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sh1-n0bu · 8 months

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𝔫𝔬𝔟𝔲’𝔰 𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔨𝔱𝔬𝔟𝔢𝔯 𝔬𝔣 2023!

day 11: hate/angry sex with scaramouche from genshin impact

warnings: rough sex, degrading, choking, cockstepping, cock-strap traditions, bondage, hair pulling, belly bulging

notes: i mean scaramouche guys not wanderer!!!! scaramouche when he was a fatui harbinger!!!!

“f-fuck! you think… you can just appear out of nowhere so suddenly — guhhg! and take the seat of the eighth?” the short puppet tries to muffle his groans and whines, bucking his hips up into your feet the more you step down on his crotch.

how did it get here again? right. scaramouche and his mouth running all over the place, saying how you were a nobody who appeared out of nowhere and took the seat of the eighth harbinger with nothing to prove. at first, you just ignored him. he was known to be crude and loves to run his mouth all over the place after all. but over time, the constant jabs and threats to your title became a little bit too annoying.

which lead to here. his hands tied up behind his back, kneeling in front of you on the rug covered floor of your office as you step on his tiny cock all the while reading some work papers like it was nothing. of course, someone must teach the puppet some manners, yes?

paying no mind to his hissing and venom covered words, you only continue to keep your foot in place on his crotch. how much time had passed by now? who knows.

you were just skimming through some much needed paperwork while using the sixth’s cock as a makeshift footrest. he had already came in his shorts already and the sheer embarrassment of coming untouched was eating scaramouche up inside.

after finishing up the stacks of documents in your hand, you finally decided to pay some attention to the poor whining thing kneeling before you. cheeks flushed red, slight drool slipping down his chin mixed with his own blood as he bites down on his lip. there was a cute growing stain in his dark shorts.

what an amusing sight. perhaps this newfound pet of yours could be given a reward.

reaching a hand down, you pat his head gently. that snapped him out of his momentary daze as he looks up at you, confused yet also slightly relieved. but his relief doesn’t last long when your hand fists at his purple hair, pulling him up before bending him over your desk. this new position had balladeer’s mind reeling with all sorts of imaginations.

he had always wanted you to just bend him over your desk, taking him in any way or form you desired as he cries in your hands about how big you were. or how you were fucking him so good. or how your assistant could hear you two. call it whatever you will, but balladeer wasn’t as sharp and strong as his tongue.

he wanted to be used by you. and this new position you thrown him into was making him reel with excitement.

“such dirty mouth you have, balladeer. no one ever taught you a lesson, huh? but that’s okay. i’ll be sure to teach you a good lesson, you filthy slut” you hiss in a low voice, making quick work of his shorts as the fabrics pool down to his ankles. the warmth of the fireplace providing heat into the office still doesn’t stop the short man from shivering. excitement? probably. but also mixed with a hint of eagerness and enthusiasm as his hips twitch back to you.

“h-hah?! what did you just call me? i’m your superior, eighth. you’re nothing but just a replacement. if anyone should be taught a lesson, it’s you!” scaramouche yells, trying to keep up the facade of the ever-angry harbinger lord. yet the slight quiver in his voice sways from his words.

he was excited. more so when he hears your belt unbuckle and pants unzip as the wet sounds of lube follows. he could feel your hand spreading his asscheeks apart before your tip presses against his puckering hole. fuck, just put it in already. he even prepped himself for you just so he can be used, so hurry it up!

almost as if sensing his inner thoughts, you let out a chuckle. his hope was already prepped as the remains of the lube he used still glistening around his pink rim.

“such a filthy slut” with that, you bottom out inside him in one thrust, making scaramouche choke on his scream of pleasure.

ah, you felt so good inside him! so big and girthy, mushroom tip kissing his stomach and causing a belly bulge in his tiny form. you easily grazed against his prostate and he was so sure that you were fucking him full of your fat cock, rearranging his insides. you felt even better than those stupid small toys he used!

wasting no time and giving him no moment to collect himself, your hand sneaks up behind him, wrapping around his slim throat. putting just enough pressure to remind him of his place to the sides of his neck, you start to move your hips. the wet sounds of skin slapping against skin and scaramouche’s choked up whines and punched out shrill moans fill up the confined space of your office.

briefly, when pulling him up and making him arch his back against your chest, you could see a cute bulge appear and disappear into his stomach. a result of the size of your strap. just seeing that was enough to make you proud. you were fucking his stomach and he loved that feeling.

“you love that? you love having me inside you, balladeer? look down here. my cock is fucking your tummy” you hum softly to his ear, free hand tapping a finger against his smooth skin. just as he was told, scaramouche looks down to where your finger was tapping.

oh archons, have mercy. just as you said, there was a bulge in his stomach. appearing and disappearing whenever your hips would pull back before meeting his own again and again. seeing that, the small puppet lets out a weak mewl as he comes all over your desk, leaving his thighs shaking.

seeing that some of your work papers got dirtied, you tighten your hold around his slim neck, making the puppet whine deliriously as he drools.

“no good. can’t have my slut dirtying my papers. but it’s okay. i’ll make sure to discipline you well until you learn to ask me for permission before you cum” all scaramouche could do was nod over and over. feeling the familiar feeling of orgasm tightening in his core again.

you would have to teach him well.

#nobu.writes #sub genshin #sub genshin impact #sub!genshin #sub!genshin impact #sub scaramouche #sub!scaramouche #sub fatui #sub!character #sub character #x dom reader #dom reader #dom!reader #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x reader smut #genshin x reader smut #genshin smut #scaramouche smut #nobu’s kinktober 2023

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shinjisdone · 9 months

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When You Have An Secret Admirer - And Doubt Them

A love letter was left at your door and now you are searching for that ‘secret admirer’ - but you doubt it's true. Perhaps you don't believe it yourself or are trying to push the obvious infatution under the rug...whatever your reason may be, your dear classmates do not believe you.

Been feeling sick so here's a spin-off of the spin-off of your classmates replies when you say:

"I don't think anyone would like me like that..."

Raising his brow, he scoffed. "Ya don't get it. Listen, the only reason someone would go out of this daaaarn big way is either 'cuz they're a total idiot dork or have a massive big crush on you. And lucky you! For you both option are the case!" Sweat rolled down his jaw as he winked. -Ace

"Uhm," His mouth became dry and his eyes avoided yours. "I-I don't think - I mean, w-why wouldn't they? Like, the roses and chocalates...the notes and...mirror, I guess...that's all romantic. Y-You're a great person and...I'm sure that admirer thinks so, too." He wishes to say more but his tongue was tied. -Deuce

"Whuat? Of course they do! Have you seen the talks and Hearts on MagiCam? Some totally envy you!" His hand lowers to his pocket but decided against fishing out his phone. Instead, he threw his arm around your shoulder. "C'mon, juniour! Have a bit more confidence in yourself! Y'know, if it wasn't for your admirer, I would have long sent you these lovey-dovey stuff. Maybe in a different way though, haha!" -Cater

A sheepish chuckle escaped him. "Oh, come on. Don't be like that. It's clear as that day that someone fancies you and there's nothing wrong with that. You get your senior's allowance to indulge in the attention!" Laughing, he hoped he could ease the tension through his lies. -Trey

He cleared his throat. Something like this wasn't his forte. "I...am not an expert in...love and courting - Well, what I mean is that anyone can see that you are very much admired by someone. You are...a very great person so of course you'd be liked. When someone goes out of their way to break several rules like that, their affection must be greater than the Queen's for her little King." -Riddle

Clicking his tongue, he rolled over to his side. "Why are you making a fuss about that? You're gonna break your little head over this, herbivore. Why don't you stop this belittling and confront that little admirer yourself and find out? If you have the guts to go into the lion's den, then you can go and ask a coward that, too." -Leona

"Huh," For a moment, he avoided your gaze and the corner of his lips twitched. "Well, I dunno. Why shouldn't anyone? If no one liked yer guts, then they would have looooong ripped you off or something - good thing I was there all the time but nothin' happened even when I wasn't there - what I mean is, no, you are likable, dummy. Shihishi..." He cackled nervously. -Ruggie

"I wouldn't know anything about that." Quickly clearing his throat, he tried to hide his flushed face, "As in...I don't know if I would agree with you. Someone wouldn't just do this for fun...I don't know anyone, in and outside of NRC, who would do this for fun, so..." He scratched his neck and hoped you'd catch his intentions. -Jack

"Wha," Sheepish laughter rang, "Oh, why...of course you'd be! Why wouldn't you be...why wouldn't they..." His hands reached for the papers on his desk as he failed to sort them, "If there are any doubts...Monstro Longue can also provide solutions for that. But only for doubts...after all, you are l-likable..." -Azul

"Nonsense. I think you are quite charming. Or, could it be that you are playing the humble one? Trying to fool the rest while you are indulging in all the love your admirer provides?" A smarmy giggle. "I jest. But even so, that would make you even cuter." -Jade

Cackling rung. "Huuuh? Actually, yeah, you're right!" He giggled and squeezed in closer into your personal space. "You are such a lost cause, Shrimpy...ya should stick with peeps like me and Jade! Rather just with me, yeah? That admirer-schmirer has been gettin' on my nerves recently and I barely got any time to squeeze you...give up on this landpeople mambo-jambo and stick with me~. -Floyd

At first he blinked in confusion yet his shining grin came a second after. "No way. You're so great! And so interesting and fun and cute!" He almost seemed like his usual self until he noticed who you two were talking about. At that, his grin vanished. "Oh...well, if I can see that, then the admirer totally too! Maybe even more than me since they shower you in so many gifts..." -Kalim

"Well, obviously not since you got a good old secret admirer like from a rom-com." His smile crooked, he hoped you'd at least chuckle but he quickly corrected himself. Best if he doesn't continue to be this nonchalant. "I'm just kidding...though not about you likable. Give yourself more credit...you deserve it." -Jamil

"Huh? What's with that...self-pityin' party - I mean, as in, that ain't true. Yer a...fine and dandy person, I mean - why wouldn'tcha be??? That kinda talk is only gonna bring you down and yer better than that. Far, far, better. Hell, you got a flyin' mirror-" -Epel

Laughter echoed and you weren't sure if it was mocking at first. "Cher Trickster, could it be that these grande professions of love are not enough?! How can you still not see that you are the apple of someone's eye? Not even I could top that! Tell me, my dear, shall I be your second admirer to prove to you how lovely you are?" -Rook

He raised a brow. "Bring me my phone for a second. Should we go over the amount of attention I get from millions of people and compare them to the over-the-top admiration of your one and only admirer? They went out of the way to insult me to compliment you. You are someone's diamond, potato." -Vil

For a moment you wondered if he even heard you. Staying still as a candle, he tried his best to avoid your gaze while his face was flushed red. "...W-W-W-W-Wha-What do you ask m-me that...??? I-I mean, if there is someone unlikable here it would be m-me...y-y'know...?" He hoped you get what he means. -Idia

"According to data I collected requested by big bro - I mean, happened to collect, there is a 0000000.01% chance that you are unbelievable, unequally unlikable." -Ortho

"You think so?" He scratched his chin, "That kind of mindset is not going to get you far. In fact, I believe you do not understand how much comfort you bring by your mere presence. If you doubt it, I can always remind you of it." -Malleus

Laughing, he slapped his knee. "Seriously? You get the exact cookie-cutter version of a highschool secret admirer sweetheart! I read those in old-school manga! And you still doubt that?" He sighs, "Trust me, be a bit more confident. Amazing things can happen if you let them." -Lilia

"Hm? But...you are being admired. By afar, by someone who truly seems to treasure you. You are like a treasure if you see it that way...ah, nevermind me. Please, believe in yourself more. I do." -Silver

"Ugh, really now?! IF I can see it, then you should see it too! It's like you are covering your own eyes! You! Are! An! Object! Of! Affectioooooonnnn!!!" -Sebek

holy shit im never doing something like this in one post again hhuuuuuaaaaaaahh

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evergone · 1 year

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I'm [Nott] a Bad Person

Theodore Nott x Reader

Warnings: swearing, bullying

Description: The reader and Theo are accused of causing a fight, but they swear they didn't do it.

Professor McGonagall’s office was a little too **Gryffindor-esque for your tastes. The couches, wallpaper, and even the rug on the floor underneath her desk were all some shade of dark red and you had no other way to describe it other than ‘detestably Gryffindor.’ Even so, the fireplace opposite the door warmed the room and gave it that undeniably homey feel you always got when you returned to Hogwarts after the long, hot break between years. She had a few paintings hanging from her walls, but either the subjects were busy elsewhere or she just had a thing for landscapes. One in particular caught your eye, a painting of the Forbidden Forest where you had certainly never been. After all, it was forbidden and you, ever the obedient Slytherin, would never break a rule.

“Do you know why you are here?” The professor asked and your attention slid back to the situation you were in.

“I know why they’re here,” Theo responded from your left, “But Y/n and I are victims.”

“Oh, please, you lot started this whole thing!” Granger squeaked like that little mouse the weasel kid used to have.

“Do you ever shut up, Granger?” Theo retorted.

Your lips tightened as you attempted to stifle a laugh and Theo sent you a quick smirk. McGonagall cleared her throat, again regaining your limited attention span as she tapped impatiently on her brown wooden desk; creating a dum-dum, dum-dum sound under the pads of her fingers like a heartbeat. Furrowed brows and an intense stare told you more than enough about her absolutely foul mood, and you reminded yourself not to play around with her.

“Each of you, tell me the story,” she said, “You first, Mister Potter.”

Theo muttered an ‘of course’ under his breath but you pretended not to hear it. If anyone was to get in trouble you were going to make damn sure it wasn’t you. You had a reputation to uphold; the nicest Slytherin anyone would ever meet. A façade, obviously, you were just as ruthless and cunning as your housemates, but the nice façade was what made you so. It was truly a shame Potter and co. had found you out, but you intended to cover your ass so well that no one else would ever know the truth about you, save for your friends.

“Well, uh…” Potter began to recount his version of the tale.

Apparently (and I say ‘apparently’ because despite his story being almost entirely accurate, you were going to make up a completely different one to get away with this), he had come to you in a free period to ask about how to befriend dragons quickly, knowing as well as most that your family had been breeding dragons since the dawn of dragonology. You were skeptical of him, having never quite interacted with him directly, only through the wild stories Draco or Pansy would tell you or small altercations in the halls that you always pulled Theo away from. Draco could do as he wished but you wouldn’t see yourself or your boyfriend being implicated in his shenanigans.

“I’m not supposed to talk to you,” you had told Potter.

“And why’s that?” He asked.

“All my friends say that you’re — and I’m quoting them here — ‘a mudblood mingling cunt,’” you said, “And though I have no care in the world for blood purity, I do like my friends quite a bit. They wouldn’t hang out with me if I got caught with you.”

You always had a wonderful way of putting things. Your monotonous voice mixed with your incredibly harsh words made for the most readable and expressive conversations. Potter’s little muggle born girlfriend (or girl friend, whichever it was) had almost jumped out of her own socks at your foul language. Personally offended, perhaps? You didn’t mean to hurt her, it just sort of slipped out. Maybe if you were actually a nicer person you’d apologise.

“Just… give me a hand? I know you helped Cedric,” Potter pleaded.

You shrugged, “I really can’t talk to you,” you said, “Though… I am weak to bribery… Maybe if you find me something I want I’ll help you out. Bye.”

And then you pushed through the group to go find your friends who you were bound to find eating in the courtyard instead of studying. Smart kids never studied and neither did dumb kids. When Crabbe and Goyle were there it was easy to tell the difference, but other times, not so much. Allegedly (again, I say this to protect the integrity of the tale you would later tell), you stopped half a step through and turned to show Potter your badge.

“Draco says you really like them,” you laughed, “Get a closer look.”

Desperate for your help and willing to do anything, Potter leaned closer to watch as the red ‘Support Cedric’ turned to the green ‘Potter stinks’ but then a forth colour emerged, a deep purple with no writing. He opened his mouth to ask what that colour meant, but was abruptly cut off when the badge squirted the most revolting smelling purple goo all over him. Again, allegedly, you had cursed it to do that when it saw his face… You would argue that someone must have cursed it prior to giving it to you without your knowing.

“Now you really do stink!” You had smiled sarcastically, “Bye now.”

You then continued on your journey to find your friends, leaving Potter drenched in the most malodorous thing he had ever smelt.

Later that very same day, he had approached you at lunch with a bribe. Oh, how you loved to be bribed. You were like a politician in that sense. He placed two objects in front of you: a book you knew was from the restricted section titled ‘Advanced Curses and How to Master Them,’ and a purse full of coins which, after peeking through the opening at the top, you realised were all gold.

“You know, you shouldn’t bribe people so out in the open, Potter,” You motioned to Theo, Pansy and Draco, all of whom were giving you looks that asked what in the name of Salazar were you doing, “It’s… counterproductive.”

“Merlin’s beard, L/n, just take it and help me,” Potter said.

“Is he bothering you, Y/n?” Theo asked.

You’d glanced between your boyfriend and Potter, wondering what to do in the situation. Potter noticed you’d become flustered at being put on the spot like that, even mentioned it to McGonagall. Truthfully, your head was telling you to say no because you knew as well as anyone how Theo could be when you were uneasy. He was awfully protective. But your heart wanted you to say yes so you could start a little fight and make your friends and Theo proud. You were never quite as provocative as they were when it came to the whole Slytherin-Gryffindor thing and it made you slightly self conscious, to be honest.

You would tell McGonagall that your head won, and Potter had started the fight. Theo was only defending you from the very scary Gryffindor who had decided to attack you just because you didn’t want to help him out earlier. But, in all honesty, your heart had won, or so the story goes.

“Yes, Teddy, he’s been bothering me all day,” you had said.

“How ‘bout you leave, Potter?” Theo asked, but it was hardly a question.

Potter rolled his eyes, “We had a deal, L/n.”

“I don’t think she would’ve agreed to anything with you,” Theo said and (allegedly) shoved Potter from across the table.

It was at that point that all hell broke loose. Potter’s explanation of the situation was riddled with what you would call lies about getting his shit rocked by Theo’s incredible fighting skills. You’d bloodied your boyfriend up afterwards using a little glamour charm you kept handy in case of emergencies. That was yet another way you were like a politician, you were incredible at deceiving people. On the off chance McGonagall noticed the charm, Theo had agreed to take the fall and stage an argument with you where you’d break up with him. The relationship wouldn’t be destroyed, you’d just act strained for a week or so while he did detention.

“Miss L/n, these are a lot of accusations being thrown,” McGonagall said, her eyes staring down at you over her nose, “What say you?”

You let your bottom lip quiver, but you wouldn’t dare cry. That would be too much and she wouldn’t believe you for a second. You may have had a good reputation, but she loved Potter and co. and had a huge bias in their favour. You had to be so convincing that she wouldn’t have a single doubt.

“I just didn’t want to get involved,” you said, “Professor, I’m a Slytherin, there’s a certain… standard that I’m held to. I told Potter that I didn’t want to help him because everyone would be upset with me and he tried to bribe me of his own accord.”

“She’s obviously lying, Professor, please—”

“Miss Granger, Miss L/n didn’t interrupt your telling of events, I suggest you don’t interrupt hers.”

You continued to lie through your teeth like a professional. You’d think McGonagall would know to use a truth serum when dealing with teenagers, but she was too trusting. Photographs of former students were framed on her desk, others who likely lied to her as you were doing. They were mostly Gryffindors, for obvious reasons, but there were Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs and the odd Slytherin as well, all of them moving slightly in celebration of their graduations. Potter and co. would likely end up on that desk one day and while you’d hope yourself and your friends would end up on Snape’s, he had never come across as the sentimental type.

“One of you aren’t telling me the truth,” McGonagall said with a sigh once you had finished your recount, “Know that I’m disappointed in you but I cannot be bothered to deal with this today. If I hear about troubles with you lot again I will not hesitate to give you all detention.”

A chorus of ‘yes, Professor’s filled the room before she shooed you all out to go your separate ways. At the door to her office which she had closed behind the four of you, or rather, the two and two of you, Theo turned to the others.

“Don’t start things you can’t finish, Potter,” he said with a snarky tone.

Potter and Granger hardly acknowledged the remark, and you found yourself missing the weasel boy who would have leapt at the opportunity to throw something back. At your core, you liked to consider yourself morally good, but Merlin’s beard, you were a bit of an instigator, perhaps even a bully, weren’t you? You glanced at Theo, who you hadn’t realised had begun a little bit of a rant about blood superiority, and laughed out loud.

“What?” He asked you, his head on the slightest tilt that it was hardly noticeable.

“I think you and the others have turned me into a bad person,” you giggled, biting your lip.

“Y/n/n, that’s so fucking mean,” he said, “You are so rude.”

“I learnt from the best,” you teased as you poked his arm.

Theo shook his head and captured your arm in his so the two of you could walk back to the Slytherin dorms together.

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beenbaanbuun · 2 months

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the pet w/ poly!addams!matz

upon spending more and more time with your lovers, more things that have been kept well guarded secrets from the rest of the world seem to reveal themselves to you. the things that go bump in the night aren’t necessarily all figments of the imagination. the legends may be twisted and warped to make them seem a hell of a lot scarier than they actually are, but some things still hold true.

vampires for example. while their genes still technically exist, vampires themselves went extinct long before you were even born. seonghwa had explained it to you in depth one morning over breakfast, but none of it really sank in. you should’ve paid more attention to your biology classes in school; maybe then all the ‘immortality is a recessive gene’ nonsense that he was spouting would make sense to you. the whole ‘my great-great-grandmother was a vampire’ thing just didn’t seem to compute, but it did sort of explain why seonghwa gets a rash when he’s out in the sun for too long.

it turns out jongho isn’t really a bear skin either. he’s an onikuma that hongjoong’s family had passed down through generations. it was during that long, drawn-out chess lesson that hongjoong had explained to you that his family were once livestock farmers that the creature had stolen from time and time again. you found it cruel that jongho was slain just for the crime of being hungry, but hongjoong patiently explained that his ancestors were hungry too. slaying the beast that kept breaking onto their land and taking their sheep was the only way to keep food on the table. you’re just glad the memory of the onikuma lives on; you hope his spirit knows that he’s one of your closest friends.

but then one evening, just after the nightly waltz that you so love to sit and watch, seonghwa drops a bombshell. you’re cuddled up by hongjoong’s feet, gently undoing the laces on his dancing shoes as he and seonghwa pass soft conversation over your head. you’re listening, but not very well. it’s not like much of it is any of your concern anyway… well, except those few words that slip so freely from your mommy’s mouth.

“we should get a werewolf,” he muses to his husband before tipping the rest of his wine down his throat. it’s so nonchalant as if it’s something so perfectly normal for them. in the end, you suppose it is; seonghwa has already alluded to being descended from immortal beings (that aren’t really all that immortal, just… longer living) and the rug you’re currently sitting on is made from the skin of some mythical beast. if anything, a werewolf should just be another thing that you shrug off and accept as just being another part of your increasingly weird life.

but there’s a difference here. quite a big one. seonghwa said they should get a werewolf, and you can’t quite wrap your brain around why he means by that.

the couple seem to notice the sudden interest you have in their conversation though. perhaps it’s the way your body physically tenses up, or the way your fingers become slack on hongjoong’s shoe. either way, the two men hum out a chuckle. seonghwa’s hand finds it’s way to your head, stroking at your hair in the same way he does whenever he needs to calm you down. hongjoong just taps your knee with the toe of his shoe, reminding you of the task you appointed yourself with the moment the pair collapsed onto the couch.

“why ever should we allow some mutt into our house?” hongjoong says as your fingers begin to work on his laces again. he always ties them so tightly. you know it’s just to give you something to do with your hands for a little while. “we’d have to house train the feral thing, which would be an immeasurable amount of work. it’s hardly a walk in the cemetery to train a beast to be civil, Cara Mia.”

seonghwa chuckles as he watches his husbands face twist up in disgust. he never has liked werewolves; claims they’re shifty creatures with no good intentions. seonghwa has to wonder what ‘good intentions’ he thinks vampires have, but he chooses not to argue. there’s not much point in the grand scheme of things. vampires don’t exist anymore, werewolves do.

“protection for our darling?” the tall man suggests, curling his fingers against your scalp so his blood red nails scratch delicately against your skin. you let out a satisfied sigh. your lovers smile down at you, “a friend for when we’re busy with work? there’s plenty of reasons as to why…”

hongjoong seems the mull the idea over as you slip the first shoe off. you gently place it to the side before moving the the next foot, laces done equally as tight.

“and you want to let our sweet girl near such an uncivilised creature?”

“it’s either that or a dog,” seonghwa shrugs.

“i’d rather the dog,” hongjoong cocks his eyebrow confidently, but seonghwa isn’t so easy to give up.

“and i’d rather the werewolf,” he says with a smile. he knows, after all, that he always gets what he wants. the proof of that is sitting right between their legs with a collar around its neck. “it would give her something to talk with when she gets lonely, plus the fact we won’t have to clean up after it. opposable thumbs really do work wonders.”

hongjoong sighs; they’re all good points but the thought of letting a werewolf into his home still sends a shiver down his spine. the thought of you being around one is even worse. they’re notoriously difficult to train (the fault of their human-esque desire to be independent) and hongjoong really doesn’t have that much time to waste. he lets out a groan just as you get the knot to the second shoe undone.

“you’re serious about this, aren’t you?” hongjoong asks. seonghwa replies with a nod. “what about you, little dove? would you like a friend?” you think about it for a second before slowly nodding as well. you suppose it would be nice to have someone to fill those empty hours where hongjoong and seonghwa are both tucked away in their respective work spaces. hongjoong lets out a defeated huff, “fine.”

you slip the shoe off of his foot just in time for him to grab you and tug you onto his lap. it’s ironic really—you’d get punished for having a temper tantrum, and yet when hongjoong groans and hides his face in your hair, all seonghwa can do is smile. there’s a reason you’re the one with a collar around your neck, you suppose.

“thank you, mi amor,” seonghwa leans over to press a kiss to his husbands head, “i’ll let mingi know that we’re interested; he was showing me photos of an absolutely gorgeous specimen named yeosang just the other day…”

#ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez oneshot #ateez fluff #ateez scenarios #ateez fic #poly ateez x reader #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader #matz x reader #opposites attract universe

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ellewritesalright · 3 months

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The Lost Princess - Part 1

Kaz Brekker x fem!reader

Synopsis: The old Queen Mother of Kerch's former royal family is offering a hefty reward to whoever returns her rumored-to-be-alive granddaughter to her. Kaz being Kaz hears about the reward and hatches an elaborate plot involving a fake princess. Reader is a lowly amnesiac orphan and escaped indenture who flees to Ketterdam where she gets tangled in Kaz Brekker's plot.

A/N: Hello friends!! Here is part one of a series I started writing a few years back but never published. It's inspired by the movie and musical Anastasia. I hope you all enjoy, and I hope it makes enough sense haha

Warnings: sickness, mentions of death, mentions of drowning, mentions of violence. pls let me know if I've missed anything

Word Count: 2056

..........

It was happening again.

You sat upright in the bed of your cheap lodgings, swinging your legs to the side and touching the floor. The threadbare rug was itchy against your toes as you took deep breaths, a desperate attempt at grounding yourself. Still, the dizziness did not subside. It came along every so often, never without the cryptic nightmares. There was always vertigo and memories of plunging into dark waters.

At least, you thought they must be memories. There was a significant gap in your mind from birth to the age of about ten, and the first thing you could remember was waking up on a fishing boat on the True Sea. The fishers handed you over to their boss, a wealthy merchant named Devisser, once you made port, and you were made to work for him in a fifteen-year indenture. You had worked as a scullery maid in that man's second home on the southern shores, but you managed to escape your indenture five years early, running off to Ketterdam.

Nowadays you were free to do whatever you pleased--if it was within budget, of course. You had precious little in your life, and you couldn't squander your money in the gambling dens of the city.

You had to be smart if you were to make it to Os Kervo. Another maid at the house had said that there was a better chance of smuggling yourself to Novyi Zem than to find a safe passage to Ravka, but you didn't let her sway you. You had to get to Os Kervo. It was difficult to explain, but you felt instinctively that someone was waiting there for you. In your dreams, the better and brighter ones where you could feel the warmth of arms around you, there was a voice that whispered, "I'll meet you there, my little tiger. We'll be together in Os Kervo."

The only trouble was how you could get there. You had no travel papers or identification, and it was difficult to obtain any--even fake ones--with such little money. It was a difficult position you were in.

So you went about your life, picking up odd jobs using fake names. Your name is already fake as it was. The surname, Vos, was given to you by one of the more kind fishers who pulled you from the water. He gathered a mound of blankets around you and sat with his arm around you, trying desperately to keep you warm. Sometimes you wondered about him, wondered whether he was still fishing for Devisser. Perhaps if the captain of that ship had not seen fit to hand you over to their boss the kind fisher would have taken you in. Life might have been better if you had been offered a chance at a family instead of an apron and a crushing daily workload.

Your feet carried you to the wardrobe in this shabby lodging room. You had to sweep a spider off your jacket before you slipped it on. The morning air was a nice reprieve against your warm face as you walked down the streets. Shops were opening, food vendors were starting the fire in their ovens; Ketterdam was waking up.

You meant to walk further than the Barrel, but you stopped as you saw the window of some sort of pawn shop. There was a dress in the window. It was the emerald green of a kind of fabric you had never owned but knew instinctively would be smooth to the touch, like a flat stone one might skip on the ocean. There was something so familiar about the short ruffles of the over-the-shoulder sleeves; perhaps you had seen a guest at the big house wearing something similar when you used to spy from the door to the servant's quarters.

There was no way you would be able to purchase such a beautiful gown, you barely had enough money to get by as it was, but you were drawn into the shop because of it. You had to spend some more time around it and the other beautiful items in the shop. You hadn't been around such lavish things since… well, never.

The bell above the shop door jangled, alerting a woman at the counter to your appearance. She smiled, but the sight struck you in the chest. As an amnesiac orphan, you learned early on that people saw you as weak, helpless, and naive. For your youth and lack of guidance, you were perceived as easy pickings, and people tried their tricks on you more often than you could count, especially here in Ketterdam. You'd learned to tell what was genuine and what was fake when you interacted with others, and the woman's smile was the first real smile you'd seen in a long time.

"A beautiful dress for a beautiful young lady," the woman said.

You shook your head with a pleasant enough smile. "I was just looking. I could never afford such a thing."

"And yet here you are in my shop." She followed your eyes to a case of assorted valuables. When she saw the dull music box you stared at she hummed. "Would you like to know a secret?" You turned to her "That music box is from the old palace. It belonged to the missing princess herself, I swear on Ghezen and the saints."

You pondered the validity of her words, keeping a level expression so as not to upset her with your doubt. Everything you heard about the dead royal family seemed like it happened a lifetime ago, and no amount of rumours about one of their daughters being alive somewhere would make it any less a ghost story.

Still, you smiled politely. Despite her pleasant expression, she was only trying to sell you something, something you would not need even if you could have it. It wasn't even the most eye-catching thing in the display, just a decrepit old music box of tarnished silver. The music probably didn't even play anymore.

"It's lovely," you lied, "though I don't believe I could afford it."

"I could give you a special deal. I like to think there's something in my shop for everyone. The music box deserves to go home with you."

"That's generous, but--truly--I cannot make a purchase."

She tilted her head at you. "What is it you want, my dear? You've come into my shop, looked around, and you have the nerve to refuse my generosity--what is holding you back?"

"I've already told you," you said, "I couldn't afford it."

"And if I gave something for free?"

You brushed her off. "That's a terrible business model."

"Perhaps. But I like you, little runaway that you are. You're a long way from home--you deserve something nice."

You felt your pulse quicken. She shouldn't have known that. You weren't on the list of runaway indentures, so the stadwatch wouldn’t be looking for you. You breathed in before you could turn to her, balancing your composure with great care. Emotions were not useful in situations like this. "What brought you to that conclusion?"

"You keep your head down, which is normal in the Barrel, but you're not doing it out of habit, you're doing it out of fear. You must be hiding from something--from someone."

She was apt, you'd give her that. The trouble was figuring out the degree to which you could trust her. She could sell you back to Devisser in a second if she wanted to, but she could also be willing to help you. After all, she did say she liked you. You looked her in the eyes and then spoke.

"I'm trying to get to Ravka. The thing is, I don't have the money for travel papers, be they legal or illegal. I can't afford even that, and I could never afford anything in your shop." You straightened out, about to leave. "I'm sorry to have wasted your time--"

"Brekker can help you."

You stopped in your tracks.

“He can get you to Ravka, no travel papers necessary.”

You faced her again, questioning, “Where can I find this Brekker?”

“He owns a club down the road from here. The sign has one of those annoying blackbirds on it.”

“A raven?”

“No, a pesky crow.” She fiddled with a set of keys around her neck. “Anyways, he can help you on your way. I assure you.”

“How much will this information cost me?”

“Nothing, my dear. I hope you make it to Ravka.”

You thanked her, ducking your head as you left the shop. You kept a wary eye about you as you wove through the streets, finding your way back to your lodgings. There was little trust in such a wicked city as Ketterdam, specifically here in the barrel, and you were constantly looking out for any sign of danger. The shopkeeper wasn’t dangerous, not from what you could tell, but you had to keep your wits. One false move and you could be sent back to Devisser.

You couldn’t let that happen.

..........

Kaz stepped out from the back of the shop after the bell above the door rang out once more, signifying your departure. He was lucky to have been behind a particularly packed shelf furthest from the door, else you would have seen him and wouldn’t have explained your plan to Eugenia, the shopkeeper. Eugenia, for her part, did well to nudge you in the direction of the Crow Club. Undoubtedly she would want some credit for that, he knew. And, just as he thought, she brought it up as soon as he reappeared.

"I've found your missing princess for you, Kaz," Eugenia smirked. "And how valuable she'll be for you."

"You didn't do anything for me, Eugenia. She'll be just as impossible as the others," he retorted.

He'd been auditioning young women to play the part of the missing princess for months now. Ever since he'd heard of a hefty reward posed by the old duchess and grandmother to the princess, he'd devised a plan, learning everything he could about the toppled royal family.

"I think she's the one. Do you know why?"

He kept his stare neutral, but the disapproval remained on his lips in permanence. Eugenia liked to speak as though she knew best, leading tourists and tramps into traps as she sold them tin under the guise that it was rare silver. Even wisdom offered by her would be false.

She continued. "She'll play the part--and she'll be damn good at it--because she's desperate. Desperation makes us do what we otherwise would not."

He tilted a brow at her. "What do you want?"

"Waive six months of my rent," she said. There was no way she thought that he would accept this deal. He didn't even have confirmation that you would find him or that you would be willing to go through with his masquerade. Eugenia was a fool.

"If she is a good fit for the princess, I will waive one month of your rent," he bargained.

"Hold on, she is going to make you a million Kruge--I deserve more than a month for that."

Kaz frowned at her, leaning into his cane. Who was she to make demands? "Firstly, there's no guarantee that she can do the job. Secondly, even if she is a good fit, I don't owe you anything. You decided to send her to me before you thought to broker a deal; I don't owe you a thing."

She thumbed at her ring of keys. Eugenia was upset with herself and with him, he could tell.

"If she can play the part," Kaz said, straightening out, "I am willing to waive three months of your rent on the condition that you supply me with whatever I might need from this shop free of cost."

"Whatever you need for the job, right? I can't just give you anything you want from now on."

He nodded. "Just for the job. Do we have a deal?"

"Deal."

Kaz left the shop without the rent that he'd initially come to collect, but with something much more valuable if he played his cards right. He'd only caught a glimpse of you, but he was inclined to believe what Eugenia said. Desperation makes us do what we otherwise would not, and you had sounded plenty desperate.

..........

A/N: Thanks for reading! Feel free to like, reblog, and comment if you want to read more, I really appreciate the feedback! If you want to be tagged in the other parts of this series please comment on this part or send me an ask. And if you want to request a fic, please feel free to send in an ask. Otherwise, I hope you have a great day/night :)

Masterlist

Tags: @justvibbinghere @happyhauntt

#kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker x you #kaz brekker fanfic #shadow and bone fanfic #grishaverse fanfic #the lost princess

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johnwickb1tsch · 2 months

Text

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 31 all chapters

WARNING: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, YANDERE SH!T. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘

Maybe it’s silly, but you feel as though you have a new lease on life, in the days that follow.

John is still undeniably clingy, but so very sweet. It is a much easier form of obsession to bear.

You are still a prisoner, but at least you feel loved.

Perhaps even more precious, you begin to feel safe.

Whatever possessive madness gripped him before seems to have receded for now, and maybe you’re a fool, but you dare hope in time he might make a full recovery.

Now that you’ve reached a sort of understanding, John seems bent on making up for lost time. There is no doubt that you are still his prey, but now he ambushes you with the express intention of making you cum—whether you like it or not.

Again, you find yourself begging him for reprieve, though this time through laughter rather than tears. He swallows your protests with devouring kisses, eating your cries whole as he slides his long fingers inside you and works your clit masterfully with his thumb.

When you complain of your difficulty sitting down, a gift of a hemorrhoids donut pillow appears. You think he meant it as a joke.

John likes to give gifts, you find.

When one day you walk into your studio to find a bejeweled set of headphones bedecked like a crown, you cannot help but grin like an idiot. It is ridiculous what those fucking things cost, and you’d thought you’d been clever about concealing your enchantment with them in Italy, but nothing escapes John Wick’s sharp eye.

When he finds you later wearing your new coronet, singing out of tune while you put paint down on canvas, he presses you into the worktable with his hips and his kisses, going down on his knees before you with a murmur of, “My beautiful queen.” His words make your knees weak, as does his insatiable tongue in your slit. It’s all so much, and when you beg him to take you there on the table he is all too happy to oblige, scattering your pastels in a rainbow of projectiles with a sweep of his arm before driving himself inside you. With legs wrapped around his waist in a desperate effort to hold on, you take the fury of his adoration with a cock-drunk smile.

If you learned anything in the darker times before, it is that this man is a predator to the bone, and no matter what his mood, he loves a good chase. It becomes your favorite game, and it starts one evening when you splash him while doing the dishes. The look of surprise on his face is priceless, and with a screech you run for the stairs.

You only get so far as the living room before he catches you, his arm like a band of iron around your waist hauling you from your feet entirely. It happens too fast to register, but by some form of ninja magic you are suddenly on the floor, the lean length of his body on top of you. On the plush oriental rug with his thick cock inside you, this man makes you see God.

It feels alarmingly, magnificently, terrifyingly, like truly making love.

“Has anyone ever loved you, the way I do?” he demands desperately, filling you impossibly to the brim.

“Never,” you barely manage to answer, the force of his thrust stealing your breath away.

The next question is much more vulnerable.

“Have you ever loved anyone, the way you love me?”

“Never.”

It’s true, and in the softening of his gaze you dare to hope that someday he will believe you enough.

It is surprising, how quickly the time passes. Despite the circumstances, it is not terribly hard to live with John Wick, like this. He is sweet, and loving, and he spoils you rotten. You could almost mistake your relationship for normal—if one didn’t look too hard at the locks on all the doors.

Soon summer is fading, giving way to the golden hours of early fall. You see it out the window, but since your little car ride, you still have not been allowed outside. You’re an outdoorsy girl, and frankly, it’s starting to drive you a little crazy. You find yourself clawing at the impenetrable windows with a sigh.

John’s mood has been steady, but your heart is still in your throat when you dare ask, “John, can we go out?”

He looks up from his book, the fall of his dark hair covering half his face as he cants his head in thought. They say familiarity breeds contempt, but even after all this close proximity, you still find him beautiful. You do not think that will ever change.

“Why?” he finally asks, and you detect the shadow of suspicion in his tone.

“Because I miss it.”

You used to hike every day off you had. Being indoors this long…is doing things to your brain.

You watch as his nostrils flare, his chest rising and falling as he considers this request. You can tell he doesn’t like the thought at all, but you force yourself to stand your ground. He won’t punish you for this, surely? Just for asking?

Of course, he might punish you for what you’ll do later, if the answer is no.

In the end he nods, though more to himself than to you. “I’ll think about it.”

“Think about it fast? The weather will be turning soon.”

The look he pays you then is less kind, his eyes sharp as glittering obsidian. “I said. I’ll think about it.”

You sigh, assuming the answer is no, and retreat to sulk in your studio. You are painting the view from your favorite outlook on the mountain trail nearby from memory when you start to hear an odd, rhythmic toque…toque sound, over and over.

You go downstairs, searching for the source. No dice in the living room or the kitchen. You follow your ears to the bank of windows off the living room. There’s another door (locked, of course) that leads to a patio. You see John outside…chopping wood? Watching the pine rounds explode under the sharp blade of an axe in his hands shouldn’t be this fascinating, but you find yourself pressed to the window, transfixed. The definition in the muscles of his forearms as he swings down are a sight to behold.

You’re not sure he can see you, the way the glass is mirrored on the outside, but you knock on the widow anyway. He looks up at you with narrowed eyes at first. Then, a small smile. It feels like a little gift, just for you, and it quickens your heart. Watching him do everyday things moves you, and you acknowledge to yourself uneasily for the umpteenth time that you’re in so deep.

As it turns out, the wood was for a little pit fire, which you sit together and watch with a glass of wine that evening out on the patio. The tall trees loom all around you, pitch black outside the ring of your little campfire. It feels so good to be out of the house, but it’s not quite what you wanted. As though he senses that you’re not exactly satisfied with his offering, John tries to distract you with his kisses, laying you down on the outdoor couch to wreck you with his mouth. You make love with your skin bared to the great outdoors, but no one to really see you in your seclusion. Later you snuggle under a soft blanket together.

Sated, you let it go, for now.

-But John doesn’t forget, and one morning he wakes you early with kisses on your ear. “If you want to hike, we have to go now,” he tells you. You have become spoiled in your captivity, no longer at the mercy of coffee house hours, now used to sleeping through the morning after John keeps you up late with his kisses and his beautiful cock, but the offer of getting to really go outdoors has you up and at ‘em in minutes.

You find your old pair of broken-in Merrel hikers in the walk-in closet, and realize John must have accessed your possessions from your previous life at some point. It’s so strange to see them—you realize in the suspended reality of your current situation, you’ve almost written off everything that came before.

There is a distinct mental separation in your personal timeline—BW, and AW; Before Wick, and After Wick.

You have a quick breakfast and coffee before stepping outside, the sun just peeking over the horizon.

You can hardly describe the elation you feel, at last being allowed to walk out that front door like you are almost normal. You are so happy just to feel the morning air on your skin. You stand in the driveway like a simpleton, your face lifted to the sky, soaking in the sun. There is a cool breeze that smells of pine, and it is the sweetest thing you have inhaled in a long time.

John watches your reaction intensely, and you do not think you invent it, when you see a glimmer of guilt in his expressive mocha eyes. Intent on assuring him, you stand on tiptoe, pressing a kiss to his bearded chin with your front flush to his.

“Thank you,” you say, and he relaxes slightly against you, resting his forehead against yours.

You are practically skipping as you hit the trail in his woods that connects to the bigger loop. You cannot help but think about that day in the snow, when you met him, alone, on that very path. How easily he could have had you then. It is another clue that tells you he hadn’t decided yet—or he had not yet cracked.

This early, in the middle of the week, it isn’t likely you’ll meet anyone in the woods. You feel a trill of nervousness, as you wonder what would happen if you did. You have been kept to yourself for so long, the thought of contact with other people out in the world feels strange, a little frightening, even.

As you walk an exuberance overtakes you, fills you head to toe. It almost feels like you’re…free. The only contradiction to that is the tall man in black walking by your side. He has let you have free reign, not insisting on holding on to you. He doesn’t have to, you know. He could just run you down with those delectably long legs of his any time he wanted, surely.

That doesn’t mean the thought of it isn’t titillating, even if you absolutely know you would be destined to lose. Perhaps he truly has broken you at last, but you have come to love the game of chase too. It is your most exciting distraction in your world that is limited to the confines of the Wick cabin.

You are going to be sore the next day, you know. It’s been…forever, since you’ve been able to walk like this. The most exercise you’ve really gotten has been engaging in your sexcapades with John—as much of a workout as that is—it’s a different group of muscles.

Perhaps he does not insist on holding you, but it doesn’t stop you from reaching for him. You squeeze John’s hand in thank you.

Despite everything…it feels like a perfect day.

“Maybe this is far enough for today,” he says as you approach the junction with the main trail, the line of his private property and the park that adjoins it.

Disappointment spears through you. You are not ready to go back into your prison. It’s turning into a beautiful day, and you have so much energy to burn.

You make a pouty face, playing cute while you are flirting with rebellion inside.

“But the overlook is so pretty this time of year,” you insist, batting your lashes. Lately, that’s been enough to get your way on little things in the house. Today you feel like you can’t lose. Everything is too good.

He narrows his eyes down at you, as though he senses your internal mutiny, but in all your elation you feel strangely impervious. You realize you feel high, the kind of mood lift usually people have to ingest pills to get.

“Y/n…” He reaches for you, and without thinking you step just out of reach. You’ve played this game a dozen times now in the house. A game you’ve never, to this day, won, but you’ve found it’s the thrill of a lifetime, to be chased down by this man, trusting he won’t really hurt you. It always leads to mind-blowing sex, and maybe you are thinking a bit too much with a lust-addled brain alongside your elation for the great outdoors.

There is a very pregnant moment between you, and you smile when his intense eyes meet yours, your lips curling in what you know is a shit-eating little grin. What happens next is pure reflex; an extension of a thing you’ve done repeatedly together, with a dash of that age-old ingrained instinct of prey in the presence of a predator. But now you’re outside, and your jubilation is magnified times a hundred.

You run.

“Y/n!”

He lunges for you, his fingertips just brushing your arm, but in the end he’s–amazingly–too slow.

You are a human missile, rocketing down the hill, fueled by gravity and the knowledge of how to move in this environment you’ve trained for since you were just a child. You may as well be a wood sprite, for this is your element. This is your mountain, and no matter how many wealthy interlopers buy it up and carve it into parcels and drive up the price of everything so that locals like you can barely live—this will always be your home.

It feels so good to run.

Your feet fly over the needle-strewn forest floor, jumping over rocks and dodging trees. You laugh like a madwoman, the sweet sweet mountain air filling your lungs. You run like a wild thing of the woods, the way you used to when you were a child, before your parents decided to break the oath they'd made to each other and split your happy world to pieces. While your parents fought you would flee to the trees to be free, and you feel that desperate euphoria again. That feeling like you can fly, jumping over rocks and launching from boulders.

You sense more than hear John behind you, your own ears filled with the rushing of your blood and your racing heartbeat. His fingertips brush your back before you juke him around a tree. You hear him curse and you laugh—you do sound mad.

“Have to do better than that, old man!” you crow.

You realize with another rush that you are far more agile than John is. The trees are your friend, the way you dart around them and power yourself down a new line of retreat. You hear him curse after grazing one, and you realize you might break the poor man’s neck, making him pursue you like this.

In a pine-needle carpeted clearing you make yourself slow down, and you are so high on adrenaline it doesn’t even hurt when he finally tackles you to the ground, your grin like a baring of teeth, giddy from the chase. He pins your hands above your head, sharp pebbles digging into your skin as you laugh.

“What the fuck—” You interrupt him mid tirade with your mouth on his, a hungry kiss that swallows his fury, but does not quench it. Already anticipating the passion of your (and his) reward with his delicious weight pressed down into you, your legs are wrapped around his waist, pulling him close.

“You think you’re cute?” he snarls above you when at last you separate.

“I am very cute,” you assert, still giggling to yourself. “Don’t be mad. You love this game.”,

“Maybe I’d love to spank that cute ass of yours raw?”

“Nuh-uh. No hitting.”

You’d made a deal, after all.

He narrows his eyes down at you, and this is when you finally start to sense that maybe he is not half as amused as you are. Your blood runs cold, and before you can blink he has you flipped over on your belly, your pants down around your thighs.

“No—”

You try to squirm away, but his inexorable hand is in your hair—it makes for a damn good handle, the bastard. His big hand digging into the globe of your ass makes you quiver under his fingers.

Your heart plummets into freefall, as you realize he’s serious. And you can tell he’s not talking about the playful little smacks he sometimes gifts you in the middle of riding his cock to completion. He means to punish you, and the knowledge takes you from the highest high to the blackest despair. You can barely hear past the sound of your heartbeat in your ears, the familiar fear and uncertainty from before creeping in. Not again. Life was so good. Please don’t go back to this shit again. You can’t go back to the way things were. You can’t live like that again.

A revelation settles over you with irrefutable clarity. You accept it as truth with every cell of your being, and you know there will be no going back after this.

“If you hit me we’re done.”

There’s no hint of playfulness in your tone either now. Just…resolve. You mean what you say, to the very marrow of your bones.

“I think I must have confused you, y/n. You are not in charge here.”

“Maybe not. But I’ll tell you this. If you hit me, I’ll fight you to my dying breath. I mean it.”

Like watching yourself from the outside, you almost find it interesting that this is the true limit of your generosity with him. This is the cliff’s edge. The point of no return. Your resolve is unmoving, even if it fills you with absolute misery. You could lose him now, today, this very minute. This man who keeps you prisoner, yet with whom you have lived happily the past months. This complicated, broken man, who you love with all your heart.

In this insane moment you realize with soul-shaking clarity…you don’t want to leave him. What would you do with your life? Go back to your stupid little existence at the coffee shop, working your fingers to the bone, doodling on the chalkboard, waiting? You’ve spent most of your life just fucking waiting. Waiting to travel. Waiting for something good to happen. Waiting…for this man to come through the door, so you could pester him for five minutes, knowing it would be the highlight of your day.

Could you possibly go back to looking up at the mountain, knowing your Beast in his castle resides there? That a man who loved you like no other is there pining for you?

But if he crosses this line—you will have to leave, somehow. Or die trying. That is your heartfelt resolution. That is the promise you make to yourself. You’ve made too many compromises as of late, and this is a battle for your very soul.

You feel him like a malevolent storm cloud behind you, trembling in his fury, but for once, torn as to what to do. You realize this is the only time you’ve seen him doubt himself, when he’s contemplating teaching you a lesson.

You dare to try to talk him down, your voice calmer, or perhaps more distant. You don’t know how you muster the courage; perhaps only in the knowledge that this could truly be it for the two of you. No more we’ll see how it goes or maybe it will be better tomorrow. There is only now.

“This thing we’ve somehow built together, despite everything…” You shake your head, trembling as much out of fear as despair. “It will be destroyed, and you’re the one who will have broken it.”

“You’re the one who ran from me!”

You can tell from the hushed fury in his voice that he is hanging on by a thread. You realize now, what a stupid thing that had been to do. That despite the games you’ve been playing in the house, out here, he just couldn’t handle it. Even just the slightest possibility of you leaving is enough to drive this man off the edge.

“I let you catch me.” You will him to believe you. You even half believe it yourself.

“The hell you did.”

“It’s true. I know these woods better than you. I’m smaller. I’m faster. I let you.”

“Bullshit.”

Before you can hardly think about what to do you lower your face to the dirt, offering your ass in the air. You know he can see your puffy slit, your glistening opening just begging for him. This is how he has warped you; or maybe you were a twisted little thing all along, just waiting for him to show you the way to your ruin. Either way—you want him, and you will him to see it for himself.

“I let you catch me,” you insist again. “So give me my reward.”

You feel the tremor run through him, from his fingertips to his core.

You realize that he wants to believe you. That maybe punishing you was never really the fun for him at all, in this deadly game you’ve been playing.

You feel him shift his position behind you, his merciless hold moving to your hip. When his long fingers slide into your wet folds you mewl like a cat; half relieved, and half just needing him. He makes you buck by circling your bud, before delving inside your weeping channel with two of his fingers. It makes you moan, and if someone walks up the trail my god will they get an eyeful, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

“Does that feel like someone who’s afraid of you?” you bluff. Because wanting this man has never really stopped you from fearing him. Fearing what, exactly, has shifted over time. In the end though, maybe just that he would be the absolute ruin of you.

He only grunts in answer, spreading your juices around your aching pussy. When his fingers withdraw you whine in protest, but you hear him rifle with his clothing, the zzzip of his fly jerked downwards. When his thick tip kisses your entrance you could weep, offering your ass even higher in the air.

“You are a very bad girl,” he tells you as he slides home, making you writhe with a mixture of pleasure and pain.

“I’m your bad girl,” you correct him, and he growls behind you, thrusting again. He’s not treating you with the usual care he pays this position, but you take it anyway. Gladly, if this will mend the thing between you, you’ll take it all.

“I would have found you, you know,” he pants as he thrusts, his hand weaving in your hair. “Even if you made it down the mountain…there’s nowhere in the world you can hide from me.”

You absolutely believe him.

“I know,” you tell him, your face in the dirt, yet somehow still loving the feeling of him behind you, filling you absolutely and completely. “You don’t–have to–lock me up, John,” you pant, interrupted by the violence of his thrusts. “Because I know I can’t escape you.”

This makes him growl again, that primal, possessive sound that touches the darkest recesses of your cavewoman brain. It is as though there is no part of you, inside or out, that this man cannot touch. He drapes his long body over yours, engulfing you in the shelter of his warmth. Even now, you cannot stop yourself from leaning back into him, pressing your smooth cheek to his soft beard. His tone is pure gravel, but you know him well enough now to sense the vulnerability in his words too. “But do you want to escape now?” he asks.

“No,” you tell him, and you know in your heart this isn’t manipulation, or vying for a better chance to run somewhere down the line. It’s just the truth, and you even surprise yourself as you say, “No, I don’t want to leave you.”

He goes still behind you as he evaluates this heartfelt confession, his harsh breathing and the pulsing of his cock buried inside you his only movement.

“I want to believe you.” You only enjoy a moment of relief, before he rears again behind you, driving himself into you to the hilt. “But I can’t.”

Your heart plummets as you realize he still cannot bring himself to trust your word, to have the faith to walk out into thin air, the way normal people do when they dare to fall in love. He cannot leave anything to chance with you, and now you are not sure he ever will.

He really might keep you locked up forever.

You feel the earth beneath you, hyper aware of the pine needles in your clenched hands, the wonderful smell of the dirt and ancient rocks below. The cool breeze on your bared skin, and the dappled light filtering through the pines. What if this really is the last time you are ever allowed outside?

There was always a glimmer of hope on the distant horizon for you, that little light of optimism that never quite managed to extinguish, despite everything he put you through. But now you feel it leave you, stealing the integrity from your very bones. You go limp beneath him, only his iron-grip on your hips holding your ass in the air as he uses you. When he reaches down to find your slippery bud you are no longer in the mood, and perhaps foolishly, you try to shake him off.

“Just get it over with.”

You already know it’s the absolute worst thing you can say, but now you don’t care.

“But I thought my darling wanted to enjoy the great outdoors?” He doesn’t sound half as angry as you expected him to, but there is still something sharp in his tone that puts you on edge. Like glimpsing a dorsal fin parting still waters, you know something dangerous swims underneath.

He slows his thrusts behind you, so that his magnificent length stretches you just right without hurting you. He uses his now expert knowledge against you, weaponizing the hours you’ve spent in bed together making up for lost time. You can’t stop yourself from arching into him, canting your hips to intensify the sensation, and now you bow your head so you don’t have to see his smug smile. “Goddamn you.”

He huffs with laughter, though there’s no real humor in it. “You’re too late, I’m sure.”

This time when he touches you, you are desperate for it, your aching walls squeezing him in search of release. It tears a groan from deep in his throat, a sound you know so well by now, and you realize you can use your own knowledge of this man against him too. You squeeze him again, almost in challenge, and it becomes a contest between you, who can bring the other to pieces first. You have to admit that his blunt fingers on your clit are heaven, and your heart pounds too fast in your chest, your head light as you very nearly forget to breathe in your concentration. He tries to hold himself off as you move to take him deeper. He cannot control your body as well as he would like, like this, with his fingers buried in your slit, and you almost smile at his grunt of frustration at you.

In the end you both lose.

You cum so hard on his cock you see stars, a ringing in your ears as a merciless pleasure breaks and explodes through you. He fares no better, filling you with ropes of hot seed as he moans, loud enough to echo across the mountains.

Maybe you do feel a little better, panting in the soft leaf litter with his body draped over yours again, his heavy breathing and soft lips upon your neck. As usual, you feel bereft when he withdraws, wishing you could hold him inside you longer. You didn’t bring anything to clean up with, and you anticipate a soggy walk home back up the hill.

In fact, after sprinting, then fucking like animals on the ground, you’re not even sure you can walk.

It’s John who rises first, groaning with the effort. He glares down at you, as though daring you to make another old man jab. For the moment, however, you are out of quips, out of jokes, and out of clever repartee. Even though you know it shouldn’t be so easy for him to tame you, you snuggle under his chin anyway, kissing the swell of his Adam’s apple. For a moment he sags against you, savoring this sweetness, before brusquely leading you back up the trail.

He is not cruel, or strangely, even outwardly angry now, but somehow you just know you are in so much fucking trouble.

#john wick #john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick fic #john wick x y/n #keanu reeves x reader #yandere john wick #bittersweet john wick imagine

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common-dace · 6 months

Text

so i have not stopped thinking about gillion's banishment ever since it was revealed, but episode 114 has got me feeling fucking unhinged over it because it has given me new thoughts.

cause like, here's the thing. gillion's banishment never made sense to me. clearly, the prophecy and the chosen one are extremely important to the undersea. it is literally about whether their people continue to live or are exterminated. it is so vital to them that they took a literal child away from his family and trained him under the most important, highest-position figures in the entire undersea. just think about all the resources and time and effort they piped gill's way.

so the idea that they would just… send him away doesn't make sense. if they send away their chosen one, they're basically fucking over the entire undersea. according to the undersea's version of the prophecy, they need their chosen one or it's literally the end of the world. and even if maybe the elders didn't fully believe the prophecy, they'd still have to answer to their people who definitely believe the prophecy. (hence why the whole shebang was swept under the rug, to the point they refused to tell edyn anything about it.)

obviously, there's unseen factors at play here.

it's possible that it was, indeed, the elders' choice to exile gillion. maybe they decided they were wrong that gillion was the chosen one - after all, he'd spent the past decade or so failing in his training, and maybe this was the straw that broke the camel's back. they sent him away as punishment for the incident and to get him out of their hair, kept the whole thing on the down low to keep the people calm and preserve their reputation, and started searching for who they believe is the real chosen one.

but i can't believe that. it doesn't make sense to me, especially since time and time again, various people have been able to look at gillion and see the sheer divine energy he radiates. the elders - the most powerful people in the undersea - would surely be able to tell.

or maybe they simply didn't care whether gill was the chosen one or not, just that he had disapointed them one too many times. like it's one of those things where the people care about it much more than the government. but frankly, that just seems too convient and doesn't really line up with the intensity of gillion's training. i don't believe it either.

which means, the most likely scenario is that it was not the elders' choice to exile gillion.

i can only imagine what kind of a diplomatic nightmare it would be to try and sort out the aftermath of such an incident. it's wasn't just some rando stabbing a human - it was the chosen one, one of the most important figures of the undersea, stabbing a vice-admiral, one of the most important figures of the navy. entire wars have been declared over less. there is no way the navy would just let this slide, especially considering how hostile the navy has become and how their desire for an alliance with the undersea was really an attempt at manipulation. any opportunity for control they see, they will take.

perhaps gillion's exile, then, was simply punishment by the navy. if the navy did not know exactly who gillion was (it's not like he introduced himself to jayson prior or anything, and it's possible the elders did not tell the navy) then it would be an act that doubles as justice and as an example that resistance would not be tolerated. maybe it was part of a larger suite of demands, including opening a line of communication with the navy - after all, it seems that there might be some sort of communication going on at some level, given what gillion overheard at the all-port base in episode 61. (or maybe there is no communication, and the chosen one they talked about transferring was already in navy hands after being forcibly captured. who knows.)

speaking of, something about that whole all-port bit doesn't sit right with me - specifically, the alternate chosen one thing. the undersea seems to have appointed another "chosen one" after gillion's banishment. however, a few questions arise. did the undersea do it on their own accord, or at coercion of the navy? does the navy know that this isn't the original chosen one, or did the undersea manage to keep the whole switcheroo secret? was this chosen one even appointed by anyone or did they just kinda assert themselves? there's still so much that's unknown.

if we continue with the assumption that the navy did not know that gillion was the chosen one, then that would indicate that this secondary chosen one was likely chosen in an attempt to save face - possibly in the eyes of their people, possibly in the eyes of a navy threat (after all, it wouldn't be good to look weak). it would also indicate that the navy believes that this person is the true chosen one, which paints one hell of a picture. one of the things gillion overheard in episode 61 was that the chosen one was being transferred, presumably away from the undersea and the people they're sworn to protect. it seems like a very intentional move to try and lower the undersea's defenses and open them to attack.

i'd also like to add: i saw this wonderful post by here-there-be-drag0ns that you should totally check out if you haven't already that talks about how the gathering of undersea leaders might have been a front by the navy in order to get them all in the same place at the same time to take them all out. i just wanted to say that if this is true, then the idea that the navy would pre-emptively take out the chosen one to leave undersea folk more defenseless fits too well for my liking. they're making sure that the undersea's supposedly-best warrior is not present at this mass murder meeting where they're trying to decentralize the undersea. fucking yikes.

however, as much as all this makes sense to me and is a possibility, it still feels like there's something missing. it's up to some debate whether the navy (at least the higher-ups) know if gillion is the chosen one or not.

so. uh. episode 114, huh? what an episode. the tritons hanging on meat hooks and the triton skin on the ground was extremely striking to me, mainly because this is the first time we've actually seen other tritons in the campaign. for 113 episodes, the only tritons we've seen were the three tidestriders (and technically that one elder but like that was in gillion's mind so it doesn't count. also does gillion even count? anyway). that made the scene hit so much harder, and it really stuck in my head. in the time between gillion being exiled and now, the navy managed to get their hands on tritons without our resident pirates having any idea. this led me to a new thought:

what if the navy knew that gillion was the chosen one, and they knew exactly what they were doing in demanding that he be banished?

i'm not sold on this thought because it would make the whole "transferring the chosen one" thing kinda pointless (unless that was just a symbolic move meant to instill complacent despair into the undersea folks, etc.), but shit, it does make some sense.

because again, the undersea probably wouldn't banish their chosen one without some sort of coercion, and it doesn't make too much sense to me that the navy would particularly care about some rando (i.e., i think they'd leave the punishment to the undersea and instead focus on more significant ways they could use the incident to acquire control). the most likely reason they'd demand for gillion to gtfo is if they knew who he was, because then, they'd definitely want him gone. if you had the opportunity to get rid of one of the biggest obstacles between your plans of domination and the people you want to dominate, you'd fucking take it. it would make it all the easier for them to do what they want with the triton people.

but if this is true, then an even larger question arises: why wouldn't they just kill gillion?

well, maybe they wanted to. maybe they made that demand to the undersea, but the undersea refused. maybe they knew that the undersea wouldn't do it so they didn't even make the demand. maybe they knew that if they pushed for it or did it themselves, it'd piss off too many people and things would get a whole lot more messy. maybe they originally planned to secretly kill him and then replace him with someone under navy control to placate and manipulate the people, but it didn't go as expected.

or perhaps - and hear me out - gillion's banishment was not a punishment forced by the navy, but rather, an act of protection by the elders.

surely, the undersea knew they were in deep shit. for the first time possibly ever, the navy had come down to the undersea with attempts to manipulate them, but before they could turn the navy away peacefully, their goddamn champion barges in and all but makes a war declaration. shit could only go downhill from there.

obviously, the elders are shady and not morally great. they're flawed people who have caused a lot of hurt. they're as transparent as mud and withhold (and even lie about) significant information. however, i'm convinced of one thing - the prophecy and long-term survival of their people are important to them.

which means… the chosen one must stay alive.

but "oh, wouldn't it make more sense for gillion to stay in the undersea so he could fight off the navy because he's the chosen one and-" no. nope. we've all heard the way gillion talks about his training. the elders definitely saw him as a failure, no ifs, ands, or buts. they would have no confidence that he would do anything but be killed. so if your only options are 1) have your people be taken over by the navy but your chosen one is probably alive somewhere, or 2) have your chosen one be killed and then your people get taken over by the navy anyway, you're gonna go with option 1. you're gonna sacrifice the current well-being of your people with the hope that some day, destiny will lead the chosen one back when it is time and prevent the undersea from being wiped out entirely. an awful choice to have to make, but if you truly believe the prophecy, then you're gonna do what you have to to make sure it is fulfilled, even if the immediate consequences are dire. literally a last hope type of moment.

but "oh, wouldn't they at least tell gillion some of this because, again, chosen one, and-" nope. gillion is gillion. mf would absolutely go hero mode and try to stab another navy vice-admiral, get himself promptly killed, and fuck over the undersea worse. but if gillion thought he was banished as a punishment, well. that's not exactly something you can just return to the undersea from. it's a serious charge and gillion would know it. he'd be more likely to stay away and, by extension, stay out of navy hands. the best choice for the elders was to keep him in the dark and send him away, praying that destiny will lead him to where he needs to go.

but if we go this route, then it doesn't really work with the idea that the navy knows who gill is. it's possible that the undersea told the navy they killed the chosen one to try and cover their tracks, or maybe the navy knew they just exiled him and it angered them enough to react with a stronger iron grip and more demands, but… that doesn't really jive with me. if the navy knew the current "chosen one" wasn't the real one, there'd be no need to transfer them out. also, gillion has come face-to-face with jayson multiple times since the incident, and surely, if he thought that gillion was anyone of real significance, he'd remember his face (although, perhaps he's so preoccupied with jay that it was the last thing on his mind). plus, it's also worth noting that gillion's bounty from the navy only ever increased in connection with his pirate shenanigans. surely, if they really wanted the chosen one gone, they'd place a high incentive to lure in bounty hunters. in general, the idea that the navy knows who gill is just doesn't mesh well - it seems that they really don't know.

another possibility blends the banishment as protection idea with the concept that the navy doesn't know that gillion is the real chosen one. perhaps the navy, not knowing this, didn't really give a shit what the undersea did with gillion as long as he was punished and made into an example. however, just because the navy didn't know who gillion was then didn't mean they would never find out. again, gillion's got one hell of a hero complex - he simply would not stop at a single attack. he would persist, endangering any diplomatic attempts by the undersea to straighten things out and revealing himself as a very important figure and target.

this paints an interesting picture. perhaps while the navy did not directly force the undersea to exile gillion, banishment was still the best choice. it keeps the screw-up from making things worse, keeps the chosen one out of certain death, and keeps him a secret. in his place, the elders scrambled to find a suitable replacement to show to the navy and avoid suspicion. this way, if the navy exerted their newfound control over the undersea and did something like, say, transfer the chosen one out of the undersea to do gods-know-what, the real chosen one would still be hidden, safe, and ready for the day destiny pulls him back to liberate them all. gillion would be their plan b and secret weapon, should they fail.

("hidden," "secret," i say, like gillion hasn't spent the majority of the campaign immediately introducing himself to everyone as the champion of the deep and the chosen one. oof. never said my theories were solid. maybe in his long list of titles, the navy didn't notice those.)

anyway. i don't know. i have many thoughts, few of which are coherent. i have no idea what to believe. there's still so many missing bits of information, like everything regarding edyn. maybe i'm totally misinterpreting the transferred chosen one thing. there's also that whole storyline where gill was in the luxbris pearl and it was clear the (technically imagined?) elders banished him as punishment. there's that comment by that hanging triton where he says gillion abandoned them, which makes me feel like i am so off on the elders' intentions because maybe they publically blamed gill to save face. or maybe the elders didn't blame gill on their own accord, but rather were coerced to blame it on him by the navy, which, by this point, surely has deep hooks in the undersea government. fuck, dude. brain's going conspiracy theory mode now, i feel like i'm losing my mind. if y'all have any thoughts or better ideas than me, i'd love to hear them.

#jrwi riptide #just roll with it #jrwi #jrwi spoilers #gillion tidestrider #jrwi gillion #dace.txt

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trulycertain · 6 months

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I couldn't help wanting to write something ridiculous with spawn!Astarion learning to turn into a bat. And then I got thinking about how the tadpole nerfs spawn powers. AU, post-canon, Tav/Astarion. About 1.3k?

Lora's feeling out a new riff, trying to work out if there's enough of a solid foundation for it to become a song, when there's a thunk and tinkle from the kitchen.

Shit.

She sneaks through, knowing that Astarion's probably doing the same, if he's all right. If he's not… best to take in the situation.

A vase rolls past her through the doorway. There's a small flappy sound, like someone's just pulled a sheet of leather taut. What -? An undead, perhaps? She pokes her head round the corner.

There, sprawled on the kitchen countertop where she normally chops vegetables she'll be the only one eating, next to a fallen jar of herbs, is a bat. Big, albeit not as gigantic as some she's fought who turned out to be vampires in disguise; still, it's got an impressive wingspan, one of them hanging off the counter like a curtain. Or, she thinks, absurdly, the way Astarion likes to dramatically hang an arm off a fainting couch, while he's reading a book. He'll not be impressed by that comparison.

Her unexpected visitor is albino, and… fluffy. Really fluffy, chest like the world's smallest thick fur rug, or like it's got a little proud collar. Small, clawed feet are sticking inelegantly in the air, not quite spread-eagled (spread-batted?), as if it's going to try and jump back onto them. But who's heard of bats standing?

…Unless it's a vampire lord. But there aren't any of those after them - well, not anymore. And they're usually better at the whole bat thing. Less of crashing into Astarion's favourite vase.

How in the hells did it get in? It's not like she left a window open; both she and Astarion are a tad too paranoid for that.

It's not dead, at least: its chest is moving furiously. Makes sense. Bats are smaller, probably with a faster heartbeat. If it's in pain - well, she hopes it's not in pain.

She's got no idea how to escort it off the premises. It's not that she's got a problem with bats - more that she's certain neither she, nor the bat, signed up for this. An angry wild animal? She has visions of it hanging from her finger by its teeth. Though honestly, she had a similar vision with Astarion, and things turned out pretty well there. But they're only borrowing this place for a while - she called in a favour. That favour probably didn't include bat tenants.

Edging closer, she notes that it doesn't seem to be moving. Knocked itself out? Oh, that's not ideal. Though maybe she can sneak it out before it wakes up… No, from what she can see - one red eye - it's just staring at the ceiling. Almost glumly, if a bat can be glum.

And then it spots her, and… lifts its wings to hide its face. In embarrassment.

White fur. Red eyes. The way he looks when he's caught between trying to brazen it out or stalking off to hide his cringing.

“...Astarion?”

Its - his ears twitch, and he raises a wing, holds it there. The way he'll raise a hand in acknowledgement and Don't even say it.

She blinks, and whistles a few notes, hits a high C - there. Speak with animals. That should do it. “Are you hurt?” she tries; it’s been a while since she’s done this spell without a lute.

“Only my pride,” he mutters, mulish and with the slightest nasality - makes sense, between a flat snout and fangs. “I think your basil came off worse than I did.”

She stares. Definitely strange, hearing that familiar wry voice come out of a bat. “What happened?” He’s normally so pretty - the kind of pretty he endlessly preens about. The pinkness of his nose is oddly adorable against white fur, but she suspects he’s ended up as a vampire bat. Apparently, vampire bats look like they’ve crashed face-first into a wall. Which he most likely has, but she suspects that’s no explanation for the horseshoe-shaped nose and his little squinting eyes. It's sort of cute. If you're very, very drunk. Or if you're overly fond of a grumpy vampire.

“Nothing we need talk about,” he says hastily. He rubs a thumb over his face. “I’m sure I’ll work out how to change back in a moment.”

“You’re not stuck like this, are you?”

He casts a narrow look at her with those blood-red eyes - different, and yet so very familiar. “Darling, are you saying you wouldn’t love me if I were a rodent?”

“Astarion.”

He stretches a wing experimentally: pale, thin skin and white fingers. “I don’t… think so. There’s already a sort of - itch under my skin, like I just have to yawn hard enough and, pop. But first, I need to brood.”

“I thought only Cazador could turn into a bat.”

“Into a cloud of bats, my dear.” He gestures at himself with a folded wing, more stiffly than his usual - difficult, when your arm doesn’t bend the same way. “Do I look like a cloud?”

She can’t help her grin at that. “I don’t know. You are all white and fluffy.”

He sighs, loudly. When she reaches out a slow, careful hand, however, he doesn’t move - even in this form, he’d dodge. Or she’d get an annoyed warning nip for her trouble, she’s sure of it. Fangs are second nature to him. As is how to be gentle with them, by now.

She says, “I love your ears.” She strokes a fingertip carefully over them; they twitch underneath it. “Look at the size of them!”

“Ugh. If you’re about to make an elf joke, I have one word of advice for you: don’t.” It’s deeply surreal watching a bat roll its eyes.

“I wasn’t! Is your hearing better like this?”

“Much.” He makes an expression that’s probably meant to be a grimace, but on a slightly squashed bat-face, it’s not so different. “I can hear the tavern three doors away. Their bard isn’t nearly so good as you.”

She strokes between his ridiculous rabbity ears, just with a finger, lightly; big as he is for a bat, he’s so tiny. Even tinier than usual. She'd hate to hurt him. “Have I mentioned I love you?”

“Yes, yes, I know you’re weak to flattery.” But there’s warmth in his voice.

“Do you want to hop up? I feel like you won’t want to turn back into yourself on the counter.”

“Please. That test flight - flights, really - was exhausting. No-one warned me there would be so much flapping. I thought creatures of the night would be fonder of a smooth glide, but no.”

She holds out an arm - and then there’s a bat clinging to her woollen shirt with thumbs and little claws. Clinging being the operative word. He climbs up her a little uncertainly, holding tight while she stays as still as she can, until he arrives on her shoulder, flopping there with a dramatic sigh.

She heads through to the lounge, and beside her ear, a small voice says, “I’ve been able to do… more, since our wriggling little unwelcome passengers were removed. I don’t know if it’s that or simply not starving. Honestly, I thought the bat thing was a myth. For spawn, anyway - we get the rather inferior part of the ‘vampire powers’ arrangement. But the claws have come back, and the agility. I’ve never felt so strong. It’s… strange. And a little intoxicating.” She can’t quite raise a brow at him when he’s so close to her, but he clearly gets the idea, because he adds hastily, “As in, I’m rather happy. Not as in ‘I’m about to become a cackling vampire lord.’ We’ve... covered that one already. It’s more - is this what it’s meant to be like? Being a spawn? Not a starved slave?” His voice is soft, with a genuine, non-snarling curiosity to it. A little amazement. She feels him shuffle just a bit closer to her, wing curling a little around her back.

Sometimes he doesn’t like to be touched when he’s thinking about the bad old days, but this clearly isn’t one of those times. At that, she has to sit in an armchair, and reach up, offering a hand to her shoulder. He clambers onto it, with the kind of instant trust that makes her chest ache - though he does give her a puzzled look while he shuffles about to get comfortable and sits on her knuckles. He folds his wings neatly, primly, in a way that’s so him she’d laugh in any other circumstance. She sneaks over her other hand and strokes his pointy pale head, runs a soothing couple of fingers over his back. She feels sad for him, but also, Lathander, he’s so fluffy. She could happily do this for a while.

The flap of wings startles her. What - ?

Being hugged by a bat is more like having a very strange necklace. One that hooks its thumbs into the back of her shirt collar, accidentally tugging it wider, ears twitching against her neck in a way that’s almost ticklish, tiny heart fluttering against her collarbone. She holds him there with a hand, thumb stroking through his fur. He murmurs, “I just wished, and this time…”

The smallest cloud of mist blooms. She blinks, and the world is suddenly rather heavier. It could be the rogue sitting side-saddle in her lap, his arms around her neck, grinning at her. He blinks in a little surprise.

“...there I was. Hello, darling.” Leaning in, he brushes a swift, smiling kiss to her cheek.

She reaches up and runs a hand through his hair, the way she knows he likes even if it ruins his pomade. “You were very cute.”

“Of course I was. I was adorable.” He winces. “Aside from looking like I’d run face-first into a carriage.”

“You were cute!”

“Hm. Good for scouting tucked-away places that the owners don’t want us to be, however.” His happiness takes on a fiendish edge.

“You’re going to pick locks with your little thumbs?”

The idea seems to delight him rather than offend. “Once I learn how? Absolutely.” He swoons dramatically, leaning back over the chair arm. “Now, darling, I find I’ve utterly run out of energy.” He darts her a look from under his hand. “It must have been the transformation. I don’t know if I can even find it in me to stagger to bed.”

She raises a brow. “Really?”

“Really. I’m just… utterly drained. It’s a mystery.” He holds his arms out. “Would you mind?”

While she’s carrying him through to her room, she says, “I know what you’re doing.”

“Oh?” he asks smugly, arms still wound around her neck. “And what’s that?”

“You’re going to pull me in with you.”

Pouting, he says, “How dare you. I’ll have you know I’m an honourable man. Well. I'm a man.”

“You’re going to pull me in with you and make me cuddle you to sleep.”

“When you put it like that, it sounds disgustingly juvenile. True, but juvenile.”

“This was easier when you were less than a kilogram of fur.” Not that she minds him being a bit heavier. It’s a relief, compared to how bird-boned he sometimes felt under all the muscle in the early, hungry days.

“I can fix that.” There’s a tiny poof! and then… a self-satisfied bat fluttering awkwardly to sit on top of her head.

She reminds him, “Watch the hair while you’re surveying your kingdom.”

“I could get used to this.”

“I’m never getting used to this.”

#batstarion #astarion x tav #astarion ancunin #Astarion #BG3 spoilers #bg3 epilogue spoilers #My fic #lora mctavish #Stupid ridiculous fluff (and I don't just mean how fluffy he is)#baldur's gate 3

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sebsbarnes · 5 months

Text

love and grief || tangerine

tangerine x f!reader

summary: you knew no matter how often you two spat with the other, said you hated each other, hell, even nearly killed the other, you two were connected in some weird unexplainable manner.

warnings: death, violence, injuries, language

word count: 2.4k+

a/n: i needed to create spade, reader's sidekick, to make this work...he has no dialogue but their relationship is equivalent to tangerine and lemon. NOT RLLY EDITED

tangerine masterlist

his large hands wrapped themselves around your neck slamming you onto the counter. immediately you started losing air, desperately scratching at his fingers attempting to pry them open. small black dots began to cloud your vision as you squirmed underneath him, legs flailing.

"i can't lie love, you look pretty hot with my hands around your neck. too bad we aren't in a bed," he smirked through gritted teeth, the vein pulsating in his neck.

"well...a floor...might work...just...as good," you managed to squeak out, hands still pressed deeply on your neck. attempting to pry his fingers off did no good and with little time left before you passed out you grabbed his elbows, harshly pushing them up causing them to hyperextend. tangerine's grip immediately released as he shouted in agony. you quickly sat up on the counter, reaching over to him and grabbing his neck, slamming him to the ground. tangerine was now in your position just moments ago as you straddled the man while squeezing his neck.

"don't worry babe, i'll try not to give you rug burn," you winked pushing further onto his neck.

"mm charming," he grunted, face turning a deep shade of red.

he tried removing your hands by pulling at your forearms but you weren't budging. you had your hands locked and your feet locked under his thighs. had this been any other circumstance...like on his bedroom floor...you may have enjoyed this view of him but alas this was a circumstance far from that. tangerine was so close to passing out and just in an instance the whole dynamic changed. it was too late to register the sound of the door opening behind you. not a moment later you shrieked in pain pulling back from tangerine's neck to hold your upper arm that was now searing in pain. you looked at your trembling hand that was now coated in blood. taking this opportunity tangerine threw, literally threw, your body to the side smashing into the cabinets. you choked and your brain was frantically worrying about the loss of air and the torn up skin on your arm to even realize tangerine was now brutally fighting ladybug.

the saying goes the enemy of my enemy is my friend, but with ladybug that didn't apply. you loathed him. and although you hated tangerine you hated ladybug more and given the opportunity to fight him with someone as strong as tangerine...fuck yeah you'd take that chance.

ladybug had just slammed tangerine's head causing disorientation and while ladybug's back was to you you stalked over, gripping his scalp and dragging his body to the ground. you assumed the position from earlier, now choking out ladybug.

"y'know it's quite hot seein' ya dominate anotha' man," jested tangerine. surprised by his remark you stared at him with wide eyes but this left you vulnerable and ladybug now took advantage of your distracted state and lifted his leg kneeing you in the spine. your jaw was then met with his fist which made your teeth rattle. you were fuming.

the two of you stood up and you grabbed the center of ladybug's t-shirt and shoved him backwards into tangerine who held his arms back. some assassins had their go-to methods of fighting or torture. you? well you always had a pair of pliers handy. an odd thing perhaps but they were so....versatile. they always illicit some sort of fear and that's exactly what it was doing as you had one hand bringing the pliers to ladybug's teeth and the other gripping his jaw open. he was pleading and begging as you got closer.

"well shit love i didn't know how hardcore you were," tangerine said pulling his face as far as possible from the tool.

"keep coming onto me and i'll rip that tongue out of your pretty mouth," you hissed.

tangerine couldn't help the smirk that appeared on his face, "but then how would i be able to taste you darlin'?"

before you could pluck ladybug's teeth out and before you could rip tangerine's tongue out there was a loud commotion from a few cars up. tangerine and you both dropped ladybug (disappointedly since you were looking forward to beating the shithead) and bounded for the source. in your soul you knew something was wrong. immediately your breath quickened and legs fastened. tangerine silently observed you as he walked in tangent. he sensed the anxiety radiating off your body and he could only assume you thought something was wrong with spade. he couldn’t fathom anything besides an injury to spade, the two of you were way too skilled at your job to sustain serious injuries let alone something worse. but he was proven wrong.

the door slid open and tangerine watched as your body skidded. he grabbed underneath your armpits to steady you. it was blood, everywhere. you were rigid. it was your worse nightmare. it was spade dead.

he was propped against the wall in between the seats of the train, a giant gash across his neck. you kneeled beside his body grabbing at the collar of his shirt, "what the fuck spade," you whimpered, "what the fuck happened."

your hands and lips were trembling but you couldn't react more. no, not with tangerine around and not with the other killers on the train. you couldn't show any weakness. to you there was no such thing...at least that's what you kept trying to convince yourself.

"y/n...," tangerine spoke softly he wasn't really sure what to say. what do you even say to someone in a situation like this? the relationship you had with spade is like the relationship he had with lemon. the thought of being in your position made him nauseous, but even knowing you are in this position made him nauseous. the whole field of assassins... or whatever you want to call it...knew the two of you were enemies, pure hatred. but you both knew that the little quips and occasional touches were far from hatred.

"we should keep moving," you sounded robotic.

immediately you stood hiding your face and started walking away, tangerine trailing behind. he hesitantly brought a hand up to you shoulder to comfort you but his fingers merely ghosted your skin as he stopped himself. you kneeled next to spade not even a minute. there was no time to think, no time to mourn, no time to say goodbye. you were trying so hard to act normal but you were far from it. teeth were grinding together, nails digging into your palms, flared nostrils, eyes burning holes into anything you glanced at. he was gone just like that. you kept trying to swallow back the tears. 'not now' is all you could think. but the world felt like it was collapsing. it felt as though the you and the sky were colliding. the stars coming to engulf you in their flames and bury you deep within the earth's surface. rocks and sand crushed your body further and further into the center of the earth until it was complete darkness and the only sign of life was the sound of your heart slowly beating.

unbeknownst to you, while in your grief stricken daydream, tangerine was no longer following behind you. paying his absence no mind you continued to follow the small droplets of blood on the floor. you had convinced yourself it was someone else's blood and not spade's.

the door whizzed open and there stood a man, not just any man, the white death. he was holding a long blade which you desperately tried to ignore the blood on it. his smug demeanor made you want to carve his lips off his face. but you stayed still, waiting for him to say something.

"i figured the briefcase was gone," he boomed fiddling with the blade.

"yeah well fuck the briefcase i couldn't even begin to tell ya where the fuck it was last."

"it's a shame i ran into your brother first. he was just...collateral damage. i wished to find you first but," he tsked, "that didn't happen now did it? seems like you can only blame yourself for his death. it's almost as if you were the one holding the blade, right? if you managed to keep the briefcase safe and secure and arrive in kyoto he would be here with us now, hm?" it was the first time in your life you felt defeated. you had no energy to muster up to fight nor did you want to but that didn't matter as he charged towards you, blade swinging out.

you ducked underneath the blade, grabbing his arm and slinging him against the seats. the knife you had on you was much smaller and it took getting a lot closer to try and attack. when the white death stumbled onto the seat he was leaned over and you took the knife dragging it diagonally across the length of his back. in response he swung his arm at you, the butt of the long knife hit you in the mouth that was now pouring blood. the two of you continued fighting back and forth nonstop for awhile, both blades dancing around each other occasionally marking each other with a new wound. for an old man he sure had a lot of stamina and it was starting to become hard to ignore the bullet wound ladybug had caused to your arm. the white dead punched you in the ear which made a loud ringing noise that was painful to bear, he then took his boot and kicked you in the center of your stomach and you flew to the floor. weakly you managed to crawl to your knees.

"just do it already, just kill me," you laughed in defeat throwing your weapons to the side. you looked crazed, the blood from your mouth covered your teeth and left a stain running down your chin. you had a long gash to your jaw that trailed up towards your temple. you looked far from okay.

"what are you waiting for?' you taunted him, "there's nothing else left for me here so do it you dick. i'm begging. i'm the one that should be dead."

before the white death had the opportunity, the glass from the door behind you shattered and he inhaled sharply before the knife fell to the floor and he grabbed his neck that was now bleeding profusely. you were like a deer in headlights, frozen in place watching as the man before you collapsed to the ground no longer posing a threat. you fell forward onto your hands heaving out a cry.

"please just kill me," you whispered over and over again waiting for the person behind you to end it all. instead you felt your body being rotated around and you came face to face with tangerine. his blue eyes frantically scanning over your face.

on the way towards the commotion lemon called tangerine letting him know he had found ladybug and a young girl and 'dealt with the matter' which is what caused tangerine to sidetrack himself away from you. when he managed to catch up is when he saw the white death towering over your hunched body and before he could attempt to harm you even more tangerine took out his gun and aimed it at the man.

tangerine had heard your pleads to the white death. he saw your shaking frame, the wickedness yet defeat in your tone. you were giving up and in the years of knowing you, tangerine had never witnessed such a sight. he had never seen you raise the white flag in a fight nor even entertain the idea that someone could ever defeat and kill you. this wasn't the fighter he knew, but he knew that seeing your brother dead was the cause of this and he didn't blame you. his chest felt constricted as he rushed to your side in any attempt to mend you.

"hey. hey... hey! focus on me," tangerine said gripping your face slightly shaking your head, "i'm here. you aren't dying today."

"he's gone," you broke, looking into tangerine's eyes which were laced with emotion, "like... really gone."

"i know, love. i'm so fuckin' sorry, i am," tangerine whispered mournfully, cradling your severely injured body.

"please," your voice barely a whisper pleaded as you grabbed the knife you had thrown to the side and gestured it towards tangerine.

tangerine swallowed so hard it hurt, "absolutely not," he said gripping the knife and tossing it back to the side. you let your eyes close, lips trembling as tangerine picked up your frame.

"we're getting off this train, okay?" tangerine declared into your hair.

with the white death gone, his men no longer breathing, the briefcase long gone, and a very battered tangerine and lemon, the three of you essentially crawled out of the bullet train when it made it's final stop in kyoto. you limped onto the platform with a bleeding arm and face and pivoted away from tangerine and lemon who were a few steps ahead of you.

"where are you goin'?" tangerine asked baffled.

"wherever i can," you muttered lazily gesturing towards the stairs.

tangerine ran his tongue across his teeth, rolling up one of his white sleeves, "very funny love."

tangerine sauntered over to you picking you up forcing you to wrap your legs around his torso. you didn't want the help. you didn't want to feel hopeless. you didn't need the twins to sulk with you and take care of you. but you couldn't help but ease into tangerine's arms. you didn't want to admit it but they were comfortable... and familiar. you've been in this position before, legs tangled around his body, his strong arms gripping your frame. less clothes were involved those times and lips were feverishly kissing the other. but you liked this as much as it pained you to admit, it was nice being vulnerable in his arms. you knew no matter how often you two spat with the other, said you hated each other, hell, even nearly killed the other, you two were connected in some weird unexplainable manner.

so, you let him. you let tangerine carry you through the station, into an awaiting car. he'd lean your head onto his shoulder and play absentmindedly with your fingers. he hated hospitals but he wanted to get you the best medical attention. he sat by your side as you were cleaned and stitched up and then he would take you back to his house. few words spoken. he would make you tea and bring you clothes, the bed sheets and covers pulled back as you lay down and tucked you in. he'd let you cry into his arms and grieve your brother and he would be there each day moving forward.

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chknbzkt · 9 months

Text

He’s been done for two weeks but I was holding him ransom for me to finish Roxy 😭 but here ya go!

I literally just based him off a more dexterous Kaprosuchus if that means anything 💀 those guys are dragons in their own right

I like the one on the bottom left the most <3

Stuff and things under the cut!

Tucked away from the cold up north in the Icerun, Scrimshaw Marsh gets its name from the abundance of ancient dead things (their skeletons specifically) peppered throughout and overgrown with rich plant life. These hallmarks of ages past make perfect hiding spots for big toothy things like our boy here to get the drop on the unwary.

Montgomery lives a life of rugged solitude, as while he’s certainly nothing to scoff at he is far from the only varmint prowling these muddy waters. As such, plenty of folks tend to steer clear of the far south of Scrimshaw altogether, as he and the rest of the bitey things frequent those waters more often than not.

Monty himself has amassed a reputation (knowing or otherwise) as an indiscriminate sinker of boats and a terror of villages who depend on the marsh for food and resources. That said, no one has ever truly laid eyes on him, as those he targets at what seems to be random never actually live to tell about it.

As such, more and more unrest and discontent among the locals is on the rise, as these attacks didn’t start until fairly recently and the rest of the wildlife was fairly well-behaved in comparison until this outlier started making a mess.

Which is to say, whether he’s aware of it, Monty here has a bounty on his head, he’s been labeled a “problem dragon” and all sorts of monster hunters can come forward and deal with him as they please, just so long as he doesn’t cause trouble for the locals any further.

Some are far less gracious than others.

That all said, I did say these attacks occurred at seemingly random… though some quieter folks whisper to those who will listen that they’ve seen eyes unlike the foreboding dim yellow of the shades, peering at them from the marshes on their way home with their haul in the evening hours, watching them, judging them…

They’d been caught out and away from the safety of their homes past sunset, and the shades that dwell in the muggy wetness of the mangroves and bones eagerly descended upon them.

For sure they would have vanished and their children left wondering what happened to them.

Instead the marshes, gone eerily, knowingly silent in anticipation of the harrowing fate of the unfortunate fishing couple, exploded with raucous splashes and uproarious thrashing.

Almost as soon as the fiercesome ruckus started, it was over. Another, more intense pair of eyes that seemed to glow with not malice but something else less antagonistic, continued to ogle them from the privacy of the reeds.

…and they made it home safe and sound as the piercing red lights sunk quietly into the marsh.

Call them old and foolish, perhaps there’s more to this mess than meets the eye.

#bzkt barf #fnaf smaugust #fnaf monty #fnaf montgomery #montgomery gator #fnaf sb au #dragon au #art #artistsontumblr

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sleekervae · 20 days

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The Bride [0.1]

Masterlist

Pairing: billy the kid x fem!reader

Summary: While out riding, Billy is stunned to come upon a young woman in a wedding gown begging for help. Without a second thought he comes to her aid and takes her back to town. Little does he know that rescuing this young bride will bring him more trouble than he bargained for.

Warnings: foul language, mentions of arranged marriage

Word Count: 4,946

The horse's hooves kicked up dust as he traversed the rugged terrain, the only sound breaking the stillness of the evening. Tall grasses swayed gently in the breeze, and the distant call of a lone coyote echoed through the vast expanse.

Billy's gaze swept over the horizon, taking in the breathtaking beauty of the untouched land. The sky was painted in shades of orange and pink, a stark contrast to the deep greens and browns of the earth below.

As boy and horse continued on their journey, the only companion the vastness of the frontier, Billy couldn't help but feel a sense of awe at the raw, untamed beauty of the land. The western frontier was a place of mystery and adventure, where danger lurked around every corner, but for now, it was a place of peace and tranquility, a sanctuary in the midst of chaos.

Though perhaps he thought too soon when he caught sight of what at he at first thought was a ghost. But ghosts didn't trip, nor did they cuss between shouts for help. At least, Billy didn't think so. Though the closer he came to the ghost, the more he came to realize there was nothing supernatural about them.

It was a woman, young and fair, her once pristine wedding gown now stained and torn, her face etched with frustration and desperation. She stumbled forward, one hand gripping the layers to her skirt while her other arm frantically waved him down.

"Hey! Hey, can you help me?" despite her appearance, her voice was direct, unshaken.

"What in the hell happened to you?" Billy couldn't help it, the words slipped out before he had a moment to process.

The bride stood before him now and he could have a better look at her. She was slender and small, her figure striking against the backdrop of the tall grass. Her long brown hair, once carefully styled in a bridal updo, now cascaded around her shoulders in a messy tangle, strands framing her face in a wild halo. Despite the disarray, her hair shimmered in the fading light, catching the last rays of the setting sun.

Her wedding gown, once a symbol of joy and celebration, was now stained and torn, the fabric clinging to her form in a way that spoke of hardship and struggle. Despite the wear and tear, the gown still held a sense of elegance, the intricate lace and delicate embroidery standing out against the rugged backdrop of the wilderness.

Her gaze locked with the Billy's, though oddly enough the resilience he saw in her face struck him anew. She didn't appear as a desperate, lost and helpless bride.

"It's a long, fuckin' story," she grumbled, dropping her skirt in a huff, "Where you comin' from?"

"Santa Fe,"

"Mind if I ride back with you?"

Billy took a look around, in the back of his mind he was worried that this girl may be luring him into some sort of trap. But he was out in the open, if someone was going to come out and ambush him, they would've done it by now. And something about the dirt and cuts on this girl told him she wasn't faking it.

"Look, if I had any money to offer, I would --"

"Sure thing," he offered her his hand, to which she took gratefully. She hooked her heeled boot into the stirrup and pulled herself up behind Billy. The horse snuffled and shifted to regain her balance under the added weight, and with a hard crack of the reigns, Billy and the bride clung on as the horse galloped through the tall grass.

Dusk began to close in, casting long shadows across the landscape as they rode back to Santa Fe. The fading light painted the sky in hues of orange and pink, a stark contrast to the deepening shadows that enveloped the land.

The bride remained silent most of the way, making a couple grunts and huffs when they'd hit rougher terrain. Billy was ever the more curious.

"So, what did he do?" he asked.

"Excuse me?" the bride lifted her head.

"Your fella? Your husband or whatever. What did he do for you to ditch 'im at the altar?" he craned his head as best he could, meeting her gaze, "Or did you just get cold feet and bolt?"

The bride scoffed and gave her head a simple shake, "Call me crazy, but I'm not exactly eager to marry a man I barely met a month ago," she replied.

"I think that's pretty justified," he nodded, "So you left 'im?"

"Yes sir," she confirmed.

"Where did you run from?" he asked.

"Rosario,"

Billy paused in disbelief, " -- you... you came all the way from Rosario?"

"You sound surprised," she simpered.

Billy shook his head, "I don't mean to offend, ma'am, but how in the hell did you wander all the way here from Rosario in that fuckin' dress?"

"Simple answer is I had a horse," she replied casually, "Until he got spooked and ran off. But I knew there was a town this way so I was just sort of... praying for refuge. And I'm not even a catholic woman,"

"Well, I'm happy to oblige you," he turned back to her again, "What's your name?"

"... Eleanor," she drawled, "And what about you?"

"William. But friends and family call me Billy,"

Eleanor smirked, "So what would you rather I call you?"

"Whatever you feel like, Miss Eleanor," he grinned back.

"You can drop the 'miss'. A lot of people who know me wouldn't regard me as much of a lady," she sighed.

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" he asked.

"Depends who you ask," she replied simply.

Billy shrugged, "Well, if you ask me -- I reckon you're a very beautiful lady, Eleanor"

Eleanor scoffed back, never the less her smile remained on her lips, "Thank you... Billy," He noticed the slight drawl in her tone, a thread of a southern accent that he found quite charming.

They soon trotted into town. Shops were just closing up for the day, camaraderie and chatter could be heard from within saloons and oil lamps were coming to life as dusk fell. A few stragglers turned and stared peculiarly at the pair, at Eleanor particularly. She knew she had to get changed, she stuck out like a sore thumb in that dress.

"My ma runs a boarding house here, you're more than welcome to stay if you like," Billy told her, "We'll get you fed, into some new clothes,"

Eleanor grinned sheepishly, "That's very kind of you, Billy, but I couldn't. I don't have money on me at the moment," she replied.

"Don't worry about the money right now, my ma will understand," and he turned to her, "We'll just get you back on your feet for the moment," he had such kind eyes, warm and soulful despite their crystalline shade of blue. He equally found her to be quite sweet in spite of her sharp tongue.

"Alright. I appreciate that," she nodded, "Sooner I can get out of this dress, the better I reckon,"

Billy smiled at her, "It's a might shame, it looks stunning on you,"

She stifled a chuckle, "Try not to cry too hard when you see me out of it,"

Billy brought Eleanor to the boarding house, where Kathleen welcomed her with open arms. Kathleen, ever the caretaker, was more than happy to assist the poor girl in her time of need. She offered Eleanor a blouse and a skirt to replace her tattered wedding dress, which was gently tucked away. Eleanor considered the dress; perhaps she could clean it up and sell it, a small act of independence in the midst of her turmoil.

"Have you got any money on you?" Kathleen asked.

Eleanor shook her head, "No ma'am, I'm very sorry," she replied.

Kathleen nodded, shooting a dubious look Billy's way. While she didn't mind helping, she was just making ends meet with her business and couldn't quite afford charity. Billy knew that. But she wasn't totally heartless, either.

"Can you clean?" she then asked.

"And cook," Eleanor volunteered.

Kathleen cracked a smile, "Well, I think we can have you work off your wages for a while,"

"I'd appreciate that very much," Eleanor smiled gratefully.

"Think nothing of it," Kathleen took her by the arm and started for the hall, "I'll show you where you'll be sleeping,"

Billy watched Eleanor vanish into the darkness with Kathleen, a smile playing on his lips that didn't quite reach his eyes. Her fleeting, grateful look lingered in his mind, stirring a mix of emotions. Yet, as he pondered her sudden departure, a nagging inkling tugged at him, whispering doubts about her intentions. Rosario was a half a day's journey at least, and Billy couldn't help but wonder about Eleanor's lack of provisions. How desperate was she to leave, and was her escape merely temporary? Or was there something more nefarious she was running from?

In the early afternoon sun of Santa Fe, the bustling streets came alive with activity, the air filled with the sounds of hooves clattering against the dusty ground and the chatter of locals going about their day. The rickety, wooden buildings that lined the streets cast long shadows, providing a welcome respite from the intense heat. The scent of woodwork and cooking wafted through the streets, mingling with the earthy aroma of the desert.

Billy stepped into the kitchen of the boarding house, the scent of freshly brewed coffee and cornmeal mush filling the air. His eyes immediately sought out Eleanor, who stood at the stove, a look of concentration on her face as she mixed her batter with practiced ease. She looked happy and calm, a far cry from the distressed bride he had found not twenty-four hours ago.

Relief washed over him at the sight of her. Despite his lingering mistrust, he couldn't help but feel a sense of comfort in her presence. He approached her cautiously, keeping his guard up.

"Mornin'," he said, his voice soft but cautious.

She turned to him, a warm smile lighting up her face, "Good morning," she then glanced at the stove, "There's coffee made, if you'd like some,"

"Thank you," he went to fetch a cup off of the counter, "How did you sleep?"

"As well as expected, I suppose," she poured her batter into a pot, "Your mother's been awful kind to me, I hope to repay you all in kind soon,"

Billy studied her for a moment, searching for any hint of deception in her eyes. Finding none, he nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"You helping my ma is enough," he assured her, "It's hard to keep help around sometimes, so most days it's me and my brother helping out,"

Eleanor simpered, "I met Joe this morning, sweet kid. Your mother's very lucky to have you both," she said.

"Yeah," he leaned over the counter, the cup still clenched in his hand, "She's a good woman, I do everything I can to look after her,"

She cocked her head, "How old are you, Billy?"

"Seventeen,"

"Seventeen..." Eleanor echoed in awe, her voice soft with understanding, "And already you feel responsible for her, am I right?"

Billy was at first perplexed by her statement, but as he pondered her words, he began to recognize the weight of her insight.

"I suppose so," he replied with a shrug, his expression reflecting a mix of resignation and determination, "My... step-dad... hasn't been pulling in the money lately, so I do what I can to help. I don't want to let her down."

"I don't blame you," Eleanor nodded, her gaze thoughtful. "I wish my mother was like yours."

"What's your mother like?" Billy inquired.

Eleanor sighed deeply, her movements slow and deliberate as she stirred her cornmeal batter, "She was... there when she needed to be," she replied, her voice tinged with sadness, "Most times, though, she wasn't. She died about two years ago,"

Billy felt a pang of empathy. "I'm very sorry to hear that... My father died when I was twelve,"

Eleanor glanced at him, her eyes catching a glimpse of the vulnerability beneath his stoic exterior, "I'm so sorry. What happened to him?"

"He wasn't too well... up here," Billy tapped the side of his head lightly. "What about your mother?"

"Syphilis. Plain awful," Eleanor muttered bitterly. "How was your mother when he died?"

"She was heartsick, we all were. But she's strong, we pushed on because of her," Billy explained. "What about your father?"

"My father... wasn't the same. He never really recovered," she replied, her voice trailing off, "Suppose that's why he stuck me in that dress not a minute after I was eighteen," she added with a bitter laugh, though her eyes betrayed a mix of spite and sorrow.

Billy approached her slowly, "Well, must bring you some peace to get away. You don't have to go back to Rosario," he assured her.

Eleanor's bitter glare melted away, her soft smile slipping across her face again, "It does. And I appreciate all the help and kindness you've given me,"

Billy's gaze softened as he studied Eleanor, a flicker of something new and unexpected stirring within him. He had been wary of her, guarded against the possibility of deception. Yet, as he looked into her deep brown eyes, he saw only sincerity and a genuine desire to move forward.

"I'm glad to hear that, Eleanor. Truly," he said, his voice warm with sincerity. The smile that tugged at his lips was genuine, a reflection of the newfound respect and admiration he felt for her.

Eleanor was a bit rusty with the chores, but she was giving it her all. Billy didn't mind pitching in, whether it was collecting and folding bedsheets, chopping firewood, or even cleaning dishes alongside her.

Their time together was anything but dull. Billy learned a lot about Eleanor; her family was originally from France but came to America over seventy years ago. They lived in South Carolina for a while until the work dried up and they too decided to start over again in the West. It was tough trying to get more information about her family, how she grew up. Billy got the sense she didn't want to talk much about her childhood, so he eventually dropped it altogether.

Eleanor was equally curious about Billy—how he ended up in Santa Fe, his favorite foods, his card-playing skills. She mentioned her desire to learn poker, so Billy took it upon himself to teach her. With an old deck of cards, he patiently explained the game's ins and outs. Though Eleanor struggled with the rules at first, she improved with each hand, even if she did keep losing her peanuts to Billy.

Joe, despite his young age, joined in the card games, offering Eleanor pointers on improving her strategy. Whenever Billy scolded his brother, Joe would playfully stick out his tongue, which never failed to amuse Eleanor. She found herself growing fond of these boys, feeling comfortable and at ease in their company.

Their leisure time eventually gave way to preparing supper for the boarders. While their meal options were limited, Eleanor managed to whip up a simple yet tasty stew. Billy assisted, chopping vegetables carefully to avoid any mishaps. Despite his best efforts, he did slip once, cutting his finger. Eleanor immediately called for Joe to fetch bandages, insisting on wrapping Billy's wound to prevent any blood from getting into the stew.

"Ain't no way in hell you're getting any blood in my stew, Billy Antrim," Eleanor said, her sass bringing out her southern accent, which only added to her charm in Billy's eyes. He found himself increasingly drawn to her, finding her both amusing and captivating.

The day melted into evening, painting the sky in shades of indigo. Bright stars dotted the darkness, casting a serene backdrop for Billy and Eleanor. They sat on the roof outside his window, their conversation flowing effortlessly as if they were old friends. Eleanor felt a deep connection to Billy, as if she had known him forever. His gentle nature and warm charm were like a balm to her soul, familiar and comforting. She couldn't shake the feeling that she must've known him in another life.

"Up there's the Orion's Belt," Billy pointed to a cluster of stars above. Eleanor cocked a brow.

"That don't look like any belt to me," she simpered.

Billy chuckled back, "You can't look at it too critically. It's those three dots up there," he pointed again, "Orion was a great hunter who was eventually placed in the stars by Zeus after his death. And those three stars that make up his belt are called Alnitak, Alnilam, and Mintaka,"

She looked to him, surprised yet intrigued at his knowledge of the cosmos, "How do you know all that?" she asked.

"An old man told me the stories, long ago," he shrugged back, "Stayed with me, I guess,"

Eleanor nodded, her gaze reluctantly leaving his captivating eyes to focus on the sky, "It's kind of romantic, isn't it? When we die, we become stars. Our stories live on forever," she mused.

"Yeah," Billy agreed, casting another glance her way, "It's pretty romantic."

She was sad when she realized the time, knew they both had to be up in the morning to do the day all over again. However, Eleanor couldn't find herself to be lethargic or annoyed. She was excited for what tomorrow would bring, a feeling she hadn't enjoyed in quite some time.

The next day was just like any other. Though this time Billy felt different; he had a little pep in his step. Sure, it wouldn't be noticeable if you didn't know him, or if you weren't paying attention. But Billy felt different, a good type of different. He could've chalked it down to the actual good night's sleep he got, the lack of commotion in the street this morning, or simply him noting how pretty Eleanor looked in the radiant morning sun while she was taking down the laundry.

Billy suddenly felt an arm fly around his shoulders, catching him off guard as he made his way to the saloon. It was his friend Carlos, his face lit up with mischief.

"Aye, Billy!" Carlos exclaimed, his voice merry, "You didn't tell me you were getting married! Felicidades!"

Billy chuckled, shaking his head as he removed Carlos' arm, "The hell are you going on about?" he asked, amused.

"The bride! Everyone's talking about her!" Carlos replied matter-of-factly, "Where did you pick her up?"

Billy sighed, rubbing his temples. "Out in the plains," he explained. "She wandered out from Rosario,"

Carlos stopped in his tracks, a look of bewilderment crossing his face, "You're kiddin'. That's half a day's trek!"

"That's what she told me, anyway," Billy said with a shrug, "I thought she was bait for a gang of rustlers or something, but she seems alright so far,"

"Right…" Carlos nodded slowly, falling back into step with Billy, "And how lucky for you, she's staying in your boarding house?"

Billy stifled a laugh. "Don't go around telling tall tales about me, now,"

"Me? Pfft, never," Carlos retorted, holding his head high.

As they continued down the street, the atmosphere of camaraderie began to fade as the sound of hooves thundered into town. The locals turned to see a group of men on horseback, dressed in infantry uniforms with shiny rifles slung across their backs. They were members of the U.S Army, and their arrival drew a curious and apprehensive gaze from the townspeople.

The town's sheriff stepped forward, hands plastered to his hips as he greeted the captain.

"Gentlemen, can I help you?" the sheriff asked.

"Why, yes you can," the captain drawled, dawning a thicker southern accent, "My boys and I have been riding since yesterday, we're looking for a young woman. She would have been wearing a wedding dress," he raised his hand to his knee, "'Bout five and a half feet tall, pretty brown eyes,"

"I see," the sheriff nodded, "This girl is your daughter?"

"My wife. Or... she was supposed to be," he chuckled bitterly, "Plain up and left me at the altar,"

Billy felt a lump in his throat, disbelief and disdain growing within him. This army captain was probably older then Henry Antrim. He sported a neatly trimmed mustache, reminiscent of those European settlers who often passed through, adding a touch of character to his otherwise disciplined appearance. His attire was completed with polished boots and a well-placed insignia on his cap, signifying his rank and authority.

There was no way, absolutely no way, that Eleanor was meant to marry this man. It was no wonder she had run away.

Carlos didn't need a second glance at Billy to understand his thoughts; he placed a calming hand on his shoulder. Billy stood with clenched fists, his rugged fingernails digging into his palms, his expression unwavering.

The sheriff adjusted his hat, scanning the crowd of locals, "Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you, Captain, but I think I would've noticed a woman in a wedding dress running around in my town," he stated.

Billy started to relax slightly. Perhaps the captain hadn't seen him ride in with Eleanor? Perhaps he hadn't heard the gossip from the townspeople?

But luck was not on Billy's side. An older man approached, wiping sweat from his greying whiskers. "Hold on, Sheriff! I saw the older Antrim kid ride in with a girl in white the other day!" he exclaimed. "All dolled up and everything. She was kinda dirty, though."

"Is that so, Angus?" the sheriff inquired.

"Plum right! Old Taylor saw her too!" Angus affirmed, pointing to another old man on a storefront stoop, who nodded in agreement.

The sheriff gave a thoughtful hum, glancing back at the captain, who maintained a stiff, expectant smile. Turning to face Billy and Carlos under another awning, the sheriff's gaze was piercing, "Where's this girl, Billy?" he asked.

Billy was speechless, struggling to find the right words. He may not have been the best judge of character, but he liked Eleanor. And there was something about this captain that didn't sit right with him, the significant age gap being just one concern.

As Billy tried to form a response, a cry rang out from behind them. "Hey! Thief!" another local shouted, rushing into the street with a pitchfork in hand, "Sheriff! Some girl up and took off with my horse!"

"Which way did she go?"

"Towards the lake!"

In that moment, Billy knew he had to seize the opportunity. He made a quick decision and darted off to retrieve his own horse.

The moment that she heard the thundering horses ride into town, Eleanor knew she had to get out and get out fast. She didn't want to, but she had no other option than take the first horse she saw. She cracked the reigns hard, keeping her head down and focus sharp as she rode away under the blazing sun. She wasn't going back to her settlement, and she certainly wasn't going to be married.

Little did she know she had Billy hot on her trail. It didn't take long for him to catch up to her, spotting her as just a speck in the distance. He pushed his horse as hard as he could, at the same time trying to put together some sort of plan. He didn't want to let the captain have Eleanor, but he also felt she couldn't leave. Not at least without an explanation.

Billy was gaining fast, but not fast enough. On his hip he had his gun holster. He didn't shoot it very often, more often he used it as an intimidation tactic for when the boys at the saloon got a little out of hand. And by no means did he want to shoot Eleanor either, but he needed her to stop, just for a minute. He drew his gun and took aim, popping a shot off of her right. The bullet sliced through the earth and dirt ricocheted across the galloping horse. It stopped and reared up, nearly throwing the frightened Eleanor off its back.

When the horse came down Eleanor turned around, frantic and furious to find Billy was the one who shot at her.

"What the fuck!? Are you fucking crazy!?" she hollered as he approached, "You could've killed me!"

"Why didn't you say something?" he asked, not even caring to acknowledge his stunt.

"And what was I supposed to say, Billy?" she scoffed.

"That the U.S fucking army was going to be coming after you!" he snapped.

"Because you wouldn't have helped me!" she shouted back, "And don't pretend like you would've. Nobody wants to get in the way of the infantry!"

Billy shook his head, "Well, it might've been nice to know! We could've taken off this morning!"

"To where? Where could we go, Billy?" Eleanor asked, "We're barely fucking adults, and your mother needs you!"

"We can figure something out," he said, "Maybe I can talk to the sheriff? Maybe he can get the captain to see reason!"

Eleanor scoffed, "You know what I did in Rosario, Billy? I ran my father's books. When my mother died, and he lost his mind, I ran the whole damn ranch. I kept everything in top condition from the pay to the fucking cow feed!" she snapped, "And how do I get rewarded? With my father selling my dowry to the captain for protection from the Apache! I'm not gonna' watch a whole army decimate a people for no good reason, and I'm certainly not some little woman who's gonna sit around and be a good little wife!" she explained frantically.

"But Eleanor --"

"That man came all the way up here looking for me, he's not gonna' leave until he gets me. And it's safer for everyone in town if I disappear as quickly as I can. I'm sorry if you can't understand!"

Billy huffed, as much as it annoyed him he knew she was right. Having gone with her would paint a large target on both of their backs, and Billy couldn't bare to cause his mother any heartbreak like that. At the same time, he was scared for Eleanor, God only knew what she would face if she went out into the frontier by herself.

"I understand, Eleanor. I do," he nodded, "I just wish I could help you,"

Eleanor pulled her horse up beside his, coming to sit next to him, "You have done so much to help me, already. I'm so grateful to you, and your family. And I will repay you some day," she promised, "Hell, take that ugly old dress to the tailor, you might get something for it,"

Billy gave her a once over glance. She was still in the blouse and skirt Kathleen gave her, a single canteen of water was tied to the saddle. She wouldn't make it out there for long on her own, not with what she had. Without a second thought he shed his linen coat and dug into his pockets for whatever money he had on him.

"Take this," he placed the coat over her shoulders, "And this," and he handed her the money.

"Oh my God, I can't. Billy --" she tried to give the money back.

"Just take it," he assured her, "I don't know when you'll find the next town, but that should get you some food at least,"

Her chest began to ache, he'd shown her more kindness in the last two days than any man had in her lifetime. And she had a feeling he was just too stubborn to let her go without the money and coat. She looked to him reluctantly.

"... Are you absolutely sure?"

"I'm positive," he nodded, "You gotta' go. They're gonna be coming out here looking for the both of us, soon enough,"

Eleanor nodded, slipping the coat on properly and placing the money in the pocket, "Thank you, Billy -- for everything,"

He put on a brave smile, "Think nothing of it, Eleanor,"

She swore his smile was something she'd keep imprinted in her brain, a shred of comfort and happiness on the days where she may not find such. Without a word, she reached up, gently cupped his face, and pressed her lips to his in a kiss that was urgent yet tender, filled with gratitude and unspoken emotions. Billy was momentarily taken by surprise but responded instinctively, his hand cupping around her neck as he deepened the kiss, matching her intensity. He could feel the steady beat of her pulsing heart beneath his touch. For a brief moment, time seemed to stand still as they lost themselves their moment.

When they finally parted, Billy was momentarily taken aback by her actions. He held her gaze for a moment longer, silently conveying everything he couldn't put into words.

She took the reins again, and she gave him one last coy smile, "Try not to look so sad, Billy. I'll see you around," with that, she snapped the reigns and took off South.

Billy was conflicted, on the one hand he figured he could go after her. Go with her, see what kind of adventures they could find... maybe even kiss her again?

On the other hand he knew he couldn't never leave his mother and brother at the hands of Henry. So with a heavy heart, he waited until she was a speck in the distance before he started back for town.

As he approached, the infantry began to ride out. The captain approached him, his posture stiff and upright. "Well? Did you find her?" he asked.

Billy shook his head, masking his disdain, "She had too much of a head start," he replied.

"Dammit!" the captain cursed, scanning the horizon, "Well, which way did she go?"

Billy met his gaze, a steely resolve in his eyes, "North," he told him, "She was heading up North,"

"She's prolly' headin' to Colorado, Capt'n!" one the soldiers piped in.

The captain scoffed, "Well, that's where we're going. Let's move, boys!" and in a hurried stampede, they took off North. Billy let out a small sigh of relief, but the ache in his chest didn't cease. He could only pray to high heaven that Eleanor would be safe, and that maybe he'd see her again one day.

#billy the kid #billy the kid x reader #billy the kid smut #billy the kid imagine #billy the kid x you #billy the kid 2022 #billy the kid x female!reader #william h bonney #william h bonney x reader #william h bonney smut #william h bonney x you #william bonney #william bonney x reader #william bonney smut #tom blyth #tom blyth x reader #original story #original female character #imagine blog

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general-cyno · 4 months

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ehh it's just me musing but. I do find it a little curious that (depending on who likes whom I guess) cora is usually either seen as some saintly flawless goofy figure or a brainwashed cop who got killed because he refused to try and save his brother. I do think his character is not exactly easy to pinpoint, considering he appears for a very short time and in a flashback nonetheless, plus the fact that he's dead means no further fleshing out of his character - broadly speaking - outside of the people who knew him and are willing to provide insight on what he was like, though that'd still be kinda biased.

however I believe there's actually a bunch of things that were straight up shown and some that can be pieced together from what little panel/screen time he had: ie how he's seemingly more bad tempered, impulsive and violent than he's portrayed as in fanon at times, albeit motivated by his own priorities at the moment (trying to kick the shit out of law to stop him from exposing cora to doflamingo) + his sense of what's right and wrong and to whom it applies (punching medical staff and setting hospitals on fire for mistreating law, whom he'd been trying to help).

specifically about the navy and doflamingo part... it irks me a little, tbh. partly because it removes what little agency cora had during the flashbacks and sort of waters down his motivation to stop his brother. it's not just whatever crimes doflamingo was committing or planning to back then and the navy wanting to put a stop to that - the thing is that cora was influenced, at least to an extent, to oppose doflamingo based on their childhood experiences with (ofc) the more negative ones, which include doffy murdering their father right in front of him, overshadowing anything else. as he tells law, cora can't fathom how their kind parents could've borne someone as evil as his brother. and yet. that's the other thing. cora was very much a child, and younger than doflamingo at that, when the elder DQs chose to leave marijoa and all that it entailed after. between all the traumatic events he lived through and later being raised by a marine (sengoku of all people), I'll be the first to say his perception of those events, of their parents and doffy himself is not really the most unbiased or reliable. we don't see him questioning the existence of celestial dragons (beyond warning law he's in danger when cora finds out about the D) nor the nature of the WG/the marines and the antagonistic role they play in OP's universe. we didn't have him long enough for those things to be put to question deeply anyway, especially not wrt to doflamingo, so imo it makes sense that his focus wasn't on "saving" but stopping him.

that said... he does witness the worst of it, kind of. through law. law is the very reason why I don't agree with the idea of cora being simply a brainwashed cop. this guy watched how people (those who should care) mistreated, dehumanized and demonized a sick child over prejudices caused by the lies the nobles and WG itself relied on to sweep their own corruption under the rug. he saw first hand how all those doctors ran to call the WG to kill the child and how they answered to do that. and what did he do? he lied and betrayed the organization he'd been part of (presumably for more than the years he spent undercover) and the man who'd raised him like a son just to save the kid that everyone, even the so called justice, had turned his back on and would've gotten rid of if given the chance. heck, when he first brought up the topic of law with sengoku, the man basically told him not to favor him too much for it could jeopardize his mission.

but perhaps the biggest proof is that he lied to law about being a marine when the latter directly asked if cora was one. as he later admits, cora lied to him about this because he didn't want law to hate him - and knowing all law lived through (flevance), seeing some of it himself (their hospital shenanigans) and what law told him as well, cora knew he had plenty of understandable and justified reasons to hate anyone ever slightly associated with the marines or the WG, including cora. to me, someone who's completely blinded by the navy/WG propaganda and follows their every order to the letter without thought wouldn't have denied his own affiliation nor been so determined to ditch being a marine and make an enemy out of those institutions (even if that also meant betraying his father figure) just to save, protect and do right by a child who'd been clearly failed by them. at no point did cora ever try to argue that Not All Marines, much less express any other sentiments of that sort to law.

on a similar vein, despite insisting doflamingo was evil and an agent of destruction - law is also the proof cora was somewhat aware that his brother (and people like doflamingo) normally don't pop out of nowhere and do Terrible Things just because. that maybe in other (better) circumstances, doffy might've become someone different and/or made different choices. after all, cora is the one who points out the similarities between doflamingo and law, and eventually does his best to turn law's life around so that he won't follow the same path. should he have tried to save doflamingo as well? when? how? would it have worked? who knows. and if you ask me, regardless of their similarities at that moment in time, doffy was already a grown ass man compared to law and cora himself was just an even younger kid when shit hit the fan in their childhood. I'm not sure doflamingo (as an adult) would've been particularly receptive of "help" either, considering his disdain for the kindness in cora and their father that he saw as a weakness. not to mention waaay too many other factors that come into play also (trebol and co's grooming and influence for example). still, one of them did pull the literal trigger in the end and it wasn't cora, so there's that.

all in all, for a character with such a short lived amount of time in the story - cora is quite the complex one and so very compelling. characterizing him as just strictly one thing or the other can be a little reductive but the fact that his character can be explored beyond that in the first place (once more, despite his lil bit of alive and onscreen moments) is what's fun and says a lot about the writing itself.

#tp #one piece #donquixote rosinante #donquixote corazon #I need to chew on him like he's a dog toy #mentally ill abt a dead guy who was in like 5 out of 1000+ chapters. life is good #also before someone misunderstands fics and such are free real state these characters are dolls to play with #I'm talking abt canon specific scenarios

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cosmerelists · 1 month

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What Cosmere Characters' Rooms Look Like (But Mostly In Terms of Vibes)

As requested by @rainbyanyothername :)

Here is my take on what the vibe of Cosmere characters' rooms would be--vibes mostly because I don't want to be stuck to, like, what bedrooms are canonically like in the various worlds. We're going by vibes, baby!

1. Adolin

I think that, as soon as he stopped having to abide by his father's strict "all rooms must follow the codes somehow" standards, Adolin went his own way...and that way was tasteful and fashionable. Adolin is the sort of guy whose bedroom pieces all match--but not in a "all bought from a matching set" kind of way, but rather, like, a deep orange bedspread and a forest green rug that somehow complement each other beautifully. It's neat--he is NOT going to wrinkle his clothes by tossing them over a chair--but also clearly lived in and homey.

2. Zellion

He doesn't have a room. :( He's always on the run. :( How rude of you to even ask. :(

3. Shallan

I just remember how happy Shallan was to be in that big fluffy comforter when she first moved in with Sebarial. I think she'd love to have that deeply soft bed and that big fluffy comforter and a beanbag chair and also a big egress window in case she has to escape in the night to do spy stuff. It is also definitely not neat.

4. Jasnah

Well...we know nothing is soft if Jasnah can help it. Her mattress is firm, her rug (if she has one) is low-pile, and she has bookshelves everywhere.

5. Wax

I think he has deerskin-rug-on-the-floor-guns-on-the-walls-but-also-everything-in-there-costs-one-million-dollars vibes. Except for the boots, which Wayne left behind as a trade and are worth $1.50.

6. Ranette

Her room is gross and cluttered and every single surface is either guns or gun parts.

7. Dalinar

I mean, surely this one is obvious: his room is Spartan. Dalinar has the minimum amount of furniture necessary to make a room a room, and he didn't even have any photographs before Navani came along. He thinks slippers are extravagant.

8. Lightsong

I mean, this one is clear from canon. Lightsong has, like, nineteen pillows and sixteen blankets and carpets on top of his carpets and a lot of objects that could only be called "baubles."

9. Sigzil

I don't think Sigzil is quite as Spartan as Dalinar--or at least, it isn't a moral thing for him. I think Sigzil would live fairly simply because he's not a big stuff person, and it would be neat on the surface but perhaps a bit dusty if you looked too closely because he's out a lot.

10. Zane

All I know is that his room has a My Chemical Romance poster on its wall...in, like, vibes.

11. Breeze

He has a wine fridge. It's by the bed. His room his mostly tasteful and masculine and, like, full of oak...but also there are sparkly pink pillows and doilies everywhere. We all know why.

12. Kelsier

Kelsier's room would be a sanctuary to Mare; like not-touched-at-all-since-she-was-last-there-even-though-he-feels-like-weeping-whenever-he-sees-it-but-he-can't-throw-away-that-crumpled-up-kleenex-because-Mare-touched-it sort of vibes. Sorry :(

13. Vasher

His room his gross. He thinks he can wear his socks three times before they need washing and in the meantime he will be leaving them on that chair.

14. Vivenna

Her room is very neat--she definitely makes her bed every morning and actually moves books to dust underneath them--and there is, just, no color anywhere.

15. Kaladin

If you asked Kaladin what he wanted in a bedroom he would be like "A mattress?? To sleep on?? What else do you need in a bedroom???" And yes, he's definitely a mattress-put-directly-on-the-floor boy. But then Syl keeps collecting cool leaves and flowers and putting them around, and there are some rocks from Tien, and a flute that somehow ended up back with him, and Adolin gave him something called a "decorative pillow" and in the end it's still a mattress on the floor but surrounded by things brought in by people who love him.

#cosmere #cosmerelists #Adolin #Zellion #Shallan #Jasnah #Wax #Ranette #Dalinar #Lightsong #Sigzil #Zane #Breeze #Kelsier #Vivenna #Vasher #Kaladin

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thewritetofreespeech · 24 days

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Fly me to the Moon

Astarion x Tav

WORDS: 2.6K RATING: T PAIRING: Ascended!Astarion x Tav SUMMARY: just as they were settled, plans seem to change. (sort of a sequel to [x])

Despite having all the luxuries and money available to him now, Astarion preferred to sleep in a smaller bed.

When you had finished redecorating the castle, an arduous process as you didn’t realize how big it was until you started, Astarion had been left the bedroom per his request and actually did it a lot more modestly than you thought he would. Somehow you envisioned gold for every nailed down surface, ornate rugs patterned across the floor, mirrors or reflective surfaces anywhere he could put them to preen at his reflection any space moment; now that he had it back.

There was a bit of gold. 1 larger rug under the bed to keep the feet from touching cold marble first thing in the morning. More than a few mirrors. But the part that surprised you was how…average the bed was. Along with the grandeur, you thought Astarion would want a lake of a bed to dominate the room. He corrected you and said that a bed like that wouldn’t be necessary as his intention was to be wrapped around you every night for eternity, so all of it would go to waste.

That’s why it was so strange when you realized he wasn’t there beside you in your sleep.

You awoke and sat up. Scanning the dark room and landing on a small light by the desk on the far side with Astarion sitting at it. His handsome face pursed in thought but warmed by the candlelight. You slipped out of bed onto the soft rug and walked over to see what he was doing so late at night.

"Oh, hello my love. Did I wake you?"

You shook your head. Coming up beside him to see what he was working on. "What's all this?"

"Maps for our travels." He announced. Showing you one that was faded and worn. "Although, we may have to engage a new map maker or literary archivist for some updated ones. I think some of these are older than I am."

"But not nearly as pretty." You reply with a chuckle. Kissing his cheek. "Why the sudden interest in geography? I thought we agreed to stay in the Gate for a while. 'Set up camp'. Establish a base for your great dark empire."

"Eh. I changed my mind." Astarion said that as if he had changed it on a whim. Perhaps he had. But the work he had poured himself over led you to believe this was a thought that had been seeping for a while. "I realized; I haven't actually left the city at all in 200 years. Where that Nautiloid spit me out was the furthest I had traveled since....I can't remember when. And, if it hadn't, picked me up and spit me out that is, I would still be here. Trapped in the city. My new gifts have left me with a literally world of possibilities to break free of these walls. It would be a shame to squander them.”

You supposed that was true. Astarion’s ascension had given him a lot of new abilities. Including, but not limited to, his continued ability to walk in the sun. Which made leaving the Gate all the more possible. There was a big, bright new world out there. You could see why he would want to leave. “Hmm…so, where do you want to go first then?”

“I…don’t know.” He told you honestly. “I have the means to go anywhere and yet somehow…that seems more challenging than no choices.”

“A burden of options.”

“Exactly!” He seemed incredibly pleased that you got it, without having to explain or dumb it down for you. “Just so long as we don’t have to sleep in the dirt again, I really have no real opinion on where we go.”

“No feelings of nostalgia bedding down by a campfire?”

“Oh please….” He seemed less pleased with that quip. “Have you traveled anywhere? You know, for all our near deaths and how intimate we are now, I also just realized I know almost nothing about you. Other than your body and parts of your mind from the tadpole.” Astarion leaned in close to take your hand. “I’m such a cad.”

You chuckle at him. But you tell Astarion no, you haven’t traveled before. Not really. Not the far off, wonderous, exotic, or lavish places Astarion probably had in mind to show you. Different beaches down the River Chionthar. The country side. Nothing special.

“Good!” He announced when you told him. Spinning around and standing from his desk. “I want us to share all of this together. See it all for the first time, side by side, as my consort. And, be the first to make love to you on every continent imaginable.”

You lean in close when he leaned forward to kiss you. Coiling your fingers through his wavy hair as he pulled you in by the waist. “I suppose we should start packing.”

“Hmm…yes. But that can wait until later.” You let out a surprised sound when Astarion lifted you up in his arms bridal style. Grinning at you with that cheeky smile of his. “For now, I think we should practice a bit before our journey. You can’t just expect to make love on every continent without a little stamina training, yes?” You giggle as he carried you back to bed.

Once you were done, and sufficiently exhausted, you fell asleep dreaming of far off places and exotic shores. The smell of salt air. The warm feeling of tall grass. All of it in your mind’s eye, along with Astarion.

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auspicioustidings · 8 months

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Firewatch Part 3

Summary: You are taken care of and things take a turn for the sinister.

Word Count: 3.1k

CW: Kidnapping, dub-con

You struggled and struggled but Simon, no not Simon, Ghost held your back to his chest in a vice grip. His hand over your mouth muffled your desperate screams, the strength of him so at odds with the syrupy words he was cooing into your ear.

“There baby, I know it’s hard but you’re going to be ok. We’re going to make you ok.”

The high whine of a trapped animal left you, the tendrils of it that could escape his hand barely above audible. You could feel that he was hard at your back, hear the groans coming from him when you struggled against him and gave him friction.

“Fuck sweetheart, need you to stay still.”

Your muscles strained to be free of him as he started rutting against your ass, chasing his own pleasure without realising. It was dark in this closet. You could hear the cops laughing away with the rest of the 141 downstairs, oblivious to the very alive girl being held captive above them. This morning you had found the man behind you sweet, had maybe even felt some sort of giddy crush bubbling away for him. They had seemed so kind and warm and they had all treated you so well these firefighters, right up until you had figured it out.

Ignorance really was bliss.

–

The cabin was breathtaking and the floor was unexpectedly warm beneath your feet when Price finally set you down. It hadn’t been far from the watch tower at all, maybe 10 minutes, but the trees did a good job of making it seem invisible until you were close. It was clear that this was a labour of love with its cute hand burned wooden sign marking it with the numbers 141, the swing seat and rocking chairs out on the porch and the little disorganised but thriving vegetable garden by the side.

The inside was homey if a little rugged, not a lot of touches of femininity to be found but plenty of heart and charm. You spied bits of kit lying around in ways that spoke to the personalities of their owners. One jacket neatly hung on its peg, another haphazardly thrown onto the counter. It felt strangely like a sibling of your own little fairytale cottage you had made, the more wild version. It made you mourn the loss all over again until you heard a long suffering meow and the tears weren’t coming from grief anymore.

“Hi Dosia girl” you cried through an overjoyed smile, crouching so she could come butt her head against your hand.

You were a little embarrassed at your very ugly crying as you scooped her up and cuddled her. She smelled of smoke and ash and you put that thought to the back of your mind. Dosia did not like baths one little bit, so that was certainly going to be a battle and you were going to come out of it with war wounds. Ah, you would need to find a B&B that would be ok with a pet, or maybe you could crash with your aunt for a while. The trip to where she lived would be hours but not like you had many options.

Your reunion was cut short by the fact that you were far more invested in this cuddling than Dosia was. She allowed it for perhaps 15 seconds and then squirmed to be put down, batting at your cheek when you tried to resist.

“Ok, ok!” you laughed, letting her jump down.

It was a bit of a surprise to see her rub against Simon before padding off to curl up by the fireplace. Oh my goodness they had a fireplace. It wasn’t lit which was sensible since they had been out, but you could imagine it made the whole place incredibly cosy. Your thoughts strayed briefly seeing the chopped wood in a basket, imagining the sight of these large men with axes, sweating as they made their firewood.

Grief, relief and horniness were not good bedfellows and you brought your bottom lip forward to blow a puff of air up towards your head. Your mother used to have you do it when you were little to blow the bad thoughts away when you had nightmares and while it didn’t work quite as well with the frankly filthy images it was good enough.

“Come on little bird, shower is this way. I’ll get some clothes for you while you are in there” Price said, his hand on the small of your back to direct you.

He had such an old fashioned way about him that it almost made you feel like you were in another time. His touch against you so firm and gentlemanly that you wanted to swoon a little, but you only smiled and gave a meek thank you before allowing yourself to be led. Price was already imagining the ceremony. He’d have to marry you of course, wouldn’t be proper to fuck a child into you without marrying you first.

He had to give Kyle a stern look over your head as you went into the room. The boy was seconds away from arguing that he also needed to shower and wouldn’t it make sense to save water? He had been the first to taste your lips, it would be unfair if he were also the first to see you naked and trembling beneath the water. Maybe Price was feeling a little mean about it too, a little possessive. Kyle’s clothes would fit you best, but he was more inclined to give you his. You’d look right drowning in his t-shirt. He could imagine the way it would slip off your shoulder, give him access to pepper kisses there and get you all warm and honey sweet for him.

“I really appreciate it” you said, still sniffling a little but trying to convey how thankful you were of their kindness.

You thought as you closed the door and slowly stripped out of your soot covered clothes that maybe it might be nice to ask one of them out for a drink once you had sorted out the Insurance and maybe rented out a little flat until you could plan a rebuild. You had just been very cosy with Kyle, so you knew that he at least found you attractive if nothing else. But then each of them captivated you in a different way, even the masked man who hadn’t spoken one word to you this entire time was giving the temptation of a mystery to be solved.

The water pressure was amazing here and you found yourself relaxing as steam pillowed around you. It’d be nice to keep in touch with these firefighters even if you didn’t ever work up the courage to ask any out on a date. They had saved you after all and if you rebuilt where you had been you could probably visit them pretty easily if you were allowed to be in the watchtower outside of nearly burning to a crisp. You weren’t really sure how it worked, was it open to the public? You could find out after everything was sorted.

You laughed seeing the awful 3 in 1 shampoo, conditioner and soap. It was scented ginger and orange and it was strong as hell. You wondered if they all used it, you hadn’t really smelled it on any of them and given how just opening the bottle made the whole room heady with the scent you would think you would have been able to. Another of life's little mysteries. Maybe this bathroom was so clean and tidy because it was a spare?

You felt bone tired once you were clean, just standing under the warm water and letting your muscles relax.The door opening made you tense up all over again, Price walking in to place a little bundle of clothes on the counter and smiling over at you like you were not currently naked. He wasn’t acting like it was a big deal and you were trying to emulate that while turning yourself to try and cover up as much as you could.

“They’ll be a bit big, but don’t have much in the way of clothing for a lady. I’ll see if we can’t get your clothes clean,” he said, going to take the little bundle of your ashy clothing.

“Oh that’s ok, you really don’t have to-”

“Hush little bird, just you let us take care of everything.”

He left after that and you thought you might die on the spot. Your underwear had been in that pile and it was mortifying to think of them laundering it. It wasn’t like it needed saving, you’d get new things. You weren’t even sure you wanted any of the clothing that such a disaster had happened in. Getting out of the shower, dried and dressed was a hurried affair. Price may not have cared about nudity but you did and you didn’t fancy getting caught again.

The clothes were definitely way too big but you didn’t mind that just now, it felt comforting. He had left sweatpants, a t-shirt and a hoodie. No underwear, but then of course there wouldn’t be. It would be weird to wear theirs. You had a quick look around for a hair brush but found none, instead just trying to comb your towel dried hair as best you could with your fingers. No easy feat considering the product you had just used on it.

Coming out of the little room was a nerve wracking affair. You felt your wits were very much back about you now, your brain reminding you that you were in the woods alone with 4 men, one of which you had been all over a few hours ago. Only the masked man was in the room as you came out. You saw him in the little kitchenette, giving a short gasp when he turned and set a steaming mug of definitely hot chocolate on the counter. You could really use a hot chocolate.

“Come on sweetheart, sit and drink. You need something warm after the day you’ve had.”

It was for you? Oh this mystery of a man was more appealing by the second and you immediately followed instructions, sitting down on one of the stools by the counter and taking a deep inhale of the steam in appreciation.

“Hot chocolate is my absolute favourite, thank you,” you said, happily sipping.

Ghost knew it was your favourite. He had learned so much about you when he had gone into your little cottage while you slept. He knew it would come in handy, knew deep down it was destiny that you’d be here one day. You were already his from the moment he had laid eyes on you from the watchtower, he was just biding his time until you knew that too. And his patience was wearing thin now that you were so close.

“I was wondering who Soap was, is it another firefighter?” you asked, honestly just wanting to make conversation so you could hear his voice again as you ran a finger over the name patch on the jacket over the counter.

“S’Johnny’s call sign. Kyle has Gaz on his jacket, John has Price.”

“Oh, what’s yours?”

You were fascinated by the way his eyes just held yours intensely. They were the only part of his face you could see, the only thing that could give away how he was feeling. While there was something of a smile there, some animal instinct wanted you to run. Some animal instinct saw a predator in his eyes as he answered you.

“Ghost.”

“On account of him being a big spooky bitch” Johnny’s voice floated from the stairs.

You turned to see him and Price coming down, the former looking dishevelled. Johnny had scratches all down his forearms, some looking deep and bleeding. His hair was a mess, clothes damp and sudsy. Price meanwhile looked no worse for wear, holding a purring Dosia wrapped in a fluffy towel. You couldn’t help but laugh, Johnny’s dramatic sigh when you did making you laugh harder.

“Did she kill Kyle?”

“Naw, bastard got out of bath time to go shower like a coward.”

“You’ll have to forgive MacTavish, he’s always been shit with women regardless of if they’re human or not.”

“Awa’ an bile yer heid.”

“English Johnny.”

“Let me translate. Go fuck yerself.”

“Offt, thought it was against the firefighter code to burn things,” you joked, causing Johnny and Price to grin at you.

Price sat himself on one of the armchairs with Dosia still purring away, docile in his arms. Johnny cheekily took your mug to take a sip for himself which you were frankly outraged about, following him to sit on the sofa. Simon spirited himself away to somewhere else in the cabin before coming back shortly with a hairbrush in hand.

You twisted around thinking he would give it to you, but Johnny only smooshed your cheeks and brought your head back around to face front so that Simon could start gently brushing your hair. It was such a sweet gesture that you luxuriated for the moment in the attention. It was probably ok to indulge a little after the day you had, and you closed your eyes and relaxed. You were alive and well and so was Dosia. You could rebuild a cottage.

At some point you dozed off, only waking when Kyle was gently coaxing you to eat some soup. He was sat on the little coffee table feeding you, looking devastatingly handsome all clean and in plaid pyjama bottoms and a hoodie. It felt intimate, way too intimate, but you were happily sleepy and soon happily fed so you let the little alarm bell in the back of your mind be overridden.

–

When you woke up it was morning and you were in a bed. You were in a bed and you were not alone. There was a large body curled around your back, one arm pillowing your head and the other lazily slung over your waist. You tensed and the man noticed, a rumbling coming from his chest that you swore you could feel vibrate against your back.

“S’ok baby, dinnae need to git up yet.”

Johnny, it was Johnny behind you. You squeaked like a damn mouse when you felt his lips press to the back of your neck. Christ he was like a furnace behind you, the heat of him bleeding into you. You knew you were lying to yourself if you said that was the only reason you were suddenly overheating. Maybe he thought you were someone else? You moved a bit, seeing if you couldn’t get out of his hold and wake him up.

He definitely did not think you were someone else, not when he groaned and pulled you back in to squeeze you in a tight hug, your name on his lips.

“Please let me hold ye for a wee bit longer bonnie, nearly lost ye yesterday.”

Your emotions were tangled. Part of you felt that your heart might beat out of your chest from how loving he sounded, that little undercurrent of genuine fear of losing you. The other part had your heart beating out of fear because you had met this man yesterday and he was acting like you were long term partners. The latter won out and you struggled against his hold, relieved when he let you go with a sigh.

You rolled out of bed and looked at him in alarm. Oh he was adorable like this, all sleepy and soft. He didn’t seem so dangerous like this.

“I…” you started, not really knowing where to go from there.

You decided that where to go from there was out of this room, scrambling for the door and spilling out into the hallway without another word. You could see the stairs. Someone must have carried you up last night. You went down them in a rush, not sure what your plan was now. You were flustered, annoyed at yourself for how tempting it had been to stay.

“Good morning luv! Sleep well?”

Christ, Gaz and Price were in the little kitchen area drinking tea. Both were shirtless, Gaz only in PJ bottoms and Price only in his underwear. Fuck these people were models, this could not be a real situation you had actually found yourself in.

“I- uh, yes? Thank you. I need to go.”

Both of them looked concerned, Price walking over to you and blocking your way to the door.

“Do you need me to talk to Soap? I’ve already told the boys they’re not to do anything you don’t want unless it’s for your own good little bird, do I need to remind him?”

He seemed so sincere, so warm and protective and safe. Only now you panicked at it, trying to figure out what on earth constituted something you didn’t want but was for your own good where these strangers were concerned.

“No, we didn’t… thank you for everything, but I need to go now. Need to get paperwork sorted and get some clothes and a place to stay and everything” you babbled, trying to aim for casual. Trying to aim for ‘I am not shit scared or anything, just going to go about my day don’t mind me’. You loved your cat more than anything, but right now you would leave without her and come back for her, that was how on edge this situation was making you.

Kyle was moving now as well, casually leaning against the front door. It wouldn’t matter how subtle he was, you saw it for what it was. They were stopping you from leaving.

“Handled the paperwork yesterday. You can stay here and we’ll get you some clothes, although I think you look beautiful in mine,” Price said, smiling indulgently down at you.

You were going to need to fight. Something was very, very wrong here and you were going to need to fight. There was a knock at the front door, making Kyle jump and whirl around. There was a moment of stillness, Kyle and Price both looking at you and you looking at them, everyone aware things were about to become very bad very quickly.

The scream was a second too late, a hand already clamped around your mouth as you were dragged bodily backwards and up the stairs. You fought like hell, but the body behind you was huge. Simon. It must have been. He had appeared from thin air and the callsign Ghost made sense now.

Johnny passed you being dragged in the hallway, winking and ruffling your hair before heading down the stairs.

It was only once you were dragged into the closet and the door closed that you heard the voices downstairs. It was the police you thought. They were talking about remains from a fire. Oh God, they were talking about your remains.

#cod #cod au #fanfic #mhairiwrites #tf 141 x reader

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