#slightly beta read
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"That's definitely a fever." Your boyfriend and right now; very attentive nurse, Sylus, proclaims after taking your temperature. “I feel hot and cold all at once. I hate this, I never asked for this..." You whine meekly as you cling to a very nice sliky duvet Slyus provided, one foot hanging out to balance your ever changing temperature. “You're taking this better than I thought you would. Normally you sniffle and cry about missing work and not getting to that coworker friend you're so fond of." He notes, sauntering into the bathroom to get you a damp washcloth to put on your forehead.
The fever dulling your reaction time;
You blink.
You blink again.
Suddenly tears prick your eyes.
" Sylus… I was helping Tara plan an early birthday surprise for one of our coworkers… Who's gonna help her now?? This is all my fault." It all comes out as a jumbled mess, interrupted by hiccups and sobs.
Despite it all Sylus shakes his head with a sigh, unceremoniously placing the damp cloth to your forehead. " Sweetie, you got sick, it happens. I'm sure your friend will understand." His hand wanders to your cheeks, now dusted with tears attempting to wipe them away. Panic flashes over your face briefly. " Still... I also have loads of work to do and and and if I don't get everything done in time it could be bad so I-” Sylus shakes his head with a small smile. " Don't worry about work… Onychinus would be happy to lend a hand. I'm sure the Hunter association would be thrilled.” He smirks, it's softer than his usual one.
You roll your eyes to the best of your abilities. " Just….” You pause taking a big defeated sigh, you may be stubborn but Sylus is more stubborn than you are. " Don't get into trouble if you do decide to do anything…” He moves his hands from your face to your head, stroking your hair. " All I am is trouble. You should know this by now.” He kisses the top of your head. " I'll handle everything. Get some rest, kitten.” Your eyelids flutter closed settling into the covers. He rises from the bed and you hear a flap of wings to your right, presumably Miphisto here to keep an eye on you. “Oh and Sylus? Thank you… for everything." “Forever and always sweetie."
You can find my master list here
#this was meant for Suguru Geto#I WROTE THIS FOR GETO AND THEN THE SPIRIT OF SYLUS POSSESSED ME#Anyways did I mention I'm sick lol#well not so much anymore#but still sick#my writing#love and deepspace#lads#lnds#sylus love and deepspace#sylus x reader#lnds sylus#l&ds sylus#lads sylus#love and deepspace sylus#sylus#sylus x mc#slightly beta read#breadcrumbing y'all til I finish that Caleb fic IM SORRY!!!!!#actually one more thing to add#I used to hate when Caleb used pipsqueak as a nickname but I've gotten used to it#I think shorting it to pips makes it manageable#but kitten is one I still can't get over oh my God#my male friends make fun of me all time calling Sylus a glorified Discord mod I can't let them slander my boy
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KISSING DILEMMA— Underfell Grillby x Water Spirit/Elemental! S/O
This is part 2 of this oneshot!
Warning(s)/General Tags: Roommates to Lovers?, Mutual Pining, Grillby is a Chatty Elemental, Alcohol Mixing, Grillby trying so hard not to be a simp and this is what he does, Mutually Possessive Elementals
You blurrily open your eyes, gargling in discomfort.
Another day, another dime. Summer would come eventually, but damn, do you miss sleeping like a baby in warmer waters.
Of course, you still pull yourself out of bed. You're rested in a bathtub, which is clearly used by only you. Makes sense, seeing that a fire elemental would have his own way of cleaning himself every morning.
From the watery grave you call home, you pull the plug and try to motivate yourself for the day. Warm water, you think. Warm warm to drown yourself in when it's time for bed again.
You walk forward and grab at your clothing, which has been half-heartedly hanged on the towel rack while everything else stays in a box. You keep telling yourself you'll unpack later, but later doesn't seem to come. As long as you got clothes you're willing to ruin, it's not like it'll matter for your job today.
Grabbing what you'll wear, you slide everything else off first. It's not the hardest task in the world.
Grillby, by contrast, is probably putting forth a special effort, as he does everyday. Not burning clothes, not burning his room, not melting the glasses by his bed.
You'll try to at least look like you have your life together, but it's not the same effort as being the face and brand of the bar you work at. Being such a menacing monster has its ups and downs, something you're sure he's proud and exhausted of. He probably got up much eariler than you this morning— you could at least hype yourself for work.
Besides, you got a fresh pair of clothes. Made of a niche plant material you've only seen or heard of in Waterfall. But hey, looking sharp for a resident bar-grill dishwasher, you think.
You leave the bathroom, hearing sounds of firewood crackling and smoke flowing, coming from Grillby's room. So he's definitely an early riser, it seems.
And much eariler than you thought, too. You were just looking for something to snack on, something you brought with you after moving recently. But there, on the counter, is a cute little treat of mandrian orange slices and a BLT. He left them with a baby spork, which you're entirely sure he purchased to mess with you—
(Why would a barkeep have baby utensils, otherwise?)
—but it's still a cute gesture, you think. You'll have to tease him later about it.
Accepting the gift, however, you allow yourself this treat before truly starting work. What time is it, anyways? Grillby isn't working, so if you try to guess based on...
~.~.~
Kitchens are always moving, always hot, and always needing something to maintain.
The air is positively electric, bustling with energy and you focus on taking care of some kitchen duties while Grillby looks after his grill. Between you two and a mountain of chores, it feels like nothing can stop the hurried pace that both of you create. Fast, efficient, and words never needing to be communicated outloud.
The gloves you were given are getting put to good use, really helping you get into the sink and scrub off dirty food when you're not removing used napkins first. It's the sort of energy and efficiency that makes you question how much harder and more dull it would have been if Grillby never found out about your eating habits.
You're certainly grateful, feeling that much bigger with pride and ready to challenge however many plates come your way now. Mustard stains and fry bits face impossible odds against the water elemental and their newfound washing powers.
From the corner of your eye, you almost see a glimmer of amusement from Grillby. He's never far from in the kitchen, and he seems happy with hand-drying a few special glasses out in the bar area. But his eyes betray him well— he's happy with your enthusiasm against the dishes, even when it's a funny spectacle to witness.
Well, he should have guessed as much enthusiasm— you're a water elemental! The water and its intricacies are infinitely entertaining and malleable in your hands. What is a fire elemental without his grill, or a water elemental without their washing gloves?
He comes in again, ready to offload a few dishes while preparing an order. He sets the dishware down and nudges his arm at me, not quite touching it but implying what he meant. "Look at you, getting it done," he teases, a small flame almost kissing my shoulder before it burns itself out.
"I like to think I'm capable," I smile back, then try to focus my eyes back on the task in front of me.
"Capable after you have your gloves," he dismisses playfully, clearly intent on not letting me forget our conversation yesterday. He goes into the freezer to retrieve something, but I know he can still hear me from here.
I glance at the freezer room. "I bet you're glad you brought me here, then." I retort nonchalantly, and allow myself a brief pause from dishwashing to see Grillby's reaction.
A purple round of flames uncomfortably grip frozen bacon and patties, leaving the walk-in freezer, but he's challenging my eyes. "Oh I'm sorry, did you say something? It sounds like baseless gloating in here," he smirks, revealing the white-hot contents of his mouth. Deliciously sharp teeth that glimmer like newly-melted glass. He's got to be aware of how hot he looks when he shows them off, right? And he's just teasing me again.
"Well, I wouldn't mind trading jobs for a day," I bluff aloud, which he obviously sees through. He lights his grill and toss the meat on it, maybe narrowing his eyes at me while he talks, even though I can't see. "Like you could mix drinks. Do you know anything about alcohol?" He snidely asks, already knowing my answer. I've told him before.
"No, but I could figure it out faster than the guy who would do my job for me," I pointed out, only because I know what he'd say about my ability to grill food. But he doesn't go there— if anything, I seem to have given him some sort of twisted idea.
Whatever it is, he doesn't express it— it's spoken through his silence.
He knows he would best me. Nobody has to guess that.
But maybe he'd like to teach me anyways? We could try, when the bar closes again today.
Not right now, though, as I scrub harder at a particularly stubborn fork. We'll have to find our own time.
Now there's a lovely sequence of silence in the kitchen, if you don't count the sound of sizzling and water splashing. Being this close to Grillby creates an odd sense of warmth— something within my soul.
I've always known when my heart has settled on someone, but I briefly wonder if maybe I'm wrong. It's something of a desperate attempt, I think, to convince myself that I'm not softening up on Grillby. That I could harden into something more defensive and aggressive if he ever tried something terrible for a laugh.
But just as likely, I wonder why it had to be him. At what point does a friend become...? But it's silly, because it's not as though anything could realistically happen, and he must know that too.
Any flirting from him would be contrary to his fear of water and likewise, fire isn't pleasant to the touch. It would be so much easier if this was just how elementals interacted— constant buzzing, body and soul— but it isn't, right?
I'll admit, being hidden away as the 'secret roommate' and 'close friend' of the fire elemental sounds all too good to be true. It's a sort of mutual safety provided to both elementals, I would say. I know, if anybody tried to pour water on Grillby, I'd drown them with own two hands...
/./././
... Grillby thinks to himself, he'd burn anybody who tried to use his water spirit's sense of taste against them. It made him all too aware, how anything he touched could be coated in poison that he'd burn off, but you could easily absorb.
Obviously, the gloves were necessary. If he had to, he'd wash off all his purchased fruits and vegetables preemptively, so anything you touched couldn't have anything premeditatively put on it. And maybe, that would mean providing you with some new duties before working in the kitchen, but you'd understand. You're ALWAYS so damn understanding— Asgore knows where you get it from.
Umbrella or no umbrella, icy ponds and whatever... you were a good monster. Someone who could understand him in a way many monsters couldn't, and you had that sense of care despite everything. If he had to guess, you were the kind of monster that kept to yourself and avoided trouble until you had to fight.
He couldn't imagine wanting to make an enemy out of you, as you clearly don't seem to have many enemies. Out of every monster in the underground, you must have been the most receptive to King Asgore's final decree: to cease the in-fighting amoung monsters and eliminate classist barriers. All thanks to the little fallen human, of course. Grillby would always offer them their favorite surface-snacks after what they've done for monsterkind.
So, that just leaves monsters to actually adjust to that decree. No more dusting to get by, or senseless violence to keep us divided amongst ourselves, but a serious effort to get our shit together. Plenty of monsters will still get drunk at a bar, but now some of them are going to have to get used to all the nice shit that humans try to do, like make friends and visit monster venues.
Not many visit the bar, and often those who do are intimidated out of staying. But the brave few who get actually enter and aren't scared off by a few mean-looking monsters... well, if they ever come back, they could show some regulars a lot about 'being nice'. And you— even you could teach him a few things about forgetting what happened during those days underground. And he could teach you how to make a mean breakfast.
Well, before he knows it, the day is gone again. It's time to close up— kick a few people out, including a skeleton that likes to stay until the minute he's forced away from a bottle of mustard.
And then it's just you again. It's always just you— waiting for him when everything goes quiet. And with not a clue about his true feelings, you approach him. Clearly, you're also quite done with the day.
He could get used to this, Grillby thinks. During his job hours, you two are just collaborating as coworkers. But when it's lights out and the storefront sign is flipped to 'CLOSED', then he can just be your roommate.
And that's a gift he wouldn't trade for his entire establishment.
Well, okay. Maybe he wouldn't want to choose between the two. But your friendship was dear and personal, as his point stood.
So again, when that blob of watery curiosity swishs into the main area? Of course it's you he cracks a smile at. "I hope you don't have any plans to leave now," Grillby smirks, loudly cracking his knuckles. The purple flames crawl up his body and he's immediately strutting towards the bar. His hands reach for a few bottles— all alcohol or something you'd shove in a cocktail.
"Classic surface drink: humans call it the Singapore Sling. Why don't you try to follow along?" He teases, which the water elemental can only try to challenge by watching carefully. Giving a determined nod, Grillby responds by pulling out a shaker. Well-loved, as clear as day.
He grabs the dry gin. "One and a half ounces of gin," he pours a little. "Half ounce of cherry brandy," he pours even less. "Quarter ounce of Cointreau and Bénédictine," he pours from two bottles, entering the same amount. He moves a few bottles out of the way to grab pineapple juice.
He unscrews the top– "4 ounces of pineapple juice," and he more than doubles the amount of liquid in the shaker, "half ounce of lime," he adds a small amount of lime. "Third ounce of grenadine, but!" and he pours a little grenadine.
"Don't forget the bitters." He puts a dash of bitters into the shaker.
Grillby then opens a medium-sized cooler by his legs; taking a hidden mit and some tongs, he extracts some ice and puts it in the shaker.
"Also ice. It's a chilled drink," he adds absentmindly, more perturbed by the ice cubes near him.
He close the cooler, then the shaker, and gives it a small shake, pointing it at fellow elemental. "Did you get all of that?" He asks, smiling because he knows the answer is 'no'.
And the concentrated look on the water elemental next to him never fails to make him laugh. He now gives a hearty shake to the shaker, doing a few tricks while showing off his abilities.
"Not everybody is going to ask for a mojito. And it's a good recipe to know," he suggests, giving a few more hearty shakes before he whips out a new tool.
He positions a tall, fresh glass near the shaker, then opens the shaker and strains everything into the glass.
With a little bit of flare, he leaves the bar to enter the kitchen, then comes back with a garnish on the glass: a little cherry topping off the drink.
He slides the drink towards you.
"Now, can you repeat the recipe back to me?" He grins, his fire curling on his head childishly. His unmatch jubilence isn't something you'd expect either, but he genuinely thinks you'll try to match him.
He isn't wrong. You were doing your best to remember.
His favorite water elemental points at two bottles.
"...Half ounce of Cointreau and Bénédictine..." he hears you mutter, quite satisfied to hear you speak again. Contently, he pours both at the amount you said.
Immediately, you spout "a dash of bitters," which he does. Good so far, but then you ask, "...ice?" and he knows he's got you.
Still determined, you don't seem to give up. You eye the ingredients, then maintain eye contact with one in particular. "Four ounces of pineapple juice," you say, confident, and so he gracefully pours you roughly four ounces.
Now you look stuck. "Need help?" He mocks, ready to take over. It's not like you messed up the recipe, so— "A third ounce of grenadine," you answer. Now he's grinning.
A third ounce is poured.
"A little lime?" you suggest, which he can't help but tease. "Ooh~ but how much?" And he relishes in the way you try to guess the amount. "A quarter ounce of lime," you answer, and he's pleasantly surprised by your answer.
Your face scrunchs together. "One and a half ounces of..." your eyes darted between the two remaining bottles. God, he's kind of suprised you've made it this far. Last time he pulled this stunt, Fuku poured a sour, gin-heavy version of this to try. Funny to watch, since she liked to boast her newly-budding skills to her uncle.
"...gin?" you finally answer. And he's happy to pour it out, even though you still had the final bottle to decide on.
What would you decide on?
He watches your wet eyes glare at the bottles, and keep coming back to the same one. For sure, you must also know what you need to add.
"A half ounce of cherry brandy."
And he's completely slackjawed, pouring it out and watching your expression. You still seem unsure and confused, but he couldn't be more proud of you.
"I feel like I'm missing something?"
"...No fucking way..."
He closes the shaker. Then, regally, he tilts it to you as a gift.
"Please, if you could do us the honors~" he asks, and he smiles wider when you take it.
So, head in hands, he gleefully watch you mix the drink. That was quite a talented display. Something he wishes he could have pulled off at your level of experience.
For sure, he's going to brag about it to Fuku. Only she could appreciate the kind of monster who could recreate a recipe on one listen. "You must have cheated..." he dreamily states.
You shake your head, trying to shake the shaker. You're not able to do any of his tricks, obviously, but even you know how a shaker works. Quietly, you hand it back to him, and he grabs a glass for you. He strains everything into the glass, then pushes everything near the glass aside.
"Congratulations on first drink. Hope you like it~" he winks, then drinks his own glass. You pour a little into your mouth, tasting everything thoroughly, then swallowing delicately. Nothing tastes wrong.
"You know", Grillby wipes a speck of dust off himself, "I was waiting for you to mess up, so I could say, 'guess you won't be getting a kiss'," he confesses, guiltily drinking more of his drink like he didn't just say that.
...What?!
Your water swishes around a little, bubbling the tiniest amount. Was that your version of blushing, he wondered, or was it the deeper blue color collecting near your cheeks?
"You wouldn't get splashed for me."
His eyes dart towards yours, alcohol being ingested much slower. He wouldn't? He doesn't want to, but you were just so...
And you think of nothing of the comment, drinking from your glass like nothing as said. And he swallows a little hard, seeing how the light from his body refracts off you perfectly— glorious beams of light dispersing around you, like a Renaissance painting.
You really look so much more beautiful, the closer he gets to you. The more he closes the distance.
Grillby pushes his drink to the side, quite happy to look at you instead. He'd kill to protect you, but die to be with you? Crazy talk. He'd never do that. "You think I'm scared of a little water?" he asks, half-sincere and half-curious. He seems to lean in, to prove a point.
This is crazy. Absolutely dangerous.
You look back with those dangerously-beautiful eyes, half-lidded with jaded factuality. "Yes. That's why I'm here." Your answer is curt, to the point. How he likes it, but too doubtful for him to accept.
Maybe he doesn't know himself as well as he thought.
His hand inches towards you, not quite touching but not very far. And his face leans in. And his breathe seems to worsen that blue, bubbling effect in your cheeks. You two have a moment of sharing breathe, when Grillby makes a daring move.
His finger lightly grip your clothes. Not burning the plant fiber, but no less closing the gap further. Your breathe seems to get caught for a second. "Grillby," you mutter, "don't extinguish yourself." Your own hand curls near Grillby's in companionship.
He seems rather bothered by this, but not for the reasons you express. There are several safe alternatives to kissing, yet somehow— "...You tease. What would you even do if I kissed you?" He asks, ready to back away the second you expressed any discomfort.
You think on your answer. Then come up with a playful retort.
"Guess I'd have to call you 'mine' before another water spirit does."
Your lips are immediately met with Grillby.
_______________
Taglist (lmk if you want to be added or removed)
@awesomeundertalelover3
@jasmines-greentea
Here's the recipe I used for the fic!
#grillby#underfell#fellby#underfell x reader#underfell grillby#underfell grillby x reader#fellby x reader#slightly suggestive#mutual pining#roommates to lovers#tw alcohol#tw drinking#no beta read#we die like Sans Undertale
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Picker Wheel Fic
Grab an OC, any OC, then spin the picker wheel three times. Now write a paragraph or three about how the OC is using those things to either kill someone or seduce them.
Warning: Keanu Reeves is on the wheel, but you’re not allowed to seduce or kill him.
Thank you @thedissonantverses for the tag lovely <3
I have the wonderful task of now creating something that contains a broken flower pot, a tampon and a broken underwire bra. Here we go then O_O (It was meant to be a blurb but then became this because I have issues, clearly. Someone send help. A brevity coach… if they exist.) ((It was meant to be about Lucanis x Rook (Lilya de Riva) but blame me for not completing my Illario smut, which actually starts similarly now I think about it hahah oops))
Rating: M-ish? (slightly nsfw?) Word count: 2.7k (sorry... let's pretend it's 3 paragraphs long).
Tagging: @rookamell @jenn2d2 @nyx-de-riva @introvertedfangrl @woundedsoul12 @pixiedurango @apothe-cary @azdesertwillow @hightowerqueen Open tag to anyone who sees this, please tag me back so I can read your work <3
---
Rook threw the door open, happy to be home after what was probably the worst day of her life.
She had been living out of her suitcase for the last three weeks as she had been in Rivain for work, but thankfully she was going to be on a plane home in a matter of hours. Unfortunately, she realised that the last clean bra she had was her least favourite. It pinched everywhere, and the wire always tried to stab her- why the hell did she even pack it? Why did she even still have it?! Rook grumbled as she surveyed her final clean outfit and cursed her lack of planning. Her stockings had a run in them, and the garter belt she brought along was fraying- probably seen the last of its good days. Her shirt was the one that gaped at her chest, offering anyone beside her a free show if she buttoned up or left it undone. At least the evil bra looked cute; that was the one upside.
When she went to turn her phone to airplane mode before take off, she realised she had missed a call and quickly listened to the message, it could have been from her stepfather’s doctor with news about their recent bout of tests. But no. It was her boss. Firing her via voicemail, even though she managed to secure the deal between the Nevarran Watchers and the Rivani Lords. She threw her phone back into her bag and scoffed at their “deep regrets”- yeah, they were so regretful they packed her belongings and told her that they could “be claimed from the security desk”. She groaned and readjusted her bra and shirt, when the thin bit of fabric holding back her left underwire snapped, allowing the metal to finally stab at her skin. Fantastic.
Rook fought the urge to order every tiny bottle of alcohol the plane had.
… and to top off her run of good luck, of course, her luggage was the last one to come out on the carousel… with two missing wheels!
Fan-fucking-tastic!
Her right garter was unclipped, and her stocking had started to roll down her thigh; her tits were squished, and the band was starting to dig into her sides, the underwire moving and stabbing her as she held and balanced her suitcase uncomfortably throughout the terminal, otherwise, she risked scratching the floor. The one mercy she had was her ability to call the head of security, her bestie’s long-time partner- Taash, who spent 10 minutes (as the taxi fare kept running!) telling Rook how they were already looking for a new gig elsewhere after finding out what they did to her. ‘No one messed with their family like that.’
Rook was unsurprised to see that her office drawers had been unceremoniously thrown into a box with her favourite orchid, a bottle of aspirin sticking out from the soil, and a few of its leaves torn off by the items surrounding it. Perfect. Her mother had gifted it to celebrate her promotion the last time they were up, even though she was so disappointed that her daughter refused to join them in the family business. Her stepbrother was already running it; there was no need to worry… besides, she couldn’t imagine working with Viago. She had tried it once during university, and they almost came to physical blows. She had a company mug in her hand, ready to bash him over the head with it, and he had some window cleaner he threatened to pour down her throat. As if they weren’t already in their twenties when it happened.
She kicked her suitcase through the doorway and watched it skitter across the floor before following it and closing the door with her foot. Her handbag slid off her shoulder and fell to the floor, her shoes kicked off haphazardly as she walked through her wonderful but now outrageously-overpriced-now-she-was-unemployed apartment. She balanced the box on her hip as she opened her bedroom window to the fire escape to let in some fresh air. Rook shoved the box on the windowsill and started to remove her clothes, wanting nothing more than to slip into her oldest, most comfortable sleep shirt and curl up on her sofa to watch some trashy reality TV. Maybe order some pizza. And Chinese food. And some ice cream.
Off came the jacket and the pencil skirt, but she took her time to unbutton her shirt, one by one as if she were in a trance. She had never been fired before… she didn’t even get the chance to fight or discuss why it was happening… that stupid company wouldn’t have been able to do any of it without her connections to begin with-
A loud crash broke her out of her reverie, startling Rook, who jumped on the spot. She looked up and saw that her very carefully placed box of stuff had fallen into the fire escape. With a long, exasperated sigh, she shimmied out onto the landing, careful not to step on anything that may have fallen out of the box. She crouched down and let out a pathetic whine at the sight of the loose soil and broken parts of her flower pot that had covered almost everything she owned in dirt, laughing to herself when she found one loose tampon in the mix that looked entirely clean… if it were not lying on the filthy fire escape.
“Is that you, Paloma?”
Oh good god, no.
From below her, she could see her neighbour pop his head out of his window and try to get a better look at her. Illario Dellamorte. An infamous playboy from a rival company, but a close family friend. They had known each other since they were children, and the man still wouldn’t give up his stupid nickname for her, after seeing her at their first communion all dressed in white. It didn’t help that, in between all their years of pointless bickering, there was an undeniable attraction between them and that every time they got closer to crossing that line, something got in the way. Business. Friends. Her dating his cousin. Him dating her old university roommate. Then his cousin and her roommate got together, and for a second, they were on the same side… but it was just never… right. So they continued on with their stupid squabbles and harmless ribbing. It was tradition, it was comfort.
But god, how she wished he wasn’t so damn handsome.
“Yeah, Illario. It’s me.” “What was that crash? I was about to come up and check you weren’t getting robbed- thought you were getting back tomorrow?” she heard him say, his voice strained, probably from making his way out of his window and up to her. “Oh, it’s nothing,” she called back, rushing to put back all her stuff into the slightly warped box, promising herself she’d be back later to sweep up the soil after she had had some dinner. “Just a flower pot; you don’t have to come up-”
A pair of shiny black shoes came into her view. Rook looked up his long legs to see the man with his hands in his trouser pockets looking down at her with the same smirk she always saw on his face. Damn him. White dress shirt unbuttoned to his chest and sleeves rolled up to his elbows, it was as if Lucanis or Neve had personally told him her weaknesses just to torture her. “Let me help, Paloma,” he said without his characteristic snark, before squatting down and helping to clean up the mess. “But you hate getting dirty. Even when we were in the sandbox, you complained about the sand getting on you and your clothes getting gross,” she replied, dumbfounded, watching the man pick up her dirty pens and lip balm without complaint.
“I’ve grown up a lot since playing in the sandbox with you, Paloma,” Illario smiled at her (actually smiled. Not smirked. Or Leered. Smiled!). He wiped his hands on his expensive pants and picked up the box, nodding his head toward the window to usher her back inside. He followed her easily, Rook cursing him for looking like the perfect gentleman cat burglar as he climbed through her window. After he placed the box safely on the ground, she picked up the broken flower pot and plucked the orchid from it, tutting sadly as she brushed away the extra dirt from its roots.
“Do you mind if I wash my hands?” “Oh, no! Just head into the bathroom- second door to the left.” Rook headed to her ensuite and plucked a vase out from under her sink, filled it with water and hoped the orchids would take to their new home… or at least survive long enough until she got her ass out to the hardware store to pick up some soil for it. She washed her hands and caught a glimpse of herself, and gasped. She was still in her unbuttoned shirt, her pretty but sadistic bra and torn-up stockings… Ilario, the bastard, had seen her like that and said nothing! Pretended everything was fine! She desperately searched for a towel or robe in the bathroom and swore at herself for doing the laundry before she left and having nothing to cover herself with. And even worse, even if she did, Illario would know that she was embarrassed by the whole thing and would tease her relentlessly about it for months to come.
Booze. She was going to order a shit ton of booze too.
Rook mentally slapped herself for probably flashing half of the street when she went onto her fire escape. She took in a deep breath and tried her best to soothe her anxiety with the knowledge that he had seen her in a bikini before. For all intents and purposes, he had seen her naked when their parents put her and Illario in a bath together when they were babies. The stupid photo of them proudly displayed on her mother’s dressing table- both of them with matching bubble bath “hats” grinning up at the camera.
Then, as if she hated herself, his damned words replayed in her head- I’ve grown up a lot since playing in the sandbox with you, Paloma. By the way his muscles rippled under his fine shirt, and his suit pants stretched over the breadth of his thigh as he bent down to help her… she had to admit those days were truly long behind them.
Illario walked back to her room and knocked on the open door, keeping up the pretence of being polite. “All done. I was about to head out the front door, but realised I didn’t have my keys with me and would have to go back out through the window. You all good here?” She nodded and thanked him and followed him to the window to close it behind him. Before she could lock it, he pushed the pane back up and leaned on the windowsill, a look of absolute incredulity painted across his face. “Are you serious right now, Paloma?” he asked, staring into her eyes. Were his eyes always that blue?
Focus, Rook. God damn it.
“What?” she took a step back, not wanting to be so close to him that she could feel his breath on her skin. And there was so much exposed skin for her to feel it on.
“You’re going to let me go, looking like that, looking at me like that- without a damn word? Nothing?” She swallowed and watched as his eyes traced the lines of her throat. “What did you want me to say? I already said thank you. You want me to say it again? Thank you, Illario. Goodnight.” He huffed out with a bitter laugh and shook his head, his immaculate bun still perfectly in place. How come her hair never did that? Ah, shit focus, Rook!
“How can you let me go, when you are so obviously trying to seduce me?” Rook snorted and laughed. Seduce? Seduce him?! The arrogant, self-centered asshole.
She leaned forward, their fingers touching on the windowsill and their noses barely an inch apart. Her dark eyes narrowed at him as she reminded herself that she shouldn’t head butt him to teach him a lesson on humility. Last thing she needed was to be carted to the ER over his shoulder, dressed as she was. “Oh yes, of course! I am trying to desperately trying to seduce Illario Dellamorte. Yes, standing here in a pile of dirt, and a box of such sexy things like gum and my loose tampons, in my worst pair of stockings and broken garter belt, in a mismatched underwear with a bra that is trying to literally stab me in the heart as we speak… yes, you’re right. Take me now, Illario. My loins are all a fucking flutter for you.”
“About time you admitted it, Lilya.”
He closed the distance between them and kissed her, pushing further into her room so he wasn’t crouching at her window. Her mind was racing, telling her it was a bad idea, that whatever was between them should have stayed unexplored and they were going to regret it when they ultimately broke and couldn’t look at each other again- ending over 30 years of friendship, or whatever it was they had.
“Illario-” “Whether in the finest evening gown or my old shirt that I know you stole and still wear, you are always seducing me. Whether you mean to or not. No matter how hard I fight it, it’s always been you and me in the end. And yes… even next to a box of tampons and dirt and old, delinquent underwear- you are every bit a vision and the woman I have always lov-”
“Ow- fuck!” Illario paused, his eyebrows raised at Rook’s exclamation. She wedged her hand into her cleavage and wriggled it around before pulling out a long, curved piece of metal, sighing contentedly as she dropped the offending underwire to the ground.
“S-sorry,” she said, offering him a sheepish smile. “I wasn’t lying when I said it was trying to stab me.” She pulled down the centre of her bra to show the angry red marks on her chest to show him. The youngest Dellamorte clucked his tongue as his eyes scanned her chest with something akin to concern, chased by a flash of hunger. “My poor Lilya,” he whispered, his eyes flicking back up to hers and holding her gaze to watch her reaction, to check for any hesitation from her at all. Finding none, Illario pressed his mouth to the sensitive flesh, dragging his lips along the line of red marks that started from just under her right breast, his thumb tugging at the cup slightly to allow him better access. Rook sighed and drew him closer to her, a new and very different type of embrace than those they had shared in the past.
Bad idea. The worst. But Rook was really tired of pretending that she didn’t feel anything for him, lying to herself that only friendship or friendly rivalry existed between them. Weary of faking that she didn’t know that Illario had bought the apartment from the original tenant for an exorbitant price just to be able to live there when he had heard she moved out of the loft she and Neve once shared. She was over ignoring how she would go out whenever she knew he brought a new partner home, or act like she never heard him swear at her whenever she’d bring someone to stay the night. She was done trying to believe the days they would randomly meet out on the fire escape to watch the skyline, to share bits of their dinner or drinks or gossip meant nothing- the way she’d fall asleep on his shoulder and he would stay there until she woke up as he didn’t want to enter her house without her permission- until she wanted him to…
Rook brought her left leg up onto the windowsill, Illario catching on to her silent invitation. With deft fingers, he pulled down the errant stocking, bending down to kiss the top of her thigh when he pulled her leg free from her hosiery. She pinched at the back of her bra to unclasp it, holding the damned thing up against her as her last means of cover.
“I was just about to order dinner, Illario… would you care to join me?”
He chuckled and grinned widely, baring his perfect white teeth like he wanted to eat her.
… Maybe he did.
“I thought you would never ask.”
#picker wheel fic tag#thank you thedissonantverses#Illario dellamorte#Illario x rook#illarook#slightly nsfw? kinda#we live and die without a beta or proof reading#sorry if there a bunch of typos/errors#<3#long post
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Beyond the Thorn Vines
𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝐈𝐈𝐈
𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝐈𝐈
Malleus Draconia x gn!reader
warnings: Incredibly boring. Actually this chap is jst like PURELY info dump so like if ch. 4 is out you can like siim over this and move on. COUGH COUGH this was made on a deadline.
content warning: none
3:12 pm, Royal Sword Academy. Dorm room
"Could you stop it with that?!" You reprimanded your friend, balling your fist and slamming it down on the bed by the side of your lap. As you read, Che'nya has been swishing his tail back and forth nonstop over the book and flipping the pages.
He laid floating above your canopy bed, enjoying the elevation over ground. And when he bent backwards to face you; it was an uncanny sight.
"You've been analysing that for a while now, don't tell me you have trouble with comprehending the material!" The cat snickered.
"Ya know…you could ask for my help," he suggested. "If you want!"
You slouched back into your pillow, holding the book open over your stomach. "Oh please, you'd word it as more complicated than it already is." You hadn’t noticed, but your eyebrow started slightly twitching.
Taking a double look at the page, you found that you still hadn't understood it, not one bit! It had messed with your head all morning, that or it was just Che'nya's interruptions.
The feline flipped over on his stomach and looked at you with owlish eyes, resting his head in folded arms. "Hm, Tomorrow's Magi-shift against NRC. You comin' to watch or are ya just gonna watch from the sidelines?"
"Ugh," you let your head drop to the side. "but the headaches…" You grumbled in displeasure. It was one of those headaches that would feel like knives that stabbed into your cranium. An awful one Indeed. You swear that one of these days you would pass out from the severity, though, hopefully not sooner or later.
"I'll get ya headphones if the whole stadium is too loud—!"
"It's not the noise!" You shouted in a whisper. Somehow you could never watch past anything near the championship round, so you never really saw who the winners were. Though you were certain that it was always RSA. NRC hasn't won against you all for 99 years.
Your friend grinned from ear to ear, a bemused noise left him and nodded his head from side to side akin to a bobble-head figure. "By-the-bye," he interrupted. "If you want to get rid of that 'awful headache' as you say…" Che'nya had always been the type of friend who you could never anticipate what action they might pull off next. But you could always tell If it leaned on more mischief or genuine goodwill.
"You should try seeking someone."
What he said was so stupidly blatant that it might've been a bigger, mind crushing headache than the ones you got occasionally.
"I've already tried that! I mean—of course I'd go to a doctor for migraines that won't go away. Who wouldn't—"
"That's not what I was referring to, silly," He chuckled, pressing his fingertips against his lips to…attempt to conceal the mockery. "But take it as ya will."
You raised your brow, He looked at you knowingly. His intentions weren't quite clear to you, but you could only hope for it to be rational, but what were you kidding?
"...Are you withholding information from me? Or what?"
"Aha! no no! not at all! I'm only suggesting, as any good friend does," He said with a dismissive hand wave, ascending down slowly at the foot of your bed to lay down, stretching his arms before flipping to face you.
"...You sure do love messing with me, don't you?" Your friend only responded in an amused shrug. "Well, I'll be off. Knowing you, this conversation won't go ANYWHERE till you turn over every rock. Buh-bye!" Che'nya's laugh resonated throughout him, trembling. He disappeared starting from his tail, his body followed. His legs were next and then his head—leaving behind a grin before it poofed away too. He frequently crashed at the Heartslabyul dorm to meet up with his childhood friends, his ability to turn invisible helped him stay low.
"Oh..that cat…" You wondered if Che'nya's teasing had a grain of truth to it—was there something more to what you were seeking, something you hadn't yet realised? The idea nagged at you, even as you tried to push it aside.
You managed to push yourself off the bed, tidying the sheets and led yourself to the front of your door, turning the knob to head for somewhere, anywhere. Though, no clear intention really presented itself to you. 'What to do with myself…I suppose a change of scenery could do me some good. For once. Not that I had anything else to do.' You thought to yourself.
After a few minutes well into aimlessly wandering, you stood at the threshold before walking inside, the mouth of the library engulfing you and its doors magically closing on their own—crashing in with a loud thud. The smell of old parchment welcomed you.
It seemed to only be you here. And the librarian.
You made a beeline for the literature section, the bookshelf was curtained in dust. Most thought of old things as borish, so it's to no one's wonder that it hadn't been touched.
You pulled out a book from the fourth shelf using a ladder, a book of turquoise leather binding and a golden spine. The cover had an engravement of a simple rose, peculiarly, its centre spiralled inwards and sometimes shone at you. You read the title: 'The whispers from no end, the collection.' It was a small thing. No bigger than your hands by 2 inches. The cover was still intact and wasn't actively rotting away in your hand…deducting that you were its first reader in ages. Atleast that's how you thought it worked.
Its charming cover attracted you, almost as if handing itself over to you. you slid down the ladder to make your way to one of the desks as you already began flipping through the pages.
You settled for a random page and began reading.
And when shadows swirled
around a solitary candlelight,
aware that it was seen
only by virtue of its glow.
At an opportunity to take leave
it scampered toward the exit,
yet with every step,
a cold breeze pushed it back.
In a moment of realisation,
it retreated into the depths
of the desolate manor,
unfurnished and shrouded in darkness.
You murmured the lines to yourself, jotting down notes for dissecting later. The notes didn't necessarily have to be done neatly, but just legible enough for you to understand.
From the right of you, you heard a sudden crack. Your eyelids burst open as you picked up the sound of glass shattering, but the windows in front of you seemed intact—The mystery of it confounded you.
Your eyes landed on the book you had just picked up, bringing it up close to your face once more to inspect it. It shone yet again in your eye, forcing you to jar your head and avoid the ray. At once, you picked up on a glass bead at the centre of the spiralled rose.
A crack ran along the delicate glass, atypically managing to break itself with no external force, that's what you thought, anyhow.
Your attention was engaged to the peculiar object, it almost lured you in. "...What could've possibly happened to you?" despite being something inanimate, you spoke to it as if you were referring to something that was animate. People would wonder why they'd always catch you doing this.
Your fingers ran along the fissure, untill it cut the tip of it. Pulling your hand back to your body, pinching the fingertip and swiping away the droplet of blood. Your blood seeped into the glass. Dropping the book and leaving it open.
It was that awful jabbing headache again. You've had almost enough of this tantalizing torture. But there was little to nothing you could do. "And if I had sought medical help, I'd have to down another useless pill."
Knowing that practically every item in here was laced with magic, you knew that you must have managed to involuntarily trigger something. And with such an anomalous appearing cover nonetheless.
"Agh…No, wait! Ack! I already have a curse on me—! I don't need another!"
With the senses that you had left, you managed to clasp the book shut with a loud slam—the pressure and force could've compressed the pages back into its former crisp and straight state. And by luck, your troubles were gone—and it only puzzled you even more so than answering anything.
Even the library seemed to hold its breath, anticipating another sudden outburst to happen. But nothing came after. And this became your telltale sign that it was time to leave.
Cautiously picking the book back up, you checked to see if it would come back alive, which it didn't—fortunately. You didn't bother to ask the librarian if you could borrow it—not wanting to show that you have…broken it.
By then, the hallways were painted in orange hues that reflected off of the pristine marble pillars and floors, your heels clicked against the tiles and echoed throughout. You eventually made it to the grand staircase that led up into the dorm rooms, though quite a hassle to walk up—since by every stop you'd have to catch your breath—it was gorgeous nonetheless.
You stumbled a bit on the way, but you ultimately made it back to your room safe and sound, removing your shoes— lugging the book onto your desk and crashing into your bed—Allowing yourself to melt into the sheets. Inward and outwardly exhausted.
"I can't exactly sit here and do nothing…can I…? Haha…" You chuckled to yourself. picking yourself up and sitting down at the edge of the bed, swinging one leg over the other. "'Go seek someone' He says! I've already gone to a doctor before, and if it did work, I wouldn't be complaining now!" You sighed into the palm of your hand.
“Every time I think I’m getting somewhere, it’s like I hit a wall. What am I even missing?”
“Well, at least the day's winding down,” you said, shifting uncomfortably on the bed. “Maybe a break will do me some good. It’s not like I’m making any progress here.” With a resigned sigh, you pushed the thoughts aside, resolved to get some rest. You lay back on your bed, letting the soft mattress calm you.
As you closed your eyes, the room fell silent, save for the faint echoes of your own thoughts drifting into the night.
Note: HEYEYEY srry for the lobg update i was dealinf with problems, my bad gng🙏 APOLOGIES FOR ANY WRITING ERRORS😊
#malleus draconia x you#malleus draconia x reader#malleus draconia#twisted wonderland#twst x you#twst x reader#disney twst#disney twisted wonderland#slightly innacurate lore#slightly ooc#not beta read#made for a friend to read#so it's fine with them LMFAO
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This is a fanfic I wrote. I just finished it and it's already on AO3. Just thought I should put it on here too. I've read things where Deku went missing or something but Bakugo doesn't give a rats ass so I gave it a shot where Bakugo goes slightly mad at loosing his childhood friend.
Or have the link. :p
https://archiveofourown.org/works/62710174/chapters/160539421
The Sky Went Dull
He hadn’t realized he was crying until his mother snapped him out of the trance. Her hand was on his shoulder and she looked just as upset, almost as if Deku was her son. Bakugo couldn’t imagine how Aunty Inko was doing. “Go away, ya hag.” He growled expecting a slap against the back of his head but there wasn’t one. She just squeezed him tighter. “They’ll find him.” She muttered, more to herself than Katsuki, also seemingly a prayer for Inko.
His father walked in and sat right next to him. He wrapped an arm around the spiky haired boy, pulling him close. Katsuki tried to stop the tears. He hated Deku afterall! He was–is quirkless! Yet he couldn’t. He still remembered his childhood friend, even though he didn’t want to. He remembered how they were before they got quirks. Why was he so angry at Deku anyways? He couldn’t remember at the moment. So, for the first time in many years, he cried in front of his parents.
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Bakugo went to visit Inko daily. She wasn’t close to alright. She stayed huddled in her room, crying; when not in her room then out searching and putting up flyers. It made sense, the last person in her family was gone, missing, and possibly dead. If not dead, then in grave danger. Bakugo had to get into the habit of not calling Deku ‘Deku.’ It felt wrong now, since he’s gone.
It’d been two weeks and the heroes and police still had nothing. Bakugo was questioned by the police, obviously. They talked to everyone close to Izuku. They already knew De–Izuku was quirkless, so they are searching with more urgency than normal. Though, it didn’t seem like that to Bakugo. He went into his room that day, sitting on his floor and looking at a limited edition All Might card. He huffed and slipped it into his pocket. He was angry, fuming actually. These wannabe heroes and losers were sucking at their damn jobs! They didn’t find Dek–Izuku sooner! They promised to find Izuku yet here they were, grappling at loose ends!
“If they’re not going to find you, then I will. Just wait…Izuku.” He grumbled the promise while staring at a mirror. A small picture of Izuku and him hung in the corner of it. He clenched his teeth and stormed out of the house. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?!” Mitsuki shouted at her son. “To train, you old hag! Someones gotta find De–Izuku someday!” He shouted back, seething with anger. However his mother didn’t shout back, just watching him with equal amounts of anger and sadness.
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Weeks turned into months. Izuku has been pronounced dead even though they never found a body. For some reason, the news just itched to interview Bakugo about the loss of his quirkless childhood friend. They must’ve been trying to get something on how the heroes weren’t taking their jobs seriously. Inko was at an all time low and moved into the Bakugo household so Mistuki could make sure she stayed alive.
Bakugo got accepted into UA, with the promise of killing the bastard who took Izuku. But right now, he sat by Izukus grave. It read, “Izuku Midoriya. A son, friend, and light of warmth for those around him.” Bakugo bit back a tear and showed the acceptance letter to the grave. “See, nerd? I got in. I told you I would. It’s not like you ever doubted me though, huh?” He let out a soft chuckle. “Aunty Inko misses you. So do I, and mom and dad. I think Aunty Inko moved in with us, so don’t worry about her. Okay?” He talked and talked, as if expecting to hear an answer. “I…I made sure your desk was never covered in that shit ever again,” He started, remembering how graffitied Izuku’s desk got. “And those pricks who tried to ruin your pretty grave got blown up. No one will touch you ever again, got it? I’ll make sure of that.” He paused, he was getting angry. He didn’t want to be angry here, not now. He sighed. “I’m going to be the number one hero and I’ll make sure you’re there to witness it.” He mumbled, tracing the petals of a yellow Japanese kerria. The gravesite had Izuku's favorite All Might merchandise and was dressed in flowers. All of them were fresh because Katsuki made sure of it.
He looked at the grave, it was in need of being polished. He was about to when a tall, lanky man with yellow hair and sunken eyes walked to it. He seemed shocked that someone was at the grave at this hour. “Who the fuck are you?” Bakugo stood up defensively, hands flared in case he needed to use his quirk. The lanky man put his hands up defensively. “I knew young Midoriya. I’m just here to visit, young man.” The man said calmly. Bakugo narrowed his eyes but he glanced at the man's hair again, then the merchandise on the grave. He had a feeling about something. “The fuck happened to you?” He snapped, sitting down though. The man seemed shocked. “What do you mean?” He questioned back. “I’m not stupid, old man. I know you’re All Might. If you're not, then fix your damn hair.” He crossed his arms and glared at Toshinori. All Might gave a sigh and gave a curt nod. “How do you know Izuku?” Bakugo questioned, sitting in a way that protects the gravestone. “I was training him before he went missing.” Toshinori answered, “I have a long story as to why and the reason I’m like this but…that boy was on the path of greatness. I know it.” He stated, all Bakugo did was nod. “So that’s why he looked so healthy.” Bakugo thought.
Toshinori stood next to where Bakugo sat, just looking at the headstone in silence. Bakugo finally broke the silence after a few minutes. “Did…Do you think he’s still out there?” He questioned, “Still alive and well?” He finished. His voice was on the verge of breaking. All Might stood silently, seemingly frozen. “I want to say yes, I do, but young man, I truly do not know. All we can do is hope that he is.” He gave a stinging answer, hand on the boy's head. “It’s Bakugo, Katsuki Bakugo. And you better remember that name because I’ll be in your spot one day. I’ll also be the one to find Izuku. I’ll be the best hero in the damn world for him.” The blond stated his promises firmly. Despite the initial shock, Toshinori nodded with sympathy for the boy.
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Bakugo had destroyed everyone at the Sports Festival and now was at his internship. It was time he and his loser classmates got to choose their hero names. He rolled his eyes at some names and snickered at the creativity of others. Finally, it was his turn. He strutted up to the front and held up a sign that read “Kacchan” with more confidence than anyone else in the room. Midnight smiled, “Aww! It’s cute! What does it mean?” Mina cooed at the blond's choice. “None of our damn business Pinky. “Oh come on, share with the class. We understand everyone else's, Bakugo.” Midnight encouraged Bakugo. “None. Of. Your. Damn. Business.” He scowled and sat back down, a cocky grin on his face. “I’m one step closer, Izuku.” He thought.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A little girl ran into Mirio. Her arms covered in wraps and a small horn sticking out her forehead. “Eri! Come back! Please!” A male voice called, sounding a bit desperate. Mirio knelt down and looked at her. “Hey there! You okay?” He asked cheerfully, looking up as the male voice stopped in front of him. The boy had green hair that was overdue for a haircut and was covered in less bandages than the girl. He had freckles and looked so tired, scared even. It made something in Mirio more alert. “Eri we have to go!” The boy urged in a hushed tone. “Excuse me? Are you two related?” The voice of Mirio made the boy jolt. He looked so relieved to see him, well at least in Mirio’s eyes. The boy was about to start talking when a man with a black mask and short brown hair walked up and grabbed the boy's shoulder. “Hello there.” The voice was cold and meticulous. “These two got out of my eyesight while shopping.” The man explained. Mirio stood up but had a questioning look. “I’m their guardian.” He said and Mirio relaxed. The boy picked Eri up and stepped back to the man. “S-Sorry about that.” He stammered out and went with the man.
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He had been searching for Izuku since the day he stepped into UA, although now he could do it legally. He and a few other agencies got wrapped into something about a man who they knew as Overhaul. Sir Nighteye and his overly bubbly intern Mirio were the ones to start the main investigation. He was already pissed off about his hair being slicked back by Best Jeanist, but some little girl was being abused and used as experiments by this man? Oh god he was pissed.
“There was another kid with her, though. I remember it.” Mirio started. “He seemed scared and kept telling her to come back. He looked about 13-14. It was hard to tell since they were so malnourished.” Katsuki tuned back in from his seething anger. “He wasn’t nearly as battered as the girl was but still abused.” He continued. “The boy had this birdsnest of hair. It was green and curly, clearly he never took care of it. Freckled skin and short.” Mirio finished the description. Bakugo’s eyes widened, he slammed his hands on the table and stood up without actually thinking. “Kacchan? Do you have something to say?” Best Jeanist asked, raising a brow. “Picture.” He growled. “What?” Sir Nighteye asked. “I said, do you have a picture?” He growled more audibly this time. “Yes, we have CCTV footage.” Sir Nighteye answered, pushing his glasses up on his nose. “Then fucking show it.” Bakugo snapped. It was weird to see him act out so badly with the pros around him. However, they showed the footage.
A scrawny, scraggly, and pale kid projected onto the screen. He has a messy green mop on his head and bags under his eyes. He wore white clothes and had no shoes on, just like the little girl. Bakugo went weak. His arms visibly shook and he could feel tears forming in his eyes, but he held those back. However, Best Jeanist noticed. “Kacchan, do you know him?” He didn’t answer. “Izuku,” He muttered, he collapsed onto the chair again, eyes wide and he was shaky. He stared at his lap. “He’s alive…” He mumbled to himself. Best Jeanist shook him out of the state, he immediately hardened up. “Bakugo. Do you know the kid?” Best Jeanist asked more firmly. He nodded. “That’s Izuku Midoriya,” He started, teeth clenched and fists shaking. “He was pronounced dead a year ago.” His words shocked the heroes around him, the few classmates there looked at him in shock. “Bro? Were you two close?” Kirishima asked. He sat next to FatGum and Amajiki. “He’s the reason behind my hero name.” Is the only thing Bakugo said, it was all he needed to say for the room to understand.
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The teams spent the next few weeks planning how to save both of the kids. Bakugo seethed. He wanted to go the seconded he learnt about it but he fucking wasn’t allowed to. When he saw that bird masked prick he was going to kill him.
It was finally the battle. It was terrible. They were split up and battered but Bakugo finally saw Chisaki. “Where the fuck is he, fucker?!” Bakugo shouted as he blasted the yakuza. The man snickered, but got visible goosebumps as Bakugo grazed him. “Who? He could be anyone here!” Chisaki questioned, but he thought about the green boy he’s been watching over. “Izuku! Where is he?! Why the hell did you take him?!” Bakugo kept shouting as the two fought. Mirio had the little girl but they couldn’t find Izuku. “Him? You nasty heroes don’t need to lay your hands on him!” The villain shouted back, almost impaling Bakugo. “Answer me! Why did you fucking take him?!” Bakugo screamed louder, his explosions looking more like sparkles but somehow more dangerous. “I’m protecting him! He is perfectly fine with no quirk but someone tried to spread their disease to him!” Bakugo was shocked at the statement. He knew the yakuza was aiming to destroy quirks and all, which was weird, since he too had a quirk, but it didn’t explain how he knew about All Might and Izuku originally being the successor. All Might explained everything at the grave, saying it was secret, so how the fuck did this bird mask know? “Someone so young without a quirk is rare! He’s more than useful to my cause!” Chisaki shouted as the two fought.
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Bakugo managed to beat the villain close to a pulp. He doesn’t remember how, just that his anger and quirk manifested into something stronger. He panted staring at the ruined ground that laid beneath him. Now it was time to find Izuku. He didn’t hear the many heroes calling for him, saying whatever. Some rushed to the villain, making sure he didn’t get back up. He perked up when a small hand grabbed his leg. He looked down to see Eri. “M–Mr? Who-Who are-are you looking for?” She stammered so much, it made Katsuki feel a little bad. “A kid named Izuku.” He said gruffly. “I can-can show you…” She mumbled, just loud enough for him to hear. He looked at Eraser Head and nodded for him to follow. The two followed the little girl. She brought them to a dark wooden door. They opened it and it looked like a regular teens room, but just slightly off. It didn’t feel wanted or lived in. Just like Eri’s. A small lump lay under the covers which made Bakugo almost run, but instead he walked slowly to it. Eri was picked up by the erasure hero and they stood in the doorway.
Bakugo put his hand on the lump, carefully moving the blanket to see the person he’s been searching for, Izuku. “Izuku,” He said, making the head shoot up. Tears immediately flooded from the emerald eyes. “K-Kacchan?!” He faintly shouted. Bakugo let a grin slip and picked up the malnourished teen. He surprisingly didn’t protest, maybe because of exhaustion and pure relief.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Izuku fell asleep the second he hit the hospital bed. He had lost all the muscle and brightness from the brief training with All Might. Inko burst into tears when she heard her child was actually alive. She hasn’t left Izuku’s side since she got there. No ones going to make her though. Bakugo also hasn’t left his side, saying it’s for protection. He sat with his eyes closed, legs spread, and posture relaxed while beside Izuku. He remembered when he got kidnapped by LOV–another damn organization he’s going to have to deal with– and how his mother reacted. She acted tough in front of the heroes but she cried when they left. His father sobbed harder than she did. She was so worried she would lose her son like how Inko lost Izuku. Inko had cried with them too. He scoffed himself awake and looked at Izuku. “He can’t live at the house. It wouldn’t be safe. He thought to himself and devised a plan to somehow convince the school to let him stay at the dorms. Something like, “To keep Eri calm” wouldn’t work. They’d just keep him with Eri, which wasn’t with him. “To keep him safe,” may work but they could always just keep him with a hero, but maybe if he somehow made it seem that Izuku only felt safe next to Bakugo would work. Yeah, that should do it.
This nerd isn’t leaving his side again.
End of Chapter 1
To Hoard the Sun
Izuku stirred slightly which caused Bakugo to jump, his bright eyes quickly back on his Izuku. Izuku rubbed his eyes and looked at Bakugo for the slightest moment before jumping and curling up into the corner where the bed meets the wall. He looked around in a panic and locked eyes with Bakugo, relaxing immediately. “Oh…” He sighed and looked at the blanket, which he clutched so tightly that his fingers went white. “Kacchan?” He asked, almost as if seeing if he were actually there. “Yeah, nerd?” He replied, trying his absolute hardest to be nonchalant. Izuku nodded slightly and spoke softly, “Just checking.” Bakugo huffed and crossed his arms, finally sitting down on a desk chair.
Izuku had gone back to his timid self, which oddly Bakugo hated. He wanted to know the Izuku in that picture from the news, not the old one he burnt on the shoulder, or the one so malnourished that any color he gained from training all day was bleached. He grumbled to himself and rubbed his eyes. “Go back to sleep, Izuku.” He said gruffly and the boy nodded, slowly going back to his original spot on Bakugos neat bed.
“G’night Kacchan.”
“Night, nerd.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The next morning had been an annoying one for Bakugo. Those dumbass classmates of his bothered him constantly while he made breakfast. It was Midoriya this and Midoriya that. It made his blood boil as much as the water in the kettle. They were talking about his Izuku damnit! He’s allowed to be angry. Even that damn bird head wanted to know about Izuku, the shadow chattering for him. The worst part was the fact he couldn’t do anything about it. Once Izuku was awake and down here, he’d be in awe with Bakugos classmates. He’d be learning and writing about their quirks; quirks that challenged his.
Bakugo growled and shoved a rice ball into Denki’s mouth. The pikachu wannabe melted as he went to the side and chewed the delicious food. “Ask the damn nerd when he’s awake! Stop pestering me, you extras!” Bakugo shouted at the class and they all stepped back like dogs getting in trouble, except for Todoroki. He seemed uninterested in everything, glaring at the world as though his father ruled over it. Bakugo hates that half-n-half bastard. He’s the only one not excited over his nerd. He just knows Izuku will be ecstatic to learn about Todoroki’s duel-quirks. He subconsciously sent a few sparks into his palm, burning himself slightly. He hissed and grumbly started setting plates up.
He shouted and cursed at his classmates thanking him for breakfast. “I should go wake Izuku.” Bakugo thought, he paused for a moment to think it through. If he did, Izuku would get a warm breakfast but he kept waking up throughout the night, seemingly because of nightmares. If he lets him sleep then Izuku gets a cold, soggy microwaved breakfast but is well rested. He tapped his foot in thought. “Hmmm…” Bakugo hummed to himself. “Whacha thinkin’ so hard about, Bakugo?” Kirishima asked, food in his mouth. “Nothing, hair-for-brains!” He barked back and stomped towards the elevator, apron still on.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Bakugo led Izuku down to the common room, setting him down in his seat at the dining table and set a plate in front of him. “Wow! This looks amazing Kacchan!” Izuku beamed as he started shoveling the food into his mouth. Bakugo tsked. His poor nerd hasn’t had a good meal since he was stolen. He eats his own plate of food standing but he keeps a keen eye on Izuku.
“I need to fatten him up, get muscle and color on him again.” Bakugo thought, nodded to himself as he mentally planned. Bakugo refilled Izuku's plate when it was empty and Izuku didn’t question it, just happy for a warm meal.
“So Midoriya was it?” Iida asks, robotically pushing his glasses back onto his nose. “Uh, yeah! Izuku Midoriya.” Izuku replied, gulping down his food. “Well, Midoriya, welcome to UA. We’ll keep you safe here.” Iida started talking, his fellow classmates nodding along. “Morons. I’m the one keeping him safe here,” Bakugo sneers at the group but lets them talk. “Yeah! Maybe you can even train your quirk here!” Sweet, idiotic, stupid, Kaminari said, finally done chewing.
The group directly involved with the Shie Hassaikai raid went quiet, Izuku put his head down but he had a small smile. “Funny thing is, I don’t have a quirk. I’m completely powerless.” Izuku chuckled. Bakugo wanted to punch the moron. He tightened his grip, digging nails into his palms. Just enough to cause him to bleed. Denki made efforts to apologize, and to his credit it was honest and he tried his hardest. Izuku waved his hands to make the blond stop bowing. Bakugo now couldn’t stop glaring at Denki, and he noticed. “It’s okay! You didn’t know.” Izuku, being the kind and gentle soul he is, reassured the rat bastard. However, despite Izuku’s reassurance, the boy excused himself with a solemn expression and quickly went back to Bakugos room. Bakugo gave a death glare at Kaminari and followed him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Bakugo knocked on his own dorm door. “Izuku?” He said gruffly yet calmly. “It’s your own room Kacchan.” Izuku reminded in his regular sassy tone. Bakugo huffed and entered to see Izuku on his bed, looking at a notebook. One that was burnt and clearly had water damage. “Oh shit. Oh fuck. Shit no. What the hell is he doing with that?! I thought Aunty had it.” Bakugo panicked internally.
“Is that–”
“The notebook All Might signed? Yeah…” Izuku interrupted Bakugo. The blond let out a quick sigh of relief.
“I shouldn’t tell you this but I’m going to anyway.” Izuku paused, inhaling, then looking at Bakugo as he exhaled. “I was going to be All Might’s successor. It’s a weird story but he was training me so I would be strong enough to handle his quirk.” Izuku started ranting. Bakugo’s eyes widened. “All Might can pass on his ability, which is called One For All, and I was going to have it next. I was. I could’ve been a hero. I could’ve been by your side. I could’ve finally lived my dream. I could’ve been great! I wouldn’t have to be some quirkless loser who got experimented on to make quirk erasing bullets!” Izuku was getting more angry than sad, but Bakugo could hear the hurt in his voice. However he also stopped listening when Izuku said “by your side.” But Izuku kept talking, his fists clenching his shorts, brows furrowed, tears welled up in his eyes, anger deep in his core.
Bakugo didn’t talk, just thought. It makes sense now, why All Might actually cared for some scrawny kid like Izuku, he was going to literally replace All Might hopefully. Bakugo sneered as his competitive nature chimed in but he quickly punched it away. Bakugo didn’t know what to say at first, but he suddenly thought of something. “Who said you had to be quirkless?” Bakugo asked, a devious plan boiling in his head. He can have Izuku next to him constantly if the freckled boy trained again, took All Mights quirk, and became a hero too. Sure he’d have to start a year late but that doesn’t matter. He’ll just chalk up the random quirk development as late blooming.
Bakugo grinned at his Izuku. “We’ll be heroes together, Izuku. Don’t worry.”
#mha fanfic#my hero academia#boku no hero academia#writers on tumblr#ao3 writer#fanfic#fandom#bakugou katsuki#mha#bnha#mha deku#izuku midoriya#bnha izuku#shipping#sorta#not totally#platonic#one sided feelings#yandere#just slightly though#not too much#I swear#not beta read
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Rumination (3/7)
Third instalment in our series of 7 Matt/Mello/Near drabbles written for @dnrarepairweek! :3 Prompts: successors, pining.
Near was left behind.
Rarepair: Matt/Mello/Near Other tags: The Kira Case, Wammy’s House
[read on AO3 or below] [series on AO3]
There have been no new enrollments since L and Watari’s deaths. With Matt gone, the room is nobody’s now.
Near often goes there to think.
Sometimes it’s about the Kira case: the clues he is gathering, what he will do to catch Kira.
Sometimes he hugs Mello’s pillow and inhales deeply, imagines he can still smell dark chocolate. Once or twice, he does the same with Matt’s, which has kept the scent of cold tobacco.
Sometimes he pictures different things. L not dead, Mello still here, Matt still glued to him, Near creeping in-between the two of them and staying.
#death note#death note fic#dnrarepairweek25#mattmellonear#nearlymellodramattic#saltposting#saltwriting#series: MMN drabbles#Honestly so exciting to be posting these we've sat on them for SO long. And we're not even halfway through yet!!! :3c#Also I'm grumpy because our brain hit an information processing wall today and I want to continue reading everyone else's fics#like NOW. But I can't do that because -- well I feel a little better now after dinner but I think I need to give our brain a rest tbh dfhds#bedtime is so soon and I really need to like. Defrag for a while.#Can't even be mad because some of that is that I spent TWO HOURS today closely proofreading half of a HUGE chapter in empire#and then slightly less closely proofreading the other half + the following chapter#and like. Honestly I think we really need that rewrite to smooth out some of our difficulties with chapter 7. And it's been nice to revisit#like it's actually a lot less Chasm of Horrible than we were anticipating. Flows together pretty nicely should be even better post-beta#but this has nothing to do with our drabbles at this point I'm just sleepy rambling about our other writing dhfgsdh#Anyway yeah. Bedtime soon EXCITED THOUGH. And thinking about it#perhaps reading more fic can happen tomorrow... not 100% on it due to we have therapy AND cooking AND errand AND book club#and I think that's already going to be a stretch for our spoons tbh. Like I hope we have some spares (and priority to our own writing)#but if we don't well. We don't. The fics will still be there later and etc (< guy who is trying very hard to convince himself)#ANYWAY I'm hitting post now sure I'm using my indoor voice but it's still enough rambling in the tags.
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Hello, me again! I just wanted to tell you how much I adore your stuff for Volga and dragons! It's making me want to get back into my own stuff for him and the dragons in my stuff.
Also, I was wondering: what's Volga's relationship with his parents? And if he had kids of his own one day, what would his relationship be like with them?
Loving, until they're old enough to be on their own? Do kids visit their parents or siblings on occasion?
You don't have to answer if you don't want to, I just love seeing people's ideas :)
My brain is alive right now lol
aaaaa hello!!! I'm so glad you like my Volga lore he's so fun to draw and mess with. You should definitely update me if you ever get back into your volga and dragons stuff 👀
-> previous post for context
This also gets long for the second question because brainrot so it will all be below the read more button👍
What's Volga's relationship with his parents?
His relationship with his parents, and the rest of his siblings, is actually not too bad. He and Ares do get to see them again and at first he seems wary when encountering Gargoyle, but that's actually more likely because he's afraid he won't be remembered. They were afraid him migrating when he was so small (being the runt of his clutch) would be too dangerous and were rather protective of him. But they taught him well and he talks and thinks about his parents with pride.
Also dragons rarely ever see family members after migrating. They live at the nest and are taught what they need to learn for a year before instinct drives them to leave. Sometimes it doesn't happen and they stay, and other times they may return, it's just not very common. Smolder and Gargoyle though have been around long enough and are strong enough where if dragons do visit it's never a problem like it'd normally be. They're kind of in a weird spot where they've never been challenged and aren't likely to ever be challenged. I wouldn't be surprised if anyone in the family did visit them often, I know the twins Blitz and Blaze do.
If he had kids of his own one day, what would his relationship be like with them?
I think about this too much tbh. I know for a fact he never actually planned to have any ever, primarily because he's perfectly fine being a loner-type and he already has enough to deal with with the gorons and lizardfolk, and then the hylian kingdom practically at his doorstep.
But then the idea of having any does get kinda complicated when you add the hylians into the mix. Because his territory is shared with Hyrule (him and Zelda are both so so stubborn) he's had to make a deal with Zelda that prevents other dragons from making their home in Hryule. He was perfectly fine with this originally (it was a spoken promise which dragons rarely break) because he not very social to begin with, let alone with other dragons. So he just figured he'd probably never have a mate, nor was he really into the idea anyways.
Until post-War of Eras. Scorn shows up suddenly, driven from her own territory across The Great Sea in need of a temporary nest after having been attacked by a hoard of wyverns. He is able to convince Zelda to let Scorn stay long enough to nest only because he knows her well enough to know she's not really interested in fighting anyone, let alone hylians.
When Scorn's eggs do hatch Volga makes sure to help her raise them, teaching them everything his own mentor taught him, along with everything their parents passed onto the siblings. He actually builds a rather healthy relationship with them as their uncle and is admittedly a little surprised when he realizes maybe having a family wouldn't be such a bad idea??? His niece, Harpy, probably ends up being his favorite lollll
But again sadly everything gets too complicated when his agreement with Zelda re-enters his brain. No extra dragons means no kids :( unless Ares convinces Zelda to change her mind.
I do like to think he'd be a lot like his parents though. Protective, but not overbearing. While Volga is aware of what causes dragon parents got abandon their hatchlings, he sees value and potential in them all a lot like his mother did for him. He'd give them all a chance.
I also think Ares made him rethink his perspective on relationships a lot more than he realized, especially after Scorn shows up as well.
Really hope this answered at least something. I tend to just ramble on until eventually something coherent comes out.
But a lot of the Scorn stuff I plan on actually showcasing eventually. Which also eventually leads into meeting Smolder and Gargoyle.
^ wip storyboard of Scorn after being attacked by Hylian soldiers.
#Hyrule Warriors#loz au#Volga#kheprriverse#I didn't mention this but Ares also helps Scorn out too since he and Volga are actively in a relationship then#(and also it makes zelda feel slightly at ease knowing one of her soldiers is keeping an eye on a bunch of dragons)#he thinks dragon hatchlings are very cute and silly and Scorn thinks he's equally silly and a good match for her brother#Ares is also under the impression that Volga would be a good dad IF the kids are dragons lol#not beta reading this sorry. ALL of this has been sitting in my brain for too long
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kissing them to shut them up .
ask meme | stolen kiss
It started first thing in the morning. Scout Harding passes around breakfast she’d excitedly made at the crack of dawn, chattering away as she did.
“Here you go, Solas!”
Solas took the wrap as if she’d handed him a snail. “It is appreciated that you make the effort of preparing what I am certain in Ferelden passes as a decent breakfast, Scout Harding.”
“Sure does! Best we could manage on our farm at least. My Ma - ”
The Iron Bull was observant enough to notice the minuscule twitch of Solas’ eyelid just as Dhavi did, and inserted himself between Solas and Harding. She continued her little monologue as if nothing happened, regardless of the change in audience.
Solas glared down at the wrap.
Dhavi had spent her sleepless night reading her notes and jotting down findings, and though Solas had scarcely stirred, perhaps his dreams had been disturbed. Or perhaps the morning had come too quickly. Or perhaps -
“What, you don’t like a ‘ham and jam slam,’ Chuckles?”
“Do you?”
“No comment.”
Solas’ mood didn’t improve once they finally left camp.
“I suppose it is too much to ask that you choose a garment with slightly less buckles?” he asked after a mere five minutes of walking. “Or do you prefer that every enemy, tradesman, and nug hear us coming a mile off?”
“You’re right,” said Dorian. “It is too much to ask me to sacrifice the perfect amount of buckles. Though I’ll have you know these are not mere buckles. They are, in civilized circles, more akin to bangles. Are you familiar with the concept of ‘fashion,’ Solas?” He looked Solas up and down. “Foolish question. But while we’re on the topic…”
“Dorian,” said Dhavi, and their Tevinter mage shrugged with bombast, as only he could. Solas’ scowl remained.
A headache, then? The transition from the Graves to the Plains removed the constant, blessed shade they’d enjoyed these past few weeks.
Scout Harding had packed them lunch. The less said about that the better. Solas ate it like it had offended him.
They made the Western Ramparts by mid-day. It had recovered as well as could be expected after an undead infestation, and the party paused to trade supplies and exchange information on the Freemen’s movements.
“Coucou!” called an Orlesian behind her. “Lapin!” She turned, but the sous-officier addressed a cross-armed Solas. “As-tu vu mon casque?”
Solas glare could have withered elfroot. “Oui, maître,” he said, and directed the sous-officier to an area nearby where Dhavi, and the anchor itching on her hand, knew there to be a rift.
Honestly, Dhavi almost let it go. But Josephine had impressed upon them - on her, specifically - that with their impending visit to Halamshiral, the Inquisition needed to enter a strong friend to Orlais.
“Solas,” she said, half-heartedly.
“It might have been,” he shrugged, but he did not smile, and his mirth, such as it was, was crueler than his typical mischief.
“Please tell him you were mistaken before you cause an international incident this early in the day.”
Solas rolled his eyes, but turned back to the sous-officier. “Desolé, maître,” he said, the effusive apology saccharine in tone, and pointed the sous-officier in the opposite direction. Very near a pack of wolves they’d passed. But she could hardly control animals, could she? She let it slide, and gave him a wry smile. Solas did not return it, instead scowling at everyone else that passed without giving him a second look.
Perhaps it was just Orlesians.
The Orlesians had little information, and the sun began to descend below the jagged mountains and distant, towering statue of the wolf (the Emerald Knights? Truly? Dhavi’s doubts remained). As kind as Scout Harding’s intentions were with cooking, Dhavi reasoned they all needed a break from three meals of ham and jam a day. And after dealing with demons, Orlesians, and a very unpleasant apostate elf all day, she ached for some civilized conversation.
Solas groaned as they rounded the bend, and Keeper Hawen’s aravels came into view.
The Dalish were all too happy to share their meal with the supplies Dhavi had been sending them. The smell of spiced vegetables, halla cheese, and garlic was enough to drive Dhavi’s own burgeoning headache
“It is simply curious that you eschew uttering the terrible names of Anaris and Daern’thal but have no such reservations about invoking Fen’harel with every stubbed toe.”
“Era’simela, satua,” said Keeper Hawen. Speak with care, flat-ear.
“Or what?” Solas scoffed. “Will you call on the All-Father to smite me where I stand? Your Huntress to carry me away?” Solas gave a performative look around. “I can wait for them, if you think they will come.”
“Solas,” Dhavi said sharply, feeling very much like a mother pulling two quarreling children apart. “Ferenalen.” Neither of them seemed the least bit apologetic. “With all the shems around us, is dinner really the time to allow philosophical differences to get between us?”
“I scarcely see how a meal could improve Dalish ignorance,” he said.
“That was unworthy of you, Solas.”
“Nar kemalen ata mala’mai,” said the Keeper. You are worthy of your name. An insult.
Solas smiled. “Ir’ies, da’len.”
Dinner was not a pleasant affair. Dhavi quickly agreed to investigate a demon infestation at Var Bellanaris as apology, and dragged Solas away from the camp before he could launch into another lecture on the nature of spirits and destroy what good will Dhavi had worked to build with the clan.
“What has vexed you so, today?” she demanded.
“The shadows of trees are too long,” said Cole, appearing beside them. “Husks where towers stood, this place is wrong, it’s all wrong, and no can see it. No one can hear the - ”
“Not now, Cole,” said Solas sharply.
“Sorry.”
Solas left them both behind.
By the time the others caught up with him at Var Bellanaris, Solas was leaning against the ancient threshold with his arms crossed. All but two simple shades remained, though there was no sign of battle.
“So we don’t get to kick demon ass,” Bull grumbled.
“He asked them to leave,” said Cole.
“You asked them?” said Dorian, raising his eyebrow. “And they just left? However did you manage that?”
“Words typically work,” said Solas, and Dhavi threw her hands up in frustration.
They returned to camp as the last light of day gave way to the stars. Dhavi shrugged off her pack, sighing a bit with relief at the loss of pressure.
And then Harding came around with ‘dinner.’ Solas opened his mouth, but Dhavi grabbed the wolf totem around his neck and pulled him into a crushing kiss. He blinked down at her in surprise, but as she deepened the kiss, she felt his fingers spread across her ribcage. Despite his usual protestations, she felt him lean into her, his hand rising to her back to bring her closer.
So she pushed him away, looking for all the world as if she’d just had a mildly successful conversation with some lesser diplomat.
“We will discuss this,” she announced, proud that she barely sounded out of breath, “in our tent.”
“I…” He did not comport himself as quickly as she did. Another small victory in a day of several larger headaches. She pointedly ignored the way his tongue involuntarily passed over his lips. “Very well.”
Dhavi turned on her heel, nearly colliding with Scout Harding, who stared owlishly up at her.
“Uh…not hungry?” asked Scout Harding.
From behind her, his voice just that bit raspy, Solas said, “Not for - ”
“No, thank you,” said Dhavi. “Good night, Scout Harding. Solas,” she jerked her head towards her tent, and he followed without protest.
‘Discussion’ had perhaps not been the right word, but they worked the tension out regardless.
#i forgot the prompt halfway through jesus#im not beta reading this its too long for what anyone needed#meme response (solas slightly approves.)#keepslore (dirtha garas setheneran.)#INQUISITION |
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September 29, 2024 "I lost my virginity"
I fucked him first just as we planned, there'd been multiple occasions where he almost lost control and fucked me into my nest like the pretty little fuckdoll I am but he composed himself <3
So It started with the shower, he got in and was meant to invite me inside when he was ready,
During this time I tried to clean up my room and get the toys and such prepared
my mom ended up coming home and interrupting that. I sat on the stairs waiting for him to finish showering, I had to not tell him she was home so he could finish his shower. Then my mom finished her business and left. Me hopping into the shower next.
Excitedly I cuddled him naked in my bed when i returned from cleaning. Then I slipped the strap-on on. Rule 1. We'd set before was we'd both keep our binders on, a rule we'd quickly ignore. He had to help me lube my toy up with some hand cream cause I've never had to use anything as lube before, but it really didn't take long for almost all of the 8 inches to be inside him <3<3<3
He was pretty under me, I like listening to his sounds and making him feel oh so good, I thought it'd be easier but literally after a minute my body and legs were exhausted so quickly I have to work on that
His internal grip is so strong he kept popping my dick off @~@
Since I couldn't pound into him that well we moved to the pretty puppy riding me! And gods was he cute moving himself up and down the entire eight inches. This didn't last long with puppy's legs getting all sore <3
So we shifted again
I think I fucked him for a bit by hand, I remember being, semi-confused by how to do it and then I remember having to switch hands frequently which I believe added to some confusion later
When we switched he planned to keep the big one in him whike fucking me but it took a minute to find his confetti dick and my very unsexy panicking while looking probably didn't help him keep all of the toy inside him (💧^-^)
When it was my turn he slipped into the harness as I readjusted some pieces for him. I laid down on my back with my legs spread, he took a good look at all of me, calling me cute and such as I felt so embarrassed. he popped the head inside of me and slipped the rest into me, me struggling around the constant slight discomfort of it being inside me(Not that the one in me was anywhere near the size of the one in him-)
He tried thrusting into me for a bit much his cute pathetic body couldn't keep up with that for long
So he switched to his hand, and I remember that being the best feeling I had ever felt thrusting into me, pathetically gasping and moaning I'm sure while my fingers slipped down to play with myself(never being one for internal stimulation myself >~<)
I remember there being this peak where all I could think about was how good I felt, right on edge, and then he falters for a moment while switching hands
"That was all with my left :D"
He said, dumb cute little smile on his face while wave of confusion hits me for meer seconds before, my eyes tolling back as he pounds harder into me than I'd ever experienced thus far
I made this little "uh uh uh uh" sounds in sync with him pounding into me
"Uh uh uh"
My brain melting as my heart raced, pleasure I never realized so possible from such stimulation until tears began to form in my eyes, breath quick as choked sobs escaped me
I heard him awwing at me as I pulled him closer, shaking and needing him to be pressed against me so I didn't break down sobbing with my mother still downstairs.
We laid there for a bit, toy still inside me, just heat against one another as I calmed down from all the pleasure chemicals rushing through me
He slipped the toy out of me, a pop sound as it left covered in my slick.
I laid under him and as soon as my body completely relaxed, my hips started rocking. He sighed and chuckled, moving to grab his vibrator for his very very silly>:(( idea of roulette(v.1 beta)
He asked me to pick a number between 1 and 10, 7, but I swear he clicked 8, it was this infuriating setting "bubububuzz, rest, bubububuzz, rest" over and over as I grinded against it, whining at him in frustration at my unsatisfaction. Then he let me pick again when I'd gotten all fussy, I don't remember the next setting, but the one after it was just one ahead of the perfect setting. I can still here his teasing "awwww" as I cried out in frustration
After a little bit of struggle and dissatisfaction I was huffing and puffing, slipping my hand between my legs and holding the button myself to change the setting, my boyfriend scolded me but let me continue(probably seeing the annoyance in my gaze) and as it finally landed on the good setting I got all cozy
Melting into sweet sounds and letting pleasure wash over me as the toy buzzed against my clitty >////<
Finishing and getting all cuddled together after, melting into his warmth yet again, nuzzling against him, and then he asked me to fuck him again sighing in disbelief but happily obliging.
I moved between his legs, taking this time to inspect him, looking at the pretty heart his folds create and then opening past them to get a good look at his tiny and pathetic adorable little dick hidden behind everything <3
I wanted more than anything to put my mouth all over him and stare at him forever but as my puppy became uncomfy(maybe due to some of my giggling, but I can't help it I get all giggly around him from being so happy)
So I moved to what puppy really wanted
Fucking him with my big cock <3, using my pathetic bitchboy arms to pump it in and out of him, having to continuously switch around my hands, shifting from right, to both, to left, then back over and over again with a thankfully clear goal in mind of forcing tears from my pup
Thrusting over and over and over while watching his face till I finally got what I wanted and the biggest smile spread over my face, he's so adorable when he cries I can't help myself.
Whe puppy asked me to stop(something that also confused me!! I couldve been fucked for multiple more hours) I let go, I believe he kept it in him a bit longer as we laid down to relax for awhile.
I'm glad it was with him, I'm glad he made me feel so good and safe. Thank you, darling.
#mine#out of order posting#this took forever to write and I dont write in a linear way so some points are better remembered and better written than other#some pieces were lost and rewritten and i think post-virginity loss haze me did a better job#playing#no beta we die like men#i will be re reading and reworking this for a few days after posting <3#🎊✨️how many rounds was it✨️🎊 🎤#count em#basically sub me: *pretty perfect doll* dom me: *slightly confused but excited bunny*#bunny in a dom context>>>>>
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not gonna lie i'm a genAi disliker myself but the way people treat genAI users as complete trash, waste of air, proof that the education system is failing, people with no souls etc is very annoying and very cringe. you don't get to consider someone less than human simply because you think you're morally better than them, you know?
#shrimp thoughts#san using cgpt made me Think about it from a slightly different perspective and i realized that many people use it because it's simply#convenient as in more convenient than a real person. even the cancam article pointed out that you can use it 'even late at night!'#and it just hit me that if i wasn't aware of the extent of its unreliability i would 100% be using it for many things including betaing#or mental health advice. because i have no one to turn to. and even if i tried the other person might just leave me on read or either#tell me it's perfectly normal hashtag familylifething or 'wow that's not normal you should do therapy about it'#but if you tell a robot to treat you niceys it will treat you niceys AND generate a reply in a couple of seconds#is it true? is it good advice? is it based in truth or someone on tumblr doing a bit? no idea whatsoever but at least there's a kind and#quick response.
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I'm not dead I promise
I'M GETTING SO CLOSE TO POSTING A NEW FIC
I'm working on Saddled-On-Stars' request, I will come back to the others but this felt the most feasible for me right now with all that's going on. I'm alive, doing well, and working to get it up soon. It's nothing too meaty, just some fun fluff w/Broadway BJ.
Love y'all,
-Rea ❤
#beetlejuice#fanfic#writing#beetlejuice x reader#fanfiction#no beta we stay up late writing for our readers#broadway#alex brightman#beetlejuice broadway#beetlejuice the musical#beetlejuice musical#bjtm#lawrence beetlejuice shoggoth#fluff#ever so slightly beta read#pardon me i'm very tired
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y’all i am like 24/7 exhausteddd 😭😭😭 it’s been so busy and i’m a horrible terrible procrastinator which makes everything 10x times worse
it’s so bad I finish one thing and then I have to worry about the next. And the next. And the next…. You get the point
i’m not even procrastinating by doing things I LIKE which is the worst part. Like I just lay in bed and scroll on youtube or tumblr or whatever and I’m not even having fun 💀 bc I keep thinking about what I SHOULD be doing
guys the future is so scary why are there so many things to do 😭😭😭
#I have used the comic kon discord vent channel too much and I think it’s getting annoying OOPS so i must bare my woes somewhere else#Irl friends ignore this i’m fine LOL#So sleepy eepy (<- person who keeps getting 4hrs of sleep everyday)#Also so sorry to Green who’s wonderful rottmnt fic I’m beta reading… I haven’t fully beta read and commented in like two chapters 😭#I’m so sorry i’ve been meaning to or at least comment on the fic on ao3 and I feel really bad but it’s just been overall rough ://#ugh#i’ve cried/almost cried sm over the stupidest shit lately it’s so dumb#ugh this is like all i can do with the energy i have lately#I’m also having trouble talking to people directly online bc idk it’s very hard i overthink and i just. Ugh. too much work rn#Also my slightly unreasonable low self esteem starts kicking harddd when i don’t feel great so i do feel like everyone hates me rn 💔#Welp what can you do lmaooooo#I think there has to be a medication out there somewhere that can fix me but idk i guess we’ll never know#Oh my joints are also not doing great but when are they ever ig#I will probably delete this soon right now i am just yelling into the void
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ruikasa make out in closet (not clickbait)
tsukasa pov instead of rui this time.. :3
it’s a little bit clickbait it’s more drunk tsukasa kissing a slightly buzzed rui
tags-ish & tws// mentions of alcohol, implied intoxication, slightly sexual themes, tsukasa is drunk, tsukasa is a lightweight, tsukasa is having spicy but not explicit fantasies, rui is trying to be a good boyfriend, rui is a little drunk
tsukasa looked around at the awkward led strip lights, crinkling his nose. he hadn’t seen rui since he went to grab drinks, so he awkwardly shuffled past the college students to reach his lover.
“rui, love?”
“oh, tsukasa-kun! perfect timing~ what drink do you want? i didn’t know they had a selection.” rui beamed upon seeing his boyfriend.
“oh.. hm.. the watermelon one sounds good.”
“of course, love! the watermelon kiwi seltzer?”
“yeah.” tsukasa nodded, intrigued.
“okay, fufu~”
rui handed tsukasa the ice-cold can, standing up and stretching before opening a can of his own.
tsukasa wandered around, trying to get used to the odd taste of the seltzer. kiwi had never been his favorite, but the watermelon helped offset it.
rui was mingling with everyone else, an air of easy charisma surrounding him. tsukasa didn’t go to his university, and didn’t want to outshine his boyfriend.
tsukasa watched the clock tick as he sat at an old couch, the uncomfortable fabric scratching his bare legs — shorts may not have been the best idea. he was still finishing his drink, and the clock seemed to tick at a more irregular pace, the more he consumed.
tsukasa went back for another drink, not even reading the label and not caring when it tasted different. that one he felt as though he’d finished quicker. rui broke away from the conversation, taking tsukasa’s hand.
“was that your second drink, my dear?”
“yeahh.. why?”
“ah, no reason. you do seem a bit dizzy.” rui cooed, tilting his head slightly.
“mee?? noo..” tsukasa slurred.
“yes~”
tsukasa stared at rui’s lips. did they always look that kissable?
his eyes, glazed over, traveled across rui’s body. rui, seeing an opportunity, lead tsukasa upstairs.
“let’s take a moment to cool off, my star~ you’ve had a lot of alcohol.”
tsukasa nodded, his mind in a haze. he wanted his hands on rui’s body. rui took him to a guest bedroom, running his hands through tsukasa’s hair.
tsukasa, head spinning, leaned in close to rui. rui backed up a bit instinctively, startled by the potent smell of alcohol.
“oh, goodness, tsukasa—“
rui ran into a door, realizing it slid open to reveal a small closet. a bit of privacy would probably be good to keep tsukasa’s reputation pristine.
“come here. we can sit down together.” rui said, lowering himself onto the closet floor.
tsukasa was flushed, getting onto the floor. he sat in rui’s lap, wrapping his legs lazily around rui’s waist.
the smell of alcohol on tsukasa’s breath was strong, but rui had adjusted. tsukasa wanted to kiss him so bad. he wanted to put his hands on rui and hold him as they kissed.
“you smell nice…” tsukasa trailed off, hands wandering around rui’s chest and shoulders.
“do i?”
“mhm..” tsukasa tried to put his hands under rui’s shirt, but rui gently stopped him.
“not right now. you’re not sober, my love. i can’t, in good conscience, do that.” rui cooed, pressing a kiss to tsukasa’s forehead.
tsukasa, in a move swifter than anything else he’d done that night, kissed rui hard. cheeks flushed and hands shaking, he grabbed at the back of rui’s hair, fingers curling around the soft strands. his touch was desperate, feeling rui’s soft skin.
“tsukasa-kun—“ rui murmured against the kiss, but tsukasa was holding on with a starving fierceness. he was touch-starved, and was more aware of it.
rui gently pushed tsukasa away. “look, we can make out, but not tonight. you’re intoxicated, my dear~”
tsukasa pouted, his eyes unfocused.
“come on…”
“no, my love. let’s take you home and get you into bed—“
tsukasa kissed rui again, but rui shut that down quicker this time.
tsukasa was whining as rui held him, trying to keep him calm.
“it’s okay, tsukasa-kun. do you wanna go home?”
“nooo…”
“too late~”
#ruikasa#both talk#//sorry this is my first long ish fic#//i worked on this for like#//four days?#//idk#//i had 3 people beta read it!#//major creds to alex & cat & my other good friend who isnt on tumblr#//love you wet cats#//sorry if rui and kasa seem very ooc#//or if the story is choppy#//i want criticism but it also makes me cry#//anyways ye#tw alcohol#tw drunk#tw slightly suggestive#tw implied intoxication
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haha angst
Shelly finds herself in another match of Solo Showdown in Feast or Famine. She decides to team up with Colt to defeat everyone else, but leaves him behind at the final 4.
And comes back.
---
first fic whi cheered
#Beta Read by my wife and schizophrenic hallucinations#brawl stars#brawl stars fanfic#fanfiction#fanfic#ao3#colt brawl stars#shelly brawl stars#brawl stars shelly#brawl stars colt#angst#angst oneshot#colt L#shelly is slightly OOC but shes just homocidal
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Upon the Scarlet Altar
one-shot
Remmick x fem!reader
summary: On a night when the moon hangs low and your body bleeds for him, he worships you the only way he knows how: on his knees, mouth between your thighs, feasting like you’re the last taste of warmth in a world gone dark. But in his arms—cold as the grave—you find a different kind of fire. One that never dies.
wc: 4.1k
a/n: AHHH you guys—I’m seriously losing my mind right now. Mercy Made Flesh hit 1.7K notes in 72 hours and I’m just sitting here clutching my pearls and screaming into the void like !!! thank you SO much for all the love, thirst, and pure unhinged energy you’ve poured into my fic!! this fic is lovingly (and hornily) dedicated to @oc3anbxbyxoxo who requested remmick eating reader out while on her period!! and, as always, thanks to my number #1 pookie Nat @kayharrisons for beta reading!!
warnings: vampirism, bloodplay, oral sex (f!receiving), period sex, vampire x human, worship kink, possessive undead love interest, overstimulation, blood drinking, body worship, monsterfucking (soft), southern gothic setting, mild dubcon tones (power imbalance), religious/sacrilegious language, explicit sexual content, knife-edge tenderness, unholy devotion, mutual obsession, sex as ritual, canon-typical vampire violence (implied)
likes, comments, and reblogs appreciated!! please enjoy!!

The moonlight spills across the cold stone floor like spilled cream, pale and thick, stretching all the way to the foot of Remmick’s bed. You don’t knock when you enter. You never have to.
He already knows.
He’s there, seated at the edge of the mattress like he’s been waiting all night—shirt half unbuttoned, sleeves rolled to his forearms, his hair a soft tangle from too much pacing. There’s a gleam to his eye that hadn’t been there yesterday. Something feral. Something starved.
His nose twitches before his lips curl.
“You’re bleedin’,” he drawls, voice like bourbon left too long in the sun. “C’mere, sugar.”
You close the door behind you. You should be embarrassed. You’re not wearing anything underneath the long black slip you call a nightgown. Not tonight. The silk clings to your thighs, sticking just slightly with each step.
He’s watching. Always watching. Like he’ll die if he blinks.
By the time you reach him, he’s already reached for your hips, already dragging you between his legs. His hands are cold. They always are. But they warm quickly when they cup the back of your thighs and pull you forward until you’re straddling his lap.
“Could smell you from the hallway,” he murmurs against your mouth. “You don’t know what that does to me.”
“Then show me,” you whisper.
His eyes flick up. Crimson. Blazing.
Ravenous.
And then he lays you back.
The mattress dips under your weight, the room heavy with the scent of old wood, candle smoke, and something darker now—something copper-sweet. His breathing doesn’t hitch, doesn’t falter. But it deepens. Slows. Like he’s savoring every second before he lets the hunger off its leash.
Remmick’s palms press to the inside of your thighs, spreading you open like a prayer. His voice, low and reverent, ghosts over your skin.
“Goddamn,” he breathes, thumbing the edge of your nightgown up, baring the soft heat of your core. “Ain’t nothin’ in this world tastes as good as you do when you bleed.”
The shame you thought you might feel never comes. There’s only heat, only want, only the obscene pulse in your stomach as he lowers his mouth with something like worship painted across his face.
“Y’ain’t scared, are you?” he murmurs, his lips brushing the crease of your inner thigh. “’Cause I’m real hungry, darlin’. Real fuckin’ hungry.”
You shake your head, your voice a whisper. “No.”
His grin is all teeth.
“That’s my girl.”
And then his tongue slides over you—slow, deliberate, impossibly soft. He groans like he’s been starving, the sound deep in his throat, his arms locking around your hips to hold you still as he buries his face between your legs.
You cry out.
The first lick is hot and sinful, laced with something carnal and wrong, the wet glide of his tongue tasting the blood he craves, the slick that coats you. He doesn’t tease. Doesn’t build slow. He devours—growling against your cunt like it’s the only meal he’s ever needed.
“Christ,” he moans against you, lips already wet with it, tongue circling your clit with obscene precision. “You’re sweeter’n sin like this.”
Your fingers fist in his hair. You’re trembling. The sheets are damp beneath you from your own sweat, from the way your body shudders every time he moans into you like he lives for this.
And maybe he does.
Because Remmick doesn’t stop.
Not when your legs shake. Not when your thighs try to close. Not even when you gasp his name like it’s a lifeline. He keeps going, mouth locked to your cunt, tongue sliding deeper as he feeds and worships all at once.
“Gon’ give you everythin’,” he mumbles, voice thick and slurred with lust, lips slick. “Gon’ make you cum so hard you forget your damn name.”
You already have.
Your back arches, spine bowing off the bed as the wave crests—hot, thick, electric. His name spills out of your mouth in pieces, broken syllables caught between breathless moans, and he drinks it in like it’s part of the offering.
Remmick doesn’t let up.
Even as your hips buck, even as your thighs tremble violently around his head, he holds you down, strong hands keeping you spread and helpless beneath him. His tongue flicks against your clit with punishing precision now, coaxing you past the edge and straight into ruin.
Your vision whites out.
Pleasure burns—too much, too good, a drag across nerve endings that should’ve long gone numb but haven’t, not under him. Not under the mouth of a man who’s been alive for centuries and still claims you as the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted.
He groans again, loud this time, the sound vibrating through your cunt like a sin. You don’t realize you’re crying until he pulls back slightly, lips flushed red and glossy with blood and slick. The sight should be terrifying.
It’s fucking gorgeous.
“Look at you,” he rasps, dragging his mouth up your body, a smear of crimson trailing from your inner thigh to your hip. “So damn pretty fallin’ apart like that.”
He licks his lips, slow. Lingering.
“Could stay between these thighs all night, baby. Might just do that.”
Your breath stutters when he leans in, mouth brushing the shell of your ear. His voice is thick with lust, but there’s something else now—something dark. Territorial.
“Ain’t gon’ want nobody else’s blood, y’hear me?” he whispers, one hand cupping your throat, thumb brushing your pulse. “Ain’t nothin’ sweeter than you when you bleed for me.”
You whimper, your body still trembling beneath him.
And Remmick smiles.
Because you're not scared.
You're in love. In lust. In ruin.
The room is quiet now, save for the rasp of your breath and the low hum of Remmick’s satisfaction as he lays against you, one arm heavy across your waist, his nose nuzzled into your neck like he can’t bear to be even an inch away from your pulse.
You’re boneless, ruined—your legs still trembling slightly as the aftermath rolls through you in warm, dizzy waves.
But he’s calm. Too calm.
Like a beast that’s fed and now lies curled around its prey, not because it’s lost interest—but because it’s claimed you.
His fingers trace idle circles over your belly, smearing faint streaks of blood he hasn't bothered to wipe away. He hums low in his chest, then murmurs against your throat:
“Y’don’t know what you’ve done to me, do ya?”
You don’t answer. You can’t. Your mouth’s parted, your tongue dry, your body still fluttering in the places he touched and tasted.
He presses a kiss just beneath your jaw, then another, lower—his lips dragging slow.
“You come to me bleedin’ like that,” he drawls, voice syrupy and warm, “an’ expect me to behave?”
You feel his smirk as he speaks against your skin.
“Darlin’, you ain’t just mine. You’re marked. Body knows it. Blood knows it. Every time you ache, every time you get that little twitch in your thighs thinkin’ ‘bout me…that’s me callin’ to you.”
You swallow hard.
He pulls back just enough to look at you, those crimson eyes soft now, almost tender—but still burning. Still dangerous.
“I ever catch somebody else smellin’ you like this…” he shakes his head slowly, almost pitying. “They won’t get the chance to learn from their mistake.”
He says it like a promise.
And then softer, almost lovingly:
“Gon’ take real good care of you. Keep you right here where it’s safe. Keep that sweet little body fed, fucked, and mine.”
You blink up at him, dazed and flushed.
He brushes a knuckle down your cheek, then presses his lips to your temple like you’re something precious. Holy, even.
“Rest now, sugar,” he murmurs, voice velvet-dark. “We got all night.”
Steam curls like spirits from the clawfoot tub as the water runs, hot and fragrant with crushed rose petals and herbs from the garden out back. The scent is earthy, grounding—lavender, rosemary, and something darker beneath it. Something that smells like Remmick.
He’s at your side, one hand steady on the small of your back as he helps you into the water like you’re made of spun glass.
“You’re shakin’,” he murmurs, voice quiet now. Slower. “Let me fix that.”
The warmth envelopes you, and you sink into it with a sigh, limbs limp, head tipping back as your body adjusts. The blood between your thighs has already begun to dilute in the bathwater, but he doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look away. If anything, his gaze softens.
Remmick kneels behind the tub and rolls his sleeves higher. He dips a cloth into the water and begins to wash you gently, reverently, careful around your thighs, your breasts, your throat.
Like he’s memorizing every inch of you again.
“Still can’t believe you walked into that church that night,” he says, the hint of a smile in his voice, low and fond. “All that fire in you, all that fury. Lord, you had no idea what you were walkin’ into.”
You remember.
You’d been eighteen. Hungry. Lost. Sleeping in the loft of the abandoned chapel on the edge of the forest because the shelter was full and the weather had turned. You hadn’t known the stories were true—not until you’d come face-to-face with the man who didn’t cast a shadow, who stood at the altar after midnight like he’d been waiting for you.
Remmick had looked at you the way God might’ve looked at Eve: not with shame, but with curiosity.
And then with hunger.
“I should’ve run,” you whisper.
He hums. “You did. I let you.”
You’d run through the woods, blood pumping so loud in your ears you could hear your own pulse. He hadn’t chased you—not right away. He’d let the fear bloom, let it take root, let you come back on your own.
You hadn’t been able to stay away.
Maybe it was the way he spoke. Or the way he looked at you. Or maybe it was the way the nights weren’t so cold when he was near.
“I didn’t want you to be afraid,” he says now, dipping the cloth to run it between your legs, slow and careful, like he’s cleaning a wound.
“I was,” you say. “But not of you.”
Remmick nods. He knows.
You’d been afraid of needing him.
And now look at you—body bare and pliant in his bath, flushed from orgasm and bleeding in his water, letting him touch you with those old, cold hands like they’ve got the right.
Because they do.
“You were too damn young,” he murmurs after a beat, brushing your hair back from your forehead. “But you looked me in the eye like you’d seen a thousand winters. Said you weren’t afraid of no man, no monster. Only the ones who pretend they ain’t.”
You smile faintly. “And you never pretended.”
His eyes darken.
“I told you what I was. What I needed. And you still chose to stay.”
You open your eyes, tilting your chin toward him.
“I still do.”
He leans in and kisses you then—not hungrily, not with possession, but reverence. Like you’re sacred. Like he’s praying with his mouth.
And in a way, he is.
Because Remmick never asked for salvation.
He found it anyway.
In you.
The water laps gently around you, soft and warm as skin, swirling faint pink around your hips. His kiss is slow—an ache, a promise, a tether. When he finally pulls back, your lips are damp, parted, breathless, and Remmick is just watching you.
Like he always does.
There’s something about the way he looks at you. Not just hunger. Not just obsession. It’s deeper than that—like he’s memorizing you, like the sight of you is the only thing anchoring him to this wretched earth. Like if he stopped looking, the centuries would catch up to him and pull him down to hell where he knows he belongs.
But not yet.
Not while you’re here. Not while your blood is still warm and your body still pliant and your soul still just out of reach.
He brushes the edge of the cloth over your collarbone next, then your shoulder, dragging it across your chest with trembling restraint. There’s a smear of blood on the side of your breast—his doing—and he wipes it away with the gentleness of a man afraid to break the thing he worships.
“You’re somethin’ holy to me,” he murmurs, low enough it sounds like it’s more for him than you. “Somethin’ sacred.”
You swallow, your throat tight, heart tripping over itself in your chest.
“No I’m not.”
He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Maybe not to the world. But to me? You’re a goddamn miracle.”
You can’t speak. Can’t move. All you can do is feel as he pours warm water over your shoulders, cupping the back of your head like he’s baptizing you in blood and roses.
“First time I saw you,” he says, “I thought I’d finally gone mad. Thought I was seein’ a ghost. You walked right through that broken door, moonlight at your back, lookin’ like vengeance and salvation in one breath.”
He sets the cloth aside.
“You didn’t flinch when you saw my teeth. Didn’t cry when I told you what I was. You just looked at me with those big, tired eyes and asked if I was gonna kill you.”
You remember that night. You remember the way your voice hadn’t shaken, even though your knees did. The way his eyes had gone wide—startled, not by your fear, but by your lack of it.
He laughs softly now. “And I told you, didn’t I? Told you I don’t kill what I’m fixin’ to keep.”
Your breath catches.
“Remmick…”
“I meant it,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your forehead, to your temple, to the crown of your head. “Meant it then. Mean it now. You’re mine. And I ain’t ever lettin’ you go.”
Your fingers curl in the water. His arms wrap around your shoulders, pulling you gently against his chest, the sound of his dead heart silent beneath your ear.
But it feels like it’s beating.
Only for you.
Only here.
The water’s gone tepid by the time he speaks again.
“Time to get you outta there, sugar,” he drawls, voice velvet-thick. “Before I end up joinin’ you.”
He stands, boots echoing soft on the old tiles, and leans over the tub to scoop you into his arms. It’s effortless—like you weigh nothing at all. Your wet skin presses to his chest, and the chill of him—cold, corpse-cold—sinks straight into your bones.
But you don’t flinch.
You never do.
Because even if he doesn’t have blood that pumps or a heart that beats, there’s warmth in him still. In the way his arms hold you like you’re breakable. In the way his mouth brushes your temple like a promise. In the way he carries you through this crumbling house like you’re something he’d go to war for.
You cling to him out of instinct, arms curling around his neck as your cheek rests against the hollow of his throat. It’s icy. Still. But it’s home.
“I got you,” he murmurs, “Always do.”
He steps out of the bathroom and into the dark hallway of the house you’ve come to know like a second skin—your house now, though no one but the ghosts know it. The floorboards creak beneath his slow steps, the wallpaper is peeling, the chandeliers are draped in cobwebs like mourning veils. The wind outside presses against the windows like a lonely thing begging to be let in.
But here, in his arms, even cold, you feel untouchable.
You bleed against his skin.
It’s not until you reach the bedroom—your shared bedroom, with the worn four-poster bed and the rotting wainscoting and the lace curtains yellowed with time—that he speaks on it.
You feel the pause in his chest before the low, filthy rasp leaves his lips.
“Leakin’ all over me, sweet thing,” he mutters with a smirk, voice dipped in reverence and filth. “Leavin’ a trail like you want the whole damn forest to follow your scent home.”
You suck in a breath. The heat in your belly curls tight again.
He sets you down on the edge of the bed, your thighs parting on instinct, your slick skin sticking to his shirt, to the old quilt beneath you. The blood between your legs is thicker now, heavy. He watches it, eyes dark as pitch.
“Lord have mercy,” he whispers, dragging the back of his hand up your inner thigh just enough to catch the wet. His fingers are cool—unnaturally so—but they don’t make you recoil. They make you burn.
“You’re drippin’ for me. Bleedin’ like you want me to taste you again.”
He leans in, teeth grazing your ear.
“You know what that does to a man like me? That warm, dark sweetness runnin’ down your thighs? Ain’t nothin’ on God’s green earth tastes more like heaven than that.”
You shiver.
Not from fear.
From need.
He presses a kiss to the side of your neck, then another to your shoulder.
“Don’t you worry, baby,” he murmurs, voice so low it sinks into your skin like wine. “I’ll get you cleaned up again. Real slow. Real good. Might just make you bleed a little more while I’m at it.”
You tremble under his touch.
And Remmick smiles.
Because he knows you’re already his.
He kneels.
Doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t need to. You can feel it—what’s coming. The weight of his stare between your legs, the way his cold hands slip beneath your thighs and spread them wider, wider, until you’re completely exposed to him in the dim, flickering candlelight.
His fingers drag slow along the inner swell of your thighs, smearing blood and slick across skin like paint. His mouth parts.
“Christ almighty,” he breathes, voice reverent, his accent rougher now, more ragged. “Look at this mess. Look what you do to me, girl.”
He kisses the inside of one thigh—cold lips on burning skin—then the other. He doesn’t go for your pussy yet. He lingers. Worships. Drags his tongue along the seam of your thigh where the blood’s heaviest, groaning low and obscene as he tastes it.
He licks it up like it’s the finest thing he’s ever touched.
“Could spend hours down here,” he rasps, voice already wrecked. “Feastin’ like you’re my last goddamn meal.”
You whimper, hips twitching, your legs threatening to close—but he doesn’t let you.
“Uh-uh,” he warns, using his strength with ease to keep you open. “Don’t hide from me now. Not when you’re bleedin’ for me like this.”
His mouth finally descends on your cunt.
And this time, he takes his time.
The first pass of his tongue is so slow, so deep, it makes your eyes roll back. He licks a long, deliberate stripe from your soaked entrance to your clit, tasting everything—blood, arousal, need—and moaning like it’s divine.
His tongue flicks against your clit, again and again, featherlight but maddening. Then he shifts—mouth flattening, sucking, lapping at you with wide strokes of his tongue like he’s trying to ruin you.
And god, he is.
You fist the sheets, back arching, mouth open in a silent cry as he moans against your cunt, the vibrations shooting straight through your core. Your blood coats his mouth, his chin, his lips—but he doesn’t care. He relishes it. His hands grip your thighs tighter as he buries himself deeper, tongue fucking into you like he’s trying to crawl up inside and live there.
“Fuck, baby,” he groans between strokes, pulling back just long enough to pant against your slit. “You taste like heaven and sin all at once. Never gonna get tired of this. Never gonna stop wantin’ it.”
He slides a cold finger inside you—then another. Your body clenches hard, the contrast of his freezing hand and warm tongue almost too much to bear. But he knows your body now. Knows exactly how to curl his fingers, how to suck your clit while his tongue and hand move in tandem.
You start to shake.
Your vision blurs.
You cry out, your orgasm building harder than the last, pressure curling, snapping, about to break—
And he doesn’t stop.
Not when you start to sob his name.
Not when your thighs tremble and spasm against his shoulders.
Not even when you cum, shattering hard enough to see white behind your eyelids, your body jerking beneath his mouth like you’re being ripped open.
He keeps going.
Sucks your clit through it. Licks up every drop of blood and slick. Fingers you slower now, more gently, like he’s helping you ride it out instead of trying to end it.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, kissing your swollen cunt. “Gave it all to me, just like you’re meant to.”
You’re ruined.
Your chest is heaving, your limbs loose, soaked through and aching, and he’s still between your thighs, still worshiping, still tasting like he’ll never get enough.
And maybe he won’t.
Because you’re bleeding.
And he’s starving.
Your breath hitches—caught somewhere between a sob and a moan—as your legs twitch from the aftershocks, thighs sticky with blood and saliva. But Remmick’s still there.
Still devouring.
Still worshipping.
His tongue moves with aching tenderness now, lazy, slow—almost teasing if it weren’t so reverent. He licks through the mess he’s made, lips parting to mouth at your folds like he’s kissing your mouth, not your cunt. Like every inch of you is sacred.
And even as your hips jerk, trying to pull away—too much, too sensitive—he doesn’t let you go.
“No,” he murmurs, voice low, steady, commanding. “We’re not done yet, sweetheart.”
He pins your hips with those cold, strong hands, mouth descending again.
You cry out, thighs shaking violently, the sensitivity blooming into a new kind of agony—pleasure twisted at the edges, electric and sharp, making your toes curl and your spine bow. The room is spinning. Your pulse thunders in your ears.
But he’s soothing you as he ruins you.
“Shhh,” he breathes against you. “I got you. Just take it. Lemme taste every last drop you’re willin’ to give me.”
You feel your body trembling apart for him again, your stomach clenching, heat pooling low and impossibly fast.
Remmick’s voice is almost gentle now, slurred with arousal and reverence as his tongue drags across your clit.
“Don’t you go hidin’ from me, baby. You know I’ll chase you down.”
He kisses your cunt again, tongue flattening and lapping, nosing against your entrance where your blood is still fresh, still dripping slow. He moans deep in his throat like it’s a vintage he’s been saving for decades, like this moment—this mess between your thighs—is a gift he doesn’t deserve.
And god, the way he sounds when he speaks between strokes—
“Your blood’s hotter’n the devil’s breath tonight.”
Another lick.
“Tastes like lust. Like pain. Like home.”
Another.
“You were made for me, girl. Built to bleed for me.”
Your body coils tighter and tighter, the pleasure sharper now, no longer soft or slow—it’s demanding, relentless, fire at the base of your spine.
And he feels it.
He moans against you as you cum again—louder this time, messier, your entire body going rigid under him as you fall apart a second time, writhing as he holds you open and takes it all.
You’re crying now, softly, not from pain but from being so thoroughly undone.
From how deeply he sees you.
How completely he wants you.
When he finally pulls back, he’s soaked. Lips red, chin slick, eyes glowing like coals. He kisses your inner thigh, then your knee, then the scar on your ankle he once asked about and never brought up again.
You’re limp beneath him, panting, ruined.
And he looks so fucking proud.
“That’s my girl,” he whispers, crawling up your body. “My perfect, filthy little thing.”
He settles beside you on the bed, pulling you into his arms, curling your spent body against his cold one—and somehow, you feel warmer for it.
He presses a kiss to your temple, then your hairline, then your shoulder.
“Sleep now,” he breathes. “Ain’t no one ever gon’ touch you but me.”
And as your eyelids flutter closed, muscles aching, pulse slow and full, you realize this is what he’s given you—what no one else ever could.
Not warmth.
But safety.
Not love.
But devotion.
And in a house filled with ghosts, buried in a forest that forgot its name, you fall asleep knowing you’ll never be alone again.
Not as long as Remmick walks the earth.
Not as long as he’s hungry—and you’re his.
#period blood is free real estate for vampires#reader said “I'm on my period” and remmick said “delicious”#jesus didn't die for this but remmick would#sinners 2025#sinners au#sinners fic#remmick#remmick x reader#sinners remmick#jack o'connell
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