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hearteyes-for-killmonger · 6 months

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-4- Blood Banquet

"You know we can hear your heart pounding?" Julip's drearily seductive voice dragged, delighting in Dawn's fear. "Your blood is rushing. It sounds smooth and healthy like a fine palm wine."

"You're not helping," Deanna swatted at him. She looked at the clueless Dawn. Wanderers in the woods typically knew the ancient legends. They either believed or they didn't. It was evident that as a foreigner, Dawn had never been warned. She deserved to know what she'd gotten tangled into. "There's a barrier that's been active around this forest since the old world. It traps the damned, keeping us all in one place... How old do you think we are?"

"I made the mistake of running into these woods searching for wealth, adventure, and glory. I was freshly 21, and unlike you, I grew up with the legends. For years, I was warned about a sadistic cursed prince who haunts the theive's forest, cursing young women like you and me, taking us away from our homes forever. I didn't truly believe. I thought it was nonsense, like you do right now... It's my fault," she admits, looking Julip in the eye. "And because of my actions, I got us cursed."

Dawn watched them both with knitted brows. They struck her as delusional and batshit crazy which made them dangerous.

"JuIip and I died in 1919. What year is it now?"

"2023. You're telling me you died 104 years ago." Batshit. She had to tread carefully.

Julip glanced down, feeling the catharsis of a 104-year late apology. "Death isn't death," he sighed. "Once you're bitten, you don't sleep. You don't feel tired. You don't eat. You're always thirsty, but not for water. Your entire existence becomes a search for blood. You'll kill friends, family, and children regardless of connection for a fix. I've seen it. Your mind will twist, and who you thought you were will disappear. You'll find yourself hoping that someone brave will enter the forest just so you can pull them apart and consume them, and it never ends. That... is what happens to you when you are cursed."

"We can never escape this forest," Deanna adds. "We've tried, but the legends are all true. The undead are trapped here together until the end of time."

Dawn was full of concern. Cursed prince? Dying but not dying? None of that shit was realistic. But then again... neither was what she'd witnessed with her own eyes. She blinked slowly, trying to let her mind be open to the picture they were painting. "Then, if you died. How are you alive right now... and talking to me?"

"We learned English here at the castle along with every other language. There's nothing but time."

"That's not what I meant." Dawn hesitated. It didn't seem real. "Okay, well, who's the man in white?"

"Are you deaf," Julip snapped sharply. "He's going to bite you, and then we'll all take turns draining you until you're an empty husk. Are you not put off by that?! We are the damned and he's the Prince of the Damned! Prince N'Jadaka."

"My name precedes me."

Juilp froze on the spot, not moving a muscle. Deanna was terrified stiff. It was the man in white leaning against the bedroom door post, listening. Neither had seen or felt him arrive.

"Don't stop your explanation on my account." His voice was simultaneously as smooth and intimate as velvet yet impersonal and icy as the Titanic waters Leo drowned in. Dawn felt the chill travel through her body. His presence evoked an ancient glory and regality that one could only be born into, and unlike Julip and Deanna, whose eyes were nearly black, his eyes were bright crimson. He locked eyes on her, and it was just as she'd seen before she'd fainted. She hadn't imagined it.

There was no room for discourse. He tilted his head, unnaturally glaring at Julip and Deanna before leaving as silently as he'd come. Dawn noticed that neither Julip nor Deanna met his eye.

"I see my latest pet has finally awoken. Clean her up. I want her at my banquet." He examined the room, walking around the large bed, his hands tucked intimidatingly behind his back. "I expect you there on time for dinner. No excuses."

They looked to each other in silent agreement, and all friendliness shut down. Deanna gripped Dawn's legs, pulling her down the bed.

"Wait! No, please," Dawn clawed. No fight she put up could compare to Deanna's strength, and she'd struggled with her full weight, but Deanna had in her pinky nail what Dawn had in her entire body. "I have sickle cell, I probably don't even taste good! Y'all don't want me!"

Dawn was dragged from the bed, gasping the tiled floor as she slid on her stomach, kicking to no avail into the bathroom where she was stripped down nude from her dirty clothes like a chicken being plucked for dinner. She folded her body on the cool floor as Deanna regretfully heated water for the ivory clawfoot tub and filled it with oils.

Deanna's fear of Prince N'Jadaka overruled any sympathetic response. He had a way of getting into her and Julip's head and making them comply with his wishes without uttering a sound. She was powerless against him. She put Dawn straight into the water and carefully scrubbed her off, stopping briefly when she noticed a blight to Dawn's beauty. "Ugh! What happened to your feet?!"

Dawn wasn't at all shaken by the innocent question. She wore her bruised toenail, blisters, and calluses with pride. "These are the feet of a professional dancer with a lifetime of dance ahead of her. People are depending on me, and I'm going to miss the performance I've waited for my entire life if you don't help me out of here. I know you don't wanna be responsible. You don't wanna be a murderer for all eternity."

Deanna refused to meet her eyes. "Forget living. Forget ever seeing family. You're upset about a performance. Forget ever performing again." The bitter frustration and resentment clouding Deanna's rounded features was unrelated to Dawn. Dawn could sense it, and because of it, she could't find it in her heart to blame Deanna.

"Wait here," Deanna turned, leaving the bathroom door wide open. Dawn, feeling eyes, covered her exposed breasts with her hands. Julip was there on the bed watching, only now he wore a simple black on black suit. He rolled his eyes and looked away when Deanna returned. She was dressed in a blood red dress holding a long white lace and satin gown in her hands. "The prince has requested that you wear this... I believe it is your size."

"A wedding dress?" Dawn climbed from the tub and dried herself, inspecting the formal dress. This was sadistic. Not only was she scrubbed to violation, but she had to dress like a virginal sacrifice for her own murder. It was an off the shoulder long-sleeve with a sweetheart neckline, and it fit her like a glove with buttons on the back and a small train. She tried to look at Deanna as Deanna braided her curls into a tamed pattern, but Deanna still couldn't look her in the eye.

"Dinnertime," Julip whispered in Dawn's ear, gripping her shoulders.

Deanna said nothing but gestured for Dawn to follow him into the corridor where he floated gracefully on his feet. Deanna followed, staying behind Dawn as they walked and walked. The place was almost too big. Down a long and narrow flight of spiraling stairs they went. Dawn's stomach sank as the artificial light fled, leaving only darkness, but once it was dark, a line of decorative sconces lit automatically.

Dawn remained sandwiched between the siblings until they reached a wide and tall wood and iron bolted double door. She took the moment to gather her nerve. She was trembling. On the other side of that door was something she hadn't signed up for. She wasn't sure she had the mental calm to brave being torn apart, but the doors pushed open with Deanna on one side and Julip on the other. They looked forward with postures akin to that of a royal court.

Dawn took a step forward, inside. It was a grand banquet hall with white marbled floors, comfortably dim lighting fixed in gold and diamond chandeliers, round tables covered in white linen, and one smaller table on the platform where Dawn was led to sit.

The party was white-tie with men and women twirling gracefully around the large expanse. For every man, there were triple the women, and they were all absolutely stunning.

How many women had been slaughtered? All for the honor of a blood-thirsty prince.

There he was, sitting lazily atop his throne on the opposite side of the room, alone. He'd watched Dawn watch the crowd, and now he was watching her watch him. His handsome face was emotionless as if nothing in this world could impress him.

A waiter floated him a crystal wine glass, which he held delicately, summoning full control of the room with a gentle raise of one finger.

"Welcome, my brothers and sisters," he smiled casually, the gesture not touching his eyes. If things were as Deanna said, he was over 500 years old, possibly 600. He must've presented this exact greeting in a million banquets. "Tonight, I have a special treat for you," he announced to the crowd of over 100.

Attention shifted to Dawn.

"Bring it in," Prince N'Jadaka ordered.

The double doors on the far right end of the room opened, revealing a tall wooden rack where a group of six near-nude men hung shackled by their ankles, bound and gagged. It wheeled toward Prince N'Jadaka's stage, close enough to where Dawn could look closely at the men's darkening faces and recognize them as her captors–the murderers of her fellow dancers.

The prince descended the short stairs to the main floor where he was by far the most casual in attendance, shirtless in a relaxed all-white suit exposing scarred and glowing pecs, a thick muscular neck, and a gold necklace. He looked like he could break a body in half with his bare hands on a whim.

"What say our guest," he looked to Dawn. The crowd sneered, baring sharp fangs, and edged closer to her stage once more, ready to rush. They were vicious dogs on a leash. "I stand here before you, having gathered your enemies, these thieves-captors–the murderers of your friends. What justice would you deal?"

"Oh my fucking–wow," Dawn mouthed soundlessly. This was not her expectation, like at all. The men deserved to die, but seeing them on that rack twisted her stomach.

"Then I bring it to you subjects. You have a choice," he announced, addressing his crowd. "Whose blood will you spill, the lamb or the wolves?"

Dawn's body froze as all eyes went to her. She'd been in denial and shock, but everything Deanna said was proving to be true. Would she be sacrificed next? Of course. What would stop them? Shouts of languages Dawn didn't understand or speak came forth as the room responded. "Quality," she heard amongst the sound. "Kill the girl!"

The prince tilted his head as if in thought and turned his back to the crowd.

"And you, Pet?" He smiled slyly. "What justice would you deal? Think carefully."

"My prince," a woman in a green mermaid inspired gown interrupted. Dawn was stunned by her ethereal beauty, but the prince looked at her in irritation for interrupting. Her dancing partner stepped back quickly under the gaze of the aggravated prince. The woman looked from Dawn to the rack as if conflicted. "Why not spill them all? We're not in need of company. We're in need of blood! More blood! More blood!"

She campaigned alone with her slogan, looking around for the support of the crowd, but they all stepped away from her with averted eyes. With one look from the prince, guards grabbed her and carried her away screaming. When the doors closed, all eyes returned quietly to the prince. You could've heard a pin drop.

"Now," he reiterated, looking around at the faces in the crowd. "Make your choice."

Each person gave a vocal answer, and overall, the crowd chose quantity over quality. Large crystal vessels were brought in and placed under each suspended body. Prince N'Jadaka himself slit the necks of the men one by one. One lightning swipe with his short and manicured nail was all it took.

Dawn cringed with intense nausea as blood gushed down the men's nightmarish, gurgling faces into the crystal. The prince's glass was the first filled.

"Cheers," he smirked, making direct eye contact with her to suck the blood from his fingernail. He drained his glass and turned his back, leaving the goblet behind as he left the banquet.

The blood continued to spill and collected so quickly that the crystal vessels needed to be replaced. In the meantime, the full vessels were taken around the large room, filling wine goblets like wine. The party was in full swing. Even Deanna and Julip were dancing samba and native dances.

Movement at the base of the stage made Dawn straighten in her seat. She didn't know they were allowed to come up to her since they hadn't before, but they surrounded her, some smiling and some snarling all in an effort to illicit a reaction... all of them waiting for a moment when they'd be given the greenlight to indulge. She kept her eyes on her table, her body still.

"Such beautiful bones."

"What lively skin."

Dawn tried not to flinch as the women teased touched the exposed skin of her neck and shoulders. She knew what they were doing, trying to intimidate her. She felt like a sentient crystal vessel of warm blood on display.

A loud crack distracted the women, and as they cleared the stage, Dawn saw the source of the crack. There was Deanna standing at the rack with the severed arm of one of the men high in her hand like a chicken wing.

"Catch!" She tossed it through the air like a baseball that the others battled to catch. The crowd ripped into the men, tearing them limb from limb, sucking on the exposed tendens like gristle and tossing their parts like beachballs. It was a game to them, and Dawn was disgusted, but a look in Deanna's sober eyes told her that it was either her or those six men. Dawn knew then that Deanna was not her foe.

"For the guest of honor," a server whispered from her flank, setting a goblet of clear liquid on her table.

Dawn was hesitant, but when she tasted it, it was cold water. A covered dish was set down next, and though Dawn's stomach churned from the events she'd witnessed, she didn't want to offend and put her life at risk. The covering was removed to reveal meat prepared in a stew.

"Don't worry. It's wild boar, killed by the prince's own hand," the servant comforted. She'd thought it was human meat. He smirked, knowing exactly what she thought. She was surprised they'd feed her. "Palace chef in my former life. Not that those skills are typically needed these days. You've given me purpose."

He stood by watching with pride and interest as she ate and watched the crowd dance, the bloody horrors taking a backseat to their masterful movements. The floors had been cleaned and made spotless. The rack had been wheeled out.

"There's something on your mind," the chef whispered once more at her ear, causing her to cringe. "You've stopped eating. Is the stew to your liking?"

"I'm supposed to dance tomorrow with my company. It's why I flew to this damn country. We should've never done that shit. Should've never come on this rainforest tour. Now, two of our dancers are dead, and I'm next. This is some bullshit." Dawn sighed as the vampires twirled with more skill than any of her idols. She'd never danced that well and was truly torn up about it. This was supposed to be her life's purpose, her only talent, and tomorrow night was going to be her big break. "I dedicated my life to this, and now I can't even dance. And look at this shit," she pointed to the effortlessly moving crowd, "No one I know dances like that! This is depressing."

@dashhoney25 @lettidarawest @soufcakmistress @ljstraightnochaser @princessstevens-blog @eye-raq @thiccdaddy-mbaku @destinio1 @iamrheaspeaks @hidden-treasures21 @bidibidibombaclaat @forbeautyandlife @blowmymbackout @misspooh @thotyana-in-this-hoe @purplehairgawdess @thegucciwaffle @goddessofthundathighs @theegoldenchild @thadelightfulone @sultanabby @mysticalblackhottie @baekhyunbabybunni @fd-writes @richonne4life @goldieccentric @thehomierobbstark @capswife @blackpinup22 @harleycativy @lishabaybeee-blog @playgurlxoxo @beaut1fulone-blog @blackerthings @syndrlla97 @ladymac82 @browngirldominion @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @uzumaki-rebellion

#original #erik killmonger #killmonger #erik stevens #erik killmonger fanfiction #black panther killmonger #black panther fanfiction #black fanfic writer

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yourheartonfire · 2 years

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ok so i think you did this a while ago, but do you remember that one story you did with bug and everette and gingerly writing reposted it? that story has lived in my head rent free for weeks now, could you think of continuing it?<3

That's one of my favorites too! First part here, original prompt courtesy of @gingerly-writing, continuation suggestion by @avery1s .

CW for mind control and references to off screen dub con and other atrocities.

Later, everyone would collectively claim they had no memories of what they had done - what they'd been forced to do - under the Mad King's reign. A sort of universal spontaneous pardon, necessary for people to be able look each other in the eye and put out the raging trash fires the antagonist had left in his wake.

The protagonist wondered if everyone else was as much of a liar as they were.

Yes, most of those memories were colored a sweet hazy gold, like drowning in honey. But there were moments the protagonist had surfaced, where everything came into sharp relief even if their will was still wrapped in the antagonist's cotton candy mind control.

They remembered snapping to in the council room, kneeling beside the antagonist's chair as an offending minister danced an awkward and humiliated jig on the middle of the conference table.

"This isn't going to solve the grain shortage," the protagonist had said into the hum of the chatter.

The antagonist had nearly choked on his goblet of wine, and the witch king's crown jolted on his head. "Bug? How the hell-"

"You can swallow your pride or refuse the trade agreement or go to war," the protagonist said patiently, amazed at the sound of their own voice. "Only one of those choices doesn't end in starvation."

The antagonist flushed an angry red and grabbed his goblet. The liquid splashed across the protagonist's face. "You dare talk to me like I'm stupid?"

The wine stung the protagonist's eyes as they blinked up at their king in confusion. "Of course I wouldn't. I love you-"

Everett made a horrible noise and clamped his hand to the protagonist's forehead and they sank...

They swam back up again in a red-lit room, sitting on the king's lap before the dying embers in the fireplace as the court cavorted in lockstep through another interminable feast. There was no bread on the table and no smiles on anyone's face. Especially not the king's.

The protagonist raised a hand sleepily to trace the purple/black lines spidering down the antagonist's temples.

"I thought you were going to take this off?" they hummed, raising their fingers towards the crown -

The antagonist caught their hand in a crushing grip. "Bug," he breathed in an unsteady voice. "All the power in the world and you still show your freak face at the worst possible moment."

"All the power in the world," the protagonist repeated. Dimly they were aware their hand hurt in the antagonist's grip but they couldn't quite feel it. That was good. They hoped the courtiers who'd been ordered to stand in the fireplace hadn't felt it either before they'd died. "That's what you wanted. Why aren't you happy, Everett?"

"Oh I'm thrilled," he husked, hauling the protagonist closer across his lap in a bruising grip. "Never better. All my dreams come true. Tell me you love me again."

The protagonist snuggled into that cold embrace, closer to that galloping heartbeat that seemed to quite settle these days, and looked tenderly into their old rival's face.

"I hope you choke and die," the protagonist said sweetly, and wondered why the antagonist's face contorted with rage and magic-

- and they awoke in the royal bedchamber. Gray sunlight struggling through the rips in the velvet drapes, the watered silk of the settee grimy with dust. The antagonist's head on their lap as he sobbed into the protagonist's thigh.

The protagonist stilled, their hand still threaded through the king's overgrown hair where it scraggled down his neck.

"Oh." The antagonist sat back on his heels, wiping tears and snot on his sleeve. "Oh yes. Of course. My little fucking bellwether."

"Oh, Everett." Like moving through molasses, the protagonist drew their fingers slowly through the tangles. The antagonist shuddered. "Are you sad, Everett? Did you break too many toys? Did you order me - me! - to comfort you?"

The antagonist buried their head harder into the protagonist's thigh as the protagonist kept stroking. Somewhere along the way the antagonist had gone from cold to feverish. The protagonist sighed. "You should have listened."

"Just a few more to bring in line," the antagonist whispered. "And the rebellion in the west and the spies in the city and the rest of the disloyal lords..."

"They're all disloyal," the protagonist said. "Everyone hates you, Everett."

They looked up and the protagonist nearly screamed at the terrible black stained eyes staring back out from under the cursed crown. "It's almost done."

The protagonist grabbed for the crown.

They'd expected it to burn or to sting. They were braced for pain. But it felt like normal, cool metal in their hand. Except that it wouldn't come off the antagonist's head.

The antagonist laughed, low and bitter. "It's almost done," he whispered, climbing up to the protagonist's lap. "It'll come off when it's done."

"I almost feel sorry for you," the protagonist said, glaring as the antagonist cupped their face in his hands. "Almost."

"I know, I know. You warned me." And then the antagonist lunged for the protagonist's mouth and...

...quiet. And peace. The protagonist blinked gently awake to sound of songbirds and realized there was nobody in their mind but them.

There was someone else in the bed though.

When the surving ministers burst into the bedroom the protagonist was ready. The king's body had been arranged across the bed, ash and charcoal fragments from the hearth across his dessicated face and the pillows. The protagonist had scrubbed their hands clean of soot and huddled on the settee under a sheet.

"The crown crumbled," they whispered to the courtiers. "How did I get here? What happened?"

There was silence. Then someone cleared their throat and said "I don't rightly remember it myself," and a murmur of agreement rose.

There were questions and suspicion of course, but there was too much to do for imaginations to run wild. The protagonist performed a few weeks of work themselves before making their excuses and leaving. No one begrudge them their exit.

They hit the road with a few coins, their pack, and the witch king's crown angrily pulsing at them from its hidden place in its wrappings. The protagonist's anti-magic field was enough to contain it for now, but they were eager to get to the ends of the earth and dispose of the thing.

I did not create him, the crown murmured. I only enhance what is there.

"I know," the protagonist said out loud, and set out to see how far they could go.

#my fiction #hero x villain #heroxvillain #fantasy #Bug and Everett #gingerly writing #100

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serialxsocial-a · 4 years

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...... Wondering about Velvet and Husk interactions ngl

#Offline / OOC #this spawned since a dream i had this morning i had like #a shit ton of fucking threads from finn for some reason and one of them was velvet n husk #and the funniest part of this dream was husk answered an ask from velvet and my brain #didnt even TRY to conjure up finns writing cus it was under a readmore and i know damn well it wasnt smut related #and it was soon after that i woke up and i was like #ah shit i got so much shit 2 answer to tomorrow-- oh wait nvm it was a dream #nice. falls right back into my pillow and goes back to sleep #BUT THE THOUGHT HAS BEEN IN MY MIND OF VELVET AND HUSK #NOW #ESP CUS SHE LOVES. CATS. :) SO MUCH #AND ALSO HIS ASSOCIATONS W ALASTOR I #hmmmmmmmmmmm...#interesting

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tothemeadow · 3 years

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Can I request sub! Muichiro and femdom!reader again???👀👀 I'm literally having the time of my life reading your work cause you're the only author I know who writes femdoms and who writes them WELL sjfjsjfjsjdjdjd Thank you so much for your hard work honey 💕 take care ❤️

You think so? 🥺

‘a touch too much’ / Tokito M. x Reader

warnings: NSFW, assplay, handjobs, feminine boy

words: 1,954

(a/n): Muichiro is 18+ in this, set in the Victorian Era

Everybody knows what happens when Mistress has a favorite. They get more breaks, little gifts, the ability to spend time at your side rather than being a slave to the grind. They’re competitive, ruthless, trying to work harder than everyone else for their Mistress’ attention. They’d sabotage each other if they had the chance, try to make everyone else’s lives a living hell.

It’s why your manor is so spectacularly clean; the floors impeccably glossy, the wooden railways without a hint of dust, the yards kept so finely trimmed that it seems each blade of glass is individually cut. Your staff comes to your every beck and call, waiting, just waiting, for you to slip them a little note or pull them to the side. They’ve seen what happens when one is picked, when one is lucky.

The special treatments are one thing, sure. To be able to eat an exquisite dinner by your side, to be spoiled by riches they could only dream of. But there’s the other thing, the darker, more carnal side of the process. What they crave is the mark – a neat bite mark that sits high above the collar of the uniform, just taunting everyone else. If the staff are lucky enough, they get to hear the pleasured screams coming from your private quarters, the sharp smack of skin being bruised. No… what they crave the most is your touch.

It’s what drives Muichiro, along with everyone else. He commits himself to his work, scrubs at the floors and dusts the fine china until his fingers are numb. If one wishes to be noticed by the Mistress, their work skill must be superb, and they must keep up a proper aesthetic. He’s careful to keep his nails trimmed and neat, constantly keeps watch for cracked nails and broken skin. Luckily for him, he’s been graced with a lithe, feminine body; compared to the other male staff members, he doesn’t wear the usual button up and breeches, but a female maid’s uniform instead.

At first, he thought it was ridiculous, having to be forced to wear something so humiliating, but the head maid quickly informed him that Mistress has a certain affinity to femboys, or whatever that was supposed to mean. Over time, Muichiro’s gotten used to the constant breeze flowing under his skirts, the garters and socks clinging to his slender legs. He was advised to keep up on a skincare routine, to keep his pristine skin and healthy glow. You look so much like a doll, the head maid had said to him. Muichiro planned to use his looks to his advantage as much as he could.

Even now, as he’s bent over the floor, he purposely keeps his hair tied back in a loose ponytail – it’s perfect to keep his hair out of his face while working and it’s a useful handle to yank his head back. He’s alone for the time being, so he can relax as he scrubs the immaculate floor, wiping away the nonexistent dirt and grime. If he remembers correctly, it was imported from France, if the tiny golden roses imprinted in the tile is anything to go off on.

There’s a particular clacking that catches his attention. The usual flat soled shoes the staff members wear don’t make that noise; only the head butler and maid are permitted to have shoes with heels on them. However, they must be busy with their own duties, so that can only mean—

Snapping to attention, Muichiro arches his back just enough so it doesn’t seem like he’s doing in on purpose. Although the skirt to his uniform falls to his knees when he stands, he hikes it up even further his hips to show off more of his legs. As he suspected, you come around the corner, the heels of your imported boots clacking against the floor. He pretends like he doesn’t notice your presence at first – not until the toes of your boots come into his vision, anyway.

“Everything alright?” you say. Muichiro shudders at the smokiness of your voice, at the pure, sweet honey dripping from your tone. His thighs twitch, a surge of warmth filling his lower belly.

“Mistress,” he says lightly. Setting his scrub brush to the side, he wipes his hands on his apron as he sits back on his haunches. “My apologies for not noticing you before.”

By god do you look absolutely stunning in your dress. The color of rich wine, it clings to your shape wonderfully, the thick swell of your breasts and hips accentuated by the tight cording of your corset. Muichiro can’t help but stare at your bare shoulders and neck, the delicate velvet choker wrapped around it so enticingly. With you standing over him like this, he’s feeling incredibly weak, mind turning hazy as he focuses on your polished lips.

“Working out here by yourself… Must be lonely,” you say absentmindedly. Your gaze flicks over his face and down his chest before it settles on his hands, which are folded neatly in his lap. You look back up to his face. “What’s your name?”

Muichiro’s heart kicks in his chest. “Muichiro, Mistress,” he tells you. “My name is Muichiro.”

You cock your head at him. “Well, Muichiro, why don’t you take a break? You look terribly parched.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice; shooting up from the floor, Muichiro quickly smooths his skirt and hair to make himself a bit more presentable. “I’d be honored, Mistress.”

“Fantastic,” you say. You grace him with a wonderous smile, something so utterly breathtaking that Muichiro honestly believes he might feel faint.

It starts off innocently enough – escorting him to your private study, requesting someone bring up a pot of tea (the maid who brought the tray up glared daggers at Muichiro), settling for some idle chit chat. Muichiro enjoys the time he gets to spend in your company, your luscious voice music to his ears. And maybe that’s what does it, the precious lull of your voice, your dazzling eyes. Or maybe the head maid is right and you do like seeing pretty boys like him in skirts and dresses.

Either way, in a wild spur of events, Muichiro finds himself bent over your mahogany desk, abdomen pressed to the glossy surface. The skirts of his uniform are bunched around his slender waist, his legs spread as your hands grope his perky ass. Okay, so maybe he doesn’t wear under on most days since he’s hoping you’d notice him. Maybe he’s already rock hard, his cock leaking precum.

“You walked around like this all day, doll?” you husk. He shudders at the pet name. “You were expecting this, huh? Looking all pretty, knowing that your little cock is hanging between your legs like some lewd whore.”

Muichiro stutters on a refusal, wanting to say no, he’s not a whore, but then you grab his asscheeks in such a way that it makes his heart leap to his throat. He’s not a dirty boy. He’s not.

“You know exactly what you’re doing, huh?” you breathe, dropping low over his back. Your painted lips brush against the shell of his ear; you nip at the earlobe, emitting a slight moan from him. “Admit it, doll. Tell me you were hoping that I’d bend you over my desk like this.”

“I-I didn’t—”

He cuts himself off with a cry as you spank his ass. You do it again and again, getting harsher with each strike. Muichiro scrambles on your desk, his blunt nails scratching at the surface. His cute little ass is beet red, both from your spankings and his embarrassment. He can’t deny the way his cock bobs with each spanking, how delightful it is whenever his cockhead gets caught on the material of his skirts.

“This will only be easier for you if you do as your mistress tells you.”

Oh, fuck. A whimper bubbles from the back of Muichiro’s throat. He hastily licks at his lips, tries to maintain his grasp on reality. “Mistress,” he squeaks, “I want you to fuck me.” He sounds so submissive, so pathetically weak. But he continues, throwing all caution to the wind in hopes that you would give him what he wants. “I always wanted you to flip my skirt and have your way with me.” And, to really sell his point, he cranes his neck to look at you over his shoulder. “Please, Mistress.”

You coo at his little show, your fingers tracing over the swell of his ass. “Doesn’t this little whore know how to charm a person,” you grit. Nudging your foot between him, you lightly kick at his ankles, forcing him to spread his legs. “Let your mistress see everything,” you purr. Muichiro moans as your tongue flicks at his ear.

Dropping to a crouch, you admire the sight before you. His ass is just so cute, so delightfully round and perky that you just want to bite it. His cock hangs heavily between his legs, curved towards his stomach and smearing precum all over the inside of his skirt. Reaching between his spread legs, you cup his balls, fondle them in your palm. Muichiro jolts at the feeling, his face pressing itself to the desk. He’s panting so fucking hard, and it feels like he’s going to burst.

Your hand reaches in even further, fingers wrapping around his cock and pumping it a couple of times. Muichiro’s breath hitches as your fingertip collects the precum beading on his cockhead and spreads it all over his length, the sounds getting wetter and wetter as you continue to jerk him off.

“Mistress,” Muichiro pants, “fuck – ah – that feels so good…”

He whines when you remove your hand; it quickly turns into a surprised squeal as you grab onto both of his asscheeks and pull them apart. The cool air hits his exposed hole, leaves his shivering violently. There’s the sound of you clearing your throat and then he’s wet down there. With a high-pitched keen, Muichiro tries to jerk away as your tongue suddenly flicks over the tight ring of muscle. You hold him still, though, your nails digging into his flesh as a warning.

“D-don’t use your tongue like that,” Muichiro squeaks. “It – unh – feels weird…”

Instead of answering, though, you lightly tap his ass and plunge your tongue into him. The noise that leaves Muichiro’s mouth is nothing short of animalistic; surely, all of the staff members in the manor could hear him. You do it again and again, your tongue thrusting in and out of him. Everything is too hot, too stuffy. Muichiro can’t breathe, can’t think. All he can do is call out for his mistress, beg for more, more, more. Your lips suckle around his hole, the sounds filling the room absolutely sinful.

Muichiro can’t believe what’s happening. Your lips and tongue are heavenly, so fucking good that it’s making him see stars. Your fingers tease his cock, his balls, his perineum—

Another ragged moan rips itself from the depths of his chest as Muichiro suddenly cums, thick spurts of white ruining the material of his skirt. He’s panting wildly, his eyes going wide as he realizes just what happened.

“My, my,” you purr, drawing away. “I can’t say that’s the quickest I’ve made someone cum, but it’s up there.” The tip of your finger pushes past the ring of muscle, replaces the spot where your tongue was. Muichiro’s velvety walls clamp down around the digit, a shaky groan slipping from his lips. “Tell you what, doll. We’ll have your stamina built up in no time. Do you like the sound of that, you filthy whore?”

“Yes! Yes, oh fuck yes!”

#kny #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #kny x reader #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #demon slayer x reader #muichiro tokito x reader #tokito muichiro x reader #tokito muichiro #muichiro tokito #kny muichiro #request

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itsshellybitch · 2 years

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79. Worthless

Here's another one that has been in my inbox since August. Now that writing post-canon Shelly is no longer depressing, I'm feeling inspired again.

Shelly is roughly sixteen here. VERY slight, almost unnoticeable spoilers for The Return of Covid.

********

Shelly robotically went through the motions of getting dressed.

Her mind was swirling with emotions. Relief that her grandfather was no longer suffering. Anger that his suffering went on for much longer than it should have. Dread at the idea of having to greet the funeral guests with the rest of her family.

And of course, sadness. Her grandpa had been a husk of his former self during the last couple of years and Shelly had already mourned the man he once was before he had even died, but the despair kept coming in waves.

Shelly rifled through her dresser drawer for a pair of stockings. Her hand brushed against a small velvet box.

Mystified, Shelly opened the box to discover a pair of square jade and gold earrings. She choked back a sob. It was the last gift that her grandfather had ever given her.

At the time, Shelly had grudgingly accepted the earrings with a muttered "Thanks, Grandpa" and had shoved the box into her drawer, intending to forget about it. She knew from past experience that the overpriced junk jewelry he had gifted her was worthless.

These are actually kind of pretty, Shelly thought to herself. It would be a nice tribute to Grandpa if I wore these today.

Shelly fastened the baubles to her earlobes and examined her reflection in the mirror. The jade brought out the color in her eyes and the gold complemented her brown hair nicely.

Maybe the earrings weren't so worthless after all.

********

The reason I marked this as a spoiler was because those are the same earrings that Shelly wore in "The Return of Covid"

#fic #shelly #marvin #south park spoilers

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langdxn · 3 years

Note

My dear, our litte discussion gave me a thought. Would you please grace us with your writings...I guess this is kind of a two part request...How would our Cody boys be as vampires?? And how would their first time drinking from their girl play out??? Please my wonderful sister/wife, I need vampire Cody characters!!

OOFT this whole concept has brought me out of a bad mood, thank you wifey! i would gladly do a whole damn oneshot/series with ANY of these boys if you need to see more of them… i know i do🧛🏻🖤

Outpost!Michael looks like the typical velvet-draped Victorian vampire your mind conjures up whenever you think of this fascinating bloodthirsty creature, but he had many years to craft his glorious image after he was infected in his teens. This slick, fluid, articulate character that pervades the adult Michael that once wore Doc Martens and skinny jeans now preys upon the inhabitants of Outpost 3 in the bronzed corridors of the former Hawthorne School in the most menacing, manipulative manner — drinking from each doomed occupant without a care or diligence to who witnesses him. If he’s caught sucking the vitality from a grey, he simply denies the accusations to Ms Venable and targets the whistleblower the next day, returning to his routine again and again. Of an evening when his slick organisation fails, he retires to your shared quarters and pulls you in by your lips, gently nicking your soft skin and leaning back to watch the crimson droplets racing down your chin. “Good girl,” he coos with a wicked intent, raising a finger to swoop through your trickling blood before dipping the droplets on his tongue with a heady groan. “I’ve been waiting to taste you all day.”

Vampirism was thrust upon Xavier by a fellow counsellor at Camp Redwood — foolishly taking a stroll through the pitch black woods one night while lighting up a spliff, he was ambushed and bitten by a figure he couldn’t identify. It was only as he belted across the camp at lightning speed and scanned his face in the dimly-lit bathroom mirror that he discovered his eyes plunged a deep maroon and his mind swam with uncontrollable thirst. Thirst for blood. The first living body in sight? Yours, laying innocently among the tangled sheets just where he left you before he was... changed. Xavier slips into bed beside you, crawls between your legs, wraps his arms around you and stirs you slowly awake as he plants searing, lingering kisses into your neck. Parting his lips softly, his newly-sharpened teeth softly graze your skin, desperate to sink in and feast on the blood pumping so hastily through your veins. “Bite me, Xavier,” you whisper as you turn to expose your neck further. “Another vampire’s blood is far more appetising than that of a plain, normal human.”

Jim Mason isn’t cut out to be the stereotypically flamboyant, charismatic and suave vampire. With his kind heart and his young lust for life, he’s so far removed from what you’d expect from a bloodthirsty nocturnal that you’d be forgiven for thinking he’d ever been changed at all. He absolutely refuses to drink from you or anybody you know, he preys specifically on Bay Boys that have wronged him — a running inside joke between you that he’s the PV Batman. He doesn’t alter his dress code in the slightest in order to save face, to avoid blowing his cover, to maintain his façade as an average curly-haired high schooler that gets into trouble just as much as everybody else. It’s only when you catch him sucking the blood out of a particularly malicious surfer on the rocks for trying to steal his waves that you realise this new Jim is someone you can happily spend your days with. “I am vengeance,” he husks ironically as the last of the boy’s life force drains from his body. “It’s not who I am underneath, but what I do that defines me.”

His newfound vampiric nature brought out the exquisite flamboyancy in Duncan Shepherd that you never could have expected from your wealthy partner. First came the vintage furniture to grace his penthouse apartment, then the black chandeliers, then the ornate four-poster bed hand-carved from deep English Oak. Of course, he already draped himself in expensive tailored suits so the glamour was already there in his appearance, but now he makes perfect use of his signature husky tones to dazzle you into anything he desires. “We’re going to head home early, sweetheart,” he whispers as he cinches you in at the waist, careful to avoid attracting attention from the public figures swirling around you at the formal evening. His gaze roves your sumptuous blood red velvet gown billowing over your curves and tumbling to the floor like a fountain of fresh blood spilling recklessly at your feet. “I have a deliciously prominent democrat tied up in the shower that we can feed on,” he leans in closer to bare his fangs and softly nicks the skin of your neck, inhaling deeply and humming under his breath. “And afterwards, I’m going to drink from you more than ever before. Any objections, Mrs Shepherd?”

Richard truly resents his vampirism and tries his hardest to fight his urges in the only way a young, conflicted man possibly could — containing his rage until he reaches the safety of his room’s four secure walls each night. A tentative knock on the door interrupts his chaotic rocking back and forth as his eyes bleed black and his hunger takes over, springing to the door and pinning you against it, sinking his teeth into the straps of your dress and casting the unwanted fabric into a heap on the floor before you’re pushed back onto his bed with a thump. “Hold still,” he whispers as he crawls between your legs, deftly spreading them apart before him and dipping his head down low against the skin of your thigh. With a deep inhale and his eyes pressing closed, Richard’s fangs slowly sink into your flesh, puncturing expertly into your femoral artery. Both his hands wander to pin your hips flat to the bed, groaning explicitly as he drinks in not just your blood but the swift arch of your back and the dip of your head back into the pillows. “You taste like heaven,” Richard mutters as he rises for air — the night has only just begun.

#vampire!michael x reader #vampire!xavier x reader #vampire!jim x reader #vampire!duncan x reader #vampire!richard x reader #outpost!michael x reader #xavier plympton x reader #jim mason x reader #The Tribes of Palos Verdes #duncan shepherd x reader #house of cards #The Last Time I Saw Richard

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shipyard98 · 4 years

Text

Sex on Fire

Fandom: Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure

Pairing: Dio Brando x Reader

Word Count: 1996

Rating: E for Explicit (Mild Gore and Sexual Content)

Summary: You are kept as a slave in Dio's mansion. All goes good and well, until he senses something... different about you. Notably, your scent has changed. To put it simply, it's distrating him, and he needs to fix it.

Author’s Note: This fic is about sex. And I don’t write sex all that often. You have been warned.

Also, feel free to support me on Ko-Fi. It’s not necessary, but it helps out a lot.

(link to story)

The doors creaked open, and you stepped forward with your eyes to the ground. Before you had a moment to turn around and close them yourself, the doors slammed shut.

You looked up and took in the scene.

It was a dark room, very dimly lit by a few candles scattered here and there. The smell of jasmines and old blood pierced the air in a bittersweet perfume. You could make out a large canopy bed in the middle of the room.

To the right, there was an open space barely occupied by a velvet chaise lounge and a side table.

A figure was leaning back in that lounge and quietly reading a book.

Though there were barely any facial features to be seen on him, you felt his hypnotic gaze shift away from his book and towards your figure. He observed your shape, your facial features, your… everything.

A shiver shot through your body, and you took a deep breath to speak to this figure.

“Lord Dio,” you announced, taking a bow. “You summoned me?”

Dio closed his book and placed it on the table.

“I did,” he husked in a voice just loud enough for you to hear.

Slowly, he got out of his lounge and sauntered towards you. The candle’s light fell upon his muscles, and locks of his hair swept back in a breeze. He never took his eyes off of you the entire time he made his approach. It was like he wanted to make sure you were hypnotized by him, encaptured by his beauty and his power.

The look in his eye and the curve of his smile were hungry.

Dio stopped the second he was mere inches away from you. In spite of your height, you had to tilt your head up in order to look him in the eye. He, on the other hand, merely stared down at you like you were a dessert, ready for him to feast upon.

Your hands went to your chest and you looked down at your feet in a gesture of respect.

“What are you requesting of me, my lord?”

A silence hung in the room. The longer he didn’t say a word, the more anxious you felt, and it very quickly showed.

Seeing your skin shine in a thin sheet of sweat brought forth a low chuckle from your master.

Dio grasped your chin and tilted your head back up so you were giving him direct eye contact.

“It has come to my attention that you’re in heat.”

Immediately, you felt a heat rise into your face.

You thought that it wouldn’t be that noticeable, but there was no denying that your thoughts were flooded by thoughts of your master fucking you hard into a mattress. You wanted him to claim you, feel him grinding against your empty walls in that way only Dio could.

But what were you but his captive and next meal?

Comer to think of it, why has he kept you alive for so long? Just to play with you for a little while longer?

“Master, h-how did you...?”

“Why, my dear, my senses are sharper than most mortal men. I can smell your moistness, even from here.”

He leaned in until his face was close to your ear and inhaled deeply. A quick glance down at him revealed to you that an erection had already started to form.

“Mmm… It’s so inviting… and I refuse to let it distract me any longer.”

Dio’s tongue made a careful stroke along your cheek.

You shivered at his touch and your face grew even hotter. In an instant, you turned your head away from him, forcing him to let go of your chin. You didn’t want him to see that look of need in your eyes.

He let out a low growl.

“You know you can’t hide it from me.”

You gasped the second you felt his hand stroke at your inner thigh.

“I can smell how wet you are,” he purred in your ear. “Your pussy’s just aching for a taste of my cock, and it shows. Don’t you want it inside of you? Don’t you want to be satisfied?”

It didn’t take long for you to give in to his seduction.

“Y-Yes, my lord… Please…!”

A pleased grin swept across his face.

“There’s a good girl.”

Dio picked you up and carried you to the bed, with your legs straddling his hips. You clung to him and, feeling the need to relieve some tension in your core, you tried to grind yourself against him as he walked.

“Ah, ah,” he muttered. He grabbed your ass with both hands, and that brought you to a dead halt. “Wait patiently, my dear. You’ll have your chance to cum.”

As soon as he reached the bed, he pinned you against the mattress with one hand and went to undo his belt and pants with the other. It didn’t take long for his massive erection to come forward. The more you stared at it, the more tempted you were to just go ahead and undo your pants yourself.

But Lord Dio wouldn’t allow that. He wanted you to know that he was in charge over everything about this moment, so this meant he would be the one to undress you and do with you how he saw fit. With that being said, you expected him to undo your pants with his hands or some other means, but no. Every moment he had was a chance for him to show off, so he did just that. He brought his mouth down to the zipper of your pants and gripped the tab between his teeth. In one fell swoop, your pants came undone.

Then, in the blink of an eye, your pants and underwear were strewn across the floor behind him. It was almost as though time suddenly leapt forward…

Dio’s breath gently swept over your clitoris and, for a brief second, he considered burying his face between your thighs. In his mind, however, that would’ve shown weakness and submission to you.

That was not how this was going to go.

Rather than giving in, he moved his face upwards and nuzzled at your neck, forcing you to tilt your head to the side. A few rough kisses trailed along your neck before, at last, his kiss found the perfect spot. He sunk his teeth into your flesh and let the blood flow out of you like a gentle stream.

You winced quietly, and a few tears threatened to run down your cheek. Even so, you didn’t move as he lapped up your blood.

Dio found your blood to be of a higher quality than most, so it took him a while to finish drinking his fill. His voice whispered into your neck, something about how good your blood tasted and how its scent was so divine.

The minute your neck was clean of any of your own blood, he propped his arms to either side of you and allowed his hips to press against yours.

Feeling his cock against your clit was driving you wild under the surface. You were trying not to let it show how bad you wanted it, but your lips were trembling and your face was burning red-hot.

Dio knew damn well that you wanted him. And he was going to use it to his advantage.

“Tell me how bad you want it,” he smirked down at you.

“I…” you whimpered softly. “I want you to fill me up, Lord Dio. Please.”

“Ask, and you shall receive, only because you’ve satisfied me.” He leaned back down so his lips barely touched yours. You are mine, and as long as you do what I say, you will be my most treasured pet.”

The tip of his cock had sunk inside of you without any hesitation.

You suddenly let out a gasp and wrapped your arms around his neck.

He pulled his hips down harder so he could reach further inside of you. From there, he bucked his hips back and forth in a slow but rhythmic pace. The sounds of the snap of his hips against yours and the moans pouring from your lips filled the room in a matter of seconds.

With your mouth open, he saw the opportunity to nip at your lower lip.

Your lips almost smashed against his as you found yourself quickly craving more of him. Of course, he didn’t mind this gesture in the slightest. In fact, the more you wanted him, the more control he had over you.

His tongue took its time to explore the inside of your cheek and it even swirled with your own tongue at some point.

Every minute that passed, he picked up the tempo with his thrusting.

The faster he went, the hotter the fire in your core became. You could feel your breasts bounce in rhythm and his cock pulsing against your walls.

It was all too good, and you quickly found yourself moaning your master’s name.

“D-Dio! Dio, my lord!”

His breath was already heavy, but it hitched at the sound of your voice calling out his name. It made his dick swell and his rhythm melt away into a frenzy of thrusts; a sure sign that he was close to cumming.

Recognizing this, he pulled his lips away from yours without once slowing down the wild buck of his hips. He held his body above you, all while staring you directly in the face.

“Look at me,” he groaned out loud. “Look me in the eye as I cum inside of you!”

You obeyed his command and stared deep into his soul.

A wave of pleasure washed over the both of you all of a sudden, and you released together. You felt a strong heat fill you up on the inside.

Dio’s thrusting slowed until it was at a complete stop. Almost completely out of breath, he nearly collapsed on top of you. If this were anyone else, he would’ve allowed himself to cave, but for whatever reason, he decided against it. Before the strength in his arms left him, he rolled over onto the bed next to you.

Your head turned to look at him, but his eyes were glazed over and staring at the ceiling.

“My lord?” you mumbled.

Dio glanced at you. The look in his eyes had softened tremendously. One of his hands reached over and gingerly cupped your cheek. For a fleeting second, he looked as though he was about to kiss you.

That all changed when a voice called from the other side of the bedroom door.

“Lord Dio! The Joestar party has been spotted just outside of Cairo! They’re nearly here!”

All that energy that had departed from him in the climax very quickly returned as his body jerked upwards and shot a death glare at the door.

“You know what must be done,” he snarled. “Take care of them before they even think of reaching my front doorstep.”

“Yes, master!”

Departing footsteps followed the acknowledgement.

Dio’s palm went to his forehead and his fingers massaged at his temple.

“For fuck’s sake...” he grumbled.

You placed your hand on his thigh, which caused him to look down at you. The gentle look in his eye was gone, now, but he didn’t look displeased with you in the slightest.

“You may go back to your chamber now,” he said as he got up to put his clothes back on. “And you will be called back here again soon. Understood?”

A smile very briefly flashed along your face, but your hand went to cover your mouth. Now probably wasn’t the best time to show any levels of amusement.

“I understand, my lord.”

With that said, he looped his belt back around his waist and left you alone with your thoughts.

Rest assured; he wasn’t done with you yet.

He wouldn’t be done with you for a long time.

#Smut #mild fluff #jojo #JoJo's Bizarre Adventure #jojo x reader #jjba x reader #dio #dio brando #dio brando x reader #implied stardust crusaders #jjba part 3 #jojo part three #stardust crusaders #i tried #dirty dockyard

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divinewhimsy · 4 years

Text

Ichor Pt 6 (DabixReader)

Thank you all so so so so much for you continued support and appreciation. I don’t have words to express how much it encourages me to keep writing. I love each and every one of your comments and likes and just slfjkdfkjasdlfjksfj You’re all perfect. No arguments.

Part 4: X

Part 5: X

Part 7: X

Tag List: @velvet-kissesss @marydragneell @littleblackpheonix @holytacocactuscollector

~~~

TW: Blood, Swearing.

Do not think about the kiss. Do not think about the kiss. Do not think about the kiss. Do. Not. Think. About. The. Kiss.

Too late. You fail to catch your gaze as it slips to Dabi’s lips- one smooth and one burnt but the memory of both against your own surfaces with the rising blush. It shouldn’t matter. You’d only done it to save him.

“I haven’t been entirely… Honest with you.” you frown and force your gaze back down to your plate. “Something like this has happened before.”

“Oh?” he barely sounds interested.

“When I was younger my quirk showed up later than it normally does for others.” you bite the inside of your cheek to keep your courage. “I guess. Or I never really noticed it until my blood accidentally got ingested. But that’s not the point.”

You take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Remembering her lifeless face- Aysu’s face- is a memory that sends tendrils of fear into your heart. Seeds of doubt, of worry and guilt to ravage your mind. Tear apart your soul.

“She was boosted with her quirk and kept growing,” you continued, “I freaked out, she freaked out. I tried to pull it back when the thread appeared but when I did it just took… everything. Everything. Her blood, her air, her… life. I watched her turn into an empty husk.”

Tears blink their way down your face but you can’t feel the sting. Numbness washes over you as you remember trying to stop taking from Aysu. Trying to stop her growing panic and her literal growing as she grew and grew in size. The defenseless way she shrunk into the fetal position, crumbling before your very eyes as the thread spooled back into your body. Like it had done its job. Like the bastardly thing was satisfied.

“It was covered up.” you whisper. “Her parents were paid off and mine moved me here. I got one session of quirk counseling before they thought it was best I hid it from the world. To forget.. About her. About my so called fucking ‘gift’. I pushed it down for so long that… I actually ended up forgetting. But I was so, so angry at you. I could feel my quirk awaken like some giant beast opening its eyes for the first time in a long, long time. I wanted you to hurt. I wanted you to suffer. My quirk awoke and it was as if nothing had ever changed. It told me to tug the thread back to me. To rip it away. To take it back.”

Dabi doesn’t speak as you shudder. He’s silent as sin as you anxiously wring your hands. You can feel his gaze on you like wildfire, untamed blue fire devouring your body inch by inch. Laying your sins bare for him to ignite. For him to see.

To understand.

“I don’t think I can stop it when it starts.” you whimper, “I’m not that s-strong. I can’t fight it. But I can give again. I can pour it ba-ack. Return what it took.”

More tears drop from your eyes, rivers ebbing their way onto your cheeks. It’s hardly recognizable when you can’t feel anything but guilt and the heat from your body turning up higher and higher.

“I’m sorry.” you strain to speak, your voice a ghost of what it normally is. “I didn’t mean to drain you.”

“Your quirk is dangerous left unchecked.” Dabi sighs and you flinch from the empty, uncaring words.

Your eyes turn to his face as your vision blurs. Dabi doesn’t owe you anything after all you’ve done to him, let alone kind words. In fact, after draining him from the very fabric of existence, you owe him. But your sorrow disappears as you glance up to find the heat you felt rising wasn’t your body at all.

It was his.

Blue flame flickers in his eyes. Echoing his burning soul deep within as the flames dance on his skin. Between his fingers like a shooting star shimmering through the stratosphere. A comet hitting the orbit of his body as it bursts to life among his flesh.

A breath you never knew you were holding releases as waves his hands through the air, spinning the flames into different shapes. They grow brighter and brighter until you see the tips of white start to overtake the blue. It’s almost unbearably hot before he douses the flames, the top of your ceiling only slightly scorched from the display.

“I’d say we’re even, dollface.” Dabi says nonchalantly and you blink up at the scorch marks in disbelief.

“When did…?” you ask and turn your wide eyes back to him.

He chuckles softly and examines his hand thoughtfully.

“When you brought me back.”

The essence of his life fed back into him returned his quirk? Is that honestly how it was supposed to work?

“Oh.” you say softly, your chest growing tight.

This means he leaves, right? He no longer needs to be around you. He has his quirk back, like he demanded.

There’s no reason for him to stay.

“It’s a different power level than I’m used to.” Dabi says offhandedly. “It’ll take adjusting to but damn is it a rush.”

His low whistle cuts through your numbness. Heart thumping unpleasantly fast in your chest while you can barely hold a breath, you shovel more food into your mouth. You don’t taste it. It’s as if you were eating air for all that you can taste. All you can feel is the growing strain in your heart as it flutters like a bird in a cage. What was this weird feeling? Why is it here now, of all the times to show?

“Any threads?” Dabi asks and you swallow your mouthful of food before you check.

It takes a bit but sure enough when you summon your quirk- even just a hair- the thread thrums to life. You can feel your own rapid heartbeat meet a steadier one, the thumping feeling in your body echoing in your skull. In your fingers and toes, your bones humming with delight at the sensation. Eyes widening, you look up at Dabi who raises a brow and squints at the empty space between the two of you.

“Can you… can you see it?” you gasp as you realize what it is he’s staring at.

“No.” he shakes his head and shrugs as his fingers glide across the table and sweep up some stray pieces of rice. “I see you’re a messy eater, though.”

Your blood rises to your face in a flash of heat at getting carried away and your mess. Trying to cover your own embarrassment you clear your throat and stare back at your food.

“Oh. I thought you might have- I don’t know? Seen it? Felt it?”

“Doesn’t that only work on your end?” he rests his head on a fist and watches you.

“N-normally.” you nod. “I just thought-.. Nevermind. It’s probably just over excitement.” you sigh and stand from your chair.

“Thank you for letting me eat that.” you mumble and carry your empty plate to the sink.

You’ll do the dishes tomorrow. For now you need to be alone. Locked in your room and away from Dabi.

Away from the world.

“Goodnight.” you call from over your shoulder as you walk down the hall.

The scrape of a chair across the wooden floor and his footsteps to follow you let you know your conversation isn’t over.

“Nice try,” Dabi says and slides into the chair left by your bedside. “but we’re not done yet.”

You cross your legs, leaning your back against the wall as you sit across from him. It should have been obvious he had more to say from the lack of commentary he had for your story. Even if you’re squirming with uncomfortable emotions he won’t let you go that easily. Despite the thoughts running through your mind like a cacophony of chaos. Too rapid, too disorganized.

“What’s left to talk about?” you say quietly.

You need him to direct the conversation. Need him to lead it away from your grasp, less you pilot it directly into the ground like a paraglider on fire.

Dabi watches you, his unreadable turquoise eyes half lidded. You wish he would just tell you what he was thinking instead of you having to guess.

“Look, Princess, there’s not much I’m gonna be able to do to keep the league away from you.”

Him calling you a princess makes your heart stutter in your chest. Especially the way it rolls off his lips like silk. His silver tongue sickeningly sweet honeysuckle to your ears. It’s thick and warming, the desperate vibrating through your senses begging for more.

His voice is a dangerous weapon. You’ve tasted him, sipped the wine of his lips and tongue. Taken part in the divine essence he oozes almost thoughtlessly. It’s seductive and beguiling, an enchantment of his soul on his skin to beckon you into his embrace. The combination of rough and soft, quiet and strong- it’s almost too much as you remember the feel of his hands. Pulling you closer to him as if he could drink you down to the last drop. A yearning that never fades but burns just as bright as his eyes do. You’re nauseous as you meet his eyes.

But it’s not that he made you sick. Just his words.

“It’s better for everyone if you stay as far away from them as possible.”

“What?” you mumble and frown. “But you told them-”

“I know what I said.” he interjects before you can finish and sighs. “I’ll tell them you lost your quirk or something. I’ll get them outta your hair but you’ll need to move.”

Move?

You blink once. Twice.

He isn’t joking.

“Why?”

“They know where you live.” he shrugs and crosses his arms on the top of the back of the chair and rests his chin atop them. “Once I’m gone they’ll have no reason to track where you move to.”

The sharp pain in your chest at the mention of him leaving washes away all of the good feelings he brought on earlier. Even if he’s saying it in that dreamy voice of his it still hurts like a burning knife in your gut. Twisting your organs until they’re shredding on the blade.

Of course he’s going to leave. He has to. Isn’t that what you wanted? For him to leave and be out of your life for good?

You debate on asking when he’s leaving but you can’t bring the words to your mouth. You can barely even think them without vomiting up your entire stomach. All that food you just ate will not be in vain. Shoving down any and all thoughts of barfing, you take a deep breath.

As much as you hate to admit it, he’s right. You’ll need to move to remain hidden. That’s what you told him you wanted.

It is what you want. You have to keep focused on your goals. Getting him out of your life is just step one.

“Right.” you swallow and stare down at your hands.

You can’t cry in front of him. Not again. Earlier you’d been sobbing in his arms and he’d held you. Hell, he kissed you. You haven’t forgotten that part. If you even could, that is. The memory is a phantom on your skin, a ghost along your ears as you can hear the hungry noise from the base of his throat. Of course, he’d only been starving for the energy you were giving him. Feeding him back what you took through your body and soul. With blood and spit and sweat you raised him back to where he had been before he’d even met you.

It probably meant nothing to him. Just like it shouldn’t mean anything to you. But the fear of losing him, of having drained him down to nothing- that wasn’t a normal reaction. Sure if it were a stranger you’d still feel awful but something about him is wholly different. Is it because you’re attracted to him? Is it because the connection between you two is beyond what you’ve ever experienced?

The thread is still there, humming with life between the two of you- although you know he can’t see or feel it. It would be nice if he could. Maybe he might understand why these emotions were surfacing for someone you barely even know. He might even feel them himself.

But no. You know better than to dream of useless, silly things like that. They don’t exist outside of your mind. They can’t. It’s just not how it works. And at the end of the day reality is the only constant that remains true. It’s harsh and it’s unforgiving but you’ll be damned if it wasn’t one hundred percent truth.

You dread his next words.

“I’m leaving tomorrow. Our deal is done.” his words are too quiet. Or maybe you’ve stopped hearing him. They’re muddled and murky. Drowning in something that's stopping you from understanding.

You don’t have to understand. You don’t need to. It just is.

“So it is.” you whisper back and glance toward your door. “I need to sleep. Goodnight.”

Dabi lets out a small sigh and stands from the chair, twirling it back toward your desk as he ambles toward your door. He stops in the doorway, his broad shoulders tensing for a moment as he glances over his shoulder.

“Goodnight, angel.” he says softly and his lips quirk up to a smile as your face burns.

The wink that follows doesn’t make it any better. His soft, almost inaudible, chuckle that he breathes out gives you goosebumps. Of course he knows how attractive he is. Why wouldn’t he? It’s a perfect opportunity to tease the ever living life out of you when you react to it.

You sigh and slump down on your bed, staring up at the doorway as if you could make him reappear with just a thought.

Tomorrow, then. At least you’d get to say goodbye.

Dreams and nightmares evade you in slumber. Even though you can feel your body regenerate what it needs to, you don’t feel well rested when you wake. You’re groggy and sluggish. Worn out and aching to the bone.

It’s gloomy outside your window, rain swelling in the large gray clouds above. It’s a brief misting that falls from the sky, though. No large drops of rain. No downpour. Only a mist that’s annoying enough to be an inconvenience.

You yawn and make your way to the kitchen to cook something up. But as you reach the mouth of the hallway that lets into the kitchen and living area, you feel even worse.

Dabi’s gone.

He wasn’t in the bathroom when you passed by it. You recheck just to be sure.

The living area with the couch and television is empty. No large body sprawled across it. No jacket hanging off the back of it. No boots laying by the front door.

There isn’t even a note.

Why would you let yourself believe he’d even leave one? He doesn’t care about you or these stupid feelings that are getting the best of you. Why should he? You killed him! Literally drained him right there on your living room floor. Like some kind of vicious and feral vampire.

The tears at your eyes don’t feel right. Even as your heart is thudding sharply in your chest, painfully flopping like a depressed child. You should have known better than to get your hopes up with him. You weren’t even anything to him. You knew that.

You know that.

So why does it hurt so badly?

The leftover dishes in the sink wait, their silence speaking legions of words of judgement as you pass by them and to the front door. You don’t even know what you’re looking for. A message? A note? For him to just be waiting outside it with that stupid cocky grin?

But no. There’s nothing but misty rain aggravating your senses. The world is a shade of sickly brownish green. The discoloration of displeasure. Of rot and decay. Anger swells up in your nerves and you slam the door shut with more force than you should have.

Of course he didn’t leave a goddamn note. You mean nothing to him. Nothing, nothing. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Not a single goddamn thing. You were just means to an end. You brought him back and you housed him until he got what he wanted from you.

The lack of company only makes the silence that much worse as you sit and eat cereal. The clock is ticking on the wall across from you, mist on the glass of your windows sputtering pathetically. It can’t even rain right on a day as awful as this one.

You glance over at the couch where Dabi would have been had he not left without a single word. Are you imagining it as empty or has it always been that… lonely? Aloof and lacking?

Has it always been just like you?

How nice was the feeling of someone sprawled over every inch of your life that it made you feel so depressed without it? It hadn’t felt that great when he was here but with him now gone it only feels cold and sharp. Painful reminders that you’re a helpless, useless no one that nobody would miss. Even if he had killed you like he threatened when he was trying to intimidate you- he had a point. No one would find you for days because your silence in their lives is already so common. They wouldn’t think twice about it.

Whatever. You don’t need people anyways. What do they do but cause pain and make more drama than you need in your life? Like Dabi. He was a threat to your nice, quiet lifestyle. Everything could have been ruined because of him and his stupidly beautiful eyes. And that annoyingly gorgeous cocky smirk he gives when he’s teasing you.

The heat you feel is not from your anger but you only get angier from it. Feeling it in your body as it betrays the emotions you want to run freely. You don’t need Dabi. You don’t want Dabi.

You’re better off without Dabi.

Right?

Work passes without anything interesting. Lively tries to talk about this new teacher she’s been seeing. Some kind of prohero that worked for UA, ‘Eraserhead’ or something dumb like that. You wish you could summon even an ounce of personality to engage in her one sided conversation but you can’t. You don’t have the energy to. It doesn’t matter how much you sleep. How much you eat. How much water you consume. Nothing is enough to take away the waves of exhaustion that push and pull through your soul and body.

It’s starting to affect your work. As your boss temporarily suspends your schedule so you can ‘get yourself together’- as she put it- you find that you don’t even want to go home.

There’s a battle a couple of blocks from your apartment. You don’t even think about going to help and heal. What’s the point? To make up for the wrongs you’ve done with Aysu and Dabi? Aysu’s dead. There’s nothing you can do to help her.

Dabi said your deal was over with. You both got what you wanted. So that was more than made up for.

Helping beyond what you already have is only asking for more trouble. You should know better than to use your quirk anymore. Look at what had happened when you lost your temper. Exposing anyone else to such a horror is a terribly selfish thing to do. It’s not that you even really helped to begin with, either. You played both sides in the hopes of seeming like you were an unbiased person.

But you were really only doing it for you. To soothe your guilty conscience. You didn’t help out of any kindness. It isn’t a dream of yours. It was only ever to make yourself feel better about your existence.

A bar sounds great right about now. You need a drink. Or four. Maybe not even alcohol.

You tell yourself you’re getting drunk but you don’t. You just sit at the bar and sip on one drink. People buzz in and around you. That’s really why you’re here. Because you can’t stand to be alone. You can’t fathom the emptiness that opens the void in your soul at the silence of your house.

This is the only way you know how to be around people without seeming absolutely pathetic. Like the real selfish, useless person you are. Here you can fake that you’re waiting for someone or whatever. That you’re not as sad and lonely as you really, really are.

“Why the long face?” a voice drawls and you turn toward your left.

Coming face to face with a man with a tattoo that covers his entire face. His skin is a sickly green but the tattoo only enhances this with lime lines swirling into the center. It’s a stranger pattern that makes you furrow your brows and he chuckles.

“Let me guess,” he grins, “My face?” he motions towards his cheek and runs the back of his hand down it.

“I don’t mean to stare.” you say plainly. “Sorry.”

“No that’s why it’s there.” he chortles. “I wanted others to keep watching me. And looking at you with those magnificent eyes one me? Priceless. I’d do it all over again.”

Oh god is he flirting with you? The cringe that seeps into your face is only slight as you scoot further away from the man, angling your body in the other direction as he leans forward.

“You can call me Charlie.” he grins and extends a hand. “And you are…?”

‘Not interested?’ you think but sigh.

“[Name].” you mutter and glance away from him.

“A beautiful name!” he exclaims and places his hand over his heart. “May I buy you your next drink? See if I can brighten that sorrowful look of yours?”

No. Nope. This man is too over the top and you’re done with it. Maybe you weren’t looking for any company. Just a specific someone's company. Not that you’re going to allow yourself to think of his name.

Before you can deny the man he’s already signaled your refill. His grin is plastered across his face like a snake waiting in the grass. Poised, waiting. Striking is eventual and it’s only a matter of when.

And if you can get out of the way in time.

Ah well. Might as well enjoy it while it lasts, hm?

#ichor #dabi x reader #dabixreader #dabi #dabixyou #dabi x you #dabi x y/n #mha #bhna #reader insert #fanfic #divinewhimsy #my hero academia #lov #league of villains

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outroshooky · 4 years

Text

whatever in heaven | knj

⇢ genre: series; part three (mafia!au) (angst, fluff, smut)

⇢ pairing: kim namjoon x reader

⇢ word count: 5.8k

⇢ warnings: smut (soft d/s dynamics. grinding, oral [m receiving], brief use of the word daddy, marking, gentler dirty talk [praise]) angst (implied usage and mention of knives, nightmare), some fluff. this fic is a bit of a mind-fuck; there are darker themes here, so please read with caution.

⇢ a/n: i’m so excited for you guys to read the next installment of verses & vibes! a huge, huge thank you to my beta readers @sunkoos (go check out nas’s work!) and @hobiswitch; an even bigger thank you to @guksheart for not only beta reading this fic but posting this for me because of laptop difficulties!

...which leads me into, unfortunately, some bad news. my laptop crashed permanently over the weekend and i may have lost all of my files. i’m working to get them back, but this also means i have to buy a new laptop. thus, verses and vibes (and my writing in general) may go on hiatus until i can figure out a way to keep writing and posting new content. more updates forthcoming— for now, enjoy whatever in heaven!

“i know not if i could have borne

to see thy beauties fade;

the night that follow’d such a morn

had worn a deeper shade:

thy day without a cloud hath pass’d,

and thou wert lovely to the last,

extinguish’d, not decay’d;

as stars that shoot along the sky

shine brightest as they fall from high.”

⤷ and thou art dead, as young and fair; lord byron (george gordon)

It is always the same in the beginning.

He is kneeling on a concrete floor that goes on as far as he can see, cold and callous against the skin that peeks from the stringy rips in his pajama pants. A single light flickers above his head, murky cream, faded with age. His arms are bound behind his back with braided rope, biting vengeance into his tender wrists. His exhalations wisp pale smoke, rushing from his lips to touch the folded legs of a woman sitting just out of the ring of wired lamplight.

The supports of the chair are metal; he momentarily ponders how her skin isn’t dotted with gooseflesh through the thin fabric of her dress, but her cherry-red heels catch the light in a way that has his breath hitching. Something in him presses to reach out to her but he can’t, straining against his bonds like a feral cat caged. He snarls, a gritting sound in the silence of the warehouse, and she hums something seductive in return.

It is a dark heat that kindles in the pit of Namjoon’s stomach when he realizes he is staring at temptation herself, clothed in cherry pumps and scarlet lipstick. She is the antithesis of everything he should have and yet, yet—

He craves her more and more with every second that goes past. He doesn’t need to see her face to know that she is hauntingly beautiful, a devil crafted from memory, sent from hell to tempt him in all the ways she knew how. The blooming lust in his veins climbs with viney fingers straight to his brain, his head spinning, flying high; he barely knows what to believe. Somehow, she’s pulling on the strings of his thoughts, a marionette and his master dancing on the brink. One wrong string and the puppet collapses in a heap of cloth and kindling.

He groans, the sound of frustration and need echoing on and on in the dim room. She laughs velvet rich, sickeningly sweet. He wishes he could rend the binds from his arms, crawl to her, worship her the way she deserves; he shuffles forward an inch, two—

A plain black combat knife skitters to a stop in front of him, twirling once before coming to rest, just grazing his left kneecap. Resting potential against the crook of his leg, and he sucks in a breath when he feels the chilled edge level against the puckered scar on his knee.

She doesn’t speak, but Namjoon knows exactly what she means to say.

Thoughts clamor at the base of his skull, hissing seduction like a writhing mass of coiled snakes snapping for attention. They strike at one another, seeking dominion, and he’s nearly consumed by the din. A choice, cut out for him by the hands of fate, burned in the ashes of every decision he’s ever made. It boils down to this, to him and her and everything in between.

At one pellucid flicker of insanity, his hands are freed.

The ropes fall frayed to the floor and he straightens, rubbing at the burn in his forearms, rolling his neck to loosen the strain. His eyes flicker to her mass in the darkness, the shape of her just touched by the faintest tendrils of light. She is just out of reach, but so close, so far when her head tilts, a hint of fascination. He is mortal, she is eternal— a man reduced at the end of the day, stripped of money and power and the demons that lick at his heels. Greed is his master, but she is his, coveted in the secrecy of this cushioned nightmare.

He knows though, in the deepest reaches of his twisted soul, that only one of them will leave the warehouse alive.

In this horrible, shattered husk of reality, only one of them is destined to live.

And somehow, the choice has fallen to him.

Pick up the knife. Pick it up, feel it in your hands, smooth and weighted, perfectly balanced. Everything you’ve ever wanted is in the palm of your hands. Make the right choice. Do it for me, baby. For me.

Namjoon is pitted against his own self-preservation, warped desires clamoring for attention, needy yet sick. Needy, he is so fucking needy, but for what? Anticipation itches the back of his neck; he can barely think when the handle melds into the curve of his palm with such a sinful fit. The metal glints promise of things yet to come, but when he tilts the blade towards himself, he sees only the industrial struts that crosshatch the ceiling, the dust that hovers thick in the clogged, choking air. Emptiness and fulfillment, hand in hand, only a breath away.

You know what the answer is, Kim Namjoon. Do it. Do it for me.

Does he know? He must know, deep in the recesses of his bones. Deep inside the fucked-up mind of his, playing tricks on him; a trickster, what trickster? The last of his sanity is threatening to drip, melting like liquid wax onto the cool, callous cement. It’s bubbling in his hands, pouring through the gaps between his fingers, but when he shakes his head, a mad dog, it solidifies molten silver, black titanium.

Do it for me.

Do it for her.

He must.

Namjoon’s eyes flicker to her calf, following the silk of her skin to the hem of her saccharine dress; it flutters scarlet just out of reach. He’s on his knees now; there’s something pulling at him, some indeterminable force dragging him through the floor. The blade slips; the knife twists in his hands as he falls forward, and—

The air rushes out of Namjoon’s lungs as he writhes himself awake, mouth agape in an silent scream. He’s wheezing with the first rush of oxygen into his lungs, his lips swollen with gnashing of teeth as he twists away from the warmth settled next to him in the sea of rippling sheets, curling in on himself.

“Namjoon, are you alright?”

The broken man lifts his head, taking in the naked form upright in bed beside him, hair awry, concern bleeding every word.

It’s you.

He’s safe.

Indeed, Namjoon has had many dreams, but none quite like this one.

It is as if the very breath was sucked from Namjoon’s lungs when he first wrested himself awake in a cold sweat. Control is something he craves, something he owns save the late night hours when it is ripped from his hands by the sick desires of his own brain, playing tricks on him. He exercises his grip on every minutiae of his life, but when his eyes flutter shut and his conscience takes hold, it wraps a silken tie around his thoughts and begs him to pay attention.

You’re calling his name in a voice burdened by drowsiness. He knows you were awoken because of him but he can’t seem to think, to do anything else but sit here in this bed, in these rippling creamy sheets, and feel his lungs fill, empty. Fill, empty.

“Namjoon, love, breathe with me, okay?”

Breathing. Breathing is all he has been reduced to, a creature of the night with oxygen in his lungs and demons in his head.

You take his hand in your own, feels the slim digits trembling against your skin. You rub gentle circles into his knuckles and it somehow grounds him in the midst of the chaos, the overwhelming flood conjured from his worst nightmares. He watches as you carefully trace every crooked angle of his fingers with your own.

It is this simple motion that produces new thoughts, a mental clamor not of his own demise but for his own safety, the protection that he seeks. You are so much more than the sum of your parts: you are safety in the midst of a den of ruby-eyed cobras simply begging for a chance to strike. He’s never thought of anybody the way he thinks of you; there is no one else who comes close to you, and that’s saying a lot when it comes to his line of work.

“Namjoon, you’re safe, okay? You’re safe with me. We’re in our bedroom. You’re still the head of the most feared crime ring in the country. Nothing has changed. Yoongi is just outside the door; I’m right here. Nothing has changed, baby. You’re safe.”

Your words are warm against his skin, dotted with the press of lips to his temple, his cheek. You’re burning up against him, sweat beading at the roots of his hair, the silver strands falling low into his eyes. Somehow, the heat only serves to make him cooler, and he’s nestling into your arms before his mind catches up to his body. He’s safe. Somehow, in the roaring din of his mind, he is safe. His demons won’t follow him here, locked outside the door, palms scrabbling at the windows. The windows. Namjoon’s eyes flick to the glass and find the shades drawn, blocking out the ambient light that hovers thick on the other side. Bulletproof, he insisted, and for good reason. But Yoongi would have called if there was a problem, and he’s got Seokjin at the front gate, and it begins to seep in, sweet relief, that he truly is safe.

He is cradled to you like a child, a position compromising for a man of his stature, but he knows you won’t judge. Your hand trails from his thigh to his hip, his ribs to his shoulders, and your fingers nest in his hair, gently scratching his scalp. Lord knows he won’t be able to close his eyes until daylight breaks over the dark oak floor of your shared bedroom, but he hums and noses at your neck. You smell like sage and lavender with a touch of his own cologne, a memory of last night, and he inhales deeply, tries to savor the muskiness.

“You’re okay baby, I promise.” A kiss to his temple, another grounding touch. “I’m not going anywhere. I love you; you’re safe right here with me. Just let me love you, okay baby?”

Love. Love, a concept Namjoon knew better by verbal parry than by any real, tangible memory. It was wielded by a father he barely knew, an absent mother who preferred the company of socialites to the company of her own son. It was really a wonder he found it in him to love at all, really; he’d assumed he’d leave such an emotion to those who built a life out of a 9-5 day and mediocre sex. He’d been proven wrong, however, when you came along— you, once a high-profile escort in the dirty underworld he’d built for himself, proved yourself a worthy companion when you stayed beyond his guttural moans and dirty secrets. It was in fact, a moment like this when he realized he quite enjoyed your company, and there was something more to it than just a good fuck, an easy pussy.

You were the closest thing to real love he’d ever experienced, a home to come back to that wasn’t a prowling security team and a clean gun barrel. He’d exposed the grittiest parts of himself to you, the most private secrets and still you came back for more. You were just as fucked up as he was, really, and that was his favorite thing about you. You’d killed for him and he knew you’d kill again, and that was, very plainly, the matter of things.

Plus, that mouth made him see the stars more times than he’d willingly brag about at the poker table.

He presses a kiss to your shoulder, exposed through the lip of your shirt (his shirt, actually). It’s a careful kiss, chaste for him. Your fingers rub comfort into the base of his skull and he swears he could purr, an alley cat sleek and pleasured.

“You doing okay, Joonie?” Your eyes tell him everything he needs to know and he nods, unsure if he trusts himself to speak. Fear still gnaws at his bones, muted terror of a red-heeled succubus and a silver blade that gleams in the lamplight. Somehow though, you know, scraping the blunt of your fingernails against his roots. “You don’t have to talk to me about it if you don’t want to. I’m here regardless of that, you know me.”

Namjoon noses the column of your neck in reply, folding his sizeable frame until it molds against yours. Some things he’d never let the boys know about, but some things, he thinks, they knew about already. He is hard and cold and calculated yet soft and warm and comforting, a living contradiction unto himself; you’d never believe it if you hadn’t seen it yourself. A complexity of men who prefers to live by the simplest of rules, but you’d learned long ago not to try to understand something that was fucked-up from the start. Some things in this world were just fucked up, and that was the way they were meant to be.

Neither of you know how long you sit there, adrift in messy sheets, dry eyes gritty with the lateness of the hour. Your hand weaves through Namjoon’s hair as the vines around his heart flex, their thorny stems unraveling. He stopped shaking minutes before, but if you know anything about him, the internal tremors never cease, not outside of the safety of this bedroom, impossible with the life he lives.

He stirs a little, murmurs your name against your neck, his lips brushing bare skin and the small freckle that dots just above your collarbone. There’s something so intimate, so human about it, screaming vulnerability that hangs open and aching in the silence. His hands slide smooth across the breadth of your back, your waist, palms settling atop your thighs as he draws back slowly, slowly.

There’s a question in his eyes, one you meet with your own.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He hesitates.

“Namjoon…”

He swallows, tilts his head, steals a kiss. “I’m sorry.” Then another.

With the third you’re pulling away, chest steady, finger to his lips. “Namjoon, you’re not thinking clearly. We can’t do this right now—”

“Says who?” He is breathless with the thought. “I wanna make you feel good, baby. You deserve that.”

The sweetest words wrap themselves around the breadth of your bones, melting between the gaps. He’s always been so good with his tongue.

“Namjoon, I wanna make you feel good too, but not when you’re like this.” You shake your head. “Not when you’re waking up screaming about death and knives and all sorts of horrible things.”

His hands brush your curves. “If this bed is an ocean, I wanna drown in you.”

“Joonie…”

It’s so easy to work at you, the sharper edges that he can dissect piece by piece. He knows exactly how far to push, what little to say to reel you in hook, line, and sinker. “Just go with it baby, alright? Just trust me.”

It’s easy to fall into Namjoon, collapsing every time as he folds around you. His head tilts to the side as he leans in, his nose brushing your own. He tastes like mint toothpaste and something uniquely him, an element you can never place but when he’s exposing the most vulnerable parts of himself to you like this. His mouth moves easy against yours, just tender lips, warm kisses. His hand smoothes up your spine to cradle your neck, thumb brushing at the nape, the soft hairs that tickle the back of his hand. “Just relax baby, relax.”

Once more. “Joonie, are you sure you’re okay with this?”

He nods. “I want this.”

He’s never been one for kissing but tonight he craves it, the simplicity of two mouths and hands that fit themselves perfectly against the curves and the edges. Musk curls under your nose as your eyelids flutter shut, dusting the apples of your cheeks a pinkish hue. Your hands meet his chest, burning with heat through the oversized Grateful Dead shirt he wears to bed with you, and they slide to his shoulders when he slips an arm underneath you to tug you closer.

You settle atop the apexes of his thighs, legs folding around him as he gazes up at you. The utmost adoration he has for you, written in the stars and in two hearts that beat as one, rattling against their cages with a need for closer, closer, closer. Fear melts underneath practiced fingertips and patience; he’ll be damned if he doesn’t return the favor. His eyes, usually tawny and mellow, burn blacker than charcoal but sweeter than syrup, running with emotion. It’s evident in every brush of his hands against your bare skin when his fingertips edge under the hem of your shorts, the gleam in his eye that warns of everything that is about to come. One hand supports your back as the other squeezes your thigh, and you can’t help but smirk down at him with the easy smile that tugs at his own kiss-bitten lips.

You aren’t smirking, however, when he leans in and nips a bite at your neck, teasing with his teeth, making you whimper and whine atop him. His tongue pokes between his lips, assuaging the pain, and your own mouth falls open as your fingers clench at his shoulders, nails sliding a lazy path along his spine. He licks once at the bite, then once more until he’s satisfied with the petaled violet that blossoms across the breadth of your throat. He nibbles a matching purple rose on the other side; you can feel the smile on his lips when your mouth shamelessly tips open and you stutter out his name.

“Hm, what is it?” When he draws back, you moan a singular complaint. “What do you want, love? I’ll give you anything you want.”

“W-Wanna make you feel good,” you pant, eyes fluttering. “Wanna make you feel so good.”

“I wanna make you feel good too, baby. Let’s just focus on the now, yeah?” Namjoon’s hand squeezes your thigh but you’re already pressing your body flush to his, kneeling over him. You cup his face and he strokes your wrist lightly, the most tentative of touches, thanking god that somehow, in the midst of the lion’s den, you’d found him. He had you and he knew he could trust you, trust the smell of your shampoo and the heat of your skin. “Focus on me.”

You lean down to kiss him, brushing his cheekbones, tangling your hands in his hair, but apparently, Namjoon had other plans. His lips graze your own, trailing the edge of your jaw to pepper the lightest kisses at your ear and move lower, lower. When his mouth lavishes the column of your neck with the utmost pleasure, you can’t help but feel your core ache, the purest whines permeating the thick air as you beg. He’s definitely hard now, weight against the inside of your thigh, and the temptation— no, the need to grind down on him sparked the fuzziest pleasures in your mind, the most sinful ideas.

“Please Joonie, please feels so good, please, w-wanna—”

When Namjoon mouths wet at the shell of your ear you writhe, losing control with each second that slips between your fingers like sand. His lips burn fire against your already heated skin, sizzling and crackling like a live wire under his touch. You hiss and he growls deep in the back of his throat, continues his ministrations.

“I forgot how much you liked that,” he breathes shakily.

“You’re so fucking hot,” you gasp, releasing your iron grasp on his roots. Luckily he’s unfazed; damn lucky you to be with someone who actually enjoyed their fair share of kinkiness. “So fucking hot and you’re so thick, I can feel it—”

When you grind down on him, pressing yourself onto the growing bulge in his slacks and swiveling your hips with practiced ease, he groans feverishly. With every brush of the head of his cock, he’s harder than before, memory weighty in the palm of his hand. He chokes on the breath in his lungs, his nails blunt on your back, and he moans once in content. Feels so fucking good.

“God, baby, you’re gonna ruin me like this,” Namjoon chuckles.

“Maybe that’s the intention,” you trill.

“Fuck.” The word lies heavy in the air, heavy on his bated breath.

You smirk, sinful seduction in his ear. “And what if I did this?”

As his eyebrows furrow, you ease yourself onto his thighs, so strong and sinewy. Your fingertips slip down his shoulders, trace every muscle that strains under his loose sleep shirt. Beneath the fabric is the coiled power of a lethal creature, a tiger poised to devour his prey. And he is utterly wrapped around your finger, letting his head tip back against the headboard with a sigh. He’s lost in your touches, an angel fallen from heaven, no idea which way is up or down.

You rub circles into his hip bones; he twists under you. Practically begging with his gasps, knowing what awaits him. Your fingers toy with the hem of his boxers and he’s hissing between his teeth. “Baby…”

You hum a response, press a kiss to the shell of his ear.

“Please…”

“Oh Namjoon,” you coo. “You’re a mess, baby.”

He is. Hair sticking to his forehead, sweat gleaming at his temple; he’s a model for destruction, the dirtiest of kinds. Hips arching underneath you, and there’s a wet spot that stains the fabric. He smiles somehow, teeth flashing in the low light. “All for you.”

You withdraw, spit into your palm. “Then you get all of me.”

Your hand slips beneath the waistband of his boxers, finds his cock, thick and hard. At the first stroke, lazy and full, he can’t stop the raspy grunt that leaves his throat. “Shit, baby. Feels so good.” When you lower your head to mouth at him over his sweats he practically writhes, begging, needy. So unlike him, but a welcome change to see him falling apart, falling apart over you. The fabric is soaked with saliva and dotted with a pearl of cum, a carnal work of art.

You rub slowly down his length, thumbing the swollen head leaking his seed. It’s messy and wet and he’s moaning and it’s all worth it, worth it to see him wrecked like this. His balls are heavy in your palm; when your eyes flutter up to meet his, wide and expectant, Namjoon hisses. That sound enough jolts burning heat between your thighs, twisting devilishly in your stomach. “B-Babygirl?”

There’s question in the word, question that makes you pause. You moan against his clothed cock; he chokes on his words.

“Can I make you feel good too?”

A sloppy kiss pressed to his member. “Later, okay? I wanna focus on you right now, Joonie.”

His hand strokes through your hair, flyaway, disheveled. “You’re so good to me. So fucking good—” He chokes on the downstroke, fingers tightening out of reflex. “Want you so bad.”

You press. “How bad? Bad enough to want my mouth?”

“Shit, your mouth,” he whines. “Want your mouth, want you—”

“Joonie,” you murmur.

His heartbeat resounds like gunfire in the ringing silence.

“Lift.”

He lifts his hips as you tug, pulling his sweats down to his thighs, the fabric ridged underneath your perch. His cock falls free, standing slightly crooked against his still-clothed abdomen, rippling with tension. It twitches under the heat of your gaze, steadily seeping liquid bliss, and your mouth waters at the thought. It’s been so long since you took him like this; when it’ll happen again, who’s to say.

You pepper kisses along his thighs just to hear him whimper, feel the predator writhe in his own constraints. His hands burn their own trails along the curves of your body, spreading heat in their wake as you cave to your own desire, slipping a hand between your thighs when you take him in your mouth with practiced ease. He’s firm under your fingertips, lithe and sleek and powerful in all the right ways, but he falls apart when it comes to you, crumbles like rock under the breath of the tidal wave. He grunts sin from between gritted teeth but whines complaint when you pull back to tease, to draw things out. He’s gentle in his touches but firm in his demands, even through the cottony billows of his neediness.

“I-I’m close,” Namjoon stutters, skin crimson from lavished attention. There’s saliva smeared down your chin and tears twinkle liquid starlight on your lashes, but you’ve never felt more electrified, burning up at the seams for him. From the heated confines of your throat you withdraw his cock with a firm touch at the base, his fingers running through your mussed locks.

“Where do you want to cum, baby?”

He squirms. “Fuck. Wherever you’ll take m-me—” He shudders, ribs heaving. Your fallen angel, shattering under your touch. “Oh shit, I’m gonna cum for you, babygirl.”

“Cum for me, angel. Cum for me...” you murmur, gaze level with his own as you wrap your lips around his member.

“Gonna cum for you, fuck—”

“Daddy.”

The cavernous heat of your mouth is a slick warmth, so wet and warm and utterly divine. He loses himself in it, lets himself go, pushing towards that edge of no return, riding the crest of the wave as it rolls faster, harder, heavier. “‘M gonna fucking cum. Oh god, fuck, shit, babygirl, I’m cumming, I’m—”

A drawn out groan fills the air, raspy and thick and throaty as he thrusts into your mouth once, twice, spills over. He’s bitter on your tongue, acrid but you take it, swallow it all. It’s worth it to see the pleasure overtake him, to see him let go of every capacity and capability to fall drowning, dizzy. Whatever in heaven, above or below, he’s tumbling headlong into it, collapsing into himself like a burning star falling from the cosmos.

He’s the first to break the silence that falls, withdrawing himself and tucking his softening cock back in his sweats with a remarkable amount of composition for a man who’d just seen the very sparks of the universe behind closed eyelids. He chuckles breathless, bated. “Fucking hell, angel.”

You try to speak but merely croak at first, throat grating dry. He hushes you soothingly, easing you back on the pillows now soaked with sweat. “Let me get you some water, yeah? Just stay here for now.”

You whine a complaint— shouldn’t you be taking care of him?— but he’s insistent and already on his feet, legs shaky as he heads towards the bathroom. There’s a pang in your chest watching him go, the reality of the situation settling in, and vulnerability flowers in your heart.

The tap squeaks; the faucet runs. Room temperature water, not too hot but not too cold to soothe the burn in your esophagus. He knows you better than anyone, knows how to take care of you when you fail to take care of yourself, life spent always on the run. You’re the one holding him when his nightmares consume him, the steel that he draws from his belt to wield before him, the ultimate weapon. Yin and yang, black and white, blooming nebula and neutron star. The water turns off, a grating complaint.

It’s been too long; you’ve delayed too much. Play to his fantasy; he has no idea what’s coming.

“If the water’s not enough, I can send Yoongi for some tea— oh.”

Oh.

You are no longer prostrate, the limp rag doll exhausted from her play. No, you are stretched out on the bed, ass up on your hands and knees, silver glinting between your teeth as a pair of handcuffs dangles in the air. You are looking at him with fire smouldering deep in your eyes, blazing a burning glare straight through him.

The predator has become the prey.

“Daddy,” you purr, right on cue. “Come here.”

It’s automatic, the way Namjoon moves towards you, glass forgotten on the nearby dresser. He’s completely transfixed, fascinated by the possibilities, and when he reaches the end of the bed, you stop him with one outstretched foot, bare with the lateness of the hour. “Turn around.”

He’s so submissive, so compliant simply by the force of his own surprise. It’s hard to keep going, hard to push through the adrenaline thrumming through your blood, the underlying current that threatens to sweep you away, too. But you mustn’t listen, mustn’t feel.

“Hands behind your back, Joonie, baby.”

He’s perfect, perfectly whole in the way he follows each command that falls from your lips like silk spun thread. He surrenders himself so willingly to you, it stings raw.

You rise to your feet, level with the back of him. Your fingers make quick work of the cuffs and with a firm click, the deed is done.

With a tender motion that surprises even you considering the brevity of the situation, you wrap your arms around your torso, bury your face in his skin, inhale his scent. Amber and citrus. Musk and spice. Whole contradictions that somehow manage to summarize him perfectly. You whisper against his spine like it’s a secret. “I’m so sorry.”

“What, baby?”

You can feel his heartbeat against your cheek, thudding rapid with excitement, wonder at what lies ahead of him. Guilt roars its ugly head and you beat it back with double the force.

You stiffen, step away from him. Four years you’d waited to formulate these words, to hear them drop from your lips, plummeting on high. Four years and now the moment is here, and you swallow past the lump in your sore throat.

“Kim Namjoon, you are under arrest for charges of extortion, murder, murder-for-hire, drug possession, and arms trafficking. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you…”

“...Do you understand the rights I have just read to you? With these rights in mind, do you wish to speak to me?”

You’re sitting in the open door of a police cruiser, more specifically a SWAT cruiser, an aluminum blanket wrapped around your bare shoulders. The air is warm, but you can’t stop shivering.

Seokjin paces fifteen feet away from you, ever more handsome in his suit and tie. Hoseok is finishing his interview of the conclusion, anticlimactic for the better. Yoongi’s legs dangle from the open doors of one of the ambulances called when your colleagues expected the worst. Thankfully, no casualties had occurred but a sprained ankle, a fight between one of your fellow law enforcement officers and that guy that manned the back gate. Everyone can go home, rest easy.

After Seokjin’s interview is yours, and you realize by the time Hoseok is asking the last question that you don’t remember a single word of what you’ve said. Elite agents taking down the biggest crime boss in the country are not supposed to feel so empathetic, so broken. Guilty. Regretful.

Four years, the longest and most dramatic chase of your career. Justice fell, a swift hammer; you’d saved the day once again, added another face to the chalkboard in your sterile office a thousand miles away. You’d won. Hadn’t you?

There’s a faraway look in your eyes that Hoseok somehow understands, a glimmer of something more than success. He straddles the age gap between the members of the team, incorporating Jeongguk’s youthfulness with his elders’ experience, the glue of it all handed the most important task. He calls your name. “You’ve been out of it the entire time I’ve been interviewing you. What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing.”

But there’s no bite to the words, no whet of passion. They fall flat below the crackle of radios, the mist that reflects red and blue through the evergreen trees scraping the stars winking high above.

Hoseok puts his pen and clipboard aside. “Hey,” he says. The kindness in his tone pierces daggers through your heart. You somehow would’ve been more comfortable if he had yelled at you. “You did the right thing. He hurt a lot of people. Killed many more, and did so without remorse.”

That’s what you think, you want to scream. Because to you, he is some foreign criminal, far removed from any last dregs of humanity. He is a monster and a crook and a fiend, twisted into something unrecognizable, but you didn’t see what I saw. Did you see the warmth in his eyes when he rolled over and buried himself in my arms all those mornings in bed? Did you see the way he saved those dogs about to be euthanized in a shelter, because those pups reminded him of how he used to feel, staring death in the eyes every day? Did you see the way he loved me?

Hoseok pats your shoulder. “I’ll put in a month and a half of vacation time for you when we get home. Lord knows you’ve earned it. And we can rest tonight, rest for the first time in a while. We’ve got a nice hotel an hour away from here, top floor. We’re not done flushing out the rest of his boys, but that can wait for now. We can handle that on our own; they’re scattered all over the continent anyways. It’ll take time.” He picks up his supplies, turns to move on to Yoongi. The look in the elder man’s eyes, the special ops agent thinks, is exactly the same as your own. What had you two seen in that hellhole?

You tuck the blanket tighter around yourself and nod once. It’s the most you can do.

Hoseok smiles, but it’s not quite the beaming, sunshine-filled glow he usually carries about himself. “You did good work and I’m proud of you. Get some sleep, agent.”

Sleep does not come for a long, long time.

When it does, it eats away behind your eyelids, filling your mind with visions of a man adrift in an ocean of bedsheets, rocking on the waves of an endless concrete floor that goes for miles and miles, whispering promises of things to come that never would be.

Kim Namjoon is sentenced to life in prison for six counts of murder, fifteen counts of extortion, three counts of murder-for-hire, six counts of drug trafficking, three counts of arms trafficking, and two counts of drug possession.

He never makes it to see his twenty-sixth birthday.

#bts #bts smut #bts fluff #kpop fluff #namjoon smut #namjoon angst #kpop fanfiction #bts au #verses and vibes #outroshooky

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wellthatjusthappend · 4 years

Note

Hi! If you're still taking prompts, please could you write a Ra'sJay, with Ra's courting an oblivious Jason. Jason thinks Ra's is threatening him or sending him some kind of warning. Everyone around him is constantly face-palming because how can someone be so oblivious?

Yeah sure!

This turned out a little angsty, but Ra’s is a creep so what else is new?

****

“You’re not Tim,” Jason frowned when he opened the door to see Dick standing on his doorstep holding the piece of equipment he’d asked Tim for earlier that day.

“He was pretty busy, so I volunteered,” Dick said scratching the back of his head and smiling ruefully.

“Whatever, just bring it in,” Jason gestured him inside.

Dick hauled the box inside and immediately began chattering about whatever fight Tim and the Demon Brat had gotten into lately as he unpacked it on Jason’s living room floor. He was obviously a little uncomfortable, but seemed determined to act like everything was normal.

Jason squinted at him suspiciously. Were they really going to pretend the last two times they’d seen each other they hadn’t ended up making out like teenagers?

“So, what’d you need this for?” Dick finally asked as he finished setting up the scanner.

Jason debated telling him to fuck off, but he had brought him the equipment.

“Special delivery,” Jason shrugged, gesturing toward the package on his windowsill, “Looks like something from the League, but Talia usually calls if she’s sending something to me. Seeing as Ra’s threw a fit when Talia dumped me in the pit… I figured better safe than sorry.”

“You think it might be something dangerous?” Dick said, instantly becoming serious.

“I already scanned it for explosives and listening devices,” Jason said, “but Tim reckoned it was a good idea to go over it with some of his tech before I started handling it.”

“Probably a good idea,” Dick agreed.

Being careful not to disturb the box, Dick x-rayed the package, checking for more detailed contaminates, while Jason went over it with a magic sniffer Jason Blood had gifted Bruce years back.

“It’s a knife,” Dick said after a moment.

“Nothing too fucked up about it, other then having been in a Lazarus Pit at some point in history,” Jason agreed, setting down the device and kneeling to open up the box. Dick hovered next to him tensely, but Jason ignored him in favor of pulling out a velvet-lined case for the most ornate dagger Jason had ever seen.

“Looks ceremonial,” mused Jason unsheathing the thing gingerly, “Jesus, this thing has got to be old as fuck.”

Dick made a weird strangled sound next to him.

“That’s a courting dagger,” Dick said in shock, “Talia gave Bruce one, ages ago.”

“Huh,” Jason hummed, tilting the mirror like blade in the light, “Kinda romantic. Better than ring or flowers, I’ll give you that.”

“Jason-” Dick began sharply.

“Relax,” Jason rolled his eyes, “It's probably Ra's being a dramatic asshole and warning me off Talia or something.”

“But what if it’s exactly what it looks like?” Dick looked far from convinced.

“What? As a courting gift?” Jason snorted.

“Yeah,” Dick said seriously.

Jason laughed outright at that. How utterly absurd could Dick get?

“Oh, please,” Jason snickered, “Ra’s doesn’t even like me, remember? Besides, isn’t it Timmy who he has the hard on for?”

“Maybe…” Dick frowned, “But still, I remember Bruce talking about how serious that kind of gesture was in the league… Those daggers are precious; they’re not something you just hand out.”

“Yeah, that is weird…” Jason shook his head as he looked at the jewel encrusted hilt. He’d bet his savings that this thing was worth a fortune, “I’ll call Talia and see if she knows anything.”

“I don’t like this,” Dick grumbled.

“Noted,” Jason rolled his eyes as he gathered up the tools he’d borrowed and packed them back the box. Except the magic detectors. He was hoping Dick was distracted enough that he wouldn’t notice Jason had stuffed those under the couch. Those things were fucking useful.

“I think you should come stay at the Manor until we know what Ra’s is planning,” Dick said stubbornly.

“Ha, that sounds like a bloodbath waiting to happen,” Jason snorted.

“At least come stay with me,” Dick pleaded.

That sounded dangerous for a whole host of other reasons.

“Goodbye Dickie,” Jason said pushing the box into his hands and trying to push him out the door.

“Jason, I’m serious,” Dick planted his feet and glowered at him.

He was too pretty to do that very well, Jason mused.

“So am I,” Jason rolled his eyes, “Seriously, it’s fine. If I was worried about it I would have chucked it in the trash.”

“If something happens-” Dick insisted.

“I know how to call for backup,” Jason said dryly. Not that he probably would.

Dick looked like he sincerely wanted to say something else, but finally he shook his head and backed off, “Just… call if you get more info.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jason waved him out and locked the door.

Dick was so paranoid sometimes. And what the fuck was with him and suddenly deciding that everyone and their dog wanted Jason’s ass all of a sudden? Jason knew he was hardly hideous, but pretty much every other member of the Bat’s were miles more attractive than he was. It was just a fact.

Jason plopped down on the couch to call Talia, when he noticed that the velvet bottom of the box the dagger had comin wasn’t laying completely flat. Curious, Jason lifted the padding to find a note hidden at the bottom.

It was in the League’s special dialect of Arabic, but Jason had plenty of practice with that.

Hello My Vicious One,

You may remember that although my daughter saw fit to cut corners and restore your mind with the Pit waters, it was I who took you in. I restored your body from the feeble husk it had become. I rid you of the last vestiges of death and taught your soul how to fight once more. Somehow, you walked away from death by your own power, and for that alone you earned my special attention. My daughter may have led you astray and set you on a foolish path for revenge for her own petty purposes, but you have risen above them, without the Bat, and claimed a small part of the underworld as your own.

I have a proposition for you that I think you shall find intriguing. Come to the base where I first raised you from darkness’, and show the guards the dagger I sent you and they will grant you access to my quarters. There we may speak freely.

The Demon Head

What the fuck?

Jason had no idea what to make of that. Talia had told him that Ra’s had thought him unworthy because of his lowly origins. Could she have been lying?

As soon as he thought it, Jason snorted. Talia lied all the time, that wasn’t the issue. The question was if Jason wanted to risk going to meet Ra’s. Talia’s contacts wouldn’t hold a candle to the types of resources Ra’s could give him. But of course, Ra’s was also less trustworthy.

Still, offending him was probably an even worse idea.

Dick would throw a fit if he knew Jason was planning to go on his own, but he’d never been good at seeing the bigger picture. A gesture of good faith, that he wouldn’t insult Ra’s by bringing backup to an invitation that was clearly meant for him alone. That being said, Jason wasn’t going to be stupid about it. He’d go as prepared as he could get.

Ra’s said it was the base where he’d been ‘raised from darkness’ so perhaps the place where he’d regained consciousness after wandering blindly through Gotham’s streets? His memories before he’d been pushed into the pit were a confusing mess of images and sensations that made his head ache to try and parse through.

Mostly he remembered the feel of a sword in his hand and the ache in his arms as he was trained, the cool salty smell of the air, the slide of silk cloth against his skin, staring endlessly at the intricate rafters of a ceiling, the low rumble of Ra’s voice, a window where he sometimes kept watch-

Oh. Oh, he knew where he was supposed to go.

Stepping foot on Infinity Island was a bit like stepping into a dream that someone else had. Everything familiar and foreign at the same time, but Jason refused to let that sway him: if he was meeting with the Demon Head, there could be no trace of uncertainty in him.

It took longer than expected for Jason to be confronted by assassins. They came at him so quickly he didn’t even have a chance to show them the dagger, instead he focused on taking them down as quickly and thoroughly as possible.

The next set were rightfully more wary.

“Look, your boss invited me here, any chance we could skip this part?” Jason asked holding up the dagger.

There was a ripple of shock through the group and Jason was suddenly being sized up in a completely different manner.

They conferred quickly amongst themselves, and Jason caught the term ‘al sirr’ being thrown around multiple times. He wasn’t familiar with that one.

“We will take you to him,” the leader of the group finally told him with a slight bow.

Interesting.

Jason was led back through the maze of buildings and vegetation that he somewhat recognized.

“We are allowed no further,” the assassin said finally, gesturing for Jason to continue on his own, “Our Master is waiting for you.”

Jason inclined his head and continued on his own. These halls were much more familiar and so was the stillness that made the hair on his neck stand on end. He caught himself switching into the silent lope that Talia had taught him just to avoid the sound of his own footsteps.

God Ra’s was such a creepy fuck.

The door at the end of the hallway could be no one but Ra’s. It was too gaudy to be anyone else's. Jason didn’t bother knocking, just stepped inside.

“Well hello, Jason,” Ra’s greeted him from where he was reclined on an enormous bed, “You’re here sooner than I expected.”

Jason felt distinctly uncomfortable. He supposed Ra’s did say that he coming to his personal quarters so they wouldn’t be overheard. Still… he didn’t expect to come to his bedroom.

“You need a new head of security,” Jason said bluntly instead, “I got way too close to the base without being braced.”

“Indeed. Perhaps you could take over that role?” Ra’s mused.

“What?” Jason frowned.

“A passing fancy,” Ra’s waved his confusion away, “you and I are not at that point yet.”

Jason bit back telling him they’d never be ‘at that point’.

“So are you going to explain what this was about?” Jason asked holding up the dagger Ra’s had given him.

“Oh, just a gesture,” Ra’s said, which Jason didn’t believe for a second. Not with the way he assassin's had reacted. Not with whatever unnamable thing was in Ra’s eyes as they swept over him.

It’s a courting dagger , he could hear Dick telling him. Jason shook it off. There was no way.

“What do you remember about your time here?” Ra’s said rising from the bed and beckoning Jason over.

“Bits and pieces, why?” Jason said suspiciously.

Jason did not like the smile Ra’s gave him.

“Pity… I do wish my daughter had seen fit to leave you in my care. It was not her place to take you for her own,” there was a dark look on Ra’s face, but it was gone just as quickly, “Ah, but it did speed things up. You have become truly magnificent.”

A possessive hand traced over Jason’s side.

Creepy.

“Cut to the chase, Ra’s,” Jason snapped.

This look Ra’s was giving him was also familiar for reason’s Jason didn’t understand. All he knew was that it made him feel small and a bit like he was shutting down. Jason ignored that feeling and tilted his chin up defiantly.

Ra’s looked pleased by the reaction.

“Mmm, very well then,” Ra’s said, “I’ll be frank then, I want access to study your blood. You know what immortality means to me, and you also know how significant it is that you came back without the use of a pit.”

“What, you didn’t get your fill when you had me here?” Jason frowned.

Ra’s had a private smile for that.

“We thought your mind was lost at the time,” Ra’s said, “I had not interest in something that would leave me an empty doll.”

“And now you know it won’t. Great,” huffed Jason, “And what do I get out of this?”

“Free access to the League’s databank and, should you need it, a small elite force of assassins that will do your bidding,” Ra’s listed off.

This deal was a little too good to be true. It made Jason instantly suspicious.

“What’s the catch?” Jason demanded, “Don’t pretend you couldn’t just get samples of my blood easily without all of this.”

Ra’s eyes lingered on the dagger for a moment like he was enjoying a private joke at Jason’s expense.

“I could have, but that would have made it apparent that there might be something interesting in your blood and I am hardly the only one in the world after immortality. I don’t tolerate competitors,” Ra’s was back in Jason’s personal space again, “I’d like you to come personally if I require blood. It’s much nicer that way, is it not?”

Jason didn’t like this, but he did want access to that databases.

“I can call it off any time I want,” Jason finally said.

“Of course.” Ra’s inclined his head.

Jason still felt wary, but he couldn’t think of a reason to say no.

“Alright, deal,” he agreed.

One vial of blood probably wouldn’t do too much harm, and like he’d pointed out before, it’s not like Ra’s couldn’t get it on his own anyway. At least this way Jason got something out of it.

“Sit here,” Ra’s gestured to the bed while he prepared a syringe.

Jason sat cautiously and watching exactly what he was doing just incase he decided to dose him or something instead.

“Remove your jacket and armor,” Ra’s ordered. Jason tipped his head back to say something snarky when he caught sight of something over Ra’s shoulder.

“Is everything alright?” Ra’s asked, watching Jason’s face carefully, “Did you, by chance, remember something?”

“No,” Jason said firmly, carefully calming himself, “It’s nothing. And I’ll just roll up my sleeve, I don’t need to take anything off.”

“...Very well,” Ra’s agreed.

Jason focused all his attention of the blood drawing rather than dwell on the fact that he had so many memories of staring at Ra’s al Ghul’s bedroom ceiling.

Jason knocked over a lamp when he hurriedly climbed through Dick’s bedroom window.

“Jay?” Dick said in surprise, lowering his escrima sticks from where he had been crouched in a pair of sleep pants.

“I…” Jason shook his head, trying to shake away the skin crawling memory of Ra’s eyes looking him over, “You said I could stay here for a while?”

“Of course…” Dick frowned, looking him over more closely, “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Jason said curtly, shrugging off his jacket and shoes, “Just tired.”

“Ok…” Dick eyed him warily, “Let me just pull some extra blankets out for the couch-”

“Can I stay here?” Jason interrupted, “with you?”

He didn’t know why he said it, and Dick looked even more alarmed by the request.

“Never mind-” Jason started to backtrack, hand scrubbing through his hair.

“No,” Dick said a little too quickly, “It’s fine, I was just… surprised.”

“Right,” Jason said looking at the ground as he settled on the edge of the bed.

“Did… something happen?” Dick asked.

Jason thought of the possessive hand skimming down his side as Ra’s told him he was a valuable asset. He was probably just imagining things though. Telling Dick would just make him even more paranoid than he already was.

“No,” Jason decided, “Nothing happened. I’m good.”

He didn’t care if Dick didn’t believe him.

#story requests #fic: a certain type #my writing #jaydick #hinted past jayra's #Anonymous

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imyourbuddie · 4 years

Text

Even When I Break Your Heart

Somehow, he's back to being Buck one point o.

It's a bitter thought, that even his "best friend" wants nothing more to do with him than his body.

"No."

"No?" Eddie repeats angrily, taking a step forward.

It’s a tiny bit terrifying, Buck has to admit, glancing at Eddie's already bruised and clenched fists. Will Eddie hit him? What will Buck do if he does? It's definitely not a thought Buck would have considered before all this started.

"Whatever I did to deserve your anger, I've paid for it,” Buck says, glaring right back at Eddie. “But it's not even that, is it? Whatever's going on with you isn't getting better Eddie."

He swallows as Eddie's face darkens, but doesn't back away when he takes another step closer. Refuses to flinch when Eddie's hands come up to grip his arms.

"I want to help you, but not like this.” Buck ignores the nails digging into his skin. “Not where you ambush me with great sex and we don't talk about anything."

When Eddie doesn’t respond, Buck closes the distance between them and cups Eddie’s face in both hands. He stares into those Hazel brown eyes, remembering their shifting colours as Buck and Eddie lay together under lazy sunbeams. There’s no light dancing in them now, just a void filled with rage and fear.

Buck’s heart aches, and he brushes his lips across the corner of Eddie’s mouth. He’s desperate. He wants to help Eddie so damn much. "Please, Eddie?" he mumbles. "I care about you. Let me help."

The sob is hardly audible, and before Buck can process what’s happening, Eddie’s mouth crashes into his. Demanding tongue prods at the seam of Buck’s lips, and Buck opens on autopilot, his body always willing to take whatever Eddie wants to give. Fingers rake across Buck’s scalp, gripping Buck’s hair and yanking until Buck’s moaning in pained pleasure. Eddie attacks his mouth with a ferocity that’s both exhilarating and terrifying. It’s a challenge, and Buck’s never been one to back away from a good fight.

Reaching one hand between them, Buck grips the base of Eddie’s jaw, forcing Eddie’s head up and breaking the kiss. Their eyes clash in heated passion. Buck shoves, and Eddie resists for a moment before relenting, shuffling until his back hits the living room wall.

“Where’s Christopher?” Buck asks, glad his voice is steadier than his nerves.

“With Carla,” Eddie replies and looks away, his cheeks gaining a little colour. “Didn’t want him seeing me like this.”

Hope flickers in the pit of Buck’s stomach. The old Eddie is still in there, even if he’s buried under all that anger. “What do you really want from me?”

Eddie swallows, and his body tenses. Buck tightens his grip, and Eddie sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth. “Want you. All of you.”

All of you.

Buck swallows the lump in his throat and ignores the rapid onset of tears. Not just his body, then. Not just Buck one point o. The thought sends a tendril of warmth through Buck and wraps around his heart, melting the ice that’s formed there since he found out Eddie’s been street fighting.

Eddie looks up at him, his body still tense, the corners of his eyes tight. He’s still a ball of wild energy contained by sinewy muscle and taut skin. It looks to Buck like Eddie’s about to burst at the seams.

Usually, Eddie’s the one in charge. The one with a level head, cool as a cucumber, whether they’re out on a nasty call or in bed. Usually, Buck is happy to let Eddie lead, happy to hand over the reins because he knows Eddie will take good care of him. And Eddie always just knows when Buck’s having a bad day. Knows what Buck needs to find equilibrium again after a bad call.

Now it’s Buck’s turn to figure Eddie out. Buck’s turn to flip through the pages of Eddie’s manual until he can find that reset button.

“Promise we’ll talk after?”

Eddie pauses, wide eyes narrowing as they bore into Buck’s face. Buck’s not sure what Eddie’s searching for, but he must have found it because his shoulders slump. He tries to nod, but Buck’s hand around his throat turns it into a small jerk of his head, and it’s enough.

Their mouths clash once more, only this time Buck’s the one pushing his tongue past Eddie’s lips. Buck’s the one licking into Eddie’s mouth, stroking with every breath as he licks and nips and drinks Eddie in. Eddie moans, and Buck claims that too as he presses a thigh between Eddie’s legs.

Eddie gasps, his eyes fly open wide and wild. Buck’s heart stops for a chilling second until he feels the press of Eddie’s hardening cock. Buck grinds his thigh a little harder, using his two inches of height to their full advantage, and grins when Eddie hisses with dark delight.

“You like that?”

Eddie gasps when Buck latches onto the soft spot behind Eddie’s ear and sucks. “Christ, Buck.”

Buck growls and pulls back. Eddie’s skin is flushed, his pupils lust-blown. His parted lips are glistening and plump, and Buck groans at the thought of those lips wrapped around his cock.

As if reading his mind, Eddie drops to his knees and makes short work of Buck’s button and zipper. He yanks Buck’s jeans and boxers down in one swift motion and licks his lips, his darkening eyes stormy.

Molten heat and velvet. That’s how good Eddie’s mouth feels as he swallows Buck’s cock. Buck sways, but Eddie’s steadying hands hold him upright as he works Buck’s cock with long, hungry strokes. Tongue lapping, lips stretched obscenely wide, eyes never leaving Buck’s.

Buck can’t decide what’s more intoxicating—the feel of Eddie’s throat clamping around the head of his cock or the look in Eddie’s eyes. So desperate. So full of rage. “Eddie—”

“I need you,” Eddie cuts in before diving back down.

Buck hisses and yanks Eddie off the floor and his cock.

“Whatever it is you need, come get it. Just, please, stop fighting.”

Eddie blinks, and that haunted look is back in his eyes. He fists the front of Buck’s shirt, yanking him close. “I need—fuck—”

Buck fights the urge to stroke Eddie’s face and pull him in for a gentle kiss. That’s not what Eddie needs right now. Instead, Buck growls and spins Eddie around, one hand on the back of his neck, pinning him against the wall, his other hand yanking down Eddie’s sweatpants and boxer briefs.

“This what you need?” Buck husks in Eddie’s ear, his grip on Eddie’s neck tightening until he knows it’ll bruise later.

Eddie whimpers and nods, his hands balled into fists as they brace against the wall. Fuck, Buck swallows and takes a few deep breaths. If Eddie’s looking for bruises, then they might as well come from him.

“Hurt me, Evan,” Eddie rasps, “por dios.”

Maybe it’s the Spanish, or maybe it’s the way he uttered Buck’s name, so broken and vulnerable. Buck doesn’t know why Eddie needs to be hurt, doesn’t know why Eddie’s seeking this sort of punishment, but he doesn’t want Eddie going out to those street fights anymore. No one there cares. All they want is some bloody entertainment at the expense of guys like Eddie.

But Buck cares, and Buck will hurt Eddie in every way that Eddie needs to be hurt, then pick up the pieces and mend Eddie whole again. He’s not good at much, but he’s good at saving people, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t do everything in his power to save his best friend and lover.

“Where’s the lube?”

“Don’t need it,” Eddie grits as he pushes his hips back and grinds his ass on Buck’s cock.

Buck’s heart breaks a little more, but he doesn’t question. Instead, he jams two fingers into Eddie’s mouth and coats them with saliva before reaching for Eddie’s hole. Eddie shudders, but the look he gives Buck over his shoulder grounds him. Eddie wants this, and beneath all that heat and pain and desire is a silent thank-you.

Buck massages the puckered ring of muscle, then slips a finger into Eddie’s tense body. The heat is incredible, and he gets a little lightheaded at the thought of sinking his cock into that inferno. Eddie hisses and relaxes a touch, but it’s still a tight fit when Buck pushes a second finger in. He presses into Eddie, his chest to Eddie’s back, and opens Eddie up roughly as he sucks bruises along Eddie’s shoulder and neck.

When Buck thinks Eddie’s prepared enough, he pulls back and smears pre-come down the length of his cock before lining it up at Eddie’s hole. Eddie is practically vibrating, his back arched as he tries to impale himself. Buck grips Eddie’s hip with one hand, his other pressing into the small of Eddie’s back, and pushes his cock into Eddie’s waiting heat.

Eddie hisses, his body tensing, and it nearly chokes Buck’s dick off. They hang in limbo, and Buck holds his breath as he waits for Eddie to open up. Eventually, the tension bleeds from Eddie’s shoulders, and he relaxes enough for Buck to push the rest of the way in.

Buck sets a brutal pace, and Eddie matches him thrust for thrust until they’re both panting and slick with sweat. With every thrust, a little more tension fades from the tight muscles of Eddie’s back, and Buck breathes a little easier.

Buck reaches a hand around Eddie’s hip and grips Eddie’s cock, drawing a high pitched keen out of Eddie. “That’s it,” Buck grunts. “Come, Eddie. I need you to come on my dick.”

Eddie moans, and his hips stutter as he jams himself onto Buck’s dick then thrusts into Buck’s fist. “Fuck, B-Buck, voy a—Evan—”

Hot, sticky ropes of come cover Buck’s fingers. Eddie’s raspy cries bounce off the living room walls, his body turning into a vise as his orgasm punches through him. Buck jerks him through it, squeezing the head of Eddie’s cock to milk him of every drop. Eddie’s body softens, and tense muscles become pliant as he shudders with the aftershocks of his release.

Buck drapes himself over Eddie’s back and wraps both arms around Eddie, pinning him in place as he pistons into Eddie like a man possessed. He loses his rhythm, and all finesse is gone from his movements as he chases his own white rabbit. Pressure coils low in his gut, and it builds and builds until Buck’s vision goes white. He sinks his teeth into Eddie’s shoulder, his muffled shout joined by Eddie’s shocked gasp, before emptying himself into Eddie.

Buck’s legs grow weak, and Eddie’s knees give out at that exact moment. They sink to the floor, Buck slipping out of Eddie in the process, and Eddie snuggles into Buck’s lap. Buck gathers Eddie into his arms and leans back against the wall, his heart still beating a drum solo against his ribcage.

The bruises along Eddie’s shoulder are already darkening, and Buck’s afraid to check where he’s grabbed Eddie during their wild love making. Afraid that he’s only adding to the plethora of yellow and green bruises that are finally starting to fade on his torso.

They sit like this until their breathing calms and the sweat has chilled their skin. Buck rouses Eddie from their cuddle pile on the floor and moves them to the bathroom. The shower they share is muted and chaste, but the silence between them is comfortable. Eddie’s movements are languid and relaxed, and that haunted shadow is gone from his beautiful eyes.

Showered, sated, and still as naked as they day they were born, Buck and Eddie slip under the covers in Eddie’s bed, their faces a hair’s breadth apart. Buttery sunbeams filter through the window and splash across Eddie’s face, highlighting the flecks of gold in his eyes.

“Evan,” Eddie murmurs. His eyelids droop, but he flutters them open.

“Shh,” Buck slips his arms around Eddie and pulls him close. “Talk later. Sleep first.”

He can feel Eddie’s smile spread along his skin. “Okay. And Buck?”

“Yeah?”

“Te amo.”

#buddie #buck x eddie #buddie fanfic #because buck just wants to help and love eddie #but eddie's being a bit of a dick about it until he realizes it's *BUCK*#some rough wall sex ensues #but there's softness after #and sunbeams #because Buck is a goddamn romantic

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winchest09 · 5 years

Text

Remember Me.

Title: Remember Me

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

Word Count: 5300

Summary: It’s been fifteen years since you’d seen Dean Winchester. Only to bump into him one night in a hunters bar. There was only one teeny problem - he doesn’t remember who you are. A problem you take full advantage of.

Rating: 18 +. NSFW

Warnings: Angst, pining, smut. fingering, finger fucking, oral (female receiving), wall smut, bed smut, motel smut, drinking, swearing, childhood friends, etc

A/N: So this was a lovely request of @jesseswartzwelder the request is below. All i can say is: I hope you enjoy this hun and it’s what you hoped it would be! It’s a little lengthy but i got carried away! aha!

Request: Do you think you can write a smut filled story where a 32yr. old female meets Dean at a bar. He thinks she is incredibly hot. Doesn't know that he actually knows her(she knows though) and she pretends that she is someone else. Asking him "you sure we don't know each other?" They go back to the hotel.Smut it up all night long.Next day she is gone. Dean and Sam go to Bobby's and surprise! Look who's here,the girl hunter they grew up with but haven't seen in years! Girl from the night before.

*** Any mistakes are my own, please do not repost my work anywhere however reblogs are fine and welcome :) I’ll give you a virtual hug if you did reblog or comment, means the world <3

***

Main Masterlist

Let me know what you think!

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Rain was hammering down on the asphalt, thunder echoed above you as lightening filled the night sky. You sighed as you rested your head against the steering wheel of your truck, pulling the keys from the ignition as you listened to the heavy raindrops bounce off the metal. Your latest hunt had been an absolute bitch. You had been hunting ghouls, a couple of them wanting fresher meat than that from the cemetery and had begun to harass the local town. Their den was like a rat run and it was a lot for one person to cover. You’d been crawling through tight tunnels, crypts and a shit load of dirt before you found the ghouls you were looking for. After a gruelling skirmish, you managed to decapitate them and come out relatively unharmed. However, the smell of the dead still lingered in your nose. No matter how many times you had showered, how hard you scrubbed, the smell was stuck in your senses.

That lead you to where you were now. You needed to let your hair down, you needed to be with people who knew what you had been through, you needed the taste of beer on your tongue. So here you were at the nearest hunter’s bar, Midnight Moon. You took a deep breath before pushing yourself up off the wheel, brushing the hair from your face as you looked towards the blue flickering sign of the bar in the distance. You checked your make up in your rear view mirror, you weren’t wearing much, just enough to accentuate your eyes before opening the driver’s side door.

You ran across the parking lot to the front entrance of the bar, your feet splashing water from the puddles as you went before you swung open the heavy door. The smell of ale and cigarettes instantly hit your nose and you found it oddly calming. You looked around and sent a few acknowledging nods to hunters you recognised as you headed towards the mahogany bar, shrugging off your wet leather jacket as you went. You were left in your white buttoned camisole and a pair of dark ripped jeans which were tucked into your ankle high boots by the time you reached the front of the bar. You hopped up onto a stool and placed your jacket around the back of it, the leather resting against the velvet back. You were itching for a beer, needing to relax and unwind after the day you had so you signalled to the barman and smiled when he slid a bottle of El Sol your way.

You weren’t going to have many, maybe two or three as you were heading back to Sioux Falls in the morning. You had received a call from Bobby Singer earlier on in the evening asking for your assistance in some new case he had, something to do with Leviathans and you jumped at the opportunity. It had been a while since you had seen Bobby and you were well overdue a catch up. He was always on the end of the phone as your back up if someone on a case questioned your alias and you would forever be grateful. You took a generous swig of your beer as you thought about the memories you had containing Bobby. He had taught you all you knew about certain monsters and his collection of lore was the biggest you’d seen. You’d spent many of your days sitting at his desk, lore book in hand.

The sound of the bar door swinging open halted your thoughts. A sudden strong gust of wind barrelling its way through the bar causing you to glance towards the entrance. It was at that moment when you felt your heart stop and your breath get caught in your throat. Your eyes scanned the figure who was currently running his large hands through his wet hair, wiping the rain from his face. He shrugged off his wet brown leather jacket as his bow legs carried him closer to you. You’d know those legs and figure anywhere.

Dean Winchester.

The last time you saw the green eyed man was over fifteen years ago. You were seventeen when your dad decided to move you halfway across America, away from the Winchesters, away from Sioux Falls and away from the life you grew up knowing. You hated your dad for it, you always wondered if your life would have been different if you had stayed under Bobby’s care. You and the Winchester brothers were close, they too were under Bobby’s care around the same time you were. They quickly became your childhood best friends, you’d help Sammy with his homework whilst you’d watch old Westerns with Dean. The summer of 97 was one you’d always remember, it was the summer you realised you had more than just friendly feelings for Dean Winchester. He’d emerged from under his father’s impala, wearing a grey t shirt that was covered in grease and he just smiled up at you in greeting. Your stomach did somersaults and you felt the blood rush to your cheeks. But it was never to be as the summer of 97 was where your dad reappeared and tore you away from everything you knew.

Dean fucking Winchester.

You’d doubt he’d remember you, he was never bothered about keeping in contact with you for starters. Letters went unread and calls went unanswered. You had also changed so much since you were seventeen, you were no longer a girl but a woman. A woman that had been an active hunter since she was twenty two. You adorned a few scars, your hair was shorter and your attitude had completely changed. There were times where you wished you couldn’t remember him, but he was famous in your line of work. He’d stopped the apocalypse, he’d rose from the dead and he was best friends with an Angel. The hunter grapevine made sure you would never forget Dean Winchester.

You sighed into your beer, swilling the remains of the alcohol around the bottom of the bottle as you let your mind wander. Out of your peripheral vision, you saw how he sauntered up to the bar and ordered a beer, taking a seat a few stools down from you as he did. You wondered where Sam was but then again, if he was anything like he was when he was younger, you’d probably guess that he was researching back at whatever motel room they were staying in. You finished your beer and slid the bottle away from you, signalling to the bartender for your second when a deep husked voice sounded from the side of you, erupting goose bumps on your skin.

“I’ll get that.” You turned to your right to see Dean Winchester had made his way to sit next to you, his thigh close to yours as he handed the bartender a couple of dollar bills. His right hand wrapped around his own beer, he turned to you before smiling softly. “You look like you’ve got some stuff on your mind,” he husked. You swallowed hard, your mouth was dry and no amount of alcohol was going to cure it. You looked into his green orbs, scanning each of them intently as he gazed at you. You were right, he didn’t recognise you.

“You have no idea,” you replied quietly, your eyes not leaving his as if you were in some hypnotic state. How could he not know who you were? Surely your hair may be different, you had aged slightly and there were more scars on your skin but your eyes were still the same. You watched how Dean shuffled a little closer to you, twirling on the stool so his right arm was now leaning on the bar as he nursed his beer.

“Want to enlighten me sweetheart? I’ve been told I’m a really good listener,” he winked. You tried to smile to hide the astonished look from your face. The man you had a crush on as a teenager, the man that stole your heart was sitting right in front of you, making his moves and acting like you’d never met before in your life. You had to give him a nudge, he had to know it was you…right?

“You know, you look real familiar to me, have we met somewhere before?” You asked, your tone soft and your heart hopeful. You watched as his eyes scanned yours, his brow creasing slightly at your question. You held your breath. Please remember me. Dean’s face broke out into a smile as he reached forward to tuck a piece of stray hair behind your ear and you felt as though your heart was going to beat out of your chest.

“I doubt that sweetheart, I’d definitely remember you if we had met before,” he purred, his finger ghosting your cheek as he withdrew from you. Sure you would.

All you could do was smile and try to hide the fact that inside you were screaming. Under different circumstances, this would be everything you had ever wanted, your fantasy come true. Dean Winchester hitting on you in a bar. His deep voice broke your thoughts, his fingers trailing you’re your bare arm making you concentrate on him. “Come on, lay it on me.”

“Let’s just say someone from my past has come back into my life. Someone I used to care a hell of a lot about but he never gave me the time of the day. He always had better offers on the table, never thought of me in the way I wanted him to. We were friends, best friends but there was always someone better looking that held his attention. I never stood a chance. Then something happened and we lost contact. I never thought I’d see him again but low and behold, he’s back in my life and I have no idea what to do,” you confessed.

You weren’t lying, you hadn’t told Dean that he was the subject of your confession but it was a confession all the same. It was true, you did have no idea what to do. He was hitting on you, you could feel the warmth radiating from him as he sat next to you and it made you quiver. You’d love nothing more than to feel the weight of him over you as you screamed his name but you couldn’t let this go that far…could you?

“You need to forget about him,” Dean replied before placing his large hand over yours, a smart move. Comforting and a move all in one. You looked up to see his emerald orbs boring into you, his lips wrapped around the edge of his beer bottle as he took a sip. You couldn’t help but stare, you watched his throat as he swallowed before you glanced down and his hand covering yours. Fuck, he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Really? That’s your advice?” you scoff, trying to play off the intensity of his touch. You tried to focus on your own beer bottle, you tried to focus on anything that wasn’t the bow legged hunter beside you but it was pretty impossible considering he was now stroking the back of your hand with his thumb.

“Hey I said I was good at listening, not good at advice,” he chuckled as he let go of your hand. Instead he brought it to your face, his finger resting along the line of your jaw as he angled you to face him. “But the way I see it? Any man who had the chance of having you and didn’t, well he is incredibly stupid,” he said, his voice deep and gruff. It made you clench your thighs.

“You think?” you asked, your voice hardly above a whisper as you didn’t trust yourself to not let out some sort of inappropriate noise. You were getting in too deep, he was meant to be a childhood friend so you had to be honest with him. You opened your mouth to speak when you glanced up into the mirror behind the bar and watched Dean through the reflection. You saw how he was looking at you, drinking you in. If you told him the truth right now, you’d be friend zoned, there was no question about it. You’d not get to live out your fantasy of being with the man that had your heart pounding, the man that had always been in the back of your mind, the man you had to hear other female hunters brag about.

“I know sweetheart,” he husked close to your ear and you shuddered. You watched through the mirror as Dean got up from his seat, taking a step to come behind you as he placed both of his hands on your shoulders. He moved them inward, moving your hair away from your neck as his eyes locked onto yours through the reflection. He bent down and placed his lips dangerously close to your ear, “because from what I can see, you’re the prettiest little thing I’ve seen in a long time.”

You sucked in a sharp breath as you clenched your thighs together, his hot breath fanning over the skin on your neck as his fingers ghosted over your bare arms. Shit there is no going back now. You’d crossed the line and the whimper that left your mouth as his lips kissed just below your ear proved it. You felt fresh slick coat your panties at the thought of everything this man could do to you, at everything this man was going to do to you. Oh god, what if he suddenly remembers? You had to check, just one more time. You wanted him, you wanted to know what a night with Dean Winchester was like after imagining for so long. It was now or literally never.

“You sure we don’t know each other?” you asked a little breathlessly, a twinge of arousal in your core as you felt Dean’s tongue trail down to the curve of you neck. Please don’t remember me.

“Damn sure sweetheart.” With that final confession, you moved your head to the side to allow Dean more access, his hands now coming around to the side of your breasts. He didn’t seem to care about the company of the bar and when you caught his eye in the reflection once more, he flicked his thumbs over the hardening nubs in your bra, making you squirm in your seat.

“Oh my god,” you whimpered, squeezing your eyes shut as a blush burned your cheeks. You were pretty sure Dean was smirking right about now, you could feel it in how his lips moved against your skin.

“Call me Dean,” he murmured against your neck and you let out a slight laugh. You opened your eyes and when you caught the sight of him behind you, hands on your chest, lips on your skin you threw all caution into the wind. For one night, you were anyone but Y/N. You were the woman who was going to leave with Dean Winchester. Your final decision was made.

“Fuck it” you whispered, mostly to yourself before you span quickly on your stool, catching his lips with yours. You heard him grunt against you and it made you shudder as he enveloped his arms around you, his hands resting firmly on your ass. As you broke off the kiss, Dean grabbed your hand as you grabbed your jacket and pulled you out of the bar. This was a night you were never going to forget.

You both stumbled through the motel door as you tried to shed each other of your clothes, lips locked, tongues fighting for dominance. Dean kicked the door shut with his booted foot before he grabbed you by the arms and slammed you against it, pressing his leg between yours to stop you from closing them. His lips trailed down your jaw, down you neck to your clavicle as his hands started to make light work of the buttons on the front of your camisole. You were a whimpering mess beneath his touch, your own hands pawing at his grey shirt to pull it down off his shoulders.

He undid the last button and roughly pulled the material from your arms, leaving you in just your white laced bra. You heard Dean growl at the sight of you, his lips trailing further down to take the lace covered nub in his mouth. Your back arched against the cold wood, forcing your breast further into his warmth as your fingers threading themselves through his dark hair. His hands travelled up your sides and slid around to your back, pulling you impossibly closer to him before his fingers undid the clasp of your bra. He pulled the cups down and off your body with force, the garment falling to floor behind him as he continued his assault on you. He moved from one breast to the other, leaving a wet trail behind him as his tongue traced your skin.

Arousal was pooling in your panties, all you wanted to do was have him inside of you, the feeling of his hot breath on your skin doing nothing to fan your flames. His tongue trailed lower as he knelt to the floor, his mouth taking the chance to kiss your bare skin every couple of seconds before he got to the waistband of your jeans. Your hands were on his shoulders at this point, his lips leaving your skin to concentrate on popping the metal button open as his dark lidded eyes looked up at you with an accompanying smirk. Once your jeans were undone, he roughly pulled them down your legs as far as they would go. His calloused fingers hooked into your panties, you waited for him to pull them down to but all you heard was the sound of material ripping before you felt cool air surround your sex. He’s ripped my underwear. The thought of his primal need to have you made you whimper above him and he chuckled lowly.

He placed a hot kiss just above your clit, the feeling of his breath on your pussy making your knees quiver and you needed to hold onto him for support. His velvet tongue followed, lapping a long strip from your entrance to your clit in a fluid motion and you almost came there and then. You moaned loudly, Dean’s fingers now at your hole as his tongue flicked rapidly over your swollen bundle of nerves. He sank his fingers knuckle deep, curling them inside you to stroke your sweet spot as his tongue lapped up everything you were giving him. You dug your nails into his shoulders, needing to hold onto him for dear life when you felt the coil tightening within you. You threw your head back against the door, panting. With a few more licks and with his fingers fucking you rapidly, you came undone, screaming his name.

You didn’t have time to recover. Dean was stood in front of you, bare chest as he ripped off his shirt and captured your lips once again in a searing kiss. You stepped out of your jeans, trying your hardest to kick off your boots as he walked you over to the bed. By the time your legs hit the mattress, you were completely naked. You let your tongue trace along Dean’s bottom lip, your hands sliding down his toned bare chest as you started to make work of his jeans. You could feel his erection digging into your stomach and you couldn’t wait to feel the weight of it in your palm. Sliding Dean’s jeans and underwear down his bow legs, you gasped when you came face to face with his cock. He was a lot bigger than you had imagined and it made your pussy clench around nothing. Looking up you saw Dean smirk.

“Like what you see baby?” He quipped and you just nodded, licking your lips. Dean lips turned into a devilish smile as he pulled you back up by your arms. He ghosted his lips over yours in a teasing manner, his cock nudging and throbbing against you.

Before you had time to react, Dean grabbed at your thighs, making you fall backwards onto the bed with a squeal. It was a move you weren’t expecting but one that turned you on just the same. You looked up at the green eyed Winchester from under your lashes to see his lust blown eyes staring down at your glistening pussy. Your own gaze landed on his throbbing cock, you wanted to taste it, you wanted to feel the weight of it in your mouth but as you moved forward to get close, Dean’s large hand pushed you back down into the lumpy motel mattress.

“Nuh uh, I’m in control here,” he growled, pumping his cock in his hand at the sight of you laid bare before him, “I’ll fuck that pretty mouth later but right now, I want to feel how good your pussy is.” All you could do was nod as you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth. His commanding tone making arousal pool between your legs, something that Dean noticed as he came down to hover over you, coating his cock in your slick.

He once again caught one of you hardened nipples in his mouth as his cock nudged at your entrance. You opened your legs wider for him, arching your hips a little to encourage him as much as possible. But Dean didn’t need much encouragement, with a snap of his hips, he was fully seated inside of you. Buried to the hilt, you felt every inch, every vein as he started to thrust his cock inside of you. It was a delightful burn, one that you could get used too.

His left arm came to hook under your right leg, angling your hips just right so he could fuck you deeper and harder. His other arm placed at the side of your head, you grabbed onto it, your nails digging into his skin, and the other fisting at the sheets as his cock hit your core. He angled his hips just right to ensure he could hit your sweet spot again and again. Silent screams were leaving your lips, the sound of his balls slapping against your ass, heavy breathing and the squeak of the motel bed were the only sounds being echoed around the room.

You wanted more. You needed more. You bucked your hips to meet his thrusts, wanting as much of him as you could possibly have. Your breasts were bouncing hard with every snap of Dean’s hips, grunts leaving his lips every now and again at the sight of you. You were coming undone, you could feel your coil tightening once again in your stomach for your second orgasm of the night.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Dean growled as you clenched around him, his fingers indenting the skin on your thigh as he held you closer to him, opening your leg wider to fuck you deeper.

“D-Dean,” you stuttered, your thoughts becoming incoherent. Your mind was fuzzy, your toes were curling and your skin was flushed. Dean’s rhythm didn’t falter, his hips snapping into yours at an alarming rate, a state of delirium taking the both of you.

“O-Oh m-my-” You threw your head back as your pussy began to pulse, a loud moan leaving your lips.

“That’s it baby, cum for me, squeeze my cock,” Dean commanded and you did as he said, you fell off the edge, riding your wave of ecstasy with every thrust he gave. You clenched around Dean and you saw how his jaw became slack, his mouth openings slightly as he concentrated on the feeling of your slick warmth that was wrapped around him. Both of your bodies were covered in a light sheen of sweat, your hands were still fisting at the sheets around you, pulling them off of the corners of the mattress as you clenched your fists. Dean’s hips started to shudder and you knew his high wasn’t far behind yours.

“Son of a-” Dean groaned as you clenched your pussy once more around him, milking him for everything he had. The look on his face has he cum inside you would be a face you’d remember and be turned on by for the rest of your life.

You let your legs go limp as Dean pulled out of you, and you smiled once you felt his cum trickle down your thighs. Your mind and body were buzzing, all of your nerve endings felt like they were on fire and you were pretty sure you couldn’t feel your toes. You stretched your arms above your head, running a tongue along your bottom lip as you smiled when Dean came to lie down next to you. As you caught your breath, you glanced his way.

“Wow,” you muttered, your chest heaving with each breath you took. Dean just chuckled, his fingers trailing up from your navel to your breasts as he started to twist the once again hardened nubs.

“Oh sweetheart…you’ve seen nothing yet.”

The sun was just rising when you opened your eyes to feel a heavy weight around your middle. You lolled your head to the side to see Dean curled into you, his arm snug across your waist. You’d give anything to stay here with him, you wanted to be the first thing he saw when he woke up but you didn’t have it in you to play pretend any longer. You felt the heavy weight of guilt on your chest as you thought about how you had deceived him. Had you manipulated him? Would he ever trust you again after this?

You ran your hands through your hair in anger at mostly yourself. You tried to tell yourself that this was for the best, you’d never see him again, hell it had been fifteen years since this encounter so what was the chance you’d see him anytime soon? He didn’t remember you, he has no idea who you are, he didn’t even ask for your name. To him you were a thrill that got him through the night and nothing more.

You peeled his arm from your middle as you swung your legs over the side of the lumpy motel bed, your thighs aching from being wrapped around Dean’s waist. You grabbed your discarded clothes from the night before, quickly throwing them on. You didn’t bother with your underwear, you left them where they landed as they were ruined anyway. As you scurried around the room for your shoes, your mind was trying to formulate a plan. You had to get on the road to Sioux Falls as soon as possible but for that, you had to get back to your truck which was left at the bar. Luckily, it wasn’t far to walk.

Sighing, you sat down to place your feet in your now found boots. Your eyes were trained on Dean as he slept, not wanting to miss a moment in case he woke up. You studied how he slept, his mouth slightly agape, his brow slightly furrowed. You wanted this memory burned in your mind, you wanted to remember every single thing about the past 12 hours. The way his body felt on yours, the way you made him groan, the way his breath felt upon your cheek as you slept. If only he knew the truth about you. With a heavy heart, you grabbed the motels notepad which was by the phone and a pen, quickly scribbling a note and leaving it on your pillow for Dean to find for when he wakes.

Remember Me. X

Arriving in Sioux Falls, you smiled. This place was your home, Sioux Falls was in your heart and you’d give anything to hang up your hunters boots and retire here. When you arrived at Bobby’s Auto Salvage Yard, your smile broke into a grin when you saw the man himself sitting out on his porch with a bottle of beer. You knew he was waiting for you and you couldn’t wait to catch up with him. You placed your truck in park and near enough jumped out of the driver’s seat as you quickly made your way to him. The noise of your truck and you slamming your door made Bobby look up from under the beak of his cap.

“Y/N!?” He exclaimed, disbelief in his voice as his eyes landed on you. He rushed to put his beer to the floor before standing to his feet to greet you.

“Hey Bobby,” you exclaimed, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug, “long time no see.”

“I’ll say,” was his response, a slight scoff passing his lips as you pulled away from him. “I hardly recognised you, nearly grabbed for my shotgun.” You chuckled hearing that, knowing that it was a very classic Bobby Singer thing to do.

“Glad you didn’t,” you replied happily, tapping his arm playfully. Bobby chuckled with you, grabbing his beer and opening his porch door.

“Come in, you’ve arrived just in time actually, I have a surprise for you,” he confessed and you frowned slightly as you walked back into the home you spent most of your teenage years in.

“What? What do you mean?” You questioned as you followed Bobby into the kitchen.

“You remember those boys you grew up with when you were here?” He asked you and your frown grew deeper, you knew he meant the Winchester boys and the thought made your stomach flip, your mind racing back to Dean.

“Of course I remember the-” your voice was cut off by the sound of a deep rumbling engine sounding from outside and your eyes went wide. “They’re here?!” You exclaimed as you ran to the window. Looking through, sure enough you saw the bow legged man you’d left asleep in a motel bed stepping out. You panicked, you knew exactly what was going to happen and you didn’t know if you could face it. You saw how Bobby was confused at your reaction but you just shook your head as you slid the kitchen doors shut, leaning your back on the wood. How were you going to face him?

“Bobby?” You heard the familiar deep voice sound from the other side of the wooden doors and you bit your lip. “Hey whose is the truck out front?” You heard the sound of multiple boots hitting the floor and you squeezed your eyes tight, you had no idea how you were going to face Dean.

“You boys remember Y/N? You three used to hang around here causing me a whole lot of trouble,” huffed Bobby and you heard the brother’s chuckle slightly, the sound of Dean’s laugh making your stomach flutter.

“Oh yeah, she used to help Sammy here with his homework, her dad took her away summer of ’97.” He remembered? You frowned, looking down at your feet. Then how come he didn’t recognise you? You didn’t have long to think or analyse the situation as you heard the wood of the sliding doors start to creak and your eyes went wide.

“Well…” Bobby’s voice trailed off as he slid open the doors. You jumped away from them and turned around quickly only to become face to face with the green eyed Winchester you’d shared a bed with the night before. You saw how his jaw become slack, his eyes scanning yours in confusion.

“Hey boys,” you greeted in a soft tone. You just smiled and waved both hands once before shoving them into the pockets of your jeans. “Remember me?”

------------------------------------------

A/N: I hope you’ve enjoyed this little one shot! Please let me know your thoughts by comment, reblog or just HERE! :)

Also - my tag lists are open. Just let me know if you want to be added! Thanks for reading! xox

My Forever Darlings:

@squirrel-moose-winchester @researchandbones @negans-lucille-tblr @snffbeebee @cappsikle @couldabeenamermaid @spaghettiwoes @lynne1993 @maddiepants @alwaysdreamingforthebest @31shadesofbrown @mrswhozeewhatsis @wecantgiggleitsafandom @thefaithfulwriter @spnbaby-67 @not-quite-dead @blackcherrywhiskey @helpmeluci @myownsnowflake @hobby27 @icequeen206 @big-sad-energy @coffee-obsessed-writer @faithleh @spnhollis @zoerayne2426 @ariasnyder @phantom-soilder @amandamdiehl @geeksareunique @keymology @markofdean79

My Dean Queens:

@x-waywardaf-x @adoptdontshoppets @roonyxx

My Oneshot Wonders:

@anastasialovepink @purpleclover82

(If there is a line through your name, it’s because your tag hasn’t worked! I’m sorry! Just message me and we can try to sort it)

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester smut #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester #dean winchester fanfiction #dean x you #dean x reader #smut #spn smut #reader insert #dean winchester one shot #dean winchester drabble #reader request #winchest09

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hoodie-lover · 4 years

Text

Poor Unfortunate Souls Nightmare Edition

Killer and Dust led Cross to Nightmare’s abode. It was a large and looming castle, how they even managed to get out of his empty AU was a feat of it’s own. A small cyan glow came from within the windows, and Cross felt chills up his spine as he was coerced in.

Wispy spirits tied to the ground with chains reached out to him, their faces melting and contorted as they grabbed at him and pulled with distorted screams of pain. With a scream Cross jerked his clothes free and ran down the hall until he was in a large sitting room.

“Come in, come in my child.” A deep and smooth voice said, it came from everywhere, but was loudest near a small vanity in the corner.

“We mustn't lurk in doorways. It’s rude.” Nightmare said, standing up and looking at Cross. Nightmare looked like the traditional Sans, besides the tar covering his body and right eye, leaving his left eye to glow a bright cyan.

“One might question your upbringing.” Nightmare said with a chuckle, looking in the vanity mirror, but not sitting down as he trailed his fingers over his face, in awe at his own reflection.

“Now then, you’re here because you want your AU back to life. Not that I blame you, it was your home, and a quite beautiful one, wasn’t it?” Nightmare said smiling as he made eye contact with the shaking skeleton.

Chara was flipping out and screaming at Cross that this guy was wack and we could always ask Ink for help! But Cross was intrigued by the dark skeleton.

“Well, Crossy, the solution to your problem is simple.” Nightmare said walking up to Cross.

“The only way to get what you want, is to travel and collect pieces of AUs” Nightmare said, smiling darkly.

“Can you do that?” Cross asked, wondering just how powerful Nightmare was.

“No but, my dear, sweet child, I can help you travel.” Nightmare said, cupping Cross’ face in his hands as he pat his head.

“It's what I live for.” He said, dragging Cross to a cauldron where an unknown liquid bubbled.

“To help unfortunate monsters like yourself.” Nightmare said, grabbing bottles from a cabinet using the tentacles sprouting from his back.

“Poor souls with no one else to turn to. I admit that in the past I've been a nasty.” Nightmare said as he placed a hand on his chest in a dramatic fashion.

“They weren't kidding when they called me, well, a bitch.” Nightmare said, chuckling.

“But you'll find that nowadays. I've mended all my ways.” He said, looking at Cross.

“Repented, seen the light, and made a switch.” He snapped his finger and the lights went out. “True? Yes.” His eye glowed a sinister light.

“And I fortunately know a little magic. It's a talent that I always have possessed.” He threw things into the cauldron as he splashed.

“And dear sir, please don't laugh, I use it on behalf Of the miserable, the lonely, and depressed, pathetic.” Nightmare said, the last word escaping Cross. Though Dust and Killer snickered.

“Poor unfortunate souls!”

“In pain, in need.”

“This one longing to have freedom.” He draped a tentacle around Killer as the latter leaned into the touch.

“That one wants to get revenge.” Dust smiled as he drew a knife and nearly broke his skull as he grinned.

“And do I help them? Yes, indeed.” Nightmare said, booping Cross on the nose.

“Those poor unfortunate souls! So sad, so true.”

“They come flocking to my castle crying, “‘Spells, Nightmare, please!’”

“And I help them, yes, I do.”

“Now it's happened once or twice, someone couldn't pay the price.” Nightmare said, a solemn look on his face as he made two skeletal illusions above the cauldron.

“And I'm afraid I had to rake 'em 'cross the coals.” Nightmare said as he turned the illusions to wisps of smoke, identical to the figures in the hall.

“Yes I've had the odd complaint, but on the whole I've been a saint.” He said, making an angel halo on his head.

“To those poor unfortunate souls!”

“Now, here’s the deal.” Nightmare said, throwing Cross onto a large velvet couch with gold accents.

“I will send you to whatever AU you want. You can collect whatever you want from the AU, no killing though. Got that? No killing.” Nightmare said, his smile dropping as he glared.

“Now, listen, this is important.” Nightmare said, bringing his face close to Cross’.

“Everytime you go to an AU, I need you to cause misery and despair for at least one person. That means, you need to do more than make them sad, they need to be in pain. Not just any pain, true unrivaled agony and heartbreak.” Nightmare said, an image of a soul shattering in front of Cross.

“If you do this, then I will help you rebuild your AU and protect you. But if you don’t, I will trap you in your own mind and torture you until you are nothing but a husk of who you once were.” Nightmare said,

“Have we got a deal?” Nightmare said, cackling.

“If I take pieces from universes and cause misery, I'll lose my friendship with Ink and Dream.” Cross said, pondering the offer.

“But, you'll have your brother and your old friends.” Nightmare said, smacking sarcastically.

“Life's full of tough choices, isn't it?” Nightmare said, before he remembered something.

“Oh, and there is one more thing.” He said, smiling like a cheeky child.

“We haven't discussed the subject of payment.” He was grinning ear-to-ear.

“But I don't have-” Cross said, he was dirt poor, and he didn’t even have dirt.

I'm not asking much, just a token really, a trifle

What I want from you is your soul

“My soul…?” Cross said, holding a hand over his chest.

“You got it sweetcakes.” Nightmare said, still smiling. “No more magical soul effects, no more damage in battle, nadda.” Nightmare said, inspecting his law-like fingertips as he grabbed a file.

“But if I give you my soul, how can I live a normal life?” Cross said, shaking.

“You'll have your power, and my reputation to keep you safe.”

“And don't underestimate the importance of me, ha!”

“The guards there aren’t really respected.”

“What will they think of someone unkillable?” Nightmare said, eye glowing a brighter cyan.

“You will be able to do anything with no caveats or qualms.”

“And after all dear, what is an idle heart for?” Nightmare said, shrugging.

“Come on, they're not all that impressed with weakness.”

“True warriors avoid it when they can.” Nightmare said, wrapping his arms around Cross.

“But they dote and swoon and fawn, on a man who is so strong.” Nightmare booped his nose again.

“It's he who shows his strength who deserves some joy.” Nightmare said, leaning on Cross more as he tackled him on the ground.

“Come on you poor unfortunate soul!” Nightmare wrapping Cross up like a burrito and turning him upside down.

“Go ahead!” Nightmare screamed, getting in his face as he spun him like a wheel.

“Make your choice”! Nightmare screamed again, getting closer as he dropped Cross on the

“I'm a very busy skeleton and I haven't got all day.” Nightmare said, picking him up and placing him at the door before dragging him back.

“It won't cost much. Just your soul!” Nightmare said, laughing maniacally.

“You poor unfortunate soul!” Nightmare said, cackling.

“It's sad but true.” Pouting ingenuinely Nightmare mocked Cross.

“If you want to cross the bridge, my sweet. You've got to pay the toll.” Nightmare said,

“Take a gulp and take a breath. And go ahead and sign the scroll.” Nightmare shows Cross a piece of paper

“Killer, Dust, now I've got him, boys.” Nightmare whispered to the duo’s amusement.

“The boss is on a roll!”

“This poor unfortunate soul!” Nightmare cried out as Cross signed his name, crying purple tears as his thoughts drifted to his brother.

“Pledge o’ pledge, to serve me and only me. Pledge o’ pledge, to serve me and only me.” Nightmare chanted, Killer and Dust repeating his words.

“And give you my soul!” Nightmare announced, seeming to grow in size as Cross cowered.

“Now, pledge!” Nightmare commanded, and Cross obliged.

“I-I-I p-pledge…” Cross said, stuttering in fear

“Keep going!” Nightmare screamed, a cyan tornado of magic encasing the two as Nightmare egged him on.

“To serve you, and give you my soul!” Cross screamed as Nightmare trapped his soul in the heart locket Cross wore around his neck. Chara’s protests now silent as the child was muted.

I got the inspiration for this fic by a question from @turrissen to @lollzida @lollzida drew a picture.

I may do more of this stuff with other Disney songs, but I wanted to get this one out there.

#undertale #fanfic #poor unfortunate souls #parody #Nightmare is awesome

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hungryflowers · 4 years

Text

Let Me Fall in Love With You

RadioHusk Week Prompt Day 2: To Love a Dumbass

Chapter 2: I’d Fumble For You

Parties, different versions of entertainment, highly crowded venues with loud, obnoxious music was not Husk’s scene. The only silver lining that would come from being in public with a bunch of lowlives, worst of the worsts and generally unpleasant assholes would have to be the free tab on booze.

So when Alastor invited Husk out for a night on the town, the old man thought it was going to be the same abhorrent experience of debauchery, raucousness, and vileness he grew to expect whenever he went out. In contrast what he was going to go and experience was something he never knew he wanted to feel in his time in this hovel of Hell.

When he saw this ‘Radio Demon’ next, his eyes were stuck on the swanky suit he sported as he opened the door to his ratty ass apartment.

“Darling you are not going to my party like this are you?” The grinning idiot gestured to his body, making the cat look himself over.

“What party? And also, why the fuck do you care about how I look? I don’t even like being around you, so seeing me is already enough.” Husk snapped as his tail swished to showcase his physical agitation.

“I care enough because you are my guest! I told every Sinner in my territory about you and me, so it is a given that if you’re my beau for the night, you must look the part.” He stepped inside the house, dark red velvet coat tails tipped in gold trailed behind him as he went into the male’s living space without any actual consent.

“Beau?! I ain’t your fuckin’ beau. I ain’t nobody’s bottom boy! So get the fuck out of my house!”

“Please, Husker...”

“What the fuck did you just call me? Name’s Husk fuckface! Not Husker, not Husky, or some stupid shit like that! Husk!” He snarled at the pet name.

Alastor kept his gaze fixed on the cat the whole tangent. He became increasingly aware of the affect this feline was having on him. Golly, he wanted to get in it with the male for a great while, he wanted Husk to vent to him, or merely yell at him. What a way to thrive on his companionship.

“Deeply sorry about that Husk, my dear. Now that you have concluded, may we get you all set for the special get together?” Alastor leant over the huffing, puffed up male. Husk was about to snarl again when something flickered up his wall. He screamed, body hiking high as a shadow swirled around his feet.

“What the fuck is that?! What is it doing?!” The male hopped on the closest thing to get away from the black ick on the floor.

“My assistant. Don’t mind him, he just likes being in business that he has no involvement in.” Alastor tipped his head, waving his hand to dismiss the shadowy being. The thing shared the cutout physical form of the one it was conjured from, it lingering on his shoulder like a living attachment. Blue eyes squinted at the feline while skinny arms jutted out to grab at him with willow long fingers. The deer demon swatted the hands away, “Shame on you! Did I not just try to will you away? Off it now! Shoo. Leave this beauty alone.”

The thing frowned, even as Alastor held his grin. The puppy eyes not changing his mind in the slightest. An unsound huff left the creature as it faded out somewhere in the room.

Husk went about pointing at the spot where it had been, a wobbly gargle of questions would have fallen from his frozen mouth but Alastor was already grabbing the cat up to have him prepared for the unknown event tonight.

After nearly snarling at the bastard to piss off for nearly an hour and a half, Husk was resigned to his fate. The demon made it hard for him to say no, let alone give him a physical out. He, maybe, could be able to endure a night with this grinning loon. What was the worst that could happen?

“Ready, my beau?” Alastor bowed as he opened the door to his swanky looking car; a deep, cherry wine red mobile that kept to his aesthetic and intrigue.

Husk’s chest rose in annoyance, otherwise not correcting the demon. He sat down on the posh, plump looking white leather seats. He didn’t feel like sitting in front with Alastor; not sure what he could possibly try.

“You still haven’t told me about this party you have for me. Where the hell is it?”

“Oh! You’ll enjoy it! It’s quite a good time. And it’s a special surprise for you. I’m not going to just open up and tell you everything,” His claws went around Husk’s, raising it to his cheek to rub the fur there. The cat was fighting for his paw back when Alastor stated, “There is also unlimited alcohol, if that’s something you are into. What am I saying? Of course you are!!” He laughed as they pulled out of the driveway.

Two words caused Husk to stop fighting for his paw: Unlimited. Alcohol. Maybe this Radio Demon character wasn’t as weird as he thought.

“You got wine?” Husk asked, short and simple. A faint smile coming to his face when Alastor nodded at him without looking, “Beer?”, Another nod. “Whiskey.”

“Yes my dear. Everything and all types you can have and want! I never entertain guests with a dry party.” He snuggled deeper in the relaxed paw.

There wasn’t much to be said after that, the cat demon sitting through the car ride, blood buzzing, chest at a rattle, fur feeling a little staticky. Perhaps this would be different.

Their arrival was around eleven at night, the allure of the blood moon added appeal to the not at all shabby joint they were at. Husk rolled down the window to listen to the sounds of an era that thrive on the songs of their time. Jazz music blew from trumpets and saxophones, scat man swayed to the beats they made on the fly. Each corner of the building glowed, more bathed in iridescent green lighting. Some came from lightbulbs in sconces, another light source were firelights in lanterns at the entrances. A black, intimidating oak door held all the liveliness on the inside. Neon words flitted in the cat’s vision; the words in bold cursive, the lettering swirling and winding over on another. He could make out the first word before Alastor put his hand on his shoulder, somewhat jostling him.

“Let’s make our grand entrance shall we?” He hopped out the car, that Husk never knew had stopped, and opened the older man’s door to escort him out.

“What the hell is this place?” Husk adjusted the oversized coat the deer demon gave him to cover up his outfit underneath, he felt like a dame on her first night out.

“Husker... this is my establishment for the most cultured, most affluent of us Sinners. A cabaret of illicit senses that must be sated by only the most delicious delights and decadences of the afterlife! Welcome to Lé VooDoo Parlóur. Isn’t it magnificent?!” He brought Husk in for a side hug that didn’t feel comfortable.

“This rat house is your joint? Ha! I’ve seen better hole in the walls in the red light district.”

“Yes, but are they as ceaselessly classy as this?” He asked as he pulled up Husk’s chin to look better into his eyes, made softly golden by the effects of the lights.

Husk grumbled but thought of no other place that could be like this. He had only been to a jazz bar in Hell once, and the music was below shit quality. The booze was the only thing that kept him there, if not for the winking dandy damsel and drunk jack offs that tried to pull him from the music for a cheap thrill. He fancied himself a fella of cheap tastes and vulgar etiquette.

“Fine, I’ll let you embarrass yourself by dragging me into this fancy hole. Lead the way.” Husk pulled on his coat as Alastor pulled on his arm to guide them to the imposing looking oak doors. On the french doors were weaved intricate spiraling patterns and odd runes that didn’t spell out anything in the cat’s language.

Alastor knocked on both doors with a racking pattern. They waited for a moment when one came open. Husk could have imagined it came open on its own, but a graveling voice came from behind the door.

“Password.” Very simple, too threatening.

“William. We’ve been over this. You know my knock. When you hear me knock, I enter. I don’t need a password for my own Parlóur.” The grin stayed in spite of the agitation fogging his tone.

“Al? You’re more than forty-five minutes late. I should make you say the password just for that.” The grizzle soften a touch as a reptile demon, most likely a crocodile, pushed back the door.

“I was getting my plus one ready. I did tell you I was having a guest,” His grin could not possibly get wider as he shuffled Husk closer, “William, this is my beau, Husk. Husk, William!”

Husk did not want to shake the croc’s hand. It was only from reluctance he did anyways.

“Nice. Get your ass in here. And you better apologize to your guest for waiting, Al.”

“My dear William. I owe them no such thing. The fact that showed up at all is the compensation they pay for entering my bar.” Alastor dropped his lighter over jacket to reveal his choice of wardrobe for the evening. He sported his dark red, much darker than blood, overcoat with golden stenciling over the chest, arms and shoulders. On his shoulders were long strings gold tassels, a black and red top hat on the top of his head, covering up the stubs he had as antlers. His bottoms were pinstriped and straight legged waist high pants that were tucked by a formal black undershirt. The top of his neck had been covered, showing off the black, red and gold bowtie that rest right atop it.

A microphone stand was his choice in what Husk believed to be a cane of some sort. He looked over the gold laced coat tails of the demon’s long coat, the fabric dripping over his red and black pants.

“Let me have your poncho, dear.” The words getting Husk out whatever weird trance he was swept in. He pulled it off to hand to Alastor. Very little adjusting had to be made for Husk’s wears for the night. From top to bottom, he was dressed in a dazzling, eye-catching red and white. Sitting atop his head, a top hat, red dominated with a silk white band laced around the felt, sat in between his ears. His suit jacket was of crimson everywhere except the lapels, a white waistcoat held him in snug yet loose, the fabric a sturdy satin. His lower half has pinstriped red, flowing pants that covered his feet, his tail swishing out in leisure.

As they moved through the long halls the music became a touch louder. As did the conversations and laughter of a get together. He wasn’t sure what he would expect as the double doors opened.

The party was like nothing Husk had ever seen before. Let alone experienced since his time here. He half expected all kinds of raunchy, wild and vulgar manners to be presented here. What he got was a semi loud, not at all wild, flavorous swing of delights to all senses. Sinners were dancing, singing, laughing and playing on instruments all around. There was enough food and cocktails to go about to everyone. On a grand stage was a female, locks of silver, and a voice like sweet wine as he caressed the microphone like a lover at night. Her slim form was dripping from head to toe in rose red, the flowing material barely showing her ankles as she serenaded the crowd.

They arrived as her song ended, the sinners extending her a roaring applause along with bouquets of cut flowers. She tipped in a humbled bow as she exited the stage behind a burgundy carpet.

“Let’s get you to your seat. I have a special, private area just for the both of us.” He pulled him along as the announcer struck up a jazz band. The band was softer but played strongly. The song was more than enough for some Sinners to move out their seats with their partners for the evening. Husk barely resisted the urge to follow a fox demon in a green, short dress.

Alastor took them behind a purple curtain to reveal a more private sector of the parlor. There had to have been at least a dozen velvet booths here. And Alastor sat him down at the one closest to a smaller stage.

“Order what you want. It’s all on me dear. I’m going to let our guests know you have arrived.” Alastor didn’t sit as he moved away from the slightly nervous cat demon. The lights in the room were blossoming ripples of green and purple. He tapped at the marble table as he awaited a server to bring him some booze for the night. He made it a point to try and get plastered on a much free booze he could wrap his paws on.

“S’cuse me. Ya’ll have any absinthe in here?” Husk asked over the light piano.

The sever, a winged bat demon nodded, a smile coming to his features, “Sure. Do you want a cup or a bottle?”

“I can get a bottle?!” Husk couldn’t believe this was true. He’s always wanted to try that shit, but no lower tier liquor stores carried it, so he drowned on other things, “Then shit, I’ll have the whole bottle then.” He laughed.

“Perfect, I’ll have that right out for you.” And then he was gone. Quite the night this would be.

The next time he saw Alastor again, the grinning shithead was on the stage. Why? Husk could not deduce. Or was just tipsy enough to not ask. But his ears perked up the demon addressed the small, private crowd.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, whether you be a Saint or a Sinner, please give me your attention,” Alastor spoke as he removed his velvet jacket to show off his red and black waistcoat. The spare creatures in the room acknowledged him, Husk being amongst them, “I have opened my long retired Parlor up for a very special occasion. And that is for a very special significant of mine that I have recently taken up as my own.”

Oh! Oh Fuck! Oh shit! Wait, what the fuck?!

“Please listen to this very dedication that I proposed. He’s quite shy, but will come around. This is for you...”, ‘Don’t you fucking say it’. Husk’s brain roared in dread, “Husker.” ‘Motherfucker!’ Husk wanted to physically shuck the husky bottle of absinthe at the Radio Demon for just mentioning him. The feline put his paws over his head as the crowd awed and clapped for Alastor. He was going to fucking kill him! Once this was over, he was going to die. Again!

The band awaited for Alastor’s cue, a side glance and a nod, before beginning. The music came softly... fleeting in feeling as Alastor closed his eyes and began,

‘A summer romance

Hasn't a ghost of a chance

I know But a summer romance Should have a chance To grow

Septembers nearly over

The weather will be here There won't be time to live and laugh and love again This yearIf you and I could linger Until that early snow

Perhaps this romance might find time to grow’

“Oh shit, oh fuck!” Husk gasped out in exasperation, wings going over his head as he listened to the lyrics. He locked eyes with Alastor a couple of times, the younger man’s smile going fond as he continued,’

‘A love that is happy and meaning Because uncertain and heeding When weather brings its promise of Spring and a brand new year to love him

I wish you would remember

I know you won't recall We have discarded This romance at all’

This bastard wasn’t being eccentric. Not going off like a madman about an apparent love confession. He was singing, not only singing... He was straight up serenading him. He continued the whole way through until the music and lyrics came to an end, and a loud applause and whistles followed. Husk drank from the bottle, a hard ass double, triple as it went down his throat. He couldn’t care to discern the taste; he just had to get piss drunk as fast as he could.

“I hope you had a fantastic night! I know I sure did!” Alastor looked over at Husk, who was so drunk he ended up falling asleep on the ride home. It was well past one in the morning, so Alastor suspected that that was enough partying for one night. Alastor was so high on his new found feeling for this feline that he didn’t care about how the male cat cursed, swung and swore at him in his drunken haze. It would wear off soon anyways and then they’d make more memories. What a thrill!

The car came to a stop in front of the old male’s home, the slobbering cat too inebriated, and sleepy to move himself out of the car. Alastor tutted as he opened the male’s door and dragged into his home. He had to fish for the right key, but once inside it was smooth enough from there. And the cat demon still hadn’t awoke. He pulled him up so that he could try to make him walk up the stairs, which proved to be a bad idea. He ended up levitating the large, heavy beast into his filthy room; content to lay him atop the blankets.

“Goodnight beloved.” He pressed his face into the cat’s cheek before walking out of the room, rounding the staircase and left the home of his newfound romance. Or was it infatuation? Huh, he could feel stupid for things like these.

Husk woke up sick as fuck, some god forsaken gurgling coming up from his throat as he rushed into his bathroom, tripping over his own tail as he slumped against the toilet. He couldn’t recall he felt this kind of miserable but the absinthe being drained from his guts did make the dream of Alastor singing to him sound less real. He flushed his nasty contents before getting up. He burped, the smell foul as he headed into his kitchen. While he scampered for a meal, he found a paper letter on the coffee table by a wrapped box. He examined the parchment, sealed by red wax, then opened it. Inside the contents it read’

‘That song was the best, if not stupidest thing I offered up to you.

I intend to give you more than serenades at the blood moon, my Husker.

P.S I have a special treat for you. More to come,

Alastor.

Husk looked over the letter a couple times before throwing it, going to the box to see what this idiot had in store. What he got was exactly what he was thinking of: A full course meal, breakfast wrapped up well, still steaming. ‘What the fuck?’ He mouthed out the though, but did not much else as he went to devour the food.

Was there coming back from this dumbass show of affection? Husk thought no. There was no way he could ever think differently of an idiot in love. He was beginning to assume he’d soon be one.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin alastor #husk #alastor

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wide-eyedscottishlass · 4 years

Text

The Nightmare, part two [continued from]

Hennessy was aware of Scarlett’s cries before her frenzied writhing at his side brought him to full consciousness, for they had somehow insinuated themselves into the dream he’d been having---as though they were the call of the seagulls that rode the ocean breeze above, while he swam just beyond the shallows off his private beach. Eyes snapping open, he was disappointed to leave that dream behind, but only until he understood that his delicious little lover was in the grip of a powerful night terror.

She was tangled up in the dampened sheet, her skin feverish and slick at every point of contact between them, as he searched his memory for the best way to proceed. Hennessy seemed to recall the wisest advice was not to wake the sleeper; that the terror would subside on its own soon enough, and that the victim would eventually settle into some sort of quieter, gentler sleep. But her panicked moans and pained flailing begged for a better remedy than that—even before she began to cry out in her native brogue, so thick as to be nearly unintelligible. How could he not seek to wake her and give her the comfort she needed? And what could cause her sweet, guileless spirit to suffer such an assault by her subconscious?

He caught her in his arms, trying to hold on firmly, while still giving her body leeway enough to move without bringing harm to herself. “Sssssshhhhhhsssss,” he crooned, kissing her brow several times, with a tenderness he hoped might assuage whatever had awoken such terror, “I’ve got you, darling, and I’m not letting go…” Come back to me, he silently commanded, repeating his placations like a mantra, as her body began to slowly still in his arms. Now she was weeping while babbling incoherently, and then she began to cough and gasp for air. Hennessy pulled her into a sitting position, thinking to give her better room to draw fuller breaths. “Scarlett…baby…breathe…you’ve got to breathe…”

Her eyes flew open and the look of terror within them nearly froze him in place—until she blinked several times before finally recognizing him. “That’s right, darling…whatever it was, isn’t real…it was just a horrible dream, but you’re safe here with me, I swear it…”

Scarlett seemed to nod in understanding, but within moments she had turned away. Propped up on her hands over the edge of the bed, she began to retch violently. Once, twice, and then a third time, each spasm followed by the unmistakable splash of water hitting the Persian rug, before she collapsed onto the mattress in a sobbing heap. The moonlight streaming through the transom window above the French doors out to his balcony, painted her fair, unblemished skin an even whiter shade of pale, but Hennessy didn’t need that illumination to know what lay puddled bedside. Seawater. Caribbean seawater, judging by the tang of concentrated salt in the air. How in bloody hell was that even possible?

She had buried her face in her arms, muffling her sobs, while her slender form shivered in the aftermath of dreaming terror and waking nightmare. As black hearted as he knew himself to be, Hennessy was not a man immune to the suffering of others, and the sight of his most gentle, loving little naiad in such pitiful duress stirred a mercy and a tenderness within his breast unlike any he had felt for anyone in countless years. In the sunlight of the coming day, he might rue such softness, but in the secret, velvet dark, his first impulse was to comfort and console.

And so he reached for her, shocked when she flinched at first, beneath the quiet touch of his hands. He knew well that she was not necessarily reacting to him, knew instinctively that this was not some response conjured by the times their play had gotten rough; indeed, Scarlett had yet to experience his darker depths, those hungers he visited only upon those who eagerly sought them out. No, her mind must still be snarled with the nightmare world that had terrified her so---and surely some dark magic other than his own had created a spell enough for her to have taken in a belly full of seawater here on dry land.

“There now,” he husked in his gentlest voice, “You’ve been dreaming badly, love, but there’s nothing here that will hurt you… I promise.” She gave a deep, tremulous sigh, nodding as she moved into his arms and compliantly laid her head against her shoulder. “That’s right, little lamb…you are under my protection now, and I will not abide anything that seeks to hurt you. Or to frighten you. Or even dares to make you weep.” He smoothed his clever fingers through her hair, noting her breathing had become less harried and she had ceased her trembling.

Scarlett slid her arm around his neck as possessively---he supposed---as she was capable of, and nuzzled her tear stained cheek against his chest. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, “…so very, very sorry…”

“Whatever for,” he scoffed lightly, resting his lips in the halo of her hair, feeling them purse as he tried not to smile too much. She really was one of the dearest creatures he had ever known. “One cannot control the contents of one’s dreams, Scarlett---and except for what you just suffered yourself…and a little lost sleep for the both of us---no harm has been done that can’t be remedied.”

“But…but your rug,” she countered, and he heard well her plea for forgiveness between the lines.

“Ah, well---that is something within my power to fix. Easily, dear, and without a bit of fuss.”

She raised her head to look at him, a wee bit skeptical, and very wide-eyed, “Really?”

Now he just had to give her an indulgent smile. He urged her onto her side, so that he was spooning her, snug against his chest. Hennessy had already shown her bits and bobs of his power over the elements, and she had come to delight in some of his most naughty, delicious tricks. This one was sure to impress her further, while relieving her concern of the damage she’d done to his expensive Persian rug. “Now watch,” he commanded her, kissing her temple as he stretched his hand towards the far side of the bed. “This is as easy as any of my lesser spells…and as easy as the sins you’ve learned at my behest,” he teased her, and was rewarded with a perfect little snuggle of her bare bottom against his pelvis. Oh my, now that’s the spirit, little lamb, he thought wickedly, imagining that sleep was going to have to wait a good while more before either of them succumbed to it again. With a practiced flick of his hand, there was a long hiss as the water soaking the carpet tuned to vapor and rose into the air, before it evaporated.

As ever, Scarlett gave a sound of pleasant surprise. Pleased that her spirit had lightened, Hennessy rolled her onto her back, and rose above her, liking the mischief which---having dismissed her tears---now filled her doe-eyes. Her trust in him was palpable, and as delicious as ever; she was happy to be his plaything, ever-willing to acquiesce to wherever his cravings took them---and even the darkness that had violently disturbed her could not eclipse the deep desire he roused in her young, nubile body. And in her heart, he reminded himself; that’s where the greatest danger for her lays. Come morning, they would need to discuss and puzzle out the nightmare that had possessed his little lamb so thoroughly that it caused that frightening physical manifestation. For now though, he would be the lover and comfort---and the quite unwitting shelter---which she had come to need.

#my writing #Scarlett Campbell #her Selkie blood #an alternate storyline to the RP thing #Scarlett #ScarlettHeadCanon

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