#And he's not mortal which would ALSO be something he immediately says

[midnightcrw]

Provocative

Pairing: Alastor x fem!reader

Summary: Lucifer visits the Hazbin Hotel because his daughter called him, but there he sees a good friend he hasn't seen in a long time.

Warnings: Swearing

a/n: I know it's been a long time, but I just couldn't get myself to write anything because of my finals coming up and everything else going on. I also didn't want to write a bad third part, so I only wanted to write when I had some motivation to do so. I hope you all will like it. Part 1 / Part 2

If you had known that one day you would see Mimzy again, you would have been the most holy person in your mortal days, and unfortunately, you weren't.

And as soon as everyone in the hotel registered the short woman's appearance, Lucifer dropped his grip on your hand, looking almost fearfully at your expression, which probably said more than a thousand words.

"Why is everybody gawking? Is it cuz I'm adorable?" The woman playfully said while posing as you gritted your teeth.

And not even a second later, Alastor immediately stopped holding your hand, "Mimzy!" The happiness was more than obvious in his tone.

"Alastor, sweetie, doll face!" In your mind you were already imagining how you could break every bone in her body. "How have you been? Good? Good," she said as she put her arms around your husband.

They even squeezed each other as they made contented sounds. "You good?" Lucifer whispered in your ear as you could almost feel your eye twitch.

"Splendid," you murmured back as the Ruler of Hell continued to look at you uncertainly, but your eyes never left the pair.

"I heard you were staying at this ritzy slob factory and I figured I'd stop by, say hi! For old times sake" you hated the way she talked about Charlie's hotel as the blonde walked even closer to Alastor, if that was even possible.

"Of course, Sweetheart! Everyone is welcome here" the enthusiasm still didn't leave your husband's voice as you balled your fists tightly.

"'Everyone is welcome' my ass," Lucifer muttered hatefully, squinting his eyes at the man dressed in red.

When Charlie asked how they knew each other, you tried to hold back as best you could, you knew what was coming.

And the moment Mimzy heard the question, an even bigger smile appeared on her face "Oh yeah. We go way back."

A little too far back, you thought.

"You know, this one used to frequent the club where I used to perform. He's the only one I knew who could pound whiskey like a sailor and then keep up with me on the dance floor," her theatrics continued as she did a little dance and received a compliment from Alastor.

"Ho ho, you should have seen her in her heyday," oh, how you wished you hadn't seen her then.

You remembered everything perfectly. Mimzy and Alastor knew each other before you married him, and you met her through him.

Alastor was always a huge fan of music, especially the music that was played at the club where Mimzy used to work. And one day he had had taken you out on a date. Of course you were excited at first, you had never been to that club before, you were expecting something spectacular since your husband was always talking about it.

And oh, how spectacular it was, Mimzy practically throwing herself at your husband like it was nothing. Now, you really weren't a jealous person, but the short woman brought out the worst in you.

At first you really tried to like her, but with every backhanded compliment, you began to truly despise her more and more.

It was obvious that she had a crush on Alastor, and that crush probably never really went away, or she just wanted to get you mad by sticking to him like glue.

"Oh, oh, my stars," she made her way to Lucifer as soon as she saw him, and you immediately made your way to Alastor while she was distracted.

"You never told me she was here," you said in a snippy tone as you approached him until you and him were face to face, just with you having to look up due to his height.

"My sweet, of course Mimzy would be in hell," he only said as he looked at the chubby woman who was currently engrossed in a conversation Lucifer had no interest in.

Before you could snap at him, the annoying voice was heard once more, "No way!" Mimzy shouted loudly as she made her way towards you, deliberately swaying her hips.

And before you could prepare, the short woman hugged you tightly as she stood on her tiptoes to lean closer to you, "Still the jealous little wench, I see," she snickered as you bit your tongue.

"Ah, just like old days," Alastor's smile still remained on his face as he looked at the two of you, obviously not having heard what his friend had just said to you.

I'll show you the old days, you thought when Mimzy finally let go of you. And then you all remembered that the tour of the hotel had to continue.

"Why don't you let the others help you settle in and I'll be back before you know it," your husband said to Mimzy as he took your hand and led you to Charlie and her dad.

"Behave," Alastor whispered in your ear as his static returned and you could only scoff.

"I'm the one who should behave?! Look at you!" You whispered back, even digging your nails into the hand that was currently holding yours.

And while the tension between the two of you didn't go away, Mimzy already started talking to the others at the bar.

"How ya been, fur-ball?" She asked as she leaned her elbows against the bar, holding her face up with her hands.

"Good until five minutes ago" Husk wasn't happy about the whole situation, just like you, and it was obvious, and clearly ignoring his mood, she turned around to ask what Niffty has been up to.

"I never understood why you liked her so much," you said, keeping the frown on your face as Alastor let go of your hand and wrapped his arm around your waist while Lucifer glared at him as Charlie showed him around.

"Jealous, aren't you?" He asked with his piercing smile, having already expected this reaction from you.

"She's the last person I would be jealous of," you snapped back, but in reality you knew she was everything you were ever jealous of.

Not only was she popular, but she was beautiful and confident. All the things you couldn't see for yourself.

Suddenly, Alastor laughed, even softly, I might add, as his hand rubbed your hip, "As it should be, you have nothing to be jealous of, love," your eyes widened.

He has never called you "love" before, unless it was to get attention or to make your marriage more believable decades ago.

"Uh-huh... Thanks, pussy cat!" Mimzy said as she drank from the glass.

"Oh, fuck you" was the only thing Husk replied with as he walked away while Angel Dust made his way to the bar.

"So uh, you and Alastor are like what? Friends?"

A grin made its way across her face, "Well, that's your word, not mine, but I think it fits," Angel Dust didn't seem too convinced as he sipped from his glass, which didn't seem to make Mimzy too happy.

"Why so surprised?" She grunted as Angel Dust responded with "Well, just didn't know he had any of those. He's been here a while and is still a big, creepy mystery. I really don't know how his his wife handles him. What even is his deal?"

At the mention of you, her face fell for a split second, but she regained her composure as she began to tell them about when Alastor revealed himself as the Radio Demon.

"But underneath is all... he's a total sweetie. Put on some jazz and pour a couple fingers of rye, and he becomes a kitten!"

Sir Pentious and Angel Dust looked at her in shock, since that part didn't sound like the Overlord they knew.

And once the tour was over and they made their way back to the bar.

"There you all are! I was starting to get real bored here," Mimzy's voice was slowly starting to make you mad once more.

"Finally," Husk grunted as he wiped the glass in his hands clean while Mimzy continued to talk.

"I bet she was the reason it took so long," obviously referring to you as she glared, "Nothing's been the same since the marriage," the short woman ranted, while you rolled your eyes at her as you suddenly felt Alastor's hand graze your back.

Looking up at him, his eyes were a fraction softer for once, as you couldn't look away.

"Since the marriage?" Lucifer asked, clearly confused as to what was being discussed.

"Their marriage, of course," Mimzy said with disgust in her voice as she nodded towards you and Alastor.

"You're married?!" Lucifer yelled as you flinched at the sudden loudness, while Alastor rubbed your arm in reassurance.

Fuck... you thought.

Taglist

@l0ca1ax010t1

@itsmskeisha

@nightlydream

@randomuser-89

@explosionkatsu

@nonetheartist

@anuttellaa

@angelxx7

@karolinda007-blog

@fairyv-ice

@chewbrry

@cryptidghostgirl

@harmfulb1tch

@crowleysthings

@fandomfan-102

@readergirlstuff

@wendds

@lucifers-silhouette

@droopingdatura

[unlikely-gravestones]

Thinking abt Dream "No mortal has loved me without coming to ruin" of the Endless and Hob "Then ruin me, Christ have me, just do not go where I cannot follow" Gadling....

[corroded-hellfire]

Hi love!! I would love an Eddie request of him with inexperienced reader but it's not smut it's like the convo leading up to it like May be they start making out and it's getting steamy and she tells him she's a virgin and she's terrified bc what if she's bad at sex and then it's not good for him? What if he sees her naked and thinks she's not pretty?? And it's just Eddie comforting her and reassuring her

Oh, I would most definitely need Eddie to reassure me of these things, too. I hope you like what I've come up with 💕

Words: 1.3k

The old springs in Eddie’s mattress dig into your back, an occasional squeak emanating from them whenever your boyfriend shifts his weight on top of you. His tongue dances with yours, breath colliding and teeth grazing. Eddie encompasses all your senses, surrounding you wholly and leaving no room to think about anything else but him–if your brain can even manage to think at all with strong, calloused hands running over your body. 

His warm fingers trail up the outside of your leg, leaving goosebumps in their wake. The moment Eddie’s hand slips up your shorts on the front of your thigh though, your body goes from pure ecstasy to adrenaline-pumping nerves in an instant.

An involuntary jump of your body against his alerts Eddie that something’s wrong and he immediately pulls away to gaze down at you in concern.

“Are you okay?”

Though it’s clearly not the truth, you nod your head. Slowly, you scoot yourself out from beneath his body and sit up against the cheap mahogany headboard that’s caused a multitude of scratches against the dully painted trailer wall. 

“C-Can we talk for a second though?”

There’s worry in Eddie’s eyes. He’s terrified that he’s done something wrong or has hurt you in some way. Taking care to give you some space, your boyfriend situates himself to sit next to you on his bed, back also resting against the chipped and scuffed headboard.

“Of course, sweetheart,” Eddie says. “What’s going on?”

Tentatively, Eddie offers you his hand, resting it between the two of you. He’s leaving the decision up to you if you want to touch him right now or not. There’s no hesitation though, you eagerly lace your fingers with his. 

You give him a nervous smile, a million thoughts running through your head at once. It’ll be a miracle if you can speak coherently with the rate at which your mind is moving. Deciding to just bite the bullet and get it all out there, you take a deep breath.

“Um, I’m—I’m a virgin, Eddie.”

Whatever reaction you were planning on Eddie to have, he doesn’t give it to you. He seems completely unfazed by your admission. All you get is a nod of his head and a gentle squeeze of your hand. 

“Okay,” he says casually, as if your entire body isn’t running on nervous energy at the moment. “We can go as slow as you want, yeah?”

You know your body should feel relief, but the worry in your head tells you that you’ve only gotten through part of what you need to tell him. Might as well push through to the end.

“I’m…scared,” you admit. Shame floods your body, chilling your veins.

“Of me?” Eddie’s eyes widen and the alarm in them is clear.

“No!” You quickly assure him. “No, no, never of you.”

He heaves a sigh of relief, and you cup his hand in both of yours. Out of all the things that make you anxious about having sex with Eddie, Eddie is not one of them. But that means you have to tell him that you’re the problem. If your anxiety has one mortal nemesis in the world it is vulnerability. 

“I’m scared that I’ll be bad at it,” you admit. “I don’t know what I’m doing. What if you don’t like it? What if I mess up?” What if you don’t like how I look beneath my clothes?

“Whoa, whoa,” Eddie says with a shake of his head. The crease in his forehead shows his displeasure with the pressure you’re putting on yourself. “First of all, I don’t think you can really mess up sex, sweetheart. As long as you’re here and your clothes are off, I’d say we’re good to go.” He chuckles, but when you don’t join in, he sighs. “Are you honestly worried that I won’t like it?”

Unable to look him in the eye, you nod. His forehead furrows further as Eddie frowns. Usually, you’d rub your thumb over those wrinkles to smooth them out and calm him down. But usually, you’re not the cause of them. 

Gentle fingers grip your chin and tilt your face so you can look at him.

“Princess, it’s you. I love doing everything with you, you really think I won’t like having sex with you?”

When he puts it like that, you feel silly. Heat blooms in your face as embarrassment is scooped on top of the nerves. There are legitimate concerns, though. You’re sure of it. There has to be.

“W-What if you don’t like what my body looks like?” You ask it so quietly in the hope that he misses it.

It’s obvious that he doesn’t by the way his eyes nearly pop out of his head. He reminds you of one of those stress dolls that you squeeze and the small plastic eyes bulge out.

“Not like your body?” Eddie sounds almost incredulous. He pauses for a moment, eyes gazing into yours as he thinks of a reply. It feels like the understatement of the century to say he was unprepared for you to be worried about this; about something that he whole-heartedly knew to be untrue. A smile quirks Eddie’s mouth as his mind goes back to a day before you’d started dating. He licks over his lips before continuing. “Sweetheart, remember the pool party Jeff threw for his birthday last summer? You wore that low-cut, blue one-piece that showed off most of your back?”

Do you remember? You had agonized over what you should wear to that party and what Eddie would think when he saw you. 

“Yeah,” you tell him, voice quivering. 

“Babe,” he says with a shake of his head. “I still get off thinking about that. About how you looked. There was a reason I had to stay in the pool past the point of me freezing half to death in the water.”

Shock colors your face, and despite the gravity of the conversation, it makes Eddie smile wider.

“You…really?”

“Yes,” Eddie says with a breathless chuckle. “God, you’re so fucking hot. You’re gorgeous. It bothers me that you don’t see that.”

If there’s one thing you can say about your boyfriend, it’s that he’s very candid about his view on things–just ask anyone who’s had the pleasure of hearing him make a grand speech from atop a lunch table. Which is most of the high school-aged population in Hawkins.

Half of your brain is trying to convince you that now is the time he chooses to lie, that he’s just saying this to make you feel better or to shut you up. Meanwhile, the other half is telling the anxiety to put a sock in it and listen to Eddie.

“What’re you thinking?” Eddie asks quietly. A reminder of how well he knows you.

“Too much,” you say with a soft laugh. 

Eddie lets out a long breath and gently pulls you into his lap. He absentmindedly rests his hands on your thighs and his thumbs rub calming circles on your skin.

“What can I do to make you feel better?” he asks. Needing to show you physically how much he wants to help you, he snakes his arms around your body to hold you snugly against him. Your heart all but melts as he looks up at you with those large, puppy dog eyes.

With a small smile, you lean down and rest your forehead against your boyfriend’s. Sometimes he’s too cute for his own good. 

“You already have,” you say softly.

“What? How?” Eddie’s frowning again, but this time it's in confusion.

“Just by being you,” you tell him with a shrug.

“Well, I am pretty great,” Eddie says with a playful smirk. Your heart feels lighter once the stress lines fade from his beautiful face. 

You chuckle at his ego and sit back up straight.

“There is one more thing you could do for me, though.”

“What’s that, beautiful?”

There’s a hungry gleam in your eyes as you let your gaze trail up and down his lithe body. 

“Take off your shirt.”

[wonusite]

Hate to Love You (Not Really)

❝ The only thing worse than spending Valentine’s Day alone is spending it with someone you hate. ❞

PAIRING: lee seokmin x female reader

GENRE: enemies to lovers, coworkers au, fluff, smut

WORD COUNT: 3k

WARNINGS: coworker!seokmin, one sided enemies to lovers, pining, drinking, being forced to share a room, only one bed trope, seokmin is a HUGE simp, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected sex, creampies, cockwarming, pussy drunk!seokmin, cock drunk!reader

A/N: this is for the lovely @drunk-on-dk as part of @svthub’s cupid for you collab! i really hope you like it! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

“We only have one room available.”

Those six words are the worst you’ve heard all day. If it weren’t for the heavy snow falling outside, you would immediately grab your things to try to find any other accommodation for the night. Not that you would have any luck since every other decent hotel you’ve been to is already full.

Seokmin glances over at you, nearly wincing at your dissatisfied expression. He clears his throat and fakes a smile as he looks back at the desk clerk. “We’ll take it. Thank you.”

The walk to your suite is silent and tense. In any other situation, you would’ve loved to stay in a luxury hotel, but being forced to share a room with your insufferable coworker isn’t how you pictured that happening. At least Seokmin isn’t stupid enough to crack one of his unfunny jokes as you two get inside the suite.

As if things weren’t already miserable, you find out that there’s only one large bed and a nice but uncomfortable looking couch. You let out a long, tired sigh. Just your luck. As if your day couldn’t get any worse.

“I’ll take the couch.” Seokmin’s voice is soft. “I don’t mind.”

You whip your head to look at him in surprise. His gaze seems shy, but he maintains eye contact. For some reason, you’re hyper aware of your heartbeat and how it’s slowly increasing. You clear your throat nervously and give him a single nod.

“Cool. Thanks.”

Silence falls over you two again. It’s not uncomfortable, but it is a little awkward. Mostly on your part because you hadn’t expected Seokmin to act so kindly towards you. After spending the entire day disagreeing about which manufacturer would be the best fit to produce the new wine bottles for the company, you thought he’d keep up his pettiness up to this point.

You tentatively sit on the edge of the bed, unsure of how to proceed. Ideally, you’d like to shower and order room service, but you can’t very well do it comfortably when you’re sharing a room with your coworker who you also happen to dislike a lot.

“Y/N?”

Seokmin’s voice is hesitant, as he inches toward you. In all the years you’ve known him, you’ve never seen him so nervous. For some sick reason, you feel endeared by the sight.

“Did you want to get dinner? I saw they’re having a special wine tasting event since it’s Valentine’s Day.”

It would be so easy to turn him down, not to mention satisfying. But he’s looking at you so earnestly that you can’t let yourself be the one to crush the hope swimming in his eyes. And you are pretty hungry since you didn’t get to have lunch. Also, having a glass of wine (or several) sounds way too appealing to turn down.

“Okay.”

You’re not sure what demon has possessed you, but it’s one that’s messing with your mind because there’s no way you’re finding your mortal enemy hot right now. Objectively, you know Seokmin is good looking. It’s undeniable, however, you’ve never been able to perceive him as attractive because of how much you dislike him.

Although, right now, in his nice dress shirt that hugs his broad chest just right, you can’t think of him as the same guy who constantly tries to undermine you.

“You look beautiful, by the way.” Seokmin says as you two sit down at the table. “I should’ve said something sooner, but when I saw you my brain just short-circuited.”

It’s true. When you stepped out of the bathroom in a slip dress that fit you just right, Seokmin just about died. He knew he must’ve looked like a complete fool just gawking at you without saying anything, but it was just a natural reaction.

Meanwhile, you have to force your expression to stay neutral as the waiter brings out the first wine you two are meant to taste. You’re not sure why Seokmin is suddenly acting so out of character, and you’re not sure why you’re feeling flattered and shy about his behavior.

“Thank you.” The words come out neutral (luckily for you). “You look good too.”

When he smiles at you brightly, you wonder if this is what all the other women in the office feel at the pretty sight. Seokmin has an infectious smile that’s too bright not to reciprocate. You hide most of it through a large gulp of wine, the bittersweet taste quickly marring your expression into one of neutrality again.

“Like it?” There’s a teasing lilt to the question.

You hum against the rim of the crystal glass. “Try it. Tell me what you think.”

It’s hard to control your expression when Seokmin listens to you. He never does, and the fact that he did it so easily is jarring. Also, it doesn’t help that he looks damn good while doing so.

Seokmin lets out a noise of approval. He licks his lips and maintains eye contact with you. “Sweet.”

The smirk he directs at you when you awkwardly cough is infuriatingly attractive. It feels like you’re potentially reading too much into his actions, and before you can really begin to question anything, the next bottle of wine is brought out for you to taste.

You attempt to distract yourself with the wine, but you can feel Seokmin’s eyes on you. There’s something heated about his gaze, and you can’t help but wonder what’s gotten into him. Still, you can’t bring yourself to outright ask even though you can feel the wine beginning to give you a nice little buzz.

“You must like this one.” Seokmin says, pretty smile still in place.

He says it because you gulped down what was in your glass. What he doesn’t know is that it’s because of him that you feel the need to finish the wine quickly so you can silence all these inappropriate thoughts you’re having.

“You must not.” Comes your rebuttal when you see that he’s barely taken a sip.

Seokmin doesn’t say anything at first. You can see him thinking, almost like he’s contemplating on how to answer you. Finally, he flashes another one of his annoyingly cute smiles at you. “It’s not bad, but seeing you like it so much is better than the taste.”

“What’s your problem?” You demand abruptly, not caring that the waiters who brought out your food are looking like they just walked into the crossfire.

That heart-stopping smile drops off his face, and his expression falls into the familiar cold one you’re used to receiving. Finally, the uncomfortable knot in your chest comes undone, but it’s replaced by a different discomfort.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

You scoff, annoyed that he’s not willing to acknowledge his odd behavior. “Yes, you do. Why are you acting like you don’t hate me all of a sudden?”

His gaze becomes hard, but you swear you see a tinge of sadness somewhere in that cold look. “I don’t hate you.”

You can’t understand why he’s lying, and so blatantly at that. It’s obvious that he’s hated you since you inadvertently picked holes in his first major presentation. He’s been out to get you ever since, and you’re not sure why he’s trying to act like you don’t know exactly how he feels about you.

“Right.” You scoff incredulously. “You telling the entire office that you’re capable of doing this project without my help was out of fondness.”

A blush slowly crawls up Seokmin’s neck and spreads across his face. “That—!”

“Oh, and I guess you did me a favor by telling our boss that ‘no woman should spend Valentine’s Day working!’”

Seokmin feels himself start to panic because he had said that, but it’s really not what you think. And he has to clear that up. Like now.

“Will you please just let me explain?”

You’re thrown off because the wine is slowly easing your nerves and because Seokmin looks like a kicked puppy. With a quiet huff, you nod stiffly, not wanting to make a scene even though some of the people at the surrounding tables are already looking at you funny.

“I just– I didn’t want you to have to spend today with me.”

Everything just seems to stop. Seokmin looks so remorseful and like he’s about to cry that you can’t think of his explanation as anything other than the truth. But then there’s the big question looming on your mind: Why would someone who hates you try to do something so kind for you? Unfortunately, you’re so thrown off that you can’t form a coherent response.

“You– What?”

Seokmin lets out a forced laugh. Your dumbfounded expression is adorable and makes him think that maybe he hadn’t entirely screwed up.

“Last month, I overheard you telling Josh that you had big plans today. When we were put on the project together and found out we had to work today, I tried everything so you wouldn’t be forced to spend the day with me. I’m an idiot for not realizing how you would feel about the things I said and I’m sorry.”

If only this sweet, silly man knew the big plans you mentioned involved five of your favorite romcoms and a bottle of wine. You can’t fully process the onslaught of emotions hitting you with full force, and you wish you had the capacity to answer him intelligently.

“But… why? Why would you do that for me?”

Seokmin can feel the heat coming from his face, but he soldiers on with what he hopes is anything but an embarrassed expression. “Like I said. I don’t hate you.”

You just blink at him, and he has to laugh.

“It’s true. And I’ll prove it to you.”

Just when you think he can’t surprise you anymore, he signals over a worker you hadn’t noticed before. The lovely woman had been handing out single pink roses, and now she was giving Seokmin the remaining ones after he slipped her several bills. You gape at him as he boldly hands them to you with that dumb, endearing smile.

“For you.” He nudges them toward you. “I know you would’ve preferred red or white roses, but I’ll get them for you some other time.”

Now his words are making your brain short circuit because what the fuck? How could he know your preferences and what did he mean that he would get you your favorite flowers next time?

All your rationality has gone out the window, and so have your inhibitions. It’s why you don’t care to cut the dinner short while telling Seokmin to follow you upstairs. He’s so obedient that you eat it all up. That and his needy kisses are too addicting for you to think about how wrong you’d been this entire time.

“You feel good, pretty girl?” Seokmin wonders from between your thighs.

His entire body burns with desire when you give him a heated look as you slowly roll your hips, grinding your soaking cunt down on his awaiting mouth. You do it with a neediness that has his eyes rolling and his cock twitching. Seokmin has never looked hotter to you than he does with your arousal covering his mouth and chin. You’re so turned on that your juices are slowly dripping down into a mess on the sheets bellow you.

“Amazing.” You breathe out through a whine as Seokmin dives back in, flicking his tongue on your throbbing clit before fucking it into your needy hole.

His cock is leaking and twitching as he drinks up every last bit of your arousal. Seokmin moans and groans into your cunt as you eagerly meet every movement of his tongue with an enthusiastic grind of your hips.

“Fuck, baby. Wanna make you come.”

You clench around his tongue at hearing the earnest words. It makes you arch into him more, loving how his tongue is splitting though your folds and slurping up all your arousal eagerly. He drags his wet muscle over your clit before sucking and rolling it like he would do to an addicting candy.

He’s so into eating you out, so fucked out by your taste alone that you can’t stop your quickly approaching orgasm. Seokmin’s eyes are rolling to the back of his head, moaning and whimpering about how you taste like absolute heaven. There’s even a moment where he lets it slip about how long he’s longed to have a taste of you, and that just does it for you.

The coil in your stomach snaps, and you two moan in pleasure together. Seokmin’s cock throbs wildly at the sweet taste of your cream. He licks every inch of your pretty pussy, not wanting to waste even a single drop of what you’re giving him.

“God.” You breathe out, legs trembling around his head. “Hurry up and fuck me.”

Expectedly, Seokmin does exactly as you want. You don’t care that you might need some time to adjust to his cock’s impressive size, you just need him.

“You’re so fucking pretty like this, angel.” Seokmin hums against your jaw as his fat tip teases your entrance. “All needy and wet, just for me.”

“Please.” You whine into his cheek as he laces your hands together. “Want you so bad, baby.”

Your moans are loud and downright pornographic when Seokmin finally eases his throbbing cock into your cunt. You’re so warm and wet and tight that he already feels addicted. He could come just from bottoming out, but he won’t. Not before he feels you come on his cock.

You arch your back, mouth dropped open in pleasure. “Fuck me!”

And he does, nice and deep. Your legs hook around Seokmin’s slim waist to push him in deeper. His cock is ramming against a spot no one else came close to touching, and you’re sm quickly starting to lose yourself to the pleasure consuming you. His big cock smoothes along your velvety walls with every rough snap of his hips, and you don’t even try to contain your cries of pleasure.

“Feels so good.” You whimper into Seokmin’s mouth when he turn to plant a messy kiss to your lips.

Your eyes roll back as his tongue forces it’s way into your mouth. His thumb brushes the back of your hand gently, the tender action only spurring you on as you try to meet the wet connection of his hips with needy grinds of your own.

Seokmin’s cock throbs inside you, seeming to swell at your words. He reluctantly pulls way from your lips, hips not stopping for a second. Every thrusts feels like the air is lowly being forced out of your lungs. But you love every second. All you can do is moan out his name with ravenous desire as he fucks his cock into you.

“Pussy’s so fucking tight.” Seokmin groans as his free hand trails down to your swollen nub. It’s so cute to hear you moan out for him as he starts to rub gentle yet fast circles into your clit. “Feels so good around me. Sh-Shit, Y/N. Never wanna stop fucking you. Want to be inside this pretty pussy all the time!”

You’re so turned on by his need for you and your pussy that you can feel yourself on the verge of coming. Especially with the way his fingers twist around your messy clit. Your inside are fluttering as his leaking tip rams into your soft spot over and over again.

“G-Gonna come!” You cry out and you squeeze the hand that is still wrapped around yours.

You focus on his rough thrusts and how his hips dig into yours as his big cock stretches your little pussy open to fit him inside. The restless flicks to your puffy nub push you over the edge as Seokmin urges you to come for him. He licks and sucks on your pulse point just to drive you more insane than you already feel.

“Seokmin!”

Your orgasm tips through you intensely as you crema all over his aching cock. Seokmin curls his body over yours, wrapping his brawny arm around you back to press himself against you. Now you’re stuck in his strong yet gentle embrace, bodies practically molded into one as he continues to split you open.

His thrusts become sloppy as he keeps on fanning the flames of your orgasm. “Need to fill you up, angel. Want to see your pretty pussy dripping with my cum.”

“Come inside me!” You beg, eyes rolling back. “Stuff me full!”

Seokmin smashes his lips on yours, greedily swallowing your moans as he empties himself inside your hot cunt. His entire body shudders in pleasure as he fucks his cum deeper into you.

“Fuck, baby. Take it all. It’s just yours, angel.”

You’re slowly coming down from you high when you feel Seokmin’s lip brush against your ear. “I’m not done yet.”

That’s when you find out he’s just as insatiable as you are.

“Fuck.” Seokmin moans against your neck as his thrusts grow sloppier and sloppier.

He’s so drunk on the feeling of your hot cunt that he feels any coherent thoughts start to get hazy. “So fucking pretty. Always so fucking pretty.”

Seokmin pulls you in for another kiss, hips still grinding into yours with a need that turns you on beyond belief. You’ve already came on his cock two more times, and he’s mad with clear that he won’t stop until he stuffs your pussy one more time. Which he does. Thick ropes of his cum spill into you, adding to the mess on his heavy balls and the sheets bellow you.

His next kiss is gentle yet passionate. Seokmin hums into your mouth, still making no move to pull out. His cock acts as a plug for all his cum, and when you shift he groans against your lips.

“Let me stay inside you, baby.” He pleads with shining eyes. “Please.”

“Okay.” You sigh as he rolls you over so your weight is on top of him now.

And it’s only when your on the cusp of sleep that you realize Seokmin still hasn’t let go of your hand.

[3lostyears]

timepetals thoughts i keep having:

i know that the assumption is “she is my s-” means soulmate but i always think he just thinks of rose as his soul. less that she completes him or is his other half and more that she just is his conscience and any goodness he may have is hers. he was born out of love for her, she is such an integral part of him, she is his soul itself.

i know everyone has taken permanent damage from the “how long are you going to stay with me” and why the general focus is on the doctor’s reaction but the way rose says forever gets to me. she’s not giddy or girlish when she says it, in some ways she almost sounds resigned to it, which has wonderfully angsty connotations in the timeline of s2. but it’s why it really works for me, she is so dead serious and committed when she says it, because she understands everything it means (and therefore part of her feels solemn about it). it has a lot of weight to it. even the first time donna says she’s going to travel with the doctor forever to martha at the end of the doctor’s daughter she sounds a lot more fanciful.

every time i hear the doctor scream when rose loses her grip in doomsday i just think that he would absolutely not have survived her actually being sucked into the void.

i always think the vocals in doomsday are similar to the doctor’s theme so to me the angry rock music is rose’s side and the vocals are his, rather than the howling wolf idea i’ve heard some people compare it to. how the doctor’s theme is lonely and mournful with its sparse instruments but calm, everything the ninth doctor was, while doomsday is heartbroken and angry and an entire orchestra because it’s two people overcome with grief together. how doomsday becomes such a motif for both characters individually, even when they're separated.

i still struggle to comprehend that the doctor wearing floral ties in s3 is canon and NOT a fanfic trope like you're telling the doctor said "i need a floral motif as close to my two hearts as possible" and you're describing him as something other than a grieving widower???

the doctor really could not go anywhere in s3 without running into some kind of couple but i never see people talk about the parallels in 42. “we chose this ship together / he keeps me honest so i don’t want false hope” and the way the doctor literally gives mcdonnell his condolences through gritted teeth?? the fact that she would rather die with korwin than be without him and have it be her fault

that the doctor, king of self-loathing, saw rose dressed as his ninth self and carrying a giant weapon and he not only RAN to her but then deliberately protected her from the trauma of seeing him change again. and then tentoo immediately picks a blue suit to be like now i’m matchey matchey with rose 🥰 the universe was ending and he’d seen rose again for two actual minutes but the doctor was so utterly focused on her.

how tentoo truly is rose's doctor, especially as he's got that little bit of nine in him. he's born out of the same love and protection of his previous incarnations but he loses a heart and the curse of the timelords and goes oh, this is rose's heart. and then he wears the blue mourning suit and yes, there is still mourning, but there is also the start of the rest of their lives together.

how the doctor’s hair most noticeably changed after school reunion to become spikier and less boyish. how that coincides with him using mickey to put distance between himself and rose now that he’s been reminded of rose’s mortality.

how wild the doctor and jack’s conversation in utopia is. the way the doctor says “rose” like it’s an entire explanation in itself because even before she absorbed the time vortex she fundamentally changed the life of everyone she met. the way he says “everything she did was so human” and the way he accepts jack’s sorry to him because there’s no trying to deny his feelings from jack, not when he saw his ninth self. the way jack has BARELY finished his sentence about watching rose grow up when the doctor casually asks him if he wants to die, the almost playful way he says it. one semi suicidal immortal who spent half of the season trying to get himself killed to another, both of them still kind of toying with the idea. both of them trying to have hope even though they've lost so much.

[kindestegg]

You know, even for just two months, Collector and King's friendship has already developed into something special.

When he and King first meet, Collector can barely keep their hands off of him, dragging him by the hand all over and grabbing him extremely close.

Come present day when our heroes have actually made it back, however, and Collector barely touches King. The only two times they initiate contact are when King chooses to offer a pinky promise to go talk to the Owl Beast and later when Collector leads King into their shared bedroom. This is good! It shows they learned boundaries and to keep their hands off of King and not smother him.

Collector's also learned boundaries when it comes to François! Although it was very devious of them to kick their plush under their bed so they could ask for François, they still respect King's decision to not let them hold him, and never touch François during the entire episode.

And hey, remember how King used to get so sick flying around with Luz that he couldn't help but throw up?

Look at him riding around with Collector now! Not a green face to be seen. It's likely through gradual exposure and a lot of encouragement and accomodation from Collector he was able to lose his problem with flight.

Speaking of which, what were the two even doing that they somehow took until nightfall to get to the Archive House? King comments they've "been gone for a while", but Collector declared they should return way back when they had just finished the play session with Terra.

...Were they just doing tricks and flying around having fun? If so, that's kind of cute to imagine, and a nice break from them just playing pretend with those poor puppet-people all the time. It shows they're confident enough to play together in other ways and have a good time.

I've also touched on this briefly, but it's also cute when you realize that Collector asking what mortals eat was his attempt at joking around with King, who also isntantly recognizes this and doesn't even need to say a thing to show it. That alone says a lot about what stage their communication skills with each other has gotten to.

King's also starting to trust Collector to the point that he straight up tells Eda and Lilith that he could get Collector to turn Hooty back to normal as if he trusts he can easily sway his opinion by just asking.

A side note on this, it's interesting to me immediately after being told no King brings up missing Luz.

It's probably just there for pacing convenience but part of me likes to think it's because he thinks Luz of all people would be the one to see things his way and agree that they should befriend the Collector. She WAS always the optimist of the trio after all.

And Collector doesn't actually seem to mind seeing Eda out of her beast form talking to King, the only thing he really cares about is whether his best friend is looking out for him or not. Being tricked about the Owl Beast situation seems to not matter to Collector as long as King is happy by his side.

Their relationship isn't perfect. They aren't best friends, despite what the Collector says, because King doesn't see them that way. Collector wants them to be equals and sees them as such, but it takes King almost up until this very episode to realize this and stop fearing a punishment that's not going to come.

Even after things are resolved, they still probably aren't going to be able to call themselves best friends, or even good friends. But they have a budding friendship at the very least, they've grown and learned a lot from each other, specially Collector who was desperately in need of a good role model (and it's funny only titans so far have provided that by pure coincidence).

With dedication from both parts, maybe in the future they can say befriending each other was one of the best decisions they've ever made.

[thesunloveschips]

Eye of the Storm - Chapter 9: Family Drama Trauma

Summary: Nyra is one of the older Archeron sisters. Twin to Nesta. Plagued by a mysterious illness that her mortal body cannot endure for too long. And yet, it seems her curse is to see her family suffer. When the youngest of her sisters is whisked away into the land of fae, immortality soon follows for the rest of them. And as an immortal, there is more to her that she has yet to know. 

Chapter Summary: Feyre joins the family drama trauma. The Inner Circle treads carefully. NyraxAzriel.

Click here to access the Masterlist of the Eye of the Storm

****

Night flowed from the Rhysand's palm to collect Elain before she dropped to the floor. Nyra and Nesta watched as the wave of night carry their sister in and set her down on the bed. The Archeron twins followed a floating Elain and took a seat on the leather armchairs by the window. Nesta stared at the sea so far away. Maybe the sea would catch those silver flames. Her power that burned within her had probably burned her last shred of humanity. How did things escalate to this point? Nesta looked at her twin who was also looking outside the window. She turned to look at all the intruders who were Feyre's new family.

Azriel, the man, the male was constantly accompanied shadows that did not miss an opportunity to rush towards Nyra, but not today. The shadows were swirling around their master almost ominously and perhaps cautiously too. The shadowsinger with whom the Archeron twins had developed an odd sort of acquaintance. He was not a stranger but not completely a friend. He was almost a friend maybe. More so than the others.

Azriel was leaned against the wall to their opposite and he was looking at Nyra. Nesta did not know why she felt like Azriel was the only one who could understand her sense of relief when Nyra had woken up. He had cried in her arms for god’s sake. Was Azriel fond of them? Of Nyra? A shadow curled near his ear and he immediately met her gaze. He raised an eyebrow questioningly but she moved her gaze to the next person.

Rhysand, the High Lord. The one who promised protection and failed to uphold it. Rhys looked at her and looked away, guilt gnawing at his throat. Useless. He had made a promise he couldn't keep but she could not fault him for it. He had tried. He had sent troops who guarded their house, hidden in plain sight. Troops who were pointed out to her by Cassian.

The General had tried to talk to Nesta. He had offered to train her but she was so consumed with what happened at Hybern that she couldn't take up on his offer. And Nesta did not know how to be polite when saying no. She knew that he was attracted to her even when she was still human. She caught him staring at her with five centuries worth of desire in his gaze. Like he’d drop on his knees any time to beg her for her consent to do something. Nesta did not know what to make of this. But any time she wanted to be polite or at least remain quiet so as to not spout any bitter words, Morrigan would make her appearance.

Morrigan casually touching Cassian gave Nesta the fury of her life. Light touches on his arms, slinging her arm around his neck and those looks. Looks which held so much intimacy that they shared. Intimacy that she also threw towards Azriel who looked only polite. What was that between the three of them? Had they been lovers? Were they still lovers? But what exactly was in this female that Cassian would like? Nesta had watched the Morrigan throw her time and money at alcohol and dresses during the three weeks she'd been here and that was... it. Nesta had been invited to shopping trips and tours of the magnificent city sprawling below the mountain and she had refused because of the deep flame that threatened to release itself even when Mor was being nothing but polite. This female who continued to share some relationship or bond or whatever that Cassian clearly reciprocated but the overgrown bat also displayed signs of being attracted to her. She did not want to get caught in this... whatever this was. How this female shared laughter and jokes with Cassian and how they'd had their hugs and handholding and armholding moments. Nesta put a lid on it and stomped on it. She would not succumb to something as petty as jealousy against a female whose excessive vanity seemed to be the only thing that defined her.

Breathe. Nyra's voice echoed in her mind. She complied. Nesta closed her eyes and breathed deeply, feeling the powerful gaze of that male all over her. Would his touch be as powerful?

Nesta opened her eyes and watched the worry in Feyre's eyes. It was an emotion that consumed her youngest as she watched Elain and the healer who had been summoned for the unconscious female. Feyre suddenly looked at her and walked forward. She grabbed the nearest ottoman and dragged it near Nesta's chair.

“Is there anything you need? Anything?" Feyre sounded desperate and Nesta did not like it one bit. She turned her face away and watched her sister who occupied the other armchair.

"Nyra." Nesta heard Feyre call out. Her twin looked at their youngest. "Is there anything you..."

"Stop." Nyra began. "Stop holding yourself guilty for this because you're not."

"But I..."

"Why do you ask if we need something?"

"Because I was alone!" Feyre yelled. "I was alone when I was became fae. I wanted to go out and meet people and see places and have a life of my own but I was not allowed to. I kept remembering everything that happened under the mountain and I could not sleep. And I had no one to talk to any of it about. The fact that it took me so long to have someone to talk to is still affecting me, even now when I can make my choices. And now that you're... in this situation, I don't want you to feel like you're alone."

"Don't remind me of choice, Feyre." Nyra spoke coolly. "The fact that we're here evidences the lack of it." Her gaze at the sea beyond the window and her comfortable posture had even Nesta nervous.

"Do you want to go outside?" Feyre asked, her voice now small.

Nyra stilled. Her features seemed to sharpen which was rather surprising because Nesta was the twin with sharp feautres and Nyra was the one with softer features. Now that they had become fae, their physical differences had become more prominent to the point where they could be mistaken for not being twins. "I don't know."

Rhysand did not know why he did it but he stepped forward and began. "We can move you to-"

"I think my sister can speak for herself." Nyra looked at Rhys impassively. He stopped and retreated to his place by the wall between Cassian and Azriel. Nyra looked at Feyre who suddenly went quiet just as her mate was. "We have to deal with this... situation if we are to move forward, precarious as it may be. I don't want to hear anyone talk about what our trauma did to them. If anyone has any complaints," Nyra looked around the room. "You may keep it to yourselves and not bother us at all with it."

"Would you like a tonic to help you sleep?" A brave Nuala asked Nesta whose troubles with sleeping had become quite the news. The wraith had yet to pluck up the courage to speak to Nyra who had woken up only today and seemed to be quite the cranky character.

Nesta beheld the fae with her scrutinising stare. A moment later, she spoke with practised politeness. "No, thank you."

"Would you like for some to be kept on your bedsides just in case?" Nuala's second question made Rhysand and Morrigan wary of Nesta's reaction.

"No. Thank you for asking but I'd rather be ready in case something happens." Nuala nodded and retreated to the bedside where she and the healer summoned for Elain stood as silent spectators to the family drama unfolding before them. Nesta looked at Rhys and Mor who were warily looking at her. "What?" They immediately looked away. And then she saw Amren and her curious gaze. As if she could study her. "What are you looking at?"

Nesta was reminded of Cassian as soon as she said those words. Those were the first words she said to him. Her gaze involuntarily went to him and with how he watched her, she was certain he was thinking the same thing. She looked back at Amren who seemed to attempt at studying them.

Amren smirked and walked over. She placed a hand over Feyre's shoulder and asked. "May I?" Feyre stood up, as though permitting it. Amren took her place on the ottoman and continued to observe Nesta up close.

"What are you expecting to happen, girl?" The way Amren addressed Nesta piqued Nyra's curiosity. She looked at the tiny female that had probably shrinked as she took a seat.

"Another kidnapping. Another drowning session with that disgusting pot." In place of Nesta, a viper sat, ready with her long venomous fangs. The silver began bleeding into her eyes and Amren straightened her posture in alarm.

The first time Azriel saw Nyra after being Made was when she ran out of her room and wept in her sister’s embrace. He had not gotten a clear view but he saw her thoroughly after she had exited Elain’s room, bathed and dressed. Azriel felt like he could fall right there. On the floor, into a pit, anywhere. He could fall and keep falling. He soared at how healthy Nyra looked right then. All signs of ill health was gone. There was more flesh and colour and Azriel felt relief.

Right now, Azriel wanted nothing more than to peel the grey silk off Nyra's skin with his teeth. His desire and the inability to act on it was beginning to make him feel impatient right now so he resorted to tapping his feet and crossing his arms across his chest. Azriel made a note to drag his brothers for a spar after whatever this was. But then he felt it. The raw power Nesta emanated. Colder than the Illyrian mountains in the dead of winter. Like this would be where he would inevitably meet his end. He turned his gaze towards his mate who looked outside the window. Azriel knew of her habit of looking outside the window. She'd told her himself.

"You are always looking outside the window." He had noticed that many times and tonight was the first time he asked.

"There are limited ways for me to see the world. Windows, opening the door for visitors as rare as that may be." Nyra sounded a bit defeated by her own illness. Azriel did not completely understand what that felt like and he did not want to say anything offensive.

"What about the letters?" He asked, remembering the brief incident with the letters back when he had visited the Archerons for the very first time.

"Perhaps." She mused. "Why do you ask?" She gave him a secret smile that calmed him.

"Would you... perhaps, like to go outside?" Azriel was surprised by his own question. But it made sense. He wanted her to see the world and what it had to offer and miss nothing.

"Does your offer origin from pity?" The amusement from earlier was gone.

"No." He quickly defended. "It's just..." He just wanted her to see the world. There were so many things out there. People, cuisine, languages, cultures, customs and so much more. And the human life was too short when he thought about it. He was definitely older than her every living relative. And he was definitely older than most of the deceased ones and yet, here he was, not having aged a day beyond thirty in terms of looks and vigour.

"I am not that stupid." She suddenly spoke. "From what I hear, the world is too beautiful for me to reject such an offer. Pride might result in me dying in this house, never having truly known something about the outside world." And those were the words of a woman who had lost all hope. Azriel felt like Nyra and hope were strangers. There might have been a time when that wasn't the case but the present time seemed to show her nothing but cruelty.

"Your illness. You said you were recovering." Azriel was now worried. And he did not understand why. This human would die, illness or not, and he would live until death claimed him forcefully. As an immortal, he would not die until killed. And amidst his worries, he realised that he had begun caring for this female. That she had begun to be more than an acquaintance. A friend, perhaps. The thought of her dying was unacceptable.

"Slowly. If all goes well. And that's a very big if. Not a when." Nyra would not tell him that she had spat blood the night Feyre visited for the first time as a fae. She would not tell him that their unusual presence had had a physical impact on her. Nesta knew, of course. But Nesta also knew better than to make a scene out of it because of what was at stake.

They did not speak of it. Ever. But he remembered. And Azriel wondered whether she remembered it too. Now that she was a fae and with a long unending life before her, Azriel could perhaps start considering her a friend. Or a friend's friend. She was the sister of his sister-in-law. Maybe that's where he should begin navigating this mating bond.

Friendship could be a good start. He wasn't madly in love with her or anything. This was not love at first sight but for now, in the depths of his heart, he felt like he would eventually be utterly under her mercy. He knew it in his soul that he would love this female in the future because he had already begun craving the salvation that only she could be.

As she sat by the window, Azriel realised that this had been the first time he’d seen her in the daylight. Anytime he saw her during the day in the Archeron estate, the sun was usually dull. Here, in the clear skies of Velaris, the sun shone albeit not as brilliantly as it would have in the Day Court. Under daylight, he thought she glowed. Nyra's hair was tied to the side of her neck with the hair falling down her breasts in a gentle waterfall. Her curly hair had somehow become a little less curly, Azriel did not understand or know how or why. All he knew that Nyra, who was once beautiful, had become divine.

But it would take time before she overcame whatever the cauldron had thrown at her. Before she became that curious woman who had not shied from asking him about Prythian. It felt like she was trying to see the world through his eyes. And Azriel remembered her remark about her confinement.

He brushed against Rhys’s mental shields until they collapsed and he spoke to his brother. Link us with Feyre. I want to tell her something. Rhysand gave a hum of agreement before doing so.

Hello, Azriel. Feyre’s tired voice sparked a twinge of guilt about what he was about to say.

We should shift them to the townhouse.

Already trying to get into her good graces, Az? There was a teasing note to it.

The twins will have more interest in getting out of the house if it’s something they can do themselves. They don’t feel comfortable around us so it’s best if we give them enough space and freedom to let them come out of their own shell. Besides, there’s a garden which can interest to Elain Archeron.

Alright. Feyre agreed, seeing the reason behind it all.

What I’m going to say is going to hurt you but I believe it’s for the best. Azriel waited for a while.

I can take it. Feyre was trying to be brave. Trying and failing, something Azriel and Rhysand noted.

For now, keep a distance from your sisters. Let them seek you out.

Az. Rhys’s warning growl was something the shadowsinger ignored rather easily.

You went to them and they have yet to react amiably. Keep a distance. Don’t stop seeing them but stop seeking them out and asking them if they need anything. Let them come to you when they’re ready to speak to you. Azriel sounded as though he’d had a long time to make a very thorough analysis of the situation but this was second nature to him as Spymaster.

Alright. Feyre sounded defeated. Let’s try this.

Darling. Surely there’s another-

This is about them, Rhys. Not about me. Their trauma is not about me. It’s about them. Feyre interrupted Rhysand. And I’m sorry, Azriel.

Whatever for? The shadowsinger asked, noting the guilt in his High Lady’s voice.

She’s finally been reborn and she has suffered again. Azriel remembered the pain he felt five centuries ago when this sould was Rhysand’s sister and that girl had died. He’d been too young and naive to understand his own inner turmoil after her death and it took too long before he understood what it was. The Bone Carver was a bastard of a death god who managed to give him the one reason he’d clung to life for so long.

Azriel remained quiet for a while before he spoke. What matters now is that she’s alive, healthy and. She’s emotionally disturb and needs to heal. So let’s focus on that.

Your older sisters are strong females, Feyre. All of you possess a different kind of strength. Everything will be fine. And Azriel’s quiet presence left the mental link between the three.

Azriel felt so calm and light but then the most daunting thought popped up—would she be lovelier than right now? If so, then she would have males and females at her feet and he’d never be a choice worth considering. Her head tilted to the right just a bit. What the fuck was that? A sudden shock to his nerves to induce a heart attack. Why had she looked so adorable right then?

Everyone remained quiet for a while. Nesta examined the curtains from top to bottom. Some thick material which could easily block the sunlight but this was Elain's room and she had repeatedly made it clear that she needed the sunlight. Nesta remembered the curtains from her room. And the ones from Nyra's room.

Azriel looked at Cassian and then at Rhysand. The three of them connected mind to mind and Cassian was the first to speak. Say something. Anyone!

What are we supposed to say? Rhys shot back.

Ask them if they want to do something Nyra is now awake. Don't let them sulk around. It'll be harder for them to get used to being fae if they remain like this. Cassian's words made Azriel frown.

The sun was now setting. Daylight had started dimming. The sky was turning pink. Its glow fell on Nesta and Nyra and they remained quiet.

"Would you like to have dinner?" Azriel broke the silence. His uncharacteristic act gained him all the attention in the room but his gaze remained on Nyra who looked at him. It suddenly occurred to him that that was the same question he would have asked if he were actually courting her. Azriel had almost forgotten how it felt to be nervous. Nesta was glaring at him but he did not know how he'd cope if Nyra were to deny.

At the same moment, her stomach rumbled. Everyone heard it. Azriel coughed and brought a hand to his mouth to cover the smile that had threatened to creep on his face. He saw that Nyra was, in fact, embarassed. He walked over and kneeled. "You've been asleep for weeks. Let's have some food."

Nyra looked away from him, clearly not wanting him to see her face but a faint blush had been painted on her cheeks. Mistress. So lovely. Adorable. And Azriel agreed. She did look rather adorable. Unlike Nesta who had prominent cheekbones, Nyra had more flesh on her cheeks and the blush on it reminded him of peaches.

"There's chocolate cake for dessert." Nyra looked at him immediately at the mention of chocolate. She had not tasted it in years but she remembered how she loved it. She did not even remember how it tasted like even though she had eaten back when she was still healthy. And now, there was chocolate. She looked like a child, fascinated. Azriel was trying to lure her to dinner with her favourite.

"Alright." She mumbled. Her stubbornness to hide after her rumbling stomach was felt across the bond and Azriel felt all the relief in the world. Their connection did not have any barriers so far and he had to keep some from his side so that she wouldn't be overwhelmed with emotions. He did make a note to teach her mental barriers but for now, he would use them as a cheat sheet to understand her more.

Azriel looked at Nesta who looked at him with all the surprise she had been suddenly hit with. "Will you come for dinner, Nesta?" Nesta simply nodded and he was content. He stood up from where he kneeled before Nyra. "We'll meet you at seven thirty." They had approximately an hour and a half. On his way out, he ushered the others outside and closed the door to give them their privacy.

****

TAGLIST:

@waytoomanyteenagefeels@impossibelle@esposadomd@starswholistenanddreamsanswered@judig92@bunnyredgirl@sh4nn@a-frog-with-a-laptop@kattzillaa@ronnieglennn@wallacewillow0773638@forgiveliv@justdreamstars@donttellthecats@cat-or-kitten@jojodojo02@wandas-dream@evylynny@weasleyreidstyles@stqrgirlies-blog@why4anne@acourtofdreamsandshadows @saltedcoffeescotch @mybestfriendmademe@macimads@footyandformula @noelli-smv @mqlfoyelf @thehighlordishere @slytherintaco @spideytingley @deeshag @footyandformula @nebarious @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @prettylittlewrites @lilah-asteria

[scuttlingcrab]

So it's pretty obvious that Raphael would be a massive fan of luxury items. How would he react to Tav being able to make certain luxury items from scratch (such as lotions, massage oils, perfumes, soaps, etc.) and is really freaking good at it.

Maybe he learns this little fact about Tav when he receives a bundle of custom luxury items from one of his warlocks and it has a note which says, "To: Raphael. From: The mouse. A 'thank you' for the food." (assuming Tav filled a plate of food during the group's first encounter with the fiend)

Thank you for this awesome prompt. I took a liberty with this one, wanted to try something that maybe a writer hasn’t done before re: what luxury item Tav would make Raphael. I also referenced a few characters from my other stories. Marin, the composer from A Night at the Symphony and Dolofina, the warlock, from A Warlock is Born. I couldn’t resist! Hope you enjoy! And send on the next prompt if you haven’t already! :)

Summary: Raphael receives an unexpected gift from Tav.

Warnings: Mild violence/torture

––

A Perfect Fit 

(Image via violadesdragons)

The screams were like music to Raphael’s ears.

The torment that resonated from each shriek, every wail that echoed into his House of Hope, if directed well, could create a symphony that would feed Raphael for weeks. A melody almost as magnificent as Marin’s concertos. Raphael mastered what buttons to push, what minute threads to pull, to achieve perfection.

Every human was an instrument in their own right. They had a unique cord, an unsung talent, that Raphael knew how to excavate and mould. He had spent millenia fiddling with mortals, experimenting with different techniques to inflict pain or even less conspicuous means to really persecute his poor unfortunate pets. 

Nevertheless, Raphael despised it all. Torturing these creatures was so below his station, another idle role he had to play to keep up appearances in this never-ending farce to reach his objective, to reclaim the Crown of Karsus. He longed to see the players of his saga, his glorious ascension, leave the dark confines of the wings and enter the proscenium for all the planes to see.

Raphael listlessly looked up towards his current unfinished task, a withered mortal impaled on rusted spikes. No matter how hard Raphael stared at this rat, how tirelessly he worked his mind to calculate new methods to inflict agony, all Raphael could do was muster an apathetic groan in response. 

He was almost relieved to hear footsteps approaching the dungeon, identifying the bouncy gait of one of his warlocks almost immediately. Dolofina. 

Raphael smiled to himself, letting out a shallow breath as the doors slowly creaked open. He snapped his fingers, and another spike appeared, slowly lifting to meet the others.

“I do hope you have some interesting news for me. And think hard on your answer, or else I might swap you out with poor Boris.” 

Raphael turned to greet Dolofina, the whimpers of the tortured human slowly rising as he approached her. She stared back at him without any emotion, unmoved by the threat. He taught her well.

“Apologies for the intrusion, but a woman was insistent you receive this. She wouldn’t leave Korrilla alone until she confirmed we’d deliver it to you.”

Dolofina lifted the basket in her hands with a sigh, offering it to Raphael. 

“Pah! Which insolent creature is it this time? If it’s that damned–” 

“She only referred to herself as the, and I quote, ‘little mouse.’”

Dolofina seemed perplexed at the name, rolling her eyes as she waited for his response. Raphael’s mouth parted, his eyes instantly becoming more animated at the mention of her.

“Could she be crawling to me already?” So fast, and such a pity. He had been looking forward to a tussle.

Raphael gingerly picked up the basket, holding it in his hands and carefully inspecting every inch as if it was an ancient relic. What a simple little offering, merely a straw woven basket. Its contents were hidden under gold wrapping paper and held together delicately by a red bow.

“Don’t worry, we’ve already inspected it for traps.”

Raphael gave Dolofina a flat stare. 

“Do you think the creature would be so daft?”

Dolofina shrugged.

“I am merely a mortal, what would I know?” 

There was a hint of mischief in Dolofina’s eyes as she smiled back at Raphael, so pleased with herself. He growled, pointing towards the threshold of his dungeon. The skin on his human disguise hissed, verging on transformation. 

“You have overstayed your welcome. And might I remind you, I am your master. I can terminate our agreement whenever I see fit, be it from the smallest lapse in your performance. You know what that means for your future.”

“Yes, master.” Dolofina responded through tight lips. She promptly made her leave, but not without slamming the doors behind her. 

“Must every creature under my employment be so thickheaded?” Raphael whispered, taking a moment to massage the bridge of his nose. 

When Raphael was sure his boiling blood had cooled, he proceeded to focus his attention on the basket, now weighing heavy in his hands. It would’ve been a shame to have accidentally incinerated the gift with his temper, which was nearly uncontrollable in recent months, without even knowing what was inside.

Raphael started with the bow, carefully untying the knot. Once it was removed, he brought it to his nose, slowly taking in its scent. Cloves and roses. Oh how he relished it. Raphael placed the bow in his pocket and removed the wrapping paper. He discovered a small envelope sitting on top of a golden gift box. A sudden jolt of electricity shot through his veins as he opened the letter. 

To: Raphael  From: The Mouse  Thank you for the food. Please accept this gift in exchange for your hospitality. If the measurements are not sufficient, perhaps we can schedule a fitting. You know where to find me.

Raphael snapped his fingers, leaving the letter floating in the air beside him as he continued with the box. His fingers, usually so calm and still, twitched with excitement. 

Raphael gasped, removing a single doublet from the box, its red colour as dark as blood. The silk melted in his hands, the article of clothing sparkling against the roaring flames of the dungeon. Gold and silver markings were intricately embroidered throughout the jacket, infernal designs suiting Raphael’s tastes. The cuffs of the doublet were adorned with devil tails that swished and curled on a constant loop. 

“My, my, the little mouse has been busy indeed.”

And what artistry! It had been ages, no centuries, since his eyes fell on such an alluring piece. Is this what it would feel like once he held the Crown in his hands? 

Raphael snapped his fingers, the doublet now on his person. He sighed, oh it fit him perfectly, as if that creature knew Raphael’s body like the back of her hand. He raised his arms, bowed, did every possible movement that could come to his mind in that instant, and yet could find no imperfections. 

Raphael was a generous devil, perhaps often too generous. He wasn’t opposed to receiving such luxurious gifts on occasion, but it was dangerous to play with his food. He considered for a moment being harsher to his future clients. The little mouse had a long road ahead of her if she was to help Raphael get what he desired. She needed to focus. No more distractions. No more gifts. 

And yet… 

Raphael clapped his hands and a mirror appeared before him. He gave himself a little spin, grinning. It was a suitable doublet. Cursed creature! Perhaps he could make other uses of these tadpoled yet. What was that mortal saying he heard so often? Ah yes, all work, and no play… 

Raphael was pulled from his thoughts at the howls of the tortured mortal, still impaled above him. Raphael’s cheeks burned, he had been sloppy, overlooking that he was not alone.

He angrily snapped his fingers and the mortal combusted. Their screams died with the flames, leaving no signs of their previous existence as the ashes fluttered away. A waste of a soul, Zariel be damned. She’d never even notice it was missing. 

And with that, Raphael stormed out of the dungeon, proudly wearing his new doublet. 

[monicahar]

“one thing you want for christmas?”

in which you inquire about their wish for the long-awaited day.

—includes all my faves; kazuha, xiao, candace, cyno, scaramouche/wanderer, heizou, shenhe, hu tao, ayato, kaveh, yelan (bonus: alhaitham, ei, tighnari, nilou, yae miko, ganyu, keqing, ayaka, thoma)

—gender neutral reader, fluff, established relationships, rather sus with yelan's. p.s. let's just pretend all of teyvat celebrates xmas lol

“for you to stay by my side.”

# xiao has seen it all. from the monsters he had slain, to the cries of desperate mortals, to the quietude of his solitude, to the grief of the aftermath of it all, to the hushed whispers of his last bits of sanity, all leading up to the gentle sways of the breeze passing the inn, enveloping you both in a rather serene atmosphere as you stare at each other's gaze, yours one of anticipation for his answer, and his of silent contemplation. when honest words akin to a silent plea for you to never leave him leave his lips—his sharp eyes immediately soften at the reddening of your cheeks in response.

# kazuha is nothing but a humble man. he does not seek wealth, nor fame, nor anything trivial that concerns his title as the lone descendant of a noble clan, or as the inspiring individual who directly went against the narukami ogosho's blade of lighting. he only wants two things—peace and tranquillity. luckily for him, those abstracts are found in you, being the embodiment of his real home no matter where you travel. kazuha firmly believes that he belongs by your side, and he hopes that you think the same should you agree to take him up on his wish.

# candace was more than ready to answer your question, which pleasantly surprised you. with how firm she is with her beliefs of being a descendant of the renowned scarlet king with the protection of aaru village, you would've thought she'd wish for the safety of her fellow people or something...she agrees with this sentiment with a chuckle of her own. “you're right. but me ensuring the healthy being of my village is a given. i simply wished that you staying as my partner...would also be a given too.”

# cyno, the general mahamantra outright admits this within a beat of his heart. he's sure this wish of his would have drawbacks on your part—considering his frightening reputation, but he knows, and is certain that you're willing to take it on for his sake. he trusts you with his whole being that you were ready to commit yourself to him just as much as he is to you. his resilience doesn't waver a bit when you come off surprised by his sudden cheesy advance, it only strengthens his resolve to remain with you for the rest of his life...or in other words...“since it's christmas...[name], will you merry me?” (💀)

“you.”

# wanderer thinks this whole thing is silly. christmas is silly. merely wishing is silly. your question is silly. and his answer is also silly—but it held absolute truth, no matter how much he denied. it was rather stupid to ask for something that was already his, but he couldn't help it when the words erupted from his throat before he could even think about it. truthfully, there's nothing he wants in this world more than you. you are his heart. you are his human. you are his lover. you are his everything. he embarrassingly sputters for an insult when you suddenly laugh at his immediate response to your innocent question, your hearty giggles filling the silence of the room you've both resided in. something inside his chest flutters when you say 'likewise' so sweetly. he doesn't regret saying it that much now.

# shenhe was never this certain before. back then she'd always have doubts when it comes to making her own decisions, no matter how miniscule, or important it may be. is she supposed to be with humans? or with the adepti? this deer is looking at her quite weirdly, should she kill it? this person did terrible things unintentionally, should she hold them accountable? is she even in a position to decide such a thing? why are you making her feel weird things, should she confront you? all these random questions make up her past self, so now, in this present, can you be hers, faithfully and truthfully? forevermore, even? you have the power to grant this wish of hers, what will you do with it?

# kaveh is brutally honest when it comes to you. with how he's snuggling up to you like you're a sole lit torch within a raging blizzard upon uttering that one, three lettered word, now isn't an exception it seems. “i want you. only [name].” his voice is muffled onto your chest with a content sigh, resulting into a smile creeping up on your face at his display of affection. caressing his blonde locks, you mutter that you're already his, and remain that way forevermore. though the peaceful moment doesn't last long when you hear alhaitham on the other side of the house puking his insides out.

“a kiss, perhaps.”

# hu tao is a cheeky one. knowing her, she would very much rather die than passing up an opportunity to tease you. which is probably why she's now making kissy faces towards you in public, making loud bilabial clicks to further emphasize on her want for that kiss she requested of you. she's living for your blushing state right now. how cute you are! just makes her wanna pinch your cheeks and bite them! but right now, she has one goal. a raging conquest—to feel your lips against her own!

# ayato is also very cheeky when it comes to his dearest. that annoying knowing smirk of his plastered onto his face as you slowly process his response. he has no need for extravagant gifts when he has nearly every trinket or item at his fingertips as a wealthy noble clan head and his position as one of the tri-commissioners, so he'll use this to his advantage and pick up your lips in the process. he's been rather depraved of your attention lately with how busy he was with the preparation of christmas arriving in inazuma, but now that everything is set in motion, he wants to spend this small vacation with you and your lips in the meantime.

# yelan is incredibly flirtatious when she's alone with you. lingering touches that rile you up in silence, hushed whispers against your reddened ears, hot breaths mingling together from the close proximity she initiated...mhm, she's merciless. she'd have to hold herself back from full-on making out with you when you become shy from her intense gaze, averting your eyes as an attempt to calm your nerves. (she would ask for more than a kiss honestly, but we gotta keep it pg here so a long, long smooch it is.)

# heizou, yet another cheeky punk. you're really considering on giving his head a light hit for him to finally stop this little game of his. “ten kisses! that's all.” and after you're done pecking and littering his face with kisses, he'll just smile innocently and say “alright, ten more!” and he repeats it again, and again, and again, and again until you finally snap as you purposely bite his cheek under the pretense of giving another kiss. he just yelps and rubs the spot, pouting towards you afterwards as an attempt to charm you out of your irritated stance. “oh, come on, just another 10 more! it's the last, i promise!“ he then proceeds to say he'll return the kisses tenfold...whatever that means.

BONUS ! ! ! — “oh, how about a [insert random object]?”

# alhaitham would ask for some random nerdy book that he hadn't enough time in his schedule to buy. boooo no romance at all🙄

# ei would ask for dango. or a kiss. it's sweet either way, she says.

# tighnari would ask you to shut up. honestly, i have no idea. I wanted to put him in the “stay by my side” but he's too snarky for such cheesy stuff so maybeeee he'd ask for a type of essential oil for his tail or sumn.

# nilou would ask for a dance with you—under the moonlight amidst lotus flowers and flowing waters, right when the clock strikes twelve and christmas day warmly welcomes you both.

# yae miko had the potential to go into the kiss section, but she would definitely take advantage of this question of yours to make you do even more silly things. she can get your kisses anytime and anywhere anyways.

# ganyu would ask for a date! she got some time off granted by the qixing themselves, and she wants to spend it eating qingxins with you. (bear the bitterness, will you?)

# keqing would ask for a morax plushie. she didn't indulge you in her secret of being a huge fangirl for nothing. 😾

# thoma is the type of guy to let you decide your gift for him instead. not too expensive though! he dislikes you spending too much money for him. he'd gift you a knitted scarf as well. :') such a lovely man.

# ayaka would not ask for a gift. she would gift you instead with a fan that matches hers!

@muchendrafts i have included your beloved ei, thoma and ayato. enjoy your gift, along with many other readers! i also have an ayato oneshot in the works, but i couldn't finish it in time so i hope you'll fare with this, for now atleast!

[vinillain]

Great wave chapter 2 spoilers// analysis cuz ahahahaha Adamai… when I get you…

Alr, rant because I’m the biggest Yugo & Adamai fan of all time. And I overanalyzed this chapter to death.

And how the way Adamai treats Yugo is one of the main reasons he’s distant from Amalia.

This pattern of behavior isn’t new, in s4 he was quick to come to Yugo’s defense when Nora was chastising him. Using words like “we” and because both of them were still feeling the euphoria of their reconciliation came to each-others defense in a new unfamiliar environment. But after he sees how shady and “heroic” their family is he ops to leave, and does so without explaining himself (about the dofus) to Yugo or trys to convince him to come along. Something he definitely would have done in s1-2. (And this is because they have grown so far apart the bond they once had is distant, albeit still there)

This behavior is similar, and again appears here in their entire conversation.

Yugo who was brooding and trying to be alone after his vision is greeted by Adamai, who IS genuinely worried about Yugo, since Yugo now carries the dofus of their people he and Adamai’s bond is “strengthened tenfold” allowing him to “almost hear his thoughts” and definitely feel his fear and dark feelings. And he immediately calls Yugo out when he tries to hide how upset he was (which tbh he likely does because of Adamai’s next reaction in a bit, meaning this is a common cycle)

Eventually after some talk Yu breaks down and is honest that he isn’t okay. That his visions terrified him, and here Adamai isn’t dismissive right off the bat, he states that he could feel how bad it was because of their bond, and knew it must have been bad if it shook Yugo up this much

And Yugo tells him about the vision and how “I am the cause.” To which Adamai questions as he seems to think internally, and Yugo like in chapter one with Amalia doesn’t question anything, again he only says “It was real.”

(I am roughly paraphrasing their dialogue so it’s not 100% accurate)

At this point Adamai scoffs at him to which Yugo who’s still upset by his vision flips out on him starting an argument. Asking if he “bores” Adamai

And Adamai tells him he needs to think with his head. He possesses the power of a god and can’t afford to think with emotions. Which is true, TOT said that Adamai was the logic to Yugo’s actions. He is the thought and the anchor, but while he isn’t wrong for saying this, the way he went about it is making things worse, but it also it makes sense why he did act this way towards Yugo.

Adamai is not someone who bases his feelings on emotions anymore.

He’s spent his entire childhood training and getting ready to meet Yugo and find their people. After the loss of Grougal he has spent his entire life trying to fill the void with an adult parental figure who holds power and wisdom that can help him achieve his goals the way he knows mortals can’t. Hence the “we needed someone with more guidance” like in s4 to Yugo. We don’t see exactly what happened to him from the OVA’s-s3. But we know it had a drastic change on him physically and especially mentally. And a big part of that is that he essentially became a vessel to their peoples dofus. In order to cope with his own trauma and feelings and taking on that responsibility of all this power he surprised any emotions or feelings that could cause him to act rash or get in the way of his main goals.

And when he did let his emotions take over because of his blind rage, he ended up hurting people he cared about which left him even more apprehensive to show any ever again. (Hence why he left his newly found family in s4) But in doing this to such an exstent the way he does, he never actually solves any personal problems of conflicts. Especially with his loved ones. He can’t rekindle his bond with Yugo or try to fix their relationship because he refuses to show any vulnerability. Which makes sense after he was left behind, betrayed and hurt so many times, and more so when he realized that he hurt others in his own pain. He doesn’t want to get hurt or hurt others again.

And as he states, Yugo has power beyond any mortal comprehension. He now carries the weight and responsibility of their people, and their siblings dofus. Honestly just their peoples future in general. He holds power, power many people want to steal from him or rid him of. Adamai compares Yugo’s situation to how he had to handle the dofus. That he needs to swallow any emotions and think logically. Which he has always done more out of the two of them. Vulnerability is a weakness to him. And Adamai doesn’t want Yugo to get hurt or hurt others like he has in the past.

He is cruel and harsh in his words. Telling Yugo he does “bore” him. And completely downplays his twin’s feelings because he sees them as being weak. But he DOES care about Yugo, in his eyes Yu will end up suffering more if he shows this vulnerability. It’s why he is mean and tells Yugo he can’t be acting like a child when he has all this responsibility and power in his hands. This isn’t the same when they were little kids, the stakes for them and their people are much hire now.

But to Yugo, who’s tried to fix their relationship countless times, is naturally upset at this. He feels unheard, that’s he’s being over dramatic and that his feelings don’t matter. That he isn’t allowed to be upset at his own trauma. Which is something i think paralells Goddess Eliatrope. How people dismiss her feelings and say she’s overreacting. That she needs to “get over herself” because she is a great goddess with all this power. Etc. something I hope we see more with Yugo aswell.

Being a king already isolates him enough, being a demigod with all this power does so even more. To Yugo, Adamai is the only one he can turn too when he’s upset. It’s why he was so desperate to find him in s3. Over growing old and being immortal. The problems that mortals can’t comprehend. (Something that definitely upsets him because the more power and godhood he gains the more distance he has between himself and his loved ones.) But when he opens up to Adamai about his fears and issues he is shut down or ignored. And that’s why he won’t open up to Amalia. If Ad dismisses and scoffs at his feelings then why should he try to open up to her? He adores and loves Amalia and fears the rejection she might give him. It’s why the moment she was slightly dismissive with her “Calm down, it was just a dream” he immediately leaves to be alone. He already has to deal with Adamai, he doesn’t want her to do it to him too.

But by doing this he is hurting her too. Like him Amalia is STRESSED beyond belief. She has a ton of weight and responsibility on her shoulders. And she can’t manage the conflicts of her people (especially with the eliatropes) If Yugo isn’t there to help her, If Yugo won’t be vulnerable to her. If he doesn’t trust her or won’t rely on her with his problems then how can she? How can she be open with him if he runs away from her at the deepest issues when they share so much intimacy and love.

Their is already clear tension among the Sadida’s and the (VERY FEW) Eliatropes who now live among them. Many are unhappy with the changes, some openly voicing how “Armand would never have allowed this” suggesting they don’t like Yugo as their king either. And the old man talking about how he lost his son in the war, that the eliatropes haven’t faced sacrifice. (And this is despite that fact that they don’t know anything about their past or the war they went through, how they lost their own families- claiming they don’t understand Sadidan culture or tradition but never trying to learn the other sides either.)

Communication is the key to relationships. Being open and vulnerable is how we understand eachother. Something reflected in the main three so far and the Sadidans+Eliatropes. Yugo keeps shutting Amalia out because of how Adamai treats him. Creating this endless cycle of distrust among the two and it’s reflected in their own people. Both could be amazing rulers and created a better place if they were both open with each-other. But they won’t, and unless Adamai and in turn Yugo open up and show vulnerability. They don’t have to show all of it, trust is slowly gained. Little by little in a healthy manner. But if Yugo doesn’t then the discourse and tension will continue to grow among all their people. (And if you’ve seen the teaser for a certain upcoming chapter you can see how that’s going 😭😭😭)

Anyway, in conclusion: someone please get them therapy

[franciswasteland]

TECH!LEO VALDEZ X THEATER KID!READER

MASTERLIST

Summary: You land the role of Veronica Sawyer in a musical your high school is putting on, and your tech boyfriend tries to be supportive and reassure you when you need it.

Warnings: Highschool!au, Mortal!au,already dating fic, Beware spelling errors, im lowkey dyslexic. I DONT KNOW HOW TO END FICS….

Authors Notes: HIII GUYS IM ACTUALLY REALLY EXCITED TO WRITE THIS I LOVE LEO SO MUCH. ALSO THIS IS PARTLY FOR SOME DISCORD FRIENDS !! Possibly not canon written Leo 😭🙏

You were in the drama/theater club at your high school, often appearing as the leading or supporting roles in musicals your school would put on in the auditorium. It was amazing, both fun and something you were good at! But what made it even better was one of the tech kids, Leo Valdez—Who was your boyfriend!

A few weeks ago, you scored one of the lead roles—Veronica Sawyer—in a musical your school was putting on called ‘Heathers’. But, there was a rather… intimate scene with another character, Veronica’s love interest, in the show during the song ‘Dead Girl Walking’, and Leo tried to tolerate it and support you the best he could, but it was getting a little unbearable for him.

“Baby…” Leo whined as you ranted to him about your role in the musical, even though you should have been practicing your lines. “Shouldn’t you be, uh, practicing or something?” He didn't want to send you away like that, but he could go on hearing you talk about that scene.

“Sorry, sorry, you’re right. I’ll go practice my lines. Thanks for the reminder. Love you, bye!” You say apologetically, kissing his cheek quickly (If any teacher or adult at the school saw you do that you’d probably get detention.) and running out from backstage where you were talking to Leo as he worked on… Whatever he does.

It was a few hours from the first showing of the show as your high school was doing a morning and afternoon show. You were backstage getting ready, changing into costume, and makeup, making sure you had your lines completely memorized and you could hit each note in the songs—Which you could. Expect you couldn’t help but be a bit worried about this. Sure, you had played so many roles before throughout the years you’ve been in high school, but you were worried about little things, a lot of little things which slowly added up to become one big thing for you to worry about—Making sure you’d sing the school appropriate version of the lyrics, making sure you wouldn’t blank on stage (How embarrassing would that be?!), making sure you were perfect.

Then you got an idea.

There was one person that you knew for sure thought you were perfect. Your boyfriend, Leo! Of course, you’d be able to get reassurance from him! So naturally you ran—Not too fast though, you couldn’t ruin your costume—off from where you were sat to find him.

It didn’t take you long to find Leo, he was exactly where you had expected him to be after all. “Leo!” You called out as you walked up to him, placing one of your hands on his arm so he would turn around to face you. And he in fact did turn around and face you like you had suspected he would.

“What is it?” He asked, sounding confused. He thought you would be getting ready for the musical, not running up to him for a chat. “Did ya miss me that bad you had to stop getting ready to come find me?” He added with a short chuckle, gaining a smile.

“Nono,—Well yes, but that’s not why I came to find you.” You replied, worry practically seeping through your words the more you spoke. Leo noticed almost immediately.

Your hand was still on his arm, Leo put his hand on top of yours. “Wow, I’m hurt.” He teased. “Well then, what is it? Whatcha need?” That was one of the things you loved about Leo; he always seemed to know when you were worried or upset about something, even if he didn’t know how to comfort you.

“I dunno, I guess I’m just nervous about this. I’m scared of messing up on stage.” You admit to him, and Leo seems to immediately understand what you mean. “Oh, don’t worry about it. You’ll do great, trust me.”

Then, when you were finally getting that reassurance from your boyfriend, it was about roughly 15-to-20 minutes until curtain—Until you would be on stage. Oh, brother.

You were feeling a little more better as you rushed back to the backstage area of the auditorium, Leo’s words ringing in your ears. The backstage was suddenly not as easy to navigate as it was before you ran off to find your boyfriend. People—Either in the show themselves or apart of tech like Leo—Were running around, trying to make sure the preparations were all set and everything was ready for the first showing of the musical.

Then you got told by one of the tech team members to get in your place on stage.

After about 2 and a half hours, the morning show of your high schools performance of ‘Heathers The Musical’ was over. You bowed before the audience, sweating, your throat sore and hurting from singing for almost 2 hours straight. At this point, all you could think of was the bottle of water that was waiting for you by your bag backstage.

As soon as the curtain closed, you ran off stage to where you had set your bag in desire of the bottle of water you had gotten before hand. And there it was waiting for you, along with Leo, your boyfriend.

“See? What did I tell you? You did amazing, just like I said you would.” Leo said, wrapping one of his arms around you, seemingly not minding the fact that you were practically covered in sweat.

“Yeah yeah, I know,” You groan in reply. “Just lemme grab my water before you start praising me.” You let out a dry laugh, —Dry to the fact that your throat was now killing you. You reached out your hand for your bottle of water, but Leo grabbed it before you could. You thought he would hold on to it tightly and reach his hand up high, making you reach even farther for it, but he didn’t. Instead, he opened it for you and handed it to you, seemingly recognizing how tired you were after performances.

“You look tired,” Leo mused, knowing exactly where this was going to go. After most shows and performances, you would be tired and feel miserable. So miserable and tired that you would just crash in his arms. “Come here..” He said, opening his arms for you to fall into. You quickly leaned your whole body against him, leaning into his arms.

“Thank you,”

[malikselfindulgence]

RED SON X READER BLURB ☆ 1K WORDS

Description: How Red Son tends to show his love to his partner :3

Content: RED SON REFERRED TO WITH HE/SHE/THEY PRONOUNS! I personally see her as genderfluid but any hc is cool. Reader is gender neutral

Fic under the cut!

Red Son doesn't really ever say "I love you" 

He might have whispered it once, but you were half-asleep in his lap and the warmth from his hands threading through your hair turned your brain to mush, so you could've been imagining it. Besides that, he's never said the dreaded L-word.

You're not sure why- perhaps an aversion to such disgustingly vulnerable words in general, or his parents hammering lesson after lesson of how displaying emotions so openly is weak. Or maybe it's a lot simpler than that, and the thought had simply never crossed his mind.

Red Son does love you, though. You know this, and they know it too. They tell you they "tolerate your company" and that you're "just adequate enough to be in their presence"- both code words for I like being with you. 

Red Son's love is his driving force- it builds up in his chest and overflows out of him, despite his insistence that his heart is black and cold.

For her family, it's countless nights spent in her lab, working on their next plan to overtake the world, it's trying to live up to her father's legacy, not allowing a single smidge of dishonour to smight her family's name, it's continuing to live in the demon bull fortress, despite the fact that she's over 400 years old now and old enough to live in her own house. 

For his friends, it's reminding them of their self worth when needed- however brash and blunt he may be, it's watching Mei's streams as he works, leaving small comments to show her he's listening, it's helping MK fix up his dreadful noodle-cart while begging him to put it out of its misery and purchase a new one already.

For you, however, it's a bit of a mix of these.

For the first few months of your relationship, it was a lot of trial and error. There was a cultural gap between you and Red Son, demon courting being completely foreign [and frankly concerning] to you. And even if there wasn't, Red Son had no relationship experience. They were still reeling from having friends now, never mind a romantic partner.

Red Son would try to read up on mortal's courting customs [or "dating", as he's come to learn], he'd sit through those crappy rom-com movies and shudder each time they did something over the top, he'd even thought about asking Mei for help, which was just wholly embarrassing, and he totally didn't try to subtly do so only for her to call him out on it and laugh immediately.

It started out with a lot of choppy romantic gestures that just weren't….Red Son, despite how hard he tried to enjoy them, and after a long conversation [or two, or three-], you two eventually found your rhythm, one you both enjoyed and found comfort in.

Red Son built you things- trinkets and machines and the like. If you mention off-handedly that you'd been wanting this thing for ages but just never had the money or time, you best believe they'll be showing up on your doorstep the following morning with a box hidden behind their back. They also fixed things for you- your fridge, your washing machine, your kettle. They grumble the whole time about how out-dated and rusty and repulsive your tech is, but they've never once turned down your requests. They've even offered to upgrade your TV a few times, but you're just too attached to the old thing.

Red Son spends a lot of time with you, even if you two aren't actively engaging in conversation. You'd sit across from each other, or in each other's laps, doing your own separate thing, just in each other's company. Every once in a while you pipe up with a random thought or question, and he shares his own as well before you two fall back into comfortable silence. You like watching him work with his hands, and he likes seeing how passionate you get over your hobbies. He shares parts of his life with you and you do so as well in turn.

Red Son's also shockingly touchy with you. She's not one for grand acts of physical affection- picking you up in public and hand-feeding you syrupy fruits and whatnot, but she will loop her pinky finger around yours when you walk, she'll kiss your forehead just before you head to bed, hug you from behind when she's freshly awake and still sleepily dazed, and once she gathers up the courage to do so, kiss you when her feelings rush through her body and send her hurtling towards you. She always has to be touching you in some way or another.

Most importantly, Red Son tries for you, and for themselves. They still mess up sometimes, they still get scared and terrified and defensive, they're still figuring themselves out, but they try for you. Red Son'll try out a new food just because it's your favorite, or will dabble in new music genres for your sake. Even more than that- Red Son tries to be more open, they try to talk about things they've never spoken aloud before, they try to listen to you- they start taking breaks more often, and eating better, and their self confidence rings a little truer and a little less fake each day. It's more than you could ever ask for. 

So, no, Red Son doesn't really say "I love you", but you don't mind. You hear it in the shared space between the both of you, in the mugs of your favorite drink freshly brewed and handed to you when you're stressed, in the angry notes scolding you for not resting properly, in the brush of his hand against yours. You hear it loud and clear, and you whisper your response into his hair every morning, every evening, every night,

 "I love you, too." 

[sewermageboy]

obligatory "i love gale, I promise i'm not shitting on gale" comment before I start, but:

I feel like with a lot of the "he was groomed" narrative for Gale, people assume it's a given that Mystra came to him when he was a child, right? He says that she was his teacher, his muse, and then his lover, so I can see why people think that she must have been with him since he was a child.

But (I've been going down a Forgotten Realms lore rabbit hole, and found that) Mystra was killed around a hundred years before BG3, and only returned to life in 1479 DR, around 13 years before the events of the game. So unless we're saying that Gale is 30 years old (and in my mind he's more like 35-45), he would have been an adult by the time they met, even assuming that she immediately reached out to him after returning to the Forgotten Realms.

So why is the "groomed from childhood" narrative so prevalent? I think most people (rightfully) have better things to do with their time than reading about the fckn Spellplague on the Forgotten Realms wiki, but apart from that.

I think, especially with how many people (on tiktok especially, as far as I've seen) seem to hate Gale for being "too pushy" or whatever bc of the romance bug, there's an inherent instinct for Gale enjoyers to justify their liking of this character, by explaining away his flaws and his idiosyncrasies by saying "he is the way he is because he was groomed by the goddess of magic", and therefore his flaws aren't his own fault/don't matter, whatever.

It really bothers me when people explain away his flaws like that. He's braggadocious, yes, and he's arrogant, and he's filled to the brim with hubris. Does he have his reasons for that? Yes, of course! But that doesn't mean that his flaws are any less present, and just as much of a part of him as all the good parts. It bothers me when people do this with any of the characters tbh, like saying that all of Astarion's shitty behavior is due to his trauma at the hands of Cazador (which much of it is! But he's also just kinda a shitty person, and that's okay!!)

Like, if we look at Forgotten Realms lore, and say that Gale is around 40, Mystra would have approached him as a young man in his 20s - and honestly, that version of events is still just as fucked up to me as "he was groomed". Here you have this brilliant wizard, who lives for magic and manipulating the weave, and the goddess of magic herself begins to mentor him, teach him, inspire him, and eventually becomes his lover, too. Then, after she keeps showing him magic that will forever be beyond his reach, telling him to be content with his lot, he goes too far - and is discarded in the process, left alone to deal with the Orb in his chest despite Mystra being able to heal him instantly if she wished. And not only does he have to deal with a bad breakup and a nuclear bomb in his chest, no, he's also never able to truly be free of her, as long as he wishes to still do magic - something that is basically second nature to him, and that he could never give up.

I've also seen people conflate his Early Access story (Mystra discarding him first and for no reason, and him ending up with the Orb in his chest as a result of trying to win her back) with his full release one (Him trying to prove to Mystra he was worthy of being shown magic beyond any other mortals, ending up with the Orb, and Mystra discarding him as a result of that), and I feel like that comes from the same place as the insistence on him being groomed - trying to justify his behavior and sanitize him as much as possible.

I understand the instinct to defend Gale from people who shit on him needlessly bc of the romance bug or whatever, I really do. I adore Gale, and I think he's one of the most fascinating characters in the game! But I also think it's a disservice to him to not acknowledge the negative parts of him, or to explain them away as being caused by trauma he might have gone through.

The shitty parts, the ones you can really sink your teeth into, are what make most of the companions so interesting to me!!! And Gale's arrogance, his clumsiness when he flirts and how quick he is to fall in love, his hubris and his anger are all part of that!!

Edit: just wanted to clarify that I have no issue with the interpretation that Gale was groomed by Mystra from a young age in and of itself!

As @galedekarios rightfully pointed out, Larian often plays fast and loose with the timeline, so Mystra's death and her return to the forgotten realms only factor in so much. There's ample evidence in the game for the grooming interpretation, and it's also super fascinating to me, I just don't like that a lot of the discussion of Gale's character seems to boil down to: "but he was groomed, so it doesn't matter", or that many people seem to view it as the only valid interpretation of his character.

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

I'm still thinking about banner bearers as I continue working on my Obscure Blorbo Guthláf story, and I do find it impressive how much context about the banner bearer role Tolkien shoved into LOTR in barely half a dozen sentences' worth of small references.

For starters, there are (by my count) 3 acknowledged banner bearers in Lord of the Rings: Halbarad of the rangers of the North, Guthláf of Rohan (♥️), and an unnamed Haradrim standard bearer. I reject the distinction Tolkien made between so-called high, middle and low Men, but it is notable nonetheless that he created a banner bearer character from each of these 3 groups. That shows how universally important the function was, at least to communities of Men, just as it was extremely common in the real world for many hundreds of years of human history. All kinds of Middle Earth's Men have them, no matter how different the Men are from one another.

In addition, all 3 of the banner bearer characters die at the Pelennor Fields, which effectively illustrates how incredibly dangerous a job it was, both in Middle Earth and real life. Given how intentional Tolkien is about everything, I think it's fair to assume that he purposefully killed all of them in recognition of the realities of ancient warfare. (The only banner bearer I can think of in any Tolkien book that survives their war is Eönwë in the Silmarillion, but he's an immortal Maia so...TOTALLY different circumstances.)

And finally, Tolkien shows us how significant the loss of a banner bearer was to both sides in a battle. When Théoden kills the unnamed Haradrim standard bearer (just before the Witch King rolls up), that's the moment when the forces of Harad founder and start to flee because they've lost their rallying point and their source of morale. They can't function without their banner bearer. On the opposite side, Théoden cites his felling of the black serpent flag to Merry as one of the singular achievements that will allow him to sit proudly alongside his ancestors in the afterlife, so he clearly also understands taking out a banner bearer to be a massive battle achievement.

We don't witness Halbarad or Guthláf’s final moments, but their deaths are just as significant. Out of the untold numbers of dead at the Pelennor Fields, they are both in the small handful of names to be recorded in the story because they were important and their deaths meant something to the broader battle. And we see in the immediate aftermath of Guthláf’s death what a huge deal it is to the Rohirrim—they stop to address his death and retrieve his banner so that it can be borne by another before they even take the time to tend to their mortally wounded king. Those are the actions of people who understand how strategically important a banner bearer is above almost all other battlefield functions.

I'm not trying to say Guthláf is more important than Théoden* but I am saying that Tolkien really demonstrated, through a handful of very economical little actions and asides and unremarked-upon events, how critical people like Guthláf were, as well as how ridiculously brave and selfless. And more than anything else, I guess I’m saying that now, as I approach 27,000 words about Guthláf in my Google docs, he’s…on my mind a lot.

*At this point, I would absolutely say this for myself. In my heart, there's no contest and it's Guthláf forever. But I know that’s because he’s my special li’l guy and I don’t expect that of anyone else!

[bless-my-demons]

Redamancy: Chapter Fourteen

Series Summary: What happens when your soulmate is a vampire that struggles to maintain a diet of trying not to kill you? Common sense says run for the hills, nothing is worth your life - but my heart is whispering why not, what’s there to lose?

Warnings: None… but the angst train has left the station

Notes: If you’re one of the sweet angels that left a comment on the taglist form, it makes my heart so happy - thank you! Please forgive me for the end of this chapter

Word Count: 1860

Series Masterlist

Reader

My entire summer was spent with the Cullens. Surprisingly enough, my mother didn’t protest it one bit, something about finally making friends. I was mostly monopolized by Jasper, but Alice had her fair share of stealing me away for girl’s nights with Esme and Rosalie.

Rosalie, talk about a tough nut to crack. I think at this point I’ve finally crested the mountain of hatred she feels towards her brothers’ “mortal liabilities” and I’m solidly in tolerable territory. She doesn’t outwardly mention her distaste anymore or avoid me like the plague, which I consider a definite win. I think Emmett is partially what wore her down besides Jasper’s lack of give a damn towards his sister’s opinions.

Befriending Alice has been as easy as breathing, she’s always there and might as well have Edward’s supernatural power of mind reading. I can tell her life has been lonely in the way she attaches herself to Bella and I, Rose isn’t the most social female and Esme is more of a mother figure than best friend. I’m grateful for her nonetheless, I’m not exactly flooded with friends myself - nor is whatever this thing is with Jasper an appropriate topic of conversation for anyone outside of this immediate circle.

Emmett has managed to become the older brother I wish I had and he takes that role incredibly serious for someone that’s always the comedic relief. Over the course of the last couple of months, I’ve figured out that he’s a big hugger, and a very good one at that. I’ve also noticed that he’s become my rock in a way - never backing down from a challenge, always hyping me up, and never passing judgement.

I still haven’t cracked the code for Edward. He’s quiet and shut off from the rest, not one for casual conversation or wasting time. And when he isn’t with Bella - well that’s wasting time in the worst way. Majority of our interactions are spent in comfortable silence, Jasper tells me it’s because I’m like a magnet in the way that my energy is calmer than most.

I like to think Jasper and I don’t make his family quite as nauseous as Edward and Bella do, but I know we have our moments… like his sisters insisting we sit apart for movie night because he most definitely cannot keep his hands to himself. The smug grin he had on his face along with his hands raised in surrender as his sisters berated him still makes me blush, damn him and his stupidly attractive smirk.

All summer long I’ve been waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to realize that I’m human and he’s immortal, that I’m nothing in the grand scheme that is his life. It’s partially my fault for chickening out every time the topic of us rolls around, but my anxiety tends to get the better of me. God he is a patient man though, never pushing me and always in-tune to my feelings.

I’m absolutely head over heels for him but I can’t quite force those three little words of I love you past my lips. The confession simultaneously on the tip of my tongue and clogging up my throat.

Although he would disagree heavily, Jasper Hale is not a hard man to fall in love with. He struggles with his control from time to time, but when it comes to me - I can tell he’s different. He’s quiet in a way that’s patient and at-ease, instead of the closed-off way he was initially. His smile is softer around the edges, less forced than when he was trying for the sake of his adopted mother. His touch is instinct now, no longer robotic or unsure, but softer. He’s quicker to laugh, quicker to whisper sweet-nothings in my ear that make my cheeks hurt from smiling, quicker to reach for my hand when he needs an anchor.

I’ve never been more grateful for a split second of clumsiness on my first day at a new school.

• September 13th, 2005 • Forks HS •

Jasper

“A birthday party at your house?” Y/n asks, walking beside me before first period.

“Yes darlin’, I’m afraid my sister requires your attendance.” I continue to lead Y/n down the emptying hallway with a gentle hand on her back.

“I suppose I can spare you her wrath, but only if you pick me up tonight.” She glances up at me with a mischievous smile.

“Speak of the devil…” I mutter quietly while taking a deep breath, bracing myself for the quick footsteps approaching.

“I heard that!” Alice smacks the arm not around my girl. “I need your help.”

“Help with what?” Y/n asks quietly with a wrinkle in her beautiful brow, but I shake my head already knowing what my sister needs.

As Y/n and I stop at the bottom of the stairs, Edward and Isabella approach our small group as Alice vaults over the stair railing and skips forward in excitement, a neatly wrapped gift in her hands.

“Bella! Happy-”

“Shhh!” Bella stops her, the panic and embarrassment flooding from her almost drawing a laugh from me.

“-Birthday.” She finishes, quieter this time.

Bella flashes an exasperated look over Alice’s shoulder and I respond with a calming nod.

“Alice, didn’t I say no gifts?”

“You did, I didn’t.” My sister smarts back. “I’ve already seen you open it and guess what? You love it!”

Bella scoffs exasperated, but Alice interrupts her before she can object.

“You’re going to wear it tonight, our place.” At Bella’s hesitation she adds, “C’mon, please? It’ll be fun!”

Taking my que, I pull away her hesitation and replace it with a touch of acquiescence, gently in an effort to be inconspicuous.

“Okay, alright.” Powerless to my emotional regulation.

I notice a smile quirk the corner of Edward’s mouth, my brother exuding amusement - humored by our efforts to persuade his girlfriend.

A squeal of happiness leaks from my sister, “Great! I’ll see you at seven!” Spinning in our direction to make a quick getaway, we’re stopped by Bella.

“Jasper! No fair with the mood control thing.”

“Sorry Bella, Happy-“ but I let the sentiment die on my tongue at her exasperated look. “Never mind.”

Pushing my girl and gripping Alice by the elbow, I usher them away and towards class. I may be immortal, but a smart man knows when to let the women in his life win.

• September 13th, 2005 • Cullen Residence •

Reader

Waiting upstairs per Alice’s request to keep Bella company while she finished the final touches on decorations, roping my… Jasper into helping. Wondering over to where Edward and Bella are discussing a painting, I squint at who it contains.

“Is that, Carlisle?” Bella points out.

“Yeah, he lived with them for a few decades. He described them as refined, no respect for humans of course, but respect for the arts and the sciences at least.” He pauses, glancing between us before returning his eyes to the painting. “And the law, above all, the law.”

A shiver runs down my spine at the eerie way he explains the ancient vampires.

“Vampires have laws?” Bella’s tone takes on a rhetorical tone, but Edward answers nonetheless.

“Not very many. And only one that’s regularly enforced.”

“What is it?” The question comes from both of us this time.

“That we keep the existence of our kind a secret. We don’t make spectacles of ourselves. And we don’t kill conspicuously.” A sliver of panic runs through me as Jasper’s past flashes through my mind. “Unless of course you want to die.”

“You gotta stop talking about that. I can’t even think of someone hurting you.” Bella quietly and assertively tells him.

“Bella, the only thing that can hurt me is you.” As Edward turns to her, I gravitate towards the door to give them privacy. “I don’t have anything else to be afraid of.”

“That’s not true.”

“Victoria,” My mind immediately flashes back to the ballet studio, “She’ll come for me one day, Alice will see when she decides and we’ll be ready.”

Why had I not thought of that? Of course she’d come for us, the Cullens killed James because of us.

“I can protect you, if you change me.”

I try to contain my gasp, trying not to be obvious that I overheard her request. Her request to be changed.

“It’s time! It’s time, it's time, it's time!” Alice bounds into the room and I slip down the stairs before she can tug Bella away from Edward.

Jasper with eyebrows furrowed smooths a hand across my jaw to cradle my head as I step into his arms, sensing my clashing emotions. Alice interrupts him before he could ask why by bounding down the stairs and joining us.

I spin around to lean my back against Jasper as Edward leads Bella down to the living room, Carlisle and Esme are the first to greet them.

“Sorry about all this, we tried to reign Alice in.” Carlisle jokingly apologizes.

“Like that’s even possible.” Bringing Bella in for a hug with a sweet smile, “Happy birthday, Bella.”

Jasper’s hands find my hips and squeeze, I can tell he won’t let earlier go so easily, he cares too much for that.

Alice blindsides Bella with a flash of a camera, “Found it in your bag, mind?” She asks after snapping a picture of her and Edward together.

Emmett slides past us with a mischievous glint in his expression, causing Jasper to groan as his brother slides up next to Edward.

Nudging him, “Dating an older woman, hot.” Emmett teases.

Edward elbows him right back sharply to shut him up and I wince at the force.

“What?” He tries to play it off with innocence, but we all know he’s rather full of shit and I crack a smile at his antics.

Rosalie chooses then to rip the bandaid off and give Bella the first present of the evening, a small silver package. “A necklace. Alice picked it out.” Short and to the point, she steps away to rejoin Emmett causing Bella to smile.

Meeting our eyes across the room, she waves a greeting to Jasper that he returns silently.

Alice grabs a medium-sized present with a bow, “This one’s from Emmett.”

Bella shakes the suspiciously empty box and I try to cover my laugh at the look of confusion on her face.

“Already installed it in your truck.” He’s vibrating like an excited puppy, “Finally a decent sound system for that piece of crap-”

“Hey, don’t hate the truck.”

“Open Esme and Carlisle’s!” Alice thrusts the envelope into her hands.

“Just something to brighten your day.” Carlisle tells her as Esme steps forward.

“You’ve been looking kind of pale lately.” Esme hints with a smile.

Struggling to open the envelope, she finally tears through the paper.

But it isn’t the only thing that tears.

The droplet of blood that drips down her finger halts the breath in my lungs and the world feels as though it’s standing still. That is, until a thin arm wraps around my waist and my vision blurs.

Next

Teaser

Taglist:

@aoi-targaryen

@min-jianhyung

@pbbsl

@timelordhunterandmysterysolver

@sheerangermany

@clearwater-hoe

@blackbluerose666

@ivy-plays

@random-human02

@delightfulbluebirdstarlight

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs

@gaymazinglula

@l3ejm

@angelfuzzy2

@losa12308

@thekinkpopstandsforkrackheads

@flyawayprincess

@ropickle

@catbusloki

@deviat3dsn0wf0x

@lovesanimals0000

@unrevived

@h-naec

@cutesnakemum

@zudooms

@itsmytimetoodream

[theredofoctober]

MANNA- CHAPTER SIX: SALT

Dark!Hannibal Lecter x Reader x Dark!Will Graham AU fic

TW for eating disorders, noncon, abuse, drugging, Daddy kink

This is chronologically the sixth chapter in the series (I'll be changing the titles to the chapter names included on ao3 soon)

---

Another day begins in the cenotaph of Dr Lecter's house. That he doesn’t immediately speak of your night in Will's bed seems intentional, a tactic to keep you on some treacherous edge.

Though you look askance at your abuser across the breakfast table, he speaks only of the day's work ahead of him, and that which he has put to you.

“I’d like you to read the book I left in your room,” he says, observing as you dice poached egg into cubes so thin as to be the crystals of a snowflake. “I see that you have not touched it yet. As part of your treatment, I intend you to follow a curriculum that will provoke healthy conversation and—I hope—reflection, afterwards.”

You spread a quantity of egg white to the furthest edges of your plate, hoping to create the impression of having eaten more than has, in fact, travelled your oesophagus.

“Dostoevsky,” you say, at length. “Isn’t he really depressing?”

Hannibal smirks, and reaches across to gently remove the fork from your plate.

“That is indeed a perspective of his catalogue, but not a conclusive summary. Fyodor’s life, like his work, was frequently besmirched with misfortune, and yet he proclaimed beauty and worship as his driving forces, endeavouring to appreciate both even at the direst junctions of his existence.”

Dr Lecter forks the clandestine shrivels of egg towards your lips, which remain in a steadfast line until you discern the quiet threat in his oaken eyes. While yolk waxes your inner mouth, your fists wrench your skirt, as though you might twist your captors throat through mortal telekinesis.

You think of cartilage closed beneath your fist, of gargled breaths, and quiet, and cringe from the knowing of what would truly come. Dr Lecter’s hand would make a paper crane of your wrist, or else his cock would tear you through you like God’s hand rending the rib of Adam to make Eve.

With you as his Eve, he means to make an Adam of Will, it seems.

You sit, and you eat, and feel the weight of it crawl up your belly on many legs, such vermin.

Presently, you ask, “Can’t I choose something else? A different novel? I’m not much of a reader anymore, and it’s pretty long.”

Truthfully, when you do attempt to read, it is often the same sentence over and over; your hunger has robbed this from you, also, a nosferatu in its thirst for thought.

“If you complete this volume and share your thoughts with me, then you may request a title,” says Hannibal, smoothly; perhaps he has prescribed this book for its preposterous length, as well as its content, an occupation for months to pass. “For now, I would like you to finish The Idiot. There is a character within that I suspect you will come to understand as well as yourself.”

You decide that you despise his pretension as much as his torments, the naked self-absorbtion that comes of filtering experience through such narrow tastes and opinions.

Still, you cannot challenge his word so soon after promising your obedience, and thus finish your breakfast without further word in order to excuse yourself from the table.

Alone in your locked room, you scream against your impotence, knowing well that there is no one to hear or help you. Hannibal has fortified this beautiful room as he might a trove of sapphires to inhibit your escape, and whatever neighbours he has keep their insular distance from it unless invited in.

If a passing stranger did glimpse you there, you doubt that they’d be moved to your release. You are but a poor mad girl, shut away to heal in the home of a doctor so esteemed. There is no word to be had against his, even that of the law, which he has cleverly declawed.

You pull a chair to the window to read, accepting, in sulking resignation, that there is nothing else to do but pace, or sleep, which you will not do, afraid to lose all sense of reality to repetitious acts. The book is as difficult as anticipated; tracing your finger across each page, you hope to anchor your thoughts to its complex and numerous appellations, shadowboxing the eternal fog of food that eclipses all things, even the rapes.

If you accept what has been done to you, and what has been taken, then you must accept the abyss that is to be a slave to circumstance. So, for the following days, you think only of the novel and the view beyond your room, in which the trees weep browning leaves like the blood of a decaying God.

You see little of Hannibal, which you are glad of. His work runs long into the evenings, and the brief visits he makes to your room are merely to ascertain that you’ve eaten. The meals remain small, suggesting a caution in Dr Lecter not to overextend the limits of your disease.

You elect not to tell him how your heart palpitates each time you touch morsel to tongue, how desperately you cram mouthfuls past your teeth, swallowing before you can stop yourself, standing, petrified of your base weakness, which you’ve less and less ability to resist.

There is no secondary option to upturn its pale belly to your taking, nothing but the damnation of the men that rewrite your purpose as love letters to one another, or poison pen notes, one and the same.

Friends, enemies, paramours, or rivals— what they are, if not one or all of the four you cannot interpret.

When Hannibal comes to you on the morning he claims to be Saturday with news of Will Graham’s imminent arrival you are almost pleased, the chance to observe these monsters in repose a thrilling distraction from your sequestered numbness.

“I apologise for my neglect,” says Hannibal, glimpsing something of this eagerness in your expression. “My clients have proved themselves to be uniquely demanding, recently. I hope not to face similar struggles in my home.”

You are, at this time, in the parlour, looking about you for where to pour away the hot chocolate that Dr Lecter has placed into your shaking hands for you to finish. The mug is charmingly presented, towering in whipped cream and shaken cocoa, its contents thick and sweet as Ethylene; you feel you might equally die from it.

Hannibal says your name, and you jump, slopping a little of your drink over the rim.

“How do you feel about Will joining us this afternoon?” asks your captor.

Shrugging, you rub at the spilled chocolate with the cuff of your sleeve, aware of Dr Lecter’s eyes locking to the stain on your dress. He cannot abide mess, or disorder, another quality he accepts in Will, who is not nearly so put together as his companion, even at his best dressed.

“I hate Will,” you say. “That's all I feel.”

“Then why did you choose to share a bed with him?” asks Hannibal.

He knows, then, and likely set this trap on purpose.

“I had a nightmare,” you say. “I needed someone. I still felt... weird. From the meds. I guess it made sense to me, then.”

Hannibal appraises you with interest.

“You could have come to me.”

You cannot restrain your rictus of disgust.

“No way. You brought me here. You brought Will to me. Told him what to do. What he did... it was you, doing it through him.”

“Certainly not,” says Hannibal, smoothly. “I am the dowsing rod that comes upon water underground. Will’s potential, and taste for violence was already there. Still, there are other yearnings to be mined from that plentiful well. You know this: it is why you went to him for comfort. There is a father in Will Graham, craving to give love to a child.”

Again, you grimace, and Dr Lecter releases a sound of soft amusement

“And why that look? Because of the intercourse? Not one of the three of us shares blood with any other. Although it was known amongst some ancient kings to wed their daughters.”

You set down your mug with a punctuating clink.

“You’re not kings.”

“If only we were,” says Hannibal, cheerfully. “What palaces we would have built for us. Ah, well. In my mind, at least, they exist.”

He picks up your mug and places it back into your hands.

“Drink your chocolate. If you finish half of it, I will take it away.”

At this, you brighten.

“Really?”

“Of course,” says Hannibal. “As long as you eat some of the cream.”

He loiters until you are finished, never seeming to lose his fascination with your person.

“A valiant attempt," he says. "Now, let’s get you out of that dirty dress. Wouldn’t want Will thinking I’m not taking good care of you.”

You make as if to go to your room, but Hannibal stands in your way, an immovable wall.

“Raise your arms for me, little one.”

“I can dress myself,” you insist, and wilt as Hannibal’s goodwill visibly wavers.

“Alright, doctor.”

After easing the dress up over your head Hannibal stands a moment, considering your nudity before him. One hand frisks you ribcage to breast, taking measure of your form, and you find yourself shifting from foot to foot, appalled by the coal of arousal that simple touch has spurred.

“So many pleasures could be yours,” says Dr Lecter, “if you would only embrace them.”

You look away, and allow your turned cheek to be your answer.

*

By the time Will enters the house, Hannibal has you drawing on a large sketchpad in an armchair— art therapy, you suppose, but you are no fool. Through it, he means to infantilise you further, making you all the more susceptible to the two of them in that, in all things, you are a child. Theirs.

You’ve been told to draw whatever your feelings dictate to you, but out of pettiness you scratch down caricatures of your tormentors, taking great satisfaction into making each look particularly mean and unattractive.

Will sits at one end of the living room couch, his full mouth in a cantankerous downturn. He doesn’t make even brief eye contact as he greets you; indeed, he pretends to the best of his ability that you are not there as he accepts a glass of wine from his host, a curt, plaid-shirt clad shoulder squared in your direction.

The night you spent in his bed embarrassed him, you realise, as though he were your hostage, and not the reverse.

Thus, he has chosen to hate you for it, and it is as you scar his pencilled image into a graphite scowl that you decide to goad him, in response.

Hannibal—coolly debonair in a pressed rust suit—looks at you throughout his conversation with Will, analysing each haughty exhale and flip of a page in their colourful feeling.

Each time Will speaks, you make a point to drop a pencil with a disturbing clatter, or else stare at the back of his head until he surely feels the pressure of your gaze. It is childish game, to be sure, but one that cannot easily be halted in the name of misbehaviour.

The young man twitches and stiffens with gratifying agitation, his squared jaw a lance of disgruntled solidity. Hannibal’s eyes bear the shine of withheld mirth, and you comprehend that although this man cannot abide rudeness, he is not above the lowbrow if it is in the name of vengeance.

It does strike you as odd, however, that he does not intervene on his ally’s behalf; this, too, you are darkly curious to understand, his passive participation in the prodding of a humming nest.

At last Will snaps your name, one fist brought down on the arm of his chair in a cushioned thump.

“If you want something from me, then you’d better say it out loud. It’s not as if you’re known for being shy about your feelings.”

“You know what I want,” you mutter, drawing your chin up under your knees. “But you’re too chicken to do anything he doesn’t want you to.”

This directed at Hannibal, who merely hums neutrally, and leans in at a subtle incline.

“You’re right: I’m not taking you home,” says Will. “You’ve barely been here a full week, and your collaboration with Dr Lecter is half-hearted, at best. Don’t expect freedom when you haven’t worked for it.”

“And don’t pretend to care about solving crimes when you’re here, committing them,” you retort. “You really put the fucking bullshit into the FBI.”

Will’s eyebrows rise in disbelief, his forehead a graph of harried lines.

“Careful,” he grinds out. “I ought to wash your mouth out with soap.”

Snorting, you pick the sketchbook back up and shake it open across your lap.

Your pulse is ringing with adrenaline, with the fear of where this brattish turn may lead, but with Hannibal silent and quietly interested in one corner, and Will stiff and seething in between, there is causality to your tantrum that you do not care to challenge.

“You wouldn’t,” you say. “You’re too scared to touch me without your friend holding your hand the whole time.”

Will becomes very still.

“That is a very dangerous assumption to make," he says, and suddenly you are almost blind with miserable fury.

It makes you quite reckless.

“So do it,” you say. “Wash my mouth out. Do it!”

“Time to prove that you’re a man of your word, Will,” says Hannibal, from the corner. “A parent that does not reinforce discipline holds no power.”

Will stands up quite abruptly, rolling up his shirt sleeves in terse motions.

“Alright.”

A darkness passes over his eyes, and you realise your mistake.

“Wait,” you say. “No. I didn’t mean it.”

You shriek as Will tries to take hold of you.

“Hold still,” he says. “I don’t want to break your arm. It’d be easy for me.”

He drags you into the downstairs bathroom, slamming on the cold faucet with a free arm and holding a cake of soap under its stream.

“No! No!”

You bring your legs up off the ground and lunge forwards, pitching your attacker into the washbasin.

He pivots you in his grip, one shuddering hand squeezing your collarbone. The other cracks your cheek with an impulsive force that steers you back against the sink, just as you threw him, all your righteous attitude let out of you like pulp from a gourd.

Will stares at his own hand in abjection, his eyes a harrowed eclipse.

His voice stutters, trembles.

“Oh, I— did I— I shouldn’t have— what am I doing?’

You fold to the floor and crawl away on three limbs like a dying animal, one hand clutched to your cheek. Hannibal emerges from where he has been observing from the doorway, gesturing soundlessly for you to return to the parlour. He doesn’t appear angry; rather, the feeling that inhabits his eyes is so unlike any other you’ve yet perceived that dread turns your innards out of you as surely as one of his knives.

You should run, you know, barricade yourself into an unlocked room to wait out the squall.

Yet something—a sense, an instinct—compels you to lurk in the hallway beyond the bathroom to eavesdrop on the conversation within.

“Will,” says Hannibal— through a crack in the door you see him caress the younger man’s quaking arm with the sensitivity of unbridled love. “You are distressed.”

Graham lifts his hand, still flushed red from the blow.

“I made a serious mistake,” he says. “Indefensible.”

“She was antagonising you,” says Dr Lecter, plainly. “You punished her. That is all.”

Will shakes his head, battling to articulate himself.

“No. No. I reacted. It was... inelegant.”

“I agree the soap was perhaps too literal,” says Hannibal, reaching across to turn off the faucet and set the soap bar straight in its dish. “It was a little gauche.”

“Gauche,” Will repeats. “Yeah. Sounds about right.”

He laughs shakily, relaxing under Hannibal’s consolation.

“A musician might be expected to produce many flawed pieces in his early career,” says Dr Lecter. “In this case, however, there is a fault in the instrument.”

Drying himself on a hand towel, Will appears pensive, unconvinced.

“And you think it can still be played, this instrument?”

“You have demonstrated it just now. While your first motion was unsophisticated, the second was a symphony. A bullet, a palm; each you have delivered to adversaries with the same instinctive force, and certain beauty.”

“I shouldn’t have hit her in the face,” Will insists. “Too dangerous. I could have deafened her. Given her concussion.”

“Then next time you must put her across your lap,” says Hannibal, smoothly. “That way there is no chance of serious injury.”

A charge conjoins the two of them like a lightning bolt, marrying the earth to the sky.

“Right,” says Will, at last. “So, what do I do with her now?”

You scuttle into the living from before either man realises you’ve been listening and throw yourself down on the couch, your body going into little spasms of terror at the many possibilities of what fate your ire has earned you.

Shortly after, Will passes through the door, inspecting your prone form with a fragile caution. He sits gingerly beside you on the couch and clears his throat.

“Well,” he says. “You wanted my attention. Now you’ve got it.”

You neglect to answer.

Sighing, Will takes hold of the quiet.

"You have a bone to pick with me today. Bigger than usual."

"I could say the same to you," you mutter, and Will's lips tighten into an unpleasant smile.

"You’re upset because I didn’t want to talk to you when I came in. I don’t know what you were expecting from me. When I found you in bed next to me the other night, I knew exactly what you were doing. Didn't Hannibal tell you about my acute empathy?”

Sitting up on both elbows, you shake your head.

"No. What does that even mean?"

"It means I know how insecure you're feeling,” says Will. “And what you think you'll achieve in breaking me down. But you won’t. I don't appreciate being used, One."

He spits the latter half of Dr Lecter's nickname for you as though it's rather beneath him to employ it, and this egotism alone reignites the desperation in you to best him, to raise yourself from the dirt-ground bottom of a pyramid of three points.

Ignoring your repulsion, and the throbbing welt of his handprint on your cheek, you struggle up onto Will's lap and kiss him, your fingers a bow at the nape of his neck.

For an instant he kisses you back, his cheeks in bloom, all gasping and piteous desire. Then he pushes you down onto the floor by the shoulders, his expression drawn, and severe.

"One," says Will. "No. You know the rules."

You stare into the sullen lakes of his eyes until they skitter aside.

"No," you say. "No, I don't, Will. Dr Lecter hasn't explained anything. First I'm a patient, then I'm your daughter, then I'm— I'm something you can just hurt? I don't understand what I am to you people, or what I'm supposed to do."

"You can start by not kissing me," says Will, and he wipes his lower face with one coarse hand as though drying himself of sudden rain.

"Why?” you ask, and the young man leers with distaste.

"You don't even want to. You're manipulating me. Trying to, at least."

"Like you've been doing to me? You want me here. Otherwise, you'd take me away.”

Your voice dries into in a plaintive croak. Your fingers clutch and cleave to him.

"Prove me wrong, Will. Take me to a real hospital. Please, Daddy, take me away from here."

You almost feel him waver, under the spell of your weakness, its call to him. Then he jerks his chin in stubborn resistance, twitching your hands from the fabric of his trousers.

"I'm not going to disrupt your treatment. I have to trust that Hannibal will get through to you. Can't help thinking he's wasting his time."

"Your rules don't make sense," you say, rudely changing the subject back to its previous line. "How come you get to touch me when I can't touch you?"

"Because you'll use it like a shovel to dig your way out of here," says Will. "Or to drive a wedge between me and Hannibal."

"What if I just want someone? I'm alone, here. I can't be alone. I can't cope."

You reach out to Will, forcing a passion for him that is not there. He feels your cold, and flinches back, the genuine emotion you'd felt extend towards you snapped like a pine needle under a hunter's boot.

"Don't do that," he says. "I won't be twisted around your little finger. If you want me on your side, then you can apologise for disrespecting me, and you can use your mouth to do it."

His meaning beats you in, a bruising horror.

"You don't mean that," you say. "Do you?"

Will smiles again, this time with a chilling irony.

"I think I do."

“Why?” you ask, again. “Because he told you it was a good idea?”

With slow purpose Will leans forward, wearing his darkness like a helm, a power, till now, unseen.

“Because you need to learn that I’m not the soft target you think I am. I feel for you, and I want to help you, but not nearly as much as Hannibal does. I lack his patience. The harder you push me, the further I’ll close against you, and the last thing you need is another locked door in this house. Do you hear what I’m saying to you?”

It is the threat of an echoing night, a decade forgotten underground, as in your dream.

“Yes,” you say, unsteadily, and you see Will warming to his role in a subtle tightening of his posture.

“Then you know what to do.”

You look at his trouser button, gleaming like the tusk of a boar charging unavoidably through some murky underbrush.

“Can we do... something else?” you ask, in a whisper.

“Why?” asks Will, sharply. “Afraid of the calories? Considering Dr Lecter’s been lenient with you today, I think you can afford the addition.”

The cruelty of this takes you aback; you cannot yet determine its cause.

“Why do you hate me, Will?” you ask. “I’m just some girl. You don’t even know me. I never hurt anyone on purpose before I got here. Why am I the bad guy to you?”

He says your name with a dangerous finality.

“You’re stalling. Look, I can walk away and leave your punishment to Hannibal, but I can’t guarantee that he won’t be harder on you than I am.”

“What would he do?” you mumble.

Will pauses, and you get the sense that he’s editing his answer.

“What he believes I’d like him to do.”

“Worse than this?”

You regret the question as Will unbuttons his pants and sits back, all moody arrogance.

“What do you think?”

You envisage yourself running from the room, throwing a screaming fit, or making your attempts at violence upon this delicate man, anything but set your mouth to task, as he desires.

But you have sensed the devil in Hannibal Lecter, have dreamt of it; its spectre is the hand on the back of your neck as you reach into Will’s open trousers and lure out his arousal in your grudging fist.

His girth rises from a thicket of curls, already straining against your touch, as it had been the night he watched Dr Lecter ravage you on the table top. Three strokes and Will is sucking his breath through his teeth, his hands scratching at the sofa, his eyes raised to the ceiling as your mouth closes over the head of his cock.

He grasps the back of your skull and coaxes you clumsily down upon his heated desperation, needing, thirsting, a street mutt brought in to eat.

The first taste of salt upon your tongue has you straining back against him; Will is right in that you fear the numeric value of his excitement, as though the very flavour of him alone might deconstruct your physical being like a wound in space, eating stars and worlds with similar appetite.

The young man is too strong for you; he keeps your mouth, your throat upon him until you give in, fearing he may snap your neck entirely by accident in his ferocity.

He says nothing, only breathes harshly above you, quite beautiful, still, an angel in his ecstasy, his sculpted features catching the soft light of the room, burnished to their most perfect state— you loathe him for that same symmetry, hate that you must hold his thighs in the bastard sibling of an embrace to steady yourself, or else fall upon his lap in bowed debasement.

The noise of the act—wet coughs and rasps, the rattle of saliva sieved through your teeth—takes on the rhythm of a waulking song, all repetition. Your eyes lose their vision to your tears, perceiving nothing but light, and Will’s gloomy outline above you.

His inhales shorten, a sawing in, in, in, of saccharine air, and both palms close upon your cheeks as his small hips rise, and your mouth is full of him, like the crest of some foaming wave.

You tumble back, and turn to spit just as Hannibal’s voice cuts through the room.

“Swallow it. Though my floor is clean, I suspect that it is not quite spotless enough to eat off, which you would have to, should you deposit what you have in your mouth there.”

You glance at Will, closing his trousers with a rather sheepish air about him; no help to you, little though you would have expected him to be. With a nauseous gulp, you drink down his liquor, made ashamed by your absence of valour, a coward to grovel so swiftly to command.

“How far you’ve come,” says Hannibal. “Both of you.”

Will meets your miserable look, and this time there is no guilt in his eyes.

“Is Jack Crawford still invited to dinner?” he enquires, quite casually, as though your tongue was not still thick with him.

Brows arched, Hannibal says, “He is. Why do you ask?”

They both look at you, their thoughts a chevron formation of psychic understanding.

Will says, “She’s not ready for that.”

You shrink away as Hannibal approaches, pressed against the foot of an armchair like a beaten courtier to some mad king.

“She will have to be,” says Dr Lecter. “For I insist on her attendance.”