"Joel?"

He looked like the saddest zombie ever as he turned to face you.

"stay the night," you said, and once again, Joel wanted to die.

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brittle-doughie · 3 months ago

Text

Until We Meet Again

[Main Story]

You traveled for many, many years across the land, looking for a place to call home.

Along the way, you’ve met many Cookies that had appeared in the land along with you, growing fond of you over the time you’ve spent with them. You could even say you were quite the magnet to them for some reason!

Alas, the time you had with them was limited, they grew older while you remained…the same. You never let their incoming mortality stop you, however. You were glad to have spent the amount of time with them as you did.

This would go on, for many more years until…

???: “GAH! H-HELP!”

You: “Hm? Wonder what’s going on over there..”

You rushed over to the sound of commotion going on in the middle of a forest area to see a Cookie being chased around by a cake-looking critter!

You: “Well well well, what do we have here!”

Citizen Cookie: “You there! Could you help with this thing!? I was just minding my own business when this thing started to chase me!”

You: “Hm….I’ve got just the thing!”

You reached into your pocket and tossed out some bait far away, the cake critter follows the smell and chases after it, leaving the Cookie alone.

Citizen Cookie: “Woo, thanks! That thing would’ve had gotten me if you hadn’t come along.”

You: “Just doing my part. Say, you wouldn’t happen to be a resident of that nearby kingdom I saw, right?”

Citizen Cookie: “You mean the Cookie Kingdom? I can lead you back there if you’d like, least I could do for you for helping me with that critter!”

You: “That’s the spirit I wanna hear! Lead the way, chief!”

You headed with him back towards the Cookie Kingdom, where the gates opened up as he took along the tour.

Suffice to say, you had grown accustomed to the place in the time you’ve lived in it. You weren’t sure why, but you felt like this place was calling for you!

You really felt like you could call this place home after many years of residency….

———————————————————————

Cookies were fleeing for their lives, rushing out the back gate of the kingdom as guards escorted their escape.

You didn’t understand, one moment was peaceful and calm before it was rushed into horrific and frightening in the next!

Cake Monsters…you had seen what they’ve done to your fellow Cookies, leaving them as nothing but burnt flour in their wake.

No matter how hard you tried, your skills weren’t enough as you fled back into the castle, where many other Cookies still standing resides, injured or too frightened to fight.

You rushed through the halls, trying to find the rulers of the kingdom, maybe they had an idea…until you reached the throne room.

Cookie Kingdom Medic: “I can’t stop the jamming, what do I do?!”

Cookie Kingdom King: “You need to run. The others have evacuated already and the kingdom is lost, the monsters are just about to breach this place. I’ll only slow you all down…”

There, still leaning on his throne was the king of the kingdom, his side soaked in jam as he was likely struck there by a cake monster. The queen was nowhere in sight as you approached him.

Cookie Kingdom King: “Ah, there you are, Y/N Cookie. I am happy to see that you made it here.”

You: “Things are going bad outside, we really have to get out of here, your majesty! Where is her highness?”

Cookie Kingdom King: “Someone needed to lead our subjects out to safety, she had chosen to go with them. She’s safe now…”

You: “You can get to safety too, we just need to escape quickly!”

Cookie Kingdom King: “No. We need to buy time for the remaining evacuating Cookies to get to safety. We are making a final stand here…”

You: “I can stay here with you! I can help!”

Cookie Kingdom King: “Y/N Cookie! Listen to me.”

You stay quiet as he looks into your eyes.

Cookie Kingdom King: “There is no hope for me. I’ve lost so much jam, I’ll be lucky to make it through the day before I crumble. I don’t want all this effort to go to waste if those monsters follow the survivors. Be strong for me, if not for them.”

You looked down as he handed you a sword, your face seen in the reflection of the blade, he gave you a pat on the shoulder as you look up back at him. He tried to give you one more reassuring smile before a guard rushed to him.

Cookie Kingdom Guard: “The castle doors are breached, they’re getting through!”

Cookie Kingdom King: “Y/N Cookie…go. Go now!”

You gave him your final, reluctant nod as you head out the back way of the castle, the king sighs to himself as he pulled out his blade as his remaining guards stand with him, right as the cake monsters breach the throne room…

Cookie Kingdom King: “Let us make the end memorable, my friends! They can break our dough, but they will never break our spirit!”

“CHARGE!”

———————————————————————

You kept running. You didn’t look back as you heard the sounds of roaring and weapons clashing with one another along with the pained and angry shouts of Cookies as you run through the forest.

You reached a hill as you fell on your hands and knees, trying to breathe and hold back a tear or two as you tried to process what had just happened.

You would not be given such reprieve until a loud BOOM shook the air!

You look around the sky until you noticed the large explosion way off into the distance in the sky. You couldn’t believe it, it was like the land was being destroyed all around you as you stand up and kept running.

You would not return until many months later…

By then, the kingdom was a shell of what once was…

#cookie run #cookie run x reader #cookie run x you #cr x reader #cookie run kingdom #crk x reader #cookie run kingdom x reader #cr kingdom

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thebiscuitlabryinth · 4 months ago

Text

[prev]

The air in the Vanilla Kingdom is crisp and slightly thin from the high altitude, a far cry from the heavy dustiness that Healer is accustomed to from the village. Sadly, any refreshment he could have gotten from it is thrown off by the underlying sugary staleness.

The young batch of adventurers forge onwards in front of him, their chatter shaking the strange silence that blankets what Healer had assumed to be a populated kingdom. Plain Yogurt sticks close to his right, casually relaying descriptions of the battered and time-worn buildings they pass to him. It isn’t really necessary, because Healer can get an understanding of the area through the tap of his staff and the tiles beneath his feet, and he doesn’t have much interest in the visual details anyway. Still, Healer doesn’t have the heart to tell him to stop, endeared by the sweet sentiment behind his dedicated descriptions.

Flanking his left is a wary Black Raisin with a raisin crow or two, from the sounds of it. It is not ideal for her and Plain Yogurt to be on this venture together, but Healer appreciates both of their company regardless. At the very least, they seem to be ignoring each other for the most part, the typical tension between them mostly unnoticeable.

It is just as well, because Healer has enough to worry about as it is: the stale air, the silence slinking around them, the unsteady tiles shifting beneath the weight of his staff.

He hates to admit it, but it is all horribly unnerving.

Healer can understand his discomfort at the unexpected state of the kingdom, but he does not understand the twist of despair in his gut, something eerily close to grief. Everything feels wrong, and while that should be unsurprising coming from a place you expected to be inhabited, the wrongness Healer feels almost comes from a place of familiarity rather than expectation. Like it feels wrong because he knows it usually does not feel like this.

That is impossible, though, because Healer has never been here before. So he keeps that feeling tucked close to himself, following the sound of the group’s footsteps and Plain Yogurt’s elaborate commentary.

It does not take very long for them to agree that the Vanilla Kingdom seems to be abandoned, even more so than their own little village. There isn’t a trace of another Cookie anywhere, and the further into the kingdom they go, the more true that conclusion seems to be.

“This state of disrepair could be because nobody is around to maintain everything.” Wizard suggests as the young adventurers debate the cause, a contemplative lilt to his voice. “Perhaps the Cookies who once lived here fled from Dark Enchantress Cookie during the Dark Flour War?”

Dark Enchantress. Healer has heard the name before, but it has never hit him square in the chest like it does now, leaving him winded. Pain bursts behind his bandaged eyes, blurry memories of desperation and devastation ripping through him like a blade, dripping ice down his spine. It is all completely incomprehensible, ill-fitting with the reality of the village life he knows and upsetting because of it.

“Dark Enchantress– the things she’s done. The crimes she’s committed!” The gasp comes unthinkingly from his throat, and he suddenly knows with a startling certainty what Dark Enchantress has done. He shouldn’t. It is impossible, for someone to suddenly know things out of nothing, and yet–

The newfound power dwelling in Healer’s staff reaches weakly for him, drapes over him, cool and crisp like the high altitude air. It is meant to be soothing, Healer thinks, but a part of him recoils violently from it, because it must be the cause of these strange flashes of knowledge that do not belong to him. His hand jerks around his staff, as if he isn’t sure whether to throw it away or cling to it like a lifeline, before he stubbornly tightens his grip and plants it in the ground, trying to catch his bearings.

A hand lands on his shoulder, keeping him steady, and Plain Yogurt’s voice swoops in close behind. “Hey, are you okay? That was quite the reaction.” He asks, his words sounding heavy in a way that Healer assumes is awkward, even though Plain Yogurt doesn’t seem to get awkward often. “...Do you know Dark Enchantress or something?”

It is an innocent, almost casual question beneath its layers of concern, but it might be the worst thing Healer could have heard at that moment. It feels like it cleaves straight through his brain, peeling back his consciousness like an orange and dredging up ancient pain from the depths of his subconscious, so strong it is like it has been fermenting all this time. It crawls through his dough, and he is hit with the scent of burnt dough and ruin, of ozone and jam, of wilting lilies–

Healer’s gasp of breath catches wetly in his throat, sounding slightly strangled.

“Healer!” Black Raisin calls, and he can feel her pressing in on his other side, hands hovering over him but not quite touching, not quite as bold in her invasion of his personal space as Plain Yogurt is. Her concern immediately turns to anger, and she addresses Plain Yogurt sharply behind Healer’s head. “Don’t ask such a stupid question! Why do you insist on upsetting him over nothing?”

“I was trying to check on him!” Plain Yogurt argues, his hand on Healer’s shoulder tightening from his steady comfort. “If I knew it would make him worse, I wouldn’t have asked him that, obviously.”

“It is very easy to say that, isn’t it?” Black Raisin shoots back, and Healer can practically feel Plain Yogurt bristle beside him. He wishes they hadn’t started arguing at all, but at least it grounds him from the churning confusion of his unreliable mind, helping him recover his wits with something else to focus on.

“Black Raisin, please don’t make accusations like that.” Healer cuts in gently, the tone only slightly unsteady as he gets his breath under control. He lifts his free hand to pat her arm in consolation, closing the gap that she had been hesitant to bridge herself. “Plain Yogurt is right. He was only trying to help, and he had no way of knowing the question would be sensitive.” He pauses, then admits a little sheepishly, “Even I am not sure why I reacted so strongly.”

Black Raisin seems to hesitate for a moment, before sighing, her tone softening. “Are you alright now, at least?”

“I am, I promise you.” Healer insists with a little quirk of a smile, and it isn’t quite a lie, but it isn’t a truth either. He raises a hand to pat the hand on his shoulder too, tilting his head towards Plain Yogurt. “Both of you. Thank you for the concern, but we should catch up with our new friends before we lose them, shouldn’t we?”

Black Raisin makes a reluctant but ultimately agreeing noise, Plain Yogurt squeezes his shoulder once before his hand falls away, and that is that.

Healer is a bit relieved that the batch of young adventurers hadn’t noticed his severe reaction, distracted as they were with patching up some holes in their way forward, because he really has no explanation for it. He isn’t sure if he wants an explanation either. He tries to push past it instead, dismissing his own mixed emotions as they continue on.

Unfortunately, that is a lot easier said than done. It is like a lock has been unlatched, allowing memories that belong to someone else to seep in through the cracks, even as muddled and unclear as they are. Healer’s feet move as if they know this path, as if they have walked it a hundred times before, and it unsettles him more than if he kept tripping up.

Swarmed by his own creeping discomfort, Healer can barely pay attention to Plain Yogurt’s descriptions, let alone anything else. Plain Yogurt must notice his scattered attention, because he has always been oddly good at reading Healer, but he doesn’t seem offended. He just continues to talk, and Healer clings to his voice like an anchor even though he doesn’t quite process every word.

With the descriptions he does catch, Healer somehow manages to imagine exactly what is in front of him, so clear it is as if he can see it for himself, caught in his mind like a picture. But that is impossible. It must be, because Healer has worn his bandages for as long as he can remember, so he has never seen anything.

Healer is finally and suddenly pulled from his queasy confusion by a new voice up ahead, shouting indignantly. “Scrap? You’re calling my perfect toys scrap?! How dare you!”

“Uh, who are you?” Gingerbrave pipes up, slightly bewildered.

Healer feels the same, complicated further by disbelief, worry and an unexplainable dose of hope. “How can there be another Cookie here?” He turns to where he thinks Plain Yogurt is, waving his free hand to get his attention when he doesn’t manage to find his arm. “The rest of the kingdom is definitely abandoned, isn’t it?”

Plain Yogurt, as if in silent apology for not being where Healer expected, suddenly presses their shoulders together, staying for a long moment before pulling away again. “Well, it definitely looked abandoned. Maybe they’re the only one here.”

“Huh?” The new voice sounds just as bewildered as Gingerbrave was, and Healer aches a little as he realises how young the voice sounds, paired with Plain Yogurt’s suggestion that they might be here all alone. “Wait, are you really Cookies?” There’s a subtle rise of hope in their tone, and Healer’s ache worsens, knowing that reaction only makes Plain Yogurt’s deduction seem more likely. “Pfft, what am I saying? Of course you’re not. Now, where are your data chip interfaces?”

There’s a few quick footsteps, before Chili Pepper is shouting, “Hey, get off of me!”

The little one doesn’t seem to show any sign of noticing her protests, based on Chili Pepper’s continued grumbling and the little one’s muttered…calculations?

Then, the little one gasps. “No way! You guys are all really Cookies?” There is a flurry of more footsteps, followed by startled complaints from the rest of the young adventurers as the little one presumably turns their inspection towards them. “It sure looks like it! Woah, I haven’t seen another Cookie in…” The movement briefly pauses as the little one drags out a hum. “...forever!”

That is rather concerning in itself, and Healer wants to ask about that, to understand the situation so he could possibly offer the little one help, but in the next second, everything happens too quickly for his questions to have a chance.

The little one’s footsteps storm towards them, followed by a split-second scuffle, dough hitting dough, and a yelp of surprise. Healer sucks in a breath, but he already has an idea of what happened, even before Plain Yogurt says, “Don’t you dare.”

The words are low and flat, a warning that hangs in the air like thunder. Healer finds it to be a bit harsh of a reaction, but he knows how sensitive Plain Yogurt can be with unwanted touch and he can’t really blame him for that, so instead he tries to smooth things over amicably. “Sorry, he doesn’t like physical contact all that much. You should have at least asked beforehand.”

“He didn’t seem to have any problems making physical contact with you.” The little one sniffs petulantly, slightly muffled like they were covering their face.

“That’s because we’re friends.” Healer explains patiently, before his worry finally gets the better of him, taking a step towards the sound of the little one’s voice. “Are you hurt at all? I’m sure Plain Yogurt didn’t mean to, but I can help if you are.”

He reaches his free hand out in a friendly offer, but the little one doesn’t take it. They scoff, footsteps stumbling back. “Whatever. I don’t need to be here for this. Have fun getting lost!”

The footsteps scurry away before Healer can muster up a proper response, and he deflates with an odd twist of guilt in his gut, dropping his hand.

“Um…that was weird, right?” Strawberry mumbles in the quiet aftermath.

“They were weird, more like.” Plain Yogurt snorts humorlessly, a mostly unfamiliar edge to his tone. “Talking about equations and grabbing everyone willy-nilly like that. Suspicious, isn’t it?”

“I hate to say it but I agree.” Black Raisin mutters as if it pained her, a judgemental caution thick in her voice. “I don’t trust that Cookie one bit. They acted strangely, and I doubt that they are really alone.”

Plain Yogurt snorts again, louder with more genuine mirth. “You don’t trust anyone.”

Black Raisin huffs, but says nothing. In any other situation, Healer would have been thrilled to see them agree on something, to get along semi-amicably, but unfortunately he doesn’t quite agree with their joint stance.

“Well, suspicious or not, we should still go after them, right?” Gingerbrave argues. “It’s probably dangerous for them to be running around here alone.”

“Yes.” Healer smiles slightly, relieved that someone else had the same idea as him. “I have a few questions to ask them too, about their personal situation and this kingdom.”

Healer is not sure why he feels such a strong sense of responsibility over this little one, a deep-seated guilt as if whatever happened to them is his own fault. It doesn’t make sense. Still, focusing on the little one is better than focusing on anything else, because at least the little one doesn’t prompt disorienting fragments of memories that tear at his mind with impossible familiarity.

“A splendid idea!” Custard declares, just as upbeat as before. “After all, every king should understand their loyal citizens’ perspectives.”

Plain Yogurt sighs, setting his elbow on Healer’s shoulder and leaning into him. “Well, if you say so. It would be good for us to know what really happened here, anyway.”

There it is again, that strange lilting tone that Plain Yogurt sometimes gets, the one he can never parse. Healer turns to face him at the contact, suddenly reminded of his earlier unanswered question. He asks quietly, “They weren’t hurt, were they? I heard contact, but it didn’t sound too hard.”

Plain Yogurt pauses for a moment. “Of course not.” He assures in a soft, hushed voice. “Nothing more than a little scratch, at most. I’m not someone who likes violence, you know that.”

Healer nods, understanding. “No, I know. It was an instinctive reaction, as unfortunate as it is.”

Plain Yogurt hums, the sound trailing off. Then, he straightens up from Healer and announces, as if to dismiss the topic entirely, “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you get your answers. We’re heading towards the castle anyway, so we’re bound to run into them again eventually.”

It is phrased ominously, but Healer accepts it as the support it is clearly meant to be with a small smile. “You’re right. Let’s get going, then.”

So, onwards they go.

It does not take them long to run into the little one again. Although they had retreated of their own accord, Chili Pepper’s penchant for rummaging through the scrap in their path quickly draws them out again.

“Hey, those parts are mine! Give them back!” The little one shouts from further away, clearly keeping their distance from the group. “You have no idea how precious those are.”

“Well, I do now!” Chili Pepper crows, a smirk colouring her voice. “And if they were really yours, how was I able to swipe ‘em up so easily?”

“Just give the parts back.” Wizard sighs in palpable annoyance. “We shouldn’t be picking unnecessary fights.”

“Yeah! You should listen to that Cookie with the high ice cream percentage, 13 grams of chili sauce!” The little one declares smugly, the tone rivalling Chili Pepper’s own smirk. They completely ignore both Wizard and Chili Pepper’s exclamations of confusion and offense, a bang or two suggesting that they had hopped up onto a box or ledge of some kind to lord over them. “This is my playground, and these are my toys. In fact, everything left in this kingdom is mine! So–”

The little one cuts themself off with a shriek of alarm, and Healer straightens up, mind racing as he whips around to try and ask Plain Yogurt what happened.

“Let me go!” The little one shouts indignantly, stopping Healer in his tracks. He can hear grunts of effort as they presumably try to struggle out of a hold.

“Hah! Not so funny when you’re on the receiving end, huh?” Chili Pepper retorts, a little too vindictive. For a split second, Healer assumes she must be the one to have grabbed the little one, even though the direction and distance of their two voices don’t match up.

“Woah, Plain Yogurt Cookie, you moved so fast, I didn’t even see you!” Custard says in awe, building to an innocent excitement. “How would you feel about becoming my Royal Bodyguard?”

Healer freezes, silently reaching a hand out to where he thought Plain Yogurt was. Sure enough, his hand only meets air, and he quickly tucks it close to his chest, not wanting to attract attention in his own confusion. He hadn’t heard Plain Yogurt move at all – but then again, he had suspected that Plain Yogurt could move silently for a while now, based on a collection of instances where, in Healer’s blindness, he seemed to disappear into thin air.

“Where did you even come from, you- you–!” The little one sputters, a frazzled irritation spiking their tone. “–What are you?!”

“What, you can’t figure it out?” Plain Yogurt muses, condescending to a degree that honestly surprises Healer. He had never heard him like this, even in his spats with Black Raisin; something so close to toeing the line of cruelty. “What a pity.”

“Plain Yogurt, be gentle with them.” Healer says, suddenly realising that he might need the reminder. He assumes that this odd behaviour stems from the little disagreement the two had earlier, when the little one grabbed at Plain Yogurt without permission, though it is still a little uncomfortable to reconcile Plain Yogurt’s usual behaviour to this.

“I am, I am, they’re just fussy.” Plain Yogurt replies, his tone lightening back to a much more familiar one. Since none of their companions refute the claim, Healer accepts that as truth, though he likely would have done so even if he hadn’t had the assurance. “Well, my dear, you said you have questions. Now is your chance to ask them.”

Healer, admittedly, cannot help being slightly flattered by the implication that Plain Yogurt did this for him, even though he doesn’t agree with his methods in the slightest. “You didn’t have to–”

The little one groans loudly, and the sounds of struggling stop as they must have finally slumped into Plain Yogurt’s hold. “Just ask your stupid questions and let me go, before I stop being nice and do something you’ll really regret.”

The threat washes over Healer’s shoulders as he moves over to where their voices are coming from, drawing closer to them. “Sorry once again, little one.” He apologises, because guilt gnaws at him, though he isn’t fully certain what specifically he is apologising for. “I don’t have too much to ask but… where are the other Cookies of this kingdom?”

The little one answers quickly and scornfully. “I don’t know and I don’t care! This kingdom fell a looong time ago, and nobody stuck around after that. Literally everyone knows that.”

Healer had guessed as much anyway, but for some reason, the confirmation makes him slightly queasy, his breath catching in his lungs. “No, that can’t be… all of the Cookies that once lived here?” Unwanted, the sound of a bustling crowd cheering dances in his ears, a sugary scent thickens the air, and Healer shakes his head to try and dismiss the ghosts of something that does not belong to him because it can’t, it can’t. “But then, where did you come from?”

Plain Yogurt must have loosened his grip, because the sounds of a scuffle return, and this time, the little one audibly escapes with a laugh that sounds only slightly hysterical. “I’m not telling you! Leave me alone!”

With that, the little one scurries off, even faster than before. Chili Pepper shouts after them, and one after another, the batch of young adventurers take off after them without giving much consideration towards whether such a chase is needed.

“Where are you all going? This is completely unnecessary!” Black Raisin scolds, but she still runs after them, her crow cawing impatiently. She must have accepted that, regardless of her own hostility in the village, the adventurers are her wards on this expedition, and treats them with protectiveness accordingly. “Be careful, the tiles are loose, remember?!”

Healer, with little choice left in the matter, goes to follow the sound of their disappearing movements, only to startle when a familiar voice appears on his left.

“Sorry for leaving you alone all of a sudden.” Plain Yogurt says, sweet but not quite as apologetic as his words should have been. “I saw you reaching for me earlier.”

Healer finds himself fighting a small flush of embarrassment, but he presses it down behind a breathy chuckle. Admittedly, he hadn’t heard Plain Yogurt approach him, and had assumed he had followed the initial rush after the little one, since he had been their captor. “Your movement really can be impressively silent when you want it to be.”

“What can I say?” Plain Yogurt hums, playful and weirdly sardonic. “It’s a gift.”

Healer sighs, reaching out expectantly and relaxing in places he hadn’t realised were tense when Plain Yogurt gives him his arm. “You shouldn’t have done that to the little one, though. You must have scared them.”

Plain Yogurt tsks, the sweetness in his voice taking on a begrudgingly bitter tang. “Why? I was only returning the favour.”

“Even so. An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind, you know.”

Plain Yogurt laughs. “And you, my dear? Are you speaking from experience?” He teases warmly, in the way he always teases Healer. It is not meant to be taken seriously.

But the question triggers a snap of pain at Healer’s temples, bringing in the scent of choking smoke and the sound of crumbling destruction, as if the whole world were wheezing in pain. Flashes of stark red dance in the pitch black behind his eyelids – red, definitely red, but how does he know what that is – and the phantom claws of an unfamiliar magic scrabble through him, freezing and wild and near uncontrollable. A last resort. A dangerous gambit.

“Dear?” Plain Yogurt repeats, now with concern, it must be concern because Healer must be imagining the rise of a smile in his syllables. “You keep getting distracted. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes.” Healer exhales the reply, perhaps a bit too quickly, desperately trying to empty his mind of anything but the tangible, understandable present. He tentatively loosens his painfully tight grip on Plain Yogurt’s arm, unsure of when that had happened. “Yes, I am. We should catch up with the others before we lose track of them entirely.”

Much to Healer’s relief, Plain Yogurt accepts his blatant diversion gracefully and they finally start walking. Healer is genuinely worried, to a certain degree, by how far they have fallen behind, but Plain Yogurt seems unbothered. He leads him along as if he is certain he knows exactly where the rest of their group has gone, even though Healer cannot seem to hear any evidence of them. Perhaps there is a more obvious visual trail that he cannot see.

“They’re in this big fortress.” Plain Yogurt comments offhandedly as Healer feels the wind cut off abruptly, held off by sturdy walls. He hears a commotion of familiar voices coming from up ahead and quickens his pace, half-dragging Plain Yogurt behind him in his haste. Plain Yogurt makes no attempt to complain, instead letting out an interested noise. “A warehouse of Wafflebots, no less! It looks like there are dozens sleeping in here.”

“Wafflebots?” Healer parrots in alarm as they finally reunite with the rest of the group, who all seem to be discussing the same thing.

“The Vanillians seem to have originally built them to help with tasks too difficult for Cookies, like defence and construction, not as weapons.” Wizard explains, his words slightly slow and stilted like he is still trying to piece everything together. Then he gasps, the audible manifestation of a burst of excitement. “And just look at that Wafflebot Goliath! According to this blueprint, they all have a permanent enchantment on their machinery which allows them to perform up to twenty-seven different commands. It’s incredible!”

“All of that only proves that we should destroy this place.” Black Raisin insists, her determined voice holding a precious thread of fierce hope. “The more impressive it is, the more danger it poses to the village.”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Custard interjects with a nervous waver to his voice that steadies out as he clears his throat. “As future king, I should take a closer look first. If we can fix them, then they won’t attack anymore. They could even be a great help!”

Healer hears Custard stepping closer to what must be one of the Wafflebots, and dread drips into his stomach. “Uh, I don’t think that is such a good idea, Your Majesty.”

“No need to fret, my faithful subject!” Custard chirps cheerfully as his feet continue to tip-tap closer. “This one seems docile, so it should be–”

Before he can finish that sentence, a sharp whirring fills the fortress, echoing through the large space and ringing in Healer’s ears as the screech of moving metal synchronises with the thump of robotic feet.

Healer can hear everyone jump into the fight, though it is difficult for him to track what exactly is happening past the squeal of metal, the buzz of magic, the rumble shaking his feet and the battle cries. What he does know is that Plain Yogurt is still lingering behind him, and Healer backs up into him, throwing his free arm out to protect him just like he had back in the village. He tightens his grip on his staff, but is discouraged from trying anything by the sluggishly low amount of magical energy he finds.

The acrid smell of explosions and laser smoke wrap around him, thick on his tongue, and Healer tries not to choke on his own disgusting sense of déjà vu.

Thankfully, Plain Yogurt is not as panicked as he was during the attack on the village, grounding him in the present with his steady assessment of the situation. “They look like they’re struggling to beat it.”

Which sounds bad, yes, and makes Healer queasy, but it at least brings him back to the here and now. He tries to think of what he can do to help, hearing the group’s enthusiasm to fight begin to slowly flag, his thoughts tangling uselessly with one another.

“There’s a secret passage somewhere here.” Healer blurts out, and the words scald him because he knows that they are true but he shouldn’t. He can’t afford to question or reject it when it could save them now, though, so he continues. “Near one of the, uh, control stations? I believe?”

He could not sound less convincing if he tried, and yet Plain Yogurt grabs his elbow and begins steering him towards the wall without question. Healer makes sure to keep himself between Plain Yogurt and the Wafflebot fight as they move, tense with anticipation, until they slow to a stop.

Under the din of the ongoing battle, there is the creak of rusty hinges.

“Found it!” Plain Yogurt confirms as he tugs on Healer’s sleeve.

Relief finally rears its head, and Healer twists around to yell over his shoulder as Plain Yogurt pulls him into the passageway, “Everyone, follow us! There’s a passageway here, we should be able to follow it to safety!”

It doesn’t take long for the rest to enter the passageway behind them, banging against the walls in their haste and panting as they try to catch their breath. The trek through the narrow passage gives them time to calm down, adrenaline levelling out as the clanging of the Wafflebot Goliath fades away. Plain Yogurt leads the way, at some point releasing Healer’s sleeve, until the walls fall away from their sides and the crisp, open air greets them once more.

The crisp, open air and the unmistakable whirring of a fleet of Wafflebots overhead.

Healer tenses, tilting his head upwards to try and gauge if the fleet is approaching them or not. Plain Yogurt must notice him doing that, as he always seems to, because he answers his silent question. “Don’t worry, they’re not attacking us. Actually, it looks like they’re leaving the Vanilla Kingdom.”

“But then where…” Black Raisin trails off, before sucking in a sharp breath. “No! No, they’re heading towards the village!”

The words alone are enough to make Healer’s heart sink, but the spark of genuine, unadulterated panic in Black Raisin’s voice makes it even worse. Out of all the time he has known her, Black Raisin has never sounded like that. Even in the worst calamities, even when the Wafflebots first descended, she has always been able to take control and keep steady, directing her energy into protection rather than panic.

Then again, she has never been this far from the village before. She has never been in a position where, when a crisis occurs, she cannot immediately take action to protect the village.

“Healer, we have to go back immediately.” Black Raisin demands, and he can hear a raisin crow take flight somewhere, spurned by her urgency. “If we hurry, we might be able to make it back before too much damage is done.”

He can hear her marching back past him, to try and go back the way they came, and Healer’s hand flies up to catch her shoulder. Her panic makes his dough crawl, but uncertainty and the thinning curl of power in his staff glue his feet to the tiles below. “Wait, I– unfortunately, the power in my staff seems to be depleted from creating the portal up. If we go back now, I’m not sure if we will be able return up here.”

He can feel how stiff she is beneath his palm, almost trembling with the wound tension, but Black Raisin still stops at his touch. Her voice, however, is unyielding, only growing in agitation. “Why does that matter now? The village is in danger. We can worry about things like coming back here once we make sure everyone back home is safe.”

She is right. Healer knows that she is right, but there is a clashing sense of responsibility swelling from the depths of his mind, pulling his heart in two dizzying directions. “But we have yet to fully understand what has happened here.” He argues, though he isn’t quite sure he wants to know either, unable to verbalise the foreign guilt that has sneakily tethered him to the path forward. “We still don’t know the situation surrounding the little one, and there could be other Cookies here in need of help that we don’t know of. And there is the matter of- of Dark Enchantress–”

His throat spasms thickly around that name with something eerily close to grief, and he is almost relieved when Black Raisin immediately cuts him off.

“What has gotten into you?” Her disbelief almost fully eclipses her outrage, all of which is undoubtedly stoked by the pressure of the situation. “None of that is our problem. Our only priority should be keeping the village safe, and our only fight is with the Wafflebots that descend on us. There is no need for us to involve ourselves any further.”

“But the world is larger than just our village.” Healer says, his words gaining a strength he doesn’t really feel. “Something awful has happened here and–”

“And that is still not our problem! We are not here to be heroes, Healer, we are just Cookies trying to live.” Black Raisin shoots back, shrugging Healer’s hand off her. The gesture stings a little, because she has never rejected his touch before, but he lets his hand fall. She sighs, her voice leaning closer towards a plea. “Please, Healer. You've been reacting strangely ever since we got here, and you’ve been almost constantly distressed. Don’t you think it would be in your best interest to go back anyway?”

Healer understands her point, but it scrambles into the complicated knot of emotions swirling in his chest. Half of him is tempted, half of him really has no interest in knowing any more, but the cold sting of the waning power in his staff keeps him grounded like an obligation. When the words finally and clumsily tumble out of his mouth, he is speaking to himself more than anyone else, sharp with self-inflicted reproach. “No, no, turning back now would be cowardly.”

He doesn’t realise his mistake until he hears Black Raisin reply, “...Are you saying I’m a coward? Is that what you truly think of me?”

There is a shiver in her voice, a crack of hurt so much worse than her anger and panic, and regret washes over Healer in an instant. His face falls, and he quickly, furiously, shakes his head. “No, that’s not–”

“Well, he’s right, isn’t he?” Plain Yogurt deadpans as his hand finds a place in the junction between Healer’s shoulder and neck, his presence pressing in from behind. “Cowardice is why you kept trying to crumble me behind his back, isn’t it? A shame none of those attempts ever worked.”

It is like the air itself freezes between them, Healer’s muddled mind momentarily going blank.

“...What?” He chokes out weakly, completely caught off guard. His head automatically tilts towards Plain Yogurt, like it always does when he tries to search for confirmation on something or other.

There is a moment of thick, unbearable silence before Black Raisin finally, finally bites through it with her teeth.

“You!” She barks, a brittle sound that is both harsh and unbearably fragile, her audibly shaking breath acting as punctuation. She takes a deep breath, and for a moment, her words grow wobbly as if she is holding back an angry sob. “Healer, I…”

Black Raisin does not immediately try to refute the accusation. Healer can feel his heart hammering in his own throat. The whine of lasers gathering power reverberates from somewhere.

“I don’t have time for this.” Black Raisin mutters dejectedly, gruff and low, followed by the scratch of her boots against the tiles as she spins around and breaks off into a sprint back the way they came.

Healer hears the retreating footsteps multiple into tens of dozens, hears the screams and panic, sees glimpses of Cookies cradling growing cracks as they beg for him to save them, as they lose hope in him and–

“Wait! Black Raisin!” Healer lurches forwards, reaching a hand out to try and grab her even though she has long since moved out of his range, his own desperation ringing in his ears.

Plain Yogurt’s hand tightens its grip on him, and he is reeled back before he can try and run after Black Raisin in earnest. “Let her go.” He murmurs, rubbing his hand along the length of Healer’s shoulder in a comforting gesture. "It won't do either of you any good to keep talking when you're both stressed."

Healer ignores the attempted comfort in favour of twisting around to face him fully, fumbling before he manages to gather the front of Plain Yogurt’s robes into his fist. It isn’t meant to be a threat. Rather, it is the only thing anchoring Healer as his pitch black world seems to spin.

“Is what you said true?” He asks, his chest aching. The power in his staff thrums lazily as if in response, but he stubbornly ignores that too. “About Black Raisin?”

“I guess she didn’t trust your judgement on me very much.” Plain Yogurt replies softly, evasive and yet an obvious answer in itself.

His judgement. Healer's judgement. The villagers always trust his judgement, but they aren’t the only ones. The last Cookies to trust his judgement, for better or for worse, were–

No—

Healer’s head explodes in spiced pain and he feels cold, right to the tips of his fingers, swaying and collapsing into Plain Yogurt. Smells and sensations and images pop incessantly through his mind, barbed and vengeful, and Healer rejects them all, recoiling, writhing, sinking, sinking, sinking—

Until he, blissfully, enters dark nothingness.

#~6k words of healer fighting for his life against déjà vu. cheers!!#i just think there is some psychological horror in remembering this whole other life that is apparently you #but is so completely detached from what you know as your own life. so.#shadowvanilla #vanilla milkshake #pure vanilla cookie #healer cookie #shadow milk cookie #(← called plain yogurt here you know the drill)#blind man's bluff au #the biscuit library

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therobotsarestuckinmyhead · 2 months ago

Note

Hi, I hope you're doing well! I wanted to make a request—could you write a Transformers Prime headcanon featuring Optimus, Ratchet, and Smokescreen with a Cybertronian reader [male] [platonic]? The reader is a survivor of the war on Cybertron, a young medic who fled the planet after its fall. He managed to take some sparklings with him and has been caring for them ever since

☆ “NEW BASE, NEW FAMILY.”

anon, this is a unique ask and i love it! i haven’t specified the number of sparklings so you can take your pick! also i've never really written a male POV before… it's a new experience so forgive me if its not upto the mark!

including: Optimus, Ratchet, Smokescreen

BACKGROUND:

Your ship, it was a mini battle ship you'd miraculously managed to steal from Decepticons during your more reckless days, it could hold maybe about… what? Ten bots? And you, being the responsible medic you were, made sure to bring aboard sparklings you'd taken pity on. Endless days of drifting in space, scouring for some or the other energon reserves you could get, it's left a toll on you. You look older than you really are and you've begun to understand the senior medics.

The moment you got that message from Optimus asking all Autobots to come to Earth, it was like a Christmas gift, your faceplates immediately lit up— your own supplies were running low and your generosity appointed you the title of Sire to the terrors that run around your ship, you've been nothing short of exhausted and famished, running on energon fumes in your tanks. It's hectic to keep them in line but their joy, their excited faces and giggles is reminiscent of an era where war was far away and getting energon in your tanks was your only concern.

And you hoped that this new refuge that the Autobots had found— Earth, was enough to provide for you and the sparklings you'd basically adopted. The tenants of your ship who live off your generosity. You don't really want to accept fatherhood. After all, you yourself are maybe just a few vorns older than the two young soldiers. Maybe there were other Autobots, older and more experienced that could deal with them…

But you were hopeful too quickly. The moment your ship entered near the orbit, the massive size of The Nemesis made no effort to conceal itself and attempted to shoot you down immediately. However, you were able to establish communications with the Autobot base on Earth within that time; sending coordinates of your impromptu landing so that you and your group could be taken to the Autobots before Vehicon scouts arrived.

OPTIMUS:

— The moment an Autobot distress call reached the console, everyone quickly huddled around. At first, Prime was skeptical there was a chance it could be a cheap Decepticon trick and it wouldn't be the first time they fell for something like that.

— But even if there was a silver chance that it was genuine, Optimus knew he had to go. It was only appropriate for the Prime himself to be there to welcome Autobots that are new to their temporary refuge, Earth.

— Thankfully, he got there before any Vehicon drones. But your ship is busted, it's far too damaged by the fire it's taken from The Nemesis and Prime knows they don't have the resources at hand to fix your ship… You'll unfortunately have to leave it behind and go with him through the ground bridge.

— When the ship door opens, he sees you. You're… not someone he really recognizes. Smokescreen, who was with him, knew you. So Prime didn't have much of an issue.

— He quickly escorted you out of the ship and he saw the sparklings, he was… Shocked to say the least. Their planet's core had died out, they must've been the last few young sparks to crawl out of The Well. His tone turns somber, he doesn't say a word as he's going through the land bridge with you. It had been far too long since he'd seen sparklings.

— Optimus realizes you'd taken them in and a newfound respect for you swells in his spark. You're young, despite the tiredness on your features, he knows you're not as old and despite this, you're taking up such a big responsibility and from how happy the young ones seem to be, you're doing a good job at it too.

— Once at the Autobase, he will introduce you to everyone and then proceed to have Ratchet run a diagnostic on your systems, a routine check up just to make sure you're healthy and fit. Optimus will then proceed to check up on you regularly to make sure you're getting to know the place better and even mingle with the humans.

— One thing he didn't expect is how… absolutely awestruck the sparklings look at him. Like they're amazed by him. They follow him around sometimes with this wide smile but too shy to really ask anything. It makes him smile a bit. You've told stories of Autobots and their heroics so those sparklings idolize him. He isn't sure on what to feel about being idolized.

— But soon enough, he's like a second father. When you can't get them under control, all Optimus has to do is say a word and they behave readily. It makes you crack your neck at him and look very confused; you've been struggling for cycles with them and all Optimus has to do is say a word? Arcee jokes from the side saying “Power of a Prime.” which honestly, just makes you snicker.

— Optimus gives you counsel. He knows you've been through a lot given you were by yourself with some sparklings within a ship that was barely holding itself together in the midst of a war. He will give you solid advice on what to do with your life.

— He starts to make conversation with the sparklings and he's surprisingly good with them. Optimus tells them stories and they sit there with crossed legs, the human children; Raf, Miko and Jack are there too. Raf sitting on one of the sparklings’ knees, Miko sitting on another’s pauldron and Jack leaning against another one’s servo as they all listen. Story time is a pleasant time at the base and soon it becomes routine. But then they all bombard him with questions, it's like he's being interviewed.

— Optimus helps make the parenting part easier, a lot easier. The Prime wonders how you managed for so long. There's a hint of admiration in his tone when he talks about how you managed with sparklings by yourself in space.

— He gently teaches them how to fight. Optimus knows his own strength so he's rather good at teaching them and he's probably the only one that should be allowed to.

— However, he is worried that the sparklings will end up in the crossfires of battle. He appreciates their presence because they light up the base, it's a lot more lively and they get along well with the humans. But they're not allowed to really leave the base because Optimus is more worried about them when it comes to being seen by humans; he knows they can be careless sometimes.

SMOKESCREEN:

— Imagine his surprise when he saw his old buddy that used to give him a quick fix after getting his aft shot at by ‘Cons left and right! He's elated to see you. But also very concerned because holy frag, you've changed... You're almost as grumpy looking as Ratchet! What happened to you?

— And then he sees what happened to you. He literally takes a step back when he sees sparklings. But he is happy, he's got a wide smile. He's no longer the youngest in the group now! Smokescreen is rejoicing.

— The moment you're done with your check-up with Ratchet, Smokescreen makes his appearance to catch up with you. He is younger than you. The first thing he probably says is about how you look like you have rust in your joints like Ratchet to which the medic death-glares at him and Smokes just… nervously chuckles with instant regret.

— Smokescreen is the one that fills you in on the current situation once Optimus is done introducing everyone. He also excitedly shows you and the sparklings around the base.

— He teases you and calls you a ‘Sire’ while you sit there with a scowl on your face. You're too young to be a Sire! You're not accepting that title for the life of you so Smokescreen teasingly calls you a Sire most of the time.

— He's sort of… disappointed with how you've changed though. You're no longer fun-loving and eager like you used to be, it's like the weight of responsibility sucked out the whimsical part of you!

— But don't worry, Smokescreen knows what to do! When the sparklings are engaged with Optimus, he and you go for a quick race or two depending on what story Optimus is closing to say. It doesn't matter if he loses this one though, he just wants his friend to be himself once again.

— He's the fun older brother to the sparklings (Wheeljack is the fun uncle). Smokescreen insists that he can handle the sparklings and takes them out on drives sometimes, only ever on the periphery of Jasper though. You just pray that they're well-behaved because you know damn well Smokescreen will not be able to handle unruly sparklings.

— Also, he teases the sparklings sometimes. They huff and taunt him back. He's getting jumped. Help him. It was a bad idea to make fun of them because now he's being verbally assaulted by a group of children who seem to have no remorse whatsoever. He's losing horribly.

— He also spars with them! Optimus said it's important that they learn how to defend themselves so Smokescreen took the liberty of training them and Optimus hesitantly agreed. But he sort of… messed up once and Optimus sort of… uh… revoked him from that post- But we don't talk about that! Smokescreen does spar with you though and there's no mishaps when that happens.

— He’s surprisingly responsible when it comes to the sparklings’ needs, immediately coming to you when their fuel tanks are low. Also, he would definitely carry one around against their will just because he can. Smokescreen is the fun but annoying older brother, he enjoys annoying them. The sparklings have extremely mixed feelings about him.

— The race car can see how much you've improved since you've come to the Autobase. You're so much happier and calmer. It makes him feel relieved because you looked like a stressed out mess when he and Optimus found you! It's like he's getting glimpses of his old friend again and he's happy with those crumbs.

— He's also in-charge of babysitting duty when you're busy. Smokescreen loathes it but hey, at least the humans are also there with him. Cue human children and Cybertronian sparklings having a cultural exchange.

RATCHET:

— He was the first to see the distress call after Agent Fowler mentioned something about the main console beeping. Ratchet couldn't believe it at first, leaning in closer to make sure he read the data correctly. He called everyone over and informed Optimus immediately about the distress call. He knew that ship… And he hoped, Primus, he hoped it wasn't a trick.

— The second your group along with your escorts; Prime and Smokescreen entered the ground bridge, Ratchet’s face had a rare smile upon recognizing one of his students.

— But then he saw the sparklings excitedly following behind Optimus and his optics widened, his smile fell— not into a frown, he was just surprised. Ratchet hadn't seen sparklings in so very long. The medic is also concerned on whether or not the energon they have in storage will be enough for everyone.

— Oh you poor thing. He can see the tiredness in your optics with how dimly it glows. You're probably running on fumes. He figures he should catch up with you and probably give you a check up, it's not easy to dress your own wounds. He can see your rough patchwork and is quick to chide you for such shabby dressing as he's fixing you up better.

— Ratchet is happy to have another medic around, especially someone he knows and had sort of trained for a short while. You're immediately given the title of Assistant Medical Officer; not because you're necessarily a good medic but because you're the only other one around.

— Despite your skills being rough, Ratchet will hand it to you, you are a resourceful medic which is a lot more beneficial during wartime in his optics. After all, a little bit of practice can help smoothen your skills but resourcefulness comes straight out of your processor.

— The two of you mainly work together. Smokescreen watches over the sparklings as the two of you are busy patching the team up. Your presence also means that Ratchet could go to the field now but before that, Ratchet has to teach you how to operate the ground bridge.

— It's just like old times, Ratchet is teaching you how to use the command module at the console as well as ground bridge control. Since the sparklings are mainly attached to you, its best if you're not the one to get injured. But Ratchet is the more experienced medic. So you and Ratchet take turns staying at base.

— If you're injured, Ratchet is going to repair you quickly because other than you and Optimus, no one in this base knows how to get sparklings under control.

— Speaking of sparklings, Ratchet is like their stern mother. He's scolding them when they don't listen to you and urging them to obey. They're intimidated by Ratchet and they… surprisingly start listening to him. The grumpy medic is baffled himself.

— Ratchet is constantly scolding them when they do something reckless or dangerous. You do check ups on the sparklings but Ratchet also does them sometimes, mostly because he's lost practice with sparklings and should probably reeducate himself. You're teaching your teacher when it comes to sparklings and he appreciates it.

— He does not tolerate talk-back from them! Unlike Smokescreen, Ratchet knows how to use his vocalizer.

— At some point, you look into your servos and realize you're slowly turning into Ratchet after taking in those sparklings…

#transformers #cybertronian reader #transformers x reader #transformers prime #tfp #tfp optimus prime #tfp optimus x reader #optimus prime #optimus prime x reader #tfp smokescreen #transformers smokescreen #smokescreen x reader #ratchet #tfp ratchet #tfp ratchet x reader #ratchet x reader #platonic #male reader

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vividxpages · 1 year ago

Text

✩˚౨ৎ˚✩‧The Great War PART 1 ✩₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧

PART 2 + PART 3

pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x fem!Reader

words: 1700

summary: Jace and you are lovers, but stand on opposite sides of the war, not allowed to see each other anymore. But love always finds a way. (inspired by “The Great War” by Taylor Swift)

warnings: angst, reader is Alicents's daughter, the Greens being a bad family, hurt/comfort!, kissing

a/n: help, I'm obsessed with this boy and every song starts to sound like a possible fic idea for him!!!

𓆩♡𓆪

All that bloodshed, crimson clover Uh-huh, sweet dream was over My hand was the one you reached for All throughout the Great War

Sometimes, you could only breathe above the clouds.

Up here on your dragon’s back, the trouble you left behind underneath you did not matter anymore. You thought of the castle that slowly poisoned you from the inside, the dark nights where you thought you were completely alone in the world with no comfort in reach but the memories you carried with yourself.

Once there had been laughter at the dinner table, the halls filled with the family you had not seen in months. Now, you only saw your brothers and your mother together in one room during council. You shuddered at the memory of today’s meeting, snuggling deeper into the saddle and closer to the dragon who kept you safe in the sky.

(“Maybe we should send our dear sister.” Your brother Aegon had proposed at some frustrating point of an endless council, taking a deep swig from the wine glass in front of him.

You had simply stared at him, silent. No one was really listening to you anyway and you were past the point of turning to your mother pleadingly. She was just as silent, always frowning, always doing nothing. “What do you mean, Aegon?”

“We can weaken them from the inside.” He had spoken to the others then, who at least looked so confused as you had felt. “Send them my little precious sister who a certain bastard son always had a weak spot for. I don’t see the problem if you kill him while you’re fuck-“

Your chair had screeched over the floor and fell down with a loud thud on the stone floor. You had clenched your hands into fists as you stood, fury in your eyes.

“Aegon, stop with such nonsense.” Alicent had said quietly, but it wasn’t enough. It was never enough. You fled.)

You welcomed the tears on your cheeks like an old friend, letting them cool your skin as you stirred your dragon through the sky, opting to just turn right and never come back to Westeros.

But oh, how your heart still clung to them.

The family up north in the realm, the family you had lost forever in the middle of his conflict.

Suddenly, you felt your dragon tense and directed your attention to the west, where a shape of a big shadow flickered through the clouds. Your mind began to race with what you’d do if Aemond had followed you, always being damned to bring you back when you had strayed too far away from Kings Landing.

But this shadow was not big enough to be Vhagar.

And those dark curls did not belong to your brother.

You gasped as your dragon let out a recognizing screech, lunging forwards through the clouds until you and the other rider could almost touch at how close your beasts were.

Time seemed to slow down as they flew past each other, teasingly snapping at each other’s necks with the joy of being reunited, but there was no doubt. As you raced through the skies, you looked into your Jace’s eyes.

You let out a broken gasp and quickly looked over your shoulder, but he and Vermax were already out of reach, descending down beneath the clouds. And suddenly, you knew where he was going. You spurned your dragon on, the wind cutting into your skin as you raced after them, faster and faster until you let your dragon spread its wings for a quick landing by the beach Jacaerys had chosen.

Only the silver moonlight illuminated the shore by the cliffs, void of any other soul who could witness the forbidden reunion between the two of you. If you had been in company, Jacaerys would’ve already been dead or held captive.

But you were alone, for the first time in months.

You slid down your dragon’s back, nearly blind by the need to reach him, to throw yourself into his arms like you had dreamed so often.

When you had seen each other for the last time, there had not been a war yet.

And Luke had been still alive.

(You had cried for hours when Aemond had returned, blood still drying on Vhagar’s massive teeth. You had begged your mother to write a letter, just a simple letter to Jace, but everything at court had still been too fragile to do anything but be in shock over what had happened up there. It had nearly driven you mad, to know that somewhere Jace was suffering the loss of his little brother and there was nothing you could do to comfort him.)

Now, he was right there in front of you, leaving Vermax behind him and running towards you on the wet sand by the water. You broke out into a sprint as well, a disbelieving laugh that was anything but amused leaving your tight throat as his features became more and more clear to you.

You crashed together like two waves.

The embrace was nearly violent as his arms slung themselves around you, lifting you up and pressing you into him. There was no strength in your bones anymore and if Jace wouldn’t have held you so tightly, you would’ve crashed onto the ground, shattering into a million pieces.

Only Jace was holding you together right now.

He was everything you had been missing in those terrible weeks. He smelled like sea and wind and smoke and your hands shook as you combed through his wet curls, your tear-streaked face securely hidden in his neck.

You never wanted to let go of him and it seemed like the feeling was mutual.

“Gods- my love…” He mumbled into your ear and you let out a choked sob as you held each other. It was like he could not decide where he wanted to touch you first. His hands drifted over you restlessly, up and down your spine, holding onto you as if you could disappear again at any moment.

“How did you find me?” You asked breathlessly, your bottom lip still trembling dangerously as you caressed his cheeks, needing to refamiliarize yourself with the feel of his skin on yours.

He swallowed thickly, unshed tears glistening in his beautiful years. “I remembered the route you liked to take when you needed to stop thinking. And it’s cloudy today. No one saw me coming. I’ve been waiting for a cloudy night like this for weeks-“

His voice broke and you pulled him closer again, shudders of pain and longing and relief to be with him going through you in an endless loop. How much had changed since the last time you had seen eye to eye: Your father had always said you’d make a good match back then and now Jace had one brother less and you were a captive in your own home.

“I missed you so much.” You whispered, resting your head on his shoulder as you both looked out on the ocean. “I- oh Jace, I tried to write, I wanted to send you a letter, but- I wasn’t allowed. I couldn’t help you and-“

“It’s okay.” He said, but it sounded lifeless, void. “It’s not your fault. I wished I could’ve been there for you too. I know how much you loved Luke.”

Gods, you wanted to cry and never stop again. Even now, Jace was trying to be strong for you, as he had always been.

“I’m so sorry.”

“I love you.” He told you and cupped your cheek, looking deeply and longingly into your eyes. “I missed you every second we’ve been apart. Have you been treated well? Have Aegon and Aemond-“

“I love you too. I want to come with you.” You interrupted him fiery and he shuddered at the insane idea of it, the consequences unimaginable and likely deadly for one of you. “Please, please, let me come with you, I can’t stay a single day there, my mother is not the same anymore and- my brothers have been horrible with the things they want to do to Rhaenyra and you.”

He shushed you gently, drawing his arms tighter around you and swaying you back and forth. “I’ll find a way. I’m not letting you stay there alone for much longer, my love. It makes me sick to think about you being alone in Kings Landing, believe me, but…mother says it’s not safe, not yet-“

“I won’t cause your family any trouble, I promise-“

“It’s not us we’re fearing for.” He smiled sadly at you. “It’s you. I won’t summon your brother’s anger on you. I’d rather take it on myself, but- we need to be a little more patient, okay?”

You could see how much effort those words cost him and you had no doubt if it was his choice to make, he’d take you with him to Dragonstone and never look back. You watched his throat bump with tension, his jaw set, his lips pressed together tightly.

A sudden small smile danced over your face. “So you only came to me tonight because you wanted to see me?”

His eyes were dark with longing, with wanton he could not give in to, not tonight. “My love...I needed to see you.” His thumb lovingly brushed over your cheek, the pad of it briefly touching your lips.

There was so much you wanted to say, so many things you needed to tell him and hear from him, but in this short moment you were only a girl and he was a boy. Your boy.

He met you right in the middle, delicately holding your face between his hands as your lips met, desperately kissing you as his taste exploded in your mouth once again. He kissed you drunk, enveloping all your senses until all you felt was him. His lips were dry and salty from the long flight over the clouds and along the coast, your runny noses sliding against each other, but it was perfect.

Your heart was mended with every little sigh into your mouth, his long lashes brushing over your cheeks, your hands tangling in his hair…

You thought that maybe, in another lifetime, the two of you could’ve been able to stop the war.

Another part of you knew that you always had been damned, cursed.

You blinked into the starless grey sky above you as Jace began to ravish your neck with wet kisses and you thought of the old saying passed on from generation to generation.

Every time a Targaryen is born, the gods flip a coin.

On which side would yours land if you ever lost him?

On which would his land when it finally sank in that he could never have you?

#jace velaryon #jace velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys targaryen x reader #hotd imagine #harry collett #jace targaryen #hotd #house of the dragon #my writing

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niwaart · 2 months ago

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Secret of Shadows

(John Constantine’s son x Batfam)

-part1... -part2...

It was a stormy night in Gotham, the rain pounding furiously on the sidewalks, and the wind howling like hungry wolves. In a slum, Red Robin was chasing one of the Penguin's drug dealers, who was trying to escape across the rooftops. Tim was closing in, planning to bring him down with one blow...

But suddenly, a small green and red shadow leaped in front of him with a sword drawn.

Robin stood in Tim's way with a smug grin. "This criminal is mine. Find another."

"Get out of my way, Robin! This is no time for play!" Tim growled, trying to swerve around him, but Damian leaped back to block his path.

"I told you, that's my goal!"

"You're a spoiled brawler!"

"And you're a boring replacement!"

The argument escalated into a fistfight on the rooftop, while the drug dealer took advantage and fled. But he didn't just flee... he pulled out a remote detonator.

"A bomb..." Tim whispered in astonishment after seeing what the criminal was carrying.

Before the building exploded, a massive black shadow swooped down from the sky like lightning. Batman. He grabbed the dealer with one hand and destroyed the detonator with the other at the last moment.

But the rage in Batman's eyes was more terrifying than any bomb as he looked at Red Robin and Robin.

After Batman made sure the civilians were safe, he turned to Tim and Damian, his eyes burning with rage beneath his mask.

"What is this nonsense?!" Batman roared, his voice like thunder.

Damian stood silent, but Tim tried to explain. "I was about to catch the criminal, but Damian—"

"Enough!" Batman cut him off. "Tim, you're the elder. You should have acted responsibly, not gotten involved in a childish squabble!"

Tim felt like he'd been stabbed. "But he started—"

"It doesn't matter who started it!" Batman said harshly. "I expected better from you. I'm disappointed."

Those words were like a knife to Tim's heart.

Tim returned to the apartment he shared with Y/N, his face as dark as the night that followed. Tim completely ignored the stream of jokes Y/N cracked upon seeing him:

"Wow! Your face looks like my father when i burned his cigarette! Want me to read you a bedtime story?"

Tim didn't reply. He walked into the bathroom and slammed the door shut.

Y/N stood in front the bathroom door waiting, and after five minutes of silence, decided to knock. "I'm going in, so you'd better at least put your pants on."

Before Tim could reply, Y/N opened the door. He found him hunched over the sink, water running down his head as if he were trying to drown himself.

Y/N looked at him for a moment, then said quietly, "There are quicker ways to commit suicide than drowning in a sink."

Tim lifted his head, his eyes red, but he didn't cry... yet.

"I'm sure you'll get my father's wrinkles if you keep pouting like that." Y/N said sarcastically, stepping closer to Tim.

And Tim? He finally exploded.

"Shut up!" he yelled, pushing Y/N away. "Everything is going wrong! I became Robin after Jason died just to help Bruce, and no one thanks me! All the blame is on me, not Damian's! I'm doing everything I can, but no one notices!"

Tim didn't realize he'd started crying until he felt Y/N's arms wrap tightly around him.

"It's okay... Scream all you want," Y/N said, knowing what he was doing. He wanted Tim to explode, to let out all the pent-up emotions inside him. He held him tight, letting him scream, cry, everything.

He didn't care that his shirt was soaking wet from Tim's tears.

After Tim calmed down, Y/N took him for a sandwich in the middle of the night, then put him back in bed. He stayed by his side, holding him until he fell asleep.

But Y/N didn't sleep. He want to revenge.

He concocted a small spell. "Now, they'll see what Tim feels."

First, Bruce had disturbing dreams of Thomas and Martha being shot again and again, while his sons (Dick, Jason, Damian, even Tim) were killed one by one

in front of him.

Then, Damian watched Alfred fall dead while he was powerless to save him, handcuffed.

And Jason relived that night in the warehouse with the Joker, the laughter suddenly fading into a deathly silence.

Finally, Dick watched his parents fall again and again, but this time, he was the one pushing them.

Each of them woke up early in the morning, drenched in a cold sweat, their hearts pounding with terror.

And vice versa for Y/N.

The sun gently peeked through the window curtains, illuminating the room with a warm, golden light. The smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the air as Y/N sat on the kitchen chair, watching Tim struggle to open his sleepy eyes after a restless night.

Y/N smiled broadly, "Good morning, Mr. Drake! Did you know your face looks like mashed potatoes when you wake up?"

Tim yawned, trying to ignore him. "Shut up..."

Y/N laughed and pushed a cup of coffee towards him. "Don't worry, I added enough sugar to kill a horse, just like you like it."

Tim took the cup and took a sip, then grimaced. "This... is so sweet my teeth hurt."

Y/N pretended to be shocked. "And this is appreciation after everything I've done for you?!" He put his hand over his head dramatically. "But I can't imagine if I hadn't met you, my dear friend... I'd be living in a trash can among naughty cats!"

Tim raises an eyebrow. “A trash can? Really?”

Y/N nods solemnly. “Yeah! Or maybe in my father’ crappy old apartment that hasn’t seen the light of day in a thousand years! Which, by the way, is worse than a trash can. At least the cats like me!” He pretends to wipe away the tears that haven’t fallen. “I would have been a hideous zombie, like a battered doll from a cheap horror movie!”

Tim can’t hold back his laughter. “You’re a freak.”

Y/N grabs Tim’s hand exaggeratedly. “But thanks to you, I’m here now! Drinking poison coffee, living with my potato-like ex-Robin!” He winks. “So… thank you.”

Tim’s cheeks turn slightly pink as he finishes his coffee. “You… aren’t worth the effort.”

Y/N grabs a pillow and throws it at him. “Of course not! But you love me anyway!”

Tim grabs the pillow and throws it back, finally smiling. "Maybe."

After a moment of silence, Y/N speaks in a gentler voice, "Seriously, Tim... I'm glad you're here. Not just because you saved me from the trash can." He laughs, "But because... you made me feel like I wasn't alone."

Tim looks at him, then looks away, smiling, "You're an idiot."

Y/N grabs a piece of toast and pops it full into his mouth, then speaks as he grins, "And that's why you love me!"

Tim ignores him, but his laughter gives him away: "Disgusting."

Y/N smiles and then hugs Tim tightly. "Let's watch TV."

That afternoon, while Tim is watching the TV Y/N suggested, which is so bad, he doesn't know how Y/N can laugh at this movie, but Tim can't help but laugh with Y/N, and then the doorbell rings. Y/N didn't move from his seat. After all, this was Tim's house, and hardly anyone knew about Y/N living with Tim except for his family. So Tim got up to look at the screen to see behind the door. He found his entire family standing in front of it... and... why was Jason holding a gun and looking angry?

Tim immediately opened the door and saw their pale faces, their eyes filled with nightmares.

It didn't take more than two seconds for Tim to conclude that Y/N had done something... after all, it wasn't the first time Y/N had done something stupid for Tim.

"What...did you do?" Tim looked at the naughty Y/N who was pretending to watch TV.

But Bruce couldn't stand the pretense. He stormed into the room and pulled Y/N up by the shirt.

"You! What did you do to us tonight?!"

"What? What are you talking about?" Y/N said with fake innocence.

"Enough with the lies!" Bruce growled. A voice was heard from behind Bruce, Jason, who was about to blow Y/N's head off. "We've all had nightmares... and I'm pretty sure it was you!"

"Maybe it's your conscience?" Y/N sneered as he looked at Jason's gun. Dick was barely holding Jason back from shooting, and needless to say, Damian was ready to stab him if his father wasn't right there in front of him.

At that moment, Bruce decided he needed outside reinforcements. So he literally dragged Y/N from Tim's house to his limo, took him to the Batcave, and immediately called John Constantine. It took him more than three attempts to answer, which made Y/N laugh.

"Bloody Hell, Batman. This is early even for hell." Constantine replied, his hair disheveled like someone who had just woken up.

"Your son is here in Gotham," Batman said, his impatience harsh.

"Huh? Which one?"

At that moment, Bruce appeared to Y/N, still holding him by the collar. "Hello, dear old father, my favorite person."

Constantine stared at Y/N for a few seconds before looking up in shock. "What?! What are you doing there, you little bastard?!"

"I want him back where he came from. Tell me how to get rid of him." Batman ordered angrily.

John looked at his son in disbelief. "If I knew, I'd get rid of him myself! He steals my money, burns my coat, and disappears whenever I need him!"

"The coat was old! Be thankful!" Y/N grimaced at his father.

"Give me back the five dollars first, you thief!"

As everyone looked at this messed-up family, Tim started laughing... he couldn't contain himself.

"I think there's a worse family than us," Dick said, while Jason burst out laughing like a maniac, at Y/N and J'onn's fight.

And Batman? He felt that Gotham was in more danger than ever.

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star-suh · 3 months ago

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The Protector.

Lee Hoseok x Male Reader.

cw: bodyguard top wonho, bottom rich reader.

—

yn is the son of an important businesswoman of the city, at 22 yn got uses to get what he wanted –the new luxury item on the market, a designer piece of clothes or even someone’s attention– but sometimes being in the eye of the public and with such a quantity of money behind someone’s back could put a target – a red dot– on someone’s forehead and that’s what happened to yn. lately he has been receiving a lot of anonymous calls, death threats and the feeling of someone always watching him –ready to jump on him and do what those threats say, seeing how he was in danger, his mother had to take action, she hired a bodyguard that would be protecting his son 24/7.

“here’s your new bodyguard son” his mother says, taking a step to the side so he can enter the lobby, here he is –tall, muscular, his arms and broad back straining against the black suit– he exuded such a strong aura and was very professional, something that trapped yn, like a moth to a flame. so naturally the flirting came, yn always made sentences emphasizing how the suits hugged his body so tightly, how he’s so muscular, so big, “i won’t mind being pinned down by you. you know, for safety reasons”, the joke falling flat to wonho’s ears, “focus yn,i’m here just to keep you safe”, his responses were always short, just a few words that were enough to shut y up for a moment. but this didn’t stopped yn to keep going, because he can see something flickering on his eyes, a little bit of heat igniting behind his eyes that held some intensity to it.

then that fateful night happened, there was a family meeting and yn was there, bored of the adults talking nonsenses that he didn’t understand –he was just there accompanying his mom with his bodyguard to his side as always, the smell of his cologne feeling like a drug for yn. then one of the other bodyguards received an enveloped, yn’s name on it scribbled in what it looks like it’s blood, he opened the letter and it says ‘tick tock, at eleven o’clock the basement would be gone’ chaos erupted in the room, everyone leaving as soon as they can –there were only minutes left for 11:00 pm to come– everyone fled to find a safe spot outside the building, “take my son far away from here”, ms. ln told wonho and he obeyed, grabbing yn and running towards the black SUV. in the road outside the city, wonho spotted a motel where they can lay low for a couple of days, parking the SUV there while asking for separate rooms, unfortunately there was only one room left, so he took it saying he could sleep on the couch while yn does it on the bed.

yn lay on the bed, taking off his jacket, staying with a white button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, all while wonho peeked through the curtains, seeing if there’s something suspicious happening outside, his posture is rigid, his gun ready to fire.

“this is boring, the tv only has like two channels and the wi-fi signal is bad” he tossed the phone to one side of the mattress. “you’re safe and that’s what matters”, wonho said. “why don't you drop the professionalism for once. come on we’re alone wonho, that bodyguard act makes you ten times hotter but just drop it for five minutes at least”. his eyes locked onto yn’s, “i was hired to protect you, not entertain you” he voiced, putting his gun on the nightstand and sitting on the couch. “protect me i see…” yn trailed and then chuckled, “why don’t you protect me from this cold night then. come over here” he pats the side of the bed.

wonho felt heat creeping up his neck, becoming flushed, “would you ever watch your mouth?” he fixed his posture, “i know you like this so why would i stop?”, he sits on the bed, “i know the way you watch me, you think i’m not paying attention but i do” a grin appearing on yn’s face –you might be good at your job but you suck at hiding things” he added, “i’ll keep pushing until you break, until you give in and give me what i want” he muttered lowly with a sexy tone, crawling in the bed that was right i front of the couch where wonho was sitting.

“i don’t mix my work with personal matters. as i said i’m supposed to protect you not fuck you” wonho loosened up his tie, it felt like it was choking him, “there’s always a first time for everything” yn smirked at wonho, his chin resting over his hands that were placed on the edge of the bed. wonho stood up and walked towards yn, he stopped right in front of him –his crotch inches apart of yn’s face, he was there looking down at yn with those hunter dark eyes. he grabs his face, both hands placed on his cheeks –pulling his face up to make eye contact– “you don’t have any idea of what you’re asking for, boy” his low voice making yn’s body shiver. “then why don’t you show me?” submissiveness laced on yn’s voice.

yn’s face was pressed against wonho’s crotch, sniffing into his manly scent, feeling the bulge growing inside those clothes. he is then pulled up by wonho and then is thrown to the center of the bed –wonho crawled quickly over yn, lips latched on the other’s. his hands pinning yn’s hips in place. yn gasped, feeling breathless by wonho’s rough kisses, he melted on the kiss while his hands took off the other’s jacket and shirt –the tie still around his neck, hanging loosely. yn’s fingers quickly found wonho’s massive chest, squeezing and kneading the skin there and also playing with his nipples –swallowing his moans in the act.

yn kept tugging at his tie to deepen the kiss while wonho’s hips moved on their own, frotting his bulge on yn’s ass, the legs of the latter locked on the other’s hips. “just because i did what you wanted doesn’t mean i’m not in charge” wonho spoke in between pants and wet sloppy kisses to which yn responded with “i didn’t pretend to be in charge anyway”.

wonho as the strong man he is ripped yn’s shirt and in a swift motion pulled down both his pants and underwear leaving him completely naked under him, then his mouth latched on yn’s throat –nipping at the skin there while his hands unbuckled his belt to take off his the remaining pieces of clothes on his body. “you’re so fucking hot” yn whimpered, “you have no idea how much i wanted this”. one of wonho’s hands wrapped around yn’s dick while the other worked on his hole, coating it in saliva and stretching him open with scissoring motions. then he finally pushes himself into yn, the stretch making yn moan louder. the room quickly got filled with those arousing wet sounds accompanied by filthy words that wonho whispered on the bottom’s ear –each word making him more and more horny. the headboard of the bed slammed against the wall and the bed creaking as equally as wonho’s rough thrust were, the pace perfect to fuck some attitude out of yn, to make him realize who’s the one in charge in this work relationship.

yn’s hands clawed at wonho’s broad, muscular back, his nails leaving traces –marks of how good he was feeling thanks to him. the stinging pain didn’t matter, it’s being drowned by the delicious sensation down there, it’s like heaven. “wonho” yn slurred, hugging wonho tightly –he doesn’t want this night to end– this flipped a switch inside the bodyguard, “say my name again” purposefully slowing down his thrusts to make the other whimpers, the painfully slow drags of his cock inside his ass making him squirm, he wanted more, he needs more.

“please wonho, harder… fill me up” tears pooling on his hooded eyes, if there was an ounce of self-restraint left in wonho is completely gone now, he thrusted as fast as any human could do, yn’s words coming out shaky, gritting his teeth when he felt the climax coming –coming like a tidal wave– he came on his stomach, some of it sticking to the other’s perfectly toned abs. he is followed then by wonho who pulls out to stroke his cock, aiming the tip directly towards the bottom’s gape hole to shoot his load inside him. when he’s done he puts it back again to thrust a few times more. the bed is drenched in sweat and fluids, wonho didn’t pulled out, he stayed there buried, “i’ll tell my mom to give you a rise if you keep doing this to me” yn jokes, “shut up” wonho grinned, “i would’ve let you cockwarm me but i still have a job to do” wonho stood up and went towards the bathroom to clean himself. yn remained on the bed, his chest heaving. oh these next months are going to be very fun.

#lee hoseok x reader #lee hoseok x male reader #lee hoseok x male reader smut #wonho x male reader #wonho x reader #wonho x male reader smut #male reader #kpop x male reader #kpop x male reader smut #smut #male reader smut

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itsswritten · 1 year ago

Text

butterfly kisses

Pairing: Azriel x fem reader

Word Count: 1.7K (honestly it's just a little drabble)

Warnings: 18+, implied smut, lots of fluff, mating frenzy

Summary: Azriel just can't get enough of your wings <3

Wings Universe - More from this world.

Azriel wasn’t sure how he’d gotten so lucky.

He had thanked the Mother every day since the bond snapped, and even more when you accepted it. When Mor had introduced you into his life only a couple of years ago, he never imagined this would be the outcome.

Azriel vividly remembered the first night he met you. It was another gathering at Rita’s, one of the many that had unfolded, now peace settled over the land.

Mor with playful determination had pulled you over to their table, arm looped around yours– almost in a way that said she wasn’t going to let you escape. He had noticed the faint blush that creeped up your face to your pointed ears, merely from the proximity of your High Lord and Lady, and their inner circle. He recalled how you offered a shy little curtsy in their presence, that had led to the whole table stifling their laughter. Rhys kindly explained that such formalities were not necessary, especially not in Rita’s of all places. Azriel did his best to contain his mirth at the display, all the while chewing the inside of his cheek to stop the chuckle leaving his lips. He truly couldn’t get over how adorable you were, he'd found himself captivated by your endearing innocence.

And that was only the start.

Mor explained how she’d met you in town one day and had essentially thrusted her friendship onto you, and it really didn’t take long for Azriel and his family to do the same.

You were so sweet and caring, and slotted into Azriel’s life so easily that he found it hard to remember a time when you weren’t there at all. Your kindness towards the Archeron sisters, guiding them through the intricate transitions of fae life that they still at times struggled with. Nyx was absolutely enamoured with you, oftentimes seeking your company over his actual family. But they didn’t blame him, because they all did same. Your calm sweet nature was addictive to them all, especially Azriel.

Driven by an insatiable curiosity, Azriel found himself seeking every opportunity to unravel all your layers. He wanted to know everything about you. From your favourite foods, to the books that captured your attention.

His infatuation all made sense when the bond snapped.

It was the last solstice.

Azriel had noticed how beautiful you were looking, as you always were. But you were clad in a breathtaking pale pink summer dress, the neckline delicately showcasing your décolletage. As you moved with a natural grace, the fabric billowed ever so slightly at the waist, accentuating your silhouette in a manner that held attention.

Or at least held Azriel’s attention. He couldn’t keep his eyes off you.

He watched you carefully navigate the chaos of the room. Nyx in one arm, giving Feyre some rest and reprieve in her pregnant state. Your other hand bringing in the cake Elain had spent all morning baking. Amidst the flurry of activity, you had been so close to dropping the cake. But Azriel's steady hand intervened just in time, grabbing the plate and taking it off you. Except in that moment your hands touched, grazed past one another in a way they had so many times before.

But that time had been different.

It was Azriel’s turn to almost drop the cake. That all consuming warmth flooded his chest catching him off guard. A golden thread connecting itself to you. The mating bond. Finally.

And based on the bright red flush covering your cheeks, it was clear you’d felt it too. You’d fled the room then, overcome with emotion and what this new revelation meant.

Though, it didn’t take long for Azriel to coax you round.

Ever the gentleman, he courted you. Taking you on the most thoughtful dates and spoiling you with bouquet after bouquet of flowers. He would leave little love notes and poetry for you to find. That it was really no surprise to anyone, when you decided to accept the bond.

That was only three weeks ago now.

Yourself and Azriel were deep in the mating frenzy.

Rhys had kindly offered one of his private residences he had on the outskirts of Night. A smaller cottage, but with all the privacy you both needed. And Azriel had taken advantage of that privacy eliciting sounds from you that he would cherish forever and never tire hearing.

And then there were your wings.

You had revealed them to him the first night after accepting the mating bond, and, Gods, was he done for.

Azriel had taken it upon himself, in the earlier months, to really vet you. His dedication to his role as Spymaster served as a guise for his self-indulgent exploration of you, delving into the intricate details of your being with a hunger that bordered on obsession. Not only had he discovered all the things you love, but he searched for details of who and what you were.

Finding himself holed up in the library at times, hours spent devoted to aquainiting himself to the type of fairy you were.

He knew you had wings, was the type of fairy whose wings were the delicate kind. Most kept them concealed with magic. Yet, Azriel couldn't shake the thought that perhaps they were hidden not only for protection but also out of reverence for their breathtaking beauty. They were mesmerising. Enough to trap Azriel into some kind of trance.

And perhaps possessively so, he was grateful not many males were privy to this part of you.

He was watching you now, laying on your front. Bare. Just how he’d left you when he took a moment to freshen up. You were giggling, your legs up and feet fluttering behind you while propped up over something.

“What are you doing, my love?” Azriel purred inquisitively, stepping closer towards the bed.

“Oh…Feyre was just checking in. Asking how much longer we might be,” he could hear you smile when you spoke, and watched as with the brush of your hand the magical parchment and ink disappeared that you’d been conversing with Feyre on.

“It’s not even been that long,”

“We’ve been gone three weeks–”

“And we’ll be gone 300 hundred more,”

You chuckled at his response, “Az, we do need to go back at some point. They need us.”

“I need you more.” There was no negotiating. Your family would be lucky to see you both before the next solstice at this rate.

Not that Azriel needed the frenzy to be satiated by you, but it truly was driving him. The primal need for you, overwhelming. The pair of you only stopped when you both fell into a slumber from exhaustion. And even then, there were many times you found each other in a sleep exhausted haze, tangled within and inside one another again.

The bed dipped either side of your legs, you were still on your front but could feel your mate over you. He had paused though, his eyes falling over your beautiful pink wings. The iridescent skin reflecting lights across the room. He had almost cried when he first saw them after you accepted the bond, mesmerised and overwhelmed by their beauty.

Getting to see this part of you, a part of you that was so private, stirred a gratefulness inside him. But there was something else too, a possessiveness that had slowly been creeping up his mind recently.

In the past three weeks, you had both done every possible maneuver, tried every kind of love making– fucking, screwing, mating. You’d even made him a crumbling wet mess just from playing with his wings.

But he hadn’t touched yours.

No, they looked so delicate and soft, too beautiful to touch, that he hadn’t dared.

You felt him situate himself behind you, his warm naked body lightly laying on you, his chest resting on your behind. His arms wormed their way under your hips to get comfy, and you splayed your wings flat against your back to fit him.

“Az?” you asked curiously, glancing slightly over at your shoulder to catch him in your peripheral.

He didn’t respond though, not with words. You felt his soft warm breath blowing on the membrane of your right wing, making your squirm under the touch. Your wing fluttering a little in the air.

“How sensitive are they? Too sensitive for me to touch?” You heard him behind you.

“Hm..” you tilted your head slightly to think, “They’re delicate, but you can touch them. Gently.”

You were waiting for him to wriggle his hand from out beneath you but instead you felt something warm and wet run against the bottom of your wing.

You couldn’t stop the whimper from escaping your lips at the soft touch. Azriel had taken it upon himself to use the tip of his tongue to explore this part of you, a part of you that was still very new to him. He felt you wriggle under him, and he shifted placing his full body weight on you so you couldn’t move.

His tongue traced the ridge of your wing, and he wasn’t letting up. Not when he’d made that sound from you. He wanted more of that. He moved and pressed his tongue flat against the delicate skin, evoking another moan from you.

“Does that feel good my little butterfly?” he purred, you could feel the smirk on his lips against your wing as he pressed a kiss on them.

You wanted to roll your eyes at his teasing, but it felt too good to do anything other than surrender to his touch.

“I want to hear your words,” he spoke a little more assertively this time, before swiping his tongue along one of the tubular lines that spread like veins across your wings.

“Yes..” You huffed, before another moan slipped past your lips breathlessly. “It feels good Az…” You felt your body heat, your cheeks for sure rosy, grateful your mate could only hear not see the reaction he was having on you.

He chuckled softly then, the vibrations from his lips skirting across your wings making them twitch.

“My sensitive little butterfly, ” the new nickname only made you squirm more, your core growing slick at his predatory attention.

Azriel moved his hand then, the one caught under your left hip, so effortlessly moving down to your core, cupping your wet slit as he licked the pink shiny membrane again.

“Azriel…” you gasped, but his touch didn’t relent.

You knew this was only the start.

a/n: just some lovely little fluffy mating frenzyness! I just love these two, so I may expand a little more on the wings universe and their relationship if you guys would like to see that! Maybe some domestic bliss, or if there's any scenes you'd like me to write for them or parts of their story you're interested in then I'm happy to explore. Also this was written fairly quickly, so please ignore any typos, I only did a quick little check hehe - Lottie

p.s. also thanks to @thisiskaylin who inspired the nickname! She commented on the wings fic that butterfly would be the perfect nickname and I just had to use it <3

Forever tags: @sleepylunarwolf @daily-dose-of-sass @milswrites @amberlynn98 @marscardigan @illyrianbitch @lilah-asteria

#acotar #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #acotar azriel #acotar fanfiction #acotar series #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel x y/n #azriel x oc #azriel acotar #azriel series #azriel fluff #fluff #azriel smut #smut

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magickizu · 3 months ago

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Shop Repairs

Crossover dp x dc. So I've got this time line in mind, for my crossover AU and this is a snippet of it. Master Post: Lost Retirement

Jason has to find a solution, quickly: during the last mission his bike received more damage, than he had planned. Bringing it back to the cave will take too long, not to mention the repair time, that he can't make time for! And here's another thing: for like the past week or so, the pits have been acting extremely weird. Bubbling and flaring up randomly, like this pissed off but not revenging rage, if that makes sense?? What is going on???

Jason absolutely hated his luck: not only did these bastards get away, not only was it a pain in the ass anyway to hunt them down, not only did they take their goods with them as they fled after, not only kicking Hood's ass- ohohoho no! Of course his sweet baby had to be pulled into it! They used his bike as shield!! HIS FUCKING BIKE-!!!

The silvered raven groans annoyed, the pits are flaring up again too! He can't even get to the bat cave and fix her up, because he needs her by tomorrow and he does not have the right parts. Let alone the time, since he's got this meeting with this building company to talk over the plans for the Alley's new community gardens he wants to build. So naturally he's on his way to bring her to the only guy he trusts with her, when suddenly the pits flare up again!- right, rightrightright... Of course that wasn't enough, since the pit seemed to have even more problems in the past week, with him feeling like he got run over by trucks. The constant whispering and screeching and hissing about an intruder in his territory, inside his head- ...at this point it's just tiring.

Red Hood was deep in thought, in fact he was so deep in thought, that his feet have carried him all the way to the little mechanics shop and maybe, just maybe, he could be a little lucky today? Please? And they have everything and the damage wasn't as bad as it seemed? The pit is rumbling and gurgling disgustingly and he can see the green tinge slowly creeping into the corners of his eyes. Panic floods him, there's not a single one of the birds or bats around to help him now-

Hood tried his best, to take deep breaths. Steady his thoughts and fight back, imagining Dick would be there helping him concentrate. The mental image of his family just being there for him, helped a little, lately their bond has gotten better and Jason can definitely tell- snap out of it! He can't have a panic attack in the middle of the road! Not as the Red Hood at least... With one last, deep breath Hood's feet begin to move again, as he rounded the corner and pulled into the open garage door or the workshop.

"Ah-hah! The Red Hood," the old man behind the little counter laughs and stands up, Hood's shoulders relax at the sight and sound of him. "Tell me, tell me niño, what can I do for you? Have not seen you in a while, eh?" Mateo, the owner, shakes the vigilante's hand with a big smile and a small hug.

"Hey Tío," he greets back, hugging back briefly and gently. "My bike got... Involved in the action... Please tell me you can fix her by tomorrow, Tío." If it wasn't for the modulator in his mask, Hood would have sounded tired, which Mateo must have known, as he started to laugh out loud before answering.

"Alright, alright. I'll take a look, eh? But no promises." Mateo leaned down slowly with a huff and a grunt, until the man kneeled in front of the motorcycle. He called out for someone, after trying his best to look at the machine. Hood couldn't hear what Mateo said, he was too distracted with suddenly being confronted by Mateo's high age. Neither Jason, nor Red Hood have been here in a while and he mentally scolded himself for it. Jason helped out here and there, ever since he came back, ever since before Bruce... Mateo has always been there- been right here. Hood just wasn't ready yet; Jason wasn't ready. He hadn't realised how old the man was really getting, until now. Now that he sees him squinting at the details, sees him having trouble with finer motor skills of the machinery and now even so much as getting back up again after kneeling down. Hood forced himself back to reality, when Mateo tried to get back up but only grunted, he was about to take a step closer, help, something when-

"¡¡Tío!!" Suddenly a young man was faster. Analysis; same blue overalls as Mateo, just that the upper part is tied around his waist, dirty white t-shirt, work gloves, steel toed work shoes and one black sleeve, seemingly some kind of compression cuffs, on his right arm covering it completely- must be working here, well enough acquaintaned with Mateo, was in the back probably does the work now. Pale skin, dark raven hair with a few snow white streaks- good style! Hehe... And bright blue eyes, that are full of worry and- "Tío, how often did I tell you, just say something! ¿¡Eres estúpido!?" The young man scolded the older, grinning and chuckling one, but Hood didn't listen he was just staring... Jason couldn't look away from these electric blue eyes, that reflected in a strange neon green, that he just knows. The pit was bubbling over, growling and screaming at him and panic rose up like a lump in his throat, nearly clogging it and slowly suffocating him, as his vision is tinging green, bit by bit. This is not happening now, not now!! Shit!! What is he supposed to do!?

Suddenly the same voice breaks through to him; "...fuck, it's you..." And they both look at each other for a moment, then Hood reached for his gun immediately, the second the other man moved- He is the intruder! Shred him... "Wait! I-I'm so sorry! Ancients... I had an offering, but I forgot it at home. I swear, I do not mean any harm, to your haunt nor people nor you! I never meant to be disrespectful." The man held his hands up in surrender and the green subsided slightly from Jason's vision- how?? "-look; if it's good for you, I'll have her ready by tomorrow, as you asked, free of charge. Can that be my offering? Would that be acceptable for you?" And the pits calmed down... Hood stood there, frozen in place, overwhelmed and absolutely shocked, yet strangely relieved. The man also didn't sound hysterical, just calm enough to make it believable that... He wasn't scared... Against every bit of sanity left in his brain, the Hood nodded, his hand no longer hovering over his gun's holster. He straightened up.

"Explain." He growled, shocked by himself how much venom there was in his voice and how deep the rumbling of the growl was... As if it's coming from his chest. But moreover: what does this guy have to do with the pits!? And why the F U C K can he calm it down by T A L K I N G!?

"Okay, listen..." The man sighs, then contemplates something, looking Hood up and down, asassing him. "Alright, uhm... Name's Danny, my siblings and I just got here. We won't make any trouble and just need a place to stay, for now. The only reason I'm entering your haunt is because I work here and it's the only place that would hire me. Again my offering of doing a full round up on your bike still stands. If you don't wanna accept, that's your choice and I'll find something else, somewhere else. Okay?" Hood did listen; the man's alone, apparently desperate for money or else other places would do, he takes care of his siblings and cares for people seeing his instant worry about the old man, peaceful indeed with immediate surrender... And even a useful offering. ...what?

"Fine." Hood sighed, the other man, Danny, also sighed probably from relief. Wait... Where the hell did Mateo go?? Upon realisation, the larger one looked around,

"...Mateo's in the back office. I just... I just sent him back. Uhm..." He fidgeted a little, then stuck his hand out awkwardly. "How about this: Hi, I'm Danny. I take care of the work here now... And you're the Red Hood, that's kinda cool- I mean you are cool, like,... Sorry, I'm new to Gotham." Then Danny smiled awkwardly at him, as if he didn't just threaten to get shot. Hood stared but slowly reached out to grab the hand and Danny's smile widened, revealing the smallest hint of fangs. Hoods guard should be up but for some reason... This somewhat aggressive friendliness was welcome, somehow. "Right! The Ducati!" Danny reminded himself and moved his attention and body to the machine straight away.

"...and you'll be able to get her ready by tomorrow?" Hood asked after a moment of watching him looking through his bike. Danny perked up, seemingly ripped from his focus;

"Huh? Oh, uh... Yes, definitely! Seems like nothing too vital got hit. The tank is still good, the engine and the battery are also unharmed; a blessing in disguise, it's just...maybe a handful of tubes and a couple cables. I'll get you a round check, change the oil and clean up the painting. Be back at..." Danny thought about it. "Would five sound good?" He offered and that was admittedly fast, yes. Hood hummed in agreement.

"Make it six, deal." The vigilante held his hand out to the mechanic, who shook his hand for the deal and then made a little surprise yelp, as he got hoisted back up. Surprisingly light, but lean built. No directly visible muscles, but Danny still holds up strong. With one last look at his baby, then a warning glare at Danny, who ironically seemed to understand as he lifted his hands in surrender again and a small smile.

"I promise, I'll take good care of her. Will make her purr like a kitten." Because if not... What is he talking about? That guy has his family waiting at home and can't even change locations properly. As Hood walked out and began to his closest save house, it suddenly clicked in his mind, when he realises one fundamental thing, as he listened to the streets in Crime Alley and nothing else... That's exactly it, for once Hood didn't hear anything from the pit... As if it's completely gone. The static sensation in his mind, only picked up again slowly, the further away he got.

So this Danny guy has something to do with the pits and Jason will find out how...

"Ta-da!" Danny grinned proudly, as he showed Red Hood his bike, looking brand knew right out the factory. His eyes grew wide under the mask,

"Holy shit..." Hood rounds the machine, softly gliding over every visible surface. Checking even some of the nooks and crannies, after all he has to make sure it's all in proper order. Danny crossed his arms, sure of himself. "... I'll admit, that's good work." Danny nods, his smile widening in appreciation for the man's work.

"Rev her." The smaller man instructed, Hood for once did what he was told without hesitation and it paid: as he ignited the engine and let her reel, the machine simply purred. Litteraly just purred. Low, menicing bass and silent efficiency...

"Holy shit!" He shut her off again, for now. "That..." Hood gestures in slight disbelief, "that's real good work. Thanks man." He holds out a hand, Danny looks down at it, less smiles and a little more perplexed but nonetheless, the shorter one grabs it. What he seemingly didn't expect was for Red Hood to haule him in shoulder bumper- ey, he may be the Red Hood, but he's still from the hood. Danny just starts smiling again. "I mean it, damn fine. I'll bring her around more often, when she needs it. How much?" He reaches for his wallet, cash only of course, but he got waved off.

"Nonsense. Is the least I can do." Danny made his way already around the counter, typing away at the computer and scribbling something in a black book.

"For what? You did the work-"

"-Woopsies! Looks like I already started closing our only register! Oh man, I'm such a dummy! Urgh! My clumsiness...!" Danny exaggerated dramatically, then leaned onto the counter with one elbow. The other hand on his hip, "forget it, the register's closed, we don't take payment anymore." That smug little bastard then had the audacity to start grinning and daringly lift an eyebrow. ...and honestly, the vigilanty couldn't help but smile at this. Danny can be a little shit, apparently, just as he himself which by all means is entertaining. Hell, even the pits began flairing up in an unusually positive way, almost like a low but friendly rumble in his rest.

"Okay, fine... But I can't let this stand unattended." Danny, yet again, waved him off. But there, just for a brief moment, the way his eyes sparked like an idea, he rushed to scribble something out. Then Danny came over.

"Alright... when you're done with your mission, shoot me a message. There's something I'd actually like to talk about..." The mechanic said, shifting a little nervously, but never loosing the hint of a smile on his lips. The pits gurgle a little shrill, almost like dieing chirping... Oh!- uninted, but good one, heh. But now Hood was definitely intrigued, for the lack of better words.

"...Sure." He agreed, with that he swung himself onto his sweet baby and nodded the other bey, who mirrored the action as response and took a few steps back, to give Hood enough space to start up. As he did right in that moment, then he was gone again, into the night.

Even the pits have massively quieted down again, after deeming the young mechanic non-threatening. Yeah, he still needs to figure out, what that guy has to do with the lazarus pits, but right now he's got one real big fish to catch, fillet and fry for what he did and did to his machine.

@georgiefreddie0829 @shirasorin

#alternate universe #fanfic #danny phantom #dc x dp #danny fenton #danny nightingale #jason todd #red hood #Lost Retirement #dead on main

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clockwayswrites · 9 months ago

Text

City Pigeons Bleed Green Part 22

masterpost

Someone’s fingers were in Danny’s hair when he woke. The fingers weren’t so much carding through his hair as petting him. Some sleepy part of him wondered if that was something he should be offended by, but the comfort of it far outweighed any offense of being pet like a cat. Besides, the touch said safe.

He’d woken last night with a nightmare.

It hadn’t been a bad one— at least not once he was awake. Swirling starscapes and the smell of something woody and spiced brought him back to the here quickly despite the unnerving quiet of the Manor. Still, it had been a nightmare and Danny was very grateful when Jason had settled, more upright than not, next to him the bed.

That was very much not Jason’s hand in his hair though. It wasn’t big enough.

Danny made a mumbled noise to let whoever it was know he was starting to wake up. The hand stilled and then pulled away. (He should have stayed quiet.)

“Good morning, Brother.” Oh, Damian. “Todd and Grayson are off doing something that is surely inane. Grayson asked that I stay with you until you woke. I hope that was not a problem…?”

“Nope. Thank you for staying,” Danny said around a jaw cracking yawn. “It’s, um, just change, you know?”

“Yes,” Damian agreed after a moment. He continued almost hesitantly. “When I first arrived at the Manor from the League, I woke often from the quiet. In the League, there is always movement with guards changes and the global nature of it. It is also unwise to sleep too soundly there. The act of… fully resting is one that has taken me time to accept. But it is safe here. Father and the others would allow nothing to harm us here.”

Danny finally made himself open his eyes and roll over so that he could look up at Damian. His little brother, though not by much. “…yeah, they wouldn’t, would they?”

“They would not.”

“Thank you for staying with me anyways,” Danny said.

Damian’s resulting blush was pretty adorable.

“Yes, well, you are welcome,” Damian said as he swiftly stood. “Breakfast will be at the hour. That should be plenty of time for you to appropriately ready yourself.”

Danny held back a still sleepy laugh as Damian practically fled the bedroom. Then he took a moment to stretch slowly from the very tips of his toes to the tips of his fingers. The bed— his bed was just the right side of firm while the bedding softened everything back down. Despite the nightmare, Danny felt well rested.

It was a feeling he could get used to.

Breakfast called though, so Danny got up, showered (a novelty he still enjoyed), and dressed. The Red Hood sweater was a comfort that things hadn’t changed too much even though everything felt (and was) so very different.

If he got a little lost on the way down to the kitchen, well, that was just an adventure, wasn’t it?

Someone had saved Danny a spot between Dick and Damian, and Danny tucked into it quietly. The table was alive with chatter and people passing around plates. It was overwhelming. It was nice.

The seat at the head of the table was empty, and Danny figured it must be for Bruce who was just now stepping into the chaos of the dinning room. He stopped behind Jason’s chair and rested a hand on his shoulder. “I see you were busy last night.”

Jason jutted his chin up defiantly. “Dick was there too.”

“Ever the big brother. Well, I’m proud of you, Jaybird,” Bruce said and dropped a kiss to the top of Jason’s head.

It left Jason looking completely stunned. His mouth open and closed a few times before he mumbled a quiet thanks and tucked into himself as much as someone Jason’s size could.

Worried about Jason’s response, Danny looked to Dick. He looked only proud though, grinning at both Jason and Bruce, so Danny tried not to worry about it. They would either explain it or not.

There would be a lot that happened now that Danny wouldn’t get or understand, and that would have to be okay. They’d been a family long before him. The others had managed to join though and become part of it, so Danny would too. Or at least Danny could try to believe that he would too. He was trying to have hope again.

“Master Danny,” Alfred called from the doorway. “Do you enjoy eggs with breakfast and if so, what kind?”

“I, um, yeah, I’ve been enjoying what Jay’s been making me.”

“Master Tim, what sort of eggs has Master Jason been making?”

Tim blinked up blearily from his mug of coffee. “Why would I know that?”

“Scrambled,” Jason said to Tim. “Or over-hard. Nothing with runny yolk.”

Alfred continued to look at Tim pointedly, who shifted in his seat before repeating what Jay had said.

“Thank you, Master Tim,” Alfred replied before sweeping away rather dramatically, for a man in an old fashion suit.

“Okay, what the fuck?” Tim questioned several beats later.

Bruce, of all people, hid a smirk behind his hand.

“Jason’s mad at Alfred, and Alfred is maybe not handling that well,” Dick answered eventually.

“Wait, Jason, at Alfred?” Duke asked, leaning forward to look at Jason with wide eyes. “Is something going to explode? Has exploded? Will be rigged to explode soon?”

“Naw, all the destruction is long gone and none of it was exploding,” Jason said, then paused. “Okay, well I guess it did start with an explosion.”

“Oh my god, Jason,” Dick said and buried his face in his hands.

“It’s my death, I’m allowed to joke about it.”

“Oh, is that the rule?” Danny asked.

Suddenly all eyes turned to him. Danny leaned as far back into his chair he could. The attention was more than a little intimidating.

“Yes,” Jason said with a pointed gesture of his cup.

“No,” everyone else at the table replied.

Danny was a little confused.

“Maybe wait until we’ve talked about how you’ve died,” Bruce said. There was a strained tone under his gentle words. “And give us a little time to come to terms with it.”

“Oh.” Danny gave a little nod. He tried not to think about all the things that he still needed to tell. “That makes sense. Since I still haven’t…”

“How about a tour of the manor after breakfast?” Dick asked, scattering Danny’s thoughts.

“What?”

Dick shrugged. “Well, you didn’t really see much yesterday. We should give you the full tour. This place is big.”

“And confusing,” Duke added. “Take every tour you can get. I’ve been lost more than once.”

“Thomas is being dramatic,” Damian said with a sniff.

“No, he’s right,” Jay said. “You rich boys don’t get a say in what’s normal.”

Tim waved away the comment. “Are we including downstairs in the tour?”

Everyone but Danny seemed to look to Bruce for that answer.

“I don’t see why not. After all, Danny has known most of you all longer in the masks then out of them. It isn’t like that part of our family is anything hidden,” Bruce said. “Besides, if Danny needs anything during the night, he should know where to go.”

“Not that we’re all going to be out on the streets right now,” Dick assured quickly. “There’s going to be some of us still in the manor every night.”

Danny was saved from having to say anything to that by Alfred coming back with plates, but he thought that at least a few of them noticed his tight grip on his coffee cup.

The tour started on the ground floor. It turned out that there was more than enough to see there before even getting to the second floor and Bruce’s office, Damian’s art room, a study room, etc.— Danny didn’t know how he would find anyone. The manor might be great when people needed quiet or time apart, but how was Danny going to find anyone?

In the apartment, all Danny had to do was walk out of his room. There was always someone right there in the living room or kitchen. There was always someone when Danny needed them. Now if he walked out of his room there were at least eight rooms to try. There were studies and offices and sitting rooms. There was a library and cinema and an indoor pool. There was a billiards room.

It was like a game of Clue.

Danny F—Phantom, in laboratory, with the portal. And the scalpel and the acid and the electricity—

The hand he quickly slapped over his mouth with didn’t quite cover up the hysterical laughter.

Jay turned to look at him, question and worry both evident in his eyes.

“Sorry, just… weird thought. Can we… could we take a break before the basement part? It’s just a lot.”

“Of course we can, Brother,” Damian said and immediately started them off in a different direction.

He’d been acting as the main tour guide, as was his ‘duty as the blood son’. Jay had come, because Danny was still embarrassingly attached to him and Dick, and Duke trailed along with because ‘someone was needed to translate the rich into real person’. It turned into an interesting set of commentary, that was for sure.

Danny was glad for the break and how that apparently meant refreshing lemonade, fresh fruit, and cookies in one of the sitting rooms.

“It’s wild, isn’t it?” Steph said.

Apparently she’d shown up at the manor at some point, which meant that her, Cass, and Tim were also joining them for the break. Jay had left to ‘drag Dick out of the hell pit’, whatever that meant.

“Yeah, it is. I really think mansions are just like that though. Every one that I’ve seen has been wild in some way,” Danny said. “Though this one takes it as far as history and sheer… grandeur.”

“Dude, how many mansions have you been in?” Duke asked as he snagged another cookie.

“Okay, well, maybe only three, but they’ve all been wild. One had a bowling alley and the other was owned by a half-dead villain,” Danny explained. He paused thoughtfully. “Or maybe everyone I know… knew is just weird.”

“I mean, looking around this room…,” Steph said.

“I’d be insulted if it wasn’t true,” Tim said.

“You’re a drama queen, I bet you’re insulted anyways,” Steph replied.

Tim gasped, dramatically, and through his hand across his forehead. “How dare.”

Danny covered his soft laughter with another bite of a cookie. It was a little overwhelming having so many of them around at once, but it was also nice. Everything was so much more… alive. Danny could use to be more alive.

“Having cookies without me?” Bruce asked as he leaned against the doorway.

“Yes,” Tim answered without hesitation.

“I see,” Bruce said with a slight smile. “Danny, why don’t you steal a few and come with me.”

Danny nodded, scooped up several cookies into a napkin, and headed Bruce’s way. He held open is haul when he got close. He hoped Bruce liked the same type of cookies as him. Bruce took a white macadamia nut cookie, one of Danny’s favorite. Danny ducked his head with a smile.

“So,” Bruce started after they had been walking a bit, “did they show you where my study is?”

“Mhum.”

“Good. You’re always welcome to come in if you need me, even if I’m in a meeting or working, all my children are.”

“I—okay, got it,” Danny said. He fiddled with the napkin before plucking out a macaroon to chew on.

“Good,” Bruce said. Danny didn’t know if Bruce believed him. “I was thinking that you and I could start to to look over the Batcave together, there are a few things I’d like to talk to you about.”

Danny nodded and popped the rest of the macaroon in his mouth for the excuse not to talk. He followed Bruce into his study, through (of all things) the grandfather clock, and into the wall. The elevator ride down was quick and the air got noticeably colder until the world opened up into an actual cave.

The space was full of vehicles, spaces he assumed were rooms, a massive computer, and several very large, very odd items. Who just had a life sized t-rex? Apparently Batman, that’s who.

Bruce lead them over to a round meeting table and sat down. He motioned for Danny to do the same, so Danny did and placed the napkin of cookies on the table between them.

“Danny,” Bruce leaned forward and clasped his hands. “I want to assure that there is no obligation or expectation that you do anything with the vigilante work.”

Danny glanced away from Bruce’s serious gaze. “I… everyone else does…”

“Yes, and sometimes I hate myself for that.”

Danny started, gaze snapping back to Bruce.

He smiled somberly. “I’m not exactly the most well adjusted person and I know that. I doubt I would have ever been ‘normal’, but losing my parents so young to a violent crime and being raised by a man who still calls me ‘master’ didn’t help. I feel a… profound sense of obligation to this city and guilt when something in it goes wrong. To me, my wealth and skills means it is my duty to protect Gotham, often at the sacrifice of all else. Too many times that drive has almost lost me the things that matter most.

“When Dick first came to me after his parents death he was angry and reckless and determined to get justice. I saw so much of myself in him that in an effort to protect him, I let him follow in my footsteps. When Jason joined the family… I wish I had been clearer that his place in this family wasn’t dependent on him becoming a vigilante. I wish I had told he in very clear words that I would love him no matter what. I’m still working to make up for that.”

Danny pulled a the the sleeve of the too large hoodie he was wearing. “What if I… what if I feel that sort of guilt to?”

Bruce let out a huff of air. “You and I, we bring up the very complicated question of what is nature verses what is nurture. I will always work to never assume that how I might do or feel something is the same as how you might. I know there are times where I will mess up though. And if you do feel a guilt like that, I know very much how it feels and I will do my best to help you through it or set you up with someone who can.”

“What if it doesn’t go away?”

“I wouldn’t be trying to make it go away,” Bruce assured him firmly. “What I would be trying to do is give you the tools to handle it in a healthy way. To know where your lines are. Our goal is to make sure that you’re happy and healthy. After that, if you still want to be a Cape, we can talk about what that would look like for you.”

“Okay,” Danny said after a moment. “Can I… if I don’t end up being, um, a Cape, can I… would I still be allowed to change into my other form?”

“Of course, Danny,” Bruce said. There was soft look about him that Danny couldn’t quite name. “Since you were injured last time you were in it, I would like someone to be with you when you first changed so you can have medical help if you need it. But if there’s no issue, you can change whenever you want to. We want all of you here.”

Danny rubbed at his eyes. He wasn’t going to cry. “I—thank you.”

“Are you seriously having a heart to heart in the Batcave, B?” Jay interrupted as he stepped out of the elevator.

Dick bounded out from behind him and over to scoop Danny up into hug that Danny leaned happily into.

“It’s fine. It was… it was needed,” Danny said. He peaked out from around Dick’s arms and glanced from Jason to Bruce and back. “Bruce has something to say to you also.”

“Danny,” Bruce sighed.

Danny buried himself back into Dick’s hug. His reply was muffled. “Better late then too late, right?”

“Right,” Bruce agreed after a beat. “Danny and I were talking about how there’s no expectation for him to be a vigilante. I wish… that I had been clearer about that with you, Jaylad. I wish I had told you that neither your place here or my love for you was contingent on you becoming Robin.”

Dick sucked in a sharp breath and his arms tightened around Danny, but he stayed silent. It was very silent.

Finally Jay cleared his throat. “Yeah, I wish you had too, old man.”

“It’s still true,” Bruce said quickly. “If you want to go to college still or start a foundation—anything you want, chum.”

“Right. I’ll… yeah, I’ll think about it.”

“But for now,” Dick cut in excitedly, “time to show off the the fun parts of the Batcave!”

“He means the dangerous parts,” Jay said. His voice was still a little rough sounding.

“Boys…” Bruce said, sounding resigned. “Danny is still healing. Let’s keep the dangerous parts to a minimum, please.”

“Sure, B,” Dick chirped in the least unconvincing way possible.

Danny was afraid in that good excited away, like right before the drop on a roller coaster. It was a nice sort of fear to have and he smiled as Dick dragged him off deeper into the cave.

#dp x dc #batpham #city pigeons

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xhmeusworld · 12 days ago

Text

heart vs. head | lee jihoon

genre: smut, established relationship

pairing: lee jihoon x gender neutral reader

warnings: blowjobs in studio, slight dirty talk

word count: 1.2k

note: i’ve been thinking about jihoon nonstop for days now, so i guess this is the product of that lmao, but haha heart vs. head (get it👀)

jihoon was a perfectionist and absolutely everyone around him knew that. some days he was less uptight and more than willing to give the rest of the seventeen members grace during recording sessions. other days, it was like everything being done was not how he liked it.

today was one of those days.

you watched jihoon as his hands tightened around the lip of the desk in his studio, his knuckles turning white, the veins in his arms being more prominent. minghao was currently in the process of recording his parts of seventeen’s tenth anniversary comeback within the booth, the rest of the performance team surrounded jihoon in his producer chair as you were lounging on the couch your boyfriend kept specifically for you in the limited space.

to your ears, minghao sounded fine, but based on the tension in jihoon’s entire body, it wasn’t what he envisioned. you couldn’t say you were surprised. soonyoung recorded before minghao and jihoon made him re-record at least ten times before he was satisfied with the finished product.

the song came to an end as jihoon slipped off his headphones. it felt as if everyone on the room was holding their breath, waiting for the backbone of seventeen to crush their hopes and dreams.

instead, the boy sighed, running a hand over his freshly buzzed hair. “okay, everybody go get dinner, go home, just do something other than be here.”

the boys didn’t need to be told twice. they didn’t even hesitate as they fled out of jihoon’s studio like they were being chased, chan sending you a look of concern on the way out.

you moved to the edge of the couch, a soft smile on your face as you surveyed the love of your life. “babe, you’re being too critical on yourself. you’re doing great.”

jihoon turned his chair toward you, a frustrated sigh leaving his lungs. “i just needed a break.”

moving to your feet, you positioned yourself between jihoon’s legs, wrapping your arms around the boy and resting your cheek against the top of his head. “what can i do to help?”

jihoon let out a breathy laugh, grabbing your hips, causing you to step back and look down at him. “i have a couple of ideas.”

at his stare, you could feel your body temperature rise. “babe, we’re in your studio. what if one of the boys comes back?" you reasoned, "i don’t think we want to scar them for life.”

"don’t worry about them," jihoon replied, voice firm. “just get on your knees and suck my cock.”

the boy’s words instantly sent heat to your core. with seventeen’s anniversary coming up and your boyfriend’s pending military enlistment (which you did not want to think about), it had been rare that you guys have had time for a moment to think let alone please each other. and you knew jihoon well. you knew that when he got frustrated or upset, he needed some kind of release. the bulge in his shorts did look uncomfortably tight, you had to admit.

your voice was faint as you spoke as blood roared in your ears at the thought of what was to come. "fine, but if the boys come back, you can’t blame me.”

"trust me, babe, anyone would love to see such a beautiful sight on their knees for me.”

upon his final remark, he moved his arms up to grip onto his headrest, granting you better access to him. you slowly lowered yourself on your knees, resting your hands against his thighs as you got comfortable.

slowly, you slipped your fingers under the waistband of his shorts, pulling them along with his boxers down just enough for you to pull his throbbing cock out from its constraints, a sigh of relief emitting from your boyfriend who's eyes were trained on you, full of hunger, but you could see all the love he held for you as well.

god, you were going to miss him when he’s gone.

shaking those horrid thoughts away, you teasingly began to pump your hand up and down, relishing in the sounds that slipped past jihoon’s lips with every stroke. you bent your head down a little further, swiping your tongue across his tip just enough for his breath to hitch in his chest and his fingers to curl ever so tighter into his leather headrest.

you took a little bit more of him into your mouth, your cheeks hollowing out, tongue swirling. you began to bob your head up and down, taking in more of him each time, until finally, you could feel his tip hitting the back of your throat. jihoon groaned loudly, his hands moving from his headrest to tighten and pull at your hair, helping guide your movements, causing you to move a bit faster.

"your mouth feels so good, love, you’re doing well. god, i needed this,” he grunted.

you hummed around him, one of your hands finding its way to the rest of his cock that you couldn't fit into your mouth, simultaneously pumping up and down while still lightly sucking around him. pleasuring jihoon was one of your favorite things to do. everything he did in life, in music, were for the benefit of other people, but when he was with you, that’s why he got to take and receive everything he wanted. you were able to make him feel loved and cared for in a way that no one else could.

a breathy grunt came out of jihoon’s lips as your tongue swirled his head, his teeth sinking into his lip so hard to the point where he might draw blood if not careful. it was easy to tell that he was trying to hold back, make this moment last as long as possible.

"i'm so close," he panted, a sheen of sweat glistening against his forehead.

with a few more strokes of your hand and swirls of your tongue, he was coming undone in a matter of seconds, to which you swallowed every last drop as you didn’t want to cause a mess in his pristine studio. you pulled away from him, lips swollen and pink from the actions you'd just done and your hair a mess from jihoon’s fingers tangled in it.

he glanced over at you, a groan escaping his lips at the sight, "my god, you look stunning."

you could feel your cheeks heating up at his remark, surely the shade of a fire engine. jihoon had a hold of you within seconds, knocking you back onto the couch and immediately pinning you under him.

his hand was immediately between your thighs, his fingers causing flames to lick up and down your skin and eliciting a surprised gasp from you.

"how about i take care of you now, my love?"

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neuvilette-tea-party · 21 days ago

Note

I absolutely loved the Naga fic with both of the yans! I hope to see more in the future if you’re up to it! I do have a question, if reader were to escape or have a chance to leave how would the yans react? I hope you have a great day!

Oohoohoohoo... not a good idea, nononononononononono... How will reader survive such offense? Well... She just might!

Yandere! Naga Lord x Prisoner F!reader x Yandere! Naga Captain — MDNI! TW: Fantasy setting, Nagas!yandere, power imbalance, nobility and prisoner, one-sided affection, escape attempt, hybrid pregnancy

[Part 1]

“I suggest you choose your next words very carefully.” Lord Hael spoke coldly, looking down at the Naga bowing before him, forehead on the ground.

“She escaped, my Lord.” The trembling servant says with a shaking voice.

“And how she managed to do that, if you care to explain?”

“I do not know my Lord...”

“I gave you the instruction to monitor her at all times, did I not?” Hael demands with a voice so sweet, only poison could be tasted.

“Ye-Yes, you did, My Lord...” A noticeable shiver courses the servant’s spine under the slitted gaze of his master.

“My my, what am I to do with you, I wonder...” Hael feels his claws digging in the golden rock of his throne as the pitiful rat trembles before him.

Awaiting its fate.

“I am terribly sorry, my Lord”

“I know you are. This is the least you should be after disappointing me in such a dire way.” The Naga Lord simply waves away, standing up and lazily slithering around the poor fella.

He circles the servant slowly.

Intently

Menacingly...

Hael knew...

When he opened his eyes in his nest this morning, he knew.

You fled

How you managed it was a mystery he intends to discover later, for now he needed to locate you and bring you back to his lair.

If he is right...

If what he smelled on you is correct and you manage to escape his grip...

“I am eager to correct my faults.”

“I hope you are.” He snarls, “For your own survival, I really hope so...”

His little pet... All alone and lost in the Nagas’ territory, pursued and hunted down.

Such a fragile flower at the arm’s reach of such crude animals.

The Lord tsks, annoyed.

You really chose your timing, didn’t you? Escaping right on the verge of an all war against the human kingdoms, where he will be the most preoccupied. You really hoped he would have no time to give to find a poor little human help who escaped his lair.

Too bad, you will learn he can focus on two problems at the same time.

You are not just a help, you are his possession.

His

And his alone.

And if he doesn’t mind breaking his toys into pieces, he simply hates losing them.

“We will detach a squad of soldiers and get her back. You will help them, and if you bring her back, I will show mercy on your soul.”

“Yes, my Lord! Thank you, my Lord.” The servant grabs Hael’s hand to reverently kiss it, before pressing it to his forehead.

The Lord looks down at the Naga unimpressed and is about to send him away when he smells something. Incredulous, he sticks his slitted tongue out to taste the air.

Tssssss... Not him...

“My Lord.” A third Naga appears at the door of the throne room, bowing to Hael in respect.

This Naga is young and large, deadly, a prodigy on the battlefield, his long black hair framing his chiseled face.

“Why are you here, Captain Breezeler?” He demands, his fury at the impertinence of the soldier well hidden behind a mask of indifference. “You are supposed to supervise the front.”

“I smelled her disappearance.” The officer simply explains.

Like her disappearance was enough of a justification for him to abandon his duties toward his people in such a way!

“We have the situation under control, soldier.” He lets him, dismissing the incompetent fool who lost his little pet.

“Oh? You know where she hides?” Breezeler tilts his head, scrutinizing his Lord.

Hael turns his head to the young man, ready to berate him. But as their eyes cross, he realizes Breezeler did not mean disrespect for the only reason that he is simply too incompetent in politics to know his attitude holds so much disrespect.

Hael rolls his eyes and looks toward the opening in the wall, observing the thick forest under them.

“We do not. The teams have been searching the Palace and my Lair up and down all morning and just came back to me, by all evidence, she already crossed the frontier to her human kingdoms.”

“I can find her.”

“You.” Hael hisses dangerously, “Need to learn your place. You will return to your front and fight those punny humans. Your competencies lie in War and battles, not rescue missions. You nagged me for months to let you lead this assault and not my general. You got what you wanted, now go.”

“How curious...” Breezeler says, holding his chin pensively, “I thought you would have qualified it as a hunting mission, not a rescue one...”

Hael gives him a warning look, reminding him who sits on the throne and who obeys in this room.

The Captain slithers closer.

“My Lord, I know I can find her.”

“Are you a hound now?” He sniggers acidly, before turning away, “Return to your troops and wait for my orders, the battle will start in two days, the soldiers will want you at their side.”

Hael may deeply dislike this young officer, but he will always have respect for his cunning attitude and ability to lead his troop through mutual respect and not fear.

“If I may, my Lord. I can find her today.” The taller Naga insists.

Hael keeps his back turned to Breezeler, looking down the window regally, his hands clasped behind his back.

“She can’t direct herself in our territories, by all accounts her advancement his minimal.”

“I already ordered a group of guards to find her.”

“I can find her alone. I know of her, I tasted her skin, inhaled her scent deep into my lungs, and know her heartbeat by heart.”

Hael sighs once, pinching the bridge of his nose before spinning toward the young Naga.

“24h.” He orders icily, “You have 24h, not a second more. If you fail, you return to the battlefront and leave my general to lead the troops. Is that clear?”

“Yes, my Lord. Thank you.”

And the Captain bows, slithering back into the shadows, leaving his Lord to admire his lair and contemplate what punishment would fit such a grave offense.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

You are definitely and irremediably...

Lost.

Every place in this forest looks alike, and you keep returning to the same small river. You fall to your knees, exhausted, and splash water on your face, desperate for some freshness.

You are so fucked...

You look at your reflection in the clear water, contemplating how your life derailed so spectacularly. You just went out to find medicinal herbs... And now...

Your hand lays on your bately swollen stomach

Now... Your menses are late…

Worryingly late.

You sigh...

Lost, tears in your eyes

If what you fear comes true, how are you going to survive?

You bend over and dive your face into the cold water and scream all that you have. You feel each bubble rolling on your face before piercing the surface. You take it out with a huge gasp for air, panting like after a run.

You jump, hearing a crow flying from far, far away… maybe one of them….

Surely even...

You crawl back, too fatigued to run and freeze when you hit a trunk, blocking your escape. You look around and find a bush of red berries…

Poisonous berries…

You look toward where the crow took off and listen.

A low hiss…

You grab one berry and gulp. Better dead than a fiend’s mother!

You gulp one more time and bring the berry to you mou- An arrow just comes and tears it off your grip, striking into the trunk behind you.

You look at the berry, now exploded onto the arrow’s head thrusted into the bark. It… it did not even brush your skin!

Such a perfect shot can only come from one man... One Naga.

And sure enough, you see his tall frame detach itself from the shadows of the trees in front of you.

Captain Breezeler.

You are stuck in a freeze response, stupidly exposed to the monster that approaches you with the hardest face you have ever seen him.

He slithers closer and closer with a low hiss, slitted flaming eyes darting on poor you, on the hunt, excited by the blood and the fear.

“There you are, my Lady.” He greets politely, like it were a mundane meeting.

You tear off the arrow and aim the sharp end at him, hoping it could pierce such thick skin and scales, but here you are, rabid and cornered.

“Stop you beast!” You scream.

The Captain stops, eyes closed like he did not hear you. He sniffs the air, taking out his slitted tongue to better taste it.

You see his eye twitch a single time before recovering perfect control.

He keeps moving forward, his long tail flowing among obstacles like water flows around rocks.

“I was worried for your safety, and I was right, given your situation.” He lets you know, voice suave and placid.

“Do not move any closer!” You insist, taking a step back.

You bump against the large trunk.

“Running around Nagas’ territories pregnant is like begging to get your throat slit.” He lets you know, not slowing down.

So you were right… Your worst fear did come true…

You switch strategy and aim the point toward your belly.

This time

He stops

Deadly focused on you.

“Let me go!” You negotiate, “I will tell nothing of what I know of the Naga’s territories and maps!”

“Letting you go? While pregnant with our heirs?” He tilts his head at you, “Do you know what your kin will do to you when you give birth and reveal their ascendance?”

The tone is not haughty, not even mocking.

It is simply... serious and factual.

Like he already seen it before.

“I am human, like them! They will get rid of the monsters inside of me and tend to my wounds!”

“You seem to believe in your kin as noble beings, always ready to help and extend a hand.” He counters, back straight and head high, “You should know better.”

“We help each other!”

“Until they see the eggs.”

You want to throw out merely thinking about eggs in your stomach.

“Ho… How did you find me?” you ask, terrified, hands trembling.

He raises an eyebrow and merely taps the tip of his nose.

“I know of your scent, of your musk… It was easy to track you down. And I so dear hoped the pregnant pheromones were from you.” He deeply inhales, eyes closed and tongue out, “Delicious… Absolutely ravishing”

You twitch.

Better dead… Than a fiend’s mother!

You raise the arrow up and slam it down on your stomach…!

Or rather try...

With speed you never knew of them, the Naga oscillates in your direction and jumps on you.

Before the arrow’s head could reach your tender tummy, you are slammed into the ground with such force that your breath gets cut off.

“Ah…!”

“What do you hope to achieve exactly, (Y/n)?” Breezeler hisses on top of you, his long serpentine tongue tasting the salt of your face’s skin, tasting your pheromone all around.

“Leave me alone, demon!”

“You thought I would not react when you tried to kill our heirs? Or yourself? You are with us now… Till your death.”

His voice his that of a deadly warrior who’s seen a thousand battles and more deaths, authoritarian and deadly. But … you think you can hear the tiniest hint of a plaint in it

Like…

Begging

You are hallucinating and giving him intentions he does not have. Get a hold of yourself, girl!

You try to kick him off, punch him away, clawing your way out of his embrace. But you are nothing in front of this giant freak of nature.

He scoops you up easily despite all your struggles, and he heads back toward your wretched prison, holding you like you weigh absolutely nothing.

☆☆Taglist☆☆

#yanblr #yandere #reader insert #yandere oc #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #yandere x female reader #unhealthy relationships #toxic relationship #yandere nsft #fem reader #naga #naga oc #yandere naga #fanfic #neuvilette tea party #lord hael #Captain Breezeler

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