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loviatarsluv · 3 months

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An Acquired Taste

“You play a twisted little game,

but I know in a way,

you need to complicate

believe that though we never eat,

we still know how to feed,

we still know how to bleed”

Astarion x AFAB female rogue tav (third person, no super descriptive features aside from hair color and body)

takes place earlier into act 1, long before the grove party (I have plans for that)

rating: VERY mature (smut incoming lets go besties!!!!!!)

CW: threats of bodily harm (eheh), lots of sexual tension, choking, fingering, oral, some light knifeplay

a/n: I’m gonna be 100% honest w u I have not written in forever so I’m admittedly very rusty, but I have not seen enough enemies to lovers with astarion and I just needed it so thus this was born ^.^

in summary: astarion and tav butt heads constantly and get into a blow up fight where they both say shit they shouldn’t, tav is overwhelmed by everything and he is not helping, so she goes to blow off some steam once they get back to camp and he, of course, petty as he is, cannot let her have a single moment of peace and follows her. she threatens to slit his throat and he gets horny. as one does 🤷‍♀️ (just like me fr)

word count: 7.6k (i'm so sorry i was possessed writing this apparently)

(I have no idea where I got this gif from if someone knows tell me and I’ll tag the op!!)

The trek back to camp is mostly silent, save for the odd comment about the weather or spew of stream of consciousness by Karlach, which provided at least a tiny bit of comic relief.

The air was thick and suffocating between the party’s leader and the vampire who just loved to piss her off - it almost always was slightly tense, but today in particular was much different than what was usual for them.

As soon as they reach the camp, the group splits, all scattering across the site to their own chosen sections of it, Astarion nonchalantly strolling off to his own tent, which just so happened to be the closest one to hers. She audibly growls in frustration, earning a few concerned stares from her companions. She can’t even find peace in her own tent.

Before any of her companions can stop her or inevitably approach her with questions about what happened between her and Astarion or unsolicited and, quite frankly, unnecessary advice, she slips off to the place that had been the one piece of solace she had been able to find as of late. The clearing in the forest near the water's edge that was just outside of camp.

The usually ataractic smell of petrichor mixed with the misty air near the running stream fill her nose as she trudges through the muddy soil, her leather and metal plated boots feeling ten stones heavier than usual. She sets her sights on a fallen tree near the water, sinking down into the dirt before it, releasing a long and deep breath that she didn’t realize she’d been holding for what felt like days.

She slowly strips off the outer layers of her lightly plated armor piece by piece, goosebumps prickling her skin with each new bit of skin exposed to the crisp evening air. She discovers a few new bruises and scrapes that hadn’t been there previously when removing certain parts of her gear had become painful, her skin tender and sore beneath it. Her entire body ached, and she was utterly sapped.

The previous few days had been more challenging than anything she’d experienced in recent history - their predicament unfolding before them all in increasingly bleak shades of stormy gray and blood red with each new bit of information they receive regarding the mystery surrounding the parasites that writhed within their skulls. She’d be lying if she said she still held the same amount of optimism toward the prospect of a cure as she had in the earlier days of their expedition. No, that was long gone.

In fact, the only emotion she seemed to feel lately was anger. Rage.

She knew that the world was going to shit prior to being abducted by the mind flayers, but she had never seen for herself how truly doomed it was the way she had since then. It was sobering, to say the least.

She never considered herself to be particularly altruistic or even virtuous by any means, having only been able to survive by picking pockets and slitting throats that stood in the way since her early teen years. She wasn’t proud of it all, and her mind was not unburdened with the guilt that came with some of it, but it was necessary at the time. It continued to be necessary, even more so now.

An image of home flashes through her mind - Baldur’s Gate. The bustling streets, the busy taverns, the upper city where she procured the majority of her coin. She chuckles to herself as she thinks of all of the nobles whose pockets she’d made lighter who were none the wiser - hells, most of them probably never noticed as gold was never in short supply for them the way it was for the rest of the population. They were easy targets only due to their noses being so high in the air that they didn’t notice those beneath them, scrounging the streets for the crumbs they crushed beneath their perfectly polished boots.

All she had to do was bat her eyelashes, whisper the same sweet nothings that worked on every single one of them, and expertly slip her hand into their pockets while they were enchanted by her every move. It was easier than easy, it was effortless.

She almost misses it - things were simpler, then. It had all become routine after so many years of it. Of course, there was still the threat of death looming over her at every turn but at least she could put up a fight against the daggers and swords that were held to her throat - there was no fighting this. She couldn’t threaten the tadpole with knives or swords or warfare, and she certainly couldn’t fight off ceremorphosis by sheer willpower. Sure, she could cut through every goblin, drow, or cultist that dared cross her path if they didn’t offer a cure or information for a cure, but none of that mattered as the creature inside her was nothing more than a ticking time bomb. Every second that passes could be her last without tentacles and an insatiable appetite for brains, and she’d be rendered nothing more than a soulless monster, doomed to follow every command given to it by an even bigger monstrosity.

Her hope and faith in finding a solution deteriorated more and more as the days passed with no answers, no leads, the prospect of making it out on the other side of this predicament seeming ever more distant.

She groans loudly to herself, tossing her head into her hands as she brings her knees closer to her chest, wishing she could shrink and disappear. Wishing the mud below her would form a sinkhole and just swallow her, that way it didn’t matter anymore, nothing would.

“Fuck,” She whispers through gritted teeth as she feels tears starting to well up in her eyes, much to her physical and internal protest.

In spite of her throbbing muscles and aching bones, she pushes herself up from the ground, refusing to resort to wallowing in self pity and mourning her once simple life.

But her chest feels as though it were caught in a vice, clamping down on her ribs and lungs and it felt as if she were fighting for every breath. Her fists were clenched so tightly and her nails dug into her palms so deeply that they were on the verge of drawing blood. She felt the need to scream, to cry, to break something - even though none of it would alleviate the weight that rested on her shoulders so heavily. Nothing that was within her reach could.

She felt like everything had come crashing down on her all at once and she was helpless to fight the barrage of what ifs and the potential outcomes of them flooded her mind.

Then, to top it all, her earlier argument with Astarion resurfaces in her mind.

“Apologies for not being as keen to remove the thing that has given me what I’ve been deprived of for two centuries. I’m only saying that we should—“

“So you’d trade feasting on rats in a dirty cell for feasting on brains at the command of some start-up god? You must really be desperate.”

His crimson eyes that were typically bright and playful were now dark and malignant, his jaw clenched and fangs bared. He looked as though he were about to lunge at her, before Wyll grabs him and pulls him back.

She regretted it the moment it left her lips, but she was too angry and too prideful to take it back. But he was seriously irking her - he provoked it out of her, she could hardly blame herself or feel sorry.

“What about you? Roaming the streets, scrounging through the garbage and the dirt for table scraps, stealing from nobles - you’re no better than the rats I fed on, the only difference is that the ones I fed on were more tolerable.”

It was then her turn to get pulled away, as within an instant her dagger was unsheathed and pointed in his direction. She couldn’t tell who it was that grabbed her - perhaps Gale, she thought, who was much stronger than he looked as he subdued her fairly quickly, wrapping his arms around her and dragging her backwards.

It took a lot of talking both of them down to diffuse the situation enough to safely make it back to camp in one piece, both of them too stubborn and prideful to let the matter rest until they just couldn’t stand to be near each other anymore.

His voice echoes in her head, reminding her of every person she’d ever reached out to for help in her life, degrading her to nothing more than a street rat begging for scraps. Her temper rises as she replays his words - “you’re no better than the rats I fed on” - over and over, finally tipping her over the edge.

She retrieves her rapier from the heap she’d discarded her armor and clothes in, rushes toward a large oak tree, swinging it into the trunk over and over until there’s large slashes in the trunk, the bark flying in shards and bits.

She steps back, breath ragged and heavy, eyes burning with tears that she refused to shed, especially over him and his damned opinion.

She's too enthralled in her own outburst to notice the footsteps approaching in the forest behind her.

“And what exactly did that tree do to deserve your wrath?” Astarion taunts, slowly stalking up behind her.

She doesn’t turn to face him, nor does she acknowledge him at all, tossing her weapon to the ground and walking back toward the stream.

“Tsk, I’m getting the silent treatment now? No scathing insults or cruel comments regarding my past?” He continues to prod, following a few steps behind her.

“Fuck. Off.” She growls through gritted teeth.

He chuckles, the sound bitter and disingenuous, goading.

“Oh, darling. You couldn’t possibly think that we wouldn’t have to kiss and make up after our little spat earlier. We’re stuck with each other in this sordid endeavor, after all.”

Her knuckles have gone white with the force of her clutching onto the fabric of her undershirt that she’d thankfully left on, on the off chance one of her companions came to check on her. Much to her dismay, of course it was the one companion she wished she had never laid eyes on to begin with.

“I’d rather kiss a leech, darling,” she spits, her tone coated in vitriol. “I have nothing more to say to you, unless you’d like me to return the favor of holding a dagger to your throat.”

When they’d met outside the nautiloid crash, and the elf held her at knifepoint demanding information, assuming she was a thrall or working with the mind flayers, she thought perhaps they would get along. She immediately recognized him as a kindred spirit as she knew that she would’ve done the same in his shoes, hells, she was even attracted to him.

Oh, how wrong she’d been.

Well, not about the attraction. That, unfortunately, did not dissipate.

If anything, it only made her hate him more.

He almost cackles, stalking in ever closer, closing the gap between them step by step. She resists the urge to step backwards to increase the distance between them once again, and stays planted in place out of spite, digging her heels into the dirt for extra support.

“I think there’s a lot that we both want to say and do to each other - the question is who’ll be the first to act.” His voice is equal parts threatening and sultry - something only he did so well.

He could make you loathe him and lust him in one fell swoop with ease. It was one of his biggest strengths, and a large reason why she hadn’t told him to piss off and find another group to leech off of. He was useful in and out of battle, much to her dismay.

“The only thing I want to do with you at this very moment is throw your pasty ass in the river and hope that you’ve forgotten how to swim.” She spat.

He continues to stalk closer, their bodies now less than a foot apart.

“You’re stubborn. I like that about you. You don’t accept defeat easily, even when it’s knocking at your door. It’s quite admirable, really,” he pauses to lean forward, lowering his face so they’re eye to eye.

“Admit it, dear, you’ve met your match with me.” He grins a devilish grin that she wants to slap off of his pretty mouth. If he were any closer, she might have.

“This isn’t a competition. I want to be rid of this damned thing and you want to step in the way of my and everyone else’s survival at every turn just for your own selfish sake!” She seethes, her voice raising and echoing through the woods.

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t act as though you give the slightest bit of a damn about anyone’s survival but your own, altruism isn’t a good look on you, pet. You and I are cut from the same cloth, whether you want to admit that to yourself or not.”

Her once empty fist was now grasping the handle of her dagger that she had sheathed and strapped to her thigh, as she always did, a habit that came in handy more times than she’d like for it to.

“I am nothing like you.” Is all she manages to hiss before he finally closes the gap between them, his face merely inches from hers, basically towering over her - their stark height difference being something only he had noticed and fully planned on using to his advantage.

He feels the heat radiating off of her, and he tells himself that it’s due to more than just anger to stroke his own ego. He knew that she was attracted to him, he’d caught her eyes lingering on him when she thought he wouldn’t notice - when he’d change into his evening clothes just outside his tent, when he would traipse off into the woods to hunt at night, and in general throughout their days traveling he would catch her eyes on him, watching him. It made it all the more exciting for him, knowing that even though she despised him, she’d let him have his way with her if the opportunity arose. He was just biding his time for the right moment and preparing all the perfect words that he knew would reduce her to putty in his hands.

“Keep telling yourself that, if it’ll help you sleep peacefully at night.” He whispers, his eyes dark and hungry - she couldn’t decipher whether it was for her or her blood in one way or another.

“How can I sleep peacefully knowing there’s a bloodsucker who hates me in the next tent over from me?” She half jokes, not letting this closeness falter her composure, despite the way her heart was racing a million a minute.

He flashes that damned smirk that he does when he’s up to something, one of his fangs peeking out over his bottom lip as he does, glinting in the golden glow of the sunset. He almost looked human, in this light. His usually pallid skin is nearly lively and his crimson eyes almost appear to be a shade of dark brown instead. Although, she thinks that his eyes were probably blue, before. Not that it mattered, not that she cared.

“What makes you think that I hate you, darling?” His face flashes a feign innocent expression, in spite of his eyes still holding that same intense darkness that bordered between disdain and desire.

“I certainly don’t think that you like me, by any means. And don’t worry, the feeling is mutual.”

His smirk widens into a sadistic grin, both fangs now on display.

“On the contrary, sweetness. I think we need to stop lying to each other if we’re going to continue this little adventure of ours together,” his voice is low and breathy, rumbling in his chest almost like a growl. He brings a hand up to trace the side of her jaw gently, and she flinches away.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.” He continues, his once gentle caress turning into a rough and forceful grab as he forces her to look at him, his blood red eyes boring into hers.

“I only watch you because I don’t trust you. I thought that’d be pretty clear.” It was a lie. She knew it was a lie, but it was only a half lie, technically. She didn’t trust him, she hadn’t since the beginning.

He lets out another cruel laugh, and she knows that he caught on.

“Hmm. You know, I’d assume you would be a better liar - how disappointing for you, but delicious for me.”

This was the last straw for her as she promptly unsheathes the dagger that her finger had been itching over since he made his unwelcome appearance into her life, pressing it to his throat, slowly pushing him backwards until his back hits the nearest tree.

His demeanor doesn’t falter for an instant, his face still twisted into that same demented sneer - the bastard was enjoying this.

The air between them was so thick it would have had to be cut with a great sword as their eye contact never breaks, neither of them intending to surrender.

“Give me one reason not to slit that pretty throat of yours.” She snarls behind gritted teeth.

He swallows hard, his Adam's apple grazing against the cool metal of her blade. He stares down at her and can’t help but admire her - eyes wild, long raven black hair uncharacteristically disheveled with some strands sticking to her forehead due to leftover dried sweat and grime, her pressed against him hard with only a flimsy shirt shielding her body from him. He doesn’t even try to hide it, letting his tongue slip out to wet his bottom lip, an undeniably lustful look in his eyes.

It takes her a moment to notice when she finally comes back to her senses after her adrenaline settles, a scowl painting across her face as the realization hits.

“You’re disgusting.” She hisses, pulling away from him, lowering her blade.

Despite her words, the way he was looking at her sparked something in her - something she had done so well to disregard and push down up to this point, but her resolve was weakening under his gaze.

He doesn’t respond, eyes never leaving her as they trail up and down her body, constantly returning back to her bare legs and thighs. And from the angle she stood, with the sunset behind her, her light colored linen shirt was nearly opaque and he could see the outline of her body. He feasted his eyes on her delicate curves, the way her hips jutted out and her waist dipped in above them, her toned arms flexing, muscles clenching. She was unquestionably sexy, and his craving for her had doubled if not tripled at the sight of her in this way, even after she pressed her dagger to his neck. Hells, even then.

She starts to back up as his gaze only intensifies - hungry eyes trailing her body felt like hot coals being dragged across her skin.

Before she can make it more than a couple inches away, his hands are grasping her waist, fingers digging into the soft flesh to a bruising point, pulling her back to him and flipping them so that her back is flush against the tree where his had been, effectively switching the roles and asserting his dominance over her, as he’d been dying to do for what felt like centuries.

His icy hand comes up to her throat, closing his fist around it firmly but not enough to entirely restrict her breathing and pinning her against the wood, his face now close enough to feel her hot breath against his cheeks.

The rough bark digs into her scalp and back, his fingers press into the spot just below her jaw near her pulse point. He feels her pulse thrumming rapidly against his fingertips, he can hear her heartbeat racing in her chest.

“You wound me, pet… I almost believed that one.” He purrs, his cold breath and the tone of his voice sending a chill down her spine, and an unwelcome heat through her, pooling low in her core.

With one hand still on her throat, his other hand rests on her waist before languidly roaming the parts of her body that weren’t covered by his own pressed against it.

She feels helpless under his touch, all of her previously built up walls and her icy facade start to melt beneath him, but not without her brain chiming in and reminding her who he is and how bad of an idea this was.

“Let me go.” She whispers plainly, unable to muster enough nerve to yell or scream or fight back, settling for no emotion at all.

He smirks at her, his hand advancing upwards, his fingers laving over the side of her breast, causing her nipples to harden, peaking against the soft linen fabric of her shirt.

“Is that what you really want, darling? Your body tells a different story,” he hums, his finger now grazing her nipple agonizingly gently, disrupting any thought or intention of fighting him off.

She's unable to find a word that could suffice in telling him to stop, but also dear gods please keep going. Her body was taking the reins, and she blames it on having not had any sort of intimacy since long before the nautiloid. Only to avoid the prospect that she was truly enjoying this.

Her silence doesn’t suffice, though.

He tightens his grip on her throat, pressing his index finger and thumb on either side of her jaw to direct her face so their eyes meet.

“I need you to tell me what you want, pet. I can’t do anything for you if you don’t tell me what you want.”

She bites down on her bottom lip almost hard enough to bite through, a slight metallic taste hitting her tongue. Her body was trembling with the effort it took to contain herself, to not give in to him but it was proving to be an insurmountable task. The logical side of her brain wants to say no just so he doesn’t get the satisfaction of her begging for him like he wants, but she can’t. The part of her brain that is apparently driven by the spot between her legs and the rest of her body is screaming over any logic and telling her everything she doesn’t want to hear.

“Harder.” She barely manages to choke out, her voice strained against the pressure of his hand on her throat.

He freezes, his body stilling and tensing up.

“What was that, darling? I couldn’t quite hear you.” He grits his teeth, his voice low and his mouth centimeters from her ear.

“Harder.” She says louder, placing her hand over his and pressing down.

Gods, he could’ve come undone right then and there.

Without another word, their lips collided in a frenzied and feral kiss, one that was inevitable, they both learned, judging by how effortless the kiss was - their lips melding and their tongues in sync as if they’d done it a million times before. Her fingers ran through his ivory curls, tugging at the roots and eliciting a groan from him that sent a chill up her spine.

He obliged her request, slightly closing his fist tighter around her neck, which chokes a moan out of her that he quickly swallows in another kiss. His free hand greedily continues to roam and grab at anything he can - her thighs, her ass, her breasts, her hips. He can't get enough of her, he swears even being inside her wouldn't satiate his desire for her. He wants to mark her, he wants to claim her, he wants her to be his, even if it was only for this purpose alone.

She hooks her leg around his, pulling him flush against her and feeling his hardened cock straining against his breeches as it presses to her lower stomach.

She almost gasps, disappointed but secretly pleased to discover that he was big, from what she could tell through his clothes at least.

She had hoped she could at least say he was small or that the sex sucked after it was all said and done, but she had an inkling that this was just yet another thing she would have to begrudgingly give him his due credit for.

He notices her reaction to the bulge in his pants, and smirks as he presses a wet kiss to her jaw, then rocks his hips forward to press himself against her even harder.

"This is your doing, you know," He breathes, a smirk evident in his voice.

Annoyed by his arrogant words and gesture, she digs her nails into his shoulder, a noise that's somewhere between a moan and a frustrated growl escaping her as he continues to suck on her neck, grazing the skin with his fangs.

“I’m starting to think you like having your life threatened a little too much.” She breathes.

He chuckles, lips still hovering over hers. “Only by you, darling.”

He palms at her ass cheek roughly, surely leaving a slew of intentional bruises so that she has a reminder the next morning, then smacking it - his frigid touch adding to the sting of the rough contact.

She yelps slightly, biting her lip in an attempt to stifle any noises she may make. He shakes his head, releasing her neck and bringing his hand up to trace her lips with his fingertips.

"No, no, sweetness, I want to hear that pretty voice of yours. For now, at least." He has a look as if he was planning something that instantly set her on edge - she never knew what to expect from him, especially not in this sort of circumstance.

"You're such an ass," She grunts indignantly, before he dips a finger in between her parted lips.

Almost as if on pure instinct, she sucks on his digit, swirling her tongue and laving it in her spit. His breath hitches as he stifles a pleased groan. She smirks pridefully, his finger still in her mouth.

"And yet, here we are, darling."

In rebuttal, she bites down on his finger just enough to hurt him, which causes him to hiss in pain. He shoots her a warning glance, then relaxes when he sees the amusement on her face.

“So feisty.”

He rubs her bottom lip with a second finger, a silent plea to add another into her mouth, which she promptly obliges.

She gives the second finger the same treatment as the first, her mind running wild with images of his cock in place of his fingers, how he might taste, the way it already weeps with arousal for her - it felt so wrong, yet she couldn't seem to get enough.

He pulls his fingers out of her mouth with a pop, his crimson eyes holding hers in an intense stare as he brings his still dry hand down to hook her underwear to the side, the cool breeze hitting her drenched cunt and making her suck in a breath. He makes a show of bringing the two fingers that had just been in her mouth down to rub her soaking folds, making sure that she was watching his every move.

"Fuck, you're already so wet for me." He moans, his voice low and gravelly as he slowly begins to spread her apart, the filthy sounds of her arousal like a song to his ears.

A loud moan rips through her as she throws her head back, the slightest touch embarrassingly already almost too much. Maybe it was the anticipation, maybe it was because it'd been so long since she'd been touched like this - or maybe it was just another testament to how badly she needed him. His touch.

"Rather sensitive, aren't we, pet?" He teases, dipping his head down to place a kiss to the part of her chest that was exposed by the low neckline of her shirt.

"Shut. Up." She growls, her hand gripping the nape of his neck and pulling him closer. The rumbling of his laughter echoes in her chest as his mouth stays pressed against it.

He presses wet kisses further and further down as he slowly moves his face lower, sinking to his knees in front of her.

She can't contain the gasp that escapes her as she peers down at him - his typically pristine and well groomed silvery white curls were a disaster as a result of her hands ravaging them, his eyes were dark and lidded, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Not to mention, the satisfaction that came from him being on his knees below her, knowing what he intended to do - gods below, it was almost too much to bear.

He raises her shirt higher, holding it up between her breasts and getting just a small peek of the underside of them - the temptation to rip the wretched thing off of her and completely bare her to him crossing his mind. He decides against it, unsure if she'd want to be fully exposed in case someone decided to come check on her.

He, personally, wouldn't mind any of the others finding them this way - that way they would know that he was staking his claim on her. He was well aware that he was far from the only one in the camp that had dreamt of touching her, and he planned on being the only one who gets to.

He straightens himself up so he can trail another line of wet kisses down her abdomen, stopping just above the waistband of her underwear. His eyes flick back up to hers, finding that she had been watching his every move - satisfied with how quickly she catches on to his desires, as if it were natural to her.

He hooks two fingers beneath the fabric on each of her hips, waiting for her to protest. She doesn't, instead she reaches her hand down and attempts to pull them down herself. He grabs her wrist, stopping her.

"Ah ah, allow me." He commands, his voice equal parts soothing and threatening. She drops her hand back to her side. "Good girl."

He rips the fabric down her legs, letting it pool at her ankles before he hooks an arm under her thigh and lifts it so that she steps out of them. He pushes them aside, keeping her leg lifted as he pushes her night shirt out of the way once again, revealing her drenched and throbbing cunt to him, at long last.

He practically salivates at the sight, his eyes burning trails all around it as he drinks in every inch of her newly exposed flesh. This causes her to blush for the first time during this encounter, suddenly feeling self conscious about her most intimate area. She feels the urge to cover herself, her leg instinctively moving to clench against the other. He stops her quickly, pressing her leg up even higher, stretching her already sore thigh muscles.

"Absolutely perfect. To think you’ve been keeping this all to yourself." He coos, his voice now softer, reverent, even. As if he were quietly admiring the finely crafted sculpture of a goddess on display in the foyer of a tabernacle.

With her leg now draped over his shoulder, he continues his attack of wet and hungry kisses up her leg. He toys with the knife strapped to her, running a finger along the hilt of the blade, then biting the leather strap on the innermost part of her leg, his lips brushing against the skin and causing goosebumps to prickle up.

He slowly continues trailing up to the apex of her thighs, pausing at the very top of her thigh and nipping at the plush skin.

Her arousal and frustration had started to truly boil within her, him taking his damn sweet time was beginning to piss her off all over again and she knew he was doing it deliberately. He was trying all that he could to get her to beg.

"Astarion, if you don't eat me out right now, I'm going to kill you."

She wouldn't beg, no. Threatening, though? Easy.

"Patience, darling. Good things come to those who wait."

She scoffs. "I'm starting to think you're stalling. Scared that you won't be able to live up to your reputation?" She taunts in an attempt to anger him enough to finally oblige her.

His eyes narrow, his once smug face falling into a scowl.

He quickly unsheathes the knife on her thigh, grabbing it by the blade. Her eyes widened.

"What the hells are you doing?" Her voice held a bit of unease as she watched him gently tap the tip of the blade, as if he were testing the sharpness.

He grins wickedly, his eyes flicking from the dagger back up to hers. "I'm going to shut you up. Open," he commands, bringing the hilt of the dagger up to her lips.

She shoots him an uncertain look, confused. He sighs, frustrated, then presses the hilt further until her lips parted, and she took it between her teeth.

The sun had finally dipped below the horizon, the golden light shifting to a cool blue glow, the reflection of the moon glinting off of the recently sharpened and polished blade. She hadn’t realized just how sharp Lae’zel made it, and having it so close to her face this way truthfully made her nervous.

A twisted part of her enjoyed it for that fact.

He looks up at her, the sight of the hilt of the dagger that she'd threatened him with only minutes prior, now held between her teeth both ironic and unequivocally erotic.

"Much better. Shall we try this again?"

Satisfied with the outcome of his bright idea and the muffled groan of frustration from the only one who’d been plaguing his thoughts when he was alone in his tent, he returns to his prior ministrations, starting his trail of kisses right back where he'd begun them just at the side of her knee.

He repeats the process identically to how he'd done it previously, except this time he bites the top of her thigh slightly harder, eliciting a whimper from her, nearly causing the knife to slip out of her mouth.

"Careful, pet." He warns, a slight smirk playing on the corners of his lips.

With his face still right at the crest of her thigh, cool breath fanning across her burning hot flesh, he brings his even colder fingers back up to tease her folds. She jolts at the sensation, involuntarily crawling upward onto the tree, now on tiptoe with her leg that's still on the ground. He tightens his arm around her thigh, pulling it down on to his shoulder slightly as if to warn her to stay still. She obliges, flattening her foot back down and relaxing her posture as best as she can manage, the thought of making this take even longer agonizing.

His deft fingers work her slowly, touching everywhere but where she needed him most. The sounds of her slick arousal seemed much louder now that they’d both gone mostly quiet apart from their heavy breathing, and she feels that damned blush creep back up to her cheeks once again.

She involuntarily yelps when his fingers tease her entrance, her walls instinctively clenching around nothing. She disobeys him by wriggling slightly, then realizes and quickly tries to cease her movements. He lets his thumb rest against her swollen and throbbing clit, refusing to move even an inch until she settles down.

“Look at you,” he coos. “So eager for me. I almost want to take that dagger out of your mouth and hear that sweet voice moan for me again.”

She bites down even harder into the hilt of the dagger to stifle the moan that threatens to escape her throat, certainly leaving teeth marks that she’ll have to hide in case anyone needs to borrow it later.

He chuckles, his eyes still trained on her face as he pushes ever so slightly against her entrance, his thumb pressing harder into the over-sensitive bud - savoring her every reaction to him. The way her brows knitted up, the way her glossy eyes widened, her hands clutching the fabric of her shirt and holding it close to her chest, the way the dagger shifted slightly in her mouth as her jaw clenched around it. She was a feast for his eyes and he intended to savor every bite.

Finally, he decides to show her mercy and push his fingers further in, careful to move slowly and give her time to adjust. Her eyes blow wide and her head falls back against the tree, giving him a full view of her neck that makes his mouth water.

Next time, he thinks to himself.

His fingers are just barely not too thick for her - the stretching only slightly uncomfortable and otherwise euphoric. He pumps in and out at a lazy pace at first, quickening over time as he feels her fully adjust after a while. She’s perfectly tight, her velvet walls clenching his fingers with every plunge into her depths. He can barely think straight, all rational thought having left him ages ago. All that he can think now is how badly he wishes it were his cock in her rather than his fingers - but as he’d told her, good things come to those who wait.

She feels herself creeping ever closer to her peak as his movements become more and more rhythmic and deliberate, his thumb rubbing circles around her clit as his fingers piston in and out, hitting all of the right spots and driving her wild. Her body is buzzing, her legs trembling. She wants to resist how incredible this all feels, but gods, does it feel incredible.

Everything that comes after this is a problem for later, right now, all she wants is to—

“Aah!” She yelps as he curls his fingers, the dagger slipping from her mouth and thankfully dropping to the ground beside them.

He grins, continuing his ministrations. “Are you gonna come, pet?”

She takes her bottom lip in between her teeth, scared to say yes in fear that he may stop and deprive her of her release just to spite her.

“Answer me.” He commands, his voice coming out as a low growl.

She reluctantly nods.

“Use your words. Answer me.”

“Y-yes. Gods, yes. Just… don’t stop.” She whines, trying her damnedest for it not to come out as a beg, but rather a command. It was mildly successful.

To her surprise, he speeds up the pace, pumping in and out of her hard and fast - the way she so desperately craved it. She feels herself right at the edge, her orgasm impending - he can tell, as she writhes and whimpers over him. Just as he can tell she’s about to hit the peak, he stops.

She keens at the sudden loss of friction and movement, her walls clenching down around his fingers even harder, her cunt throbbing and dripping onto his hand.

“Why…” Is all she manages to say, her breathing ragged and her chest heaving.

“I want you to come on my mouth.”

That alone could have sent her over the edge.

She nods fervently, her hips bucking forward toward his face.

He considers punishing her for being too hasty and too eager, but he couldn’t care less any more to keep up the game - he needs to taste her. He needs to devour her.

He moves his thumb, making way for his tongue to replace it. He expertly strokes his tongue across her folds, her essence sweet and tangy on his taste buds. He swipes across her clit, causing her to jerk into his mouth, a string of incoherent curses leaving her lips.

She drops the fabric of her shirt and threads her fingers through his hair once again, gripping it almost painfully. He groans against her, the vibrations of his voice against her causing her to see stars.

He lifts her shirt out of his way once again, mouth never breaking from her, and growls in frustration at the piece of fabric that kept dropping into his face. Taking his growl as a silent command, she rips the fabric over her head and tosses it aside, now completely naked and bare to him as well as the cool night air.

His eyes widened at the sight of her, finally getting a full view of her breasts and the rest of her that was previously unrevealed to him. He breaks away from her cunt for a moment, both hands moving to palm her full breasts.

“You are exquisite.”

She’d almost prefer if he’d insult her, be cruel to her, say the worst things he can think of - that way she wouldn’t have to grapple with these new feelings that are bubbling up to the surface at how generous of a lover he’s proven to be, when only minutes prior she was sure that they shared a mutual hatred for each other. Maybe he was just putting on a show for her, like he always did.

Yes. He’s putting on a show. He has to be, she thinks.

She hisses through her teeth when he finally brings his mouth and hand back to her mound, wasting no time in resuming his prior crusade to make her come, pumping his fingers at a punishing pace, his tongue circling her clit in tandem. He keeps his free hand on her breast, pinching her nipple hard, causing her to roll her hips into his face.

“That’s it, love. Take what you need.”

For fucks sake, he’s going to be the death of me.

His words, his mouth, and his dexterous fingers are a wicked combination - every single movement, every single word, every lap at her needy cunt is nearly too much for her to bear as she uses every bit of her remaining strength to keep from crumbling into a heap in the dirt.

As requested by him, she continues to rock her hips forward, grinding down onto his fingers and mouth, his fingers hitting all the right places to drive her over the edge. She grips at his shoulder, nails digging into the fabric of his ruffled evening shirt, chest heaving as she creeps ever closer once again, and silently prays he has mercy on her this time.

“Astarion, I’m—“

“I know, love. Come for me,” he says, muffled with his mouth still tongue deep in her.

As if on command, she shatters, tumbling over the edge into free fall towards the hardest orgasm she’s had in months, perhaps even years.

Her body shakes and writhes as she gushes on his tongue, but he doesn’t slow his movements, still pumping into her as she rides out her orgasm, pangs of unbridled pleasure crashing over her like tidal waves.

Her legs quiver, the leg that she was using to stand begins to buckle at the knee as all strength she’d had left from the day has finally been sapped from her body. She slowly slides down the tree into his lap, eyes closed and still reeling.

She manages to weakly tilt her head forward, looking him in the eye for the first time with new eyes - unsure what that meant for her yet. She was half sure that she still hated him. Half.

He grins at her, his own chest still heaving as he catches his breath, ruby irises lighter than before, a look in his eyes that she doesn’t quite recognize.

“I’d be lying if I said I haven’t been dying to do that since the day I met you.” He says, popping his fingers into his mouth and licking her slick off.

She swallows hard at the sight, her still sore and sensitive core starting to flutter again as he licks his fingers clean.

“I still don’t like you, you know. You’ll have to do more than make me orgasm to change my mind.” She says, her tone unusually calm and amicable toward him despite her words.

“Oh darling, who said we had to like each other to do that? In fact, I think it makes it all the more thrilling.” He brings his hand up to her cheek, gently caressing it and swiping his thumb across it.

She puffs air out of her nose, a wry smile on her lips. “Who says we’re going to do that again?”

He grins, bringing his still wet lips and face closer to hers, his breath smelling strongly of a mixture of her essence, wine, and a bitter metallic smell that was undeniably blood - she assumes he hunted not too long before he joined her in the woods.

“You can hate me all you want, my sweet, but I know that nobody has ever made you feel the way that I do. It’ll only be a matter of time before you’re crawling back into my bedroll, begging for another taste.” He taunts, his voice in that same low and sultry tone he did so well, the one that he knew had the power to melt anybody right into his hands.

She narrows her eyes for a brief moment - then an idea flits into the back of her mind, a mischievous smile following suit. The game was now set, and she was ready to play.

“We’ll see who begs who first, darling.”

part two - ♡︎

#this was a wild ride #lmk if u like it hehe #astarion #astarion ancunin #spawn astarion #astarion fic #astarion fanfic #astarion smut #bg3 #bg3 fanfic #astarion x tav #astarion x f!tav #astarion x f!reader #if u squint #enemies to lovers #idk what else to tag this lol #my fics #aat

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amomentsescape · 7 months

Note

What would a night routine of the reader bathing with the slasher to clean the blood off and then brushing teeth and changing into pj to go to bed be like with the main slashers?

Slashers' Night Time Routine with Reader

A/N: This is such a wholesome request, thank you!

Freddy Krueger

If Freddy needs to make a visit to the "real" world, he will most certainly stop by your place near the end

He used to always associate real life with anger and death, but having you has made him appreciate it as more than that

He'll always show up unannounced

Sometimes he even likes to give you a little scare as his way of saying "hi"

His arms bursting through the couch and wrapping around you

His severed head rolling out from under your bed

You get the picture

But once his laughs and your berating settle down, he goes soft

He'll hug you and let you know how the night went before settling into your bed

The nice thing about literally being a dream demon is that he can go from smelly and bloody to fresh and clean with a twist of his knifed glove

It's normally pretty late by the time he's with you, so you're always freshened up and in comfy clothes already

He pulls you into him and gently rubs up and down your arm

He doesn't really sleep so he just lays with you for however long he feels necessary

He sometimes takes you into his dream world once you're asleep

But if you need the rest, he makes sure to leave you a little gift in the morning

Usually a flower or candy of some kind

Occasionally it's an eyeball or a finger

It is Freddy after all

Michael Myers

This man hardly sleeps to be honest

He usually just naps a bit during the day and stays up all night doing serial killer stuff

The fact that he even functions normally is odd to you

He comes home late a lot of the time, but you try to stay up for him

He's scolded you several times about this, but it's the one thing you will never budge on

You greet him at the door with a tired smile as he walks over to you

He lets you hold his mask once he takes it off as he heads to the bathroom

His clothing sits in a messy pile on the bathroom floor as you wipe off his mask with a clean cloth

Once this is done, you head into the bathroom

He never used to care about the dried blood and sweat on him until he met you

Now, there's something about when getting clean with you that he enjoys

Not that he'd ever say this out loud

You hop into the shower with him and help wash his back, gently scratching and rubbing along his skin

You can always feel his tense posture relax at this

After the shower, you both step out and brush your teeth

You already have his pajama pants ready for him after this, allowing him to get comfortable

Everything up to this point is done is silence, both of you just enjoying each other's presence

But once you both are cuddled up in bed, you begin to talk about the things that happened today and what you did while he was gone

He isn't much of a talker himself, but he does like listening to your voice

It helps him relax as he eventually watches you fall asleep against him

Jason Voorhees

He loves seeing your bright smile whenever he walks through the door

It's what he looks forwards to the most while he's still out stalking the woods

You're always quick to help him shrug off his jacket and set his machete off to the side

Once the bloody outer layer of clothing is off, he engulfs you in a big hug as his way of saying he missed you

After a bit, you sit him down and begin taking a warm washcloth to his body, wiping away any small blood splatters still leftover

Baths and even showers still don't sit right with Jason, and although he could do it, the night is meant to be about comfort, so you don't push him into the bathroom for the sake of his relaxation

Once he's cleaned up, he follows you around while you brush your teeth and get changed, just enjoying being in your company

He is technically undead, so brushing his teeth and sleeping aren't really in his normal routine

But he will lay with you in bed and listen to you hum softly

He'll caress your cheek once he sees your eyes flutter close, a soft smile growing on your face

This is normally how you fall asleep, Jason by your side and watching over you

Thomas Hewitt

It's not easy working outside all day in the southern heat

Once inside, you hand him an old rag so that he can wipe off the sweat from around his face, him offering a smile behind his mask

After this, he takes a seat at the table with you and eats dinner

This is when you talk about your day and just share anything you want to tell him

He listens intently and even chimes in with a few nods and gentle squeezes on your hand

You then clear the dishes once you're both done eating, letting him get the shower ready

You follow in after him, relaxing under the warm water

Once he rinses off the grime, he pulls you close to him under the shower head

He honestly can't think of anything better than to be under the pouring of warm water with you in his arms

He'd repeat the tiring day 100 times if it would always end like this

Once you're both washed up, you brush your teeth at the sink

You both have to take turns with this, sometimes nudging up against him and poking him as a joke

He always has a wide smile

Once you both go to bed, you rest your head on his chest, rubbing circles into his tense muscles

You both eventually fall asleep intertwined with one another

Bubba Sawyer

At the end of a long day, Bubba is all but sprinting into the house to see you

He pulls you into him, not even considering all the sweat and dirt getting on you

Not that you really cared anyways

His enthusiasm makes up for it

He then makes his way to the bathroom, basically leaving a trail of his dirty clothes along the way

He's more of a bath person, relishing in the bubbles and the warm water

So once he has the bath started, he is eager to help you undress

Not even in an inappropriate way, he just likes to have you in the tub with him

Once the soap has been added and the water is the right temp, you both get in together

He has you facing him while you talk about your day

He likes to play with your hands and plop clumps of bubbles onto your head

Anything to make you laugh is a win in his books

After your bath, you both get into some cozy clothes and watch TV

This usually involves snacking on some baked treats or candy

Half the time, you both fall asleep curled up on the sofa together with the movie still playing in the background

If you don't, then you'll have to basically drag Bubba to the bedroom and under the covers, giving a small kiss before tucking yourself in after

Brahms Heelshire

Anything on his normal list of rules is easy to get him to follow

Tucking him into bed and giving him a kiss goodnight takes all but two seconds to complete

But everything leading up to that can be a pain in the butt

If you make him dinner, he'll swear up and down that the vegetables would make him sick if he ate them

He then would dread going to the shower to get cleaned up

Clean and Brahms never seem to go together in a sentence

The only way he'll get in is if you promise to go in with him

Very handsy if you let him

Wants to wash your back for you

Constantly pulls you against his soapy body even after you've already rinsed off

And after all this, getting him out of the shower and forcing him to brush his teeth is a whole other battle

You have to help him towel off and practically lock him in the bathroom so that he brushes his teeth

After countless moments of whining, he finally gives in when you threaten to not sleep beside him

Once he eventually finishes getting cleaned up, everything is a breeze

Maybe all that fighting beforehand tires him out?

Whatever the cause, you're happy to watch him plop into bed, waiting for you to pull the covers up over him

You crawl in beside him and give him his kiss before he cuddles his head into the crook of your neck

He's fast asleep within moments of his eyes closing

Norman Bates

He has a very simple routine he follows every night

Dinner, shower, reading, bed

Always in that order without fail

You've grown accustomed to this pattern and learned to love the familiarity of it each night

You both eat dinner together at the table, going back and forth sharing stories and talking about the day

It never ceases to amaze you how much more you learn about Norman every day

You both take your time eating but once you both have finished, he's quick to jump up and help you put all the dishes away

He used to be shy with showering with you after dinner, but he now finds it the best part of the night

Sharing each other's company and helping one another get clean is incredibly comforting to him

After getting all cleaned up, you both sit down on the couch together and read a book

Sometimes you both read separately and just bask in each other's silence for a while

But other times you switch off on reading out loud to one another, the other person resting their head on their lap

This is typically accompanied with a cup of tea, Norman's favorite treat at the end of a long day

Once you both become tired, you will head to the bedroom and slip under the covers next to each other

He likes to face you while you sleep, making sure you're comfortable before he finally closes his eyes for the night

Billy Loomis

Billy can be a bit unpredictable when he comes home at night

If the killing spree went well, then he comes home with a big smile on his face, arms open wide for your embrace

But if things didn't go as planned, he'll be very quiet coming home, heading straight to the shower

But no matter what mood he's in, he wants you there

You join him under the hot water, helping him clean off all the blood and dirt

Once he feels your touch, he relaxes and holds you close to him

If he feels like it, he'll tell you about the night and how things went

But if not, you're both just happy to be with each other in the comfortable silence

Once clean, you both get changed into warm clothes and watch some TV for a while

Horror movies are a must with Billy, so munching on some popcorn and candy with a scary film on is the perfect way for him to unwind

He loves when you scratch his scalp during the movie, practically melting under your touch

Once he becomes tired, he'll hoist you up and to the bedroom

He'll plop into bed and pull you into his arms

This is when you both share your stories of the day and the good things that happened if not already done in the shower

He'll kiss you deeply before dozing off, thankful to have you there beside him

Stu Macher

He's always bursting with energy when he comes home to you

The door flies open and he has you spinning around in his arms

He's talking a mile a minute, describing every detail of his night

You're always just so happy to see him glowing and unharmed, so you listen intently with a smile on your face

Once he finally comes down from his high, he gets the munchies and raids the kitchen for a bit

After this, he just wants to cuddle and watch TV, but you always insist on him hopping in the shower

The boy is a sweaty, bloody mess

With some puppy eyes and a promise to join, he's finally convinced to get cleaned up

He always insists on having the water scorching hot for whatever reason, so you basically feel like your in a sauna

However, he makes up for it in scalp massages and soft kisses along your shoulders

Once you're both clean, you quickly brush your teeth and hop into matching pajamas (he insists)

You then cozy up in bed and turn on a movie

You almost always fall asleep with the TV still on, limbs intertwined with one another

Eric Draven

Eric rarely comes home while you're still awake

He tries his best to stay quiet, but you somehow have an internal alarm at this point and always wake up after a while

He tries to shush you back to bed each time, but you insist on helping him get cleaned up

You take his dirty clothes and set them on a chair, leaving that mess for the morning

You then start the bath and light a few candles

Eric enjoys the light of a flame more than the artificial lighting in the bathroom

He holds you close to him in the tub, gently caressing your arms and back

You're also eager to return the favor, carefully running a wet washcloth over any grime and dried blood left on his skin

He simply tilts his head back and closes his eyes, finally relaxing for the first time that night

You've fallen asleep together like this a couple times, only waking up once the water became cold

Once you're both in comfy clothes, he carries you to bed and tucks you in

He spoons you and rakes his fingers through your hair, humming random melodies he plays on guitar sometimes

This always lulls you back to sleep

Eric doesn't sleep much, but he'll rest his eyes from time to time

And he's only able to do so when you're against his chest

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monstersdownthepath · 23 days

Text

Deity: The Sea of Teeth

(Pic source: Craig Spearing, though it doesn’t seem to be on his site anymore and exists only as reuploads)

Chaotic Evil God of Endless Hunger

Domains: Chaos, Death, Destruction, Evil, War Subdomains: Demon, Entropy, Catastrophe, Cannibalism, Blood Favored Weapons: Bite Symbol: Fangs surrounding bones, stars, and/or planets. Sacred Animals: All gluttonous animals. Sacred Colors: N/a

The Abyss is deeper than any being could possibly comprehend, stretching an unknowable distance into the chaos beyond what sane beings consider the relative safety of their reality. Whether it has an end or a bottom is a mystery none have yet solved, as the deeper one goes, the more they must grapple with the knowledge that the hundreds of layers occupied by the foulest sorts of demons are merely the surface level of the Abyss, the safest environs a mortal of this cosmos can exist in. To venture into the Abyss is taxing enough, but to delve deep into the Outer Rifts, where the primordial qlippoth and beasts even stranger roam, is something few can withstand for longer than fleeting moments. It is easy, though not entirely accurate, to compare the demon-occupied Abyss as something akin to the levels of the ocean where the sun still reaches. It is dangerous, laden with hazards and predators which may end the life of an explorer... But the Rifts? If one were still comparing the Abyss to the ocean, the Outer Rifts are depths where sunlight cannot reach, where the pressure is so intense that even steel buckles and crumbles, where the cold is so penetrating that nothing can defend against it, and where life as we know it simply cannot survive.

But like the ocean’s darkest depths, there is still life to be found, alien and strange. Predating even the eldest of the gods, the qlippoth crawl and slither and skitter in endless varieties and maddening shapes. From tiny insects to the great, demigod-level Qlippoth Primordials, qlippoth span across every branch of existence, forming grotesque and twisted mirrors to the biospheres found all over creation, all living and eating and dying and transforming. It is a great, eldritch ecosystem, where even worlds must feed.

And with the imprisonment of Rovagug, it has lost its apex predator.

Ask any zoologist what happens to any ecosystem in which an important predatory force is removed and you will receive a similar answer; the prey gorges itself until it starves, reproduces until there is no more room, and the cycle of life comes to an abrupt and terrible halt as the links in the chain give way one by one. In extreme cases, the entire environment is destroyed by the unbalance. While it’s true that the Abyss has no shortage of predatory creatures all willing and able to consume one another, none of them work on the scale that Rovagug did, devouring and destroying entire landscapes and worlds at once to keep the growth of the Abyss itself from becoming too dangerously rampant.

But now that he is gone, the balance is upset, and the invasive species that is demonkind has done more harm than good as the natives of the Rifts experience an apocalyptic collapse. Unfortunately for the cosmos as a whole, from the deepest depths of the Outer Rifts a new apex predator has risen to fill the vacuum.

It has no name, but it has many titles; the Sea of Teeth is the most common one, but it is also known as “the Devouring God,” “the Black Well,” “Hadal,” “the Consuming Cascade,” “the Final Tide,” among others and their many variations. It is more location than creature, as though an entire layer of the Abyss has shuddered to terrible life and apocalyptic hunger, branching titanic tendrils throughout the rest of the plane to consume all which falls in its shadow. To those that know if its existence, it is hunger unimaginable, a ravenous force that depletes and destroys everything it crosses. It does not just settle for the twisted flora and fauna, but the very landscape itself is chewed apart, and when there is no matter left it drinks up the local quintessence until the fabric of the layer frays and collapses. It constantly sends tiny tendrils of its matter throughout the Abyss to hunt for new rich feeding grounds, the smallest and weakest of these ‘roots,’ pinpricks of its essence that emerge through tiny portals it gnaws in reality, take on the shape and strength of Shoggoths with the Savage Mythic Template. Because of the immense power of these tiny specks of the greater Sea, it rapidly overtakes any stretch of the Abyss which doesn’t contain any creature or force capable of combating its searching limbs, but any layer with such defenses enjoys some level of safety from the greater Sea. Slaying the roots causes the limb from which they grew to recoil slightly, slowing its spread into a particular layer and allowing them time to plan for the next incursion.

The irony of the Abyss finding itself besieged by a threat which spreads across multiple planar layers and which requires constant, combined efforts to fight back against is lost on many demons. And it is indeed demons which find themselves at the fore of the Sea’s attacks; the Sea is indiscriminate in its feeding frenzies, consuming all in its path with no regard for the qlippoth it technically shares kinship with (with the sole exception being the Iathavos, the only being which it ignores entirely), but much how like animals of Golarion will flee an impending natural disaster hours before it happens, qlippoth seem to possess an innate sense of when and where the Sea will strike, assuring only the injured, the slow, the ill, the foolish, and the foolhardy are actually devoured. Why and how they preternaturally know when it will arrive is a secret they have not shared, and likely never will.

It is believed that no fewer than six entire Abyssal layers have already been entirely consumed in the short few centuries that the Sea has been known to mortal scholars (and perhaps many before anyone even realized it was there), several dozen are actively besieged by its reaching limbs, and hundreds more are being inspected by its roots. Any normal plane which hosted such a force would quickly be rendered lifeless and barren, but the sheer size and repulsive fecundity of the Abyss assures no such catastrophe will occur, and even if the “shallows” of the Abyss were to be depopulated entirely (an impossible task in and of itself, even for a god), the Sea would simply retreat into the deeper Rifts to continue its feast in unknowable lands until the shallows recovered and regrew, just as a roving predator does when prey is exhausted in one area.

... But this relieving truth has yet to be uncovered, and will likely not be known for several millennia. In the current times, a mere few centuries after its emergence, the Sea is spoken of by doomsayers and prophets as an existential threat of cosmic magnitude, threatening the entirety of existence as it’s known. There are many who believe that the Sea’s emergence is a sure sign that the Abyss will soon be destroyed, devoured utterly down to the last demon larvae, and demons as an entity in the universe will completely cease to exist. These same thinkers and madmen are divided on what, exactly, this would cause in the Great Beyond as a whole; some posit that the removal of the tumor that is the Abyss will usher in a profound universal transformation in which certain breeds of Evil can no longer exist, while others think the Abyss itself will transform into an entirely new Neutrally-aligned plane! The implications of this transformation is, itself, a topic of conjecture and debate. Planar scholars from all corners of creation have driven themselves to fevered frenzies trying to imagine what a universe without demonkind would look like, whether or not demonic power would simply emerge in a new form elsewhere... and whether or not an end to demons as they’re currently known warrants aiding the Sea of Teeth in some way.

Any mind pondering the possibilities of the Sea destroying the Abyss itself must, of course, answer the inevitable question of “what happens afterwards?” Perhaps it will consume itself or starve to death! Perhaps it will slink back into the Outer Rifts, finally satisfied that it has killed every last demon. Perhaps it will pupate into something worse... Or perhaps, once the Abyss has been consumed, the Sea will rush to fill the empty roots left behind which will connect it to a thousand new feeding grounds, swelling further to break down the shorelines of all creation and bring about the end of all things.

Whatever the truth is, the Great Beyond will have to wait and see. There IS one absolute truth that can be shared with whomever is reading this, though: Despite what doomsayers scream of what will happen were it to drink the Plane of Water, inhale the flames of Creation’s Forge, or invade the Ethereal Plane to consume the thoughts and dreams of mortals, the Sea of Teeth does not work towards such apocalyptic goals. It does not plan its assaults, it does not consider the consequences of its actions, and it does not dream of the endless banquet waiting for it just outside the walls of the Abyss.

It, in fact, does not think at all.

----- Obedience and Boons -----

Many cultists, madmen, studious Outsiders of every shape and description, and scholars of every species and alignment all ascribe different reasons and motivations to the Sea’s actions, whether it be divine rage against demons, a rampage to eventually free Rovagug and prove that he is truly the lesser evil when compared to the unseen powers in the deeper Rifts, the incarnate form of the Abyss’ predilection for predation and parisitism turned horribly self-destructive, the incarnation of hunger as a concept, or maybe even the herald of the end times... but the truth is truly right in front of them, described in the first section of this very article: The Sea of Teeth is a hungry beast which has found a stretch of uncontested land, and has begun to gorge itself on a population that has few true defenses against an invasive species.

Though it is indeed divine, it is still essentially a simple-minded predator driven entirely by instinct. It is a form of life which operates on a scale that a common mind struggles to envision, but it serves a function that is familiar, almost mundane, and its presence in the Great Beyond is unfortunate happenstance, not an apocalyptic omen. Any ‘meaning’ to its rampage or claims that it is acting towards some unfathomable goal are pure conjecture, the product of minds desperate to establish a pattern or see some divine truth where a mundane truth would suffice. A hungry wolf which devours a farmer’s sheep is not some punishment for his failure or some insatiable, sadistic beast torturing him because he cannot fight back... it’s a hungry animal, any mythologizing or anthropomorphizing is the fault of the farmer, not the wolf.

This truth, however, is beyond most creatures in the cosmos, to whom the Sea is an incomprehensibly threatening force of annihilation. To them, it is whatever they want it to be, whatever they project, and often whatever they fear it is, as it has no desire (or even ability) to answer questions about itself. It has unintentionally gathered numerous cults in its name--doomsday and otherwise--all led by powerful figureheads who’ve achieved some divine contact with it... or at least contact with a figurehead which worships the Sea, in some bizarre and indirect form of faith. There exists a ritual one can use to connect to the Sea and gain some of its power at the cost of becoming perpetually ravenous, a ritual used by many to achieve positions of power in the budding cults of the Sea of Teeth, up to and including becoming divine fronts in and of themselves... which inadvertently makes them beacons for spells such as Commune attempting to reach the true Sea, further muddying the waters about its supposed goals and desires. Undoubtedly, one of the most famous of these figureheads is Chormilg, the Thousanth Tooth, a powerful Nyogoth Cleric/Exalted of the Sea of Teeth (CR 18/MR 6) which claims to have hatched from one of the Sea’s teeth after it broke itself against the heart of a forgotten deity, and thus is the literal mouth-piece of the god. Chormilg is the closest thing to a true leader that the disparate cults of the Devouring God have, and is currently the highest authority in the Sea’s faith, acting as the deity’s proxy, AND the reason many believe the Sea’s hunger to be primarily directed at demons, as Chormilg itself despises demonic life.

The largest cult to the Sea is the one founded by Chormilg, known as the Salgurat, an Abyssal word translating to “Ebon Maws,” a cult devoted to capturing and consuming demons and their mortal fanatics, as well as making regular, organized sacrifices to the Sea of Teeth to empower it in the hopes of accelerating its growth through the Abyss. Some smaller cults grow from gatherings of heretics among the faiths of Thuskchoon, Jubilex, Cyth-V’sug, Zevgavizeb, and other great and ancient beasts of the Abyss, who believe their former deities to be the offspring of the Sea and have thus chosen to serve the “Progenitor Maw” or “Hunger’s Father” out of respect. Other cults have many reasons for their worship, such as Creation’s Eclipse, a cult of daemons and their maniacal mortal followers hellbent on finding ways to help the Sea enter Creation’s Forge and snuff it. Some of these smaller factions even have benevolent, though misguided, hopes for a universe without the Abyss, Whatever the case may be, any follower of the Sea are as varied as the morsels it consumes, coming from all over the universe.

The Obedience ritual to serve the Devouring God is a lesser form of the Shores of the Sea of Teeth occult ritual, and both of them have the same effect at different intensities: It convinces the Sea that the creature undertaking the ritual is actually a part of itself, and so it sends a tendril of its essence and a spark of its power into the creature, often physically mutating them. This offers the creature not only supernatural might, but some protection from the Sea’s appetite, with many audacious beings--Chormilg included--nesting within the god’s churning body, believing themselves favored by the horror due to their faith and devotion, unaware they’re doing the mystic equivalent of dabbing an ant colony’s scent upon themselves to avoid being torn apart by the swarm. The Sea has no loyalty to anything but its own stomachs, any power it offers given only through unintentional trickery or divine reflex, but it is nonetheless a power that any creature--regardless of alignment--can tap into, should they know how... and should they brave the consequences.

As a true deity, the Sea of Teeth can grant Boons to any creature taking the Deific Obedience feat, but it does not possess a dedicated Prestige Class such as Feysworn or Diabolist. Boons are typically gained slowly, achieved at levels 12, 16, and 20, but by entering the Evangelist, Exalted, or Sentinel Prestige Classes as early as possible, they can be obtained at levels 8, 11, and 14 instead. While normally a deity as ambivalent as the Sea would grant only one set of Boons, the fanatic devotion of countless beings and the fear of infinitely more has created a potent psychic impression upon it, allowing it a full three.

Obedience: Spend at least 30 minutes meditating on the sensations of hunger while surrounded by circle of ritual objects made of materials harvested from creatures you’ve killed and consumed portions of. At the conclusion of this meditative period, eat anything you have available--preferably portions of creatures you’ve helped slay in the last 24 hours--until you’re full. Benefit: You become permanently afflicted by the Oracle’s Hunger curse the first time you perform the Obedience ritual, and the curse cannot be removed by mortal magic. For 24 hours after performing your Obedience, your total Hit Dice is treated as your Oracle level for the purpose of determining the intensity of your curse; failing to perform your Obedience causes your curse to weaken, treating only half your Hit Dice as your Oracle level for the purpose of the curse. If you are already an Oracle, for 24 hours after performing your Obedience, your Oracle level is treated as 4 higher for determining the intensity of your new Hunger curse.

------ EVANGELIST ------

Boon 1: The Preview (Sp): Gain Grease 3/day, Hold Person 2/day, or Spiked Pit 1/day.

Boon 2: Titanic Appetite (Ex): The gnawing hunger in your belly drives you to eat anything you can get your hands on, trusting your connection to your god to protect you from the consequences. You become immune to the effects of all ingested poisons and diseases, and cannot be sickened, nauseated, or cursed by items, food, or creatures you eat. You can digest and draw sustenance from any matter you can consume. Any bite attacks you have ignore the first 5 points of Hardness when damaging objects, widening your potential palate.

Boon 3: Crushed by the Depths (Sp): Once per day, you can focus the power of the Sea onto your foes, allowing it to reach across space and devour them utterly. You may use Implosion once per day as a spell-like ability, but you may target even incorporeal or gaseous creatures with it, and if the target succeeds the saving throw against the effect, they still take 10d6 points of damage. When you target a creature with this ability it possesses a unique visual effect: a phantasmal, protean mass envelops the target and crushes inwards. Any creature killed by this ability is entirely consumed; any nonmagical items they possessed are also destroyed, and magic items fall into their former space.

------ EXALTED ------

Boon 1: A Bite of Everything (Sp): Gain Adhesive Spittle 3/day, Allfood 2/day, or Dispel Magic 1/day.

Boon 2: Ravening Form (Ex/Sp): Your connection to the Sea of Teeth deepens and more of its essence flows into you. This connection twists your body in incomprehensible ways, granting you the constant benefits of 50% Fortification and the Compression universal monster ability. In addition, once per day as a standard action, you may undergo a horrifying but thankfully short-lived surge of vitality as tendrils of the Sea’s matter slither through your body to restore you, gaining the benefits of the Regeneration spell.

Boon 3: Whirlpool of Teeth (Sp): Once per day you may open a portal leading directly to the Sea of Teeth to send entire pieces of the world to your god, in effect casting Maw of Chaos as a spell-like ability. The spell is altered in the following ways: Each round at the start of your turn, all creatures and unattended objects within 40ft of the Maw are automatically pulled 10ft closer to the Maw before it makes its CMB check (potentially allowing it to pull a target twice in one round); this summoned Maw lasts an additional +3 rounds after you stop concentrating on it; and you are unaffected by any of the Maw’s effects, though you may not enter its space.

------ SENTINEL ------

Boon 1: Soften the Meal (Sp): Gain Ray of Sickening 3/day, Blindness/Deafness 2/day, or Ray of Exhaustion 1/day.

Boon 2: Slavering Jaws (Ex): Your teeth sharpen to frightening and deadly points and your jaw can distend to repulsive and terrific effect. The bite attack gained from your Hunger curse becomes a primary natural attack which deals damage as if you were two size categories larger (2d6 for a Medium creature). The bite attack ignores 5 points of Hardness or Damage Reduction and is considered a magic weapon. Finally, due to the horror your mouth has become, you gain a profane bonus to Intimidate checks equal to your Strength modifier, and you may make an Intimidate check as a swift action against any creature within 30ft when you confirm a critical hit against another creature with your bite attack.

Boon 3: Hole in the Universe (Ex): Your stomach becomes an extradimensional space which partially intersects the Sea of Teeth. The bite gained from your Hunger curse gains the Grab and Swallow Whole abilities if they did not already have them, and you may attempt to swallow any creature of your size or smaller that you have grappled. Your extradimensional stomach may have any number of creatures or objects of any size swallowed at once. Creatures and unattended objects within your stomach take 6d6 bludgeoning and 6d6 Acid damage each round. Extradimensional spaces (such as Bags of Holding) cannot be opened while within you, but otherwise do not interact with you in a destructive way. If a swallowed creature deals enough damage to cut free, instead of creating a hole, the pain forces you to regurgitate all creatures and objects in your stomach at once; you are nauseated for 1d6 rounds and cannot use Swallow Whole for 1 minute after.

#original concepts #Pathfinder

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the-travelling-witch · 1 month

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summary: i'm back on my "'i have more knowledge on x topic than all your advisers together, i just couldn’t progress through the ranks for one reason or another, so you should definitely make me your concubine, so i can gossip about your minister of finance’s stupid proposal while wearing expensive shit and fine dining and then we slowly fall in love' royal au" bs again, so have some rambles because there are a lot of possible constellations here

characters: shouto :: kenma :: inui/koko :: al-haitham/kaveh x gn! reader

general masterlist

𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐎

You could practically feel the daggers being glared into your skull. This entire meeting so far, the prince’s closest adviser had narrowed his eyes at you, a gesture which you only returned with a coy smile.

Really, just because it wasn’t common for a royal concubine to attend a meeting concerning safety measures at the upcoming masquerade ball, there was no need for such hostility.

Then again, maybe the adviser was so foul-tempered because of the physical position you found yourself in. But it wasn’t your fault they hadn’t prepared another seat for you or that Shouto was notoriously unbothered with social etiquette. So, if the prince ordered his concubine to sit on his lap instead, who were you to argue?

You doubted he glared at you because he was aware you had been investigating him or that you knew he and his fellow spies were planning an assassination attempt on the royal whose arm was currently lazily curled around your waist.

Surely, “concubine” was not exactly the title you had had in mind when agreeing to work as an intelligence agent on the Todoroki court but considering the former crown prince Touya had basically gone up in smoke after an attempt on his life, placing yourself right next to the prince where an enemy wouldn’t expect might not be a bad idea.

Besides, since you had taken the prince up on his offer, you had been able to enjoy many luxuries you could previously not even dream of. Delicacies practically melted on your tongue, the material of your clothes was of a quality so fine it was like dressing in air and the library held rare books you normally couldn’t get your hands on just like that.

You also had to admit, pretending to be Shouto’s lover wasn’t exactly torture either. Not only was he as handsome as they come but he was also very well-mannered towards you even in private. The clumsy side only few got to see when he let his guard down was also quite adorable.

So, to say you were quite comfortable where you were and had no intention of giving up your spot any time soon was an understatement.

“Your Highness is it really necessary to bring,” the adviser paused momentarily as he gestured at you, “this person to a meeting such as this? How can we be sure they are not working for an opposing kingdom, relaying our security measures to the enemy?”

You caught yourself before a snort escaped you. Seriously, how was nobody onto this guy before you came around?

“I have no doubt about their loyalty to me and the kingdom,” Shouto said, tone even as always, yet his hand around your waist tightened. “Besides, their safety might be compromised just like mine, so this information should be shared with them as well.”

“That’s right,” you goated, a sharp grin on your lips as you reached backwards over your shoulder to run your fingers down Shouto‘s neck as you held eye contact with the adviser. “I’ve shown my devotion to the prince in ways you never could.”

Soon you’d watch the light drain from his eyes as you ended his miserable life but for now you’d find amusement in how they widened in indignation.

𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐌𝐀

“Your Highness! I must ask you to stay in the medic’s quarters!” Said medic was fussing around you as you pulled the outer layer of your clothes back on. “I dressed the wound and used a minor healing spell but you need to rest! A-and your medicine—“

“I can rest in my quarters too,” you sighed, already halfway out of the door. “Someone will come pick up the treatment later.”

The medic was still stammering long after you already set out towards your room, trying not to put too much pressure on your side. You didn’t think it’d be that big of a deal but apparently the monster’s claws that had grazed your skin were laced in some sort of venom, the pain of which left you wheezing when you received another blow to the stomach.

Half stumbling, half falling into your room, you reckoned whatever spell the medic had cast hadn’t done much to rid your body of the poison, especially if you remembered how he had floundered once you first drudged into the infirmary. No wonder you had gone behind your parents’ backs to employ someone who actually understood his craft.

“Whoa what happened to you?” Kenma lifted his head from his magic-driven game board at the sound of the door opening. His sharp amber eyes studied you from head to toe, taking in the ripped clothes and collection of bruises and scratches. “You look like death chewed you up and spit you back out.”

“Thanks,” you retorted just as sarcastically, working to rid yourself of the rest of your armour, wincing when you strained the area around your ribs. “Must be the poison.”

“Poison?” Immediately, Kenma had perked up, already rounding the table, his game forgotten. “What poison? And where? And why didn’t you lead with that?”

Usually, the guy tried to make himself as small as possible, hoping to blend into the background. But whenever you dragged in yet another weird and wonderful ailment from out in the wild, your shy healer found himself in the habit of becoming a little bossy. Other royals might take offence if their concubines used that kind of tone but you had to admit you didn’t really mind.

“Well, it’s not like you gave me much of a chance to explain,” you laughed, pulling your shirt off and letting it pile up with the rest of your things, then wriggled your eyebrows at the blond. “So, where do you want me?”

“You are the worst, even when you’re dying,” Kenma rolled his eyes before a warm hand settled on your bare back and nudged you towards the bed. “For now, just lie down. And tell me exactly what the hell happened to you.”

Without any resistance, you settled down and watched as Kenma got to work. It was fascinating each time, even if you didn’t understand much of it and you were the one having to be treated. Whenever he focused on something, he adopted this no-nonsense expression, lips tightened into a line and eyebrows drawn together. You didn’t even want to start thinking about the way your skin tingled where his fingers touched you, well aware that the reason for it wasn’t the magic Kenma used.

“I told the doc someone would pick up my medicine later,” you spoke up once your healer had finished his work and both of you were just lingering within the same space.

As always when you told Kenma something he didn’t want to hear, he made one of the most expressive faces of disgust a human could muster.

“I’ll make sure to trip on the way,” he shrugged and you were aware he might actually do it too. “I didn’t spend all this time healing you just so that idiot can poison you again with whatever concoction he came up with this time.”

“Just what would I do without you?” Brushing a stray strand of hair out of his eyes, you didn’t miss how Kenma, the guy who used to flinch at people coming near him, leaned slightly into your touch.

𝐈𝐍𝐔𝐈 / 𝐊𝐎𝐊𝐎

The golden light of the sinking sun illuminated the balcony as birds chirped their last songs of the day. In the midst of the flowers blooming across the railing and the castle walls, three people sat around a table filled with fruits, cheese and many other delicious foods, eating and laughing together.

“But to come back to your Minister of Finance’s proposal,” Koko, who seemingly hadn’t taken his eyes off the kingdom’s budget sheet, spoke up. Splitting off a few of the coins from the stack in front of him to visualise the share he was thinking about, he offered his insight. “I think we should use a cut of the newly allocated funds to strengthen the army’s equipment. The knights could do with new armour, especially considering the neighbouring kingdom has been less than friendly lately.”

“What new funds are we talking about?” You inquired, not having been privy to the meeting prior this day.

“The party we sent out recently was more successful than we expected them to be,” Inui clued you in with a small smile as he studied what Koko proposed.

“Ah, the expedition that was my idea and that I equipped with the right tools. In that case,” you said, a mischievous glint in your eyes, before you made the stack of coins levitate over your outstretched palm, “I think we should use it to build a magic tower. It would help more with defence than equipping the knights, considering what fun things I could do with one.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Koko scolded, reaching over the table to snatch the coins back. “How should we justify the King’s concubine wishing for a magic tower?”

While you shrugged, Seishu took your hand and answered much gentler than the black haired man.

“I have to agree with Koko. Not because I doubt you could do a lot of great things with such a tower but because we already had a lot of trouble explaining why the lightning only struck the enemy’s side in the last battle,” he sighed, giving you an understanding look he knew had you giving in already. “The public doesn’t know we have a magic user on our side and word of construction would spread fast. Don’t forget why you went into hiding in the first place.”

“Yeah yeah, I understand, no magic tower. But, how about,” you leant back in your chair, tossing a coin you had hidden up your sleeve before Koko could retrieve it, “one or the other magic tome? Nobody would even notice. Just say it’s for a new necklace or whatever else concubines usually get.”

“Are you suggesting we commit fraud?” Koko levelled his accusatory gaze at you.

“I don’t know, am I?” You innocently asked, batting your eyelashes at him. “It would be for the good of the people, after all.”

“How is you getting a new toy good for the people?”

“I could make the grains grow faster or whatever the people usually pray for,” you shrugged. “I’m at least granting their wishes.”

“I thought you were interested in necromancy recently,” Seishu laughed knowingly. “I’m no expert in the field but how is that helping with making the crops grow?”

“I’m sure a walking dead body or two would scare off the crows,” you said as seriously as you could. “It might also scare off thieves, now that I think about it.”

Koko just looked at you, horrified, while Seishu laughed at your nonchalance. When the former regained his senses, he reprimanded you again.

“We are not using tax money, so you can experiment with the undead and unleash them on the public!”

“Eh, it was worth a try,” you relented before popping another grape in your mouth.

𝐀𝐋-𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐌 / 𝐊𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐇

You were well aware of the whispers that filled the halls of the castle when you weren’t present.

Kaveh was probably a more conventional concubine to take, considering his innate kindness and striking beauty. Clearly, when he waltzed into the room beside you, it was like the sun was rising before everyone’s eyes. Yeah, he was probably an expected choice.

Al-Haitham, on the other hand…

It wasn’t exactly his physique which raised people’s questions. Moreso it was his gruff temper and apparent boredom with most topics, burying his nose in a book and brushing people off with less than a single word at times, that made your staff shake their heads at your appointment.

Not that it mattered much what other people thought.

What did matter, however, was that your country’s infrastructure had improved significantly since you made your peculiar choice of companions. After most critical meetings concerning upcoming construction, your subordinates believed your return to your chambers meant you just had to relieve some pent-up stress. Yet, those “steamy” nights were spent hunched over maps and graphs of your nation, pointing out the flaws in your advisers’ proposals and redoing blueprints of planned buildings.

Perhaps nobody else in the castle was aware of it, but Al- Haitham and Kaveh were a genius strategist and brilliant architect respectively, responsible for the projects the public praised you most for. And that had been the nature of your relationship in the beginning. They patched out your advisers’ proposals and you made sure they were compensated accordingly, unconventional as the methods may be.

Though, you supposed, after working together for a while, the titles you had given them may not be so wrong anymore. Long nights spent agonising over the ideal location for a new project had turned into quiet evenings lounging around your quarters, enjoying fine wine and lingering touches. Having the two around had become a great sense of comfort to you and running into them between meetings and stacks of paperworks waiting for you made a spark of fondness flutter in your chest.

However, running into both of them at the same time also meant the unlikely pair were probably bickering. This time, you could actually hear them before you rounded the corner.

“I’m telling you, if we use this type of wood-”

“It would rot under the environmental influences faster than you could complete construction.”

“Why, you…!”

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you exhaled ready to calm down the situation somehow. Then, you came face to face with them and had an entirely new idea on how to mediate. Haitham had his arms crossed as he regarded the blond with an unimpressed expression, the pose accentuating the way his biceps and triceps flexed. With Kaveh turned away from you, you had a clear view of his back, as always exposed by the flowy robes he wore.

Sure, they might not be the most usual concubines you could’ve chosen, but that didn’t matter.

“Strategy meeting in my quarters, now. Royal orders.”

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i think @ryuryuryuyurboat was interested in the idea? have some incoherent rambles then jsjsh

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handmade-witch · 2 months

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Is it over now...? Part 1

Pairing: Toxic!Mattheo x fem!Reader

Hogwarts University!AU

Warnings: cheating/toxic relationships, gaslighting kinda?, suggestive content, cursing, substance use (alcohol and marijuana) [if I missed any please lmk]

[[AN: hello dear readers! This is going to be my first attempt at doing a multi-part series. Feedback is so very appreciated!! I would love to hear what people think! 💜]]

🎶 Once the flight had flown

With the wilt of the rose 🎶

Your head pounded. From the alcohol or the loud music, you weren't sure, but it felt as if both were coursing in your veins. House parties were, like every other event at the school, viewed as a competition. Each weekend, one house tried to outdo the previous. For most students, it was less about the competition, but more an excuse to get wasted with your friends. Which is how you found yourself in the Gryffindor club house that night: drunk, sweaty, and packed claustrophobically close with other bodies on a makeshift dancing floor.

Social inhibitions long gone, you stood in a circle with several of your female friends, seductively moving your body to the beat of the music. You playfully wrapped your arm around your best friend Pansy as the two of you shouted the lyrics to the song booming through the speakers. You go to take another sip from your plastic cup, only to find it empty. So you detach yourself from the group, pushing through moving bodies in search of more.

Finding a table littered with half-empty liquor bottles, you pour yourself a drink. Taking a sip, a thought enters your head: 'Where's Mattheo?' You had last seen your boyfriend before Pansy had dragged you to dance, but you had no idea how long ago that had been. Instead of returning to the dancefloor, you set off to look for him, weaving through crowds of drunk bodies as you went.

You spotted Theodore and Lorenzo and were easily distracted from your original mission. Lorenzo waved you over to the folding table where cups were arranged in a game of beer pong. "Come play with us [Y/N]!" He grins at you.

You size up your competition. From the obnoxious red and yellow colored varsity jacket one wore, you made the astute observation that the other boys were Gryffindors. Theo pressed the ping pong ball into your hand. "C'mon [Y/L/N], show us what you got."

You focused on the red plastic cups in front of you, trying to make your vision stop spinning. You aim, releasing the ball from your grip. It bounces against the rim of a cup and off the table. You burst into a fit of giggles. Theo's hand claps your shoulder. "Nice try." He says with a small snort.

The memory of your original task floated back into your hazy consciousness. "Have you guys seen Matt?"

Theodore shrugs in response, and Lorenzo shakes his head.

"See you guys later."

Thoroughly searching the bottom floor of the house, you climb the stairs to the upper level. Maybe he had found some people to smoke with up there; you thought, away from the loud music and crowds. The upper floor looked very similar to the downstairs, except instead of loud music and dancing, these people lounged on couches. A layer of smoke hung in the air, making the room seem hazy. Your eyes scanned the room, searching for the familiar mop of dark brown curls.

It was the sight in front of you- not the amount of alcohol you had consumed- that made you sick to your stomach. Mattheo stood leaning over a girl you didn't recognize. He had one hand braced on the wall above her head, and the other rested on her exposed outer thigh. His lips were connected with hers.

You felt your blood boil as you stalked across the room. Placing your hand on his shoulder, you yanked him backward with all your strength, causing him to stumble. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" You demand.

Mattheo eyes widen when they register you standing in front of him. "[Y/N]? Shit.." His eyes darted back and forth between you and the girl still standing against the wall. She crossed her arms, a look of confusion and annoyance apparent in her features.

You turn on her, eyes narrowing as you cross your own arms. "Get lost," you growl. She rolls her eyes at you but walks off, leaving you with Mattheo. Not caring that the two of you were not the only people in the room, you shouted at him. "What the fuck, Mattheo?"

Mattheo frowns, his eyebrows drawing together. "Baby, it's not what it looks like." He says.

"Oh, so you weren't just sucking face with some other girl?" Your fists clenched at your sides as you resisted the urge to punch him.

He reaches for you. "[Y/N] you're drunk." He says it simply as if that explained your anger. "Let me take you home, and we can talk about this tomorrow." He tries to grab your hand, but you yank it from his grasp.

"I'm not going anywhere with you asshole." You slur, turning on your feet to head towards the stairs.

"[Y/N] wait.." He follows after you.

You're down the stairs, pushing through bodies with Mattheo trailing behind you. Outside on the front porch of the house, the night air cools the angry fire that's heating you from the inside out.

Fingers enclose around your wrist, pulling you back. "I said wait [Y/N]." He pulls you towards him, until you're so closed that you have no choice but to look at him. His voice turns quickly from gruff to soothing. "This isn't what it looks like. Just please, let me explain."

You struggle in his grip, unable to break his hold in your current state. "Leave me alone, Matt. Let me go." You try to pry his fingers off of your wrist.

"Let her go, Matt." The voice comes from back towards the house, and you see Theo appear over Matt's shoulder. His hand claps Mattheo's shoulder, but it's harsher now than when he had done it to you earlier at the beer pong table.

"She's drunk. I need to take her home." Mattheo growls, throwing a look over his shoulder at Theo. Theo didn't flinch, digging his fingers into Matt's shoulder.

"Let go of her." Theo's demeanor was strangely calm, but the way he punctuated each word revealed how serious he was.

You vaguely registered Mattheo releasing your wrist from his grasp. You shoot Theo a look that you hope expresses gratitude before turning and stumbling down the steps of the house. The two boys watch from the porch as you walk off into the night. Mattheo shrugs off Theo's hand and pulls a cigarette from his pocket. Theo watches him with a steely glare as he lights it and brings it to his lips.

It only takes a few minutes for you to walk back to your dorm. You have no idea what time it was, but you knew it was late as you entered your room and collapsed onto your bed. Only then did your emotions seem to hit you like a ton of bricks, and tears started flowing down your cheeks. 'How dare he?' You thought bitterly. You rubbed your eye, trying to wipe away the tears but likely only succeeding in smudging your makeup. Your head felt heavy and pressed deeper into your pillow. You tried to take a deep breath, but Mattheo's smell surrounded you. It was woven into the fabric of your sheets from the nights he spent next to you. Usually, it was a comfort, but now it made bile rise in your throat. You felt small and alone as you curled into the covers, and your drunken haze lulled you to sleep.

🎶 I slept all alone

You still wouldn't go 🎶

The sunlight streams through your window, signaling it was time to get up, but the raging headache you had desperately tried to coax you back to sleep. You blindly searched the nightstand for your phone. 3 Missed Calls from Mattheo, your screen read. You rolled your eyes and opened a text from Pansy:

💬: 'Qhere did u gp?'

💬: 'Dud u leabe?'

💬: 'Hwllo?'

💬: 'R u ok?'

💬: 'Theo said u ent hme. Wake mr ip 4 breskfasy.'

With an immense amount of effort, you dragged yourself out of bed and into the bathroom. The figure looking back at you from the mirror resembled a depressed raccoon. Make-up smeared around your eye and mascara running down your cheeks. You washed your face and brushed your teeth, trying to ignore the pit in your stomach about the night before. You knew you would have to confront Mattheo about it at some point. But right now, you just wanted to survive your wicked hangover.

When you open your door to head to Pansy's room, you almost trip over the sleeping figure lying in the hallway.

"Mattheo, what the fuck are you doing out here?" You ask incredulously. You placed your hands on your hips and stared down at him.

At the sound of your voice, Mattheo awoke with a start. "[Y/N]?" he mumbled, voice clouded by sleep and his own hangover.

"I'm not doing this right now." You grumbled, holding your hands in front of yourself defensively.

Reaching for your hand, Mattheo sat up. You jerked your arm away, crossing them over your chest. "Please, sweetheart, just.. just hear me out." He looked up at you with those brown eyes that made your stomach do backflips. You averted your gaze, knowing that looking into his eyes made you weak-- vulnerable-- to his every whim. "We were all drunk, okay? And she... she came out of nowhere and kissed me."

"That's not what it looked like from where I was standing." You furrowed your eyebrow, glaring at him. The memory of last night was fuzzy and muddled, but the picture of Mattheo kissing someone else was burned into your mind.

He got to his feet, trying to reach for you and take you in his arms. "You know I wouldn't do anything to hurt you baby." The way his eyes softened and the pleading tone of his voice made your heart ache and your knees feel weak. "You're the only girl for me."

And when Mattheo wrapped his arms around you, you thought that if he hadn't, you might have collapsed. He bent his head, using his finger to tilt your chin up towards him. His lips were only inches from your own. "It was a mistake," he whispered, "please forgive me." And with a passionate kiss, he sealed your forgiveness of him.

Mattheo pulled you flush against him. His hands trailed down your back, sending shivers down your spine as his mouth moves against yours. You gasp as he grips the back of your thighs, lifting you up. Your legs automatically wrap around his waist, and his tongue delves into your mouth. The anger that you felt in your gut morphed into hot, burning desire as he kissed you. He steps further into your dorm room. When his knees hit the edge of your bed, he drops you onto the mattress. Its just second before he's on you again, lips moving from yours across your jaw and down your throat.

His hands are all over your body, lighting your skin ablaze with their touch. The trail down your sides, coming to rest at your hips, where his fingers danced against the waistband of your pants. He was captivating, addictive, and now you were beneath him like a junkie searching for his next high. He sucks and bites at the sweet spot on your throat, causing you to let out a moan. His breath is hot against your skin as he whispers,

"Let me show you how much you mean to me."

Read Part 2 here

#Spotify #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle #slytherin boys #theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #lorenzo berkshire #harry potter universe

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expominds · 3 months

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simon ‘ghost’ riley x gn!reader

mdni 18+!, cw: angst, a hair mention of ptsd, simon’s trauma. hurt but comfort

<3 please like and reblog and as always, enjoy 💕

i think… the song ‘patience’ by take that suits simon almost to a t.

he’s gone through so much in his life, from losing his family, roach, to the months of his torturing. he has so much pain and suffering and turmoil going on inside of his mind. his body is scarred, his mind is destroyed.

‘i’m feeling your frustration.’

you are frustrated with him. months spent trying to break his shell, to get him to open up to you and not much has changed. but he senses this. your pain, your frustration, your discouragement. it’s not easy for a man who’s been through so much to open up so easily, but he’s trying, you’ve just got to believe him. to have patience.

working simon open is like working a coconut open. peeling the husk on a coconut closely resembles that of you peeling the painful memories away from him, one by one. that thick, hard outer layer that takes forever to crack, to even get a glimpse of what is going on inside that head of his. it’s almost like you can see it, what he’s been through. the ptsd, the navel-gazing constantly going on. but once you crack it, you’re in.

the memories come spilling out of his mouth like a symphony, allowing himself to yield to finally being able to come to terms with all that he had been through. i mean sure, he had trauma dumped in the past, but nothing to the extent of what was spewing out of his mouth like it was right now. a dam had broken, a glacier had cracked, you sat there for hours comforting him while he cried, punched, angered, and cried some more. you took it because this is what you had been working for.

all simon needed was patience and good god did it feel freeing to let you hold him, your body entangled in his as you lie there in the aftershocks of the commotion. he had found his salvation, and for that he was forever grateful. his scars ran so deep that it would be forever emblazoned on his soul, a reminder of what and who he once was, but wasn’t anymore. his once numb, cold heart, still numb, but not quite as much as before. slowly defrosting and warming up again, your souls intertwining forever.

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theabysss · 10 months

Text

Dance

pairing: sagau!Arlecchino x Reader

summary: The performance is over, the hall is empty and only the two of you are dancing on the stage.

warnings/tags: gn!Reader, religious + cult themes, possessive & obsessive thoughts, yandere.

word count: 1k.~

note: This lovely lady knocked down my entire fic-writing schedule and shamelessly got into the queue, but I forgive her. After all, she is my wife.

The performance ended and the sound of loud applause still hung in the air. The audience had already left, the actors had gone to their dressing rooms, and the hall was completely empty, except for the two of you.

Arlecchino followed you as a shadow as you descended from your loggia and ascended to the stage. You looked around the hall with interest and turned your gaze to her. She managed to keep her outer composure under your scanning gaze, but inside her, anxiety began to slowly rise. Is there something wrong with her looks? Before she had time to get completely flustered, you walked up to her and smiled as you held out your hand to her.

"Dance?"

Her heart skips a beat and she peers into your face in amazement, her mouth slightly parted and she tries to say at least something, but the words freeze on her lips. You looked at her so tenderly, waiting for her answer, Arlecchino swallowed hard, your kindness was often sung in songs, but the encounter with this, amazed, shocked, stole all the air from her lungs.

You did her such an honor with your invitation, here on the stage you stood patiently waiting for her answer, as if you thought that she could refuse you. She would never do that, Arlecchino never refused the gifts of fate.

You were too kind a god, graciously distributing your grace to everyone, even those who did not really deserve it. Arlecchino clenched her hand into a fist, digging her nails into her palm, these disgusting miserable creatures, none of them had the right to bask in the rays of your strength, enjoy your attention. To tear them apart, mutilate them so that the thought of meeting with you would not dare to come to mind.

She shook her head to drive away bad thoughts and finally carefully put her hand in yours, as if afraid that it would melts like dew in the morning.

When you pull her to you, goosebumps go down the back of Arlecchino, you were so close and it clouded her mind better than any wine or fire water from Snezhnay.

You were the Creator of Teyvat, the God she prayed to as a little girl, standing in the cold with numb fingers that she didn't feel at all then. A weak child who spent hours in front of your statue on the street in the small village where she lived. Then it seemed to her that a wild cold settled right in her bones, but Arlecchino did not stop, whispering the words of prayer with her blue, cracked lips.

Your hand on her lower back, burning heat penetrated through the layers of clothing and seemed to reach the heart in a warm wave. Arlecchino put her hand on your shoulder and licked her dry lips. As you gently intertwined your fingers, she bit her bottom lip with force almost to the point of blood.

As a child, she could not even dream of the opportunity to see you live, to stand so close that she could feel your breath on her face. She tries to snuggle even closer to you and draws in the air next to your skin, enjoying your natural scent. Bliss.

You start dancing and Arlecchino obediently moves with you in the same rhythm, adjusting to your pace. Another step, turn, the hem of her tailcoat develops behind her, following the movements. The sound of Arlecchino's heels echoes through the empty hall. Her body was filled with a weightlessness that she had not felt before, as if she had wings growing behind her back. Next to you it has always been like this, life is usually gray and tasteless filled with colors.

She keeps her eyes on you, absorbing every change of emotion on your face. Greedily, inextricably as your faithful follower shouldn't have done, but she just couldn't stop. Closer, get even closer to you, until she becomes the one you trust the most, get rid of all the annoying insects spinning around you. So that your warmth, your tenderness, belong only to her.

Music begins to play softly, gradually becoming louder, sounding from all sides.

"I think it will be better with music."

A playful smile appears on your face and Arlecchino wants to kiss it. Right now, press her lips to yours, steal your breath and never breathe out again, keeping a part of you in yourself.

Seconds pass adding up into minutes, the time of your closeness that Arlecchino burns into her memory, stores like gems in a cache. The awkward movement leading up to a brief contact of yours thighs sends shivers up her back and leaves her legs weak.

Your shadows under the harsh spotlight look inseparable, merged so strongly and completely that they are unable to part.

The last chords that put a bitter taste in Arlecchino's mouth and mark the end of her happiness. The footsteps slow down and you freeze under the ensuing deafening silence. Arlecchino's back arched, supported only by your hand, your faces so close to each other that she could count your eyelashes. The smallest distance between your lips beckoned to reduce it, to succumb to passion, to let go of control.

You close your eyes and gently touch your lips to hers. Cautiously, as if Arlecchino were an expensive crystal that threatened to break from any careless movement, tremulously like the touch of a butterfly's wings. Arlecchino deepens the kiss, her hand moving to the back of your head. You were like spring water, your taste was sweet and refreshing, only making her want more. No matter how much she try, there will always be little, a thirst that could not be quenched.

Arlecchino wasn't about to let you go, not after she got so close. She will convince you that she is the best, that she is more worthy than any of your followers, be they archons or ordinary owners of vision. Anything for you, just be close to her, save all your smiles and tenderness only for her. All you are only for her.

Reblogs, comments, are always greatly appreciated! ヽ(o^ ^o)ﾉ

#I want to sing the praises of Arlecchino #She stole my heart #(❤ω❤)#theabysss writes #genshin impact sagau #genshin sagau #genshin impact sagau x reader #sagau #genshin x reader #sagau x reader #sagau cult au #yandere arlecchino #sagau arlecchino x reader #sagau arlecchino

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sweetercalypso · 11 months

Text

Unlikely Friends || Joel Miller

Word Count: 1.3k

Summary: Joel and your cat have never gotten along, but maybe they’re more alike than they realize

Notes: requested fic – no reader pronouns, one mention of alcohol but no other warnings, just fluff!

Her name is Tilly – a patchy stray with a salt and pepper coat and a crooked tail that swishes in awkward jumps. She had been a community pet since before you’d arrived at Jackson, and no one really knew how long she had been around.

She’d taken to you almost immediately, a surprise to everyone who had tried and failed to befriend the evasive creature. Days once spent loitering in back alleys and stealing food from the barn were now spent sunbathing in your living room window and napping contently at the end of your bed.

When Joel arrives in town a few weeks shy of summer, you immediately notice the similarities between the two drifters. One a bit more grumpy and one a bit more grey, but both bearing a warmth that many others were quick to overlook.

Months of having Joel as a patrol partner and sharing looks across the dining hall had gradually led to something more. Now, Joel stands at the edge of your porch, hands shoved into his pockets and stiff shoulders squared back while he waits for you to let him in.

The streetlights glare dimly in the panes of your front room windows, and he watches the reflection for any sign of movement – a habit of necessity that he’d never learned to break.

The door swings open after a moment and Joel finds you smiling brightly at him from the dimly lit foyer.

“You’re here,” you chirp, motioning him inside and turning on your heel, hollering a cheerful ‘come on in’ over your shoulder before Joel can think twice.

He steps inside warily, shutting the door behind him with a soft click. Your jacket is hung on a hook by the door and as Joel sheds his own outer layers, a little voice in his head reflects on how complete the scene would look with his coat and flannel hanging in the empty spot next to yours.

Joel quickly notices how different your house is compared to his.

Everything is clean and the place looks comfortable – nothing like the dusty, unexplored rooms of the house he’d been given to stay in upon his arrival. You had mugs in the sink and blankets thrown haphazardly over the arm of the couch, and Joel felt a pang of homesickness at the familiar sights.

As he takes in your living room – studying pictures and books and trinkets that he makes a mental note to ask you about – he catches a shadow moving out of the corner of his eye.

A dark flash runs across the room and ducks under the sofa, there and gone before Joel can get a good look at it. He moves forward on cautious feet, dread sinking in his gut with the thought of what he might find.

You enter the room a few moments later, carrying two glasses and a bottle of whiskey you’d kept especially for this occasion. When you walk in to find Joel crouched over, seemingly scrutinizing the legs of the sofa, you’re perplexed to say the least. “Everything alright?”

He’s at a loss for words as the creature stays hidden from sight, now directing it’s attention at your approaching feet. You don’t seem concerned in the slightest, setting the glasses and bottle on the coffee table as Joel narrows his eyes and points downward at the occupied space under the couch.

“What is that?”

“Hm? Oh, it’s probably just Tilly.”

You reach down and waggle your fingers in front of the gap underneath the sofa, tutting under your breath until a dappled paw juts out from the shadows, batting at your hand.

“She’s a little timid,” you say, rising to stand next to Joel again. “She’s harmless, though.”

He hums in acknowledgement, eyebrows creasing as he watches her tail flick tauntingly from her hiding place under the couch. “S’she yours?”

You nod eagerly, almost proud to tell the story of how you’d gained the trust of the stubborn street cat all those months ago. The two of you fall into comfortable conversation, and before the night is over, the cat is forgotten from Joel’s mind.

—

The next few times that Joel comes over, he’s still not sure what to think about Tilly. She’s not too fond of him either, usually retreating to the bedroom the moment she hears the deep timbre of his voice greeting you at the door.

Eventually, however, the pair come to a standoff. Joel feels possessed by the need to make Tilly like him.

It’s been a long time since he’s had a pet, and he doesn’t really see the appeal of the bitter tabby skulking around your house. But he’d do just about anything to make you happy, and it’s clear to see how much Tilly means to you.

When she curls up in your lap one evening after dinner, Joel reaches over with an open palm and a tight-lipped smile.

He pets at her rougher than intended, causing her head to dip under the force of his heavy hand. When Tilly meows her disapproval and stands to leave, Joel scoffs at her surly demeanor.

“Your cat’s a jerk,” he says pointedly, watching as the feline escapes to the floor and saunters lazily from the room.

“You have that in common,” you laugh.

People in town thought of Joel the same way he thought of Tilly – reclusive, stubborn, and a bit of a grump. Whenever a neighbor would make a surprised comment about Joel taking a liking to you, it was always in the same voice they used when talking about Tilly.

Neither was incapable of being loved, they just needed to find the right fit.

His frown deepens as blinks at you, clearly unamused with the comparison.

“M’not a jerk,” he grunts, finding sudden interest in the frayed cuff of his flannel.

“Aww,” you coo, cupping his face in your hand and pulling his attention back towards you.

“Not a jerk,” you confirm with a peck to his lips. “Just a big ole softie.”

—

The relationship between Joel and Tilly stayed the same as time went on. Joel came over more and more, and Tilly found new places to hide as he became a constant presence in the house. When you were home, Joel was too.

Tonight, though, he’s there without you.

You’d taken an extra shift on patrol to cover for a friend, promising Joel you’d be home before the streetlights came on. Now, after barely making it back before midnight, you’re kicking yourself for ever agreeing to leave.

Rushing up your porch steps and fumbling with your keys, you’re disappointed to see the living room windows just as dark as the night outside. Joel must’ve left, you thought to yourself, cursing your patrol partner for keeping you so late.

You throw the front door open, stepping inside and toeing off your boots with a sullen frown. In the silent foyer, you can’t help but wonder how long he waited before giving up and heading back to his own empty house.

With just enough light from the street to guide your way through the living room, you head towards your bed with a defeated sigh.

As you’re passing through, though, a deep huff from the other side of the room stops you in your tracks. You’re relieved to find Joel there, snoring softly in the dark.

He’s stretched out on the couch, one arm behind his head and the other folded over his chest, fingers moving idly over Tilly’s dark fur where she’s curled up overtop him. She’s more relaxed than you’ve ever seen her, clearly content with Joel’s softened attention.

You walk over on silent feet to better observe the two of them, crouching down to their level once you’re within arm’s reach. They wear the same easy expression and you can’t help but wonder who caved first in this unexpected acquiesce.

“Yeah,” you say to yourself, grinning widely at the pair.

“You two are gonna be best friends.”

#calypso writes #the last of us #Joel Miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller drabble #joel miller x you #joel miller fluff #joel x reader #joel the last of us #tlou #tlou x reader #mean!joel #joel miller one shot

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bazaarwords · 1 year

Text

thank you @why-does-it-matterr! i think i got a little carried away, but i hope you enjoy!

cw: descriptions of injuries

There was a place she used to go to after the Order had days like these. Bad days. Ones that left her numb.

Historically, the place is both tangible and not—a lonely tower at the Cat’s Cradle, and once there, a few long moments of contemplation. But her old home is a long way away, and so Beatrice finds the part of her mind that needs this kind of treatment and sends it elsewhere. As for her body, she deigns to get to work instead of separating herself. The OCS may not be her world anymore, but there are wounded. People she cares for.

In the wreckage of their makeshift hideout, Beatrice wonders if maybe it’s never been the events of the day that seep the feeling from her. Maybe it’s always been this—this thing she must do to herself in order to succeed. Months of wandering have not divested her of the need to perform. The months have, however, been a reminder of all she’s lost.

She sets her feelings aside. There are things to do.

The first order of business: Camila’s shoulder is out of socket, and for all their collective expertise, Beatrice remains the best candidate to set it. Years ago, before the Order had swept her away, she’d spent a long summer volunteering in a hospital. It’s not the medical training she’d received afterwards, but the exposure was, at the very least, an advantage.

“Ready?” She asks, although she knows that Camila is always ready.

Camila, in the kind way she does all things, just smiles as if Beatrice is the one that needs the reassurance. She nods. “Go for it.”

Camila doesn’t flinch. She lets out a long, measured breath and she says, “ow” and she laughs at herself. Beatrice would like to take the time to laugh with her, but her joy is locked up in that faraway place. She squeezes Camila’s other shoulder, helps her into a sling made of a torn shirt, and moves on to the next.

Sister Dora has twisted her wrist. It’s discolored and swollen, but her bones are, thankfully, intact.

“A tarask,” she explains, “I thought it’d… well, I thought it’d kill me but…”

But she came back, Beatrice thinks to herself, searching the wreckage for wood to make a splint. She saved you.

She blinks that away—she has to. Sister Dora must notice her reticence. She doesn’t complete her thought. So Beatrice secures Sister Dora’s arm, and she moves on.

Yasmine has taken a glancing blow to the head, and Mother Superion has opted to stay up with her in the wake of the fight to monitor the damage.

“I’m okay,” Yasmine says when Beatrice comes by, holding up a placating hand. “I mean—I remember my name, so. So that’s good, right?”

Superion offers the smallest of smirks. It’s fond, not hard-won. “Yes, Yasmine,” she says, and rises up on unsteady footing. It’s not the new, halo-resurrected Superion.

“What happened?” Beatrice asks, firmer than she’d meant to. Emotions are nebulous when she settles into this way.

Superion shakes her head. “Nothing that should concern you. A few bruises.” She gives Beatrice a meaningful look—one she’s not present enough to catalogue. “There’s a cot in the back. Rest. We’re fine here.”

It sounds like an order, and even though she’s put the church behind her, she still respects Mother Superion. She can still recognize that she’s done all she can for the group, within reason. So she makes her way to the back room, feeling nothing. She sits on the edge of the cot, feeling nothing. She shrugs off her outer layers, feeling nothing.

Her mind has been in that faraway place, however, and as she returns to herself, everything sinks in.

While information comes in in pieces, on thing is for certain—there’s pain, everywhere. It would make the most sense to take stock of the worst places, the ones that need her immediate attention, but when feeling rushes back into her, the only thing she can think is that she needs to get out of this room and to wherever she’s gone—

There’s a jolt, razor sharp in the already excruciating throb of her abdomen. It’s quite obviously from when she’d been launched across a courtyard. The intensity winds her halfway to standing and her hip smarts as soon as she’s fallen back to the cot. She tells herself several times that she needs to get herself back in that empty place, that world where she feels nothing. Above all things, she needs to be there because she needs to find Ava.

A week prior, there had been a desperate call for help, a train from the small Finnish town she’d wandered into the month before, and Beatrice had found herself right back in the fray. Seeing the faces of her friends again after all their time apart had been bittersweet. When the fight had come to them, she’d remembered the last words Lilith had said to her. A holy war.

Despite her best efforts, she’s in the middle of it.

“Fuck,” she says, because she curses now. Because she knows that her knee is going to give out if she tries to stand. Because she’s effectively trapped herself in this room.

Frustration wells up in her like a lit fuse.

Assess the damage, she thinks, because what the hell else can she do?

The buttons of her shirt are slow work, her hands are weak from gripping her machine gun, her knives, the side of a building as she hoisted herself and Yasmine back to safety.

God is lost to her now, but it is a miracle that none of her injuries have drawn blood. A massive swath of skin along her side is purple and yellow but unbroken—it is the very worst of things. It hurts to draw breath, and hurts even more to bend and pull her pant leg up past her knee, to find the skin there in much the same condition. Upon further inspection, her hip, too, is a wild mess of bruises.

She’s a wreck, and what do they have to show for it? A few inches of ground? A few battered nuns, scrounging up whatever tools they can find?

Ava.

They have Ava. She just… doesn’t know where.

Beatrice had seen it happen as if in a dream.

The blinding light from above, the shockwave that had sent the tarasks flying in all directions, but hadn’t so much as nudged the sisters. When she’d looked, it was Ava’s form in the center of the light—Beatrice would know it anywhere, in any world—flickering in and out. She remembers shouting, desperate, stumbling through the wreckage. The details from there are hard to recollect. It’s when she’d been grabbed and thrown, it’s when the fight had resumed and she’d lost sight of Ava.

But she had seen her. That she’s certain of.

She closes her eyes, wincing as she tilts her head to the ceiling. The breath she tries to take is shallow and does nothing to steady herself.

“Beatrice?”

The pain of movement is forgotten, the voice like a ribbon of gold around her heart.

There’s Ava. There’s Ava.

The breath is gone in a rush, and Beatrice forgets the rest of the pain and she tries desperately to stand, to run, to move. Her leg gives out and Ava’s on her in a second, easing her back down.

“Ava,” she says, voice breaking, throat tight, “Ava.”

Ava kneels in front of her and she takes Ava’s face in her hands and she can’t look away. Suddenly, that place she goes—the one that is empty and lonely is filled with life. Filled with Ava. And she’s here, she’s real and alive and breathtaking in all the ways that Beatrice has loved. Loves. She feels nothing but it, looking at Ava.

“Bea,” Ava says, fingers wrapped around Beatrice’s wrists like they’ve been fused there. “Bea, you—you’re hurt.”

“You’re here,” Beatrice responds—nothing else matters. “Ava, you’re—“ She doesn’t have other words.

It should hurt to speak. It should hurt to lean forward, but then her lips are on Ava’s and nothing hurts, everything aches. Ava makes a small noise that lets loose something in Beatrice’s chest, and she wants to draw Ava closer, but her body betrays her, her whole side lighting up as if on fire. As if to remind her that respite is fleeting. But she doesn’t care, nothing else matters—

Ava notices her wince and pulls away. It hurts to try to pull her back, but still Beatrice tries. “Fuck,” Ava says, voice shaky, “Bea—hold on. You need—“

“I need you to not leave. I’m fine, I promise.”

“I’m not—you’re not fine, your—oh, God, Bea your side—“

Another Beatrice might have taken modesty into consideration. Her shirt is wide open, her trousers undone, and Ava is knelt before her, a hand on her bare knee. She just—she just wants so keenly that the constant, painful reminders of her body’s journey through battle feel like they’re killing her. She wants to pull Ava up and on to her lap, she wants Ava’s mouth on hers again, she wants, she wants, she wants. And maybe it’s her pilgrimage and her seperation from the church that’s allowing her this clear revelation, or maybe it’s just the relief to be in the same room as the girl she loves. Maybe that’s all it’s ever been.

“Let me… shit, I don’t know how good I am at this yet.” Ava focuses down on Beatrice’s splotchy, wounded knee, and the dark room is slowly illuminated by the glow of the Halo.

It feels… itchy, at first. It’s not a scab, but the injury takes on the properties of one—Beatrice tamps down the overwhelming need to scratch or pat at it, but then—as soon as it began—it’s gone. Ava pulls her hand away and the skin is as normal as it’s ever been. An oblong scar where bone is closest to skin from one too many skinned knees, but other than that? Nothing.

“How did you…” Beatrice trails off, swinging her leg back and forth easily.

“I’d… you know, I’d really like to explain it, but, uh. I have no fucking idea.”

Beatrice can’t help it, she laughs, a little hysterical. And then she wants to throw up.

“Don’t—no laughing. Stop it,” Ava says with a worried smile. She sets the tips of her fingers at the massive bruise on Beatrice’s side, and Beatrice can’t tamp down the shiver that rockets through her at the feeling. “Sorry. Sorry, I just need to...” Ava says, her voice thick, “just let me…”

The Halo does its work again, scrubbing her pain from her, raw and red until it’s not anymore. Beatrice takes a breath, and there is no pain.

“Good?” Ava asks.

“Good,” Beatrice responds. She wants that to be the end of it, but when she tries to move in again—“I think there’s another…”

Herein lies the problem. Her hip.

Ava looks down, and they’re in the middle of a war, but Beatrice wonders if she closes her eyes for just a moment, maybe they’ll be back in the Alps. Maybe there, this touch is necessary for another reason. Maybe Ava is looking up at her like this and maybe nothing has ever been wrong.

But they’re in the blown-out remains of a church, and there are demons everywhere, and in her darkest moments she’d worried that this—her and Ava—was lost for good.

Ava hovers over her bruise, and Beatrice nods. Ava is delicate, fingers light over her hipbone. This is not the time to wish for another life, but still she does. And for the first time in months, the wish has legs. It climbs out of that place she goes and it smiles at her, and Ava smiles at her too, proud of her work.

Beatrice draws her in, and the war rages on, but there are no more lonely places.

She has Ava. It’s enough.

#warrior nun #warrior nun fic #warrior nun fanfic #warrior nun fanfiction #ava silva #sister beatrice #avatrice #avatrice fanfiction #avatrice fic #fanfiction #fanfic #fics #sister camila #sister yasmine #mother superion #wn #save warrior nun #my fics #my writing

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takami-takami · 1 year

Text

Let Me Take Care of You.

includes— hawks x reader. minors dni. hurt/comfort.

warnings— brief unhappy childhood/life mention. keigo making you feel safe if you'd just let him :(

"Let me take care of you?"

Keigo knows what it's like to be the kind of tired that aches in the marrow of your bones. He can see it in the slump of your walk, in the drag of your feet like you're wading in water. It's the kind of exhaustion that can't form in a single night. No, this is the crumbling that results from years of battering. Years of bruising. Of a childhood suitable for wild dogs, of a mind tattered by the weathering of a life unkind.

Broken, you tell yourself.

Not to him, he thinks. Never to him.

You want to hiss at him, wrench your hand away from his as he rubs the pain away from your joints, like if he's tender enough with your skin it'll heal what's underneath. Yet, you also want to melt into him, to dive into the pool of his love like it'll keep you afloat somehow.

You don't know what you want. But it's okay. He can do enough thinking for the both of you. He can do that if you'll let him.

Keigo is born and bred for the self sacrificial, you think. It runs through his veins, evident in the way he used to return home from work at the endturn of evenings just before the sun began to rise. Nothing in his life, nothing in his body, ever belonged to him, really. It was all just fodder to be sacrificed to someone else. For the greater good, so others can rest easy.

It was only when he met you that he began to unravel this unhealthy mindset. His 4 a.m.'s of waking to the shrill screech of his alarm ringing off the walls of a cold, empty bedroom were long gone. In their stead now are hazy memories of waking to sunrays peeking through the blinds at the highest point of noon, of the pleading look in your lovesick, sleepy eyes as he gives in to your "come to bed?" for another night.

You treat his emotional wounds with the reverence and love that could stitch together aches he never noticed he had.

Why couldn't you let him be that for you?

Why couldn't you let him in?

You suppose you don't want to be a burden. You don't want him to give any more of himself than he has to, don't want him to return to those old habits of giving until he's empty. You don't want to scare him away. Keigo is more astute than you give him credit for. You don't need to utter those words for him to hear it.

His hands tremble with the weight of his empathy for you. When your lip pouts the slightest bit, when you look anywhere but his pleading eyes, he can feel the pangs of ache in his heartbeat, the buzz of tenderness that threatens to spill out and overflow.

"This," he starts, speaking with a gentleness one would use when approaching a stray animal. You suppose you are one, these days. "This helps me too, you know."

He doesn't miss the way your breath hitches in your lungs— like you're starting to believe him. His words crawl over you, making a home underneath your outer layers.

He's confessed before that you are his healthy outlet for it all, for all those urges he can't scratch himself. To protect and provide.

Caring for you isn't a sacrifice, it's home.

"Please. Let me take care of you?"

Finally, finally, you utter the word he's been longing for.

"Okay."

#i'm going through it so i wrote this for anyone else going through it xoxo #hawks x reader #bnha x reader #keigo takami x reader #mha imagines #bnha imagines #hawks comfort #keigo takami comfort #🍧 sugar #🖋 writing

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dilftaroooo · 1 year

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a lil something for my black gorls bc apparently every reader in this fandom is fair skinned </3

oh lord ghost turns into holy spirit bc of how much he worships u and yo body goodness gracious (i am so sorry father god 💀🧎🏽‍♀️). got carried away. p.s. yall i haven’t written anything in a hot minute so this small thirst might be raggedy as hell (my coochie was doin the thinking)

tags: smut + afab reader + ghost loves you sm + just as much as u love him + finger lickin good pussy eatin + body worship + slight dumbification + i was planning on making him rough with u but then i went soft :) + p power + piv sex + barely proofread + im so sleepy i’ll probably edit the format later + forgot how much i fucking hate tumblr’s editing antics.

You had lost count already. How many times you came to be exact. Has it gone up to Two? Three? Yeah—three. At least that’s what you think. Well—you suppose thinking is starting to become more and more of a rare luxury considering the state you were in—dazed and stupid. Eyes decorated with a red glow from the tears that spilled from them along with a glossy sheen that finished the look.

Subtle hints of wet mascara slid down the apples of your cheeks as Ghost’s fingers delve deep within your wet entrance. His digits were more than acquainted to the slimy ridges that lived inside of you. He graciously pets your most sensitive spots with the utmost care, making your pussy scream as his moist lips kisses your bothered clit as though he’s cooing it to sleep. His tender nature juxtaposes the foreboding gleam of his skull mask and dark eyes drowning in war paint.

It’s those eyes. The ones that made you shiver and whine whenever they catch sight of you. The ones that glare under dim, yellow lights when you inevitably made him jealous. Enough to make them turn green. The ones that form crescent moons whenever he reminds you how much he loves you (the mild appearance of crow’s feet adorning the outer corners). Those eyes—

God, those big fucking eyes.

Sweat makes your melanin coated skin glisten, emitting a warm glow that send tingles up Ghost’s spine. He can feel the goosebumps covering his body as you inadvertently arch your back, pushing your warm sex up against his upper lip, making him groan into your sensitive nub. Your core tighten once more, your pedicured toes stretched across the apex of his back, polish chipped and damaged from irritation, the power of your orgasm jolting you with a hot flash.

Now it's your fourth time.

Brown areolas raise up and down from your big breaths, in the process of coming down from that high you’ve encountered just a second ago. But Ghost doesn’t know rest as he gorges your nipple in his mouth, adoring the quick yelp escaping your lips.

“Ah, Ghost…” You say with kind fragility. Your palms lightly tap his shoulder. Not telling him to stop but telling him to slow down. It was too much. His hands caressed your naked curves. He loved admiring your body. Taking the time to relish just how gorgeous you really are—from head to toe:

Your cornrows styled in intricate parts, freshly layered with the tropical smell of coconuts. Skin gleaming with the overly used shea butter that rarely missed a day off your body. Lips full and plump and coated with that cherry chapstick he loves to taste. Your breast were round and soft to the touch. And your pussy—Fuck, that pussy shined with your juices. Juices he created from fucking you silly with his fingers.

Ghost wasn’t a religious man. He never was. But of all the possible religions out there, your pussy was the one he worshiped the most.

He loved this pussy. Kneeled for this pussy. Prayed for this pussy.

Your being was his shrine and your name was his mantra. He couldn’t get enough of you and your light touches and gentle praises. Ghost couldn’t find more ways to thank you for your existence.

He releases your nipple with a soft pop and utters a voice lower than you’ve ever heard him use, “I need you, love.” You don’t take long to nod with evident fervor. Languidly aiding him in unbuckling his pants and releasing him from those tight restraints.

“I need you,” He repeats. “need that soaking wet cunt.” His Mancunian accent is thick and laced with desire when his mouth spewed that last word. You let go of a wanting mewl before spreading the dark, puffy lips that lead to your sopping wet hole. Just what he wanted.

You both moan in unison as you both get what you want. His hand engulfed yours and you’re quickly reminded of how big he is. His fingers are long and thick. Your legs twitch as you remember how they feel rubbing inside you. He leisurely finds his way deep in your sex. Your tightness pains him in the way that he likes. Leaning down to grunt into your ear, nose filled with that familiar coconut scent, you clench around him when his teeth bites down at the shell of your ear.

He loves you. He loves you so much—your hair, your eyes, your lips, your smile, your voice, your taste, your scent. You’re wonderful. Breathtaking. Beautiful. So so beautiful. He’s so glad he has you. That you’re in his arm moaning so prettily for him. And its almost unbelievable to him that you think of him the same way he thinks of you.

Once your breathing gets heavier and his thrusts gets sloppier and your eye starts twitching, you both finally succumb to the hot rush of pleasure. You don’t object to his heavy weight toppling over you after he fills you up (you encourage it with a hug despite how heavy he is). It feels good—laying like this. So intimate. You pet the back of his head taking in his warmth. Time passes before he slowly looks up at you, his eyes the same temperature as both of your bodies meshed together, and he suddenly states,

“That’s your fifth one, doll.” And you can’t help the quiet snicker that leaves you before giving him a playful slap to his arm, telling him to shut up. You somehow manage to catch a small glimpse of him rolling his eyes beneath that inky mask of his. This was intimate indeed. You finish off the night with a kiss to his forehead and you felt your heart flutter when he answered with a subdued hum.

#ghost x reader #ghost simon riley #mw2 smut #cod x reader #simon riley x reader #cod mw2 smut #ghost x you #ghost x y/n #ghost mw2 #black reader

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valeriaarts · 10 months

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Carnotaurus sastrei sculpture

I've wanted to make a post about this sculpture's process, so I will take advantage of how Tumblr works to show photos of the phases and my experience using Milliput for the first time.

Unfortunately, I don't have photos of the exact beginning, but here's an image from a story I posted on Instagram. You can see that the sculpture is at a very early stage and is a general volume of what would later become the final figure, the whole inner part is made with aluminum foil, cardboard, and painter's tape, while the first outer layer is made with cold porcelain.

Once the bust was covered with cold porcelain and it had dried I could start sculpting the first details using Milliput, an epoxy mass that gives you 3 to 4 hours to sculpt and the truth is that I was pleasantly surprised because it allows it to work very well small details and is very easy to handle, the only thing I should have taken more into account is that once dry the Milliput gives a lot of weight to the figure.

In this first phase of detailing I focused on working in those areas that were going to require more time due to the type of texture of each one. For example, in the eyes, there are a lot of folds and wrinkles, in the horns I wanted to achieve the growth of the keratin.

For the next phase, the whole part of the skin of the face, I was guided by the images of the study of the scales of the Carnotaurus of 2021_ The scaly skin of the abelisaurid Carnotaurus sastrei (Theropoda: Ceratosauria) from the Upper Cretaceous of Patagonia.

I also used them as a reference for the paleoart scales that in my opinion showed me very well or at least gave me an idea of how I could work the skin of my bust. For example one of my mains references while doing this sculpture was the art of Fred Wierum

Now how I've tried to apply what I search about the scales.

At first I was not sure if I was going to make a neck, but as I progressed with the sculpture I could see that I was going to need the neck to give it more shape and put it on a good base.

With all the sculpting part done It was time to prime the dino!

For the painting part of the bust I wanted to try to get away from the red and yellow that is usually painted, so I decided to do some research on the types of lizards that live in Argentina and see if any of them had a pattern and colors that would fit what I was looking for. In the end I discovered Fitzinger's tree iguana, an animal with very nice colors and pattern that moved away from the reds and mixed greens with oranges and blues.

Photo credit: Roman Montero

And finally, the complete sculpture!

So here it is, I am very happy with this bust and the learning process I have gone through to make it as correct as possible.

Hope you like it!

#art #animals #dinosaur #paleomedia #paleoart #science #carnotaurus #sculpture #milliput #paleontology #argentina

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jessmaybank · 1 year

Text

Jailbirds; Part 2 - a change of heart

Series masterlist

Outer banks masterlist

Pairing(s): JJ Maybank x fem! Reader.

Word count: 1.2k

Summary: feelings start to change.

Warnings: mentions of violence, swearing, SMUT, fingering, praise kink.

“You got into a fight?” He says, the smile on JJs face unmissable as the mystery unraveled. He figured you just got caught drinking or something, not anything violent. You were a little trouble maker, and he liked it.

You sigh, tearing your eyes away from his ocean blue ones as you decide to give into him.

“Fine. Rafes new girl, Sophia. She bumped into me at a party tonight, and spilt her drink all over me, hence the shirt” you say, gesturing your arms towards your soaked top, which is finally beginning to dry.

“So..” you hesitate

“So you punched her?” JJ tuts, although there is no sense of disapproval laced within his voice as he bites back a smile.

“You would too if you saw the way she spoke back to me, all smug whilst I’m stood there drenched. Bitch had it coming” you say, tapping your foot on the cold floor out of annoyance.

“What about you?” You ask, as you realise it’s gone quiet.

“I was protecting a friend” he says, as blunt as ever.

“Kiara?” You say, concerned. You missed her more than anything.

JJ turns his head to face you, his gaze softening as your eyes meet.

“How is she?”

Your question makes JJ’s head spin. He recalls the events that transpired tonight, how a kook wouldn’t take no for an answer and tried to drag Kie away from him and the rest of the pogues. He recalls that your supposed to be the enemy.

And just like that, his hard demeanour is present again.

“Better now she’s not surrounded by rich assholes” he says, bringing his fingers up to his lap so he can fidget with them.

you knew what the blonde says was most definitely true, but you also knew he was trying to get under your skin.

“Yeah, that’s probably true. I want to run away sometimes” you sigh.

JJ scoffs at that.

“What, your castle not fancy enough or something?” he taunts, and you can feel the agitation beginning to engulf you.

“It’s not my fault I was born lucky, jackass. Get that through your thick skull” you say, maybe a bit too harshly.

The guard interrupted your bickering, chucking two grey blankets in the cell in case we wanted to sleep. However, that seemed unlikely seeing that the only thing in the cell was one long bench. Not exactly comfortable.

JJ gets up to collect the blankets, chucking one right on your head so the blanket is sprawled across your face, which earns a small chuckle from him.

“Thanks for that” you say sarcastically, pulling the blanket off your face and onto your legs, before combing your fingers through your now messy hair.

“I’m sorry” he blurts out after about a minute of silence.

“It’s just a blanke-“

“Not about the blanket. That was funny” he smiles.

“About what I said before, you seem cool…for a kook” he says, chuckling as he makes the kook comment.

And you laugh with him.

For the rest of the night, you and JJ end up finding solace in each others presence. The dark and dingy confining jail cell had transformed into a sanctuary where the pair of you could uncover each others hidden layers, peeling back the cold masks you wore in the outside world. You wanted to ask him about his dad, but you knew that was way to personal and it was none of your business.

“Okay, okay, what about… the worst sex you’ve ever had?” The shaggy blonde asks, and you furrow your eyebrows as you ponder his question.

“I would have to say this touron a couple months ago, he couldn’t even find the…you know” you say, exchanging a knowing glance with the boy as you turn your heads to face each other.

“I do know” he says.

“Is that right?”

And just like that, his ocean blue orbs are filled with dark lust.

JJ slowly moves his hand underneath the blanket covering you, tracing his fingers over your skirt and landing on your thighs, all whilst keeping eye contact.

Your eyes flicker from his eyes to his mouth, then back up to his eyes again to meet him in a dazed gaze.

Your whole body burned as he begins tracing circles on your thighs, a sigh leaving your mouth as the familiar ache in between your legs begins to grow for him.

You watch his movements under the blanket for a moment, before he brings a finger to your chin, forcing you to look up at his angelic face.

Your lips meet in a deep kiss, your cherry chapstick driving him crazy. Your hand finds solace in his hair, pulling at his blonde locks before he bites your bottom lip.

He takes the opportunity to slip his tongue in your mouth, his craving for more on display. Your tongues fight for dominance as you feel his hands go down your skirt and into the place you needed him the most.

You whimper as he pushes your panties to the side, using two fingers to gather up your arousal before he pushes them inside you.

“So wet for me” he whispers, biting his lip as an indication of his horny state.

Your head falls back onto the cold wall as he pounds his fingers in and out of you, biting your lips shut to stifle your moans. The guard could come back at any moment, but neither of you cared.

Your head falls onto his shoulder as you bite at his skin, eager to stay quiet.

“You like that?” He says in your ear, his voice low and raspy. JJ could feel his shorts tighten every time another heavenly moan left your mouth, and he couldn’t get enough. He had to have you.

You nod your head obediently, worried your words would fail you.

“Your being so good for me” he says, his fingers pulling out of you and instead finding your clit, drawing hard circles which make your back arch.

“Who’s my good girl?” He says, the overwhelming pleasure only intensified when you lift your head to look at him, your mouth hung open.

“I- I am” you whimper, struggling to keep your eyes open as you begin to see stars. you were close.

JJ doesn’t think he has ever been so aroused than he is In this moment. Watching your fucked out state is making it near impossible for him to stop himself from throwing you on the cell floor and fucking your brains out.

“I’m close” you whisper, the tight knot in your stomach evident as you screw your eyes shut.

JJ shakes his head with disapproval.

“Look at me whilst I make you cum all over my fingers” he says.

At the last second, he shoots his fingers back inside you, the feeling of you clenching around his fingers making a small moan leave his mouth.

Before you knew it, you were completely coming undone before him, staring up at him through your eyelashes as he fingers you through your orgasm, admiring how sexy you look when you cum.

You try to regain your breath as JJ’s fingers pull out of you. He peppers hot kisses on your neck as a form of aftercare, which you appreciate.

You were about to fix your panties, before he pulls you up on your lap so your straddling him, a cheeky smirk painted on his criminally handsome features.

“I’m not done with you yet”

____________________________________________

I love this series so much it might be my favourite! part 3 is coming ♥️

Tags: @pagesfalling

#obx #outer banks #jj maybank #jj maybank smut #rudy pankow #jj outer banks #outer banks smut #obx3 #jj mayback x reader

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obxsummer · 8 months

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Broken Pieces // JJ Maybank

when jj, kie, and pope get the notification that you escaped the camerons again, they decide they're done sitting on the sidelines. it's up to jj to talk you off the ledge that you've been pushed on.

jj maybank x routledge!reader

warnings: this is dark umm su!cidal mentions, guns, involuntary drugs, mentions of abuse, no use of y/n

a/n: sorry this request took so long! i changed it a little bit just because I wasn't 100% comfortable but I hope it does justice :)

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The past few weeks in the Outer Banks had been like none before. Tourists had watched along as friends were lost to the sea, families were torn in two, and the best sheriff Kildare County had seen was killed in the blink of an eye.

John B and Sarah, presumed dead, had left a void that seemed impossible to fill. But the greatest torment was reserved for another soul—John B's younger sister, you. Your life had taken a nightmarish turn as you were thrust into the clutches of the Camerons. In the absence of your brother, you found yourself trapped in a living nightmare.

The Camerons, exploiting their legal authority as your guardians held you in an iron grip. Everything was isolated, cut off from your friends, your life, and any glimmer of hope. Your attempts to escape, though frequent, only led to capture, a vicious cycle of desperation and frustration. JJ, Kiara, and Pope had heard whispers of the attempts to break free, each thwarted by Shoupe returning you to Ward Cameron with no questions or complaints.

The remaining Pogues stood in The Wreck. Everything felt so wrong to be here, out living their lives, when they couldn’t get you home. Going to school felt so wrong when they were lacking the Routledge presence and leadership that came with both you and John B.

“Do you think she knows John B’s alive?” Kiara’s question was quiet as she referenced the text that had come through hours before. Your phone number was included on the group but nobody had heard from you in the weeks since you’d been taken.

Her question was left hanging in the air as Shoupe and his deputies, who had been taking their lunch break, quickly left with no explanation.

As the three friends exchanged quiet glances, a shrill ping cut through the heavy silence. Their phones buzzed in unison, displaying an alert that brought their collective pain into sharp focus—you had run away again. Kiara, Pope, and JJ exchanged urgent glances, their eyes mirroring their shared concern.

"We can't just sit here anymore. We've got to do something."

Pope nodded, his jaw clenched. "You're right. It's been too long. We have to find her ourselves.”

JJ's mind was racing, thoughts of your desperate situation flooding his mind. He knew you well enough to understand your pain, your yearning for a family that cared, especially after losing your mother at a young age. "Let's split up and cover more ground. Kiara, you head towards the docks. Pope, check out the beach area. I'll go back to the Chateau. She might have gone there."

The tension in the air grows with each passing minute. JJ's heart raced as he treaded through the overgrown path leading to the Routledge residence. The memories of John B and Sarah hung heavy on his mind, adding a bitter layer to the anguish he felt for your predicament.

As he approached the door, he could feel his pulse quicken. The heavy atmosphere of the place was suffocating, a stark contrast to the lively household he remembered from his childhood visits. Taking a deep breath, he knocked, his knuckles rapping gently against the wood. The door creaked open but he expected that.

The house was dimly lit, the air heavy with memories. And there, in the midst of it all, stood you. Your once vibrant eyes were now dulled by pain, your face stained with tear tracks. A loaded gun, JJ’s gun, was clutched tightly in your trembling hand. How you had it, he didn’t want to know.

JJ's heart plummeted at the sight. He slowly raised his hands in a calming gesture, his voice gentle as he spoke, "Hey, hey, Birdie. It's me. I'm not here to hurt you. I just want to talk."

You turned to him, eyes wide with a mix of fear and desperation. "JJ? What are you doing here?"

"I came to find you," he replied softly. "We all did. Kie and Pope are on their way." JJ was quick to notice your bloodshot eyes and the shaking in your hands. Whatever Rafe and Ward had given you was still in your system and you weren’t handling it well.

Tears streamed down your face as you took a shaky step back, the gun still pointed in his direction. "Why? No one cares. No one cares about me. John B is gone. Dad is gone. I should've gone with John B. I should be with them."

JJ's heart ached as he listened to your broken words. He knew he had to tread carefully. "Sweetheart, I know. I know you miss him, but we care about you. I care about you. We've been searching for you because we want to help."

Telling you John B was alive would only set you off right now, but JJ wished the knowledge could bring you some comfort.

You shook your head, voice trembling as anger mixed with grief. "You don't understand, JJ. The Camerons are horrible. They're abusive, Ward a-and Rafe. And no one is helping me. I'm trapped, stuck in this repetitive loop with no hope."

The weight of your words hung heavy in the air. JJ's fists clenched involuntarily as he fought to control his emotions. He took a step closer. "I’m here now, yeah? I won't let you go through this alone. We're your family too."

“I… I see him every day. In my dreams, in-in the house,” You choked for air in your lungs. Your grip on the gun loosened slightly, and your shoulders shook as sobs racked your body. "You don't know what it's like, JJ. Every day is a nightmare. No one believes me. No one listens. They hurt me, control every damn thing. And no one helps, no one cares. I might as well be invisible, 'cause no one loves me.”

He continued to approach slowly, his eyes locked onto yours. "I get it, I get it okay. I’m right here, a-and we're here to help you get out of this nightmare. You don't have to face it alone."

A mixture of vulnerability and anger crossed your face. You’d given up long before you saw him. "You can't save me, JJ. No one can."

JJ's heart shattered, his chest tightening as he struggled to rein in his own emotions. He knew he had to reach you, to break through the fortress of pain and despair that had taken control of your thoughts. He knew you didn’t know how the gun worked and the fact that the safety was still on was the slightest tinge of relief he had.

His voice cracked with raw emotion as he said your name, "We love you, I love you. I would never leave you, okay? You're not invisible, and you're not alone. You're family, a family that cares about you more than words can say."

Your grip on the weapon slackened, and JJ approached slowly, his heart pounding. One wrong step and he would fuck this whole thing up. "Give me the gun, baby," he implored gently, his eyes locked onto yours. "Please. Let me fix this.”

You looked at him, tears streaming down your face, and hesitated. JJ saw the window of opportunity and jumped, smacking the gun out of your hand as the two of you collided with the floor. The scream you let out was heartwrenching as he pulled you into a careful embrace, letting you cry against his shoulder.

The floodgates had opened, all the pain and anger you'd bottled up pouring forth. JJ held tightly, offering a sanctuary amidst the outburst of your emotions. You screamed and shoved against him but he refused to let go.

As your sobs subsided, he let out a deep breath of relief. "I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He continued to hold you in his lap, your face buried in his neck as you clung to him for some form of grounded relief.

The two of you sat like that for a decent amount of time. Long enough that Kie and Pope had come to the Chateau for themselves and witnessed you both on the floor before staying out on the porch to give you space.

“John B’s alive,” JJ’s whisper was soft. He figured you were slowly calming down and with the water he’d been forcing you to drink, he hoped things were exiting your system.

Your eyes were teary when you pulled back to look at him. “What are you talking about?”

He kept his palm against the back of your neck to hold you while digging for his phone to show you the text. Your face shifted to a pained expression as you viewed the conversation on the screen before all the tension exited your body at once and you curled back into JJ’s hold.

“Is this real?” Your voice cracked as you continued to stare at the picture on the phone.

“Yep,” JJ said as he took the phone back, he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, his actions a soothing gesture that spoke volumes. The chaos of emotions that had consumed the moment was slowly giving way to a sense of clarity and understanding.

"Holy shit," you murmured, your voice filled with a mix of wonder and amazement. You continued to stare at the screen, your gaze fixed on the image of your brother and his girlfriend. The realization that they were alive, that there was hope, seemed almost too good to be true.

JJ's arms remained wrapped around you, holding you close as you leaned into his embrace. The room seemed to hold a sense of warmth and comfort, a sanctuary from the storms of the outside world.

The weight of uncertainty had lifted, and a glimmer of hope shone brightly in its place. As you held onto JJ, you knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, you had someone who would support you through it all. And in that moment, as you stared at the screen and held onto each other, you knew everything would be okay. John B would come home, you’d make sure of it.

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#jj maybank x reader #jj maybank #outer banks imagine #outer banks #jj maybank imagine #jj outer banks #outer banks x reader #outer banks netflix #jj maybank x routledge!reader

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