#Devil’s spawn (2) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rosedforbes · 11 months ago

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made another drabble for my dearest @galvanizedfriend !! just like the other one, it's connected the Yokan's series THE WOLF on AO3!! this time, I'm bringing Kol + child!Eve to the table :)

DISCLAIMERS: Eve is NOT my character; English is NOT my first language; please, be nice 🙏

He misses being a witch with his whole being, would even trade a sibiling or two just to spend one single day with pure magic flowing through his veins again. However, he can't help but admit that being a vampire has its perks.

Most people only focus on immortality, conviced that the possibility of becoming as old as dirt really is the best part of being a vampire, but Kol has learned that it's more of a curse rather than a blessing, especially if you had to spend half of it closed in a dusty box. Some of them, the slightly smarter ones, believe that the strength and the speed are the real gifts of vampirism, alongside the over-developed hearing. It makes sense, Kol thinks, particularly for the ones who lived like a prey for all of their life, constantly devoured by the thought that their next breath might be the last.

But his personal favorite, the one that everyone seems to forget about, is the ability to get into someone's mind.

Truth is, it doesn't really work the way people expect it to, just looking in their eyes and – poof, I know that you think about your ex whenever you look at your new flame, Susan. No, it's a bit more complicated than that, but when you're as old as Kol, you learn a trick or two to make sure that even the strongest mind will fold at your touch.

Even though Kol is so fond of this little advantage, he never feels the need to use it with Caroline. Nobody does.

She is his favorite member of their twisty and cursed family — not that he will never admit it out loud, not to her, certainly not to Rebekah — but God, that girl could have a stake pointed at her big golden heart and she'd still be unable to lie. Caroline Forbes excels at so many things, but concealing her thoughts and feelings will never be one of them.

And that's why he's counting the minutes that will take her to walk inside his room and ask whatever the bloody hell she wants.

It was funny when he reached five minutes. A little less when he got to fifteen. Very annoying when he counted twenty. By the time the thirty hit, his patience was already five meters under the ground.

"Finally," Kol exclaims in relief as soon as she enters the room. "I was beginning to think that you'd forgot how a door works." he says, earning nothing but a dirty glare.

"Ha-ha, very funny," Caroline mocks, although he can see how she's trying to hide a little grin. "I need a favor."

Kol dramatically gasps, placing his hand on his chest. "You don't say! Color me impress-"

"Can you watch Eve?" Caroline cuts him out, not really feeling the need to listen to the rest of his mockery.

Kol stares at her for a minute, blinking repeatedly while moving his head a little to the side, like a confused puppy. "You waisted half an hour of your time just to ask me that?" He says, visibly impressed and annoyed.

Caroline huffs, fixing a loose curl behind her ear. "I'm sorry, it's just... I used to leave her at the camp with Mary, so she could go around and play with other kids all day and eat all the sweets she wants — even if they both deny it." She drawls around an eye-roll. "But since we got you all back, Eve has been reluctant to go there." She explains, looking at him with a mixture of exhaustion and...fondness.

Kol gives her a small, tight-lipped smile, with his eyes firm on his fidgeting hands.

He lied before. Caroline is on the podium, but she's not his number one of the family. No, that place has been taken by a little girl who made him realize that maybe Nik's mischievous grins, accompanied by a pair of dimples and witty eyes, are not so bad, after all.

Ever since they got back, his niece has been looking at him and at the rest of sibiling with a look full of curiosity and eagerness, like a kid who discovers that there are different types of chocolate and can't wait to taste them all.

The situation is still a bit unsteady and Kol is constantly busy doing something from dawn until dusk, but whenever he goes home to catch a moment and maybe grab a bag of B+, he always finds Eve with at least one of his siblings.

Of course, most of the time, it's Nik, and he really can't blame either of them. He would've never put his money on it, but Niklaus does make a great dad, although he knows most of the credits go to Caroline and Eve rather than his brother.

Still, if she's not with the brother with anger issues, then Eve is with the one with the commitment ones, making pancakes with more rainbow sprinkles than flour. They are good, and it always takes him a minute to debate if he should keep it to himself and not give Elijah his satisfaction, or if he should admit it to see a proud smile breaking through his niece's face.

If she's not making diabetes-azard-pancakes with that retired-looking-lawer, then Eve is with either Freya or Rebekah, playing with the light of the oldest's candles and giving opinions about some old fashion style with the youngest.

Kol knows what she's doing. She wants to compensate for the time they have lost together. It makes him joyful and bitter at the same time.

he snaps back to reality when Caroline starts to talk again. "Klaus and I have to go meet Bonnie to talk about some of the spells of the house, while Freya, Elijah and Rebekah are going on a journey to see another witch who thinks can find a way to make us immune to Marcel's venom." She rambles. "And besides, you two hadn't been together for a while. She misses you."

Kol feels a pang through his chest, looking at Caroline with guilty eyes. "I'm... sorry. I've never meant to make her feel ignored or disengaged, I had so many-"

"Kol," she says softly, showing him a comforting smile. "I know — Eve knows. I'm not blaming you, I just thought this would be an opportunity for you to both take a break and spend some time with her."

"I..." Kol gulps, trying to recollect himself. "Of course. You don't even have to ask, Caroline. You know I'd never say no."

Caroline sighs contently as she gently squeezes his hands as a form of gratitude. "Thank you, Kol."

──────

"You're thinking about it too much, Spawn. You're so focused on the words that you forget to actually put energy into it." Kol explains to her, looking down at the two leather cords.

How did he end up in this situation?

"Come on, Unc' Kol!" Eve whines. "You always say that your knowledge about magic is so vast that it would take you five lifetimes to write it all down!"

Kol keeps pretending to read the newspaper, a tactic that he had to muster to protect himself from his niece's puppy eyes. He has seen tons of them during his life, either on the face of his victims a moment before their last breath, or when his lovers tried to convince him to take their relationship to another level, deluded by the thought that they could change him, fix him. Ironically, both situations ended with Kol walking away from a corpse with a full stomach.

With Eve, though... He always finds himself incapable of not obliging. Kol really doesn't know how she does it. He's half convinced that Eve actually knows more magic than she lets them see, and she found a spell that helps her bewitch everyone with a single look.

"And I stand by that," Kol tells her. "But your parents are going to kill me if I teach you a new spell without their approval and supervision." He points out, and really, he can hardly recognize himself. He was never one to follow the rules — actually, more the reason why they were created, due to his wild and chaotic spirit. But now... He spent centuries trapped in a box, and so the last five years. He has no intention of going back in a coffin.

"Well, good thing you're immortal, then!" the little devil says, giving him a large, not-so-innocent smile.

Kol lowers the newspaper enough to show Eve his scowl. "You are hilarious, Spawn."

she huffs in defeat. "Please, Unc' Kol," she says in a sad voice, looking at him with those puppy eyes he tried so hard to avoid. "Just one?" She repeatedly flaps her eyelashes at him, just to give him the final blow.

Kol drums his fingers on the table near him for about a minute before sighting in resignation. "Fine, you win!"

Eve's anger brings him back to the present. "it's not my fault! These cords are broken!" she takes the latters in her firsts. "I told you we should've gone with the resurrection spell." She grumbles, giving him a pout.

Kol replies with an arched eyebrow, not falling for the cute scowl like he did for the puppy eyes. "And I told you I'm not teaching you any of that stuff until you're at least sixteen." he replies while taking the cords from her hands. "Besides, how do you think you will succeed doing a spell as complicated as the resurrection one, when you're having troubles with the basics?" He says to provoke her.

Usually, Eve is the type of person to always pick up a dare. Just like her mother, whenever someone tells her she can't do something, she will do everything in her power to prove them wrong. Most of them use this little trait of her for their own advantage — such as daring her to eat all the vegetables in less than fifteen minutes, for instance.

This time, though... Kol expected to receive a glare from Eve, followed by a performance of her rolling up her sleeves and getting ready to try again the spell; instead, she stares at him for a few seconds before looking down at the cords, her eyes brimes with tears.

Kol has been walking on this earth for longer than a millennium, but he never felt as much guilt as right now. "Sweetheart, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to sound harsh..." He coos as he covers her tiny face with his hands.

Eve sniffs while trying to take down a sob. "It's not fair! I'm trying so hard, Unc' Kol, I swear," she wispers the last words, and Kol is sure he heard his heart breaking. "But it doesn't matter how hard I try, I can't get it right! Is something wrong with me?" she asks with such a sadness in her tone that hits him worse than a white oak dagger.

"Spawn, there is nothing wrong you." He coos as he washes off a stained tear on her cheek. "Despite your uniqueness, you are still a young witch. I have met witches from all over the world, during different stages of their life, and trust me when I say that most of those of your age have troubles lighting up a candle. A linking spell is already hard for a seventeen years old witch, let alone for one who's seven."

Eve gently pulls away from him, rubbing her hands on her face to wash away the remaining of her breakdown. "Seven and a half." She mumbles, and Kol can't help but let out a low chuckle.

"Listen... let's take a break, mhm?" Kol says as he stands up. "We will get you a piece of cake, and then we will come back to chords. Deal?" He asks, giving her a little grin.

Eve is about to say yes, but she suddenly has a change of heart, narrowing her adorable eyes at him. "I want half a cake."

"You'll get diabetes, darling."

"Aunt Freya can cure me."

"It doesn't work like that."

"Fine. Then we'll call Aunt Bonnie, too."

"Won't make any difference."

"You just made me cry!" she protests, giving him a daring look. come on, she's saying, try to say no again.

Kol lets out an exhausted sigh. "Three pieces of cake. Take it or leave it."

His exasperation must be showing on his face, because Eve gives him a sympathetic little smile before nodding. "Deal."

He picks her up with the same ease he would use to lift up a feather, before walking in the kitchen while thinking about a way to blame on Freya — or Elijah, but that's plan B — the missing third of the cake.

──────

Kol felt something tugging down at his jacket just as he hunged up with Caroline. As soon as he turns around, he's welcomed by a very proud smile on Eve's face, accompanied by her little hands holding up a knot. "I did it! " she almost screams with excitement as she goes on her tiptoes to show him better her achievement. "I made the linking spell!"

Looking down at the jumpy young girl in front of him, so proud of herself and eager to see his reaction... it does some little tricks to his wicked heart. It's something completely new, Kol doesn't even know how to call it, or if there's even a name to such emotion. This thing inside his chest... it feels quite like pride, but it's not it. Kol knows that feeling all too well, maybe for the wrong reasons, but nonetheless, he's very familiar with it. This is something more. A mix of emotions that he has never felt since he turned into the beast he is today, more than a millennium ago.

He crunches down to Eve's eye level, giving her a knowing grin. "See? I told you, Spawn, you just needed to let it go. Feel the magic running through your veins, surrounding your body every single day." he tells her with a tone that is supposed to be comforting and soft, but judging from Eve's change of expression, he can tell she felt the bit of melancholy that accidentally slipped in.

"Unc' Kol..." She begins while looking down at the strong, knotted cords on her hands, as if she can't bear to look him directly in the eyes. "Do you think I'll lose it? The magic, the connection we have." She wispers the last sentence, almost like she's scared to jinx it.

"Of course not, Eve. Why would you?" Kol asks as he gently takes the tie from her grasp, an attempt to regain her attention back to his face.

"Mom lost it when she became a vampire. You did, too." she says as she switches her look back to him. "Will I lose it too, when I'll turn?"

That unknown, but not unwelcome, feeling he had before is suddenly replaced by something uglier, a storm of emotions he knows to heart, even though he has never shown it on the outside. Confusion, concern, panic, sadness. All of them are roaming free through all his body like it's a damn highway. Eve was talking about a deadly disease like it's just a band-aid a few seconds ago, giving it for granted. How did they come to this? how did she?

For the first time in his life, Kol finds himself at loss for words. Eve is seven, for God's sake. She's not supposed to think about this stuff. Hell, she's not even supposed to know. Despite his childish nature, Kol is not familiar with kids, but he's sure they're supposed to play with crayons and beg for candies before bedtime instead of worrying about the day they will die.

Eve, a child after her mother's heart, can't handle the silence very well, so she decides to take word after watching Kol's failed attempts to say something — anything. "I know what I am, Unc' Kol. I'm a tribid, which means I'm part witch, part werewolf, and part vampire. Now I'm just a witch, but eventually, I'll turn into the other two, too. I am fine with that — it's not like i can change what i am — I just... I don't want to lose this," she says as she lights up a candle near them with a flick of her fingers. "In the process." She concludes, looking at him like she's expecting something. Comfort, reassurance. A bunch of pretty, soft words that will put at rest her big heart.

It's not like Kol doesn't want to send away these demons that are roaming inside her thoughts, on the contrary. He just... refuse to lie to his niece.

Eve is the very definition of loophole. A child born from an original hybrid and a former witch who managed to cure herself and her mother while she was still in the womb. It's thanks to her if Caroline is still here with them, if those furries in flannels have the powers of a hybrid without the need to put an end to their pathetic life. You would expect that, with this background, she can survive everything. Always victorious, with zero defeats in her path. But the wicked truth is... nobody knows.

Eve has always been full of surprises, and Kol doubts she'll ever stop to leave them impressed, but that also means that they don't know how to protect her. Does she have a weak spot? All of the power she has, will it destroy her? do they have to keep living like this, in the shadows, to keep her safe?

He wants to cradle her between his arms, kissing her forhead, and telling her that she doesn't have to worry about anything. that nothing will ever be able to hurt her. that her magic will always be a constant. But he can't. Because he knows, deep down, that turning into a tribid — killing to be a werewolf, dying to be a vampire — is a matter of when, not of if. and the worst part is... a side of him is relived at the thought that she will turn into something eternal, immortal. And Kol is disgusted by himself.

What kind of person finds comfort into thinking that the sweetest girl to ever exist will turn into a walking corpse?

Kol's head is pounding. This is too much. it's not his place to talk about it, not before Nik and Caroline.

"Don't tell your mother, but I know where she hides the Froot loops," Kol says, a pathetic way to slip out of this conversation. It's lame, he knows, but his mind was still too occupied to put at ease those dark thoughts. "And if you ask nicely, I might give you more than one bowl." he offers as a little and playful grin, which doesn't quite reach his eyes, appears on his face.

Eve is silent for a few minutes with an expression he can't decipher, no matter how hard he tries, before offering him an understanding smile. "Let's go, Unc' Kol." She says while taking his hand in hers.

He stands up and follows her to the kitchen, but his eyes are fixed on their jointed grip. Eve is actually holding three of his fingers, her little hands disappearing into his own. Kol wishes he could do the same with those worries that are festering Eve's mind. Just put them into his hand and make them... disappear.

#OKAY SO !!! “Spawn” is actually shorts for “Devil's Spawn” which is how some ppl refers to Eve #Kol does it in an affectionate way #it's 2 am rn i hope it will reach someone 🙏🙏#klaroline drabbles #klaroline fanfiction #klaroline #caroline forbes #klaus mikaelson #kol mikaelson #eve forbes mikaelson #the wolf universe #the wolf #the vampire diaries #the originals #drabbles

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killedbyfrank · 2 years ago

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New headcanon: Joy is really good at drawing circles, so good that she tried sacrificing Sadness to Satan to stop her from touching the memories 🤣

#spawn of the devil #I figured it out #inside out #inside out fandom #inside out 2 #inside out joy #inside out sadness #disney #pixar

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leviabeat · 3 months ago

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We've got a track list for God of Angels Trust

#track list #god of angels trust #volbeat #devils are awake #by a Monster's hand #acid rain #demonic depression #in the barn of the goat giving birth to satan's spawn in a dying world of doom #time will heal #better be fueled than tamed #at the end of the sirens #lonely fields #enlighten the disorder #by a monster's hand part 2

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lina-lovebug · 1 year ago

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I'd Fight The Devil

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, FINALE

Background: The future heir of Hell is on the way! Alastor has his doubts about being a good father and Lucifer is losing his mind.

_ _ _

(Y/N) Morningstar is due any day now!

That dreaded due date was getting closer and closer and honestly, Alastor didn't know how to handle it.

Of course, he was happy when he found out that his beloved was pregnant. From what he knew, sinners couldn't reproduce! But from a brief (while crying) explanation from Lucifer, (Y/N) is extremely fertile and this could continue happening or just be a one time thing.

Honestly, it broke Alastor seeing her miserable. Her swollen hoofs, going days without sleep because of their spawn kicking up a storm, and not to mention the crying. It didn't bother him that she became much needier, as he was happy to give her all the hoof rubs and cravings she desired.

Alastor felt bad because he hears her confide in Charlie, "honestly, I'm not sure I want to do this again. It feels like my body doesn't belong to me."

He's heard that some pregnant women feel that way, but the way her voice broke when she said it.

He'd never touch her again if she asked.

"Need anything, mon cher?" Alastor asked as she waddled to the bathroom.

"No, but thank you," She smiled. He had been so attentive and it made this pregnancy a bit more enjoyable.

(Y/N) hated herself. Not because she hated their child, no, but because she hated how she felt. She hated that she wasn't enjoying her pregnancy like so many other mothers, and hated how she felt like a prisoner in her own body.

But today: she'd be free.

"ALASTOR!"

A scream awoke the half asleep Radio Demon and he instantly appeared by her side, "what happened?! Are you okay?!"

"I think my water broke last nigh-ah! I'm having contractions!"

The baby was coming.

THE FUCKING BABY WAS COMING.

He instantly got them to the hospital, all while waking up the entire hotel. Vaggie shook Charlie awake, Husker threw a bottle at Angel Dust, and Niffty was frantically killing any bug she saw.

"MY BABY! WHERE'S MY LITTLE PUMPKIN?!"

Lucifer was panicking more than Alastor.

"Oh, my sweet pumpkin!" Lucifer ran to her side as she groaned at the contractions, her horns peaking in and out every time pain lashed through her body.

"Dad, it hurts."

"Where are the scrubs?! I need-!"

"Dad, isn't it the father who's supposed to get scrubs?" Charlie questioned nervously.

"But my baby needs me!"

"What I need is everyone to get the fuck out!" (Y/N) screamed, completely overwhelmed by all of it. Charlie dragged their dad out of the room, and Alastor stayed.

"I'm sorry," She began to cry, feeling horrible about yelling at him.

"You have nothing to apologize for, my sweet girl," His radio voice broke momentarily as he held her hand, "all this pain will be over and we can finally hold our child."

"I already feel like such a bad mom," She cried, "I'm supposed to love being pregnant, but I fucking hate it."

His heart ached for his sweet love. She was in constant pain but hated herself for it.

"I'd never lay another hand on you if it meant you'd never feel like this again," He confessed.

"I'll cut off anyone's hands who touch you."

She smiled at that, "I think. . .I think I'm done after this little one. Definitely need to find out if I can stop being so fertile."

But just as things were calming down, her hand tightened his, and another wave of contractions came. It continued like this for an hour, and with a few more pushes, their child was born.

And even though Lucifer tried breaking into the room, he kept away for a little while longer.

"It's a girl?" Alastor asked.

"Yes. Congratulations!"

"Oh, she's so precious," (Y/N) looked at their daughter, now resting in her arms. She had two small deer horns poking out of her soft head, a ruffle of red hair to go along with it.

"I will give you all the demon meat you desire," Alastor felt satisfied when he looked at his daughter, and felt a pang of happiness within him.

"I think I know what her name is, Alastor," she had been snooping around and found a name from his past, which would make her future husband all the more joyful.

"And what's that, my dear?"

"Manon," His smile faltered.

It was his mother's name.

He looked upon his daughter as she handed him over, her eyes opening to see the Radio Demon - her father.

"It's perfect," He smiled.

"Manon Morningstar."

When Alastor looked at her, all his doubts faded. He remembered how his mother doted on him, loving him and always being his number one supporter and just new that he would do the same for her.

"Can we come in?" Charlie asked carefully with Lucifer peaking in.

(Y/N) nodded and in came Vaggie, Charlie and Lucifer. Lucifer held two giant bouquets of roses, setting them on a table.

"Oh, she's adorable!" Charlie grinned.

"Would you like to hold her?" (Y/N) asked, and her sister happily accepted. The small demon wasn't fussy about being in her arms, just staring with curious eyes.

"Vaggie?"

Her eyes widened, "oh? Me? Uh, I mean, I don't know, I've never-"

"You'll be fine," before she could contest any further, Vaggie was holding Manon. Manon babbled at her, spit dribbling from her mouth as her hand reached up and pulled her hair.

"Okay! My turn!" Lucifer snatched his granddaughter away, staring at the baby with a happy-go-lucky smile.

"Oh you're so precious! I think you'll love duck's! In fact, it's your first toy," He squeaked a small rubber duck with wings in her face, and she began to cry.

"No, no, no, no! Please don't hate me! I love you!"

"I think mommy needs some rest, and Manon is hungry," Alastor scooped back his daughter, and Vaggie dragged Lucifer out as he cried over the fact that he is convinced his granddaughter hates him.

"She's perfect," (Y/N) sighed as she begun to feed upon her, and Alastor gave them both a kiss on their foreheads.

"You're perfect."

#alastor imagine #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel imagine

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streetlamp-amber · 10 months ago

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don’t leave

tommy shelby x fem!reader

word count: 4.2k | divider by @saradika | requests are open!

CW: domestic violence, typical peaky blinders violence, mentions of blood NOTES: takes place after season one. i might have gone a little ooc with tommy by the end #sorrynotsorry. i’m also thinking of making a part 2 to this. maybe. i don’t know.

“Oh, come on! I’m harmless!” You cried in defence as you watched two men tie your wrists then your ankles to the chair you were shoved in.

The last man of the trio observed you, taking a drag from his cigarette before throwing it on the floor. “You shot me. Twice.” He said, monotonously.

His piercing blue eyes were staring right at you and you felt your breath hitch in your throat at their intensity. You quickly recollected yourself, hoping he hadn’t noticed the little slip up in your facade.

He had.

“It was an honest mistake,” you shrugged your shoulders. “I thought you were someone else. Everyone knows not to shoot at Tommy Shelby.”

The two men who were occupied with tying you down stepped out of the room once they were done, leaving you alone with the most notorious gangster in Birmingham. You didn't really know where you were, probably one of the Peaky Blinders’ warehouses if you had to bet on it, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little scared. But, nothing could be worse than being with the man you were hiding from, so you found some solace in that thought.

“And who did you think I was?” Tommy asked you.

“No one important,” you brushed off, turning your head to the left to avoid his stare. Your eyes took in your surroundings, there wasn’t a lot of furniture here you noticed. Par for the chair you were tied to, there was what looked like a desk with another chair in the left corner. No machinery, no crates. The rest of the warehouse was completely empty.

“Eh!” Tommy called for your attention, snapping his fingers in your face. “You shot me twice, I think I deserve to know who you thought I was.”

You furrowed your eyebrows at him. “I didn’t shoot you twice, I shot at you twice. There’s a difference, I didn’t even hit you.”

“Small detail,” Tommy said. “Answer the fucking question.” His patience was beginning to wear thin, very thin.

You gulped. What was the point of avoiding the question? “My fiancé,” you finally answered.

“Your fiancé?” He repeated, trying to keep the confusion out of his tone. “Why would you shoot at your fiancé?”

“Because he’s a vile man that I don’t even want to marry,” you told him. If your wrists weren’t tied to the chair, you would’ve crossed your arms in front of your chest. “Can you untie me now? You know I’m not a threat to you.”

“Does he hit you? Is that why you’re running from him?” Tommy asked, ignoring your request.

“Amongst other things,” you mumbled, head hanging low so you could avoid his stare by keeping your eyes on your lap.

“’Amongst other things’,” he repeated your words to himself. “What does that mean? Is he a threat for the people of Small Heath?” He didn't want some low life fuck to come mess up the order of things on his territory.

“Probably, I don’t know,” you admitted, scrunching your eyes closed before looking back up at Tommy. His face was much closer now, maybe five inches separated the tips of your noses as he crouched down with his hands on his knees to be at a closer level to you. “All I know is my brother was in debt to the Billy Boys and promised my hand in marriage to one of those fucks to pay off part of his due.”

“The Billy Boys? Aren’t you a little down south of their territory?”

“Thought I’d be able to hide from them here,” you said. “Until last week, when I saw one of them trying to follow me at the market.”

“And that’s why, two days ago, you shot at me,” Tommy put the pieces of your story together.

“I’m so sorry Mr. Shelby, I was just so scared,” your voice started to wobble with emotion, your tough, indifferent persona out of the window. “Them Billy Boys, they’re the spawn of the Devil himself. They’re gonna kill me after they catch me.”

Through your blurry vision, you saw Tommy rise up and sigh as he rubbed the bridge of his nose between his eyes.

“Alright, we can help you,” he finally said after a few minutes.

You felt the tears roll down your cheek, whether they were tears of exhaustion or fear or relief, you didn’t know. “Thank you Mr. Shelby.”

“But it won’t be for free,” he pointed his index finger at you. “You know how to use a gun?”

You hurriedly nodded your head. “Yes, yes I do. I usually don’t miss my shots, I was just afraid when I shot at you.”

“Well thank God you were, eh?” It could’ve been a joke attempt if his tone wasn’t so serious. “It’ll be useful to have a woman to work undercover when needed. And you will tell us everything there is to know about the Billy Boys and your fiancé so we can know who to look out for.”

“Yes Mr. Shelby.”

Tommy crouched down to cut loose the bonds around your wrists and ankles. “My brother John will accompany you to your lodgings so you can fetch your stuff, it’s not safe for you to stay there if they’ve been following you around. You’ll stay with me on Watery Lane, Ada’s room has been vacant ever since she got married.”

“Thank you Mr. Shelby,” you grabbed his hand as you thanked him and Tommy stopped moving, blue eyes staring at the grasp you had on him. You noticed his unease and just as you were about to release his hand, you felt him briefly squeeze your fingers before letting go.

“Come now, I’ve got business to attend to,” he beckoned for you to follow him and it took you a second to come out of your stupor due to everything that has happened in the last fifteen minutes before you rose up from the chair and walked a little behind him, out of the warehouse.

It had been a month since that day in the warehouse. You hadn’t seen your fiancé or any of the Billy Boys since then, but you also rarely went out of the Shelby house (other than to go to the Garrison). And on the rare occasions you did, two Blinders were following close behind you to make sure nothing happened to you. You still felt greatly in debt to Tommy for taking you under the Peaky Blinders’ protection, so instead of doing nothing while you waited for any “undercover mission”, you helped down at the betting den. You liked how lively it was there, you had never worked in a place like that before and the constant rush helped you take your mind off your worrying situation. You hadn’t seen any of the Billy Boys but that didn’t mean they had left town, you knew they wouldn’t back down until they have what they came for: you.

Working in the den for the last month has helped you make your place in the gang. You spent a lot of your days alongside John Shelby and Scudboat, and they would drag you with them to the Garrison where you played drinking games and got drunk like you used to do when you were younger. You now considered the Shelby family your friends. Arthur and John were like the brothers you wished you had, Polly was a nice woman to have around in this environment full of men, and Finn, sweet Finn, his childish innocence might be fading away as time went by, but playing with him was like a breath of fresh air in your stressful life.

Tommy… Well, Tommy was Tommy. He was hard to read, hard to open up, but he was slowly starting to warm up to you. It was a bit awkward at first, living with him, but one night a little after you moved in, the two of you shared a bottle of whiskey in the kitchen, barely speaking any words but both comfortable with the silence. It soon became a part of your daily routine. Some evenings were short, Tommy would only stay for one glass before retreating to bed, while other evenings, when he was in a better mood, you would go through an entire bottle and talk for what seemed like hours. You did most of the talking, but Tommy would share some of his thoughts, maybe even some anecdotes. You loved the stories of his childhood, about all the mischief he, Arthur and John would put the people of Small Heath through. And Tommy, he loved listening to you.

You liked the life you were building for yourself in Birmingham, amongst the Peaky Blinders. You never thought you would one day leave your small village up north, where life was dull and horrible with your brother. Your mother died while giving birth to you and both your father and your brother resented you for that. Your childhood was pretty rough, it wasn’t rare that you’d show up to school with bruises, it didn’t matter who they were from. Then your brother went up north to Glasgow, and for a while it was a blessing, to no longer have to worry about what he would do to you. But three months ago, he came back and with him was Brennan. They dragged you up to Glasgow for your wedding to this man you had never met before, you who had no say in this decision, and were forced to live with him. You couldn’t continue living like this, Brennan had you fearing for your life more than when you lived with your dad and brother. You didn’t stay for more than two weeks in Glasgow before you escaped in the middle of the night and ended up here, in Birmingham.

So to now find yourself, miles away from the nightmare that used to be your life, with the safety of the Peaky Blinders, it allowed you to imagine a future that wasn’t so miserable.

You were walking down to the Garrison once the betting den was closed, talking with Scudboat about the profits you had made that day while Billy Lovelock followed behind the two of you. You were deep in Peaky Blinders territory, less than five metres away from the entrance door to the pub, when a gun shot rang out.

You ducked in fear, hands covering your ears, and when you reopened your eyes that you didn’t know you had closed, you saw Billy laying on the ground out of the corner of your eye.

Oh no, you thought, this is it. They’ve found me.

“Come on! Come on!” Scudboat grabbed your elbow and dragged you towards the Garrison, but you hadn’t made more than three steps before your friend was shot in the leg, crumbling down. “Go inside!” He told you. “You’ll be safer!”

A part of you felt bad for leaving him and Billy out here, wounded and bleeding, but you knew the rest of the Peaky Blinders would be quick to come help them. You started running, which was a bit hard to do with the heels of your shoes sinking in the muddy, uneven ground with every step you took. Your fingers were inches from the door handle when you felt a strong grip on your shoulder pull you back and slam you hard against the wall, knocking your head against it in the process.

“Ya thought ya could run away from me? Eh, lass?” Your fiancé’s stinky breath wafted against your face. You scrunched up your nose in disgust.

“I don’t know, you didn’t find me for a while,” you sassily replied, pressing his buttons, and immediately regretted it. A sharp sting appeared on your left cheek before it registered that he had slapped you.

“Heard ye fucked Thomas Shelby for his protection,” he continued, resting his right forearm over your throat with a slight pressure. “I oughta cut his dick for that,” his left hand held your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin, “and you, well, you’re in for a lot more than a beating once we’re out of ‘ere.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you Brennan,” you angrily spat through gritted teeth. “You’re in Peaky Blinders territory, they won’t let you get out of here with me. And I didn’t fuck Tommy Shelby, I didn’t need to fuck no one for protection.”

“What did I tell you about lying?” He screamed in your face, making you flinch.

With your eyes closed, you didn’t see Brennan reeling back his fist to punch you in the face but fortunately, the contact never came.

“HEY!” Scudboat yelled from where he was on the ground, gripping his wound to contain the bleeding. “Get your hands off of her you fuck!”

Brennan turned around to look at who was shouting orders at him. “And who the fuck are ya?!” He let go of you and stalked towards Scudboat, pulling his gun out of his coat.

You had an out. Your fiancé’s attention wasn’t on you. You could escape, find safety in the Garrison, but you knew how Brennan was. You couldn’t leave Scudboat alone, the man had become your friend over the last month and you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself knowing he had died because of you.

So you grabbed a shovel laying on the ground a few metres away and right as Brennan pointed his gun at Scudboat, you whacked him behind the head with your weapon, knocking him out right away. “Motherfucker,” you grumbled to the unconscious body and threw the shovel on the ground before kneeling next to Scudboat. “Are you alright?” You asked your friend, your hands hovering over his thigh where his blood kept oozing from the bullet hole.

“I’m fine Y/N, get inside,” Scudboat waved you off.

“What about Billy?” You glanced up to where the strong built man still laid on the ground, also unconscious.

“Don't worry about him, just get inside!” Scudboat shoved you away.

You did as you were told and sprinted to the Garrison. You pushed the door open only to be met with an empty pub. Your wide eyes roamed around the room. This isn't normal, you thought to yourself. There wasn't even a bartender behind the bar! Usually, around this time of the day, almost every seat should've been occupied, beers should’ve been poured, laughter should’ve been heard. But nothing.

You walked towards the snug, where Tommy and his brothers could usually be found, but instead Jimmy McCavern, Callum Maxwell, Kenneth Morrow and Angus Burns were occupying the room, all four of them staring at you with that look in their eyes that made you want to run away as far from them as possible.

“Y/N, so nice of ye to join us,” Jimmy said, his voice sending chills down your back. He looked comfortable in his chair, with his arms crossed over his chest, almost relaxed, but you didn’t let your guard down.

“Where–”

“Where are the Peaky Blinders, ye ask?” He interrupted you. “They’re a wee bit busy right now, I’m afraid it’s only us.”

“Take a seat, darling, go on,” Angus told you, motioning to the empty chair in front of you.

You did as he said, your hands wringing together in your lap. You knew not to become all witty and sarcastic with these men, obeying them was always the best thing to do.

“So, hope ye had yer fun down here with Thomas Shelby,” Jimmy continued, uncrossing his arms to instead rest them in front of him on the table as he leaned closer to you, “because yer days of fun are over. You're coming back to Glasgow with us, married to Brennan like yer brother arranged.”

It was at this moment that you realised you couldn't escape the Billy Boys. You had been so foolish to think you could leave them in the past, that you started imagining a future without Brennan. The Peaky Blinders could not protect you, you had been foolish to think otherwise.

But still, you weren’t going to lose without putting up a fight.

“No,” you shook your head. “I’m not marrying Brennan.”

“Ye don’t have a choice lass, yer brother promised yer hand,” Callum said.

“Don’t I get a say in this?” You asked angrily, tears pooling in your eyes. “This is not my debt, it’s his! You can kill him for all I care, he never cared about me so why should I care about him!?”

“A deal was made, ye can’t back out of a deal with the Billy Boys,” Kenneth said, his eyes telling you to stop arguing.

“No!” You slammed your hands on the table and stood up. “I’m not going. I’m not marrying Brennan. I refuse. This isn’t my deal!”

“Don't make this worse for ye, lass,” Angus warned you, also standing up.

“Fuck you!” You spat and took off in a run, escaping through the back door of the Garrison.

You knew the four men were on your tail, you could hear their heavy footsteps behind you. You tried to remember the directions Tommy had given you to Jeremiah Jesus’ church as you sprinted down the dirty streets and alleys. He had told you to hide there if you ever needed to, and since Jeremiah didn’t partake in the Peaky Blinders’ activities, the chances he would be there were quite high and, honestly, your last hope to survive.

Gunshots started ringing against the brick walls, luckily for you all the bullets flew past you since none of the four men were able to perfectly aim while running. You turned left at a corner and Jeremiah’s church was finally in your vision field, less than a few blocks down. Jimmy and the others still had yet to turn the corner of the street, so you took this advantage to go down a small alley, knowing it would lead to the back door of the church.

You stumbled in the place of worship, out of breath, and Jeremiah came out from the back office to see what the commotion you had created was about.

“Y/N, are you alright dear?” He asked you, helping you walk inside while your left hand clutched at your chest.

You shook your head ‘no’. “The Billy… The Billy Boys… They found me,” you wheezed out.

Jeremiah’s eyes widened at the urgency of the situation. “Come with me, there’s a trap where you can hide in my office.”

The priest led you to the back, closing his office door behind him before moving the rug behind his desk, revealing a trapdoor. He unlocked the latch and lifted the door. “Hurry, get in,” he waved with his free hand.

You lowered yourself in the hole, sitting down in the small space, and looked back up at Jeremiah.

“Do you have a gun on you?” He asked you.

You shook your head ‘no’. “I was with Scudboat and Billy Lovelock, we were on our way to the Garrison. There was no need for one,” you answered.

Jeremiah motioned for you to hold the door open over your head while he rummaged around his office. “Tommy always keeps a gun in here just in case,” he explained to you as he continued his search. “You can never know when it’ll come in handy around here– Ah! There it is!”

He crouched down and handed you a pistol. “I’ll try to keep them out if they come around. Stay safe.”

You nervously gulped before nodding your head. “You too, Jeremiah.”

The priest smiled, an attempt to make you feel slightly better in the situation you were in, and closed the door above you. You heard him lock the latch and replace the rug above the trap.

You remained there for what felt like an eternity, the only sounds you could hear were your nervous, laboured breaths and the gun slightly shaking in your hands. You were about to start praying – you never really believed in God after everything you had been through, but what better place to turn to Him than in a church – when you heard the door to the office open, followed by the sound of feet walking on the floor. Scared, you held your breath and willed your hands to stop shaking as you got in position, gun pointed up and ready to shoot.

The rug was moved and the latch was unlocked. You could feel the beating of your heart grow faster and faster as the seconds went by. The door was pulled open and, upon seeing the gun pointed at him, Tommy raised one hand up while the other lowered the door on the floor.

“Woah!” He exclaimed, raising his other hand up, showing you that he was no threat. “Relax, Y/N. It’s just me.”

When your brain registered that the face in front of you was the one of Thomas Shelby, you let down your arms and sighed in relief.

“Oh Tommy!” You cried out. You dropped the gun on the ground while you stood up and wrapped your arms around Tommy’s neck, bringing him in an unexpected hug.

Tommy was surprised at first, but Scudboat had told him what happened outside of the Garrison and he had received a phone call from Johnny Dogs informing him that Jimmy McCavern and his goons were in town, so he held you against him, trying to comfort you as best he could.

“You're safe now,” he reassured you, his right hand scrunching your hair as it held your head. “They’re gone now, Jimmy’s gone, Brennan’s gone.”

You pulled away, your eyes red with tears. “What did you do to them?”

“I was able to strike a deal that they simply couldn’t refuse,” Tommy answered, his right hand now cupping your cheek. “They won’t bother you again Y/N, not ever.”

Overcome with a wave of strong emotions, you shocked both Tommy and yourself when you leaned forward and kissed him. It didn’t last more than a second for you pulled back right after, bringing your hands in front of your mouth as you gasped. “I’m so sorry Tommy, I don’t know what–”

“It’s alright,” Tommy interrupted you, shaking his head. “Let’s get you out of there, yeah?”

You nodded your head, still embarrassed of your actions, and picked up the gun before grabbing the hand Tommy held out for you. He helped you out of the trap and closed the door behind you while you stood up and put the gun on Jeremiah’s desk. When you turned around to face Tommy again, you found him mere inches away from you. Your breath hitched in your throat, you had never been this close to him before, except when you first met, when he interrogated you while you were tied up to a chair. You looked up at him, his unreadable icy blue eyes staring right back at you, and he was the one to surprise you by closing the distance between the two of you, his lips finding yours again.

Your eyes fluttered close by themselves as you lost yourself in the kiss, your hands finding their place at the base of his neck while his right hand cupped your cheek and his left one held you flush against him by the waist. It was no secret that Thomas Shelby was pretty to look at, but you never really thought about him in a romantic way before. That being said, there was no bone in your body opposed to kissing him. Actually, it even started up a fire inside you, one that you were too preoccupied to acknowledge right now.

Tommy broke the kiss and rested his forehead against yours as you both took some deep breaths. “I’m glad you’re safe,” he said with his deep, low voice. “I’m glad they didn’t take you away from me.”

He never told anyone because he wouldn’t even let himself admit it, but Tommy had grown comfortable with your presence in the house. After what Grace did to him, he promised himself he would only focus on the business and his family, but his attachment for you came rather unexpectedly, just like your entrance in his life did. Still, he didn’t want to act on it, whether it was because of fear or because of disinterest in wanting some romantic relationship, he didn’t want to ponder on it too long. But after what happened today, when he heard your fiancé and Jimmy McCavern would try taking you back to Glasgow, he realised he would regret it for the rest of his life if you were gone without him having the chance to pursue anything.

You looked up at him, brushing his nose with yours as you moved your head. “Me too,” you whispered. “Thank you Tommy, for everything.”

“Don’t thank me,” he said, brushing your hair with his hand that previously held your waist. “Just, just stay with me. Don’t leave.”

The vulnerability in his voice made you smile, he had never been so open with you before. “I didn’t plan on leaving anyway,” you answered and kissed him again, safe in his arms.

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bardic-inspo · 2 months ago

Text

Dhampir Dreams

Pairing: Spawn Astarion x F!Tav (Generic/Unnamed)

Part 2 of 2 - Read Part 1 Here

Rating: Explicit (Smut)

Key Tags: breeding kink, pregnancy kink, body worship, light dom/sub, switchy submissive Tav, cunnilingus, PIV, Astarion’s past trauma, smut with so many feelings but nearly no plot, character introspection

Summary:

“It doesn’t have to be,” she says softly, brushing back the rogue curls that have fallen into his face. “It doesn’t have to be just a dream.”

Tav brings Astarion’s dreams of breeding her to life.

Click here to read on AO3 instead

He’s a dream, Tav thinks, with Astarion’s naked body sprawled beneath her in the sheets, his white curls snarled with sleep. Astarion Ancunín is a dream she never has to wake from. Tonight, she batted her eyes open to that carmine gaze already upon her, awash in love and lust. It’s bliss, to bathe in that look, in the warmth of his want for her. It’s no mystery why she never misses the sun anymore.

Tav thanks the gods every day for the bittersweet sting of his teeth, for pinching her at the exact moment she needs to remember this is real. Straddled over his pelvis, his stiffened cock seeping in her palm, Tav finds herself thanking every devil she can think of, too. Anyone who could’ve planted such filthy fantasies in her lover’s mind. Anyone who had a hand in having him flushed, panting, yearning like a man starved.

Tav wets her lips. “If you want something, my star, you only need to say it.”

Her fingers curl, slender, around the thick of his shaft. Her wrist twists downward, smearing his slickness with the motion. Astarion turns his cheek, muffling a groan into the pillow. At once, she stills.

“That’s not a language I know, love,” she chides, smiling warmly. “Why don’t you try common instead?”

Much as she adores the elegance of elven in his mouth, and much as he’s often eager to indulge her, it’s not her desire that needs coaxing into the open. Tav knows it still snags him, sometimes: the notion that he can have the things he wants at all. That he can ask and receive, simply because he’s loved. She knows sex, more specifically, surprises him more than he cares to admit. It’s a shock to his system that he wants it this much. That she could show him shades of pleasure he’d never known, despite his long list of past lovers.

Out of every gentle moment spent in each other’s arms, and every still evening spent untouched but not lonely, they’ve built a sanctuary. Safety breeds freedom, breeds empowerment. To give, take, and be taken. To taste and be tasted. To confess to craving it. Or, to let himself be enticed into confession by soft kisses laid across his scars in reverence and remembrance, like flowers laid on a grave.

She’d move mountains for this man to know the heights his happiness could reach. She hadn’t needed to. He says with her, with them, even the hard moments have softened edges. That she is the counterweight to his centuries of torment.

And how could something like that hit with any less force than an avalanche? For as much as Astarion says Tav saved him, Astarion reshaped her world. When the dust settled from their adventures, it felt like a whole new one. With her star at her side, guiding her through the night, how could she ever miss the--

“S-Sunlight,” he whispers his favorite name for her on a stuttered breath.

Astarion doesn’t need to breathe at all. But it grounds him, ties him to her touch as his body winds at her whim. She gives his throbbing cock another long, languid stroke.

“I’m all ears, lover,” she says, voice husky.

Her eyes sweep the lithe flex of his chest. A low whine leaks from the corner of his mouth where she catches the glint of a fang. His eyes scrunch shut, stirring an urge within her. She gives in to it, letting her hips roll, grinding against the hard ridge of his cock. The thin fabric of her nightgown clumps between them. She fists it out of the way. Astarion groans again, this time pained, as her slit glides freely over his aching length.

“I-It was just a dream,” he mutters, sheepish. His eyes take on a far-away fog as they flit to the curtained window, his cheek dropping back to the pillow.

Again, Tav stills. She stretches out an arm, cradling a hand beneath his chin, steering him back to center. Ruefully, his gaze latches to hers again.

“It doesn’t have to be,” she says softly, brushing back the rogue curls that have fallen into his face. “It doesn’t have to be just a dream.”

“You don’t even know what it was about,” Astarion counters, one fine brow arched.

Her palm rests against his cheek. He leans into the touch, smushing against her skin. It only underscores his blooming pout.

“I would if you’d only tell me,” Tav laughs.

“Well, we weren’t talking in my dreams, darling. So why don’t we do away with the words altogether. I could show you what’s been on my mind.”

He grips her hips like reins. She can’t deny the kick it puts in her pulse. Her hand leaves his cheek to stroke the panes of his chest, stopping firmly at his sternum.

“You’ve been dreaming a lot lately,” she says, her voice steeped in sugar and just as much cunning. “Sleeping next to you every day, I sometimes hear the sweetest mumblings come from your mouth. Makes me wonder if you remember them when we wake.”

Astarion smirks, fangs gleaming sinfully. “My mouth holds a bounty of delights for you, my dear. Why don’t you put those gorgeous thighs around my ears and find out just how sweet these lips can be?”

Tav sighs airily. “You’re not quiet, you know.”

“Ha!” Astarion barks a laugh. “My love, there’s a reason we can’t have a room with shared walls any longer, and you can see her in a mirror.”

Tav grits her teeth. “Setting aside the fact that I hardly made that much noise from a solo endeavor--”

“Oh, the credit’s mine and the blame is yours.”

“Astarion--”

“My love,” he purrs, the roll of his tongue spurring a needy twitch between her legs. “Do you know what would be a dream come true? Truly?”

It’s hard to be anything but absolutely boneless when he growls that last word and she can practically feel the teeth in the promise of it. She could close her eyes now and feel the scrape of his fangs teasing her neck, and his lips soothing over their sharpness. She could cease all this teasing and be well and truly taken in an instant.

Tav eases back against his legs, not sure if the resulting whine comes from the creaking bedframe or her pleading lover. He wants her, too. Desperately so. But he also wants something he won’t allow himself to say. Not while he’s awake, anyway.

He trances most days; sleep is something Astarion resorted to for survival under Cazador, so he didn’t have to relive his tortures in reverie. He’s assured her that when he slips into it now, it’s only out of habit.

It’s not lost on her that perhaps he’s finding sanctuary in sleep once again. Albeit, of a different sort. In dreams, he can live in visions of what could be, instead of what’s already been. He can have his any and every unspoken desire for company.

Tav could hardly believe it, the first time she heard it. By chance, she caught snippets of his dream spilled from his lips. What a sweet way to wake at midday: with Astarion a bare, disheveled masterpiece beside her, the sheets tangled between his legs. What sweet, sweet music he made, rutting aimlessly into the bed, her name a semi-snarl in his throat.

“So good,” he gasped, breathless. “Such a good girl for me…”

“Mm,” Tav mumbled blearily. “I am, aren’t I?”

“You’ll look so beautiful,” Astarion panted back, breath taut. “So full of me…”

“Oh?” Tav hummed happily.

“So full with our child.”

“Oh.”

Tav stared agape at the ceiling for what could’ve been minutes or hours. Astarion simply rolled over, muttering intelligibly, and resettled in his sleep. When he later woke, he said nothing of filling her with anything but breakfast. He said nothing when she continued to take her nightly tincture, which keeps the possibility of pregnancy at bay.

A wayward, fleeting dream is all it was. Or so Tav thought. Until it happened again. And again. Nearly every night after, Astarion succumbed to sleep instead of trancing. So, instead of memorizing every knot in the wooden beams overhead, Tav began to read.

It’s the same method Tav takes with all of Astarion’s desires. She means to bring him the sun again, someday. Already, she has leads on Astarion’s path back into the light. Gale is assisting in that endeavor. Something this sensitive, though, she prefers to leave their friends out of. At least, at this tender stage.

She went by herself to Sorcerous Sundries, unsure if she sought a work of fact or fiction, unsure if a union such as theirs could bear a child at all, or if Astarion himself would know the answer. She felt her heart skip in her chest when she found the tome that told her what a child of theirs would be -- that they could be. Their baby would be a dhampir.

They could have a baby.

With Astarion’s curls. And gods, his eyes, in the shade he doesn’t remember. Her tears hit the page before she even felt the burn of them, wetting the paper like fat raindrops. Wiping her eyes did nothing at all; they pattered down relentlessly.

It was then, with the dam broken, that Tav realized Astarion wasn’t the only one holding something back.

Tav had paid only passing thoughts to motherhood before. The notion came to her here and there, like a stay ray of sunshine. Warm, fluttery, happy thoughts that wake when she sees younglings wield their wit to make mischief, or watches their eyes widen with wonder at the simplest things. The idea would come and go, leaving behind a hazy, semi-sweet afterthought of maybe someday.

She was never sure before, really, if she wanted a child herself. She’s certain she wants Astarion’s. Maybe more than she’s ever wanted anything.

She doesn’t know where this crack in her defenses came from -- where the root of this desire began. Maybe it started when she stumbled across Astarion teaching Mol knife tricks. Or hearing him turn his nose at anyone else’s puns, but dole them out by the dozen to make Arabella laugh. Or, maybe it was the way he fought to free Yenna from Orin’s clutches with a bared-teeth ferocity she’d never seen in him before. Not even when he faced Cazador.

It could’ve been the raw agony that ripped through his eyes when they fell upon the children he helped Cazador cage. The determination on his face when he decreed they should have the same second chance at life he did. Or the pride with which he declared their freedom to the Gur who came searching for their corpses.

She knows this: for all his bravado, Astarion rarely thinks himself worthy of what he wants. She remembers the glassy anguish, the yearning that swam in his gaze the night he came to her with his first confession. She can still hear the startled noise that snagged like thorns in the back of his throat as she embraced him earnestly for the first time. Slowly, gradually, his arms came to hold her, too. And then came the soft sigh of release and relief he puffed against her ear. Relief that she waited. That she cared enough to wait.

Tav knows when Astarion needs her to reach. And that, when he’s ready, he’ll reach back. She sucks in a breath for bravery, still saddled over his thighs, and whispers softly:

“What if I said ‘yes’?”

Astarion blinks back at her, his sultry smile faltering. “What do you--”

“What if I said ‘yes, please’?” Tav swallows the sudden thickness in her throat, fingertips feathering the ridge of his collar. “I could. If only I knew how badly you want me to.”

Astarion’s lips part wordlessly, searching her face as his brow knits in. His expression eases when her fingers circle his shaft again, stroking lazily. Her grip is firm with promise, and unhurried with patience. His eyelids flutter, gaze trailing after her other hand as it comes to caress her own stomach.

“I could be swollen with you. Here. And…”

--her hand drags across her ribs, coming to cup the plump curve of a breast--

“...here, too.”

She catches the faint scrape of his exhale as she toys with her supple tit. “I could be leaking with you here…”

--she pinches a pert nipple hard enough to draw a low gasp of her own--

“...and here.” Her breast quivers as she abandons it abruptly, her hand smoothing down her stomach to plunge between her legs.

Astarion watches with rapt attention, his hips jutting into the rhythmic wrap of her hand. It’s hard to say who’s slicker; Astarion, with pre-cum dripping down his throbbing cock, or Tav, her finger slipping inside herself as easily as slipping into a glove. Her cunt clings to her finger greedily, unsated, and aching with hunger. It’s not enough. Not nearly. Still, she stifles a shudder as she withdraws.

Tav forms a vee with her glistening fingers around the puffy, purplish head of his weeping cock, drawing them down and coating him with her. She relishes his eyes going slitted with the sensation. It’s electric, the feeling of putting his teeth in his bottom lip, arching his back off the bed, soaking the sheets with his want and sweat. He must hear it in her blood, how hot she burns for him when he’s all but begging.

“Even with my hips propped, some of you will seep out,” she muses. “But I’d spend all night bent over for you, if that’s what it takes. Or, maybe, all day. You’ll have to be fed better than normal, so you could hunt during the night. Come back and claim me when the sun rises. Keep your cock inside me until it sets again.”

He moves so quickly, a soft rush of air sends a shiver coursing down her spine.

Gooseflesh pebbles her skin, bringing with it a flurry of nerves. Astarion sits upright, propped with his arms behind his back, his legs still trapped beneath hers. But his sudden closeness, the dark intensity of his stare as he studies her with his head tilted, puts a hitch in her breath.

“Not that all of that doesn’t sound positively divine, my darling,” he murmurs softly, “but why exactly?”

He’s granted her room enough to carry on playing with his cock, but there’s no trace of teasing on his face. Nose to nose, she freezes. He stops short of sealing his question with the kiss that could soothe the doubt seeping into the corners of her mind. Her heartbeat quickens, as if to outrace her own uncertainties. What if it really was only a fantasy? Something he’s only fond of because it's fiction and meant to stay that way?

“T-to make sure it takes,” she says, mouse-like. “I’d have to stop taking my tincture, of course. I could stop tonight. I could stop all of this, if you want me to--”

Cool fingers catch her jaw and hold it still. Tav stutters off with a whimper against the barest brush of his lips.

“Don’t you dare,” he rasps, the words simmering on her tongue.

Her eyelashes graze his cheek as she peers up at him, fresh, heady hope turning her legs to jelly. But as soon as she dares to speak, he does, too.

“Star, I--”

“I want--

“Anything.”

“Hm,” he rumbles, drawing back by a breath. His fleeting smile is a fond one. When it fades, the light in his eyes remains.

His fingers leave her chin to sweep her hair away from her neck, wandering to the twin divots forever etched into the side of it.

“You put life in me every night,” he says, pensive, reverent as he marvels at the marks left from his prior feedings. “There is nothing more tender than your blood. Nothing more pure than the love you’ve poured into me. Except…”

His voice is silk; she feels it slink, sumptuous, across every inch of her skin.

“...except what I could do to you. What I want to do to you.”

When he says it, at last, it doesn’t sound like a confession. It carries the heat of an oath, her body waking with a warmth she’s never known.

“I want to make you a mother,” Astarion says, cradling her jaw with a wistful smile. “I want to watch you change. I want to be the reason. I want you marked with me, inside and out. Forever. For good.”

Tav blinks rapidly. Tears spring to her eyes unbidden, even as a wide, slap happy grin blooms across her cheeks.

“I want to put life in you, too,” he whispers, voice wavering. His forehead bumps hers gently as it comes to rest there, his fingers threading loose through her hair as if it’s the only purchase he has. “To cherish it with you. To care for you. Both of you.”

The tears that streak her cheeks aren’t hers. They’re salty on her tongue when she leans in, and kisses his wet lashes.

He’s reluctant to allow her to pull back as she does, but the ache is forgotten a moment later -- the moment Tav stretches past him, to the bedside table, and deliberately knocks over the vial sitting upon it. Glass shatters on the floorboards, tinkling like windchimes. The tincture held within no doubt floods the gaps between the planks. But all Tav sees is Astarion -- the sheen in his eyes shifting, his lips twitching towards an upward turn.

“I guess I’ll have to go without it,” Tav shrugs. “I guess I’ll have no choice but to be adored and cared for. And…” her voice drops conspiratorially, “...to be bedded and bred by the vampire with the raging erection.”

“Really?” The question falls faintly from his lips, even as the rest of him stays frozen.

It’s the same way he said it the night he found out exactly how much he was cared for, while wearing that same spellbound look with his heart bobbing in his throat. Tav smiles knowingly.

And she reaches.

Her lips crush to his like a head hitting a pillow -- like a weight lifted, a day’s trials shed. A respite, against all else. A place to rest, and to dream. Astarion kisses her just as ardently, a soft growl rumbling in the back of his throat.

“Yes,” she swears on every breath in between. “Astarion, a thousand times, yes.”

She gets a glimpse of his smile -- his real one, a wide pointed vee -- before the room sways in a sudden smear. Her back hits the bed. A pitchy giggle punches free of her ribs, the mattress whining irritably beneath her. Astarion hovers over her, beaming like the sun itself.

There’s no more trace of the anguish and uncertainty that consumed him the night they became something real. He looks at her the way he did in the graveyard, on the day he became free.

And he crawls across her naked body with the same fluid grace as he did that night, eyes brimming black with that same anticipation. She should’ve anticipated how his knee would come to hook behind hers and spread her so effortlessly. She gasps all the same, as she did the first time. With a soft smack, the bare weight of his cock settles warm against her cunt, rubbing heat over sweltering heat with delectable slowness.

It’s not lost on her that he’s taken the reins, wrested control out from under her with barely any effort. She simply can’t find the will to care, with her hands clawed in the sheets, her lover dragging kisses across her inner thighs, and her head soaring high above the clouds.

“I want you pregnant, darling,” Astarion croons, the hum of his words stoking a shiver across her sensitive skin. “I want you swelling and pampered and laid back with your legs wide so I can taste me all over you. So I can taste how coming inside you changed the flavor of your fertile little cunt.”

He shifts, and the heat of his breath warms her folds. Tav’s toes curl with the tingle of it. Just the tease of his fingertip circling her entrance winds her taut, has her at his mercy, sputtering his name like it’s the only word she knows. When he slips that same finger inside of her, she wraps right around it.

Astarion’s eyes flit to hers, heavy-lidded with longing. “I want to taste how you’re changed forever, from the second I sank into you. Your scent, your skin, your shape, your blood. I want it soaked in me. Is that what you want, dearest?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Tav moans, her neck bending back with the crook of his finger.

“Then you’ll need to say it, Sunlight,” he laughs darkly. “In a language we both know. Why don’t you try common instead?”

“B-bastard,” Tav stammers. But then, the tip of his tongue grazes her clit and she’s left no choice but to cry out his divinity. “Gods, Astarion!”

“It’ll feel so good to feel so full of me,” he sighs, finding no resistance as a second finger invades her cunt, “won’t it, love?”

She’s watched those same pale, elegant fingers -- works of art in their own right -- artfully work countless doors and chests free of their locks. Those hands have delivered death to so many. And now, they coax her expertly towards one not-so-small demise. Astarion knows her, inside and out, just as well as the creases in his palms.

He knows exactly what he’s doing when cushions her clit carefully between his lips and sucks. For a few searing moments, she can’t breathe, and doesn’t care if she ever does again. Air rushes back to her lungs as he releases. Tav’s chest heaves while he laps at her daintily. Every too-light touch is a lash of lightning pleasure.

She revels in the feel of his fingers stretching her, prepping her to play her part in his promise. Astarion’s words melt across her mind, leaving nothing but honey and heat in their stead. She’s stuck in them, with no sight of the surface, no will to be anywhere but caught beneath him.

“You’ll take all of it, won’t you, you perfect thing? You’ll take everything I have to give you.”

“Yes,” Tav pants eagerly, “yes.”

“I know you will. You’ll bloom with it, my darling. You’re already radiant. So…succulent,” he nearly snarls. “So very wet for me.”

“All for you,” Tav cries, her back arching from the bed. “Always for you.”

His purr paints her clit. “I can hear it, you know. The way your heartbeat pulses straight to your sweet cunt. Aching. Waiting. Like it’s begging me. And how could I deny you? I’d never be so cruel.”

Oh, but his fingers don’t promise the same. They curl inside her with a keen precision, tugging her just to the edge of something heavenly, but not one step over. Astarion’s free hand binds her to the bed as her hips buck with a mounting, desperate need.

“P-Please-- Astarion -- please--”

“I’ll fill you, my sweet,” he swears against her slit. “Until your beautiful body is brimming with me. With us.”

That mouth of his makes and unmakes her. It spills vows of what she’ll become at his behest. And it devastates her, when those lips latch around her clit once more and send her soaring.

Astarion’s name breaks from her throat, but still she feels drowned in it. Drowned in anything but him, his merciless mouth, his intoxicating scent, his smooth skin surrounding her, sending her to the deepest depths of her own pleasure. She never knew just how lost in it she could be before she laid beneath him.

And when she surfaces again, gasping, delirious, the only thought she has is that he has to know it. She’s his. She’s his.

“Take me,” she pleads in a fragile whisper.

No sooner has her demand left her lips than she feels her body dragged through the sheets to the edge of the bed. Astarion peers up at her from between her thighs, his curls in devilish disarray to match his glistening smirk. The sight of her own slickness on his mouth has her knees wilting to either side, even as they still tremble with the aftermath of the orgasm he wrung from her.

Astarion straightens, planting his feet on the floorboards. Every instinct in her body begs her to spread, urges her open. She yields to him eagerly when he folds her legs up and bends them back. A breath shreds between her teeth as he seats the head of his cock at her soaked slit, demanding entrance with a perfect pressure that has her cunt and her eyelids fluttering.

A part of her knew, when he first thrust inside her, when she first sprawled beneath him on the forest floor, that he’d wrecked her for anyone else. One roll of his hips and his cock is home inside her again. She's whole with it. The ruined noise he makes is nothing short of holy.

At first, his girth is blistering. Her body spasms with his intrusion. He chuckles darkly, unrepentant.

“That's my good girl,” he smirks, every drag of his cock electric and relentless.

Her neck arches, molded by the curve of him within her prodding her just so. So perfect. Every thrust is a velvet kiss that steals her senses.

Her cunt clenches around him for dear life, milking him for the seed that should be hers. It belongs in her body. The idea of it anywhere else is sacrilege when she’ll cherish it like no one else can.

She thinks of what he said before, how he wants to change her forever. How even if some of his seed drips out, some of it never will. Some piece of him will always be within her, for as long as she breathes. But perhaps that won't be long at all. Astarion’s thumb brushes her clit and she shudders hard, the air driven out of her by his bruising pace. There’s not a trace of pain in it. Only harsh, unyielding ecstasy.

“Such a good girl for me,” he groans approvingly. His praise is a balm to the brand of his thumb flicking hypnotically against her clit. “And I'll be so very good to you, my sweet. Even when you can't walk any longer, and all you can do is lie back and let yourself be bred again and again. Especially then.”

She could do that, she thinks deliriously. She could be his sleeve, his fuck-drunk slut, his every release. So long as he floods her with it, he can have her raw in every way a woman can be had.

He already has her mind remade into a single thought: his name, or the pieces of it she can still manage to stutter out. Why not her body, too? She could be shaped by him, by the smell of their sex, the moan of the bed, by the weight of his body killing any other want she could have.

The slam of his hips consumes her. Blinding pleasure snaps through her bones with every frantic flex of her cunt. Her whole body spasms as she succumbs to the most sacred release he could send her to. He’s exquisite when he comes apart after her, moments later, his face scrunched and pleading, his knuckles knotted in the sheets.

He cries out her name as he spurts inside of her. Tav relishes in the soak of his seed, his signature, spilled inside of her like fresh ink on her flesh. His. Forever. For good.

Astarion stills shortly after, and the room goes abruptly quiet, now devoid of ragged breath and creaking wood. He glistens with sweat, still sheathed and twitching within her. Beautiful, she thinks as she stares, awestruck. He’s so beautiful.

But all she can manage to say in her drifting, breathless state is: “Thank you.”

His laugh buffets her body. “You’re thanking me? I might remember that, darling, when our offspring decides it's time to see the world and you're both screaming about it.”

She feels a pang of loss as he withdraws, her walls fluttering faintly in protest. But he doesn’t go far; he kneels at the end of the bed, his hands shifting to prop her hips. She shivers at the feel of his contented sigh passing his lips and tingling against hers. His rosy gaze settles on the pearly leak of seed she can feel seeping warm between her folds.

“You know, you’re the prettiest thing that’s ever been,” he says with a certainty that harbors no alternative. And yet, his eyes dart away and he bites his lip a second later, looking nowhere near certain at all. “And I-- I wouldn't blame you if you reconsider, you know. Not that any child would be easy but…a dhampir especially--”

“Astarion,” she chides gently, “I want to have a baby with you. Our baby. Even if they come with pointy teeth.”

“Hm.” That noise sounds awfully like a whimper. He clears his throat pointedly, restoring his grip on his wit. “Hm. Well, I do hope they have your nose, darling. It’s cute as a button, after all.”

“My nose?” Tav wrinkles it skeptically.

“That’s right,” Astarion says, a warm smile unfurling on his face. He rests his chin at her navel, sandwiching his cheeks between her thighs. His touch is soothing in its coolness. “And your laugh. But my hair, of course.”

Absently, she reaches down to stroke that gorgeous silver hair away from his eyes, letting her nails scrape slightly along his ear. An aching sort of softness rounds her lover’s gaze.

“And your eyes,” she says quietly. She thinks she can see the whole world in them.

A/N: HUGE thanks to my beloved friend, @amoremagnificentbastard who cheered me on through every step of the way on this, and provided a final proofread before I posted. Please check out her fics, they're amazing!

Thanks as well to all of my fellow Discord freaks (affectionate) who were a constant source of support and encouragement.

And last but not least, thanks to all of you who read part one, or are reading this now, who were so very kind and patient to me while I took my time in cooking part two for you.

Thank you for taking the time to read. I hope life is being kind to you!

Divider credit: firefly-graphics. End banner credit: cafekitsune

#astarion #astarion ancunin #tavstarion #spawn astarion #astarion x tav #tav x astarion #bg3 #astarion fanfic #bg3 fanfic #astarion breeding #my writing #astarion x f!tav #f!tav x astarion

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ncillary · 5 months ago

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Self Aware AU (Sylus)

Summary: You have the lowest Affinity with Sylus. The reason is because he is a red flag. As red as his eyes. Spawn of the devil. Unless, he is actually not as evil as you label him to be. Does this change something in you? Yes? No? Maybe so?

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Masterlist Self Aware AU

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| 1 [current] | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 |

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"I'm letting myself beta test this game just to receive a spawn of the devil? What a bull!"

You huffed out after you saw the official news about the new character.

"He already has a fandom even before his release. Maybe he wasn't so bad." Your friend sipped her drinks.

"They're just joining in the bandwagon of a hot looking face. But with a thrash personality, he remains a thrash."

"Wow. Slow down. You might get yourself in trouble for that."

"Let them. It's not like I'm bothering them in any way possible. I'm just complaining to my sole therapist." You grinned playfully.

Your friend looked deadpanned at you, "Pay up."

+------------------+-----------------+---------------+

After the update, you enjoy all the free resources the game gave to its players. The Main Story? You ignored it. You went with your merry routine each day. Going into Main Story update meant that you had to meet him. You're content with not meeting him. AT ALL.

Until an event came up.

Your friend's story peaked your interest.

"He almost died in the desert. You gotta question what exactly happened there, you know. Plus he said he had been called worse than the monster MC had him play the role that time."

"Hoooo... Setting some vulnerabilities to a strong character like him, huh. That's interesting."

That night, your interest had you searching for a fan post on the full video of his limited card for the current event. You looked bored until you reached the end. The scene where MC lounging around at night while having a quiet conversation with him.

Your heart wretched when it played out. The animation. The voice. Him thanking MC with the genuity of how much he felt at that time.

A tear trickled down to your cheeks that went unnoticed. Sobbing.

"...huh?"

You were confused. You stopped your curiosity there.

+---------------------+-------------------------------+

"So..." you cleared your throat, "what's his Main Story like?"

Your friend was looking at you, amused.

"He saves us from the kidnapper. Argument ensued. We kinda shot him on the chest," your eyes widen, "force to resonate with him-"

"What!"

"We knew people using his name to take the blame for explosion of MC's house-"

"What."

"He left us alone. He came to our rescue. Again. Make a deal with him to go into a dangerous place that he warned us about. He left us. Again. Safe us. Again. Ended with MC and him had this kinda connection like a red thread of fate."

You stared at your friend.

"All of this in just two chapters?"

"Yup."

You massaged your temple, "Maybe I shouldn't have been so stubborn by ignoring the Main Story. It IS the most important aspect of the game."

Your friend patted your back, "Enjoy your consequent to your action."

+---------------------+-------------------------------+

A few days later, you decided to finally brace through the Main Story. It's enjoyable. You admitted to that. Until the last chapter.

The blurriness. The blood. The embedded sword.

"You must press on."

That statement was resounding in you. Tears pooling in your eyes. The scene ended with a lot of open end mysteries. Good cliffhanger.

But you didn't register for that at all. Your mind was stuck on the image of Sylus walking away in the night.

"Where..." You breathed heavily.

What did you want to say?

Why this affect you so much?

+-------------------------+------------------------+

"Relax. I'm just a normal customer who wants some coffee."

You sighed, "Indeed you are."

You let him linger around after finishing the Main Story a few days ago. He just stood there. Watching you, MC, with an occasional smile. You had quietly selected him as one of the cafe encounters along with the others.

Staring. Silent.

You spoke first.

"...I'm sorry... judging by the bit of memories in the Main Story, MC probably stabbed you. Me stabbing you. I hurt you first. You did nothing wrong. I apologized for hating you for no reason. You're pretty chill." You gave him a simple smile.

"Take a deep breath. The air at night is more refreshing than daytime."

He suddenly spoke. You laughed slowly.

"What a coincidence. Well then, let me enjoy the night air and eat my late dinner peacefully."

You logged out.

+-------------------------+--------------------------+

He stared at the spot where your face was present seconds ago. Deep. Longing.

He gave a low laughed as he walked back to the sofa.

"We finally met, kitten. Take your time. I'll be here. Ready anytime."

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| 1 [current] | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 |

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Masterlist Self Aware AU

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#love and deepspace #sylus #self aware au #fanfic

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brekkie-e · 2 years ago

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Im not saying we were robbed.

But.

Y'all we were robbed blind. Highway robbery. Full blown burglary.

Our party is made up of three posh noblemen, all of whom discuss the former parties they've attended several times. And not once do we get to attend a ball or a gala or a soiree in this game.

We can attend Gortash's coronation, but not infiltrate the super fancy celebratory ball afterwards? With our squad that for some reason forces the bard to play in the band and Karlach to try and pass off as a waiter while Astarion and Shadowheart infiltrate the guests? Oh no! Gortash realized youre there, now you're dancing to intense regency era music while you try to out maneuver eachother in a battle of wit. Your love interest is stressed for your life and also jealous as hell it isnt them.

Wyll is the son of the Grand Duke!! You can't put him in a political soiree that absolutely takes advantage of all the trauma he's been trying to bury because 1. Attending a ball full of patriars after being banished for 7 years??? Awkward and painful. 2. Attending a ball full of patriars after being banished for 7 years but showing up as a devil??? The poor man.

Astarion flat out says Cazador would have lavish balls! Can you imagine a pre-ritual infiltration quest where you have to sneak in to one of his balls to try and make a "take Cazador down" plan with the other spawn? Or figure out where the ritual would be held. And oh nooo along the way you find out so much about Cazador and actually have your own conversation with him as opposed to just the 15 seconds we ended up getting in the end.

Bonus points all of these scenarios involve the opportunity to dance with your love interest in cute outfits. Also no rules AGAINST a masquerade twist to it.

Dont talk to me, I'm mourning what could have been.

#bg3 #bg3 spoilers #baldur's gate 3 #astarion #wyll #gale #cazador szarr #envor gortash #brekkie thoughts

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vadersangel · 3 months ago

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Skittles and Ghosts - Roman Godfrey x Reader - Chapter 1

Synopsis: A colorful happy go lucky girl comes to disrupt the life of the brooding school heart-throb Roman Godfrey. With her kindness and bluntness, she crept into his heart. But in the small town of Hemlock Grove, something eerie is about to happen; when Brooke Bluebell dies on school grounds, Roman, Peter and the new girl form an unlikely bond to unveil what really happened. A love story flourishes amidst the chaos raised by a vengeful ghost.

Genre: humor, fluff, smut (later chapters), horror, angst, enemies to lovers, slow burn.

Trigger Warnings: blood, drugs, alcohol, death, sex, foul language.

CH 1, CH 2

Word count: 1460

⊹ ₊ ⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ପ(๑•ᴗ•๑)ଓ ♡˚₊‧⁺ ₊ ⊹

There’s a rainbow in Pandora's Box. Isn’t that the worst kind of chaos to be unleashed?

⊹ ₊ ⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ପ(๑•ᴗ•๑)ଓ ♡˚₊‧⁺ ₊ ⊹

Roman’s POV:

Not that any of my days were exactly peaceful, but that day in particular seemed uneventful. Miraculously I woke up and Olivia was not hovering over me. That alone was a relief! I made breakfast for Shelley and I, because mommy dearest never tended to us, and couldn’t be bothered to hire someone. Buying another Birkin was more important than having her children taken care of, I guess. Shelley seemed happy… That was all that mattered. In fact, there were only four people in the world I cared about: Shelley, Peter, Letha, and myself. The rest of the world could be set on fire for all I cared! Other people be damned!

I drove us to school, and then went to find Peter at our usual spot. It was the first day of school after summer break, everyone around us seemed thrilled, and needless to say I found the whole ordeal burdensome to say the least. I lit up a cigarette and took a drag, inhaling deeply, allowing the smoke to fill my lungs… Would it help me die sooner? I hoped so. It was soothing. Peter was talking some nonsense and I wasn’t paying much attention, but I laughed anyway. Little did I know those were my last few moments of harmony, before the whole world collapsed under the abnormally tiny feet of none other than the devil’s spawn… There she was, like a walking box of crayons, as if someone had thrown up skittles all over her; she was wearing a yellow tank top, a pink skirt, red Converse sneakers, and a baby-blue cardigan over her shoulders. Each of her nails was painted with a different color and I’m pretty sure there was also glitter on top. Ironically, her makeup was soft, she wasn’t wearing anything too bright on her face… I realized how weird it was that I was paying so much attention to a girl’s outfit and makeup. I frowned, deep in my thoughts, and that was when the little cursed gremlin had the nerve to smile at me! Smile, mind you, with all her 385 teeth exposed, as if something on my face had amused her. Great! I must look like a clown!

Hell is a color explosion on two legs. I was sure of it. And she walked all over me with those bloody red Converse sneakers, crushing my hopes of normalcy. Of course she would be in my class… Every weird freak in Hemlock High was in my class. To my dismay, the teacher pointed her to the seat next to mine. I almost threw up. I caught myself staring at her face because, I swear, she had glitter all over her cheeks. My face was pure horror, but somehow she misread it, because she smiled again. So polite… I hate polite people! You can’t fool me, you little phony!

-*-

I would have to be an unlucky motherfucker to be paired up with the brand new colorful stroke for the Literature assignment. But again, of course that would be my fate. So now, after being dragged down to the library through the school hallways, I was sitting across this unhinged pastel color psycho. She was on and on about her seven thousand different ideas, making my head hurt. I pinched the bridge of my nose trying to gather my thoughts, but her chime-like voice was too disruptive. I need a smoke!

“Aw, don’t be upset! We’re gonna finish this in no time! It’s easy! You could come over to my place after school, we can have chocolate cake and finish this.” Again, that wide off-putting smile that made me sick. How many teeth does she have?

I rolled my eyes, leaned in closer to her, looking into those ridiculously big eyes, as I said: “Read my lips: we are not friends!”

She tilted her head like a kitten, narrowing her eyes for a brief second, and then, those marbles lit up like the Eiffel Tower as she averted her gaze to her backpack. She was looking for something and I had an inkling it would be bad. I flinched. She grabbed a sticker sheet, of all things, pinched a small purple sparkly star and glued it to my cheek! My stomach churned. I was dumbfounded, speechless at her cluelessness, and possibly traumatized.

She stood up as if nothing had happened, gathered her belongings, and headed towards the library’s door. But as she was about to leave, she turned on her heels and spoke cheerfully:

“See you at 7?”

It wasn’t a question. She was pretty positive that I would indulge in her nightmarish ideas.

Before I had time to utter the words ‘no way in hell’, the Beelzebub’s baby left.

-*-

Of course I didn’t go to her house!

I would rather run a cheese grater over my skin than spend even five minutes with that girl! But when befriending me proved to be a dead end, she befriended Peter–the traitor! With that sly face, she occupied my smoking spot, with my best friend. The jerk was laughing at something she was saying in that annoying high-pitched voice. I wanted to smash something, but I was not about to give her the satisfaction. So I walked over to them, greeting Peter and blatantly ignoring her. But the girl can’t seem to take a hint; she nudged me to call my attention as I lit up my cigarette. I puffed smoke right on her face as I looked down at her, trying to convey the extent of my disgust, to no avail. She coughed, to my amusement, but the solace I found in her suffering didn’t last long… Smiling at me, in a way that made me feel nauseous, she began to talk to me… Something about dinosaurs… By the way Peter was laughing, I’m pretty sure the look on my face was priceless. Double homicide suddenly seemed like a valid option. My brain was chanting for her to just disappear already!

How could someone gesticulate so much–and be so flamboyant–was the question that echoed in my head as the three of us walked towards Math class. She wouldn't shut up about the damned dinosaurs. Forget double homicide, I will just disappear; being kidnapped can’t possibly be this bad.

I begged, literally begged, Peter to ditch the next class with me. I needed a joint to ease the headache induced by the satan’s intern fashion choices.

As Peter rolled me a doobie, I lit another cigarette,

“What’s up with you and the human highlighter?” I asked, nonchalantly and Peter frowned at me. He bit the insides of his cheeks, scanning my face, as if trying to psychoanalyze me.

“She’s ok… I guess? Why?” He responded after a few seconds, shrugging as he lit up the blunt, then puffed the smoke in circles. But his eyes still held that weird hint of something I couldn’t really pinpoint, but somehow I knew he was having fun with this.

“No reason…” My answer ended the conversation about the subject.

-*-

“Hey, sunshine, did you buy your clothes at the flea market?”

I didn’t have to look to know who was talking to whom. That poor excuse of a dumbfuck, Ryan, was taunting the walking Skittles. His tone got to my bloodstream, making it seethe. He was voicing my opinions in a way, but I abhorred the guy even more than I loathed her. Involuntarily, my hands clenched into fists as I turned to face Ryan. I caught a glimpse of her, and it was more than enough for me to realize that she was about to cry. It made me unreasonably angrier. Peter’s eyes darted from me, to Ryan, to Skittles, and back to me.

“Hey, dipshit,” my voice was calculated. I closed the distance between me and them in two long strides. “Start apologizing.”

Ryan and his posse began to laugh, but their amusement didn’t last when I towered over them, my mouth turning into a wide grin as his eyes widened. I looked deep into his eyes and my next words were not a polite request:

“Kneel down and kiss her feet.”

Everyone around gasped as he did just as he was told, kneeling down in front of her and leaning in to kiss her shoes. His friends howled, not believing their eyes.

“Now, fuck off!” I barked, and again, they did as they were told.

I was pretty satisfied with the outcome, until I felt that familiar warmth dripping from my nose…

“You are bleeding!” She squealed. In seconds, she had a pink handkerchief pressed against my nose. Her flowery, fruity scent invaded my nostrils like a wrecking ball. Her eyes were wide in worry, her mouth agape in sheer horror.

Now she thinks I’m her friend. Shee-it…

#roman godfrey #hemlock grove #roman godfrey x reader #smut in later chapters #fluff #slow burn #enemies to lovers #fanfiction #cafekitsune #dividers by cafekitsune #mine

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sonofthesaiyans · 26 days ago

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One bullet. All it took was one bullet....

Seven years ago today. When THAT chapter was first leaked online....

The single most SENSELESS moment in all of manga.

"Our greatest hopes and our worst fears are seldom realized"........Well this was truly a living nightmare, and honest to God one of the worst things I have ever seen.

That moment where Gabi stole Sasha from us and went on to hijack the entire story. And the moment that rightfully made her one of Attack on Titan's most hated characters.

To basically shift gears to Gabi, a character who was in no way built up to across ninety chapters, at the expense of so many characters including Eren himself, and to do so by cruelly offing one of the most human characters in the story, and to so completely distort things to make it out as if Sasha had no other value than to die to make way for such a late arrival to the saga......Of all the screwjobs Hajime Isayama has pulled, this one is by far the most infuriating even now.

Not a hint of self-awareness over what a truly unnecessary character Gabi is, and every frame of Sasha's slow and cruel end, and every reference to her as she was slowly forgotten about in the final act.....None of it ever felt like a tribute to her memory. It only ever felt like a stab in the eye.

And it all came out on Connie's birthday of all days.

I don't care what the intent or how you spin it in Isayama's favor, there's making your readers feel emotional when it's warranted.....and then there's being outright malicious.

There's no pardoning how uncalled for this ugly spectacle was. And how little was gained through Gabi, against how much was lost with Sasha.

Imagine how she might've fought in the last battle against Eren, and no thanks to some little obnoxious bastard child with a gun, we'll probably never know.

Can't believe it's been that long. This chapter and the episode that brought it to life.......NOTHING but bad memories. All no thanks to one freaking character Isayama insisted on putting on a pedestal.

Fuck Assassin's Bullet and everyone who was responsible for both the chapter and the episode it spawned. And FUCK YOU, Gabi Braun. In the end you were the real Devil, just like the monster from whom you were spawned, Eren Fucking Yeager (As if I didn't hate him enough already...). For all the unnecessary grief you caused and the unwanted diversion you were, I will always have an axe to grind with you. Isayama really overplayed his hand with this character, never once justifying her presence or the Ackerman level plot armor he cast her in.

There's so much I could have forgiven or at least tolerated from the last acts of Attack on Titan, had it not been for everything this son of a bitch put us through with Sasha.

I miss you so much, Sasha Braus. You deserved so much better. I hope one day we get the moment we deserve with Sasha, we're owed that much for what a disservice this miserable chapter was. You were more than just a funny foodie Sasha, you were a warrior and a warm presence without whom this story is simply not worth it.

There is NO Attack on Titan without Sasha Braus.

NEVER FORGET 5/2/2018 🖤 ⚔️ 🖤

This story ended with the Ocean.

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thewriterwithnoplan · 1 year ago

Text

THE TRAITOR'S SOULMATE (2/2)

Summary: Humans once had four legs, four arms, two heads, and two hearts. For humanity's hubris, Zeus struck them in two. You and Luke Castellan are determined to find your way back to each other, but before that can happen, there are things the two of you need to do.

[Part 2 to The Hero's Soulmate]

Soulmate AU: You meet the future version of your soulmate.

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader

Word Count: 7378

Warnings: Canon typical warnings, swearing, I use the spelling 'mom' because the series is American but I - and I cannot stress this enough - am not American, she a long one.

A/N: I've loved reading your comments, thank you so much for all the support in part one. I hope you enjoy, because we all deserve a little Luke Castellan every now and then!

Masterlist

Amphitrite had been gifted a premonition and the world was all the worse for it. The dream had come from Apollo or perhaps the Oneiroi or whatever great heart pumped blood and Gods and monsters out into the world.

It did not matter to the Goddess from whom the vision came, for in this dream Amphitrite had watched her husband fall in love and sire a child to a mortal paramour. A precious boy that Poseidon might even one day love, with a taste for the colour blue and a heroism that would grow to rival his namesake. And for the Queen of the Seas, that simply would not do.

It would not be the child’s nor his mortal mother’s fault – she was not Hera after all – and so she would have to punish her husband for the blame would be his. But how was one to punish a King among Gods before his crime even came to be? Why to beat him at his own game, of course.

So, Amphitrite set out to sire her own demigod with the mortal man her husband would hate most. A devout catholic.

Amphitrite stayed with her mortal lover and their half-blood daughter until the girl was all but five. Far longer than the greater Gods were wont to spend with their offspring. But what a precious babe she had bourn and what a traitorous husband she had back home.

But fate and prophecies and soulmates were such funny things. Inciting chaos. Inviting paradox. Introducing dangers untold.

It took Amphitrite all those years – though seemingly short in her immortality – to realise her fatal error. She had been the one to leave Poseidon. She had been the one to sire a child. She had been the one to drive her husband to the surface and his mortal. And so, the blame was hers to shoulder.

Amphitrite decided that she would be a self-fulfilling prophecy no longer. It was time to venture back below the surface.

In a last fit of guilt, she bestowed her first and final act of mercy unto her mortal lover. She told him everything.

When finally, she had gone back to the sea to reconcile with her husband, the catholic man took his turn to bestow his first and final act of mercy unto his young demigod child.

Against all the teachings of his faith. He abandoned his young daughter at Half-Blood Hill. And let the devil-spawn keep her life.

The Spirit of the Hudson River never did learn to like you. You with your greedy hands, snatching debris from its murky waters. You and your strange sea creature friends who would not dare brave such pollution were it not for your presence. Your pile of war spoils tossed aside like children’s toys. Your strange little bubble of air on the sandy floor of the river, where you stowed your treasures and slept bracketed by water. Were it not for the pollution that slopped against the edge of the river as if it were trying to escape you, the Hudson River Spirit might have chased you and your sea friends and your collection of trinkets out of his waters. But as it were, you made a strangely amicable tenant for a demigod. So, as long as you paid your dues the spirit let you keep your little underwater oasis.

For your first years living there, you made your way in New York City by selling lost things dredged from your river home. Bikes and old weaponry and tarnished jewellery and buckets of coins from across the world. You were careful and you coveted your few precious belongings, but with the rivers bounty, you rarely went hungry.

By the time you were fourteen, you found you could venture further into the city without as many questions. You had met an odd assortment of people whilst selling the lost and unloved things of the river; all who knew someone, who knew someone, who needed another set of hands and so you offered yours. You babysat and cleaned, worked in delis and sandwich shops, helped old women with their groceries and young families mend their clothes. A retired teacher gifted you packets of schoolwork and with little else to fill your hours under the river you took to learning. Your numbers came easier than letters and reading always gave you a hard time but the activities she gave you each time you tended to her balcony garden gave you something to do when the sounds of the city kept you up at night.

All the while you followed Percy Jackson from the recesses of the Hudson. Shuffling your little bubble and its blessedly dry treasures up and then back down the river as he was bounced listlessly from school to school. Watching over him as the mythosphere tried desperately to barge into his little mortal life. Feral harpies that tried to snatch him into the air, great snakes that tried to sneak through air vents and all manner of underworld-born sea creatures that sought to pull him below. You had wrestled and dismembered and slayed them all. Adding their feathers and scales and great weapons to your dragons-hoard.

You were sixteen when you finally knocked on Sally Jackson’s door to introduce yourself. You had spent weeks working yourself up to it, planning your outfit and then fussing over each piece. All your clothes had been gifts and were often a size too big or printed with some generic tagline like Spread peace not hate!; or made entirely from yarn that the old woman whose meals you prepped at the start of each week had gifted you after she had taught you how to crochet; or like the dress you wore now, were sown together from thrifted fabric scraps and embellished with pretty shells and baroque pearls. You had planned the time you would arrive down to the minute so that her oppressive husband would be out, but the hour would not be so late as to make an unexpected visit threatening. You had planned to keep Percy safe while you were away from him by entrusting your friends Clarence the Crab and Emily the Squid to supervise him for the evening.

What you had not planned for was the possibility that Sally Jackson would be the most lovely woman you had ever met. You had been struck dumb by it the moment she opened her door and greeted you with a kind smile. Couldn’t your mother have chosen a mortal as gentle as she to be your parent? Alas, the Gods had never done a thing for you.

“Can I help you, lovely?”

You tried not to burst into tears as you asked, “Mrs. Jackson?”

“Are you alright?” She opened the door wider, leant out and scanned the corridor behind you. “Is there something you need?”

“No ma’am. I’m here about your son, Percy. His father sent me.” A good ambiguous statement that would pique her curiosity but let on nothing about the Gods. Allowing you to spin your tale – that you were Percy’s long-lost step-sister, come to reconnect.

“Poseidon?” Alas, the Gods had truly never done a thing for you. “Is something wrong? Is Percy, okay?”

“He’s fine Mrs. Jackson, I’ve been keeping him safe.”

She scanned the hall behind you once more, “You best come in.”

Over a cup of tea, you told Sally Jackson everything.

You liked your home under the river. For lack of a better term, it allowed you to remain liquid. You could follow Percy wherever trouble took him. You could stay up until the city grew quiet for that brief moment before dawn. You could train with the Hudson River Spirit, even if he only entertained you because he enjoyed winning.

You liked your bed made out of stacked wood pallets and a mountain of blankets. You liked your wooden chest of draws stuffed full of trinkets and weapons and the precious few items you owned. You liked this place that you had carved out with your own two hands.

But you also liked your home in the Jackson household. Where there was always music playing. Where it was always warm and dry. Where there would always be some blue-ified food in the oven or blue candy in the mason jars by the sink.

It became your job in the summers to babysit Percy, to keep him away from Gabe and from danger while entertaining his endless need for motion. You took him to art galleries (which he hated) and aquariums (which he loved), to craft fairs (which he tolerated because he liked the things you made) and swimming pools (which he only liked when he won your swimming races).

“What even is a soulmate?” Percy had asked you one day at the park.

“The person with the other half of your soul,” You scrunched your nose up, “Or well, that's what people say.”

“You’re saying I’ve been walking around with half a soul?”

“I didn’t say I believed them,” You rattled your water bottle in front of his face until he took it. “Stay hydrated.”

He frowned at you, “You don’t believe in soulmates?”

“Of course I do, but it's a little more complicated than that, kid.” You took the water bottle back and played with the cap for a moment while you thought. “Think of it like this. You can have two different puzzles that are cut the same way, right? So all the pieces from one will fit with all the pieces from the other. But that doesn’t mean they belong together, the picture doesn’t come out quite right because even though the pieces fit, they don’t necessarily belong to the same puzzle. Maybe that’s what it was like for your mom, like she couldn’t find the pieces that made up her picture and so she went with the ones that fit at the time.”

“You don’t think my mom and dad were soulmates?”

“I never met your father.”

“But he’s your dad too.”

“He’s my mom’s husband. Maybe my mom and dad are soulmates.” Percy didn’t seem to like that answer. “Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe your mom and my mom each have pieces that fit into your dad's puzzle but neither match his picture, or both. Maybe his picture is a year with your mom and a lifetime with mine and having you. Maybe he needs to collect all those little pieces at the right time when they’re the right shape or he’ll end up with a completely different picture at the end.”

“I kind of understand.” But he gave you a look that said he probably didn’t. “What picture are you making?”

You hid your smile behind the lip of your water bottle, “My soulmates about yay-high, pretty as a magazine cover with dimples and all. I’m collecting my puzzle pieces with you and your mom and this city so that I’ll have half of his picture.”

“If you know who he is, why don’t you just go find him now?”

“Still looking for some pieces, I guess.” You kicked a rock with the toe of your boot. “Souls are fragile. If you go rushing in and trying to jam the pieces in when they’re not shaped right just yet you could damage them.”

“What happens if you do that?”

“It’s probably harder to find each other in the next life. You’ll chip pieces away and your souls won’t fit right.” You shoved your hands into the pockets of your cardigan and pulled out a sandwich, you gave Percy the bigger half.

“Who taught you all this?”

“My mom used to tell me and well, I've thought about it a lot.” You tugged Percy by the back of his shirt so he didn't go stomping through a puddle, he glared. “But anyway, some people think it’s just fate. That you find your soulmate no matter what and it’s a perfect fit either way.”

“It would be easier that way.”

“Sometimes that’s just not how the story goes, kid.”

Percy thought that was the most important thing anyone had ever taught him, but he figured some of the other stuff you taught him came in handy too. You taught him the tricks you learned to work around your dyslexia. You taught him to skip stones and to not throw rocks at seagulls. You taught him to flip off the Empire State Building but only when his mom wasn’t around. You taught him to knit and do a cartwheel and make a good cup of tea to take his mother in the morning. You taught him to chew with his mouth shut and to sword fight with wrapping paper rolls. You taught him to braid hair and throw a punch and say all the swears in Ancient Greek.

And then one day, a Satyr came for Percy Jackson, and there was nothing left for you to teach.

You wrote Sally a brief letter of warning, picked your way through seven years’ worth of belongings and collapsed your life into a backpack. You said goodbye to Clarence and Emily with a brief promise to visit, pushed a final wave of pollution from the waters and thanked the Hudson River Spirit for his hospitality. He gifted you sixteen perfect round pearls and insisted that he never wanted to see you again. You spent the bus ride to Long Island threading them into a necklace made of fishing wire, tying off each pearl with your teeth.

It was a tentative tradition between demigod soulmates to exchange gifts upon their first meeting. So few and far between were the possessions of a half-blood that even the smallest bauble would likely mean the world. The practice had died out some over the centuries as the Gods received fewer offerings from mortals and turned to their children for sacrifices. Gift-giving to your soulmate as a demigod became all but synonymous with spitting at the feet of the divine and loudly proclaiming you would make offerings to your soulmate instead. A pearl necklace would be an excellent final addition to the collection of small gifts you had assembled over the years. Let the Gods weep at your feet and beg for scraps if they needed them so much, you would ignore them just as they had ignored you.

You arrived at Camp far sooner than you might have liked, a few hours past mid-day when hopefully the rest of your ilk would be occupied with meaneal chores and activities. You considered waiting at the crest of the hill for someone to notice you only to find a pine tree planted firmly at its peak where you might have stood. Instead, you make the alarmingly easy trek down to the Big House.

“Chiron!” He had always been your favourite of the two men, currently sat on the porch drinking juice and playing cards.

“Yes, my girl?” He barely spared you a glance as he shuffled his cards between his weathered hands. He stilled for a moment and then tossed his head back in the way a horse might toss its mane. “My dear!”

You raised a hand, halfway between a salute and a wave, “Nice to know I haven’t been totally forgotten.”

“Au contraire.” Mr. D stuck his nose up at you. “Which one are you again?”

“The little one that went missing some seven years ago,” Chiron stood as you climbed the stairs onto the porch. “How are you, my dear? Where have you been?”

“Shouldn’t you be at Yancy Academy?”

Mr. D’s eyes turned sharp in the way that had once made your friends whisper that some days, he was more maniac than man , “And how do you know about that little girl?”

“Percy Jackson is at Yancy,” You smiled at him, all teeth, “How did you think he survived long enough for your baby satyr to find him?”

“You have been protecting young demi-gods?” Chiron asked wearily.

“Percy Jackson is a full-time job, I’m afraid,” You tugged at the strap of your backpack, praying you could keep control of the conversation. You had a lot of time under the river to think and this was one of many things you had spent countless hours mulling over. Weighing and considering what story you would tell them – to tell the truth of both your parentage and put Percy in harm's way or to lie and balance your life on its sharp edge. “I found him in Manhattan, he was like a magnet for mythological activity. By the time I’d had enough of rebelling and wanted to come back to camp, I was protecting him from attacks every other week. He wouldn’t have lasted a month. I came back as soon as I could.”

No matter how many times you played it out in your head, the lies won every time.

“Kids.” Mr. D threw back the last of his juice.

“Perhaps you should settle back into the Hermes Cabin, dear.” Chiron smiled down at you, the corners of his eyes pinched, “You’ve given myself and Mr. D much to talk about. We’ll settle the issue of your paperwork tomorrow.”

“Of course.” You rustled through your bag, digging up a palm sized statuette that you set onto the table. “Before I forget, I brought you a gift Mr. D.”

“A toy,” He snatched it up. “Oh joy.”

“It’s you, as the mortals’ see you. It’s from the gift shop at the Met.”

“How kind of you, my dear.” Chiron softened, and you watched as even Mr. D’s temper seemed to ease, his hands gentle around the gift as he admired it.

An unseeing piece of plastic for the God who served as no more than a silent observer over the affairs of the camp. Let him choke on his ego, you thought as you left the pair to their discussion.

Cabin 11 was blessedly empty when you entered, but your old bunk was not. A pile of clothes was thrown haphazardly across the bedspread. You snatched a sleeping bag and a lumpy pillow from the storage closet and threw them down with your bag. If you could not have the bunk that had been yours at twelve, you would claim the corner that had been yours at five. As you shook out the sleeping bag and pulled out your belongings, you tried not to think of your bed of blankets under the river or Sally Jackson’s couch.

Instead you turned your mind to the Big House and the conversation that was no doubt happening within.

You had constructed a perfect image, if you did say so yourself. Grown in ways Mr. D could not have predicted but Chiron would insist he had foreseen. Still a rebellious young woman in the mortal sense, with your scuffed leather boots and ripped jeans. But the parts that had screamed ‘insubordination’ to the Gods were neatly tucked away. Your twin knives strapped to your forearms under the billowing sleeves of your crocheted top, your vicious tongue caged behind a sweet grin, your once sharp stare softened at the edges.

Once you had fashioned yourself so that the Gods could not paint you as a hero, now you fashioned yourself so that they might forget you were an enemy.

Let Chiron think you were a misunderstood wayward girl scout come home from her self-imposed quest. Let Mr. D think you were a stupid girl who had seen the world beyond the Gods’ protection and finally accepted that you needed them. Let them all think wrong. You had left to protect your brother and returned for one reason only.

“You’re here.”

You turned, and there he was, “Luke Castellan.”

He opened his mouth and then closed it, limbs jerking slightly as if he wasn’t sure whether to move toward you or stay put. He was almost certain you could hear the way his pulse was racing, his heartbeat clanging wildly in his chest as he searched desperately for a suave reply, but everything else seemed lack lustre when you said his name like that.

Your face twisted into something like anger and for a moment he thought he’d messed it all up before your lips curled and you practically spat, “I do like your scar.”

And then he was laughing at you, wild and bewildered and not the least bit contained. Before long you were laughing too, neither of you quite sure what was funny, just so wholly relieved as your chests were flooded with wonder and warmth.

It felt like fireworks and popping candy. Just as he had promised all those years ago. You resisted the urge to throw up on his Converse.

You might have been crying and he might been too but you weren’t exactly sure because one moment you were both laughing at nothing and the next he was on the floor with you. He held you like he had never held a single thing in his life, like he was lost at sea and you were the only solid thing for miles. He tucked your head under his chin and sucked in great forced breaths that you could feel beneath your cheek. Because he was warm and there and real. And that meant the last seven years, the better part of your life, hadn’t been for nothing.

You and Luke make your way to dinner side by side. You had spent the afternoon rambling about your lives, about your meetings with your future selves, about your home under the river, about his responsibilities as a camp counsellor and yours as your brother’s keeper. He told you about Annabeth and Thalia and the rest of his siblings, you told him about your parents and Sally Jackson and your sea friends. You gave him his necklace which he lets you fix in place at the base of his throat – you do not spend a moment too long running your hand up the back of his neck and through his curls.

He had been almost bashful when he gifted you a watch that matched his, inlaid with twin fragments of mother of pearl taken from the same shell – kind of like your soul had been, he had said. You swear you’ve never owned anything as precious. You let him strap it to your wrist as he tells you about spending a summer diving for it in the lake. And then softly, tentatively, he tells you about his quest.

Luke could have cried from the way you were looking at him alone, so very gently, like you could cradle him with your gaze alone. At a loss for words, you simply whispered, “I am so proud of you.”

His grip is iron-clad and you tell your next story with your face pressed into the side of his neck, pretending you can’t feel him shaking softly.

When you make your way to dinner you’re both glowing with the soft exhaustion of emotion. You all but lean against one another as you collect your goblets and fill your plates.

The other campers steer clear of you, content to leave Luke to chauffeuring the new kid around. You count yourself lucky, it was only a matter of time until one of the older campers recognised you.

You were almost to the end of the Hermes table – that perfect spot at the end where you might just have a chance of holding a private conversation after dinner – when Chiron interrupted you.

“Mr. Castellan, I see you’ve acquainted yourself with our newly returned camper.”

“That’s my job, sir.” You tried not to stare at the crooked smile he flashed the centaur.

“Perhaps you ought to show her how to make an offering,” Chiron says pointedly, “She’s been away for a long time, and it’s your responsibility to treat her as you would any other incoming Camper.”

Luke turned to you, his boyish grin still charming but the mirth leaking out of his eyes, “Of course. Do you remember how it’s done?”

“I do. Just not a lot of food to be spared in the mortal world.”

You squinted, the corners of your mouth pulled up in what Chiron would likely mistake for sheepishness. But Luke could see it in your eyes. How your anger had made you pointy in all the places someone your age ought to be soft. He wondered how all the jagged edges of you would feel against all the jagged edges of him. He thought maybe if the two of you were careful, you could make something smooth as sea glass and twice as pretty, together.

You dump a clump of mashed potatoes into the fire with an unconcerned flick of your fork. Luke lops part of his own meal on top of yours, you glare enviously at the reasonable portion he had left on his plate. You hoped the food would burn at the bottom of the braiser.

“Sorry, sir.” You mocked Luke. He stuck his tongue at you once Chiron had turned his back.

You hurried to snag the seat at the end of his table, sliding into place across from each other. You flounder for a moment, wondering whether to draw your legs as far under your seat as they will go or bask in the gentle brush of his knee against his leg. You settle for the latter and try not to evaporate under his gaze, as he stares at you even as you start eating.

Luke realised he’d spent too long staring when you all but groaned, “Don’t tell me I have to sacrifice my dinner to you too.”

He flashed you a grin, then tried to say as nonchalantly as possible,“Is that why you left? So you could enjoy a proper meal every once and a while?”

You stared at him for a long while, “You, future you, told me to leave, to find my brother.”

“Why would I do that? If you had stayed at Camp–”

“That’s almost exactly what I said to you.” You pushed your food around as you stared at a point just beyond his head, he thought for a moment that he could see the neurons firing behind your eyes, like a hundred tiny zaps of lightning, “But I’ve had plenty of time to think about it. And I think you were right to send me away.”

“I don’t think I’ll be hearing that very often.” He dodged the pea you fling at him with a grin.

“I think maybe if I don’t leave, I won’t become this me or do the things I’ve done and maybe that’s important for us or our future or some past you rewrote by telling me to leave.”

“Seems overly complicated.”

“I think it’s supposed to be complicated,” You couldn’t help but admire the quiet skill with which he wielded his cutlery, “If it were easy, we would find each other in every universe.”

He paused, knife aloft, “You don’t want to find each other in every universe?”

“It doesn’t matter what I want.” You speared a leaf of spinach onto your fork to hide your scowl behind as you said, “The Gods have made it this way to keep us separated.”

“We’re together now.”

“Which means they lost.”

Luke watched you for a drawn out heartbeat, then leaned over to transfer the perfect squares of meat he’d been cutting onto your plate.

You took a long moment to chew before you said, “So, your plan to send me after Percy worked.”

“I thought it was your plan.”

“I forgot to ask you whose plan it was.”

“I say it’s your plan.” He took a long pull from his goblet that left his lips tinted red.

“It doesn’t matter what you think.” You passed him a napkin before he could ask, “It’s what you will think.”

“Sure, Precious.” He smothers a laugh into the napkin at the way you scrunch your nose at him, “You know, because you're so protective of your food. Like Gollum with the ring.”

“That’s the stupidest explanation for a pet name I’ve ever heard.” But you’re damn near head down on the table as you laughed. “I definitely got the smarter half of our soul.”

“Then it was definitely your plan.”

You’ve still got a hand pressed to your face to conceal your smile when you say, “What about when I meet you? Any words of wisdom?”

“Try not to fall for me. I can tell you’re pretty charmed but it’s really not appropriate. I’m seventeen, and you’re what? Twenty-four?”

You launched your bread roll at him. You’re twice as incensed when he catches it whilst looking directly at you, “Asshole.”

“Smartass. See, two can play that game.”

Luke can’t help but think you’re just as pretty sneering as you are smiling, like no expression no matter how ugly could detract from your beauty. Maybe you’re like him, he scarcely dared to hope. Maybe you’re something better, another part of him whispered. The way you talk about the Gods and turn your nose up at them, and play their game only when it suits you.

You weren’t vengeful in the way he was. You weren’t the spitting vicious thing the Camp had liked to pretend you were when you weren’t around to prove otherwise. You were worse and better and everything he needed. You were a storm on the horizon, a snake coiled tight. You were better than just angry. You were disillusioned. Not a product of juvenile resentment but true wrath born of awareness. Not the wild foaming-at-the-mouth kind that he had imagined when he had first heard your name. But the dark carefully contained kind he had seen in the face you would grow into.

This, Luke thought, you were the start of everything.

It’s some weeks later when you stick your hands through the grating of the bunk above Luke as leverage to lean over him and croon, “Up and at ‘em, Pretty Boy.”

He pushed his face out of his pillow, curls sticking up at odd angles as he looked at you half-asleep, “What?”

“Remember? Training?”

“No,” He scrubbed sleep from his eyes, “What did you call me?”

“Sickly.”

“I don’t think that was it.” He propped his head up on a fist as he smiled at you sleepily.

It was so disgustingly cute that you had to turn your back when you said, “Just meet me there.”

Luke’s freshly showered and holding an apple core when he deigns to join you in the forest. He tossed the apple at you and you caught it without thinking. You fake gag at him as you throw it further into the forest.

You wiped your hands against his shoulder as you say, “I’m not sure if an apple core counts but that was dangerously close to an Ancient Greek proposal, Castellan.”

“I got hungry.” He shrugged. You squared off across the clearing, stretching as you warmed yourselves up for the ensuing sparring match.

“You’re going to have to do better than that.”

“Is this you rejecting me?” He landed an open hand on his chest and staggered backward. “You wound me, Precious!”

“Was that you proposing? Because I’m,” You wiped your hand again for good measure, scrunching your nose up, “Disgusted.”

“You would be honoured if I had just proposed to you.”

“You should be nicer to me.”

“And go easy on you just because you’re my soulmate? Unlikely.”

“Because, asshole, I’m the one who got you out of chores this morning, or have you forgotten already. You seemed rather grateful for your little sleep-in.”

He unsheathed his sword and twirled it round in his hand, “You’re a bad influence.”

“Like you weren’t ready to worship the ground I walk on when I told Chiron you needed to get my training up to speed.”

“Do you want me to tell you, you’re brilliant?” He pointed his sword toward you with that grin that made you want to hold him down just so you could admire it longer. “You’re brilliant.”

“You’re stalling.” You pull your knives out, one from your boot, the other from your belt. You miss your old clothes with their pretty sleeves and their personality, your camp shirt seems a poor trade in comparison.

“Stalling? Me?” Luke scoffed. “Never!”

“Don’t you have a counsellor meeting at half-past?”

“I do, so please don’t feel bad when you lose. I only have half an hour to wrap this up. You understand.”

“Who’s fault is that Mr. Just-five-more-minutes?”

He gasped in mock offence and lunged forward, his sword swinging at you in a great arch. You leapt back, out of his range, then ducked low and rushed toward him. Luke was quick, in a viciously smooth move he swept his sword at you again. You brought your knives together, bracing as the impact ricocheted up your arms. Admittedly, you were at a great disadvantage given that you were reluctant to throw a knife at Luke’s head – even though he’d demonstrated an impressive ability to swipe your wayward throws out of the air – and that he had an additional several feet of reach on you.

Luke feigned to the right, you lashed out at his left side and narrowly avoided his sword as it came down at you. He whistled slowly as both of you backed up to circle each other for a moment.

“You’ve got moves, I’ll give you that.”

And so the dance went on. Luke struck, you parried or slipped out of his blade's path with a flourish. You struck, Luke swung his sword and slipped around your blows. Finally, you found the chink in his precious armour. He fell back to his right foot when he deflected a blow. You jerked forward. You jabbed the knife clutched in your left hand toward him as you moved in with the right. Just as you hooked a foot around the back of his leg, Luke’s sword made contact with your left shoulder slicing through sleeve and skin. Luke fell backward with a sharp hiss, his sword flying to the side.

In the end you had laid him out flat in twenty minutes. Luke Castellan had spent the last seven years fighting to win. You had spent them fighting to survive. You supposed it didn’t hurt that the greatest swordsman to enter Camp Half-Blood in nearly three centuries was reluctant to let anything sharp or pointed anywhere near you. You secretly thought he might have been going easy on you for being his soulmate after all. You collapsed on the forest floor beside him, your chest heaving to draw in oxygen.

“I’m sorry about your shirt,” Luke huffed.

“Orange isn’t really my colour.”

He turned to you with a wink, “Oh but it is.”

You wave your hand through the air.

“I’ve gotten very good at putting broken things back together over the years.” He tried not to look at the line of stitching that ran from the ankle of your jeans to the rips at your knee. You tried not to look at his cheek. Instead you reached out and trailed your hands across his necklace where the pearls sat snuggly at the base of his throat.

“You’re wonderful.” He brushed his knuckles down your shoulder and they came away red. “Even covered in blood you’re the most wonderful thing I’ve ever seen.”

You groaned, “Sweetness, you can’t just say–”

“You call me Sweetness when you visit me.” He whispered it like it was his greatest secret. You traced up his throat to his cheek and pressed your thumb into his dimpled cheek. “You’re still being wonderful. I can’t think when you’re–”

“Wonderful?”

“Okay, Smartass.” He sighed up at the sky, then pulled the both of you to your feet, “Enough lounging, we need to get that cut checked.”

You let him dust the dirt from you and resheath your knives, one in your boot, the other in your belt. Silently revelling in the gentle way he tugs you this way and that. You were well on your way to the infirmary, shoulders bumping and fingers just barely brushing, before he spoke again.

“Where does it come from? The nickname.”

“Sweetness?”

He looked away from you and squinted off into the distance, as if you were suddenly too bright to look at, “Yeah.”

“My mom used to tell me this story about meeting her soulmate. She probably meant Poseidon, but at the time I thought it was about my dad,” The back of Luke’s hand bumped into yours again, his fingers catching yours, his gaze resolutely ahead but you were definitely holding hands. “She said it felt like swallowing lightning and gorging yourself on popping candy. Like sweetness.”

“You like popping candy?”

“It’s my favourite.” You gave him a queer look as if to say, it’s not yours, you utter heathen?

Luke laughed at you all the way to the Apollo Cabin as he listed all the reasons it was the sub-par candy option. Nonetheless, when you emerge from the infirmary, he unloads a fistful of little packets he’d pinched from the candy bowl when the Apollo kids’ hadn’t been looking.

“Who has sub-par candy options now, Sweetness?” You teased, your mouth crackling merrily.

“Keep calling me that and you can have all the terrible candy you want.”

“Try some,” You shoved a packet toward him, because if he kept saying silly things like that and looking at you the way he was you were liable to do or say something equally as stupid. “You’ve got half my soul, maybe it’s our favourite.”

“I don’t think they had popping candy when we had one soul,” He flicks the packet held between your fingers. “And aren’t you the one who says we’re puzzle pieces not halves?”

“You have been listening to me!”

“Hard not to.”

“Asshole.” You flashed your teeth at him.

“Smartass.” He said, but the bite wasn’t there. He was watching you again, in that way he did sometimes before he said something stupid that made you want to throw yourself in the lake or run back to Manhattan or do something equally as stupid, like kiss him. “You–”

You twisted your hand in the front of his shirt and jerked him toward you, the little sachet crinkling in your fist. For a heartbeat, you were both silent, an inch away and staring as if you could will the other to be the one to press forward. But then he closed his eyes and Luke Castellan was kissing you. Like lightning and popping candy. With all the elegance of two lovestruck teenage fools and all the heat of two people who knew they had all the time in the world but still couldn’t bear to waste a second of it. His hand held you by the chin and then splayed lightly across your cheek and tucked hair softly behind your ear. You were only just reaching for the mess of curls at the back of his head when someone wolf whistles.

“My favourite.” Luke grinned, licked his lips and then turned. Hands stuffed in his pockets and a big stupid grin stretched across his face, as he shouted at you, “Stay out of trouble.”

You flip off the Aphrodite kid who’d whistled at you, and hurried back to the Apollo Cabin. You and Luke Castellan were going to need a lot more popping candy.

You’re in the lake, encased in an air bubble, sprawled out side by side with your backs against the sand, when Luke tells you what he’s done. That mere weeks before your arrival he had done the unthinkable. He had robbed the King of the Gods blind and betrayed half the Pantheon in doing so. You weren't sure whether to laugh or cry.

You had simply laid there, silently, for what had felt like aeons to Luke but maybe that had only been because he had to keep reminding himself not to hold his breath. He wasn’t drowning. You weren’t going to turn him in. He hadn’t just blown his whole plan and his life with his soulmate in one fell swoop. He just had to keep breathing and wait for you to say something. He thinks that maybe your mother had passed on some divine knack for diplomacy as Queen of the Sea with the way you seem to turn the issue of his betrayal over and over in your head.

After a while, you reach your arm toward the bubble and the sky. For a brief, terrifying moment, Luke thinks you’re going to pull the lake down on him. When you don’t Luke spends another infinite second wondering whether he would just let you do it.

He tosses the thought aside and focuses on the coin weaving between your knuckles. Like magic, it appears and disappears around the bends of your fingers but it wasn't real magic, just you fidgeting. He pressed his lips together and tried not to think about you at the bottom of the Hudson River, flipping your coin and turning over the issue of your soulmate and your brother and the camp you’d left behind. What is it you had said? You’d had plenty of time to think about those things.

Maybe that's what you need now – time. He’s about to offer it to you, offer to swim his way back to shore so you can think, even if he'd probably drown on the way. He’d give you all the time in the world if he had it.

But then you finally speak, the golden drachma rolling between your fingers, “If you hurt my brother, soulmate or not, I will kill you.”

“I am your soulmate.” He insisted as the implication made his skin itch.

“You are.” Your smile was so gentle it almost felt sad. “So you understand that my love for him comes before my hatred of the Gods. If you have put him in danger wit–”

“We get married.” He blurted. “We have a future. I woke you, when you visited me. That must mean I win.”

“It means, if that’s the path we’re even on, if those people are even the versions of us that we become… maybe you don’t hurt Percy.”

“I won’t.” He swore and you weren’t sure how to ignore the half of your soul that lies so sweetly. “I wouldn’t.”

“Maybe.” You swallowed like you’d been chewing glass your whole life, and someone had finally offered you something substantial to sink your teeth into. “Maybe if we leave now, there’s a world in which I don’t have to pick between my blood and my soul.”

Luke was quiet for a long moment, “We could recruit him. You said it yourself, he’ll be more powerful than any of us.”

“He’s twelve.”

“He’s the son of Poseidon.”

“He’s twelve.”

“You were twelve when you left to protect him.”

“And look how that turned out,” Your grin was brittle, but he swore you were still the loveliest creature he’d ever laid eyes on. “I’m sat here planning to betray everything I was raised to follow.”

“You’re going to follow me?”

Your eyes traced the shape of his jaw, his nose, his scar. You looked pained, “I fear I would follow you into much worse, Luke Castellan.”

“I’m trying to lead you to something better.” He reached for your hand, took the drachma from your fingers, and pressed a slow, soft kiss to your palm. He smiled and there were dimples in his cheeks and tears in his eyes as he whispered, “We can try for better.”

“Leave Percy.” You pressed your fingers to his cheek, “Let him come to camp, let him join us when he’s ready.”

“You’re sure he’ll join us?”

“He will, I know it. We just need to let him see the Gods’ apathy for himself.” And you sighed. Luke wondered how many lifetimes your souls had seen, how many times you had searched for each other, how many times you had been torn apart. You sound ancient when you say, “You and I have seen more than enough.”

He turned his head and whispered in the scarce distance between you, “What do you propose?”

“We leave. As soon as anyone catches on, we take anyone who agrees with us and flee.” You brought his hand to your mouth and pressed your lips to his knuckles firmly, “We can plot your revenge and plan my new world on the way.”

Luke feels ancient when he promises, “Okay, on the way then.”

But he swears, as you lean forward and kiss him, that no matter how many times you do it this lifetime or in all the lifetimes until this story – of you and Luke Castellan – became ancient, it would still never stop feeling like the first time.

Like lightning and popping candy.

Tag List:

@emelia07 @star611 @7s3ven @kissingyourgrl @myxticmoon @shermanno @moonsficrec @soleilgrec

#luke castellan x reader #soulmate au #luke castellan #pjo luke #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo series #pjo show #percy jackson show #pjo #percy jackson #luke castellan fanfic #luke castellan pjo #luke castellan fic #luke castellan fanfiction

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sc0tters · 2 years ago

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Misconceptions and Confrontations | Jack Hughes

summary: you and Jack had never gotten on with each other but as Quinn’s best friend you were always at the lake house. So what happens when Jack thinks that there is something going on with you and Trevor?

request: yes/no

warnings: sexual themes, p in v, fingering, swearing, use of y/n once.

word count: 2.7k

authors note: I came up with this idea at like 3 in the morning so that’s when half of it was written. I wasn’t even halfway through writing this when someone requested a different Jack smut but I liked this way too much to delete it. So there’s another one coming soon!

pt 2 | pt 3

You wouldn't sleep with him if he was the last man on earth.

Jack had practically been your archenemy since you were seven and he was six. It was that moment that he yanked at your pigtail pulling you off of the swing on the playset that you two were destined to never get along.

Funnily enough it was that same moment when Quinn helped you up that set you two on the path to being best friends.

Now Jack was 22 and you were 23 and neither one of you seemed to have any intentions on beginning to like each other any time soon.

Your relationship didn't improve when you went off to college and he went off to the development team, in fact, it seemed that now Jack only getting the time you spent together during the summers his attempts at irritating you increased tenfold.

You didn't know how a family as amazing as the Hughes' could land up with the devils spawn as a child especially when the other two were good normal people. But nevertheless you always had to remain civil with the boy for the sake of your relationship with Quinn and for your mother's relationship with Ellen.

The two moms swore three years into their eldest children's friendship that the duo would get together. It took two months after the swing incident for you two to be practically attached by the hip. Everyone just assumed that Jack had a crush on you and that's why he was acting in that way to you, the real truth though was that he simply enjoyed pissing you off.

He loved the way he was almost always guaranteed a reaction from you, even if it was the smirk that you'd send him as you would watch Quinn shut his bedroom door in his brothers face.

The Hughes family lake house was the only place you willingly went each year even when you knew that Jack was going to be there too.

This year however and much to Jacks dismay you found yourself flirting with Trevor on more than one occasion.

Trevor had been notorious for flirting with you at the house throughout the years, but this was the first that you weren't telling him to find someone interested. He was dedicated you had to give him that much.

Jack used to love watching as you would turn him down but now he was just trying to refrain from letting the contents of his stomach from coming out of his mouth each time he would catch you two. At the start of the first week it was simple hand touching, you would run your fingers along a part of the Ducks players body. But now you were sitting on his lap and had even gone as far as feed him some watermelon at one point.

As childish as it may have sounded the boy wished that his brother would step in and separate them. Jack was surprised that Quinn was so calm at the cozy sight of you and Trevor.

Little did Jack know, the only reason why Quinn was so relaxed about it all was that he really didn't care who you dated. Sure he wanted him to be a good guy, and knowing where Trevor lived made it a lot easier if he ever needed to hurt him for hurting you.

The Devils player had been so caught up in his annoyance for what was going on the he didn't even realise that the one day when he walked past the room you were in and he heard the sounds of your moans Jack thought you were with his best friend. But if he had stayed in that hallway for a second or two longer, he would have realised that you were alone and it was your hand that was getting you off.

The final night at the lake house had quickly come upon the group and to celebrate you guys used Jack and Quinn's lake house to throw a party.

The event had been a total success, drinks were pouring, people were singing, even Quinn was dancing at one point in the night. But one thing you always noticed was the way that Jack just glared at Trevor. Even when the prettiest girl at the lake tried to talk to the middle Hughes boy his eyes didn't move.

You thought that it was childish from the devils player, somehow he had been able to avoid saying a single word to you the entire night yet he still managed to get under your skin.

So when Jack made his way upstairs presumably to the bathroom you followed wanting to give him a talking to "I'll be right back," you mumbled squeezing Trevor's thigh as you left your space on the couch on the tail of the forward.

The bathroom door almost shut but you were able to get you hand in the way of it "what the hell is your problem?" You asked clearly letting the alcohol that was in your system cloud your judgement.

Jacks eyes went wide as he looked at you "you're the one who walked in on me," he reminded her feeling like he wasn't the person who should have been receiving questions.

You grumbled something incoherent under your breath "you keep on glaring at Z when he's done nothing wrong!" You yelled at the younger boy as you shut the bathroom door behind you, making sure to lock it in the process.

You didn't want him to leave before the conversation ended "you're the one who's sleeping with him." The hockey player shot back as he began to pee not caring that you were still there.

If there had been about four shots less of vodka in your system maybe you would have left "I'm not sleeping with him," you furrowed your eyebrows at the accusation wondering where it could have possibly came from.

That announcement both made Jack feel lighter but also like he wanted to shove his head in the sand "you were the one I heard walk past!" You let out a gasp as he washed his hands.

The devils player had never been soft footed "you heard me?" He asked letting the soft fabric of the towel dry his hands.

You snickered to yourself as you leaned against the door "should have known it was you," your voice was soft as you shook your head "if it was Z he would have done something about it." The jab at him made him quickly close any distance between you two.

He pressed his lips into a fine line "Trevor is an action man, you aren't." You shrugged as you locked eyes with him seeing how his scowl hardened honestly made your knees buckle.

You knew that when you woke up in the next morning anything that happened from this moment on, you were blaming on the alcohol.

Jack ignored the alarm bells that rang in his head as his mouth watered at the sight of your lips "yeah I am," he pouted almost hurt by your statement.

It was this specific moment that you crossed the point of no return "prove it." And with those seven letters his lips were on yours, tongues clashed in a messy fight that against was going to be blamed on the alcohol.

He tapped your leg motioning for you to jump as he hooked his hands under your legs before he took you to the counter and let you sit in it "love this dress." He confessed as his hands ran up your thighs going dangerously close to your core.

You let out a moan as your stomach felt on fire “do something already.” You complained as your pulled away from him wanting to clench your legs together at the view of his now swollen lower lip.

Jack smirked as he ran his fingers through your hair “patience is a virtue sweetheart,” he repeated one of your favourite lines that you used to tell him when he would rush you to get out of the bathroom at the lake house.

Furrowing your eyebrows you sent him a glare “I’m sure Z would be happy to fu-” you couldn’t even finish your sentence before Jack shoved two of his fingers into your mouth “suck,” he groaned at the sight of your lips wrapping around the two digits practically treating it like you were sucking a dick.

So you let your tongue swirl around the fingers as you contemplated all of your actions. But before you could continue his fingers were pulling from your mouth “fuck,” fell from his lips as he watched the trail of saliva break and land on your breasts.

The hockey player placed his other hand on your cheek “got warm you up for my cock okay?” When your head repeatedly nodded he took your lips into a kiss before he pulled your panties to the side easing his fingers into your core.

His were longer and thicker than yours so you were feeling things that you had never known that you could feel just from being fingered “shit.” Your head fell back giving the boy access to your neck where he peppered it in kissing.

Eyes screwed shut you knew that it was game over the second he placed his thumb on your clit. You were actually rather surprised that he not only knew where it was but also knew what to do with it. But the thoughts shit talking him quickly stopped when he placed the perfect amount of pressure on the little bud.

Jack smirked as he looked at the sight of you “what would Quinn say if he knew that you were up here about to get fucked?” He asked angling his fingers different as he hopped to make you feel a new type of sensations.

Most days you had a problem using your filter “he would probably think that it was Z doing it,” you matched the chuffed look that was on his face.

But that look quickly dropped when the boy pulled his fingers out of you “up,” he mumbled as he motioned to you to get off of the counter.

You face turned into one of confusing as you listened to him “you’re gonna watch yourself get fucked,” he explained as he raised your dress up to your stomach so that he could pull your panties down.

The lace hit the ground as Jack went to a black box that was in a drawer to get a condom “you knew you were gonna get fucked tonight huh?” You asked seeing his shorts fall down with his boxers to reveal his fully hardened cock.

Your mouth watered as you tried to remain calm “something tells me you’ve been wanting this,” the boy teased as he rolled the condom over his cock.

You gripped at the countertop in front of you “you wanna hurry up and do it then or what?” You grumbled growing impatient.

For what ever reason Jack just found this amusing “always had such a mouth on you,” he muttered placing a kiss on your neck before he locked eyes with you in the mirror “you sure you want this?” The boy ran his protected cock over your clit a few times “Jack if you don’t hurry up I swear to-” you were quickly cut off as he grounded his hips into yours.

Your head fell forward “god,” you groaned as he stopped moving giving you the time to adjust to his size.

He leaned forward “it’s just me honey,” he placed a warm kiss below your earlobe.

If he wasn’t currently deep inside of you, you would have rolled you eyes at him but you feared what it would cause him to do “just move please.” You begged as you were desperate to some form of a release today.

Jack nodded grabbing onto your hips as he began to slid in and out of you “you like getting fucked when all of your friends are downstairs?” He asked smirking as he watched your boobs bounce each time he thrusted inside of you as you had decided to forgo a bra with your dress.

Your mind was hazy “words or I stop honey,” the boy warned causing your eyes to snap open.

Met with the sight of his cock grounding you out repeatedly you couldn’t help it when you shuddered “you fuck me so good,” you called out not being able to take your eyes off of the mirror.

Without a single moment of care you were continuing to stroke his ego “like watching what it is like to be fucked good?” He sucked at your neck in an attempt to mark you that actually ended up causing you to clench around him “like this pussy was made for me.” Jack groaned as his head rested on the crook of your neck swearing that nobody could ever make him feel that good every again.

You were in this state of bliss as your legs began to wobble. You moved your one hand from the counter to your clit as you were desperate to feel some your orgasm fast “move your hand,” Jack warned but you never listened.

So he repeated himself again but this time making sure to softly tap your hand “move your hand before I fucking stop,” his tone was serious enough to cause you to listen letting your hand move back to the counter that it was once on.

Of course though the hockey player didn’t leave your clit unattended as his hand had taken over what you had been doing “you keep clenching around me like that and I’m gonna come,” he confessed not realising just how close you actually were.

You sucked at your teeth trying to come up with a way to say it “I’m gonna,” you announced cutting yourself off with a moan as you could feel the way that his dick throbbed inside of you.

The sound was like music to the boys ears “not yet,” he shook his head as he wanted to push you a little bit further.

Jack didn’t know when he would get another cause to do this so he wasn’t going to let the opportunity just roll past him “be a good girl and wait for me.” His tone was stern as he sped up his pace wanting to join you in that state.

It felt like mission impossible, you couldn’t hold on even if you tried “I can’t,” you now had tears welling in your eyes as you were teetering on the fine like between coming and not.

For the first time since he started fucking you, Jack had left your his alone as he had one hand on your clit and the other had just moved into your hair.

He tugged at it causing you head to rear against his shoulder. You two were now looking at each other directly, no mirror between you, no nothing. So he leaned down “come for me,” his words were soft and just as your mouth opened to let out a moan he captured your lips in a kiss. The hockey player fucked you through your orgasm and just as yours ended and you clenched around him for the longest time that you had yet, it spurred on his own orgasm.

You pulled away from him “Jack,” you whimpered out as the feeling of overstimulation was quickly approaching you.

It caused the boy to laugh as he slid out of you “enjoyed that?” He asked with a smirk as he placed you back on the bathroom counter when your legs began to act like jelly.

Before you could respond there was a knock at the door “Jack?” It was Quinn’s voice and it caused your eyes to go wide.

Jack almost forgot to respond as he was still taking in your post fuck look “yeah,” he groaned as you had kicked his knee.

Quinn had been searching for you for the last five minutes “you know where y/n is?” He asked desperately trying to find you.

You had to hold in a gasp as you were worried what the middle Hughes brother might say “haven’t seen her,” the Devils player lied as he sent you a smirk.

The look he sent you was silently saying you owe me.

So something made her realise that whatever this was with Jack wasn’t going to be over just yet.

#jack hughes #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes x you #jack hughes smut #nhl smut #hockey smut #nhl imagine #nhl oneshot #hockey imagine #oneshots #imagines #amber writes fics

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little-one-eyed-monsters · 2 months ago

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Inspired by @absolutebl and @heretherebedork's posts about 10 BL endings they wish had been April Fools Jokes, presenting:

10 BLs with plots that felt like an April Fools' Joke:

(Full disclosure: I loved all of these shows. I finished all of these shows. Whether they were good, bad, frustrating, or anything in between, they scratched an itch in my brain and entertained me to no end; like any well-executed April Fools' prank).

But before that, some honorable mentions:

1. Century of Love (hi grandpa. He's probably too young for you. Also, why is there a fox spirit here? Is this a transmigration series or a fantasy series?! Pick a lane dude!)

2. Pit Babe (ah, Pit Babe. Are you an omegaverse? Are you a sports-themed bl? Are you gay X-Men? Are you the unholy amalgamation of them all? I love this color on you.)

3. The Boy Next World (so he's lying about the parallel worlds... he's just a stalker. Or, wait, there is a parallel world? But he's stal-- oh, now they're both stalkers? What the hell is going on? Well at least the leads are pretty.)

4. Four Minutes (I fried my own brain trying to understand the plot of this one. I spent my viewing hours just listlessly looking at the characters doing something on screen, praying that one day, any day, it will all make sense.)

5. Jack and Joker: U Steal My Heart (this shouldn't make the list. BUT that special episode was a JOKE. I refuse to accept it as canon.)

AND WITHOUT FURTHER ADO:

10. Battle of the Writers

Because let's be honest, after the couples got together (which they achieved at an average length of one episode each), THE PLOT WENT EVERYWHERE and NOWHERE all at once. OOH they were childhood friends, OOH now this editor is trying to steal this writer friend from his boyfriend, OOH now this other guy goes on vacation and falls for a random islander, OOH lead character randomly LOSES HIS EYESIGHT, then gets it back an episode later. OOH random actor has a crush on the lead writer.

True to its title, I fully believe that all writers involved in this show had a battle inside that boardroom to see where the series' plot is supposed to go. Sadly, they all won.

9. Dead Friend Forever

...was this a BL? Maybe. Well, they made out with each other a lot in this. I spent half of the runtime wishing half of the characters were dead, and the other half wishing the rest would get the hell out of that school. Pretty, balanced ride now that I think about it.

(Barcode and Ta' characters should have ended up together. The fact that they didn't made this series a true April Fools' joke)

8. Choco Milk Shake

Some of the leads spawned from pets. That's it. That's the premise. Otherwise, this is pretty low on the list because the execution isn't as outrageous as the initial plot. I was kinda wishing they would run with the crazy, but this is Korea. This is as crazy as it'll get.

7. Venus in the Sky

This was as plotless as Battle of the Writers. The only reason this beat out the others on the list is because the plot was so glacially, PAINFULLY slow. The pacing alone was a bamboozle all on its own. Plus, characters would do the devil's tango OUT OF NOWHERE, in the weirdest places. At one point they went to town with each other's bodies while the front door and windows were OPEN. That poor, traumatized neighborhood.

6. Anti-Reset

Main dude fell in love with a ROBOT, programmed by a company, owned by his UNCLE. Thank the heavens the robot didn't look or act remotely like a robot, otherwise this would be at the upper part of this list. The robot can... cry? Are the tears made of motor oil? Battery-fluid? Gasoline? Speaking of fluids, I have questions... bedroom wise...

5. History 4: Close To You

This was a rollercoaster from beginning to end. Manchild meets old crush at his workplace, woes her by... pretending to be in a relationship with his best friend? And then falls for his best friend. Then there was a harrassment lawsuit somewhere in there? And two dudes got married? Aight, aight.

Don't get me started on the stepbros. It's a bit ickier than Unknown's premise, because here their respective parents are still MARRIED to each other when the stepbros start doing the devil's tango. This all feels like unintentional grooming. I'm with your parents on this one, sorry.

4. Utsukushii Kare

I'm gonna say it: Hira deserved better. And I know Kiyoi is made out to be this emotionally-stunted, tortured soul who's secretly been in love with Hira all along, etc. etc. I don't care. Hira deserves to be loved by someone who expresses it openly and proudly. And isn't a bully. Yes I said it.

(Kiyoi did get better in the following season. Hira still should have chosen that photographer friend from college)

3. Word of Honor (I'm counting it. That canon ending where they live together in the mountains is as homo as any on this list)

In hindsight, this one might not be as crazy as the others on this list. Villain assassin falls in love with villain cult leader. A match made in purgatory because turns out, someone else out-evils them both. But as a couple, they made sense.

If only they didn't COMPETE to unalive themselves or each other EVERY OTHER EPISODE. Dude bro puts nails in his own body. Other dude bro jumps off a cliff. Dude bro surrenders to the enemy and suffers torture. Other dude bro sacrifices his life energy so his main dude can survive.

I swear if this was released fifteen years earlier during the bury-your-gays era, both Wen Kexing and Zhou Zishu wouldn't have made it past the third episode. Draw the curtains, plot will now focus on Gu Xiang. But no, it's 2021. The gays found the censored unlimited plot armor.

2. Secret Crush on You

The premise? Simple. Guy has crush. Crush likes him back (multiply by five couples).

The execution? UNHINGED. Toh, the main character, keeps a MUSEUM's worth of souvenirs (ehem, trash) of his crush. He kept a paint can. He kept a plastic bag. He kept leftover food, guys. FOOD. He keeps his crush's leftovers DEAR GOD.)

Toh also gets drunk every time they're travelling somewhere, intentionally KISSES the girl who's trying to steal his crush away to... fend her off? Tries to kiss Saint's character because he scored him a photoshoot gig with his crush (Suppapong I'm blaming this all on you). And his crush Nuea is INTO ALL OF THAT. What the ACTUAL HELL.

The rest of the cast was precious. That's the only reason this didn't top the list.

And the biggest joke of them all:

1. My Stand-In (because WHAT IN THE YAOI HELL WAS THIS?)

Screw the bury-your-gays trope. The gay will bury you, resurrect you, make you an escort, and... marry you?

Prior to My Stand-In, I have never seen Poom Phuripan (Joe's actor) act in anything else. From his MDL, he's been in a LOT of projects as a former Channel 8 agent. In Asia, that means you're under a steady rotation of guest and supporting roles in soap operas, most times as either the most expendable character, as a villain, or the anti-hero for bigger stars.

As for Ming's actor, I've only seen Up Poompat in one thing-- a bl called Lovely Writer. I am however aware that he started quite young in the acting industry, had a supporting role in Girl From Nowhere, and did a movie with GMM's Phuwin (didn't watch those before My Stand-In. This was all random info I absorbed from the general internet).

So I know both Up and Poom had more acting experience than most of their bl contemporaries. In their case, they've both been nominated for minor awards in previous roles. They would, on paper, be experts at this point.

And THANK GOD for that. Because only an expert could properly JUSTIFY what the hell My Stand-In's plot actually was.

This is the only show I've seen in my lifetime where one main lead acts like an absolute a-hole, gets little to no character development, gets NO PUNISHMENT for his actions (no, Joe's death doesn't punish Ming. It punishes JOE. He's the one who DIED; screw your tears Ming), then STILL GETS THE HAPPY ENDING. Oh, and he's rich too.

Why does fate love Ming? We don't know. Fate is Ming-sexual.

Meanwhile, the true main lead suffers unjust amounts of physical, emotional, social, and truly dysmorphic trauma, yet... remains a sweetheart? Joe, my friend, you died twice, I THINK YOU'RE ALLOWED TO STAB PEOPLE NOW. Did I mention he's an orphan? And that Joe lost his career because psycho ex-situationship Ming made him miss his big acting break by HITTING him with a bat and KIDNAPPING him. So he found another job which actually KILLED him DEAD. Then he was miraculously resurrected in another body for a second chance at life, only for him to become the boytoy of... psycho ex Ming?!

Why does fate hate Joe? Because they're Ming-sexual, that's why.

I hate Ming on paper. I HATE him. If I hated Kiyoi as an otherwise misguided school bully, then Ming gets all my rage as the most SPOILED, INSENSITIVE, truly HOMICIDAL mc to ever grace my screen. Each episode felt like a turn, and all turns went left. This was... romance? No, this is a True Crimes episode fr fr.

But that just adds to the surrealness of it, because good lawd Up and Poom can ACT. Up is one fine man, but I don't think his looks alone could have justified Ming's garbage character. Up played the role with such CHARM and nuance that I couldn't look away from his trainwreck. It was masochistic. It's his fault. But was it truly? OH NO.

And Poom's acting was a REVELATION. I've seen other great Thai actors before, and not just in BL. Being Asian myself exposed me to Thai series long before I saw my first queers on screen. Poom could best a lot of them. He played Joe in otherwise natural, blink-and-you'll-miss it actions, sometimes just through his eyes. But he played it in such detail that you could physically feel how lonely he was. How frustrated. How yearning. Truly IMPRESSIVE.

My Stand-In alone convinced me to watch all of Up and Poom's back catalog. They've each played monsters and villains and comedians and love interests in the weirdest series. You guys gotta give 'em a chance. Producers, I introduce to you the one ship in BL that can make your WEIRDEST premises watchable. Hot take: give them the accursed omegaverse Pit Babe cannot commit to. I'm sure they'll be able to glorify your kinks (unless Noeul Nuttarat wants to take a stab at it)

Bonus fun fact since you made it all the way here: did you know Up Poompat's original nickname was ALSO Poom (as in the nickname of his current bl partner?) He used Poom during his BL ship run with Kao Noppakao, as well as many of his previous shows and YT channel. He changed his nickname to Up after he screentested with a DIFFERENT Poom that was supposed to be his new bl partner, but it fell through. Then purely coincidental, he found another partner also named Poom, so at least that worked itself out. So how many Pooms does it take to make a ship? Just one apparently. Otherwise it would be PoomPoom. Sounds like a champion Pomeranian. (Ha, a joke!)

And that's a wrap for the biggest April Fools' pranks on Asian queer television to date. Thank you and sound off which BL you think should make this list. Stay kooky, folks!

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