#I wonder if it’s more comfortable having wings out or hidden | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mournings-stars · 7 months

Note

i’ve see loads of fics where reader touches adam’s wings and how they are really sensitive but never any with adam touching readers wings so could you write a adam x fem!reader where he touches her wings and they are obvi really sensitive?

well yes ofc!! i made this a little more of a "reader is usually dominant" fic cus i love dom!reader but here u go lovie

You’d had a long day, heavenly duties resulting in social exhaustion to the point where as soon as you got home, you lied on the couch, folded your wings around you, and shut your eyes.

It was only a few minutes of rest before the door opened again, your boyfriend coming in and talking loudly with his bandmates. You groaned, curling up beneath your wings and hiding in the feathers.

“And when she sees you guys are here—!“ The conversation quickly came to a halt, your boyfriend’s voice dying out before he quickly told everyone, “shit, I just remembered she’s not home right now.” he hadn’t let anyone into the living room, but he saw you hidden in your wings on the couch and knew he had to cut any antics short.

And since he was Adam, his bandmates didn’t hold it against him and left with the agreement to come back another day.

As soon as they were out, Adam came into the living room and went to the couch. “What’s up, babe?” Was his way of extending comfort, sitting next to you when you looked up at him. You sighed, making him open his wings so you could lie your head on his chest. Instead, you opted to lie your head on his lap. He cleared his throat. “Okay…” He shifted on the cushions, the sudden touch making him antsy. He placed his hand on your head. “You wanna talk?”

“Long day,” you said.

“Want some ribs?!” He asked, a little too excited as he took off his helmet and tossed it onto an armchair.

“You can have some if you want.“

“You never turn down ribs. What the fuck?” He took a moment to think. “Wanna fuck?” He suggested, half joking, but you took a moment to consider it. Maybe that would wash away your sour mood.

“Let me think about it.”

His golden wings almost fluttered with excitement as he grinned. “Okay,” was his answer. His hands went to your back to begin massaging gently. When you sighed, he felt a soft brush against his side and his eyes drifted to your wings, gently fluttering and stretching with every touch. “Is that uncomfortable?” He asked you, and you seemed to not even notice your wings, but he was very much aware.

“No, that’s nice,” you said in a breath. He hummed in response, swallowing down any thoughts that suddenly popped up.

Unsuccessfully.

Adam brought his hands between your shoulder blades, pressing down with gradual pressure and watching the way your wings flared as you shifted on his thigh.

He swallowed harshly, continuing to massage and watch as he wondered whether or not your wings were sensitive. He’d heard about some angels having hypersensitive wings, but he hadn’t been with you enough times to know whether or not you fell into that category. Especially since he was hardly ever the one in control when you did have sex — that was beside the point, of course.

He’d been thinking about it far too long, accidentally giving you an actual massage that was relaxing enough for you to fall back asleep, wings flat on your back and fluttering ever so slightly.

He let his hand drift, gently brushing the back of your wing and making you wake with a start, looking up at him curiously.

“Sorry, babe. Hand slipped…”

Fuck.

He was never going to stop thinking about this now.

It’d been hours now. Your bad mood had washed away with a nap (he definitely fell asleep too) and his opportunity had gone with it. But his thoughts stayed, making him wake up with a completely non-ignorable problem while you had started making dinner.

He groaned as he dug the heels of his palms into his eyes, attempting to massage out his thoughts before he got up. He was going to just deal with it, but you were attentive as usual.

“Morning, sleeping beauty.”

“Fuck off,” he muttered, making you scoff. When you said nothing, he quickly muttered, “sorry,” and then, “hi,” as he went over to you. You hummed, continuing to cut vegetables. “Don’t be like that,” he whined childishly, watching you go to wash your hands.

“Like what?” You frowned at him. “Wash your hands and help with dinner, please.”

“Still tired?” You nodded, gaining a kiss on the cheek. “I could’ve made us dinner.”

“That sounds terrifying,” you mumbled, eyes drifting to the flame on the stove. You didn’t want to imagine him alone in the kitchen.

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” he said with a glare before heading to the bathroom to wash up. He didn’t miss the way your mood briefly soured, telling him your bad mood wasn’t totally gone. He could definitely help with that.

He left the bathroom, still with a problem, but also with a pompous grin as he went back to the kitchen, seeing you stirring a pot of soup. He walked up behind you, hands on your hips as his head rested on your shoulder. You hummed, smiling faintly as his hands drifted in toward your stomach. His lips grazed your neck and you sighed.

“Adam…”

“Yeah…” He mocked your tone, hands drifting down your thighs as he kissed the back of your neck.

“What are you doing?”

“Saying hello to my hot as fuck girlfriend?” He questioned as he pulled you back against him, making you understand what was going on.

“Control yourself,” you warned, but still turned off the flame and leaned into him as your hands fell over his.

“Can’t. You’re here.”

He kissed down the center of your back, pulling you further into him before his hands undid the back of your robes so he could kiss your bare skin, stopping right between your wings and sucking open-mouthed kisses there. You gasped, wings flaring before you turned to get his mouth away from you.

“What are you doing?” The scowl you gave him wasn't one of anger. Clearly, he’d just done something to you that you couldn’t process.

“Trying something new,” he said, reaching for you. “Come back.” He grabbed your hands, pulling you back against him and attaching his mouth to yours. He kissed you eagerly, tongue pushing into your mouth as his hands found your back. One pressed you against him and the other traced down your spine. You sighed and he took the opportunity to make his way to the base of your wings. The moment he did, you moaned into his mouth.

You attempted to pull back, but he followed you, kissing you desperately and holding you close. “Adam—“

“Let me touch them,” he said breathlessly, thoughts of you, a complete mess, beneath him making him lose himself and say, “Please — fuck — I’ll do anything. Let me.”

He was beyond ecstatic when you checked to make sure any flame was off before leading him to the bedroom. He was watching your exposed back the whole way there, antsy enough that as soon as you closed the door he was pulling you to him and getting your robes off.

You got his off too, looking down and seeing the strain against his boxers. As you leaned back in, you moved your hand to the bulge in his underwear, palming gently and making him groan.

He got your undergarments off quickly, hands running over your breasts briefly. He couldn’t even stop to feign interest now that he knew how sensitive your wings might be.

He pulled you onto the bed with him, straddling his thighs with your cunt right where he needed it. He pulled you impossibly closer, continuing his forceful kisses as your hips twitched and hand continued to stroke him through the fabric.

“You’re so—“ You could even get the words out before his hands brushed over your wings. You moaned, hands going to his shoulders to brace yourself as your hips rolled against his.

He could feel how wet that made you, having to hold back his own satisfied moan as his fingers traced the tips of your wings, watching your wings open as he did. Your hips jerked, a harsh breath leaving your lips. His hands found the base of your wings, tracing with deliberate pressure and feeling your hands grip him as you shuddered and moaned.

“You can bruise me, if you need to,” he told you, feeling you try not to grip his shoulders too hard. “Mark me up, baby. Let everyone know I’m the one doing this to you—“

“Don’t get cocky—“ He cut you off with a sharp thrust up against you, making you moan.

“You make such pretty noises…” He sighed, reveling in the sound of you. “Why don’t you stop talking and just let me hear those?”

“Adam,” your warning wasn’t taken when he groaned and said, “You can keep saying that though. As loud as you want—“

“Do you want to keep touching me?” You asked sharply, making him stop his taunts. “That’s what I thought,” you sighed as your hand drifted to the base of his throat. “Be a good little angel and do what you asked for, yes?" He immediately flushed, clearing his throat and looking anywhere but your eyes. "Any more of this, and they’ll be off limits.” Your wings circled around the two of you, shielding you from the outside world and making Adam have to look you in the eyes. “Understood?” He nodded. “Good.” You moved your hand away from his neck and let your wings relax.

He fought off a dumb smile as he said, “You’re so fucking hot,” and pulled you into him, kissing you hard and letting his hands drift back to your wings. How something so powerful, that he was hanging on your every word, could make you so submissive, he had no idea, but he needed to see how far he could go.

He wanted more. This just wasn’t enough. He could always have you on top of him, controlling the situation. He could always touch you if he asked nicely, but he wanted you a shaking, incoherent mess when he was done with you. He didn’t want to have to ask for that.

He moved his hands to the tops of your wings, stroking gently before running his hands across the backs of them. Your kisses slowed, hips grinding against him. “That feel good?” You nodded. “Stop grinding,” he said, “just focus on this,” his nails ran along your wings as he spoke, making you arch into him as you moaned. When you did as he asked, he knew you wouldn’t be able to get back in control.

So he took his chances, touching you with haste and making your wings tremble as you tried not to grind against him. Your head fell to his shoulder, your hips squirming in hopes of getting some kind of relief. He ground his hips up, making you sigh at the relief and making Adam feel your heavy breaths on his neck, turning him on even more.

He took note, but moved his hands to the insides of your wings. He nearly froze at the whine you let slip, feeling himself get harder and having to focus on you. He did it again and you practically crumbled into him, whining as your hips twitched. Your arm wrapped around his shoulders, holding him tight as your other hand dug into his back, leaving scratches as he continued.

He held you close as he chuckled. “I know,” he cooed, mocking. “You can handle it.” That alone made you whine. “Words, baby, come on… Like you always say,” he reminded you demeaningly as he continued his relentless touches.

You swallowed your pride and said, “More,” in the most pathetic voice he’d ever heard from you.

He couldn’t resist. “Anything you want,” he said, but stopped touching your wings.

“No, no, no, Adam, please—“ He was stunned by your desperate begging, mouth finding his neck to press sweet kisses to, in an effort to get what you needed from him. “Need you.”

“I’ll keep going,” he said, turning you to lie down on the bed as he straddled your thigh. “Control yourself.” He expected some quip from you, but you just nodded, keeping eye contact and making him coo. “Aren’t you so good?” He dragged the back of his hand down the inside of your wing, watching your eyes roll back and mouth fall open. “And so pretty. Fuck.” He had to rid himself of his boxers with how tight they were now, taking the moment to look at your body on the bed, ready for whatever he wanted.

He couldn’t control himself, moaning at the sight of you before he got back on the bed. One of his hands held him up while the other began stroking the inside of your wing.

He kissed you hard, reveling in the way you tried to keep up despite your whining. You couldn’t control it, whimpers and moans slipping with every breath as he had his way with you.

Your legs squeezed, hips grinding against the friction of your thighs for any kind of relief which Adam quickly noticed. He reached his hand down, pushed your legs open, and put his knee back between them before his hand went back to touching your wings.

He added more pressure and you stopped kissing him, hands going to his waist to keep him still as your cunt grinded against his thigh. Your eyes were shut, squeezing as he continued to touch you, applying more and more pressure until even his thigh wasn’t enough for you.

You whined, tears collecting at the corners of your eyes. He paused, trying to give you a break, but you quickly told him, “Need you inside,” and “Need more,” your hands traveling down as he shook his head. That made your hands stop, but your pleas continued as you looked up at him with big, glassy eyes. He wanted to give you everything you asked for, but under any other circumstance this would be too soon. He softened his touches on your wings, trying to coax you and only making it worse. “Want you now, Adam, please—“

“You can’t take that yet—“

“I can, I can, promise, just — fuck — Adam —“ He shuddered at the way you whined his name. “— you keep touching me—“ He stopped, but that immediately made the shine in your eyes turn to hot tears that dripped down your cheeks. He tried not to be turned on by this, wiping away your needy tears and trying not to think of how pretty you looked like this; crying for him. He knew how pissed you’d be with him once this finally settled, but this was exactly what he was hoping for. “Don’t stop. It feels so good, just, please,” you looked between the two of you, how close he was to giving you what you wanted — how much he needed it too, “I need it.”

How could he deny you?

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papiliotao · 1 year

Text

꒰ 𝒌𝒊𝒔𝒔 𝒎𝒆 𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒑𝒐𝒕𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 ✩࿐

pairings: kazuha, scaramouche, and xiao x gn!reader (separate)

content: fluff, actor au, mutual pining, idiots in love (affectionate), kissing

summary: in which you kiss your pretty co-star for a scene of the new drama you’re filming. the twist? he’s head over heels in love with you!

a/n: also, this is very unlikely, but if you’ve seen this before, it’s because i messed up and posted it by accident before editing it one final time.

KAZUHA is a love interest straight out of the most euphoric of dreams and the most fantastical of fairytales. He’s sweet, gentle, and considerate, and each time the cameras start rolling, it almost feels as though nothing has changed. He’s the same charming and thoughtful boy you’ve grown to know and love. The only differences in his demeanor are subtle — hidden in the smallest of actions.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Kazuha asks you as he reads over his lines one last time. “If you have any objections, I can ask someone to revise the script.”

As a renowned actor, Kazuha has a considerable amount of power. If he was more selfish, he would have abused his position. However, he typically never objects to anything the directors tell him to do. He simply follows orders. Unless, of course, you’re uncomfortable with anything.

It’s funny. Whenever Kazuha’s told to do something, he has no complaints. He reminds you of liberating winds — able to blow on and persist in any situation. But when it comes to you, he doesn’t have any problems with telling the director to make subtle changes to scenes.

Somehow he’s even more charming than any love interest in a romance drama could ever be. In fact, working on set with Kazuha already makes you feel like you’re living in a fantasy formed in the mind of a hopeless romantic, so it’s no surprise that you’ve developed a bit of a crush on the sweet boy.

“No, it’s fine,” you answer your co-star. You try to act nonchalant, but in reality, your heart is fluttering like the delicate wings of the iridescent butterflies tickling the pit of your stomach. Every moment with him causes a hurricane of giddiness to well up within you. A kiss scene with Kazuha sounds like a dream come true.

“Alright then. Let’s get started,” the director interrupts your conversation — an exchange he was clearly listening in on. “Places, everyone!”

Both you and Kazuha exchange and glance and then get into position. You enter a house designated for the shooting of your drama while Kazuha stands outside in the warm streetlight. A singular call of “Lights! Camera! Action!” — followed by the beginnings of an artificial storm — are your only cues before the crew begins to film.

The scene starts with the ring of a doorbell. It’s a sound that reverberates in the face of overwhelming silence and melancholy, disturbing the peaceful waters atop an ocean of stillness. The sound summons you to the door, and as you twist and pull on the knob, a shivering figure is revealed. It’s Kazuha.

“Oh, hi,” you say, flawlessly adjusting your tone ever-so-slightly to fit the character you’re portraying. “I didn’t expect to see you today.”

The droplets of rain falling from the false sky are bothersome, but Kazuha covers everything up with a perfect performance.

“Hi,” he whispers breathlessly. His voice is as gentle as ever, and the way he looks at you with eyes overrun with wonder makes your heart flutter. Stars glowing with a light reminiscent of Polaris seem to appear in his irises, beaming at you with adoration that appears just a bit too genuine.

“Why are you here?” you ask him, trying your best to morph your expression into one that conveys disbelief and concern.

“I just… wanted to see you,” the words fall from Kazuha’s lips effortlessly. His tone is warm, a soft blanket wrapping around your heart with the comfort of a thousand spring sunbeams. He’s so incredibly perfect.

“But you didn’t have to show up in the middle of a storm!” you insist.

Kazuha laughs sheepishly.

“I guess I just couldn’t contain myself,” he admits. After a long pause, he speaks again. “To be honest, there’s something I’ve been meaning to say.”

Your breath hitches. Here it comes.

“I’m in love with you,” he finally admits. His crimson eyes burn with a passion that is unmatched, and although they are calmer than aquamarine waters on peaceful summer days, they also hold an intensity akin to the heart of winter’s glacial plagues. Even though his words are scripted, you can’t deny that the beating of your heart begins to pick up.

“You don’t have to say that you love me too,” he adds. “I just wanted you to know.” Kazuha sends a soft smile your way, his features morphing to convey nothing more than pure, everlasting endearment.

You let the silence that follows stretch on for a few seconds before speaking.

“But I do love you.”

Kazuha’s eyes widen, and somehow, his gaze softens even more. For a moment, he stands still, caught in a daze. However, it isn’t long before he recites his next line.

“Then… may I?” he glances at your lips as he speaks, and it’s clear what he means.

You nod. “I want this just as much as you,” you whisper. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for so long.” Your voice comes out choked, trembling like an autumn leaf fluttering amidst inconstant wind. You mean it, but he’ll never know.

With that, he leans towards you. For a moment, all you can think about is him. His pale skin made cold by the rain, irises that appear as beautiful as lakes filled with the most precious of glimmering rubies, hair fashioned from guiding starlight, and a voice softer than the most touching of nature’s fantasias.

And when his lips meet yours, it’s like fireworks go off in the pit of your stomach, illuminating every bit of your soul with a joy that permeates even the darkest of thoughts. He’s sweet, gentle, considerate, and he treats you like you’re the most delicate thing in the world — as if you could break at any moment. Everything feels so incredibly warm despite the fact that his lips have been cooled by the ongoing storm.

He places his hand on your cheek as the kiss deepens and smiles slightly. It almost feels as though his feelings run deeper. But that’s just a delusion you’re forging in your mind because you’ve fallen for him, right?

Perhaps, but as you pull away and the director ends the scene with a loud “Cut!” Kazuha’s face lingers near yours for a few seconds, his eyes scanning your expression for something entirely unknown to you.

“Let’s do this again sometime,” he whispers in your ear, grinning at you cheekily before he quickly leaves, presumably to check in with his management team.

It takes you a minute to break out of the hazy stupor that Kazuha’s kiss induced, but once you do, you realize the implications of his parting words.

He wants to kiss you again!

SCARAMOUCHE acts indifferent. Apathy runs rampant through every constellation within the galaxies that are his eyes, and a permanent scowl seems to be etched onto his face whenever he’s not being filmed. It’s shocking how different he is when the cameras start rolling.

“Let’s get this over with,” Scaramouche mutters under his breath as he walks by you. The two of you take your places, slipping masks of infatuation onto your faces. Except unbeknownst to you, Scaramouche isn’t quite putting up a façade. The director gives you a cue, and then you’re off.

“Please don’t leave,” Scaramouche whispers, his personality and mannerisms changing up in a complete 180. He’s nothing like himself right now, and no matter how much of a jerk he is when you’re not filming, you have to admit that he’s a skilled actor. The way his voice breaks almost makes you believe that his words are sincere. Almost.

“I don’t have a choice,” you say, delivering the lines you have rehearsed too many times to count. You channel every ounce of raw emotion within you to pull off a touching performance, and it seems to be working. The director hasn’t stopped you yet, and he’s a man with rather harsh standards.

A silence ensues. You look up as practiced, meeting Scaramouche’s gaze. In that moment, you almost break character when you see his eyes. They’re watering. Oceans of grief pool up as he stares at you, looking at you as if he’ll never see you again. Right now, the inky depths of his indigo irises appear more captivating than ever.

Something about his pain feels real, as if he’s experienced the heartbreak that comes with abandonment before. It’s almost as though he’s simply tapping into a facet of himself that he hides. And despite the fact that you don’t always get along with Scaramouche, you feel the urge to hug him and shower him in affection.

“Will you come back?” Scaramouche’s gaze turns wistful as he speaks, his entire expression glittering with hints of hope and light.

“I will,” you say under your breath. “I promise.”

You take a step toward him and caress his cheek, relishing in the softness of his skin as you brush your fingers along his jawline. A light pink dusts his cheeks. If you were less professional, you would have imploded upon seeing his blush. The fact that he can elicit such a response on command is awe-inspiring, and plus, he looks incredibly adorable — nothing like the grouchy Scaramouche you’re used to.

With gentle movements, you take his chin in your hand and glance down at his lips with what you hope is a look of unadulterated passion and admiration. “May I?” you whisper. The softness of your voice surprises even you.

Scaramouche hesitates and then nods shyly — a perfect portrayal of the timid character he’s playing. He’s incredible.

Slowly, you inch toward him, watching as he narrows his eyes and parts his lips slightly. He’s so pretty, and in that moment, you can’t help but admire him. Messy strands of hair reminiscent of nightfall adorn his forehead, and his pale skin is tinted with the subtlest hint of colour.

For a second, as his face is hidden from the camera by the back of your head, he reverts to his typical self. He opens his eyes just a little wider, and exchanges a glance with you. A brief hint of emotion flashes through his irises. You’ve been working with him long enough to know what he’s trying to say. Don’t mess this up.

Things move in slow motion. Time stretches from seconds to millennia, and his expression reverts back to the picture-perfect look of a young man who’s innocently falling into the temptation of blissful love.

And when your lips finally connect in a kiss, you are fully immersed in the delusion of the scene. You wholeheartedly believe that he loves you. From your sentiments stems a warm feeling that bubbles up in the pit of your stomach. It’s soft and ticklish, and it only gets stronger as his lips move against yours.

He sighs into the kiss, and when you open your eyes in order to observe his face, you notice that his own eyes are closed, and he seems completely lost in the moment. At this point, it doesn’t even feel like he’s playing a character anymore. It almost feels as though everything is authentic.

However, when you part, reality hits you like the first snowstorms of winter — harsh, biting, and unrelenting in its pursuit. Scaramouche was only playing his part. Although everything had felt genuine, you know that it was just a mask he put on for the screen.

But as you finish up the scene, you fail to notice the way he walks away with a sunset pink blush tinting his cheeks. He touches his fingers to his lips in a daze and smiles the slightest bit.

“What an idiot,” he scoffs under his breath, but no matter how harsh his tone is, he is unable to conceal the hints of underlying affection in his voice. “Just how long will it take them to notice that I’m not acting?”

XIAO is usually extremely professional, and that’s more or less all you can say about him.

On camera, he is able to act as a charismatic, although slightly shy, love interest, but for whatever reason, things with him just feel so much more awkward when you’re not filming. Most of the time, he tries his best to avoid you as if interacting with you is a scenario straight from his nightmares.

And maybe it is, because on the rare occasions where you manage to catch Xiao off guard and strike up a conversation with him, his responses to your questions are always blunt. But it never really feels like he hates you. It just seems that he’s not the best at socializing.

Things between you are rather awkward, despite the fact that you’re co-stars. So when you’re told that you have to kiss each other for an episode of the drama you’re filming, you feel as though your world is ending.

Sure, Xiao is incredibly attractive with his golden eyes, tinted a colour reminiscent of the sweetest honey; seafoam hair that never fails to remind you of the mystifying ocean; and a pair of pink lips that look impossibly soft. He’s tantalizing, and a kiss with him wouldn’t be so bad — if not for the concerns that flood your troubled mind.

But unfortunately for you, there’s no way to retaliate when the director tells you that the shooting of the scene is about to commence. You just have to go with the flow and hope for the best.

As you pass by Xiao on your way to your places, you whisper a soft “good luck” so that only he can hear you. He nods in acknowledgement, and if your eyes aren’t deceiving you, the slightest smile appears on his face.

You sit down at the edge of a grassy cliff and wait. Meanwhile, you hear the sound of Xiao walking to a spot a short distance away from you. You take a deep breath, getting into character and gazing at the dazzling lights and countless galaxies in the night sky above.

Soon enough, the director calls for you to begin, and the atmosphere falls silent. The only sound you can hear within the stillness is the crunching of leaves under Xiao’s feet. You can’t see him, but you know he’s coming up behind you.

And after a few seconds, the sound of footsteps diminishes into nothingness.

“Hey,” Xiao’s voice rings out from behind you.

As scripted, you ignore him and continue looking ahead as if his presence is insignificant. The grass rustles as he sits down beside you, and in the edges of your vision, you can see him directing his gaze towards you.

“Are you alright?” he asks you.

“I’m fine,” you say, trying your best to emulate a tone that conveys nothing but the utmost irritation.

To your surprise, Xiao flinches slightly. That isn’t part of the script.

“What’s wrong? Did I do something to upset you?” he sounds like he’s on the verge of tears as he questions you.

You shake your head. “I said I’m fine.”

Both you and Xiao allow silence fill the atmosphere for a few moments, adding to the dramatic effect of the scene, before speaking again.

“I don’t believe you,” Xiao says, leaning closer to you to examine your expression.

Somehow, you’re able to remain calm despite the fact that the boy who makes you feel a plethora of emotions as numerous as the stars overhead is so close to you. It’s going surprisingly well so far.

And perhaps that is where you jinx yourself because the events that unfold afterwards are disastrous.

“Why do you even care? I thought you didn’t like me!” you scream.

Xiao jolts, and in that moment, the fear, confusion, and utter dismay flashing across his face act as a testament to his acting skills. He’s extremely talented.

Yet again, the night goes silent before Xiao utters, “I do like you — love you, even.” His words are soft, but you’re sure that the production crew managed to pick them up, and that’s all that matters.

Your entire world stops for a moment.

“I do care about you,” Xiao reiterates, “Because I love you.”

Your mind goes blank. Why do his words feel so real?

It takes a few seconds for you to recover from your shock, but when you do, your voice comes out softer than ever.

“I love you too.”

For a few seconds, you look up to meet Xiao’s gaze, losing yourself in the sunkissed dandelion hues of his irises. He smiles at you, and you smile back. His gaze shifts down to your lips.

“Is it okay if I…?” he trails off, and in addition, you swear that you can feel heat radiating off his cheeks. Is he too shy to finish the sentence?

That seems to be the case because for a split second, all he can do is stare at your lips as though he’s frozen in place. You decide to take matters into your own hands and play it off as intentional.

“Yes,” you whisper quietly. “Kiss me.”

With that, Xiao snaps out of his trance and takes both your cheeks in his hands before inching his lips closer and closer towards yours. The fact that the director hasn’t stopped you yet spurs you on because it means that this take is still salvageable.

Time seems to move in slow motion as the distance between you and Xiao closes. But although it feels like it takes forever, it’s only seconds before your lips meet Xiao’s in a gentle kiss that sends butterflies racing through the pit of your stomach.

The warmth of his skin on yours accelerates the beating of your heart, making you feel almost dizzy as the world around you seems to melt into a jumble of nothingness. All that matters at the moment is the two of you.

But unfortunately, you still have a role to play, so after a few moments of absolute bliss, you pull away from Xiao in order to continue on. However, when you do, you see that under the beams of artificial light that spill from around the set, his face is dusted pink.

“How was it?” you ask, grinning at Xiao. You hope and pray to the archons that he won’t mess anything up.

“I — uhm…” Xiao tries to speak, but all that comes out is a stutter. A stunned silence is all that follows. This is bad.

“Cut!” the director yells, breaking through the tranquility of night. “Xiao, what do you have to say for yourself?”

“Sorry,” Xiao mutters, looking down to conceal the last of the blush on his face.

The director sighs. “You know what this means, right? We’ll have to reshoot that scene, and yes, that means you’ll have to kiss [name] again. Can you handle that?”

You feel Xiao tense up slightly, but to your surprise, he looks up at the director and speaks. “I have no objections. I’ll kiss them as many times as it takes to finish this.” He says the words so eagerly. If you didn’t know any better, you’d have thought that he wanted to kiss you more.

Needless to say, the night ends with countless kisses, each one sweeter than the last as exhaustion melts away the ice caging your hearts. And once and for all, your chemistry onscreen becomes undeniably perfect.

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this, please consider commenting or reblogging! It helps a lot.

#r.archives *ೃ༄#favoniuslibrary #astronetwrk #kazuha x reader #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #xiao x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin fanfic #genshin imagines #genshin fluff #genshin headcanons #kazuha fluff #scaramouche fluff #xiao fluff

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alottiegoingon · 3 months

Text

HIDDEN

natalie scatorccio x gn!reader

summary: you and nat study together.

warnings: reader and nat have a crush on each other, indirect flirting, nat lives in a trailer, not proofread.

the evening sun filtered through the thin curtains of the small, run-down trailer, casting a warm glow over the cluttered interior. books and notes were scattered across the worn-out coffee table, where natalie sat cross-legged, her fingers idly flipping through the pages of her history textbook.

you sat opposite her, your own textbooks spread out in front of you. the air was thick with the unspoken tension that had been building between you two for months. friends, yes, but always teetering on the edge of something more. it was in the way her eyes lingered on you a moment too long, in the playful banter that always seemed to have an underlying meaning.

"you know," you said, breaking the comfortable silence, "if you spent half as much time studying as you do with that eyeliner, you'd probably ace this test."

natalie smirked, her dark eyes flicking up to meet yours. "yeah, but then i wouldn't have time to show off my impressive ability to make straight a's and perfect wings," she retorted, her voice laced with sarcasm.

you laughed, shaking your head. "fair point. but really, nat, you need to focus. mr. benson is gonna grill us on the civil war tomorrow."

she groaned, dropping her head back dramatically. "i know, i know. it's just...so boring. why can't history have more explosions or something?"

"pretty sure there were plenty of explosions during the civil war," you replied, raising an eyebrow. "you just have to know where to look."

natalie rolled her eyes but leaned forward, her elbow resting on the table as she glanced at your notes. "alright, impress me with your historical knowledge then."

you launched into a brief explanation of the major battles, trying to make it as engaging as possible. every so often, you'd catch her eye, and there it was – that spark, that hint of something more. you couldn't help but wonder if she felt it too.

as the minutes ticked by, you found yourself getting lost in the rhythm of your conversation. you teased each other mercilessly, yet there was an underlying tenderness in every jibe. it was in the way she nudged your foot with hers under the table, the way her laughter lit up her face and made your heart skip a beat.

at one point, you leaned over to grab a highlighter, your hand brushing against hers. a jolt of electricity shot through you, and you saw her eyes widen ever so slightly. neither of you moved, the contact lingering just a second too long before you pulled away, your cheeks flushed.

"see," you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper, "you're actually pretty smart when you try."

natalie snorted, but there was a softness in her gaze. "don't get used to it. i'm only doing this because you begged me."

"begged? i seem to recall you saying you needed help, and i graciously offered my services," you shot back, a grin tugging at your lips.

she chuckled, shaking her head. "whatever helps you sleep at night."

the playful banter continued like a dance, the two of you circling around the truth but never quite touching it. you wanted to say something, to break the barrier and let her know how you felt, but the fear of ruining what you had held you back.

as the sun dipped below the horizon, the trailer was bathed in a soft, golden light. you closed your textbook, stretching your arms over your head. "i think that's enough for today. we should probably get some rest if we're gonna survive the class tomorrow."

natalie nodded, closing her own book with a sigh of relief. "yeah, you're right. thanks for... helping me out."

there was a moment of silence. you could see the conflict in her eyes, the same battle you were fighting within yourself. finally, she stood up.

"guess i'll see you tomorrow," she said, her voice wavering ever so slightly.

you nodded, standing up as well. "yeah, see you tomorrow, nat."

as she walked you towards the door, you felt a pang of regret. you didn't want to leave things unsaid, but the words were lodged in your throat. just as she reached for the handle, already opening it for you, you blurted out, "hey, nat?"

she turned around, her eyes searching yours. "yeah?"

you took a step closer, your heart pounding in your chest. "i...i just wanted to say...you're not as useless as you think you are. you're actually pretty amazing."

a flicker of surprise crossed her face, followed by a soft smile that she quickly hid. "don't get all soft on me," she muttered, her cheeks flushing slightly was the last thing you saw before leaving the trailer.

#yellowjackets #yellowjackets x reader #natalie scatorccio x reader #natalie scatorccio

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aviiarie · 3 months

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⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ INSULT TO INJURY. platonic arlecchino & reader !

synopsis. what is arlecchino to do, when her child comes home injured? contents. PLATONIC. injuries, mild descriptions of blood, mentions of violence, nothing particularly graphic. house of the hearth!reader. gn!reader. they/them pronouns used. hurt/comfort. 0.9k words. notes. repost from my old blog~

Arlecchino was by no means a traditional parent, but she did share common qualities with those who were. She kissed her children’s hair when they were sick, wiping the sweat off their forehead and tucking their sheets extra tight. When they sought comfort, she would hold them close to her chest, even if her affection was rare and only offered away from all other eyes. They appeared in her thoughts constantly, even in the most mundane situations; occasionally she would find herself wondering if Lynette would enjoy a particular brand of tea, or if Freminet’s diving skills had improved in the past months.

Those outside of the House of the Hearth could never imagine a soft side to a cutthroat woman like Arlecchino, not after witnessing her ruthless ways. All they saw was the terrifying Harbinger that cut through hoards with her scythe, taking down each and every one who stands in the way of the Fatui. They would be mistaken to dismiss her as soft-hearted, but even more so to proclaim her heartless. It is simply that her heart beats for the Hearth, and nothing more.

When she settled into the role of Father, she vowed that even if the Fatui wouldn’t treat her children with love, she would. However strict she appeared, her love for the House of the Hearth was poured through every drop of blood shed in the name of the security of the Fatui. The Fatui were the foundation holding up the orphanage, and so long as it remained strong, so would their home.

It was one of her most notable traits, and one that many parents held; she would do anything to protect her children.

So when [Name] turned up at her office, bruises peeking out between the rips in their shirt and bright splatters of blood dotting their arms, she didn’t scold them for walking in without knocking. She stood, moving mechanically over to where they lingered in the doorway. She swept her gaze down their body, taking note of each and every injury. And as they looked up at her, eyes glazed over with unshed tears, she brushed her hand across their face to rid the hair sticking to the blood across their forehead and hissed, “Who did this to you?”

“I–” Whatever rasping words were almost spoken broke off in a fit of coughing. A low cry of pain spilled out, and their hand clutched their side. “Sorry, I’m sorry.”

Arlecchino looked out through the hallway, spotting a child half-hidden behind the corner, unsubtly trying to spy on the situation. They squeaked, as she caught their eye and barked out an order. “You! Go to the medical wing and bring back a first aid kit, and several ice-packs. Now.”

They scurried off, the sound of tiny footsteps growing quieter every second. Once they were inaudible, she looked back at her other child, whose eyes were drifting shut slowly. A quick touch on their shoulder sent them flinching backwards, eyes flying open.

“What happened?” She asked, ignoring the way they shrunk into themself at the question.

“I failed. I was ambushed, and they–” They shuddered, once again gripping their side. Arlecchino took note of the way they winced each time they moved too sharply; bruised ribs, if not broken. “I’m sorry, I just came to report on what happened.”

“You’re injured, [Name].” Arlecchino stressed.

“I know,” They said quietly. They didn’t even seem to have enough energy to fight the tears that have begun dripping down their cheeks. “It won’t happen again. I’ll be better.”

I don’t want you to be better, her mind screamed. I want you to be okay. Arlecchino bit her tongue hard to stop the words from pouring out. It would be unbecoming of the Director to show such earnestness in front of one of her children, especially one who had clearly suffered a failure. She may love them, as she does all of her orphans, but she was raised in the Fatui as well. She knew the cost of failure all too well.

“You will be.” Arlecchino stood back, letting them lean against the door frame again to stop themself falling over. “I’m sure you understand that there will be consequences to this.”

“I do.”

“Excellent. You will be dismissed from all missions for the next six weeks.” Six weeks, that was just long enough for injured ribs to heal, if she recalled correctly. “You will be required to remain in the House for that time, and any outings must be approved by me before you leave.”

They stared at her, eyes wide.

“Am I understood?”

“Yes, Father.” They said quickly.

She didn’t ask any more of the person who had left them in such a state, but they did cross her mind as she wrapped bandages around their arms. She could almost see them now, celebrating their victory over the Fatui. How proud they must be, to have sent one of the Knave’s own agents fleeing.

A barely noticeable grimace tore her attention away, and she forced her hands to loosen the bandages around their arm. In her quiet fury, she had begun to wrap them tighter than a tourniquet, much to their discomfort.

For that moment, she dismissed the assailant to the back of her mind, and turned all of her attention to her child.

They would come later, and then, they would learn the true meaning of fear.

#★ — avie's writing.#♡ — house of the hearth collection.#・ nouveau livre ˎˊ˗#—stellaronhvnters.#astronetwrk #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #platonic genshin x reader #platonic x reader #platonic genshin impact x reader #platonic arlecchino x reader #platonic genshin impact #arlecchino x reader

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utterlyazriel · 5 months

Text

whom the shadows sing for — (and the thief's echoing hymn)

a/n: WE MADE IT TO CHAPTER FIVE!! EVERYBODY CLAP!! labour of love fr <3 but we're almost to the scene that sparked the whole freakin series and i. oh man im just yearning for that hurt/comfort

word count: 4.4k

synopsis: You test out if your efforts with the tonics are worth anything and Azriel bestows you with a gift. He asks about the Blood Rite and you ponder the strange, golden thread you've been feeling in your chest. Disaster strikes when night falls.

CHAPTER FIVE :: CONFIDANTS

You look younger in your sleep, Azriel thinks.

He doesn't think he's ever seen you like this before. The hard lines of your face are all smoothed out as you rest, so unlike your usual expression. There's something softer about you.

The constant furrow between your brows is whisked away for once. He can still see the familiar line between your brows though, if he looks close enough.

If he can look past the bruises that mottle your face, that is.

The damage you've sustained from training within the camp is severe enough to curdle something sour in his stomach.

Azriel had held his reservations about his trip back to Velaris— a suspicion that proved to be well founded. His own memories of training at Windhaven provide plentiful ways for you to have ended up in this state.

You’re curled up instinctively in your sleep, wings tucked around yourself. It sews of thread of worry through Azriel's chest, a slight concern at the state of your wounds and how the position will agitate them. While you don't move much in your sleep, he knows from experience that it'll be hell when you finally do stretch back out.

But... he can’t bring himself to wake you. You need the sleep desperately.

Azriel is fairly certain that the huddled form you take is some subconscious way to protect yourself, even in your sleep. Your wings drape across yourself, keeping yourself covered, hidden.

And while that makes some part of Azriel's heart ache, he can't deny that you—it looks… sort of cute.

Azriel forces himself to avert his eyes, ducking his chin for extra measure. Those pesky thoughts were becoming more and more frequent — something that he's pointedly ignoring at this point.

Protect, his shadows whirl around his ears like tiny gusts of wind, whispering their suggestions. Protect, they whisper.

Protect. Both a thought and a feeling. A guiding intuition that seems to reverberate from his very bones.

The suggestion from his shadows isn't entirely left field either, as they always take inspiration from what he can see. From his wandering thoughts, from his prolonged gentle gaze that lays upon you whenever he can.

Azriel scowls lightly at himself. He had no claim to protect you and further more, most Illyrian males like yourself would take great amounts of offence to the mere insinuation. He knows that you are more than capable.

He steals another glance at your peaceful, sleeping figure and his shadows seem to quieten in response— at least about you. The whispers don't ever truly quieten.

Azriel's fairy certain where they're getting their ideas. It's what he wonders too as he takes in your battered face once more—whether it’s the truth or just his familiar brand of desperate hope.

Something that would explain the urge to protect beyond reason.

Something like... a bond forged in starlight.

The Mother's Kiss whistles quietly outside and Azriel shifts his gaze again and this time, it lays upon the Heartstriker.

Sitting atop the one table-top in your shelter, the blade stays sheathed away in the very same bejeweled case that Azriel had found it in. Same as on that very first day he laid his hands on it.

It had been a wretched mission. One of his very first. It was not performed with the eloquence he would come to learn in future years.

Heartstriker had not been the objective of the mission. Far from it, in truth. The objective was a simple stealth reconnaissance into the Court of Nightmares.

He was to delve beneath the rock of the mountain in a mission very similar to his current. Swirlings of rumours and whispers of rebellion, against the new Highlord. Azriel was there to learn who had the guts to pick up the knife and try.

Heartstriker was a ploy. A shiny trick that Azriel had not yet learned how to evade.

He was still a novice by his own standards, only a few hundred years old. Spying in this sense was still fresh, still new. The work he had done under Rhysand's father during the war had been far more reliant on his brute strength. He had strict instructions not to hesitate to draw his blade.

It had taken time to relearn the importance in a message sent with words.

To remember the power of mercy.

This mission had been the first and only time Azriel had underestimated the measures in place in the Court of Nightmares, meant to keep out the likes of him.

His hesitance to kill had given another Fae time to trip an alarm, to flood the room with warriors. So when he had been backed into a corner by the snarling miscreants that lived in the belly of the mountain, taken by surprise, he hadn't hesitated to snatch up any weapon he could reach.

And it had branded him, singeing him right to his core.

But when he tried to force his fingers apart, they wouldn't obey, even as they screamed with the pain of the invisible flames. It was as though his hand had become fused with the blade, each atom of his being completely joined with the bronze of the sword through a terrible, unstoppable and invisible force.

Every part of him shrieked in agony. An age-old fear reared up within him, his hands burning like they were set alight and he could feel the flames licking at his skin, at his hands, could smell the scent of burning flesh—

He had fought on and won, all the same, taking on two battles at once. Fighting foes by real and faux, all whilst burning up from within all the while. The sword was immeasurably heavy and yet too light, all at once.

And only once almost all his enemies were slain, their blood staining the marble floors, did the burning cease. The blade seem to hum in response to the battle— drawn to the final foe who was clawing for his breath through his blood-soaked throat.

The tip of the sword had urged Azriel forward, like pulled by an invisible string, and he let it lead him, plunging the blade through the chest and into the heart of the last enemy left.

Only after, had the humming stopped. The sword finally clattered from Azriel's strong grip, the fusion broken.

His hands were same as ever, mottled with their scars, but with no indication of the burning he knew he had felt.

On his return, Rhys had told him the history of the sword and it's duly fitting name: Heartstriker.

It hadn't been claimed in centuries and as such, naturally it had come to live amongst other cursed objects within the Court of Nightmares. Unable to be used, unless someone bested the pain it took to raise it.

But Azriel had, entirely by accident.

It is said that once mastered, it will always strike true. Rhys had said, violet eyes gleaming as he looked over the bronze sword with piqued interest. That it's more than a regular sword but a living thing you must work in tandem with.

If anyone tries to take it from you, they must suffer the same fate. It can be gifted freely but, He had paused, that smirk that held no warmth in it pulling at his lips. I'm sure you can guess how often that happens down there.

It hadn't been used within the Night Court either, condemned to another hundred years or so without sight of battle. Azriel had more than enough blades of his own. The Illyrian broadsword that he had earned all that time ago in the Blood Rite for a proper battle and his Truth-Teller for the finer details.

Heartstriker wasn't right for his stature. Too short, strange weighted.

He'd kept it all the same. Perhaps, he told himself, to keep some other Fae from suffering the same fate if they laid hands on it.

His hazel eyes drift back across to you, bundled within yourself. You make a noise in your sleep, a gentle snuffle, and Azriel finds himself smiling.

Or perhaps, he thinks, he knew to keep it for entirely other reasons.

—

The quick healing of Illyrian's is more often a blessing than it is a curse.

On today's quiet winter morning, it is somehow both.

When you wake, dragged from your slumber in the early hours, it's before the sun has begun to make an appearance on the horizon. The shelter is coated in a soft darkness of dawn. The trees sway outside, a thousand creatures still roaming amongst their branches, reliant on the dark before daylight breaks.

It's the pain that wakes you, ebbing in through your sleep til it shakes off your sleep. You wake with your teeth already gritted.

The only pleasant surprise is that fact you're not shuddering yourself awake out of a nightmare, especially considering yesterday's training session.

You have a feeling that it has something to do with the sleeping Illyrian, propped up beside the fireplace, keeping watch.

His shadows still move about, even in his sleep. His neck is tucked down, his forehead pressed against his knee. It hides away part his face but as your eyes adjust to the shadowy light, you can make out his closed eyes. His hair looks messier than you've ever seen it.

It can't be comfortable, sleeping the way he is— but you have a feeling that Azriel has slept in places far worse before.

Shifting about in the darkness, your hand comes down to press tenderly at your sides, assessing as quietly as you can. There's no immediate sting of sliced skin as your fingers tips poke and prod at the skin, which makes you sigh in relief. You press down again, at bit harder this time, and it forces a wince out your gritted teeth.

Extremely bruised. But at the very least, the skin has knitted itself together in the nighttime.

Your face still aches, too. It's not quite the same ringing that made both eyes throb painfully yesterday and with a slow wrinkle of your nose, you can assess that the worst of your broken nose has healed up too.

Your ears, however, poses a different problem. One of them, the right side, still rings lightly. It would be more concerning, you think, if the left one itself wasn't so muffled altogether.

Huffing out a breath, you drag yourself up to a sitting position, moving at a tentative pace. Pain ricochets around your body. You're doing the best you can to be quiet but it's futile it seems — there's one creak of the bed as your weight shifts and Azriel's wings twitch, giving him away. He’s awake.

He lifts his head slowly, letting it roll from one side to the next, stretching out his neck. It's the only indication he gives you of feeling sore from his cramped sleep all night, his attentive eyes already watching you closely. His shadows, you notice, seem to gain speed at his rousing— circling his shoulders and neck closely.

You clear your throat and focus your gaze forward, resuming the task at hand. Raising one hand, you snap your fingers beside your left ear, then your right.

Frustration bubbles up inside you as you repeat the motion, as if it’ll change the outcome.

It doesn’t.

At least beyond the ringing, your right ear can hear the snap clearly— a keen Fae sense that like any warrior, you rely heavily on. The left one…

All you can think is that they must have hit you pretty damn hard to leave it as dulled as it feels. It can still hear, thankfully, but the noise that filters through is muffled around the edges. Buzzy. It makes you feel off kilter and unbalanced.

You let your hand drop and try to remain stoic, so used to hiding your emotions away from your face. You don't realise your drooping, limp wings give you away anyways.

Azriel gets to his feet swiftly, the movement so smooth you would have never guessed he spent the night tucked up uncomfortably against the bricks of your fireplace. He regards you with those burning amber eyes and your heart seems to lurch forward in response. You avert your gaze.

"It would seem we have an opportunity to test out our efforts." He says. His voice is still coated in sleep, low and rumbley, and it sends a bright zing down your spine. You lift your gaze from your lap and raise your brows in question.

He waves a hand to the table, in gesture.

Your various ingredients for brewing the tonics stay tucked in one corner, some wrapped up and set beneath the table. There are several different bottles too, stoppered with corks and containing yours and Azriel's attempts at the healing tonics.

It takes another moment to understand what he means.

"No," You say sharply, climbing to your feet. A thousand parts of your ache and groan in protest and you channel your focus into not letting a single ounce of it show.

Rolling your tense shoulders back, you wander towards your armor in slow steady steps. "Those aren't for me. I've healed enough in the night."

"I see." Azriel replies. "Is that why your left ear isn't working right?"

Gaze snapping back to him, you curse his ever-so observant nature. Maybe that's on you for trying to keep a secret from a Shadowsinger.

You are keeping a secret from a shadowsinger, something whispers in you.

A cold flush fills your body, numbing out every nerve for a single moment. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Your wings hike up, tuck in. It feels wrong.

For the first time in your life, it feels so so utterly wrong to be keeping this secret from someone. To be hiding who you truly are.

But Azriel... he was a stranger not too long ago, wasn't he? You're not sure if you can even call each other friends, even if you had begun to in your mind, without even realising.

You think back to last night, to when he could have easily lifted your shirt a few inches higher when trying to save your life and known.

Then you wonder if he did — and he hasn't said anything.

If he's waiting for you to trip up, to fess up, to explain to him why you've been lying to him from the moment you first met him.

Azriel seems to sense your internal battle, the same way he seems senses a thousand things from you as though he's known you his whole life. He clears his throat to get your attention. When you focus your vision back on him, you notice one of the bottles is in his scarred fingers.

"I will train you today," He says. "On the condition that you take it."

Your nose twitches. It's an ultimatum. He knows you want to train, to brush off yesterday and let the pain in your body fuel the determination of today but he won't let you do it so carelessly. Bastard.

Before you can blink, he tosses the bottle across to you. You react instinctively, cradling your hands to catch it quickly before you realise what you're doing. Your nose twitches again, a tiny flare of annoyance at his smugness.

No, not smugness. Surety. His expression, bordering on bored, tells you that he knows you don't have any other options— unless you want to climb back into bed and rot for the day.

You yank the cork off the bottle harshly. Then, just to show him how unpleased you are with this, you lob the cork at him with all your might. Your bruised side screams in response. Azriel snatches from the air easily, without so much as a blink.

He looks like he wants to smile but thinks the better of it, placing the cork gently onto the table. "I'll meet you outside." He eyes the uncorked bottle in your hand then back at you. "Drink it. Please."

—

The tonic, as you find out, is only mildly effective.

It's a gutting discovery. The mixture is nowhere near potent enough to fix the level of nerve damage that gets inflicted during clippings if it barely lightens the bruises on your side.

The mottled blue painted on your skin gives way to a light purple, the edges of them retracting to a tinged yellow. The skin glows hot as the tonic works as best as it can.

The taste of it is nearly as rancid as the failure feels.

You deal with it the only way you know how; chewing it up and spitting it back out as determination to do better. The drive to push yourself harder in training rears up, fiery and stubborn— harder than you logically know is any help to yourself.

What was already tedious and heinous training is made that much worse by your injuries.

You're moving sloppily today, offbeat. The dullness in your left ear helps to keep you off balance. Still, you manage to keep up with Azriel— not quite the one step ahead you're usually aiming for but, at the very least, you're still holding your own.

Your ribs ache and your heads throbs. The ringing in your right ear has disappeared with the help of the tonic, only to have started up in the left. A relief in one sense— it's good to be hearing more of anything. A fucking pain in another.

The only major upside, really, is the sword.

The Heartstriker, Azriel had called it

You had been half convinced it was a hallucination, the gift. Sure that it some desperate illusion born out of the delirium of the blood loss because, really, when was the last time you had ever gotten a gift?

When you'd limped your way out into the snow and saw it in his hands, you had blinked in disbelief.

But it's almost like Azriel had expected it, his scarred hands reaching out to gently curl around your wrist, murmuring its name as he had pressed it into your hand. It's yours, he had said.

He had let go of your wrist go immediately, stepping back but not far, still hovering close by. He let you have a moment to marvel at it before he urged you to follow to the usual neck of the woods you trained in. The sound of clashing steel had soon followed.

It's a perfect addition, you find.

The blade is like a mere extension of your own arm. It's light enough to carve through the air with ease but when you strike, it's buries deep. Compared the Illyrian broadsword used in training at camp, it suits your stature far better. You move more agilely, hit more frequently and harder when you do.

It's probably the best thing you've ever owned— ever held.

You're gazing at it where it rests on your lap, glinting in the light of the day, as you try to catch your breath. Azriel had given you a moment to recover, far earlier than normal, due to your injuries, no doubt. Normally, you'd grumble and snarl and push him to continue but today, you're quite happy to have another moment to stare at the first gift you've gotten.

Azriel breaks the silence with a question.

"Why haven't you competed in the Blood Rite?"

Something icy spikes in your blood and your back straightens instinctively, the hair on the nape of your neck standing on end. Whether he knows it or not, he is treading close to dangerous territory.

"Why do you ask?" You answer his question with another question.

Azriel regards you with a certain look, his dark eyes dragging down your body intensely and back up to your face. It's enough to make you fluster momentarily, to feel a faint stirring in your heart that doesn't entirely feel like your own. No one has ever looked at you like that before.

"You're strong. You hold your own. You're of age." He states carefully. "You remain attached to this camp with no rank until you pass it. Why not?"

You scowl at his frame of thinking, as if you haven't passed over those reasons a thousand times. Beyond the fact you can't ever ensure you wouldn't be burdened with your cycle during the Blood Rite, there's more than enough reason for you to remain a nobody.

You feel oddly disappointed that he would think only in that manner; glory and rank.

"What makes you think I want any rank in my camp?" You spit bitingly, watching as his wings sink down an inch at your tone. His misunderstanding of why you've chosen this way of life bothers you more than you expect.

"Because you did?" You ask. "Because three bastards fought their way through it and won and left their shitty pasts behind? I am not you, Azriel."

Azriel doesn't react, not even the raising of his brows. Only his shadows give himself away, whirling around slower than usual. He speaks in that same careful tone as before.

"I know you are not."

He makes you feel foolish for giving in to any lick of your anger, for so quickly snapping at your only friend. You turn your head away and stare down into the snow, taking a breath. Cauldron, you're tired. Lifting you arm, you wipe your forehead with the back of your hand, clearing the sweat that beads there.

"I could leave but for what reason? Ever since I—" You suck a sharp inhale, swallowing back words that dance too close to giving you away. You pray he doesn't notice your hesitation. "Ever since I was young, this has been my goal. This change must come from within, you know that."

You inhale again, feeling the breath rattle past every ache and pain in your chest.

"I can only do the things I do... the things I must achieve, by being unnoticeable."

You cast a glance up to him. "To them, I am some bastard who won't give up and die. I am not a proper threat. You, of all people, should understand that it's easiest to work when people are not paying proper attention."

And that's all you have known — how to become unnoticeable when needed and how to be noticed when wanted. Attention, you've learned, only means a target on your back.

Beyond that... you can't imagine someone who would want to notice you for anything more. You've had many, many years to make peace with that bitter fact.

I am.

Without warning, there's a sudden thrum from deep within you, like a echo of a drum, of a call. It's golden and threaded with softness. I am paying attention.

It startles you, one hand flying to your armored chest in surprise. As quick as it had appeared, the hum flees and leaves your bound chest twingeing only in its usual discomfort. One moment of brief serenity. You long for it, despite the unfamiliar nature.

You realise abruptly that you've trailed off and force yourself to move, body aching in the process. Heartstriker sinks into the snow and you use it to clamber to your feet, not nearly as graceful as you would like. Azriel doesn't say anything.

In fact, when you lift your gaze to meet his, he's staring at you more intensely than usual. His shadows seem more agitated. They flit about, circling his hands more than his shoulders, and you can barely see the scarred skin through their inky darkness.

There's a long moment. Around you both, the trees creek as they bend in the wind, a thousand leaves rustling around you in a chorus.

Azriel breaks the silence, casting his eyes to the ground and lifting his blade. "No more questions."

He says it like a promise, his lips pulling at the edges like he might be offering a smile.

"Just fighting."

—

By the time the moon rises, the ache in your body has dimmed to a more bearable pain.

While you'd be miffed at the idea of Azriel pulling his punches, you can't deny the sliver of gratitude you have for it now. As you reach over the cauldron of simmering stew, only a few of your ribs twinge enough to make your motions falter momentarily. The stew bubbles and brews, filling your shelter with a hearty smell.

It's been too long since you last cooked something to share.

You try to shelve the guilt away—you and Azriel have been running a very tight schedule, switching between training, tonics and rest. Taking time to cook, for yourself or others, hasn't even had time to cross your mind.

Your brief brush back with the reality during yesterday's training, however, had provided you with ample reminders. Your home camp and all its violent glory.

So, you cook. The logs crackle on the fire and above them, the stew simmers gently as you stir absentmindedly at it. Giving yourself this quiet moment, you let your thoughts drift as the tiredness of the day trickles into your body. Your thoughts turn to the quiet Shadowsinger.

He had taken his leave as soon as he had declared the end of your days training, needing another trip to Velaris.

I'll be back by morning, he had said, each of his seven cerulean siphons flaring brightly before he stepped between the fabric of the world and disappeared. Another hidden trick up his sleeve.

You'd allowed yourself only one moment of surprise before you closed your mouth— you really needed to stop underestimating him. As the stew before you begins to hiss and spit, you pull yourself from your thoughts and prepare yourself for the discomfort of meal times.

They never are as friendly as you might hope.

Despite your generosity, the different outcasts of Exordor remain cagey. Regard you with pensive and guarded looks, hands hovering on the butts of their swords. You can't blame them in the slightest.

But those that can brave the walk to your cabin, risking both themselves and your own safety against the other Illyrian brutes in the camp, are rewarded with a hot meal. Tonight, you feed 12 hungry mouths before your doorstep grows quiet.

You pack it all away in silence, with a quite yearning for company you've only just become used to having.

It's only as you're tucking in for the night, your wings wrapped around yourself tightly, does the first pain strike. Right to your core, the very insides of your gut feels as though it's being shredded. You gasp, your entire body curling up tighter to fight against the pain.

For only a moment, confusion clouds your mind at the attack that seems to come from nowhere, from an invisible enemy. Only one answer comes forward—the only thing that can threaten to reveal your secret without your permission, through mere scent alone.

A certain agony that only tortures you twice a year.

[NEXT PART: BETRAYERS]

#azriel #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel shadowsinger x reader #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger x you #azriel fic #azriel fanfic #azriel acotar #azriel fanfiction #acotar fanfiction #acotar #i have nothing to say but sorry it took more than a month!!!!!!!! ahhhh!!!!!!!!!#mwahmwah please forgive me #we're GETTING there #i just keep being dedicated to the backstory lmao #TOO dedicated

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thelov3lybookworm · 11 months

Text

I Didn't Ask For This (part twelve)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

Summary: Marriage had always been something sacred to little Y/n, something dream like, where her husband would come and whisk her away to a fairyland. At least, that's what she had always thought.

All her dreams would be shattered.

But maybe she can salvage them?

•○●⛦●○•

Tw: none that I can think of, so let me know if I need to add anything.

A/n: you did not think I would forget about my baby, did you? Yes, I am in fact, not dead. And yes, I didn't write anything for this fic for a long time because I had no idea what to do 😌

Also, thank you for all the love that you gave this one. I am soo glad I was able to write something for you to love. 🥹❣️

This is the last part in this series. But if there is something you want to see in a possible epilogue, please send in an ask or comment.

Enjoy!

•○🌑○•

A loud knock on the door startled Y/n, who was trying not to get caught reading the very... not child friendly stuff Nesta had given her. Cauldron knew what else Nesta had in store for Y/n.

The knock was a little too loud to be Azriel, because most of the time Y/n didn't even realise someone had knocked when Azriel knocked. So it was definitely most probably Cassian, who was probably excited about something.

She got up to open the door, wondering if she should hide the book she was reading in case Cassian decided to barge in. For Cassian, it wouldn't be anything new.

She felt like it was the biggest shock in her life when she found Azriel standing outside the door, his hand poised to knock again as he grinned widely at her, panting.

Because, first of all, Azriel was a quiet person. Hell, even his wings made no sound when flying. If he knocked so loud, it was probably something huge. She didn't know if it was a good thing or not.

And second and more concerning thing was that Azriel was grinning. This was a man who would glare at people just for smiling in his direction.

Now she wondered if she really should have hidden the book.

"Azriel? Is everything alright?"

Impossibly, he somehow managed to grin wider. Once he had gained some semblance of control over his breathing, he spoke.

"Everything's fine. Perfect even."

Now Y/n was seriously concerned.

"Why are you grinning?"

"I need to show you something."

He offered her his hand, which she eyed suspiciously before taking. "What is it?"

"It wouldn't be fun if I told you about it." He pointed out, leading her to a nearby balcony.

That made sense.

He picked her up and began flying, the setting sun making the atmosphere beautiful. That was all Y/n tried to think about because if she didn't, she would continue to hound Azriel for answers, and he was too stubborn for his own good. He wouldn't tell her what it was, no matter what.

Soon, he was landing in front of a beautiful house, a beautiful lawn surrounding it. The area was quiet. There were similar looking houses nearby, a few shops. They were near the center of Velaris, but the pace was still quiet, tranquil even. Just like Azriel.

Y/n thought she knew what was going on, but still she asked. "Why are we here?"

Azriel grinned, a light blush dusting his cheeks. "I wanted to show you this place. Do you like it?"

"It's beautiful." She stretched out the word, searching his face.

"I brought that home. I thought now that we are... getting to know each other again and are comfortable, we might as well live somewhere far from Cassian and Nesta. Figured you might be just as tired of them as I am. Of course, I'm not saying you should live with me if you don't want to, but one day... maybe?" He looked at her when he finished rambling, his eyes hopeful.

She smiled. "I would love to live with you Azriel. So, when are we going to move in?"

Azriel's face lit up like a child who had recieved a gift on solstice. "As soon as possible. If you're okay with it." He paused for a moment, thinking. "Do you want to take a look inside?"

"Sure."

Azriel led her inside the mostly empty but clean house, a little jump in his steps. Y/n smiled and shook her head as he walked in front of her, opening all the doors and cupboards, a small grin on his blushing face.

•○🌑○•

Azriel was cooking, having forced Y/n to sit and watch. Since there weren't many things in the house except for a couch, bed and a few cupboards, Azriel had flown back to the house of wind to get items for their dinner.

She had offered to cook, but he had refused. And since then, Y/n could tell he was trying really hard to impress her with his cooking skills.

They kept talking throughout, his focus equally divided.

Right now, he was seemingly about to flip the food in the pan, and he turned to her.

"Watch this." But then he realised she was already watching, and he faltered.

Unfortunately, he had already begun to move the pan. And because he wasn't paying attentiont to the pan, the food items in the pan scattered all around the kitchen, and Y/n hid her smile behind a hand.

Cauldron, Azriel was adorable.

He stared at the mess, his shoulders slumping. Y/n hopped down from the counter she was siting on and moved closer to him. "Go. Sit. I'll make us something."

Azriel shook his head. "No."

Y/n cocked her head. "Why not? I cooked all the time by myself before."

"I'll get something from a restaurant."

Her brows furrowed. "But why?"

"Because I want to treat you better than you have been treated before." He mumbled under his breath, barely audible. Maybe he was trying to not let her hear, but she did.

Her heart swelled, as if it tripped fell down the stairs and now had to rest in bed for its whole life.

"You are treating me good." She smiled at him when he looked at her with wide eyes. He blushed furiously when she placed a tender kiss on his cheek.

"What– what would you like to eat?"

Y/n sighed. "Anything. I don't really have something in mind."

Azriel nodded. "I'll be back soon."

And with that, he bounded off towards the door, leaving his shadows behind to clean up the mess he had made.

•○🌑○•

Y/n watched as her husband moved his hand animatedly, his face filled with excitement.

The two of them sat on the couch, knees touching. Y/n wondered if in a few moments she'd be on his lap.

It had started out with her on the couch and him on the armchair near the fire, having finished their dinner sitting on the kitchen counter top because there was no table or chairs. After that, they had moved to hear the fireplace.

They had sat in silence, contemplating what to talk about when she found Azriel grinning.

When she asked him about it, he told her about how his shadows loved to be nosy and knew almost everyone's secret. How they had been telling him about the secret of the little boy passing by the house. It was that he had stolen a cookie without his mother's knowledge, and how he prayed to the cauldron that she never found out.

Since then, he had begun telling her of all the juicy secrets he gathered over the years, his shadows occasionally chiming in to add to the information. He had slowly begun shifting towards her as he spoke.

It wasn't long before he settled on the opposite end of the couch, a huge smile on his face as he told her of one of his favourite secrets that he found out, his body seemingly moving of its own accord.

Throughout the night after that, he had shifted closer anytime he got a little more excited, her scooting closer when she got more and more intrested in the story he was telling.

He finally stopped speaking, taking a deep breath, his cheeks flushed and a wide grinon his face.

Y/n sighed. "Well... that was a journey."

"I have better stories than that." He smirked smugly when her eyes widened in disbelief.

"Liar. I don't believe you. Even Nesta's books have less dramatic plot lines."

He grinned, shaking his head. "Speaking of Nesta's books... did you enjoy the book that you were you reading today?"

Y/n immediately tensed. "What do you mean?"

He gave her a sly smirk. "I'm the spymaster of the night court, Y/n, and I've been married to you for almost six months now. Do you really think I don't know what conspires between you and Nesta when me and Cassian aren't looking?"

A blush climbed up Y/n's neck. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure. Let me help you with that–" And then, as if the damn book had been next to him this whole time, he pulled it out of between his shadows and flipped open to where she had been reading when he interrupted her that morning. She knew that because she found the candy wrapper she placed in between the pages to mark the her progress.

She gasped, but he was already beginning to read. "Where were you? I think it was here? He grinned up at her from between her thighs..." He paused for a moment, reading, before he clicked his tongue. "You are really interested in this?"

He was busy reading, and so he didn't see her reaching out to snatch the book until she had a firm grasp on the book. He looked at her in surprise, but she began tugging. Of course, he didn't let her pull it too far before he himself started tugging at it.

"Let go Azriel."

He gave a harsh tug, and Y/n was no match for his strength. She lurched forward, her hand landing on his shoulder. Her face was mere inches from his and he grinned up at her.

"Really? You like this–" He shook the book near her face. "–this thing so much? Honestly, you could choose better."

Her whole face flushed as she tried to keep herself from glancing at his lips. "Don't be mean. It's rude to judge people."

"Hard not to when you read childish things like these." She scowled at him, and he leaned closer to her as he whispered, "Honestly, I could show you better things. The male here is like a newborn child compared to me."

Y/n blinked in shock, his closeness doing nothing to help her slow brain. He huffed a laugh at her reaction, and the air on her face finally pulled her from her daze. She began to pull back, trying to retreat back into her original position, but he caught hold of the hand on his shoulder, his expression serious.

Azriel's eyes trailed down to her mouth, and his tongue flicked out to lick his lips. He glanced up at her eyes, his eyes swimming with question.

Y/n knew it would be pointless and stupid to pretend she didn't want what he was offering. She could not keep lying to herself when this was all she wanted since the two of them began spending more time together.

So she simply leaned back in, her eyes fluttering shut when his breath caressed her features again.

•○●⛦●○•

Azriel didn't need anymore confirmation.

He was tired of waiting, and now that she was so close, it was too hard not to sink his teeth into her. Into those beautiful lips, that beautiful body.

So he surged up, and caught his lips with hers.

In that moment, it felt like he had found peace. Something he had been searching his whole life for. Like he had found the home he never had.

Not the house he was currently in, but home in her.

And when she gasped, he realised there were multiple reasons responsible for that feeling.

First obviously being that he loved her.

Second, she loved him.

And how did he know?

He felt it coming at him in waves.

Through the newly found golden string connecting their souls.

I love you. The emotions he felt from her seemed to tell him.

I love you more. The emotions he sent back to her.

And there, on that couch in their new house, tangled in each other's arms...

Azriel and Y/n were finally home.

•○🌑○•

Taglist: @bubybubsters @maxxieluvs @bubbbllee @buckyandgeraltsupremacy @waytoomanyteenagefeels @tell-me-a-poem @the-lake-is-calling @spaxxxi @japanese-wonderland-blog @valeridarkness @moonlwghts @deadratio @esposadomd @harrystylesfan2686 @missusbarnes-rogers @whatthefuckshappeningrn @hyacinthoideshispanica @historygeekqueen @lizziesfirstwife @nastynesta @aroseinvelaris @nightless @cleverzonkwombatsludge @kodokunarisu-blog @selillusion @eos-princess @moonfawnx @a-court-of-milkandhoney @emilyo-218 @wannabewolf @ailyr92 @chronically-online-cheese @myheartfollower @hells-sluttiest-new-arrival @marina468 @menaosama @starryhiraeth @hereticdance @mali22 @valencia-rou @azrielsstarlight @marvelouslovely-barnes @luvmoo @starlight-hope @a-frog-with-a-laptop @fall-myriad @alt-ghost @elleofdragons @ruleroftides @5moremin @stargirl1714 @bunnymallowo @ivy-34 @aria-chikage @kalulakunundrum

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ataraxiaspainting · 8 months

Text

Yan Phantom Troupe + Hisoka + Illumi / Darling Asking “What Am I To You?”.

Warnings: Yandere themes, stalking, kidnapping, implied violence, not SFW implications for Hisoka because he’s a creep (and a mention of M*lluki in Illumi’s section I’m sorry for your loss) and also for Nobunaga because he’s bleh, Nobunaga threatens to take out your teeth for biting him it's up to you whether or not to believe him, and manipulation.

Word Count: 4.5k. (literally how lmao)

*~*~*~*

Chrollo

“Hm…” The sound goes on for much longer than what you would have liked or at the very most could handle without sneering, the crescendo in his voice rising and rising like tulips sprouting from soil. “Hm…”

His tone was barely a whisper at first, but it soon evolved like some hideous, god-forsaken species outcasted to a deserted island or planet. If you did not have your forks and knives taken away for trying to pick and cut off the cuff and chain attached to your ankle, a consequence from last week’s horribly executed escape attempt, you would threaten to stab your eardrums if he didn’t actually answer your question. But part of you thinks that he would only find it funny, and simply hum for twice as long as he has already planned to. Or would he be petty about it, and a second cuff and chain will appear on your ankle along with having your only friend, a silver spoon, taken away? With Chrollo, you do not think you will ever be able to fully tell.

“Please answer me,” You decide on responding with a musical note of your own, a drone. It seems to be the safest option, all things considered. You stare at the soup in front of you instead of at him, playing with the idea of counting the precisely cut vegetables and small rings of pasta. You would have entertained the thought of throwing the boiling bowl at him, but you now know that his speed is beyond what you could ever hope to achieve.

You would never get that far, would you?

You would have to wait until he is gone for the time being to even be able to step on the welcome rug by the door. You managed to convince him to finally buy you hairpins yesterday, and they are safely tucked away in the corner of the table next to your side of the bed, hidden underneath a pile of neatly folded silk pajamas until further notice.

“Well, what do you think you are to me?” He asks, brushing his foot against yours underneath the dining table. It takes everything in you not to move your chair away. That would only make things worse, wouldn’t it? Or would this just further make him see you as an adorable little thing because he knows you would not get that far, not with the cuff and chain on your ankle and the several locks on the door and him here right in front of you?

Again, you cannot tell. When can you ever? Could anyone ever read him, you wonder?

His porcelain dish is already empty, with but a few drops of red broth and a few herbs swirling about. He moves his chair forward and gently grabs your hand, his thumb massaging circles into your palm. You don’t know whether or not to answer his question.

This life is like a torturous game of chess, and you aren’t a player at all. It is up to Chrollo to decide whether or not you are worthy of being a pawn or queen or king, and where you go.

Is this all you will ever be?

His fingers rise to your cheek as he stands up, the touch so light it is hard to decipher the intentions of it. Comfort? Ownership? A statement?

Without thinking, you shut your eyes and lean into it. You coo. You coo like a dove, a baby bird, something so small and fragile in the face of a predator that wants nothing more than to take off its wings so it can never fly away. Perhaps the predator in question is the parent of the chick, never wanting it to leave the nest and explore the big, scary world.

Is this all you ever will be? A helpless, silly little thing stuck way up high with no way down, something cute and small that needs to be protected and cared for because they cannot take care of themselves?

You finally look up at him and he leans in then. He coos back at you, and you want to go back to closing your eyes and trying to stop hearing whatever he will say as a response to your refusal to answer. But you can’t.

So, you think of an answer, something that would make him happy but also not have you speak too long because you don’t want to speak at all. You just want this to be over with, you just want Chrollo to for once respond to your question instead of rebutting with one of his own.

You don’t have a choice, as always.

“Something to possess,” Your voice is soft and hoarse because you never use it aside from when you cry. “Something… someone to keep for your pleasure and your pleasure alone.” He coos again. It is sweet and sticky and latching onto you like thick honey or candy.

“You’re halfway there.” There is an unspoken praise in the air, one so nectarous it’s suffocating and you almost can't breathe. It is like Chrollo’s hands are on your throat, squeezing and squeezing until you pop like a balloon. There is no escape.

He turns and gets his fingers off your face, but the feeling of freedom is quickly taken away by the sound of Chrollo’s footsteps approaching you.

“I suppose I see you as both above and below me at the same time.” He says. You want to run but he’ll catch you in no time before you could even execute the idea.

He is behind you now, grabbing your arms and tugging as your chair squeals and squeaks like a lamb cornered by one who will soon sell its tender meat. You want to scream like one because you too are cornered by someone who will never let you out of here alive.

One of his hands smoothly moves up like you are a violin, lightly pinching your chin and forcing you to look up at him. You just hope there is no encore after this. You hope that in the future there are no such things and that he will just answer your questions and be done with it, but that is so foolish of you, isn’t it?

“You are human and have humanity,” He murmurs, his eyes wider and more intense than you ever had seen them before. “And I would love nothing more than to steal that away.”

Nobunaga

“You’re so silly, you know that?” You recognize the rhetorical nature of the question and choose not to answer. This causes Nobunaga to toy with the thigh-high socks he insisted you wear after returning from another day of thievery.

Every time you tried to express yourself verbally, you were met with a laugh, a gentle touch, an embrace, a peck, or... something far more dreadful than any of those gestures. You preferred to steer clear of that type of affectionate act for as long as you could, even if it meant just a few days. It would be a noteworthy achievement. Of course, Nobunaga's libido would never wane, as he shows no mercy unintentionally to you and intentionally to anyone else in his life.

The way your food is placed on pink plastic plates with little sections of where to put vegetables and where to put a small dessert for a job well done of eating all the food, which is always raw or burnt to a crisp. The pastel frilly clothes you’re forced to wear always show too much skin. The threat to remove most of your teeth if you bite him again. The way he keeps touching your thighs, pinching and groaning and-

Nobunaga never answers your question, resuming to hand-feed you some severely undercooked cookies he baked himself. Well, you scooped the dough at least, and that’s the most you’ll ever do in the kitchen while you are held captive.

Still, raw cookie dough is better than burnt in your opinion.

Just like delusional Nobunaga is much, much better than angry, heartbroken Nobunaga.

Your broken pointer and middle fingers are proof of that.

Feitan

“...”

He blinks; once, twice, thrice… and then you stop counting. It’s pointless anyhow, he is most likely not going to answer your question yet again.

As anticipated, Feitan walks away wordlessly, descending to his basement without a single step on the stairs being audible.

Just as you believe he has vanished, he creeps up from behind, clutching an object in his palms, causing you to nearly shriek. He would find amusement in that if you did. Whenever you engage in any action he deems foolish, he chuckles. It is the closest semblance of happiness you have witnessed from him, his snickering.

“...Here.”

With trembling hands, you accept the concealed object from his grasp.

“...Well?” Feitan asks, raising his eyebrow, his coat hiding what is most likely a smirk of some kind. “Like it?”

Huh? It's... a ring, from a fancy jewelry shop that you had been setting aside money for. This shop happened to be the priciest in the city you grew up in, with all of its items being highly sought after.

“I do.”

Happiness is like the rarest star in the universe to you now, and you will never let it go, now that you have it once again.

“...Glad.”

After a few moments of silence, Feitan is the one who speaks again as you stare at the jewel’s beauty.

“Do you want the finger that came with it?”

(machi, hisoka, phinks, shalnark, franklin, shizuku, pakunoda, bonolenov, uvogin, kortopi, and illumi under cut!)

Machi

Somehow, Machi’s posture becomes even more tense. But it does not stop her from still pouring the pot of instant ramen into your plate, though hers remains empty.

In silence, she puts some edamame, still cold from the fridge, on top, along with some spinach and carrots.

With her bare hand, she pulls out one of the soft-boiled eggs from the bowl of ice water, rolling it on the table until its shell cracks and she takes it off. She then, along with the egg and vegetables, puts some seaweed on top.

When you lean in closer to the utensil drawer, Machi opens it before you can.

She doesn’t ask you which chopsticks you want. She already knows your favorite one by now. The wooden ones with purple handles with white rabbits on them. Hers are plain.

She puts yours in one hand and your food in the other, walking to the kitchen table and putting both down. It’s winter now, and so she makes you drink tea nonstop and thus has a cup of it in front of your chair too.

“…Do you think I hate you?” Her voice, while still cold, has an emotion in it this time; worry. “I don’t, I really don’t. I promise you.” With that, she cracks the other boiled egg and puts it into her empty bowl. “I promise.”

You feel horrible for asking. You just wanted to know. You never know what she is thinking, that is why. But you feel horrible. Now she does too. Both of you, here, in silence, pondering whether or not the other despises you.

“I know, I just… wanted to make sure.” You don’t know if you are lying, and neither does she.

She takes good care of you. But she also ties you up when she has to leave, and one time she had to take out the syringes when you got too aggressive.

So what exactly are you to her?

Hisoka

Hisoka, still standing over your sitting form, puts his right hand on you, squeezing it just barely enough for it to sting.

“Aw, come on [First], lighten up.” If it were possible, with his words Hisoka grows twice as large as he was before he said anything. “I still have lots to teach you.” He chuckles as his long nails, sharp enough to be daggers or a ferocious beast’s teeth you think, dig further into your shoulder. The message is clear. You’ll never be rid of him, as much as you try to.

Even now, when you move to a secluded village on the other side of the country, for just the slightest chance he would leave you alone.

Your basket of berries and herbs is still next to you, a reward for all the foraging you did just before Hisoka showed up again.

“I did your leaf-in-water test already for you.” Just before you ran for the hills, you finally gave into Hisoka essentially begging you to test what kind of Nen user you are, claiming that you were now his pupil. “The water tasted sweet. I’m a Transmuter. That’s what you wanted to know. There is nothing else you can do for me, you know I am no fighter.”

Hisoka nods, and you think that this is it. Maybe he will finally leave you alone and you can go about your life without knowing anything else about Nen. But instead, Hisoka sits next to you on the grass.

He takes a berry from your basket and squeezes it between his fingers before it turns into a sticky mush.

It’s red.

“I know, but there are other things I can indeed teach you, can’t I?”

You don’t want to know what he means, you don’t want to know what he wants to do to you, but before you can stop him he is already on top of you, pushing you behind the bush you were picking rose petals from. You kick and scream at him to let go and cry, but he, as always, is so much stronger than you’ll ever be.

“This will hurt for a bit, but I promise you’ll feel very good, and you’ll want more.”

Phinks

Phinks stops pressing the buttons on the remote and stops reading the little synopsis on each of the shows he was thinking about watching with you, or each of the movies. You were not paying attention, instead looking at your fingers and playing with the dry skin by each nail.

He sets it aside, placing a hand on the back of his head and gently scratching. His gaze falls to the floor, and you follow suit.

He exudes nervousness. This comes as no surprise, as Phinks has always been one to shy away from openly displaying his romantic desires, as odd as it were to you when you were first brought here.

“Uh. Why do you ask? Isn’t… it kinda obvious? Um… you know I’m not exactly cut out for all this sappy bullshit… I… I… Um. Just… just forget it, okay? Just know that I see you as my partner… Wait, oh God, that sounds so bad…”

He keeps stuttering as he tries to explain everything. But, as funny as it would have been if you had known him outside of being your stalker and now current captor, his words only make you feel more hopeless.

Shalnark

He puts down his phone and stands up from his armchair. You’re in your pajamas, the fluffy pastel pink ones, standing in the doorway to Shalnark’s office area, where there are many computers and such on the walls and his large desk.

“Aw!” He murmurs, then gently pinches your cheeks upon approaching. He playfully rubs his nose against yours. Trying to distance yourself, instantly regretting seeking an answer of any sort from him, yet as always, his overpowering strength prevents any escape.

“C-Come on, Shal…” The nickname sometimes works when you ask for some dessert or a game of some kind, so maybe it will work in a situation like this too. “I wanna go to bed.” You nearly whine as he stretches your cheeks out further.

“But I still haven’t answered your question, sweetie!” He exclaims.

“F-Forget it.” You mutter, looking to the side. “It’s fine. Really. Get back to work.”

But he does not let go.

“Let me answer! Hmm… you’re so cute, like a kitten. You sure snuggle against me in bed like one!” Shalnark chuckles, and you can smell a mix of coffee and oranges in his breath. “So maybe… that’s the best analogy for it?” Some mint too. “Something to cuddle with? Something to keep safe.” He boops your nose. “Something too silly and adorable and airheaded to live on their own.”

You’re not sure if his words are supposed to hurt you or cheer you up.

“Yeah, I think something like that works!” After what seems like an endless amount of time, Shalnark releases his grasp on your face. “Just look at you.”

“O-Okay.” You murmur, turning away and attempting to make a beeline for the bedroom, regretting ever opening your mouth. “Sorry for asking. Good night-” Shalnark grabs your arm, making you stop moving before you even start.

“Come on, cutie! Spend some time with me. We can even play Wild World together again!”

He points to your 3DS, a rose gold color, and then to his, which is dark violet and covered in stickers referencing popular memes he saw on the internet. At least he has never made you see some particularly gruesome scene in the horror games he plays late at night out of impulse.

Franklin

As your words hang in the air, a silence so profound that you begin to question if he even registered your message, you find yourself fixating on your unfinished meal. Contemplating the merits and drawbacks of broaching the topic once more versus letting it go, you suddenly hear him put his cup of coffee down with a clatter as he almost slams it by accident.

“Where did this come from?” He asks. His tone almost seems concerned, you think, concerned for how you think of him when he is always so quiet or concerned for how you think he thinks of you, that one day he will simply not come back and find someone else more willing.

Franklin does not seem angry, not that he ever was. He is trying to appear neutral, to not scare you, like you were some sort of stray cat who he has yet to earn the trust of.

Though you don’t bite or scratch, you do hide from him.

“I… just want to know why you did all… this.”

Your eyes go everywhere, from the pots of plants he brought you recently by the barred windows to the blinking light above the stairs he promised to fix soon to Frank Herbert’s Dune laid across the couch next to your blanket.

“Franklin, since you claim to care about me… why can’t I go outside and be free?”

After a few more moments of silence, you look up at Franklin. He looks remorseful almost, from his visible frown to his eyes almost being closed to the way he does not look at you. Something akin to pity blooms in your chest.

“...Because unfortunately for both of us, I am… selfish, and you are too much for me to lose.”

Just like that, the pity dies similarly to the vase of flowers in the middle of the table.

Shizuku

You don’t know whether or not she will respond while knowing what you are and what she is. A captive. A captor. But you doubt it because every time she comes back she thinks you are here of your own volition and that you love her just as much as you know her.

Sometimes, you wish that you did, because whenever she sees you she looks at you like you were a gift that she had wanted for years.

Sometimes you wish that you did because that would make things oh so much easier for you. She sometimes forgets you are here, sometimes still goes to your actual home, and panics when she sees you are not there.

Shizuku merely chuckles, hugging you tighter. Perhaps she even forgot the slap she inflicted upon you earlier today for daring to say that you hate her, making you fly across the room.

“My love of course, silly!” Sometimes you hope that one day you will forget everything too because you envy Shizuku for never being cautious.

Pakunoda

“[First]...” Pakunoda’s eyes meet your own, one of her hands holding onto a chocolate-covered strawberry from the box she just got. Her other has a presence above one of your own, a presence so light you hardly recognize it is there.

She looks regretful and concerned.

The look fills you with so much guilt you immediately apologize and put the back of your head on her lap once again. It always works.

“You do know I care about you deeply, right, beloved?” Her long nails glide over your hair, making you close your eyes to calm yourself. You hope that look is gone because you aren’t sure how much longer you can take it before you break under its pressure fully. “I really do.”

You know she does, but it does not make the first days of your capture, which feels like an eternity ago, feel any less real, as much as Pakunoda denies the more horrifying parts of it all.

“I know, Paku.”

She smiles at the nickname.

The strawberry approaches your mouth, and you bite into it. Dark chocolate, you think this one is. Pakunoda loves her strawberries, but she loves parfaits just a little bit more. Maybe, to get her to forget your question, you can ask her to get some and feed them to her.

Soon, you fall asleep. Pakunoda opens her book back up after closing the box of sweets.

With one hand she caresses your hair, and in the other, she turns the pages of her novel. She loves evenings like this.

“I love you…” She murmurs, brushing some of your hair out of your face. “One day… you’ll love me too, fully, right?”

Half asleep, you agree without thinking. Once again, she smiles.

Bonolenov

With a sigh, he turns his head, momentarily interrupting your question. However, he quickly resumes dancing before you, delighting in your observation of his favorite pastime. Although you are unsure of the specific style of dance he is performing, you are confident that Bonolenov will soon enlighten you, taking the opportunity to boast about his expertise in this particular art form.

Listening to his animated explanations is always entertaining. His frequent rants make you feel as though he is a close friend rather than your captor if only that were true. Despite the circumstances, he treats you with kindness and respect. He believes that housing you in his home is an honor and privilege, a sentiment for which you hold some gratitude.

“A lover, because I do love you. You are simply wonderful to be around, after all.” In an alternate existence, were he not involved in criminal activities such as theft, kidnapping, stalking, and multiple murders, you might have developed an affection for him. This is due to your awareness of his deep affection for you and the kindness he exhibits towards you.

So you say such.

Bonolenov stays silent for a little while after that, along with the dancing that he often enjoys doing. Instead, he gazes through the windows, adorned with steel bars, and tenderly places small tokens that he knows bring you joy upon the table in the kitchen.

Uvogin

“Huh?”

Uvogin stops punching the claw machine, turning to you. It’s a mess, all because you said you wanted a corgi plush from it. But is it your fault, when you wanted to win it fair and square?

Maybe it’s not. Maybe it is. You know Uvogin is never one to have coins in his pockets. But, then again, he always seemed to have money when he was placing bets with Troupe members, especially with that Nobunaga person.

He seems confused, albeit he is hiding it behind a smirk. In one of his hands, covered in little shards of glass, is the stuffed animal you wanted.

“Come on, [First]!” He laughs, delusionally proud of himself. “I’m your boyfriend!” He wasn’t, but you would never voice that.

“...I-I know. But still… Do you like me?” You make an effort to convey your thoughts in the most diplomatic manner possible, being cautious not to provoke Uvogin's anger. Despite never having witnessed Uvogin's wrath, you remain steadfast in your desire to avoid it at all costs.

His smile widens.

“Of course I do!”

He presents you with the cuddly toy, having meticulously removed all the splinters of glass embedded within it.

“Do you really?” You ask, thinking of the time he threatened to break your legs if you ever attempted to run away from him again. He wasn’t even angry as he said the threat.

At another one of your questions, Uvogin says yes. But does he really? Or are you just something to hoard?

Do you really want to find out, you wonder?

Your heart tells you you don’t.

Kortopi

He turns his head, confused. It is one of the few expressions you can decipher from Kortopi because of the many strands of hair covering him. At the sight, you bow your head down.

He steps forward, and you step back.

He stops moving. So do you.

He retreats. You don’t speak for the rest of the day. You were used to it though. Kortopi hardly ever talks to you, but you don’t think he means it to be rude.

“Everything.” He mutters, standing above your bed. You sleep so peacefully, something you never were when you were awake. “You are everything.”

Illumi

Gently, he puts his teacup down with a little clatter of the saucer as he does so.

“Do you think I see you in a bad light, [First]?”

You simply look down at your teacup, smelling the lavender and chamomile to try to calm down a bit before answering Illumi.

The query has plagued your mind for an extended period. The exact duration remains elusive, as the days have merged into an indistinguishable blur. No matter your actions, pain will be inflicted upon you by someone, regardless of your conduct. Perhaps it will be Illumi's mother, administering a slightly sublethal, tasteless toxin with a syringe. Or it could be Illumi himself, subjecting you to days of confinement in a food and water-deprived closet. Regardless of your behavior, the inevitability of suffering looms.

With the intent of prolonging your exposure to the morning birdsong and granting yourself additional time in the garden, you opt to respond.

“N-No.” You lie. “You… keep me around to be molded into your perfect spouse, I know that, it is just… just…”

His smile sends chills down your spine, surpassing even the terror of Illumi's younger brother once launching into a lewd tirade about you in your presence.

“That is all there is to it; nothing more, nothing less.”

You sip the tea finally, and the burning sensation in your throat does not bother you anymore.

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sarawritestories · 4 days

Text

Tell Me A Story, Nes

Nessian Fic

NESSIAN WEEK DAY 5: BEHIND CLOSED DOORS

Summary: Cassian offers to braid Nesta's hair and she begins to talk about her Book. Which leads the General to make an unusual request.

A/N: I Adored this prompt because I know these two are so soft behind closed doors!

If you see mistakes, no, you didn't!

@nessianweek

Dividers by @tsunami-of-tears

Cassian smiled as the door to his and Nesta's room opened. The later walking in eyes bright but tired. "A good book club with Em, and Gwyn?" He began to rise from his seat by the fire when his mate held up a hand.

"Let me change and I'll tell you all about it." She tugged her bottom lip between her teeth, "When I come out, would you be willing to braid my hair?"

Cassian's grinn widened, "As if you have to ask, Nes." He motioned for her to come toward him, and she complied. With his thumb, he softly pulled her bottom lip from her gnawing. Placing a chaste kiss on her mouth, he whispered, "I love you."

Nesta, face warmed with a flush, never tiring of the Illyrian saying those words to her, her silver eyes twinkling against the light of the flame. A flame she no longer feared, no longer pictured her father's neck snapping at the sound of a crack. The male in front of her was to thank for taking the time to work with her through that trauma from the war.

She kissed him once more, and she could hear Cassian's wings rustling in response. "And I love you, Cas." She watched as his Honey colored eyes warmed at the sentiment as if he too had waited for someone to utter those words to him. She lightly patted his cheek as she headed to the bathing chambers.

When she returned her favorite silk nightgown in her favorite shade of red hugging her body, Cassian patted the spot between his legs comb in hand, "Feel better." Nesta smiled and watched as the General took in her whole body. She shifted under his soft scrutiny. She wasn't sure if she would ever be used to someone who not only looked at her with such fierce passion as Cassian's eyes always did. Not sure she would ever be used to being seen as someone worth cherishing worth protecting and asking for nothing in return.

"Nes?" His low voice pulled her from her thoughts to find his dark brows furrowed with concern, "You alright?"

The eldest Archeron grinned widely, showing teeth, a smile reserved for him, Her Valkyries, and Azriel: her inner circle. "I'm wonderful."

Cassian chuckled, "Then come here, I'm wanting to hear about this book."

Nesta grabbed the book from the table and rushed over to where he had motioned her to sit, when she adjusted to a comfortable position on the floor between his legs, he began to separate her hair and began to braid. Nesta hummed and leaned into his touch, reminded that the calloused hands of the Lord of Bloodshed held a gentleness to them. Cassian loved doing these things for her, and when she once asked him about why he loved braiding and brushing her hair he had said:

"It reminds me that my hands are capable of being gentle and loving, not just a weapon of war."

So became their nightly routine. Nesta would tell him about the book her book club was reading as he brushed and plaited her hair.

This particular night, she was telling him a story told in a series of books that Gwyn found in a dark corner of the library, it had Assassins, hidden princesses, witches and fearsome warriors and an epic battle they were about to embark on in the final book.

Once Nesta had finished explaining, silence fell between them in the room. She knew he was awake as his fingers were gently tugging her hair to manipulate it into going where he wanted it. Another moment went by before she took a glance at the mirror beside the fireplace to find Cassian smiling at her reflection. "What?" She whispered.

"You always look so free when you talk about your stories? Just like when music plays out by the rainbow, your body comes alive, as does your facial expressions." He pauses his work on her hair to rub his tanned hands against her bare arms, causing a shiver down her spine. "You are breathtaking every day. But I could spend centuries watching you talk about the things you love." He pressed his lips softly to her temple before moving to pinning her braids into a crown, just the way she likes it.

"Cassian, you're too sweet, I fear."

Cassian's chest rumbled with laughter, "You deserve the world, Nes, you deserve someone being sweet to you." Cassian tapped her arm, indicating he was done, and she quickly rose to move toward his lap. Cassian quick to wrap an arm around her waist and hand wrapping over her bare thigh. "You don't want to check my work."

Nesta scoffed, "I trust you." She kissed his cheek, "Thank you, My Love."

"Anything for you, Sweetheart." His wings curved to provide an extra warmth to the room. They fell into silence once more.

"Tell Me a Story, Nes." Cassian whispered.

Nesta faced him, his eyes meeting her silver once with sincerity, "What?"

"Read to me." There was no question to the statement. He continued, "I want to know how the Princess reclaims her throne."

Nesta pressed her hand to her cheek, making sure the warmth of them were not due to a fever. "No one i have courted before has ever been interested in my books," her voice barely above a whisper.

Cassian's hand moved from her thigh to cup her face, "I am not, 'no one'. I would crawl to the ends of the earth for you. There is nothing about you that I don't want to know. I want to experience storytelling with you the way I have with music. You have given music meaning for me, Nes. Let us have that with reading to."

Nesta eyes began to glisten with tears, "Okay."

Cassian reached and handed her the book. "Okay."

Nesta opened to the first chapter and her voice a sweet Symphony to the Lord of Bloodshed's ears, "Once upon a time, in a land long since burned to ash, there lived a young princess who loved her kingdom..."

General Tag: @milswrites @lady-of-tearshed @tsunami-of-tears @readychilledwine @ceoofyearning

@velariscalling @daycourtofficial @prythianpages @writingcroissant @itsswritten

@illyrianbitch @acotarxreader @pit-and-the-pen @nocasdatsgay @labyrinth-of-stories-and-stars

@ninthcircleofprythian @thelov3lybookworm @riddlesb1tch @lilah-asteria

@kylaisra @nickishadow139 @aelincaddel @nighttimemoonlover @demirunner

@marvelbros-oneshots @lanea-1 @enchantingcupcakecollectionfan

#nessianweek2024 #sarawritesstories #acotar fanfiction #pro nessian #nessian #nessian fanfiction #nesta and cassian #nesta x cassian #acosf #pro cassian #pro nesta

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rs-hawk · 8 months

Note

Female human x vampire!gf and dragon!gf

Fluffy/smut

Plz

I'm touch-starved

Honestly? Getting lost on that castle tour was the best thing that ever happened to you. You ended up trapped in a hidden hallway, with only the the torches lining the walls to guide you. Panic and fear welled up inside of you, as did tears. As you leaned against the wall, you slowly slid down it until you hit the ground with a soft thunk.

“Now now there. You don’t have to be so scared. It’s just the dark,” a hissing voice seemed to come from everywhere, making you curl more into yourself.

“Not everyone has night vision as excellent as yours, my love,” a purring sort of voice answered.

You wiped your tears away, feeling your pockets for your keys. Sure, they weren’t much, and you typically weren’t afraid of other women, but being lost and scared made you feel more paranoid than you usually did. Stumbling to your feet, you turned towards the side of the hallway you thought the voices were coming from.

There was the clicking of heels and the sound of… wings? The second sound puzzled you enough to make you drop your guard, your head tilted as you tried to identify it. Yeah, wings. You were fairly certain of that.

Into view stepped a beautiful woman. Tall, elegant, with pearl-like skin. It seemed to shimmer under the torchlight, and it was so clear, so pale, that it seemed nearly opaque. Her eyes were dark and slightly sunken in, but that did nothing to take away from her stunning beauty. Despite the terror that began clawing at your brain when you saw her, something in you screaming Predator. Danger, you couldn’t bear to look away from her.

The only reason you looked away was the creature that landed next to her. A towering terror of a woman that made your mouth go dry with a mix of want and fear. Her eyes were slitted, and teeth too long, too sharp, for her mouth protruded from it, reminding you of a crocodile’s maw. Her nails were long, black claws that were carefully draped over the pale woman’s shoulders. She had to stoop to fit in the hallway. It was no wonder that she was flying, using wings that were half tucked behind her back.

“You’re…,” you trailed off, staring at them in wonder. A thousand words filled your mind to describe them.

“Frightful?” the pale woman asked, flashing a fanged smile.

“Disgusting?” the dragon woman echoed, tilting her head as she looked at you.

“Horrid?”

“Horrifying?”

“Monstrous!”

The last one made them both laugh, but you stayed rooted to the spot in awe. “Stunning,” you whisper, feeling like you were in a trance state.

That made the laughter die on both of their lips as they turned back to look at you, now looking curious and slightly confused. “Is that so?” the pale woman, a vampire if you had to guess, inquired, her clicking heels echoing in the empty hallway and she sauntered closer to you.

“Wow,” was all you could think of as she closed the gap, taking your chin in her hand. Her cool touch sent a shiver down your spine, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you stared up at her, mouth slightly open with an unfounded excitement.

The Dragon chuckled as she dropped to her hands and knees, crawling over like a lizard would run. You tore your gaze from the Vampire just to be able to look at her with that same awe and wonder. She popped up besides the Vampire, running a claw down the bridge of your nose. For some reason, you giggled, grinning at her. You felt so… safe. Comforted. Like you were in the presence of two beings that could only love you.

The two women exchanged looks before looking back at you. “You’re not scared?” the Dragon asked. You shook your head as much as you could with the Vampire still holding your chin. “You’re not going to scream or ask us to leave you alone?”

“Why would I do that?” you blurted out.

They both looked at you with confusion, but you couldn’t help but let the words tumble out. You felt safe with them, and you knew that was silly because you hadn’t even really met them, but you couldn’t help it. They seemed confused but softened as you talked, and especially the way you started leaning into the Vampire’s touch.

“Maybe we should play with her, at least a little bit,” the Dragon nearly purred as she cupped your cheek.

“You read my mind as always, darling,” the Vampire grinned as you whined against both of their touches, trying to stand on your tiptoes to lean more into them.

The Vampire drew you closer to her so she could plant a cool, forceful kiss against your lips. You moaned softly against her lips as you reached for her, trying to wrap your arms around her neck to draw her in closer, but you’re stopped by the Dragon, who started to kiss and nip along your neck. You’re picked up and sat on the Dragon’s lap as she sat down, the Vampire leaning down to keep peppering you in kisses as the Dragon’s tongue flicked out to tease your neck.

You whined again, leaning back against the Dragon as she racked her claws over your your stomach, trailing down to the sweet, wet spot between your legs. Your mind was fuzzy as you felt the heat between your legs burn as she easily cut away the fabric there teasing your clit carefully with one of her claws. Part of you wanted to flinch away, but you had enough sense to stay still.

“What a pretty little one she is,” the Dragon cooed, her tail now between your legs, prodding open your dripping hole.

“Maybe could keep her,” the Vampire agreed.

She sat in front of you, helping it guide the Dragon’s tail into you. You grunted as it was pushed in, the thickness and texture of the scales unfamiliar but not unpleasant. Before you knew it, you were whining and limp in the Dragon’s arms, legs spread widely by her as she kept fucking you with her tail. The Vampire had her lips attached to your clit, drawing orgasm after orgasm out of you, not caring as you sobbed from over stimulation. Not that you ever actually asked her to stop.

The Dragon pushed her tail deeply inside of you, mocking you in a warm voice for how wet you are, and how easily you take it. All you can do is babble out a thank you as the Vampire teased another orgasm out of your poor spent body. By the time they’re done with you, you’re sticky and exhausted, but you still cling to the Vampire as she helped you redress.

“You don’t have to do that. We’re not leaving you after that much fun,” she promised, pressing a kiss to the top of your forehead as the Dragon took you both in her arms.

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linkito · 4 months

Note

Kiss Prompt Scarian 30 …as comfort? :3 -🎀

ange asked for this as well, so it’s gotta be hhau, right? ft. some unused dialogue from our Big RP™

Scar hates seeing Grian like this— curled up and miserable, wings tucked so tightly against his back that they may as well be invisible. His hands fidget with the ribbon tied around one of his wrists, body mostly hidden under the length of his cloak. He’s pressed up into the wall in a way that can’t be comfortable and Scar just can’t take it anymore.

He needs to do something.

“Grian,” Scar tries, and though his ears droop slightly when Grian barely twitches in response, he still continues. “Did I ever tell you about my idea for a cookie shop?”

Grian does perk up slightly at that, but it’s mostly to cock an eyebrow in confusion, wondering why Scar would possibly think to bring up such a thing now of all times.

They hardly ever talk about Hermitcraft. And for good reason— it usually results in nothing but pain.

But something about Scar making cookies brings warmth to Grian’s frigid, aching heart, and despite his better judgement, he mumbles, “…cookie shop?”

Scar smiles, feeling successful already and deciding to ride that high. “Yeah, and I was going to bake them myself! None of that villager crap.”

Grian doesn’t reply directly, but he nods, eyes now regarding Scar with renewed interest, glad to tether his attention onto something that isn’t his own self-loathing and despair.

Scar is happy to take what he can get. He also scoots in closer to Grian, craving the closeness, just wanting to be within his orbit. It takes a moment, but Grian returns the casual affection by idly running his fingers over Scar’s knee, which is more than enough to keep Scar going on with his daydreamy nonsense.

“I was gonna grow out my hair and have this whole elven theme going— live in a tree, work right out of my house.” Scar runs a hand through his messy hair, noting that it’s already begun to grow out quite a lot, even if it looks nothing like how he would have intended. He probably looks more like some sort of goblin than a lustrous-haired elf.

Grian chuckles softly, pulling Scar out of his thoughts. “What, like a Keebler Elf?”

“What’s a Keebler Elf?” Scar asks, entirely genuine.

That gets Grian to laugh fully, and even if Scar doesn’t understand why, it makes his heart about melt. He loves Grian’s laugh. He doesn’t get to hear it enough these days.

“You know,” Scar adds, feeling cheeky now that he’s already earned this small victory. “I had a particular cookie in mind that I bet you would have loved.”

“Tell me,” Grian says, eager for more of this delightful distraction.

Now that he’s got him, Scar begins a long-winded explanation, theatrical and exuberant: “Well, I make a delicious chocolate chip cookie, of course, but you can’t have those—“

“I’m not allergic to chocolate, Scar.”

“You’re not??” Scar gasps, earning a small eye roll from Grian (he’s still smiling though, so still a win). “Well no matter! Because I had an amayzin’ idea for incorporating chorus fruit into the icing for sugar cookie.”

“Chorus fruit, really?” Grian replies quietly, now weirdly finding himself craving the odd, purple fruit that he likely would have never eaten otherwise. He feels the edge of doomed nostalgia begin to creep in, but only for a moment because Scar keeps talking, snagging his attention back to this fantasy of a quaint little cookie shop.

“Yeah! A treat and a surprise!” Scar exclaims proudly. “One little bite and zzzzzooooop!”

Grian laughs again, weaker, but still amused by Scar’s antics. He wants to let the daydream linger, to picture bright purple frosting and a fantastical treehouse without feeling a sense of great loss of what could have and should have been. He struggles, but Scar’s smile keeps him grounded, leaves him leaning in, gravitated toward that unbridled joy he somehow manages to hold onto.

But maybe his sorrow still shows through, because Scar leans in closer, presenting that smile so it fills all of his vision. “You know what I was going to call them?”

Grian blinks, barely able to process anything other than the closeness of Scar’s smiling face. He manages a small shake of his head, eyes still anchored on Scar’s bright green ones.

Scar’s smile widens, seeming incredibly pleased with himself and whatever this answer may be.

“Elven kisses,” he coos, closing the distance and pressing their lips together, softly, like a feather brushing over skin.

The name hardly makes sense, if Grian is being honest, but he doesn’t care in the slightest. Something about the prospect of a simpler time, where Grian is surrounded by the fresh smell of cookies and a beautifully woven treehouse and the image of Scar presenting him with that name just as proudly, a shy little blush scattered across his cheeks.

He should have kissed Scar a long, long time ago, he thinks, somewhat sadly.

But Scar’s lips are on his now, and it’s possibly one of the only good things left in this wretched nightmare of a server— an uncomplicated affection, something genuine and pure. Something gentle and loving when everything else is coarse and cruel.

Grian moves, grabbing both sides of Scar’s head with desperate, yearning hands, and kisses him fully, hungry for the comfort of Scar’s breath against his own, lips intertwined, passionate and unwavering.

Alive. Alive. Alive.

He feels Scar’s mouth curl upwards into a joyous smile, pressed into his own, private— theirs alone to enjoy— and for a moment, everything feels like it might be alright.

For a moment there’s sweetness dancing across his tongue, and Grian willingly falls into the illusion of its simplicity.

#hhau #scarian #link writes #link answers #ribbon anon

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sp00kworm · 9 months

Text

One Word

Pairing: Enchanted Armour/Knight (Sir Jurdanus Dawling) x Reader

Warnings: Fighting, Fantasy Violence

Summary: An Enchanted Knight finds you amidst a mushroom circle and your life is never the same after.

Rain dripped down the back of your neck as you flopped onto the mossy floor. There was no way out of a mushroom circle. They were carefully laid traps, hidden behind roots and dotted in intricate patterns which made them hard to predict. Whatever Fae had hidden this one was powerful indeed. The mushrooms were like iron and the small pebbles between skipped upwards at your face when you attempted to break the circle. Your fingers were numb from trying to force them between the littler mushrooms. It was impenetrable, and eventually you would be food for the Fae who wanted to steal you away. There was some Fae that didn’t eat mortals, but those were far and few between. The only thing you could do was try and think of deals you could try to trick the creature which came to collect you. If it took them longer than a few more days, you would be dead anyway. There was an odd comfort in that. You wouldn’t be subjected to the whims of whatever the Fae decided to do with you. The other hope was someone stumbling along your path, but few would be able to taint the Fae circle enough to let you free, and you didn’t have much you could offer them anyway.

How many more hours would you last, you wondered? Defeated, you cradled your hand and sat inside the circle, massaging the tender joints as you watched the sun move overhead. It was nearly evening time, the sun was beginning to set along the horizon, threatening the sky with orange and pink. The trees rustled and birds sang their evening tunes as you picked at the pebbles around you and flicked them against the ward. The pebbles pinged back at you like a game, and for a time it was entertaining. Sodden moss wet your bottom and you tried to ignore the wetness on your backside, sitting on the moss in favour of the agony of sitting on several rocks. The old trees creaked in the wind, and you removed your satchel to look at the mushrooms and herbs you had managed to collect before getting stuck.

Suddenly, the whole woodland went quiet. No animal made a murmur as the wind continued to blow gently through the leaves. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end, waving with the wind as there was a great ‘thunk’ in the distance. The heavy clunk of armour thudded along the winding path between the old, twisted trees. The blood in your limbs went cold and your heart leaped into your throat. You stood up again and watched down the old dirt path as a great, heavy suit of armour rounded the corner. The armour was maybe six and a half feet tall, and the heavy cloak fastened about the shoulders made it all the more imposing. The steel was stained with black carbon, and the details were once orange copper. The details were green in most places but the emblem in the centre of the chassis, once bright, was a Swan, swooping upwards towards the sky, its neck bowed gracefully. There was a crown around its neck, resting on the top of where its wings were spread. The Knight rounded the trees closest to you, his armour clanking before he stood, the visor fixed on you trapped in the circle of mushrooms.

“Sir!” You shouted, “Please could you help me out of this faery circle?”

The Knight tilted his head, watching you carefully as his other hand not rested on the trunk of the oak, reach for his sword. He had two on his back, strapped underneath the great fur cloak which lined his shoulders. Watching him reach for the sword you panicked and reached for your bag, attempting to find something which would prove you were not Fae.

“Please, Sir...” You rummaged, throwing the pouches of weeds and herbs you had collected before you dragged out a small iron link you had found. You clenched it between your hands and showed him your skin, “Please... I’m no Fae. I got trapped here while foraging. I promise!”

The Knight looked at the link before he thundered over, the dark metal of his armour glimmering in the setting sun. The copper detailing was sickly green, almost falling off, and his neck piece squeaked with rust as he drew the long sword from his back. He turned his stance and looked at the mushrooms before there was a rattle through the armour and his hand reached forwards to where the magical barrier lay. The barrier rippled under his hand, the magic caving like a bubble, but still resisting. With another shuddering rattle the Knight grasped his sword by the hilt and stabbed it forwards. The warding screamed as the blade burst through the magic, sending sparks flying as he heaved the iron through it, to the floor. When he reached the floor, the Knight turned the blade swiftly and severed several of the mushroom caps. The barrier faded with a hiss and just like that, you were free.

You tried not to gawp as the Knight sheathed his weapon and stood back, resting his hands on his hips. You quickly hopped out of the circle and sighed with relief as you collected your items. When you finished you looked back at the Knight.

“Thank you, Sir...” You asked, wondering what the Knight’s name was. He probably had a House Name.

The Knight shuddered inside his armour again before the joints clicked and a voice echoed inside, “Sir... Sir, S-Sir...” He couldn’t seem to say his name.

“I’m sorry?” You asked, “Sir?”

Again the voice echoed from inside, “Sir...Sir...”

You frowned softly at him before daring to reach for the visor which covered his eyes. He let you grasp the metal, subdued and quiet.

“Here let me open this so you can...” You said before tugging the visor. It remained firmly shut. With a grunt you tugged it hard. It stayed down, as though it was glued.

The pieces fell into place then, and you let your hands fall to his broad shoulders. You fisted the fur. It was well cared for but old and holes had opened in the bottom of the soft leather upper. The crest wad old, battered and stained.

“You’re cursed aren’t your?” You asked as you stood flat footed again on the woodland floor.

The Knight nodded his head and tapped the crest in the centre of his chest. There was the house crest and a small moto painted intricately underneath.

“Alte Volant”

“I’m no specialist but this is definitely noble house armour... but, well I guess I could help you, as thanks for helping me?” You offered with a shaky sigh.

The Enchanted Knight nodded, his neck squeaking a little, and offered a hand to you. You looked down and then realised he was offering to carry your bags. Carefully you gave him the larger of the two and kept your satchel.

As your bag landed in his gauntlet, the air fizzed and a blue skinned Fae stepped out from a tree, their eight eyes twitching at the sight of the broken circle. Quickly, you whipped around, but the Knight was faster. The Fae span with another hiss of fury, her hands raised, crackling with blue magic as the tree roots curled violently under the woodland floor. As she clenched her teeth, magic shot from her, and the Knight grabbed his shield from his back, the great steel plated with old iron. He dragged you behind him in a flash as the bolt clanged against the shield and dissipated like water, falling as mist f. The Fae hissed again her body morphing into the trees as she skittered around and observed you both through one great black eye.

“A suit of armour playing Knight.” She gloated, “You died a long time ago, Knight!” She hung from the tree and reached her scales fingers for his helmet, “Iron is unbecoming. Iron is cheating.”

Instead of an answer, he sliced her fingers off with a strike of his blade and pushed forwards. The Fae screamed, and you covered your ears, watching as the Knight slammed her head against his shield then again, with a downwards arch, sending the Fae flying against the floor. There was a great screech before the iron blade sliced through her neck. You jumped as blue blood spurted up the trees and shook behind a trunk as the Knight wiped his blade with a clump or moss. He looked up and reclined his head at you. Without him, you would be dead.

You took a deep breath, “Come on, let’s get out of the woods.” You beckoned him to follow you as you grabbed your bags and made your way down the path. The thump of heavy armour behind you was the only indication you had of the Knight following you.

Luckily, your home was on the outskirts of town, tucked against the woods you had just been trapped in. The stone cottage had smoke billowing out of the chimney still, so that was a good sign that the cottage would be warm still. You opened the gates and looked back at the Knight following you. He paused by the gate and stared for a moment at the small, cobbled path to your home before he stepped inside the garden and waited again. You looked at the blue blood which had stained his armour before closing the gate and leading him inside to your home. The door creaked a little as you let the hunk of armour inside and you closed it firmly before turning the key in the lock and heading to the hearth. As you stirred the hearth the Knight stood by the table looking up at the dried plants and flowers.

“Come and sit down, I don’t know of you can still feel the cold, but it’ll at least be better than standing by the door.” You waved him over before getting a damp cloth from the kitchen area for him to clean the blood off himself. Graciously he reclined his head and placed a gauntlet over his chest. He began carefully cleaning the blood from the grooves of the paint.

While he cleaned himself you placed a couple of logs onto the stirred flames and looked into the ashes. Sat at the back of the hearth was the charcoal coloured egg you had found so long ago. It was a dragon egg. Abandoned or stolen, you didn’t know, but there was life in it as it wiggled gently and soaked in the heat of the new fire. The Knight caught your gaze and peered at the wobbling egg in fascination. A disapproving grunt was his only comment.

“Yes, I know. But I couldn’t leave it to die with the Fae.” You reasoned softly as you emptied your bag onto your work surface. The Knight shook his head but continued his work.

“How about we look for your crest? I have an old history book somewhere, and it has most of the noble houses in it.” You offered.

His visor turned slightly but he made no effort to tell you he wanted to have a look. Ignoring his silence, you went to get the book.

The book was very old. Your great, great grandmother had taken it before the great collapse. Many of the old houses no longer existed, after the revolution, but a few still remained in the far reaches of the country. You wondered just how long this Knight had been wandering. With a thud you placed the book on the table and leafed through to the catalogue of old house emblems. There were around a hundred, and you took a breath before beginning to scan for the old, battered coat of arms which was printed onto his chest plate. A swan in flight. It was a regal link. The Knight had maybe been close to the Queen before the collapse and that was many years ago. He could have been cursed a long time.

“Edelwyn… nope that’s a tree. Oakenfast… no that’s an acorn. Unicorn… a hare. That’s a peacock…” You turned the pages as the Knight creaked next to the fire, warming the leathers of his skirts before he began to brush the dirt from his cape with a hard brush. His weapons were next and you watched him for a moment as he pulled out carefully stored oils and cloths and began to meticulously clean the Fae blood from the iron. A few more pages revealed nothing until a crown appeared.

“Well, we might be down the right track, Sir!” You cheered as you reached for the kettle and filled it from a pail of water. Once it was over the fire you fetched the book and sat in the other chair on the large, overstuffed pillows. You looked at the crest on his chest again and hummed, flicking between three pages before you found it.

“Dawling!” You cried out as you hopped out of the chair and showed the Knight the book. The crest on his chest was penned beautifully with inks of good quality. You beamed at his helmet as you pointed at the crowned swan.

With a faint creak of metal, the knight reached up to take the book from your outstretched hands. There was the faint sound of wheezing breathing through the visor of his helmet as he touched the page with the crest and then carefully, like he was caressing a baby bird, traced the letters of his family name.

“Dawling was the closest family to the Queen.” You told him quietly, “Before the revolution the Dawling family were the last near her and all of them were said to have perished when they burned the castle in the North.”

With a soft nod he looked over the small descriptive notes, his armour flexing gently with tension.

“I’m sorry, for what it’s worth…” You offered a gentle hand to him.

He said nothing but you watched him reach up, his fingers twitching. The metal of his gauntlets was cold against your skin but smooth and well looked after. Warmth enveloped his fingers from your skin and the Knight peered up at you. His visor was shined and as he put the book down you saw a faint glow behind the slats. Behind the metal there were two haunting eyes. The blue eyes glimmered before disappearing again into the darkness of the armour. Wisps of light trailed out of his neck.

“Would you like anything?” You asked as you patted his hand.

The knight shook his head as he looked back at the dancing flames.

“I suppose now I have to call you Sir Dawling!” You joked as you let go of his hand, “I wonder who put this curse on you though…I suppose we will never know now, but you can stay here a while if you like?” You offered.

Sir Dawling turned to look at you and nodded his confirmation, the flames reflecting patterns over his armour.

“I’ll make you the spare room up then.” With a smile you went to collect some linens but you were stopped by Dawling standing by the fire shaking his head, pointing to the sunset in the sky. With a confused stare you followed him towards the door and watched as he stood by the door, collecting his weapons.

“Can you not sleep?” You asked as he packed his weapons. He shook his head again and then made the shape of a butterfly which his armoured hands. When that didn’t work, he pointed to the blue blood which remained on his shield.

“The Fae? I doubt they would come this far out of the woods and beside they can’t get in here without invitation.” You soothed, but Sir Dawling shook his head and insisted, opening the door. He closed it behind him, his leathers squeaking a little as he sat outside the door on a small log. You looked through the glass of the window as he took his whetstone out and continued to work his blades. It seemed as though he was to stand guard. Maybe he didn’t need to sleep? He was after all, cursed. With a sigh you went to the fire and decided to make dinner, pondering on the curses which could have been cast over him before the revolution truly took root in the country. You stoked the fire gently around the dragon egg still nested in the coals. There was an answer to the riddle that you could not see.

A few hours later, after reading numerous books on the subject of magics, you hadn’t found many answers. The key to the Knight’s curse probably laid in the type of magic used to curse him. With more questions than answers you stood from the fire, wrapped tight in a blanket, and took the spare to the door. Quietly you listened behind the wood. Sir Dawling’s armour creaked with the phantom movements of his breathing and quietly the thud of his metal finger against his thigh. Quietly, you opened the door. His helmet turned to face you immediately. Dawling made a shooing motion with his fingers, beckoning you to head back inside. You stepped out onto the stone step and smiled at him before offering him the heavy woollen blanket. You could see he was eyeing the red dyed wool, but instead of giving him a choice you thrust it over his lap and smiled. Carefully, he unfolded the fabric and laid it over his thighs.

“You don’t have to stay out here you know… I feel bad with you out here protecting me and helping me again.” You sighed and rubbed at your shoulders against the cold.

Sir Dawling held his hand up and shook his head, as though it was no trouble at all for him.

“But still… there has to be something I can do?” You asked, “Or maybe give you? I don’t want you out here all night bored…”

Again, Sir Dawling shook his head and you sighed at his protest.

“Fine but please, come back inside if you’re cold or anything. I’ll keep the fire on for the little one anyway.” You joked.

He shook his head at the idea of the dragon egg again and fixed his gaze on the moon and the stars above. You left him there, gazing up at the night sky, and went to bed.

For fourteen nights, Sir Dawling sat outside your cottage. Reluctantly, throughout the day you let him follow you too and from your jobs in town. You didn’t have a particular profession, but you had a lot of room for foraging and several of the plants on your property were useful to the locals. Alongside a bountiful variety of mushrooms there were several herbs like mint and rosemary which were used in salves. Sir Dawling watched the exchanges carefully, wary of the townsfolk who were wary of him. The people asked after him curiously, but most of the people in the town were far too familiar with the workings of the Fae in the woodlands. Once you explained a few of them were even sympathetic towards the poor Knight, though the others knew that a crest meant he was once someone of an important station. Not many looked on the Queen or her Court favourably out in the woods. Still, no one had said anything, yet. Sir Dawling followed behind you, his tattered cloak billowing, and his swords an obvious statement of prowess. He didn’t need to draw them for people to know he was a killer.

“Are you going to sit out here again?” You asked on the fifteenth night as you gave him a clean blanket.

Sir Dawling shrugged his shoulders, and as always, he didn’t reply.

“Well would you like a fire? I don’t know if you can feel cold but I got a little cast iron fire pit while I was out in town today!” You pointed to the edge of the small vegetable patch where the iron pit was located.

With a creak, Sir Dawling stood up, his armour clanking as he reached the fire pit and then bent over in order to drag it closer to the door. He reached for a log from the stack you had down the side of the house, but you had already beaten the Knight to it.

“Here.” You smiled and watched him take the log before you went inside to fetch some kindling and a small scoop of hot coals from the fire inside, “You know, the egg is really close to hatching I think.”

Sir Dawling shook his head at the mention of the egg you had pilfered inside of your home.

“I know you think I’m silly for keeping it…” You said as you handed the Dawling the kindling, “But I couldn’t stand the idea of a poacher getting it! That or the Fae. I just wanted to see if I could save it.”

A long wheezing sigh echoed from the chamber of Sir Dawling’s armour as he took the hot coals from your hands and carefully poured the scoop under the kindling. The twigs quickly caught fire with a few fans of his hands. Gently, he handed you the fire scoop back to take back inside and you did so before returning, running with your oven gloves on, with the dragon egg in hand. The egg gave another shake and a creak as you ran for the fire pit outside.

“SIR DAWLING! FAN THE FLAMES QUICK!” You screeched.

Sir Dawling took the fan from your pocket and fanned the flames as high as he could get them as you rolled the egg gently into the fire. The charcoaled shell cracked with the smoking wood, and you gazed at it in amazement as fiery lines erupted over the surface. The red patterns intertwined with one another, weaving an intricate image over the shell before a small, horned nose butted a chip in the shell. Sir Dawling leaned close enough to watch the egg shake and a small nose batter at the shell again. The flames licked the surface, like a caressing mother, and you dropped the oven gloves in favour of squatting by the pit.

The iron base glowed with the heat as another great creak sounded and a spiked tail flopped into the wood. The wood spat at you as claws raked at the thick calcium, gouging freedom from the egg. Horns prickled the egg and soon a small, growl sounded from the flames. A small, jade green dragon curled in the fire, grumbling in the fire, its tail poised high, and its neck flared defensively. It hissed and spat a small flame. With a firm hand, Sir Dawling removed the fire poker and watched as the dragonling growled, its sharp, ravenous teeth flashing. You looked at the jewelled creature in awe before sitting by the side of the fire and replacing your oven mittens. The dragon spat, its horned prickled in your direction, but you reached gently to move the eggshell out of the fire. Dawling’s helmet shifted to you, watching as you reached into the coals again and then placed the meat you were going to cook into the embers. The dragon grumbled, lowly, like a cat, but quickly turned its slitted pupils on the meat. Its eyes were a glorious orange, like amber. Carefully, its claws hooked the food, and you delighted quietly as it took the food and began chewing at the chicken leg.

“I know…” You whispered at Dawling as he looked to reach for the poker again, “Its stupid to try, but I think I can do this. Its such a beautiful creature.”

With another echoing sigh, Dawling nodded and watched you feed the dragon.

Another leg of a chicken had the small dragon clawing at the edge of the fire pit, its head raised, looking up at you with a gentle rumble. The scales down its neck glittered in the fire light like gems. The dragon was beautiful. Carefully you dared to let the hatchling sniff your hand. The dragon rumbled, sniffed and then carefully pushed its head up into your hand. Underneath its chin, as it raise its head, there was the glittering of a bright, pearl coloured scale, round and fat like a heavy gemstone. It glittered before the hatchling ducked its head again and growled, hopping out of the fire to curl around your legs. The dragon peered up at Sir Dawling from between your legs, and cocked its head, wondering about the suit of armour which clunked in its seat.

“He’s cursed.” You offered down at the dragon, “He did something in his previous life which upset a great sorceress, so she made him like this.” You smiled at Sir Dawling, offering him your hand and a comforting squeeze. His gauntlets creaked with the squeeze, but you smiled at him and then offered the dragon your hand as well.

“Wait… how do I tell if it’s a male or female…” You whispered as you turned back towards the house. The dragon followed dutifully, swinging its tail like a happy kitten as you both slipped through the door.

“How do you like Frasadu?” You asked the dragon. It chirped in response, “So maybe you are a boy…”

Sir Dawling shifted on the log outside, touching the crest on his chest as he watched you go inside, feeling an odd ache where once his chest was. The Knight shook his head, moaning inside the armour as he reached for the poker by the fire.

There was a disgusting sound, like two pieces of metal grinding metal together, which woke you up. With a scream, you shot out of bed, just as there was a great slam against the heavy stone wall of your home. You heard the sing of iron outside, indicating Sir Dawling had drawn his sword. The dragon by the fire stirred, and opened his mouth, his teeth lighting with fire. You rushed to the door, grabbing a dagger before you opened it. Frasadu howled at outside, and you froze by the door as Dawling’s sword sliced through the first fae who dared to get too close. With a rush of odd light, his gauntlet slammed through the chest of another, and you stood, clutching at the iron dagger as the bottom wall of the garden exploded into rubble. A great insect like beast crawled over the stones, its mouth parts slicing against one another again to make the awful noise.

“DAWLING!” You screamed as the insect beast slammed a great, needle like leg down towards him. The Knight rolled and sliced upwards, severing one of the monster’s legs before he made a quick roll back towards you. He held his hand up and you watched as Frasadu roared, flaring his wings before he shot a great ball of explosive fire at the insect. The beast screeched and reared before its abdomen set ablaze, and it sprinted for the trees, howling.

The fae watched their monster run and hissed, their black eyes glinting like oil slick in the fire. A few of them slunk behind the logs and rubbles of your walls, watching as you reached to touch the top of Frasadu’s head. There was a brief moment of silence amidst the crackling rubble, both parties staring at one another. Dawling flicked the blood from his great sword and turned the flat of the blade upwards at the slinking faeries.

“You have dragon lord blood.” A great tall Fae slunk from the rubble, her white hair was braided intricately around her head, holding poisonous thorns and dried hawthorn leaves. Gossamer wings fluttered behind her, placing her before you gracefully. Her face was narrow, impossibly thin in all dimensions, and her skin glittered green with a shine of iridescence. Black eyes bore holes in Sir Dawling as he stepped between the two of you.

“Silence Knight.” She scoffed. Her clawed fingers gripped into a fist and you felt the metallic scream of Sir Dawling as he was thrown in the air, writhing, his armour denting and groaning in on itself, “The incessant smell of your shame bores me.” The Fae spat, “You were cursed for it, and so you will end with it, curled in a ball of molten rotting metal.”

“Wait!” You begged, holding your hands out as you rushed in front of Dawling. He howled above you as his gauntlets were peeled open, each joint pulling outwards from his body. His arms buckled as you stared down the Fae.

“He is protecting me. He saved me…and I have looked after him. He does not deserve this…” You asked of her, “Please, leave him be.”

“I, Ushura, Lady of Glowing Stars, will not let the Fae Slayer live.” Ushura screamed, her fingers gripping the metal, tearing at it with the familiar glow of blue magic. It was the same colour that glowed inside of Sir Dawling’s armour from time to time.

“Please, my lady.” You begged, “What can be done to repay this sin?” You asked.

Ushura spat her disdain at your feet, “Your Queen has long since died. She was the one who asked it of him, but he was the one who carried it out, burning our burrows, slaughtering our children in their nests!” Fury burned in her veins, the weight of a thousand lives, her people, heavy on her shoulders.

“He suffers still for his slight, my lady, but please, let him live.” You asked, “I do not know what I am or who I am to you, yet, but I can only try and make things right.”

Ushura held Sir Dawling aloft, but the crushing of his armour halted, as did his howling. You watched her black eyes soften a little at the edges as she looked at the small hatchling at your side.

“Misee wi. Forni talmas, ui porteh alme.” She spoke gently, watching as the dragon at your side listened, his ear turned to her. The hatchling dipped his head and turned, his head stretched upwards, revealing the pearl beneath his neck. It was strangely, like you knew what to do, and you reached out carefully to touch the pearl. Frasadu hummed against you, and there was a great spark of white, brilliant light. You heard the Fae recoil and hide behind the rubble. There was an unending ringing in your ears before the light dimmed enough to reveal a great shape before you. All the sights and sounds of your ruined home disappeared behind the great shadow. Two wings spread out, shadowing beyond you, far into the corners of your field of vision, and you gasped at the silhouette of the dragon before you.

“Long have I awaited the return of a Dragon Lord. You are the last. The last of the line of glory, of brotherhood and blood ties beyond that of this continent. Frasadu was not a name you came up with, but it has rather always been my name, little one. Together, we are to restore what is broken, to mend the broken reaches of the world. We are destined to be, as your Knight is destined to follow you. Tell them, in the old tongue. As one we once were, and as one we are once again.”

The light receded as quickly as it had appeared and when you could see again you looked at your fingertips touching Frasadu’s chin. The dragon’s orange eyes reflected wisdom of thousands of years, and you smiled as you cradled his chin. With a resolute breath, you turned back to Ushura.

“Ret yue fristra, ret yue gugartha ne.” You told the fae.

“Then as one you must all remain.” She hissed. Her claws unravelled, dropping Sir Dawling from her grasp. The knight landed with a great crash, armour clattering against stone. You tried not to turn, holding the gaze of the Fae as Frasadu puffed his chest out before you, spreading his wings out in a threatening display.

“You must not return here.” You told the Fae, “Sir Dawling is to remain with me.”

Slowly, the Fae disappeared back into the trees, their eyes merging with the shadows as the firelight flickered far from view. You watched them for a moment before rushing to Dawling’s side. The armour laid motionless, laid in dented chunks.

“Please don’t be gone.” You begged quietly as you turned his helmet and desperately tried to place him back together.

There was a groan from somewhere within all the scattered metal and you found a twitching gauntlet in time to hold Sir Dawling’s hand. The metal armour groaned as you took his hand and tears burned in your eyes. You felt the wet drops on your cheeks as Frasadu growled and dragged a crushed greave over by your side.

“I don’t know how to fix this!” You told the hatchling, and the knight who’s head was laid in your lap.

The helmet visor clicked open with a sudden screech of metal. Your tears dripped inside the shell only to see the faint wisps of soul slowly swirling inside. The gauntlet by your feet twitched before it began to float, the dent groaning as the leather gloves stretched. You sobbed as you watched it float, the fingers reaching for you. The tips caressed the apples of your cheeks, slowly shifting downwards before they gave a gentle twitch. The chest plates expanded with a groan.

“Dragon… Lord.” Sir Dawling wheezed, his armour shaking, grinding along the floor as it attempted to fuse back together. You clawed at the pieces, pulling them together as your tears dripped down the once beautifully intricate metal work.

“Can we fix him?” Frasadu rumbled innocently. He sat next to you, his scales against your leg, “His soul is still here.”

“I don’t know how to fix this Dawling…” You wept on the armour with a thundering sob.

“Jurdanus…” Dawling wheezed, “Jurdanus… Dawling.”

“Jurdanus, please, Sir Dawling, I can’t…” You stuttered as you finally placed the rest of the armour together.

The knight gave one final, heaving breath, before the light dimmed behind his visor and the metal went slack against the stone. The fire continued to crackle behind you, dulling the sensation of reality for a moment before you placed your hands on Frasadu wept onto his scales. Sir Jurdanus Dawling didn’t move. The fires crackled as you held Frasadu close, and you looked to the stars in the night sky above. All was quiet, for a moment, before there was a gentle whoosh, like gas being lit. Frasadu grumbled, shifting in your grasp, stretching to look at the armour as a soft blue wisp drifted down towards you both. Amidst the fire you watched the light swift before it formed the shape of a large man. The silhouette drifted closer, and a hand reached to touch your cheek, tracing the same pattern Sir Dawling had drawn.

“Jurdanus?” You asked, hopefully.

The silhouette nodded before spreading its arms and laying backwards. The light disappeared back into the armour. A great whoosh sounded again before the ruined armour before you clanged, shifted, and banged, rumbling violently as it once again took on the perfect shape of a suited knight.

The light behind the visor glowed once more and with a delighted shriek you jumped over Sir Dawling’s hips, delightedly shaking his shoulders as he reached up to steady you by the waist.

“I’m so glad you’re okay!” You wiped the tears from your face, sniffling.

Jurdanus nodded his head and reached to wipe the tears from your cheeks. Tenderly, he cupped your face, and there was a whisper of thanks on the wind, although no voice echoed from within the armour. You smiled and howled with laughter as Jurdanus sat up and dragged you with him, holding you close to his chest as he span through the garden, with Frasadu hot on his heels.

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incorrectbatfam · 2 years

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Hello! While scrolling between random hurt/comfort fica I stumbled into a batfamily one and decided to give it a shot and now I am curious about this fandom! Never read any dc/marvel comic and watched maybe a couple of superhero movies so I have basically 0 knowledge about batman except that Robin is his apprentice but also apparently there's multiple Robins??

Can I have a general fandom/family introduction? I'm very confused but also really curious since I'm an avid found family enjoyer :)

What the heck is this fandom?

If you're reading this, you probably either a) want to get into comics but aren’t sure where to start or b) found yourself plopped in the middle and don't know what's going on.

DC Comics encompasses a wide range of characters and storylines with varying levels of popularity, and is home to some of the most iconic figures like Superman and Wonder Woman. What often happens in the DC and Marvel fandoms is that rather than trying to engage with everything, many fans will have a certain subset of content that they focus on. Sometimes it's a single character, sometimes it's a team like the Justice League, or sometimes it's a superhero family unit such as the Flash Family.

This blog primarily focuses on the batfamily, which is the group of characters that operate as Gotham City vigilantes centered around Batman. Some are legally/biologically related, some aren't. Generally speaking, the batfamily fandom is one of the larger subgroups within the DC fandom because so many of the comics revolve around these characters.

Who is Batman?

Are you living under a rock

Batman, AKA Bruce Wayne, begins with the infamous tragic origin where his parents were shot dead in an alleyway when he was 8, leaving him an orphan to be raised by his butler/surrogate father figure, Alfred Pennyworth. Once Bruce got a little older, he donned the costume to deal with criminals directly and bring justice to the city.

His civilian identity is Bruce Wayne, the (and I say this begrudgingly) billionaire CEO of his family's company, Wayne Enterprises. The company makes a little of everything and keeps Gotham afloat with job creation and philanthropy. Nothing unethical about one rich guy running an entire city.

His alter ego is Batman, and he uses his wit and extensive training to fight an array of both petty criminals as well as big-name villains like the Joker, the Riddler, Two-Face and more (collectively known as the Gotham Rogues gallery).

NOTE: some former villains, like Harley Quinn, have been rebranded as anti-heroes.

Batman operates out of a hidden cave (yes, a literal cave) under Wayne Manor known as the Batcave. This is where he keeps all sorts of high-tech paraphanalia, including his Batmobile, bat-plane, batarangs (bat boomerangs), and a powerful computer known as—you guessed it—the Batcomputer.

Batman's primary love interest is a former villain known as Catwoman, AKA Selina Kyle, who is a master thief. (Her backstory includes growing up with an abusive father and turning to stealing for survival.) She's since reformed and has been indicted into the Justice League. They're really cute if you don't think about how they're technically two furries who roleplay as cops and robbers.

NOTE: in an alternate timeline, Bruce dies as a child in that alley as Thomas Wayne becomes Batman while Martha Wayne becomes the Joker.

Okay, what about... Robin? Robins?

There's a lot to unpack here.

The OG Robin is Dick Grayson. Yes, we still call him Dick in the year 2022. He was a child acrobat who was part of a trio, The Flying Graysons, with his parents, John and Mary, in a traveling circus called Haly's Circus. Haly's stopped in Gotham, where a crime boss named Tony Zucco tried to get them to pay protection money. When Haly refused, Zucco sabotaged the trapezes and Dick's parents fell to their deaths. Bruce was at that show and because Orphans Unite or whatnot, he takes little Dick under his wing as a ward (not legally adopted at this point, Bruce is in his early to mid 20s). Dick joins Batman's crusade as the colorful pantsless sidekick known as Robin. As Robin, he also became the leader of what would eventually be a multigenerational superhero team known as the Teen Titans.

The second Robin is Jason Todd. He grew up in Gotham's notorious Crime Alley, where his mother, Catherine, was a substance user and his father, Willis, was an overall piece of garbage. After his father goes to jail and his mother dies of an overdose, Jason is essentially an orphan left to fend for himself on the streets. His run-in with Batman happens when he tries to steal to Batmobile tires to sell, and instead of getting punished, he gets adopted. Legally, this time. So while Dick is the oldest, Jason is Bruce's first kid. Jason takes on the Robin mantle and fights crime, yada yada. What he's well-known for is his death, where he set out to Ethiopia to find his biological mother, Sheila Haywood, and is killed by the Joker. Then Superman breaks reality and Jason comes back to life, spends some time with the League of Assassins, and gets rebranded as a crime lord/anti-hero with a hell of a grudge against Bruce for not avenging him.

While Jason was dead, we get our third Robin and the first one with pants: Tim Drake. Tim is actually Bruce's neighbor (the way rich people can be neighbors with spaced-out properties). He grew up with wealthy but neglectful parents, Janet and Jack Drake, who often left Tim home alone as a small child while they went on their archeology expeditions. Tim takes an interest in the Gotham vigilantes and sets out to follow them around and gather evidence to figure out who they are. Eventually, he deduces Bruce, Dick, and Jason's identities by some moves unique to the Flying Graysons. Then, Tim basically blackmails Bruce into letting him be Robin and has his own teenage superhero team called Young Justice. After the Robin title is taken away from him, he becomes Red Robin (yes, like the restaurant chain) and while everyone thinks Batman is dead during this time, Tim is the only one who believes otherwise. Also, his mom drinks poison, dad is killed by a boomerang, best friend is killed by an evil clone, other best friend is also killed by an evil clone, girlfriend dies (see below), assassins steal his spleen, and now he's bisexual and dating a boy who creates conspiracy theories.

NOTE: In an alternate timeline, Carrie Kelley becomes the third Robin.

Robin #4 is Stephanie Brown. She actually didn't become Robin until well into her vigilante career. She actually made a name for herself as Spoiler with the purpose of taking down her father, a D-list Gotham villain known as Cluemaster. Similar to everyone in this franchise, her childhood wasn't ideal as her father was always up to criminal activities and her mother worked a lot as well as (in some versions) used drugs. She later becomes the fifth Batgirl and then Robin before her death in the 2005 War Games comics, where she is killed when she seeks out a villain against Batman's orders. She then returns from the dead and goes back to being Spoiler. She also dated Tim and was a fairly long-running relationship before they broke up. She also had a teen pregnancy at one point (not by Tim) and had a daughter that she put up for adoption.

Robin #5 is Damian Wayne, the biological son of Bruce Wayne and Talia Al Ghul (daughter to Ra's Al Ghul, leader of a villainous organization known as the League of Assassins). Damian was raised in the League of Assassins for the first half of his childhood, where he was trained to be the heir to Ra's Al Ghul's empire. Talia brought him to Bruce when he was ~10 to refine his skills with Batman. However, that kind of goes awry when Bruce fakes his death and Damian is raised by Dick instead. Damian also becomes a Teen Titans leader as well as forms a friendship with Jon Kent, son of Superman (please read Super Sons, it's adorable). Damian is then killed by his oversized evil clone and is brought back to life on the planet Apokolips (no one stays dead istg).

Duke Thomas's relationship with the Robin mantle is a little more complicated. Duke first shows up as a really intelligent kid who solves one of the Riddler's puzzles. Later on, he becomes the leader (aided by Alfred Pennyworth) of a group of teenage vigilantes known as We Are Robin, who helped take care of Gotham crime while Batman was missing. His parents were, for a lack of a better term, disabled after one of the Joker's gas attacks (seriously, someone euthanize this clown). Bruce takes Duke under his wing and Duke rebrands himself as the Signal. He's unique from other Gotham heroes in a couple aspects: 1) he fights crime in the daytime instead of night and 2) he has photokinetic superpowers. (He's also dating one of the We Are Robins members, Izzy Ortiz.)

What about the others, like Batwoman and Batgirl?

Similar to Robin, Batgirl is a title held by multiple people. The first Batgirl was Bette Kane (who is now Flamebird), but the most well-known one was the second one, Barbara Gordon. Barbara (Babs for short) is the daughter of Gotham police commissioner Jim Gordon. Inspired by other Gotham heroes, she became Batgirl behind her parents' back and worked in tandem with Bruce and Dick, forming a relationship with Dick along the way. She became a quadriplegic after getting shot by the Joker but refused to step down from the field, instead using her intelligence and technological capabilities to surveil and provide intel under a new moniker, Oracle. She also has her own team, the Birds of Prey, which includes people like Huntress and Black Canary.

After Barbara, the next Batgirl is Cassandra Cain (who is also Bruce's only legal daughter in the main continuity). She is the daughter of David Cain and an assassin known as Lady Shiva. Cass was raised by David within the League of Assassins and trained to be a fighting machine, similar to Damian. She was raised in isolation without speech or literacy, but can read body language really well. Her first kill was when she was 8, and that traumatized her so much that she ran away, wandering around until eventually reaching Gotham and becoming both Bruce and Barbara's ward. She holds other titles like Black Bat along the way but is most known as Orphan. She also befriends Stephanie, had a short relationship with Superboy (Conner Kent) and, like half the people here, dies and comes back. Depending on who you talk to, some people keep her lack of speech, some have her speaking, and some prefer an in-between.

Stephanie was Batgirl after Cass. See above.

Kate Kane is Batwoman and Bruce Wayne's cousin. She grew up similarly wealthy in a high-level military family, often moving around as a child. Her twin sister and mother were killed in a terrorist attack in Belgium, leaving her father to raise her. She got into West Point military academy but was expelled in her final year after coming out as lesbian under the Don't Ask Don't Tell policy. After that, she spent a year on an island civilization before returning to Gotham. After Batman saved her from a mugging, Kate bought some equipment on the black market and trained herself to become Batwoman. Also, we as a fandom don't talk about her flamethrower gloves enough.

NOTE: in an alternate timeline, Carrie Kelley was also Batgirl and Batwoman.

Harper Row is Bluebird, and similar to Batwoman, she is a mostly independent Gotham hero who was inspired by Batman. Growing up, Harper often had to take care of things like household repairs and look after her younger brother, Cullen, because their father was abusive and didn't do anything for them. Eventually, she sought emancipation and got them out of there, but things still weren't easy. She went to college, but had to drop out and get a job in order to provide for her and her brother. She became Bluebird after Batman saved her and Cullen, engineering her own weapons like a giant taser. Fun fact: she's bi and her brother is gay.

This is still really confusing. Who's who right now?

Canon sucks so here's what the fandom largely know them as:

Bruce is Batman. He might have some suit modifications or occasionally pilot a giant bat robot, but he's Batman

Dick is Nightwing. He took over as Batman for a short period of time, but after Bruce returned, he went back to being Nightwing we don't talk about Ric

Jason is Red Hood. That was actually the Joker's previous title but now Jason holds it

Tim is... usually Robin or Red Robin, it kinda depends on context. Canonically he's back to being Robin now, but a lot of us still refer to him as Red Robin

Damian is Robin. He had the alias Redbird at one point but everyone calls him Robin

Duke is the Signal. Again, there were some alias changes (like Lark) but he's the Signal around here

Stephanie is Spoiler, but again, it depends on context

Cassandra is usually referred to as Orphan, but you'll occasionally see Batgirl or Black Bat depending on who you talk to

Barbara was rehashed as Batgirl in recent canon but we all hate the disability erasure so you'll see a lot of us still call her Oracle

Harper is Bluebird. I don't recall her having any other titles. Her brother isn't a vigilante

Selina (yes, she's part of the batfamily) is Catwoman

Alfred is... Alfred. On the field he goes by Agent A and his previous spy career often comes in handy

This isn't the sum of it. There are a whole bunch of other bat characters (Bette Kane, Luke Fox, Jean-Paul Valley, Helena Bertinelli, Terry McGinnis, etc.) that I didn't get into here partly because I don't focus on them as much and partly because of space. I also didn't get into all the lore for characters I did explain, like Dick's police career or other teams/relationships. There are also some inconsistencies between different timelines and reboots.

I encourage you to explore beyond what I presented with other heroes and villains since I know Batman isn't for everyone. I also encourage you to explore the comics, talk to people, and figure out for yourself what characters or storylines best fit you. Don't be afraid to take your time, either. We've been here nearly a century. We're not going anywhere.

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