#but if the sheer misery of being unable to FUCKING BREATHE through your nose and the coughing and the pain swallowing etc isn't enough like

[queerofthedagger]

how do people have covid and then go 'oh this wasn't that bad i'll just go on being not careful' like mine is relatively mild in terms of how bad it could be and i was already still masking and shit and i'm like. no one's ever anywhere going to see me without a mask and a spray bottle of disinfectant EVER again this is terrible oh my gOD

#mona rambles #*mine #the covid journey (derogatory) #<- in case anyone wanna block my whining #but like. honestly. it's like a bad cold but even COLDS suck like??? #i'm pretty sure i got it from family over the holidays people just gotta get used to me being masked always i guess it is what it is #and like. obviously there's better reasons to employ basic measures of protection of yourself and others #but if the sheer misery of being unable to FUCKING BREATHE through your nose and the coughing and the pain swallowing etc isn't enough like #at least be selfishly careful good lord #no this isn't news i'm just terrible at being sick so yk #the EXHAUSTION. i brushed my teeth and made coffee and i could go back to bed #i failed to count to 20 three times yesterday like i'm just dumbed down 90% like. jesus

[agirlwithtoomuchf-ingtime]

Bait - A Mikael Mikaelson x Reader Smut

A/N: Hello! This will be my first post on here and let me just say that this particular story was not planned at all lmao. I know Mikael isn't exactly a favorite, but I tend to fall for the least-favored characters for some unknown reason. I know he's terrible, but he's somehow still attractive to me. Anyway, I hope that you enjoy this smutty goodness. I look forward to posting more :)

Warnings: heavy smut (minors dni please), explicit language, spanking, light choking, lots of biting, some bleeding.

Word Count: 6.1k (I really went off)

Being bait for Niklaus and Elijah was by far one of the worst ideas you’ve ever agreed to. 

“You’re a fucking coward!” You roar, jabbing your finger into the Original’s chest. 

“In what world does anyone blame a child for their wife’s infidelity?!” 

Mikael clenches his jaw, an ever-present murderous look shining in his dark eyes.

“Shut up, bitch. You have no clue what you’re talking about.” He hisses, looking down at you with angry glare. You sneer at him. 

“I may not have been there when it happened, Mikael, but I have been there for the aftermath of the trauma you’ve left behind and that is enough information for me.” You spit through gritted teeth. You didn’t care how close you were to this poor excuse of a parent. Anger is a powerful emotion. Mikael scowls and before you can even blink, he’s got you up against your living room wall with his hand wrapped around your throat. 

“I suggest you choose your next words very carefully before I rip out your vocal cords.” Mikael snarls, his warm breath brushing against your face from how close he is. You’re almost touching noses. Your anger is quickly extinguished and replaced with uneasiness.

“Now, where are my children?” He asks. He's so close that all you can smell is him. His masculine scent makes your mind foggy. Against your better judgement, sinful thoughts start to swim around your head. These carnal flashes only last a few fleeting seconds before you regain your composure. You blink rapidly, snapping out of whatever trance he managed to put you in. Realizing what exactly you just imagined, your cheeks flush into a brilliant shade of red. What the fuck is wrong with you?! Are you really that touch-starved that you would let a millenia-old vampire, one with serious issues, have you like that? You need to go outside and touch some grass. 

“Why are you blushing?” Mikael rumbles, his face twisting into an expression of confusion. Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck! You internally panic as you try to think of a reasonable excuse. 

“I-It’s hot in here.” You stamper, cringing internally because you don’t sound convincing at all. Really? That’s what you came up with? You’re so getting killed. Mikael narrows his eyes, obviously not believing you. 

“Why does it matter?” You snap irritably in embarrassment. The lewd thoughts that had filled your head confused you and you really did not want to do something you might regret. You have terrible impulse control. Mikeal tilts his head curiously. 

“If you won’t tell me the truth, I suppose I’ll just have to figure it out myself.” He says casually and your eyes widen exponentially. 

“No! Please don’t do that. Please don’t!” You beg. The idea of him figuring out what a pervert you were made you desperate to convince him to drop it. Mikael, unsurprisingly, does not listen to your pleas and closes his eyes, pressing his free hand against your right temple.

Mortification crawls up your spine as you watch him tense up. He sharply inhales, removing his hand from your temple and looking at you incredulously. You look down, finding yourself unable to look him in the eye out of sheer embarrassment. He removes his hand from your throat and takes a few steps back. What the fuck do you even do in this scenario? What the fuck do you say?! You wish the ground would open up and swallow you whole. Or, better yet, for Mikael to put you out of your misery. The silence that follows leaves you deeply ashamed. Tears prick at your eyes from the utter humiliation. 

You’re about to say something when you suddenly feel one of Mikael’s hands roughly cup the underside of your jaw, snapping your head up to make you look him in the eyes. His face holds a hard expression. One you’re unable to decipher. You take a deep breath, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill over. 

“Such naughty thoughts for a human such as yourself.” He murmurs, using his grip on your jaw to tilt your head to the side. This exposes your neck to him and you swallow nervously. You’re on vervain so he can’t drink from you. 

“And having those thoughts about me? There must be something wrong with your head, girl.” You glare at him. 

“My name is [Y/N], not ‘girl’.” You grit. Mikael sneers, his face inching closer to yours. 

“Your antagonizing responses do nothing to help your current predicament...and only serve to give me more ideas.” His eyes glint darkly as he says this and you widen your eyes. He couldn’t possibly mean what you think he means. 

Mikael stares at you for a few more seconds before he moves, barely dragging his lips over the exposed column of your neck. A soft gasp emits from you. You weren’t expecting that. He’s being so...gentle? He traces his mouth up to your jawline, placing a heated kiss there. You sigh quietly at the strangely affectionate action. He follows his sweet gesture with a harsh bite, digging his sharp canines into your throat. You cry out in pain, flinching as you feel him suck in some of your blood. He quickly retracts however, spitting out the red fluid onto your tiled floors. Great. He hacks, likely feeling the burn from the vervain. You quickly press a hand onto the wound. Mikael angrily snaps his eyes into yours, and you feel fear creep up your spine. Annoyance overrides that though.

“It’s not like I knew you were going to do that. Thanks, by the way. Asshat.” You grumble, lifting your hand and looking at the blood that coated it. 

“Jeez. You got me good.” You raise your eyebrows, placing your bloody hand back over his aggressive display of lust. 

“Don’t expect that to be the only mark, [Y/N].” Mikael growls, making you shiver. The way his deep voice rumbles your name makes your pussy throb. Your body yearns to play into his intense way of things, but you couldn’t help but pretend you weren’t interested because your mind knows this is a terrible idea.             

“This isn’t a good idea.” Your voice wavers as he smothers your neck in kisses. His hands squeeze into the meat of your hips. He’s pinning his body against yours, effectively keeping you trapped there. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy being sandwiched against him and the wall. 

“What part of you confronting me was a good idea?” Mikael breathes against your neck. You didn’t want to admit that he’s right, so you instead release a breathy moan as he sucks a hickey into your neck. He nips the skin as he gropes your ass and picks you up, letting you wrap your legs around his hips. You gasp as he hoists you up, grasping the material of the shirt on his shoulders. You’re face to face with him now. He stares at you intently and you stare back, clearly nervous. 

“So enticing…for a human.” He whispers hotly, intense eyes flicking down at your lips. You narrow your eyes at the backhanded compliment, completely aware of the fact that his face is looming closer to yours. His pupils are so dilated that you can barely see the icy blue that outlines them. His scent and closeness is making you dizzy.

“Despite my cruel nature, I do still ask if it is okay to continue further?” He asks quietly, as if he’s almost ashamed to seem respectful. Your eyes widen in surprise.

“Mikael Mikaelson? Asking for consent?” You snicker, eyes drooping a bit. A range of emotions cross his serious face, all the way from embarrassment to irritation. You lean in dangerously close, your lips ghosting over his. 

“How unexpected.” You purr, moaning as he quickly slots his lips over yours. He kisses you roughly, almost like he’s chastising you for teasing him like that. 

“Silly [Y/N],” Mikael growls against your lips. “Thinking she can get away with making me feel humiliated. Perhaps a lesson is needed.” You were about to ask what he meant by lesson but he unexpectedly lifts you away from the wall, making you grasp tightly onto his shoulders. 

“Where are we going?” You quickly gasp out, watching as he walks down one of the hallways. 

“Your bedroom. Where is it?” He grunts out. 

“Last door on the left.” You murmur, tucking your face into his neck. 

You press sloppy kisses there. He groans lowly as your soft lips suck the skin of his throat, quickening his pace to get to your bed. He knees open the slightly ajar door, throwing you on your mattress. He looks hungry as he unbuttons your jeans, messing with the hem lightly. His predatory gaze waits for your permission. You nod and he gets to work, stripping you of your pants. His greedy eyes look to see what kind of underwear you’re wearing, and he’s shocked to see a lacy black thong adorning your bottom half tonight. This wasn’t planned in the slightest, but you’re secretly thanking yourself for wearing them. Mikael pulls apart your beautiful thighs, quickly pressing his lips against the soaked fabric of your panties. You weren’t expecting him to do that so suddenly, jolting from the pleasure it gives you. 

“Ah- Mikael!” You hiccup, your hand unconsciously wrapping itself in his short hair. He moves his mouth to your sensitive inner thighs, pressing kisses that progressively grow into hickeys. You feel his sharp teeth graze your skin as he grows more aggressive and before you can tell him to stop, he sinks his teeth into the flesh of your left thigh. You yelp in pain and he quickly retracts, not wanting to taste the vervain. 

“Mm- fuck.” You whimper, feeling some blood trickle down your skin. Mikael grins darkly, clearly enjoying the quick mess he’s making of you. You gasp suddenly when he unexpectedly picks you up. He takes a seat on the edge of the bed and lays you across his lap on your stomach. You feel your face grow hot as one of his hands rubs over your ass, roughly groping the flesh. 

“Now [Y/N],” Mikael starts. You moan when he briefly caresses you through your underwear.

“I want you to count for me.” His rich voice rumbles. You quiver at the dominance that’s laced in his tone. 

“Okay.” Your voice trembles. 

He smooths his palm over your backside, the action feeling almost possessive. You’re given no warning when he lifts his hand and swiftly smacks your right asscheek. You screech at the sting, your face turning a deeper shade of red. 

“O-one.” You mumble.

“What? I can’t hear you.” Mikael growls, his other hand grabbing your hair and yanking your head back.

“I said one!” You shout. Mikael runs his hand over the reddening mark, soothing it.

“If you fail to count again, you will not like the consequence.” He growls. You swallow nervously.

“Okay.” You whimper. He lets go of your hair, smoothing his hand over your back. Your shirt is still on. You have no doubt that it’ll come off soon. The next strike comes suddenly, the pain making you jolt. You surprise yourself when you moan.

“Two.” You sigh, clenching your hands into fists. His hand rubs over the sore spot, his fingers catching on the fabric of your underwear. You hear Mikael inhale deeply, a groan leaving his lips. 

“Your scent…” He says, his voice noticeably dropping an octave. You gulp. You have a bad feeling about what he just discovered. The following onslaught of smacks makes you scream, each one harder than the last.

“Three! Four! F-five!” You cry out, squirming in his lap from his merciless spanking. Mikael massages your inflamed ass as you whine from the soreness. 

“Good girl. You’re doing so well.” He rasps. You tremble as he praises you. The sound of yet another slap bounces around your bedroom. You let out another moan.

“Six.” You say weakly. Your pussy is throbbing with need. You’ve never been this turned on before. As if he read your mind, Mikael stops massaging your red ass and grabs the edge of your lace thong. 

“This is your last chance to stop.” Mikael says huskily, brushing the back of his fingers against the skin beneath your panties. You know all too well that this is a really, really bad idea. It’s the worst way to betray Klaus and Elijah. However, you’re technically doing your job. You’re keeping him distracted for them. That doesn’t justify it, but it’s true. You’re way too turned on for this to just end here. With mixed emotions muddling your head, you nod to give Mikael permission. You feel him slowly peel your panties off, shifting you a bit so he can take them off completely. After throwing them into a random corner of the room, you feel him palm your now bare backside. You wince slightly because you’re still sore from his entourage of spanking. As his hand slots closer to your pussy, you noticeably tense up. He chuckles.

“Singing a different tune now are we?” He asks rhetorically. He did not just say that. You look at him the best you can over your shoulder, a glare present in your eyes. 

“Shut the f- ahhh!” An embarrassingly loud moan flies out your mouth as he expertly strokes your clit, effectively cutting off whatever angry remark you were making. A smug expression overtakes his face when you open your eyes. 

“You were saying?” He chuckles. You scowl at him. Asshole. You keen as he slowly begins to rub his fingers in a circle. Another low chuckle resounds from him. Fucking jackass. You clench your hands into fists, biting your lip to prevent any more noises from slipping out. If Mikael wants to be a dickhead, so be it. You’re not in the mood to play his game. You grit your teeth as he presses harder, continuing to rub in a circular motion. Though your voice definitely gave away how good he makes you feel, your body wasn’t anymore subtle. It’s difficult to control your laboured breathing with the way his rough fingers caress your slick heat, not to mention the small buck of your hips when he teases the entrance. The vampire didn’t press his fingers into you, however. In fact, he pulls his fingers away. Your wired body slumps in defeat. 

“I know you’re holding back your voice, girl.” Mikael murmurs lowly, rubbing his wet fingers over your lower back. You feel your red cheeks flare hotter. Without warning, your head is yanked back yet again towards his face. A yelp of surprise leaves your throat, quickly quieted when you feel his hot breath on your ear. 

“I need to hear you. I need you to tell me how good it feels. Can you do that?” Mikael whispers huskily. You gasp as he speaks these words to you, your body immediately warming up at the confession. You nod the best you can in his grasp and he lets you go, smoothing his hand up the backs of your thighs. This makes you jump, goosebumps trailing behind his fingertips. 

“So sensitive.” He remarks softly, mostly to himself. You tense yet again when his fingers make contact with your pussy, slowly spreading your slick lower lips with his index and middle finger. You gasp when you feel the cool air of the room brush against your wet, sensitive skin. A deep groan echoes from him.

“Need to taste you.” He rasps. Your eyes widen as you hear this statement. “Go ahead and lay on your bed, [Y/N]. And discard your remaining clothing.” 

You’re still shocked by the fact that Mikael is using your actual name, but you quickly do as you’re told. Your ass is still burning, not to mention the ache of the bites he inflicted too. You nervously take off your shirt and bra and crawl onto your bed, the distant feeling of self-consciousness looming in the back of your mind. You watch him stand up, heated gaze slowly drinking in the rest of your exposed skin. You blush when his eyes connect with yours, his lust for you not hidden. Silently, he takes off his jacket. His long sleeved shirt quickly follows. You’re mesmerized by his fit figure, watching his muscles flex as he pulls the black garment over his head. 

Mikael’s eyes snap right back into yours as he tosses his shirt onto the floor. Your pussy pulses as he studies you, looking as if he wants to devour you. Starting to feel unnerved by the unashamed ogling, you wrap your arms around your breasts. Mikael is over you in the blink of an eye, his eyes black and his canines sharp. You gasp as he grabs your arms, growling as he pries them away from your chest. He pins them beside your head, his face leaning close to yours. 

“Don’t do that.” He says firmly, his face slowly returning to his normal irritated one. You let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding. You definitely weren’t prepared for that party trick. 

“O-okay.” You stutter, nervous [e/c] eyes looking in his cerulean ones.

“Good girl.” He whispers, flicking his gaze to your exposed breasts. Your nipples are already hard and it wasn’t because of the cool air. A shit-eating smile upturns his lips. You shake your head.

“Whatever smart ass comment you’re thinking of saying, don’t.” You grumble. A soft gasp expels from you as his right hand gropes your left tit, his fingers kneading the soft flesh. He seems to drink in your reaction, watching you like a hawk.

“Mhm.” Is the Original’s only response as he focuses on his task. 

He adds a few more hickeys on your neck, enjoying the way your skin turns purple. You squirm beneath him as he does this, a few small sighs of pleasure leaving your mouth. He drags his tongue down in between your breasts, pressing a kiss on your sternum. Mikael’s remaining hand lets go of your other arm, moving to cup your bust. You gasp when his warm mouth engulfs your nipple, gently sucking it. His teeth graze against the sensitive skin and you instinctively run your hands through his short, dusty blonde hair. He grunts when your nails scrape his scalp, roughly squeezing both of your tits. 

You jolt, legs hitting either side of Mikael’s waist. He chuckles deeply, releasing your nipple with a wet pop. 

“Trying to close your legs on me, girl?” He murmurs, pressing his lips against your now red bud. You glare at him, facing flaming with embarrassment and lust. 

“Fuck off.” You bristle, not in the mood for his smart ass comments. 

Mikael smirks. “No.” 

You roll your eyes at his irritating reply. Why does your pussy grow wet for this idiot? 

“Ah!” You yelp as he sinks his teeth into your right tit. Your fingers clench his hair, pulling it tightly. His responding moan is muffled against your poor breast. He unlatches himself, a dark look of want overtaking his features. You stare back nervously, letting go of his blonde locks. You can faintly feel the blood from the wound trickling down your stomach. You watch as he licks his lips, slowly pecking a trail to where you want him most. His dilated eyes flick to yours as he drags his lips over your navel. He repositions himself onto his stomach and looks at your dripping pussy in all its glory. A visible shudder shoots through him.

Without any further hesitation, Mikael slowly dwelves his tongue in between your slick folds, tasting all that is you. You puff out a breath as he groans, moving his thumb up to your clit. A moan leaves your lips as he rubs his digit over your engorged nub, going back to licking at your pussy. “You taste like sin…no wonder my sons keep you around.” He growls against your cunt. 

“M-Mikael!” You reproach, a look of mortification on your face. A loud moan leaves your mouth as one of his fingers slides into you. A look of fascination manifests on his face as he pushes it down to the third knuckle. An obscene cry escapes your throat when he curls the digit. 

“You’re so tight too—” You interrupt him when you grab his hair and forcibly shove his face away from your sopping center. 

“Shut the fuck up.” You grit lowly. Mikael looks at you with a bewildered expression. You inhale sharply when he moves suddenly, grasping your hips and lifting your lower half as he sits up. You lose your grip on his hair as he does this. 

“Getting bold now, are we?” He chides, his sinister look making you gulp. His hands wrap around each of your thighs, opening them to expose your wet heat. You flush up, almost choking when he dives in. He growls as he sucks on your slick skin, his blue eyes reverting to his vampiristic black ones due to the intensity of his want for you. You wail when he presses his tongue against your clit, lapping it before wrapping his lips around and sucking harshly. Your hands grip the sheets beneath you and your back arches. Another animalistic noise vibrates through you, making you cry out yet again. 

Mikael’s fingers dig into your thighs, his dark eyes piercing through yours. You pant as he licks and sucks at you, overwhelmed by the pleasure he’s giving you. It’s almost too much and you find your body heating up faster than your mind can process.

“M-Mikael! Slow do- AH!” You scream when he presses himself harder against your pussy, snarling in disagreement. The vibrations make you shake.

“Pl-Please! Too fast!” You beg, tears pricking your eyes as you continue to race closer. 

Mikael doesn’t separate from your twitching heat. If anything, it only encourages him to keep going. You thrash your hips, trying to escape his grasp. He growls possessively, tightening his grip and sucking harder. 

With a few more high-pitched cries, you scream as you fall over the edge. Your whole body tenses as you come into the Original’s eager mouth. Mikael moans as you do, drinking all that you have to offer. You whine as he continues to lap at your oversensitive pussy, weakly shaking your head. He eventually detaches his mouth from you, panting heavily. It’s an interesting sight to see your essence running down his chin instead of blood. You flinch when he places one last kiss to your clit before placing your lower half back onto the bed. 

He seems to shift uncomfortably as he does. You watch him slide off your bed, standing up tall. His hands move down to his pants, unbuttoning them and pulling them to the floor. A prominent bulge strains against his briefs and your eyes practically bug out of your head from the outline alone. He smirks.

“Are you enjoying the sight?” Mikael asks, a look of pride gleaming in his eyes.

Your cheeks only get redder when he slips off his underwear, releasing his hard cock. He seems to sigh in relief. You swallow hard at the sight of the intimidating length, flicking your nervous eyes back to his amused ones. A wicked smile graces his face as he walks over and climbs back onto your bed. Your legs reflexibly open to make room for him. The Original settles between your thighs, brushing a hand down your left thigh and pressing lightly against the bite mark he left there earlier. He admires his handiwork, eyes roaming over the various hickeys and bites he inflicted. You watch him, anxiously fidgeting. Your body jumps when you feel him slide his dick over your sensitive clit, a noise of surprise emitting from you.

“Still so wet for me…” He rasps, slowly thrusting against your clit. It’s torturous and you find yourself whining as you twitch hopelessly underneath him. 

“Tell me what you want, [Y/N].” Mikael murmurs gently, covering his cock in your wetness. 

“Y-You.” You sputter, opening your legs wider. He bites his lip, finding that particular action hot.

“Where do you want me?” He asks huskily, reaching over to cup your right breast. You whimper at the added sensation of him kneading it.

“Inside. I want you inside.” You moan, grinding your hips and shuddering when a jolt of pleasure shoots through you.

Mikael groans when you do this. “Very well…”

You watch his mouth drop open in pleasure as he begins to enter you. You gasp as you feel his girth stretch you, your smaller hand grabbing his hand that is on your tit. A loud, breathy moan expels from Mikael as he slowly continues to press into you. 

“Oh… wow…” You whine, arching your back. He pauses about halfway in to give you a break. Your walls clench around him as you try to adjust. His eyes roll back at the feeling.

“So fucking tight.” Mikael hisses, his other hand smoothing over your stomach to cup your left hip. He squeezes your breast, noticing that your hand on top follows the movement. 

"How are you faring, [Y/N]?" He asks, seeming to take your well-being seriously. You pant, trying your best to adjust to the Original. 

"In a bit of p-pain but u-AH-" You yelp as he pushes forward a little more as you speak. Mikael lets out a noise akin to a snicker, a moan soon following behind it. You try to glare at him while grimacing. You should’ve known it was a trick. 

“F-fucking asshole.” You hiss as he pushes himself the rest of the way inside of you. Mikael squeezes your hip as a shiver shakes his body. 

“Fuck.” He growls, slowly beginning to pull out. Your back arches as his cock drags against your inner walls. He begins a slow pace, gently thrusting in and out. A mix of both of your moans fill the bedroom. His hand leaves your breast to cup your right hip. You grasp at your bed sheets, struggling to maintain eye contact with the vampire. You whimper when his eyes turn black again, his sharp canines glimmering in the soft light of your room as he curls his lips back. 

“Naughty, naughty human.” Mikael snarls, watching your expression twist in pleasure. 

“Look at where you’ve gotten yourself. Moaning beneath me like a whore.” He groans, lowering himself on his elbows to get closer to you. You scowl at his words. 

“Don’t- hah- call me that.” You spit, gasping when his hand wraps tightly around your throat. You shriek as he roughly thrusts into you, the harsh movement eliciting an audible smacking sound. 

“I’ll call you whatever I please, whore. You’re mine.” Mikael rumbles, nibbling your right earlobe. You cry out as he does this, walls clenching from the pleasure it brings. He shudders, squeezing your throat harder. Your head pleasantly tingles from the minimal airflow. The sound of his deep moan reverberating in your ear makes you quiver. You vaguely hear him hiss over the sound of your blood pumping through your ears. His hand moves from your throat to your jaw, his fingers digging into your jawline. 

“My dirty, dirty girl. You’re taking me so well.” Mikael groans, his lips crashing into yours. You squeal into his mouth as he begins to move faster, his cock rubbing all the right places. Your body jolts when his thumb slides against your clit, your moans jumping in volume when he begins to massage it. You can feel another orgasm beginning to brew in your lower belly. Your hands fly up to claw at his back. He separates his mouth from yours to watch your pleasured expression. You scratch his shoulders as he brings you closer, your wails getting progressively higher in pitch.

“AH! M-Mikael! Fuck!” You whine. “S-So good!”

He groans as he speeds up, hitting against you even harder. 

“Come for me. Come all over my cock, pretty girl.” Mikael murmurs against your lips, his hot breath deliciously brushing against yours. 

Mikael’s thumb brushes faster over your clit as he now slams into you.

“I’m-I’m gonna come! I’m coming!!” You scream Mikael’s name as your orgasm rips through you, your vision turning white from the force of it. He grunts as your walls tightly clench around his cock, practically milking him.

“Fuuuck!” Mikael growls as the pressure from your pussy makes him come, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. Your thighs shake as you slowly come down from your high, pitiful moans leaving your throat as he slowly pumps himself in and out to prolong your pleasure. You hiss from the sensitivity as he pulls himself completely out, pushing himself up to his knees to look at your abused hole. His cum begins to seep out and he bites his lip at the sight. You flinch when he collects it on his fingers, slowly pushing it back inside you.

“Good girl.” Mikael murmurs as he continues to push his seed into you, loving the way you clench around his fingers from the sensitivity. 

“S-Stop Mikael. Please.” You whine. He surprisingly listens to you, quickly pressing a smooch against your raw clit and chuckling when you jolt from it. You cringe when you feel his cum ooze out of you, surely ruining your sheets. The bed dips as he lays next to you, his warm breath fanning the side of your neck. You sigh in pleasure as he softly kisses it. 

“Are you always this touchy with your flings?” You ask, biting your lip as his hand caresses your stomach. 

“Who said you were a fling?” Mikael rumbles against your throat. You feel your face heat up. 

“What does that mean?” You ask nervously, turning your head to look at him. He captures your lips passionately, hungrily kissing you before he pulls away. 

“Exactly what you think.” He smiles and it looks genuine. 

Shit.

After about an hour of resting, you find the strength to lift your sore body off of the bed. You groan as you stretch, swinging your legs off the edge of your mattress and getting up. You’re a little wobbly, but can walk without help.

“Where are you going?” Mikael grunts, running his tired gaze over your naked figure. 

“I’m taking a shower.” You respond, grabbing some comfortable clothes and carefully walking to your bathroom. 

As you enter the private room, you close and lock the door behind you. Having shared your personal space for a few hours, you need a break. You turn on the shower, turning the dial to a pleasantly warm stream. As the shower heats up, you look at yourself in the mirror. Dried blood coats your neck, chest, and thighs thanks to the bites Mikael aggressively inflicted. You poke at the various hickeys left on your body. They’re almost black in color. Oof. You turn around to look at your butt. Your ass is a light purple, a few handprints still visible. You’re kind of impressed, but you won’t be able to sit normally for a bit. You check the water, finding it perfectly heated. You sigh as you step underneath it, swinging the shower curtain closed behind you. You collect some body wash to scrub the blood off you, wincing when you run the suds directly over the wounds. The water runs pink momentarily as the blood runs off of you.

As you reach for your shampoo, two big hands grab your hips and pull you backwards. You scream as whoever it is wraps an arm around your torso. They chuckle and you immediately stop struggling. You never thought you could ever get irritated this fast before. You flip around and smack Mikael in the face.

“You scared the fuck out of me, asshole!” You snap. Mikael rubs his jaw while he laughs at you.

“I couldn’t resist.” He murmurs, blue eyes flicking over your body.

You glare at him.

“No. I’m trying to shower. The door was locked for a reason.” You huff, turning back around to grab your shampoo. As you lather the soap into your hair, you can feel Mikael run his hands up your sides. 

“Mikael.” You warn, closing your eyes as you go underneath the warm water to rinse your hair. You yelp when you feel his hand grope your injured tit. 

“Stop! You’ll reopen the wound.” You hiss, smacking his hand away. You hear him chuckle before he bites your shoulder playfully. You flinch when you feel his blunt teeth nibble the skin.

“Can I please finish my shower?” You whine as he pulls you flush against him. You can feel his hard cock press against the crook of your ass. 

“No.” Mikael replies, his right hand creeping towards your pussy. Goosebumps prickle over your skin at the intimate sensation. You moan when his fingers slide over your clit. 

“P-Please. I just need to use condi- Fuck!” You wail as his middle and index finger thrust inside of you. You can hear Mikael inhale behind you. 

“Dirty, little [Y/N]…thinking she can do what she pleases.” He grumbles, torturously dragging his fingers in and out of you. You whimper at his degrading words.

“Mik- ah!” You squeal when he growls just beside your ear, his left hand possessively grabbing your hip and pulling you impossibly closer. He strokes your clit, his warm breath grazing your right ear. Moans and whines of pleasure fill the shower and you find yourself instinctively grinding against his fingers.

“Yes…ride my fingers you slut.” Mikael rasps, nibbling your ear as you work yourself to yet another orgasm. With another breathless wail, you climax all over his fingers. He holds your twitching body, whispering vulgar things into your ear as the high washes over you. Your legs are extremely shaky again and you slowly sit down in your bath, letting the warm stream run over you. Mikael sits behind you, carding his fingers in your scalp. He helps to massage the conditioner in your hair, his touch delicate and relaxing. When the product rinses out of your hair, Mikael turns the water off, helping you out of the shower. He sets you on your toilet and helps you dry off. As he massages the towel over your head, you can’t help but ask him.

“Why are you doing this?” You blurt. Mikael pauses for a second before resuming his task.

“Because I like you.” He replies, beginning to dry himself off.

“But…why?” You look at him, so confused yet so captivated.

“I’ve never had someone so brazenly in my face like you always are. You’re not afraid to stand up to me, which is…very attractive if not a little maddening.” You feel your cheeks flush up. Mikael smiles and places your towel on its respective hook.

“And you’re cute when you’re flustered.” He chuckles. You purse your lips, finding it difficult to maintain eye contact.

“Do you need help walking?” You test your legs and find them stable enough to walk on.

“No. Thank you though.” You mumble, cautiously making your way back into your bedroom. It’s wild. You were supposed to be bait, but you ended up being caught anyway. How the hell are you going to face Nik and Elijah after this?

“You’re very deep in thought.” You gasp when you feel his hands slide over your hips.

“What are you thinking about?” Mikael asks softly in your ear, making you swallow thickly.

“Niklaus and Elijah. I don’t think I can ever face them again.” It’s painful to admit openly. You can feel the Original father tense at the mention of his children.

“So don’t.” He whispers, wrapping his arms around you and kissing your neck. You sigh in pleasure.

“It’s not that simple Mikael and you know it.” You murmur, sliding your hands over his tan arms and interlocking your fingers with his.

“Let’s just go back to bed, darling. Best not to fret on it. You’ll just make yourself feel worse.” You nod, moving towards your bed with the vampire following close behind. His hands are still possessively wrapped around you. He only lets go of you so you can climb onto the bed. You feel him dip down beside you, his hands not too far behind. His fingers grip the concave of your waist, softly massaging the area. He pulls you up against his naked form, his lips pressing into the back of your neck. You feel yourself relaxing against him. Strange how quickly you grew accustomed to the thousand year old vampire’s presence.

#mikael mikaelson smut #mikael mikaelson x reader smut #the originals smut #the originals x reader

[thetorturerwrites]

Puer Deus: Scars

This amazing artwork was gifted to me by @faestae-writes​. Please do not re-use or re-post it without permission from them and/or myself. Don’t be a dickbag.

***

Captured / Hurricane / Sustenance / Liar

Summary:  You stand accused of something impossible.

A/N:  18+ only.  Physical violence; sadism; references to abuse; smut; cutting; biting; bloodletting; lots of blood, ok; lots.  Please take the content notes seriously, and thank you for coming with me on this ride.

Word Count: 7.7k

Day Five

At the Supremacy, Ren marched you from the shuttle and into the bustling hangar.  It was unlike anything you’d ever seen, the sheer scope of it dwarfing entire star systems.  The docking bay teemed with life, with a never-ending bustle of activity. It looked to be anarchy, but you could see order in the disarray, repairs being carried out, orders being given, shuttles and ships so close but quite unreachable.

Ren hooked his great hand around your arm, whirled you in between two ships, and pushed you at a waiting black guard.  Lifting your eyes to this new person, all the blood drained from your face. It was one of the Knights of Ren, the most well-known, blood-thirsty body guards in the galaxy, and they towered over you.  You were dumbfounded, eyes round as saucers, and trembling when the cold voice you knew so well broke through your haze.

“Take her to med bay and then my quarters. YOU are on her at all times.”

Your eyes swung between the two warriors, brow furrowed.  Finally, you understood he was leaving, and you panicked because he’d fixed it so you couldn’t reach for him, couldn’t even stomp your foot to get his attention. He’d taken away every option you had to communicate in this moment except the one he wanted. He had rendered you a muted object to be seen and not heard.  

Your mind reeled, and you balked at this new potential reality.   You could endure his torment because it was him, because he’d been there with you every day, building it up.  But what did it mean that he was turning you over to his thugs? What new torture were you being delivered to now? Groups of angry men together did bad, bad things, and you were a ripe target, a trussed-up gift from their leader.  

The onyx void of a visor swiveled around to look down at you, and you shrank from what you knew to be ice in the gaze behind it.

“And have her sanitized,” his detached tone and robotic voice cut through you.

Your head jerked up and you glared at him, fuming.  He’d all but fucking bathed you himself; and now, he was sending you to be sanitized like a filthy prisoner just come in from the desert.  You did stomp your foot, irate and finished with being ignored, only for your knees to buckle as the pain shot up your calf and into your hip.  Ren didn’t catch you this time, and you collapsed onto the hangar floor, barely able to stare at his boots.

Then, he was gone.

Ren was gone, and you were literally feet away from space with no way to get there, to get away.  Benumbed, you stared at the gaping mouth of the landing track, unable to even put up a fight when your new guard manhandled you into standing.  Somber, you stared at the stars just beyond your reach and wondered what it meant that you weren’t trying to fight your way out of this predicament. 

Ren had left you here, confident that you weren’t going to get away.  Was he equally confident that you wouldn’t be able to bring yourself to even try?

The guard’s gloved hand felt along your arms, working out where and how they were tied behind your back, and you winced at the rough pinch over the still-aching bite marks.  Settling for a grip at your shoulder, they used it to walk you away from the departing crafts. You fixed your eyes upon the brightest star in the narrow field and held it until you were hustled around the corner and away, pleading with the unknowable that this wouldn’t be the last time you’d see stars.

The next hour was the most humiliating you’d endured in your entire life, and you knew, with absolute certainty, that this was punishment for your insolence.  

At the med bay, you were inspected but never untied.  The attending physician blushed beet red at the state of you, but she never spoke as she checked over and cleaned your wounds. Bacta patches were adhered to the soles of your feet; and then, she fled the room as fast as she could.  You sneered in her wake, angry that she didn’t ask about the bruises, cuts, and spots littering your body, angrier that she accepted your imprisonment without so much as brief indignation on your behalf.

From there, you were dragged through familiar territory, the cell block.  The expanse was shocking, dominating, and you felt tiny, wholly irrelevant in comparison.  This was the sort of prison, you thought, where people disappeared, swallowed up by misery, never seen or heard from again.  Sobered back into survival mode, you picked out details, making a list of where the door was, what numbers were painted on the walls, how far you’d come from med bay.

Jarringly, you were tossed into a processing room, and a team of cleaners descended upon you like scavengers.  The chemical smell was overpowering, the very air infected by it, and your eyes and nose burned. Untrussed and untied, you were chained to the wall and blasted with a water cannon so strong you choked at the frigid punch.  You were thoroughly, harshly cleaned from stem to stern, hair and teeth washed and brushed, and checked for stars-only-knew-what. You seethed with contempt, though, when the razors descended, shaving away all hair save what sat upon your head.

Fucking sanitized.

Your Knight guard brushed away the paper uniform brought for you to wear and re-tied you in the same manner Ren had left you, tucking the cloak back around your shoulders.  

You boiled with rage, ready to murder every single person on this galaxy-sized ship and dance on their bones.

You were led through a staggering number of turns before being jostled through the door at the end of a long hallway.  It was blessedly dark on the other side, and you sagged slightly, relieved. You were becoming more dependent upon the dark than you liked, but the harsh overhead lighting of the ship proper made you queasy, as though it cast too much light upon your lack of modesty, the way you unfurled under Ren’s hand.

Hastily, you were pushed into a chair and tied to it, the reprieve on your wrists and arms was so brief you barely had time to wiggle your fingers before being anchored down.  Taking their orders very strictly, the guard posted at the door, standing right at its center on the inside of the chamber. Any hope you had of doing, learning, or stealing anything withered. 

The guard stared straight ahead, the helmet visor betraying nothing, just as Ren’s betrayed nothing.  The Knights of Ren were legendary for their destructive ability, but you didn’t know that they would anticipate their Commander’s will so exactly.

The rest of the day passed exactly like this.  You couldn’t speak, and your guard didn’t speak.  From your observations, you couldn’t even positively say they breathed.  The only aberrations to this stand-off were when you were released to eat and relieve yourself, which you had to ask for by pointing to the adjoining room, the very gesture feeling foolish.  It was allowed, but you were shadowed into the bathroom like a fucking child, and you bristled with humiliation.

You were finally dozing, chin tucked into your chest, greedily snatching whatever bit of respite you could, when the door slid open with a faint buzz.  Not a single word was exchanged between Ren and his Knight; and a moment later, the guard was gone.  

Drawing in an already exasperated breath, you lifted your head to fix a defiant stare upon your captor, prepared to refuse and deny and fight, ignited by the need to kick and snarl after what he’d put you through today.

The sight of him astonished you to utter stillness, however, stealing any desire you had to rampage your way out of here.  He’d come in without his helmet entirely, and his shock of jet black hair was swept across a flushing, red forehead.  

And his face, his beautiful, magnificent face, was bisected by dark surgical tape, running from forehead to cheek and disappearing down into the neck of his shirt.  Your eyes trailed it, and his lip quivered when your scrutiny lingered there.  

But it was his eyes, his wild eyes, that strangled your breathing.  He was seething, barely containing the war within, and his pupils were blown wide, the only thing marking his turmoil.

“You did this,” he sneered.

You were thunderstruck.  How could you have done this when you’d been right here the whole time?

He moved further into the room, setting a small kit down onto the table, and you tracked him, already fortifying your mental wall and willing your breathing into an even pattern.  You pressed your lips into a firm line at his silence, biting down on your tongue as he neared, invading your every sense with his presence. His smell, that smoky tinge of death, was tainted by something medicinal, foreign; but then, you thought, so was yours.

You lifted shining eyes up at him when he stepped in front of you and wrapped naked fingers around your throat, unable to stop the immediate gulp his touch kindled. You could feel him tremble with barely-repressed rage, and you clenched your fists tight, refusing to show him how his unnerving silence affected you.

Loud, wailing Kylo Ren promised a beating.  Silent, stalking Kylo Ren promised to flay you alive.

You stared, eyebrows drawn together as you studied this new accentuation of his face, wanting to reach out to touch it, trace it.  It occurred to you, suddenly, alarmingly, that with a wound like that, he was hurt elsewhere also. You had no earthly idea why you should care if he was unharmed, but you sought the reassurance anyways, wide eyes seeking evidence of further injury hastily.  Your gaze lit upon a hole in his shirt, but the skin beneath seemed to be already patched. 

He was intact, mostly unharmed, solid and strong as ever you’d known him to be.  Visibly relieved, you dropped back against the chair. When you looked back into his eyes, he was studying you, a strange look upon his face.

“The only wounds I’m bearing right now, trader, are this one,” he gestured at his cheek, “and yours.”  

His voice was liquid acid, and you knew that your face relayed your confusion because you had no idea what he was talking about.  Arching a brow at you, as though annoyed by your stupidity, his long, agile fingers tugged his shirt overhead, and you stopped breathing.  Your mouth dried out completely, remembering the last time you’d seed him shirtless and the graphic thoughts you’d had trapped beneath him as he force fed you.

He pulled the dark fabric away from his shoulders and tossed it across the room. You followed it with your eyes, watching it slide against the floor.  Your thighs clenched tight to quell the ache already building, and you bit down hard on your tongue. You were absolutely convinced, terrified, that if you looked back at Ren, you would be lost to the world, content to let this statue of a man consume you in every way he saw fit.

Ren reached for you, tucking his fingers around your cheek and pushing his thumb into your watering mouth, the idea of his naked torso having tempted your glands to respond. Your chest buckled, torso hunching slightly, because that action, that simple thing, set your cunt to throbbing, never ceasing to electrify you.  He used that crude handle to turn your face to his and stroked the underside of your tongue, playing in the pooling saliva. You still looked away, eyes fixed on the jumble of fabric in the corner.

With any other person in the galaxy, you thought, this could have been a tender moment, something delicious between lovers.  His low voice could be promising the stars, demanding sinful sighs and moans. But he was talking to you, and you had defied him the last time you were together.  You had also, apparently, wounded him in battle.

“Look at what you have done.”

He crouched before you, and the command in his tone brokered no resistance.  You obeyed, blowing out a nervous breath as you fixed your eyes upon his face, unwilling to concede more than this, idiotically defiant.  Ren slid one hand up your neck and into your hair, fingers curling tight against your scalp. He tipped your head down, forcing you to his will, to look where he wanted you to look.

Ren had lain his forearm in your lap, the lightly-freckled underside turned up to your survey; and on it bloomed a large, mouth-sized bruise, punctuated with small squares of red and purple.  

Teeth.

The thought dropped on you like a bomb. Horrified, you wrenched out of his grasp, but he simply switched one harsh hand for another and showed you the similar affliction on the other side.

You’d never gotten the chance to inspect your own arms, but you knew, to your bones, that his bruises perfectly matched the ones he’d left on your body.

"One blow to this arm," he spat, "one fucking blow was all it took for you to do this to me."

He shoved his face into yours, and you could feel his feverish breath.  You lifted your unbelieving face towards the ceiling, tears suddenly trailing down into your temples with the emphatic shake of your head.  No, you thought, you hadn’t done this.  This was one of Ren’s manipulations, a ploy to get you to concede you should be punished for his failing in battle, that your very existence somehow distracted him from a world away.

You jerked against the tight lashes at your wrists and tried to stand.  If he wanted to take his ire out on you, you would endure it, but it wasn’t your fucking fault, and you weren’t going to accept his blame. 

“Is this why they sent you here? Infect the First Order from the inside and wound me before I ever set foot outside my ship?”

His voice faltered in its ire, and he stood, tearing bits of his own ceiling away, baring a beam that could be wrenched apart and manipulated into a hook. Absent his attention for the moment, you were trying to push against the polished floor to scoot your chair away, but you couldn’t gain enough purchase on the overly-polished tiles.  He turned his eyes back to you and halted your plan with a malicious look.  

A tight grip into the cloak tore it away from your body, and you jumped, flooded with mortification at everything that had been done to you today.  Your body flushed from ears to toes, and every inch of you tightened under his perusal. You pressed your knees and thighs together, hoping to hide the melting of your insides, but your breasts swelled high and tight, sore and starving for attention.

He stepped behind you and untied your arms, the rope sliding against each groove left in the sore skin until you hissed.  Circling, Ren planted his boot upon your pelvis, forcing your thighs apart and pressing down into your pussy. You grunted and contracted under the weight.  

Flustered by his nearness and your body’s response, you pushed at his knee, twisting beneath him, only for him to capture both of your hands and re-bind them.  In seconds, you were hauled onto injured feet and hung from the new metal hook in the center of Ren’s chambers, toes barely sweeping the floor.

Eyes glazed and head tipped back, you grappled with self-control, your body familiar with this pose, this swirl of anticipation and dread.  You forced your chest into a pattern of deep breathing, preparing for what came next. You knew, too well, there was nothing you could tell him to satisfy his paranoia. He would take his proof, his retribution, from your flesh.

When Ren next stepped into your line of sight, he was wearing only loose trousers, all hard form and vigor, having abandoned anything else that could impede his destructive impulses.  Charcoal tresses framed his pale face like a halo, and the tape splitting the skin only amplified the sculpt of his nose and brow. 

He was wide, hulking, long, and lean, a gorgeous, gruesome monster. You drank him in openly, brazenly, knowing that this might be the last time you were offered the option.

You could all but smell it in the room, hanging in the air like heavy spice.  Kylo Ren was about to lose himself to his sinister desires. The Child God was coming to demand your invocation, your absolute worship.

Drawing in a steadying breath, you met his assessment head on, watching as his dark, angry stare travelled over every inch of you and flushing crimson in its wake. He grazed the backs of his fingers down your arm, over the tight tip of one breast, across the soft swell of your belly.  Holding your stare, he slid his wide hand between your thighs and cupped your newly-shaven sex. You were convinced he could feel the clutch of your pelvic muscles, but you dared not look away.

His nostrils flared, and he drew in a shaky breath, fighting to maintain his discipline.  He didn’t look away, fixing his eyes upon your parted lips, and your insides smoldered, dripping down onto his fingers.  

His upper lip curled, and he leaned in, his face hardly a breath away. You desperately wanted to hear his voice, knowing full well it would only be a threat, a promise of the persecution to come.

“Today is the day you break.”

He all but whispered it in your ear, and a bolt of terror shot fissures through your calm veneer.  Kylo Ren had never lied to you, and your guts twisted with that absolute fact. You tried to wiggle away, but only swayed in your bondage. You tugged and tore at the column of rope lashing your wrists, desperately attempting to yank down the bit of rebar he’d hung you from.  

Futile; all of it was completely futile.  

Abruptly, Ren sank to his knees, and you gaped, confounded and mesmerized by the sight of him there.  He was exquisite, and he looked up at you with such a hunger it stole your breath.  

His fingertips skimmed up the calf of your right leg, and you shuddered, skin raising in gooseflesh, shocked he was capable of such a soft touch.  You watched as he lifted your leg and pressed his mouth to the inside of your knee, inhaling the scent of you and trailing his lips in until they lingered at the inside of your thigh.

You couldn’t think, couldn’t process. Kylo Ren was kneeling before you, his face inches from your hot, leaking core, and you could do nothing but watch in abject horror.  

No part of you thought what came next would be pleasant, but your body still hoped for it, yearned for him to bury that angelic face between your legs and suck the life from your body.  

Your breath hitched as he bent your knee over his shoulder, shame diffusing your body a new shade of pathetic as a long bead of arousal dropped onto the floor.  His lips parted, hot breath dancing; and suddenly, your instinct kicked in, and you knew what was about to happen.  

Ren’s mouth opened wide, and he sunk into the vulnerable flesh of your inner thigh, all teeth and jaw.  You had to look away, it was too tantalizing, the sight of his dark crown latched onto your body tempted you to wicked thoughts, and you shook. 

Tipping your head back, you wailed, gruff and warbled, as he chewed on your trembling leg.  You could feel the pulse of your heartbeat amplified by his dental perimeter and him lathing his tongue across it before spreading his jaw wider to suck in more of your battered flesh. Tears that would only fall at his bidding rose, and you thought he would absolutely tear the offending chunk from your body.

When he finally pulled back, you ripped your leg away, barely suppressing the urge to kick at his shoulder.  Heaving, you hung from the ceiling, a bruised and battered tapestry to decorate his otherwise drab surroundings. 

A troubling haze slipped over you and settled, familiar and scandalizing; your body burned for him, blossomed beneath his brutality as though you were created for it.  You turned your face into your arm, hiding the scarlet flush as a new surge of your arousal perfumed the air.

“One more, girl.”

Nononono.

Shocked back into awareness, you shook your head, looking down at him through a watery lens.  Your mind was screaming, straining to comprehend. This wasn’t even the planned torture. Your face darkened, brow knit, as you realized that you were still making up for yesterday’s escape.

He knelt there, silent and watching you, waiting for the comprehension to spread across your face and stroking the mark he’d just left on your thigh with his thumb.  Concentrating on his features, you realized you couldn’t feel his touch. The area was so lost to numb throbbing that you couldn’t pick out the slide of his flesh, and you lamented the loss.  

Biting down on your tongue, you looked up at the ceiling, gripping the pieces of rope you could get to tightly, bracing yourself for the next punishing bite. There was no escape, only endurance.

He tugged your left leg into position, and you squeezed his shoulder tight, unable to stop yourself from trying to change his course, to beg out a few more seconds before the unthinkable happened.  As with your arms, knowing what was coming made it worse, and you tried to use the leverage of his shoulder to lift up, push away, anything to prevent him from claiming the skin with his vampire kiss.  

Impatient, Ren captured your body in both hands, sliding one to the outside of your thigh and gripping tight.  The other ventured between your legs, and he nudged his thumb into the searing wet of your slit, crooking it in.  He splayed large fingers over your ass, pushing your body forwards.

Your brain stuttered, discerning that he’d hooked his thumb into your pussy to hold you the same way he often hooked it into your mouth. Your reaction to this obscene restraint was immediate, consuming.  You whimpered and gulped in air, open-mouthed and laboring. You were suspended in this building vortex, both electrified and gutted.

The storm was coming, but you were already soaked to the bone.

The ferocious bite rocked you to your core; it was violently intimate and shockingly effective.  You wailed, knee squeezing his shoulder tight, body fighting to decide whether to draw him in or kick him away.  You were entirely untethered and floating, lusty and lost to all else but what was happening at your legs. His relentless teeth pulled at your skin, tugging it taut.  You could feel his growl when the skin tore, offering up pinpricks of blood to appease his appetite.  

The sum of your existence was reduced to the parts of your body under Ren’s assault, thumping and pulsing with what could only be his heartbeat.  Yours was lost, silenced with all the rest of the world.

In suffering...

You heard the loud snarl as he wrenched back from your leg and shot to his feet, but it was far away.  He wrapped angry, tense fingers around your throat and squeezed, his stare bitter and demanding, but you were on the way to gone.  

Four days of build-up, four days of unsatisfied lust and anticipation of violence had tipped you into flight, and you blinked up at him dazedly, drifting to where he could not reach, wholly apart from your body and tucked far down deep into your mind, where the darkness was your savior.

There is… 

“You haven’t suffered nearly enough yet, puppet.”

Trading one slit for another, he hooked his thumb, tart with your taste, back into your teeth and jerked your head forward.  He slid long, thick fingers against your tongue and into the back of your mouth until your body wretched and heaved of its own volition. You spat onto the floor on a pained wheeze, and he dropped his hand to your chest.  Pushing on your back to arch you up, Ren ground punitive knuckles into your sternum until you cried out and thrashed, your mouth impotently begging him to stop.

When he was satisfied that you were here and present, Ren snatched your chin into a harsh grip, forcing you to look at him, groggy and shivering but aware.

“You’re staying right fucking here.”

The venom in his voice stoked your panic, but there was no place to hide. Your body throbbed from chest to heels, every inch of you bearing Ren’s stamp of ownership.  

Shaking away the last of the reverie, you drew in a fortifying breath, closing your eyes to concentrate on rebuilding your dark wall, separating what he wanted from what you needed.

His large fingers stretched across your cheeks, squeezing and pressing in until your teeth parted; he shook your head until your eyes opened and pinned you with his stare, shooting daggers when your eyes strayed to the surgical tape.

“This body is mine,” his voice was steady, quieter than before but full of sharp edges, rattling you.

Your lips quivered, but you couldn’t respond.  Every inch of you was at war, and it played across your ruddy face. You wanted to be near him, to have his callous hands on your body.  And you wanted to be away from him, to be free of men who would use and abuse you.  

He would never understand, you reasoned; and further, he would never care. 

The little black case he’d brought in flew into Ren’s outstretched hand, and he produced a single, silver scalpel. Your eyes flitted to its curved tip and narrowed, dulled, too acquainted with what came next.  Closing off, you slumped against the rope, abandoning all desire to feel, to be here, to struggle.  

You should have known better; no man wants an object that fights back.  You’d given him more credit than he deserved; there was nothing new here.

You had thought that Kylo Ren was unique, his ability to ignite you different, unexpected, and unnerving, but he was just a man, exactly the same as all the rest.

“You’re disappointed,” his voice slid over you, caustic, surprised.

He tucked the very tip of the blade into your chin and forced your face up, looking down at you with dark scrutiny.  You didn’t look away, but you also didn’t give him the fear he wanted. You couldn’t; he had played his hand, and you’d already survived 100 scalpels.  

Lifting the blade tip from your chin, he wiped the drop of blood against the swell of your lower lip, washing it red. He studied your face, leaned back to further inspect your body. You saw it in his eyes, the moment his decision solidified in his mind.

“You remember who gave you every one of these scars, don’t you? Every moment?”

He knew that you did; this was just another manipulation, a calculated move to draw you out. Ren’s warm hand stroked the largest scar at your thigh, the battle-tough pads dragging. It was a gentle touch, meant to stir you back into responsiveness, but you had nothing else to give him.  You looked away, not wanting to see his beautiful, bitter, frustrating face.

“Who gave you this one?”

His voice was low, nearly a whisper as he brushed the puckered skin at the front of your thigh, fingers tracing the edges.  You jerked your chin away, eyes pinching tight shut, your brain overrun with the image of Santcha and his hunting knife, the first time he’d hobbled you for displeasing a customer.  You spent every day and night fighting to keep the images from bubbling over, and Ren was now dredging it all back up.

“Look at me,” he crooned, clearly aware you'd remembered, exactly as he wished.

Grimacing, ready for him to get the fuck on with it, you lifted your eyes to his just as his scalpel broke skin at the bottom of the scar.

Your lips curled on a curse, but you were unable to move lest you do greater damage yourself. He held your leg in place and opened the scar from knee to thigh, retracing the path of the original wound. You felt the viscous heat well up, bulge out, and spill over to slowly trickle down your leg. 

He captured your face, smudging blood onto your chin, and growled out the word.

“Mine.”

You suppressed a shudder and chewed the inside of your cheek, dark lashes sweeping down against mottled cheeks. You were certain it would be weeks before you could walk properly again, so fixated was Ren upon your thighs.  

In the next breath, bloody fingers pushed past your lips and flattened your tongue, catapulting you into a sputtering cough. Jerking your head back, you shot an angry look at your tormentor, gnashing your red-stained teeth.

“You fucking look,” he snarled, pressing his thumb into the freshly-made wound until you whimpered and twisted.

Gasping as his grip loosened, you fixed your eyes on his ebony nimbus, tracking individual curls and waves to blot out the idea that perhaps you’d been wrong.  Ren wasn’t intent upon making new scars, contriving some nonsense excuse for hurting you. He was hurting you because he wanted to, because he delighted in watching you suffer; and he was doing it in exactly the way he had been since you arrived. 

He was using your body against you, corrupting what was already there and claiming it for himself.

At your back, he traced the most prominent scar jutting along your shoulder blade with his fingers, drawing your mind to conjure its origin. You didn't want to think of the time Santcha had stabbed you with a piece of twisted metal, but you were unable to force down the memory. 

Burning tears raced down your cheeks, emulating the blood that now ran down your back, Ren’s blade having claimed a new patch of your skin.

The terror you’d lost came trickling back in.  You were covered in scars, head to toe; and if he meant to cut each and every one open, you certainly would not survive the endeavor.  

Your chest seized, and you had to fight to breathe, panic rising up into your mouth, swelling your tongue.  His hand settled on the ripe curve of your hip, his touch somehow steadying, galvanizing, and you realized you were also brimming with something unknown, unnamed.

Who better to offer this bloody supplication to than Ren?

You quaked with the internal conflict, wanting him to stop this pain, this pointless exercise, and wanting him to free you from the burden of your past. He would never make you clean, but he could wash away the memory of every man before him by spilling every drop of your blood on his shining floor.  If you died here, at his hand, you would be free of them, free of him.

Suddenly, the argument you’d been having over whether or not it was cowardly to die in this captivity was ended.  If Kylo Ren wanted to snuff out your life by obscuring every person you’d ever known, every painful moment of your life, you would willingly let him do it.

Your Child God demanded a sacrifice, and you would answer that demand.

“Child God,” he mused, lips at your ear, “Is that what you see?”

Sternly, you shook him from your head, determined to die just as you’d lived for so long, alone with yourself.  

As though he felt your wall go back up, Ren picked up his pace, slicing all of the scars along your upper arm open one after another.  He didn’t care who gave them to you now, only that he would annex every single one into his bloody kingdom. You wept, feeling that every new cut, every new gash inched you towards the divine, the unknowable.

Sluices of claret life ran down your arms, legs, back, dropping onto the floor with a tick tick tick.  He brushed his hands through it, caressing the sticky curves of your body. He nudged the tip of his nose into it, inhaling the rich scent and groaning in return.

When you could bring yourself to look,  you gaped at the ravenous look rolling across his features. He looked to be starving, long-parched and empty, and your offering, your pliant suffering was the only thing to satisfy his famine.

Reaching up, he pressed the whole of his blood-stained hand at your face, the stick of his palm settling over your lips. You shuddered, the heady iron scent overpowering your senses.  Choking on a sob, you arched up, pressing your face against the demanding cover with a groan, remembering how he liked to feel the vibration of your lips.  

You were drunk on his brutality, his absolute ownership, a delirious fog settling over you, and you nodded against his palm.

Yes, keep going...

An appreciative sound rumbled in his chest, and you opened glassy eyes to stare at him.  His scalpel and fingers were covered in your blood, and you watched them lift up to the delicate flesh of your inner arms and carve open each indentation he found, first right and then left.  You moaned and shook, a wave of heat surged through you from toes to eyelashes, and you yearned for it.

Please...

Ren was meticulous. He and his demanding lancet searched out every crater, every scratch that had ever been made upon your body and reclaimed them, anointed them with his will.  

Your blood pooled on the overly-polished floor, crimson and slate blending together to make raven puddles through which he trudged, leaving inky footprints wherever he stepped. 

He made your body holy, carving out every sin done upon you until there was only him.

Kneeling, he brushed away crimson trails to uncover the large scar at your abdomen, and you jerked awkwardly, a modicum of strength rising and making you suddenly alert and fearful.  You couldn’t give him that, couldn’t have him know that, and you tried to twist away. 

No, please no...

He demanded that you look again, but his voice was muffled, far away, and you blinked slow and heavy, trying to focus as he expected.  His thumb brushed the distorted, puckered scar, and the memory of your Master plunging the hot knife into your young belly, purposefully ending any chance you would ever have at bearing fruit, sprang to your mind.

The world stilled, and you watched Ren blink at your middle for a moment, as though he were startled by it. You thought that he was the most beautiful you’d ever seen him, kneeling in and covered by your blood, weapon in hand, ready to obliterate you.

Turning your face into your bloody arm, you bit down upon the abused skin, flooding your mouth with liquid iron, just as the blade stabbed into the corner of the first and most difficult of your punishments.

You concentrated on the track Ren’s blade took, searing the picture of him on his knees before you into your mind, imagining that, in another universe, you would lay your hand upon that scar and think of him and not what was taken from you.  

You screamed into your arm, wailing in utter anguish until you could only heave for breath. Your head fell back, and you sagged in the bonds, struggling to remain conscious in the face of such overwhelming torment, feeling, and blood loss.

Why did you...No god wants a broken thing… 

You hadn’t noticed that he stood, nor had you felt that he was pushed up against you, flush against your gory mess. His strong hand slid into your hair, cradling your scalp into his rigid grip.  Ren lifted your head and nudged your dirty chin with his nose. His dark eyes searched you over, barely clinging to reality and so far down the deep cavern of yourself.

“Look.”

He commanded softly, almost reverently, and you struggled to comply, letting the weight of your head fall to him completely to support. You had no strength left to obey bodily, but you did manage to open your heavy, heavy eyelids and look at him. The pleased sound you were rewarded with vibrated against your breast and bolstered your desire to stay here in this moment, to wallow in this depravity a little longer.

You marveled at him, at the way such torture ignited him.  His eyes burned charcoal black, and his cheeks were flushed, sweat prickling his hairline.  He was brushed and spattered with your blood, and it was stark against his white skin, as though you’d bled upon priceless marble. He nudged your chin again, cupping one large hand around your backside and tucking the length of your body into his.

“One more,” he murmured, eyes falling to the stretch of marked skin at your throat.

You swallowed on reflex, but you were too far gone to tremble, to be afraid. This was the moment, you thought.  

Yes, you offered, slit my throat, end all of this.  

Yes, you begged the unknown, make all of this go away, spill my traitor blood and let me slide into the void.

You pictured Ren cleaving open your throat from ear to ear and wondered if he would finally be satisfied.

Staggeringly, you could still feel the scalpel, feel it rest at the juncture of the two slash marks stretching over your larynx. You pictured Santcha holding you down, staring at you with hate-filled eyes and spitting into the gaping hole he’d just left at your throat. 

Your lower lip trembled anew, curled up with emotional upheaval, and you breathed out a tremulous breath, somehow grateful you were going to die at this madman’s hand instead of anyone else’s.

The sharp edge pierced your skin, and you broke, just as he said you would, wracked with sobs that reverberated as little more than raspy hiccups.  Every single moment, from that day to this, had been excruciating, exhausting. You had learned to survive, to endure, but every single day had been so interminably hard.  

And here was the end, you thought, and you were relieved, eager.

You howled your pain, heartbreak, and anger out into the air, abandoning all desire to be strong, to hold back.  You were about to expire, and this was your death rattle, this expulsion of everything you’d been forced to swallow down.  You gave it all back to the universe.

Accepting your fate, inviting it, the last vestiges of your fortitude bled away, rolling down your body in thick droplets, mingling with sweat and tears.  You had been rendered, completely, a dirty, crippled, pathetic wretch of a thing.

Kylo Ren had annihilated you, and you were grateful to him for it.

Wrecked, you collapsed, hanging limp and nearly lifeless from Ren's rafters.  You skirted the edge of unconsciousness, vacillating between light and dark, sound and silence.  Your body, your spirit, was ready to let go, but Kylo Ren, it seemed, was not ready to allow it. 

Tossing the scalpel to one side, Ren wrapped both hands around your hips and lifted you into his body. He curled your legs around his waist and instructed you to hold on, repeating himself until you registered it and squeezed, slowly hooking your feet together behind him. Standing on his toes, he lifted your bound hands from the bar and draped your bloody arms around his neck, bearing the slump of your weight against his chest.

The feel of the bed at your back was both wonderful and disastrous.  Your exhausted, aching body wanted to sink into the mattress forever, but your traumatized, flayed skin didn’t want to touch another thing ever again.  You grimaced and grunted softly, displeased by all of the jostling but unable to do anything about it.  

You felt Ren’s fingers at your cheek, smudging already bloody skin with new streaks, and you wondered if he would burn your body, hold you a funeral, or just toss you into the compactor.

“Come back here, puppet.”

The feel of his hard knuckles on your sternum again pinched your face into a crumple, and you choked on a breath, recently mobile hands coming up to clutch at his wrist, trying to push him away.  You huffed, panting and wheezing until you realized he was knelt between your thighs, looming over you and blotting out everything else.

I’m here. Fuck, I’m here...

You pushed at his hands again, not recognizing that you were throwing your thoughts out for him to catch, or how his eyes flashed something dark, demanding. You looked up at him and watched as he licked his lower lip, smearing red into pink.  

He reached for the rope still binding your wrists together and slowly lifted them over your head.  Your heart rate kicked up, lips parting on a shiver.

Ren shifted so that he was lying beside you, one hand stretching the rope high over your head, taking note as each movement of your body spurred a cut into a new line of angry red.  His eyes raked over you hungrily, and you pressed your legs together tight, willing yourself not to undulate or beg for more of his touch.

His hand came down at your chest, fingers pressing into a gash just beneath the collarbone until it produced a new offering For him, and you hissed, squinting in an attempt to process the sting.  

Scooping up the viscous reward, Ren dropped his hand to your breast, brushing bloody fingertips across your nipple, lubricating the hardening tip so it rolled and slid between his fingers.  You gasped and arched upwards, abandoning your decision to not do exactly that, and pressed further into his touch.

“You do suffer beautifully, puppet.”

His voice was nearly tender, and you stilled at this new name.  He had said it before, but you had been too enthralled to notice.

Again, he pushed down on your weeping laceration and gathered up the thick fluid. Lifting two fingers to your mouth, he slid them past your chapped lips, feeding you the very blood from your veins.  Your hips did rock for him this time, your eyes rolled back into your head, and your tongue curled around his fingers ardently, mouth reverberating on a moan. 

Stealing his fingers from your mouth with a wet pop, Ren dipped his head and licked at your lips, drawing a lewd whimper and a jerk against your restraints that you didn’t get more than that.  He practically purred at your display and brushed your nose with his. 

It didn’t occur to you that he was distracting you until you felt the fingers that had just been in your mouth push into the gaping wound at your thigh.

It was sinful, vulgar, and you shook with the realization that he was stroking the wound slowly, up from the bottom, the way you imagined he would stroke your pussy. You surged forward into a shameless arc, straining to be nearer to Ren’s chest, his face, anything that was right fucking there but so far way.

Please…

The growl rumbled in his chest, and your hips danced for it, punching down into the mattress to create a perfect cradle for his body, his hand. His strokes became more insistent, fingers pushing into the wound’s edges, and you grimaced and twisted, imagining the way his fingers looked dipping down into your blood. 

He had done nothing but torture you since he’d returned to this room, and you were practically coming undone beneath him, the exquisite agony of it all inching you nearer and nearer an orgasm you were certain would eviscerate you, empty you of everything but Ren’s perilous legacy.

Each brush and push of his fingers loosed a new surge of blood, until you were sure his whole massive hand was covered.  He was watching you shake, your eyes wide as you descended down into this frenzy with him.  

He leaned down to your ear at the same moment his bloody fingers pushed between your swollen labia, sliding into your aching cunt with no resistance at all, slick from your debauched need and the blood he’d fucked from your thigh.

“Cum for me, puppet. Now.”

Shot into the heavens, there was nothing for you to do but obey on a cracked, scratchy wail. Hot sparks sizzled across your brain, and your body spasmed, clenching impossibly tight around his thick, pumping fingers. Battered thighs spread apart, the neglected chasm of your pussy opening wide for his command, and you quaked in deference to his order. Your hips rode that manic wave, circling and bucking until the tempest crested, leaving you to stunted tremors and spotty vision. 

You slumped against the mattress, debased and exhausted.  Tears burned your eyes, and you shook your head, positive you couldn’t endure any more.  Ren’s fingers slid from your core, and he fed them to you again, coated with your slick and gore, the pungent, coppery taste sliding along your tongue. 

He tucked a finger beneath your chin, lifting your face and gaze to him, and waited, still and patient, until your throat worked and you swallowed. You burned with humiliation and lusty abandon, wondering if there were no limits to which this man could push you.

You blinked at him, eyes crinkling, concern blossoming. You couldn’t really see him clearly anymore, the details blurring to just a shadow, a figure hovering over you.

You were fading fast to darkness.  Part of you wondered if this would truly be death this time, if Ren would actually let you go.

“No. You are mine."

His voice, his claim, was the last concrete thing you registered, and you nodded your agreement, let loose a satisfied sigh, and slipped into oblivion.

#kylo ren smut #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren imagine #kylo x reader #kylo ren #kylo ren x you #kylo x you #puer deus

[masosade]

Maso’s Escape

Warnings: Contains mentions of torture, lots of blood, mentions of vomit and, obviously, violence

x-x

"Rise and shine! It's another beautiful day to get tortured, you useless bag of shit~" Alice sang as she entered into the dark, musty chamber, which smelled worse every time, she felt.

Unlike her prisoner, she was refreshed and well rested after a peaceful night in cuddling with her sweetheart. It was the first day back in the Grimdark Office after her stay ('VACATION' as Birch insisted stubbornly) at Morayne's Office, which sat quiet and undisturbed most of the time and Alice was ready to return back to business, to start anew with fresh motivation, and that meant taking out the trash first.

She kicked the limp form sitting in its chair to wake it. Its four arms were shackled to the tattered armrests and its feet, bare and bruised despite not having moved in the last months, were bound tightly to the chair's legs.

The figure reacted slowly, first flexing its hands and then lifting its head up at her, like it had just been woken from a nap. Which it wasnt — Alice had made sure Maso had been unable to sleep ever since she caught him.

Sure she could’ve just let Melissa torment him with his own personal nightmares, but nothing felt quite as bad as not being able to sleep. For months.

Any sane human would’ve broken down at that alone. But Alice prided herself in creativity when it came to cruelty, so depriving Maso of his sleep was just one in many tactics she used to utterly break his spirit.

She grabbed a handful of Maso's hair and yanked it back, forcing him to squint up at her.

"Didnt you hear my greeting?" She sneered. "It’s only polite to return it."

His eyes were unfocused, confused, bloodshot. Dark rings circled his lids both where his eyes were and where he used to have an extra pair, which had been self inflicted mutilation. He was a sad, mismatched mutation of two Stanleys brutally fused together under the name of science, and now this pitiful body only housed a broken soul. He was doomed to die alone in misery and Alice couldnt be more pleased.

Pleased because, no matter what he endured, she had suffered far worse at the hands of the god he sacrificed her to back in spring. No matter how he hurt, he had inflicted more pain on both her and her loved one. There was no room for sympathy in Alice’s eyes.

Maso’s gaze finally focused and instead of the look of fear Alice was expected, he simply grinned. It stretched slowly from one side to another, like syrup pooling reluctantly out of its glass.

"Heyyy," he croaked hoarsely. By now his vocal chords had endured torment of its own with his screams and incessant rambles followed by weeks of silence. It was awful to listen to, he sounded like rusty hinges grating on sand.

Alice's glee disappeared and she dropped his head, wiping her hand on her dress in disgust.

"What are you smiling at?" She snapped.

"Eevvvery time I look at you," Maso began, but stopped. He straightened up and flexed his hands again.

"...every time, I think about how funny it was to watch you get your ass kicked by Cipher." He finished, grinning. Impishly. A sure fire way to get Alice pissed and she would’ve smacked him across the mouth earlier, but something had distracted her.

"Whats wrong with your hand?"

"Aww, dont you remember? You cut off four of my fingers last month."

"Yes. Last month.” Alice took one of Maso's hands and pulled it up to examine it closer.

Maso's smile widened, but she didnt notice.

"It’s bleeding. It hasnt scabbed or infected or even healed in any way." The blood oozing out of the dismemembered digits wasn’t black or tainted, it didn’t even smell bad. Even if he had simply rubbing his wounds against the chair to keep it from healing, it would’ve been infected by now, surely changed into a sickly dark brown or worse, pulpy with pus.

Alice looked down and noticed a giant puddle of dark liquid pooling at their feet, soaking into her boots and what remained of Maso’s shredded clothes.

'The blood would explain why its so wet in here but...'

"But thats impossible."

The smile had changed into a big, shit eating smirk.

“If you’ve been bleeding since last month, then that would mean you wouldnt have any blood left by now. You would be a fucking husk, or dead, or—”

Alice stopped. She stared at the hand she was holding up to her face and realized with an onsetting dread that she shouldnt be able to hold his hand this high if it was shackled...to...the...chair.

Maso brought his knee up and kicked her in the stomach. She dropped his hand and stumbled, doubling over in pain. If she had anything in her stomach, she would've lost it but nothing came out as she retched and gasped for breath.

"Oohhh yesss," Maso sang, his voice suddenly a lot stronger and less hoarse than he made it out to be. He got up from his chair and stretched leisurely while Alice heaved at his feet.

"You have no idea how long I've been wanting to do that. Oh, that felt so good!"

Alice turned her head up to look at him and regretted it instantly when he kneed her in the face. A loud cra-ack filled the room and she cried out in surprise and pain as bone shattered.

Maso cackled with utter glee while Alice cradled her broken nose, blood streaming down her face and dripping onto her dress.

"Man, you don't know how often I've fantasized about beating you to a bloody pulp! I thought ol' Jonny was cruel but you give that word a whooole 'nother meaning!" He grabbed her by the hair like she had done earlier and yanked her head up.

"You know, if I were as evil as you, I would drag you the chair and do a little repeat of aaall my memorable sessions," He grinned. "Show you just how well I paid attention to your lessons. That's what they were, weren't they? Lessons to teach the bad boy how wrong he was~"

Alice spat a mouthful of blood at his feet. "Y-you couldn't-" She rasped. "They would find out- you wont get away w-with this--"

"Wanna bet?"

He leaned close and Alice flinched, expecting another hit. But he didn't strike her again, at least not the way she expected.

“Maaybe if they’re distracted..”

Maso smeared his bleeding hand across Alice's face, mixing it with her own. He laughed at her disgusted expression and let go of her hair, letting her crumble down onto the floor, right into the old pool of blood. From up close she realized she had been mistaken. It wasn't blood, or not just blood. She was sitting in water, water ran from the ceilings, from the walls...from Maso's pores.

It churned with unseen forces and the ground seemed to give way underneath her, pulling her down through the opening doorway.

"Calypso says hi," Maso purred.

Alice scrambled for halt, but her arms felt heavy and her mind was filled with paralyzing dread. It felt like it had in her time out in the Void, where she was trapped with the Creature that whispered the most awful things known to the Universe into her thoughts, filling her with despair undescribable for words.

It was coming back to get her, She lay dormant in the depths of the waters now threatening to swallow Alice whole.

The sheer panic couldn't move Alice's muscles as she pleaded for something to give her halt and keep her from sinking back into Calypso's grasp.

Maso smirked and tipped an imaginary hat at her.

"See you later...ooor maybe, see you never again! I wish you endless sufferings in your path~" He taunted and sauntered out of the door, once again leaving her to die at the hands of Calypso.

She tried to scream for help, but found her throat strung shut by the suffocating fear now coursing through her veins.

She was waiting, eagerly and there was nothing Alice could do to break free and save herself from drowning-

Just as her head dipped underneath the surface, something yanked her back, hard to knock what little air she had left out completely.

Alice hacked and coughed, trying to refill her lungs desperately. Still blind in panic, she crawled away from the hole where the water licked at her ankles, ready to drag her back in. But something had changed and only when she had collapsed, shivering, in the corner, did she realize what happened.

The necklace, the one she had made for herself and Melissa only hours prior had warmed up. The blood red gem was glowing, creating a barrier of warmth around Alice as she shivered, knees drawn to her chest. The portal seemed to hiss sinisterly but the tides couldnt reach Alice past the protective bubble and so it retreated, reluctantly, slowly, making sure Alice knew that it was going to try again, and more viciously than before.

Alice watched it retreat, not daring to blink before it had vanished completely. Only once it was gone for good, did she ease. Dizziness replaced the terror she had felt mere seconds earlier and she was just able to call for help before she collapsed, this time unconscious, onto the dirty floor.

#x drabbles #x dont leave me here alone #long post

[luckyspike]

Do I Have To (Cry For You) - A Good Omens Fanfiction

So there’s this Nick Carter song I was listening to while I was mowing the grass and I caught a case of feelings from it so instead of pulling weeds or doing anything moderately useful like laundry i wrote this story instead

in which crowley and aziraphale finally fucking talk about their stupid feelings for each other

it’s soft af

they dont bone down sorry

(link to AO3 if you prefer to read there)

-

The angels - one of which was Fallen, but who’s counting - dined at the Ritz, and a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square. And then, after one angel (not Fallen) consumed the entirety of two entrees and one heavenly dessert, the pair walked to Soho, elbows brushing the whole way, shoulder-to-shoulder, warm and soft and mellow, conversation washing over them and topics changing like currents in a stream. They walked with practiced ease to a bookshop, where they stopped, and looked up at the illuminated sign.

“Just like it always was,” Aziraphale sighed fondly, his voice thick with … something, love and joy and sadness, and a sappy little smile on his mouth.

Crowley snorted. “Some of the books are a bit newer, I think, but you’ll sort that out soon enough.”

Aziraphale didn’t look over, although he twitched a little. “Oh? What a surprise. Perhaps, ah … well, you were here this morning, so perhaps you could show me?”

“What, and spoil your fun?” You go too fast for me, Crowley. “Nah, I’m beat anyway. Think I’ll head back to Mayfair, sleep for a week or two.”

The angel’s smile faded, and his lips pressed to a thin line. “I do have a few bottles of quite nice wine. We could work on them. I’ve been saving them for a special occasion, and I can’t much think of one more special than averting armageddon.” He did look over now, cautious. “Go on, have a few glasses and we’ll sort through the new books. They’ll have to be re-shelved.”

Crowley might have whined. Something inside him did, anyway. Yes, it whined. Yes, have a glass and sleep on his couch and -

You go too fast for me, Crowley.

“Wouldn’t like to impose,” he said instead.

“I’m inviting you in.”

“I’m really tired, angel.”

“Then sleep on the couch.” Aziraphale was getting annoyed now, brow furrowed, well on his way to frowning with disapproval. “Come in, Crowley.”

Crowley turned to him then, scowling. “Bit much for one night, don’t you think, Aziraphale?”

That stopped things faster than Crowley’s work at the airfield the day prior. Aziraphale blinked, and put his head to one side. “I - what? What do you mean a bit much?”

Crowley groaned, and pushed his sunglasses up, the better to rub his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Save the world, dinner at the Ritz, drinks at your place, crash on your couch, eh? I’m not blind*!” He dropped his hands, but his glasses stayed pushed up, mussing his already-messy hair. “Give up with the tempting, Aziraphale. We switched back eight hours ago.”

[* Although, taken literally, this was somewhat of a lie. Fortunately, Crowley was not intending to be taken literally, and although not 20/20, his metaphorical vision was considerably better than his literal 20/200.]

“Tempting?” Aziraphale sputtered for a minute. “Crowley, I - my dear boy, that is to say … Crowley, this is hardly anything new!”

“Not all at once! Aziraphale, listen, we’ve done a lot in the last day or two, and - and I thought I lost you and then I didn’t, but now you’re back and -” Oh no, he thought, I can’t stop talking, and even as he thought it the spirit of something - possibly God, or possibly 6000 years of repressed affection, but who knows - seized his tongue and pressed on, “- and I didn’t lose you and I can’t do it again, angel, don’t make me step away again.”

“Step away?” Aziraphale gestured emphatically to the doors of the bookshop, dramatic and annoyed and now a little angry. “I’m literally asking you to step inside!”

Crowley opened his mouth. Gestured weakly to the door. And then it came out, blurted and desperate and exhausted, “It just seems a bit fast, doesn’t it?”

Aziraphale froze. Then, slowly, he lowered his hands to his side. He took a breath, chest rising and falling deliberately. “Anthony Crowley,” he said quietly, calmly, “please go into the bookshop.” He looked to the demon, expression firm and brooking no argument. “I think we need to have a conversation.”

Crowley went inside.

“1967,” Aziraphale said, as soon as the doors closed behind them. “You’re talking about 1967.”

Crowley turned to face him, hands in his pockets, eyes downcast behind the glasses. “Yup,” he replied, with no small degree of misery.

The angel shook his head. “Oh, Crowley. Now, shut up for this part, because I’m going to say some things you’re going to hate, but I do rather think you’ll like it at the end bit.”

“Uh?” Crowley looked up, brows knit, concern etched on every line on his face, and then a little alarm, when Aziraphale grabbed his shoulders. “Uh!”

“You idiotic, oblivious, considerate, soft, patient, infernal creature,” Aziraphale snapped, shaking Crowley a little with every adjective. “You’ve been standing on the brakes since 1967?”

“Yeah,” Crowley said, a little weakly, wondering when Aziraphale would get to the part he’d like. So far it wasn’t looking good.

“And you didn’t think my feelings toward you would change?”

Crowley frowned. “You did refuse to run away to Alpha Centauri when -”

“Because Alpha Centauri isn’t Earth!” He swept a hand around himself. “Crowley, yesterday I thought - well, I thought that we didn’t have to change. I thought we could avert the war and go back to being a fairly incompetent angel and demon, and I figured at some point I would probably tell you that -” and now it was Aziraphale that was floundering, his tongue running away with the conversation with very little input from his brain but quite a lot from his soul, “that, that Crowley, demon and angel or angel and Fallen angel or however you want to look at it, I figured at some point I would - I would tell you that … that I really quite like you.” He took a breath, and then scowled. “Oh, sod it, that’s not very accurate, is it? I love you, Crowley, I do, and at this point it’s ridiculous to pretend otherwise.”

“Love?” Crowley repeated, faintly, painfully conscious of Aziraphale’s hand on his shoulder. “You …” He gestured between them, vaguely, and trailed off.

“Yes. Yes, Crowley, I love you and at this point it’s ridiculous to feel afraid that if anyone knows about it it’ll get messed about,” he said bitterly. “That was the fear, all along, wasn’t it? And that created the problem. I didn’t want things to change, so I couldn’t change. If I just pushed back hard enough, I thought, nothing would change, at least not soon, and maybe eventually I would tell you how I felt.” He sighed. “I’ve been rather a misery to be around, I’m afraid."

“Never,” Crowley said, completely genuine. “When, er … how?”

“The eighties,” Aziraphale groaned. “Oh, thirty years, Crowley. But I thought, no, the less said the better, if you don’t change anything nothing will mess it up, you won’t get in trouble. But then the world was supposed to end and blast it all rather than admit how I felt to you and help you, I decided to double down on being distant and try to prevent Armageddon with sheer stubbornness, just so I wouldn’t ruin everything before I had the chance to let you know.” He let his head fall back, eyes closed, another groan of frustration and hurt rushing out. “It was all rather beastly of me.”

“A bit, yeah,” Crowley agreed. “Sorry. The eighties? Was it that day down in Blackpool?”

“I am sorry,” Aziraphale said, softly, letting his hand finally fall from Crowley’s shoulder to his own side. “And to think that tonight I’d try to force it, like I haven’t led you to believe -”

Crowley blinked, and then, without truly knowing why, grabbed the angel’s shoulders. “Hey. Aziraphale?” Blue eyes met his - truly his, because his glasses had slid down to the tip of his nose quite a bit ago, now - and he swallowed. Worked up a shaky little smile. “I forgive you. For what that’s worth.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale’s face softened, the anger and hurt crumbling away, and for a second they were back on a hot, sunny wall, with stormclouds mounting in the distance and all of eternity stretched out before them. “Oh, my boy. It means quite a lot to me.” He seized Crowley, pulling the other into an embrace, and was not at all surprised to find it returned with more strength than the demon’s skinny frame looked capable of. “Thank you, Crowley,” he murmured into the nape of Crowley’s neck. “For everything.”

There was silence, and Crowley continued to hold Aziraphale tight, like a man crossing a desert might hug the first tree of a vast, lush forest, when he comes upon it.

“You know,” Crowley said after a while, his breath brushing Aziraphale’s hair, making it tickle a little, “you being a gigantic bloody prude might have saved the planet, though. If you’d just come out with all this two days ago we would’ve been off to the stars and this place’d be kaput.” Aziraphale, unable to help himself, snorted a laugh into Crowley’s lapel. “So I guess there’s that.”

“They do say everything happens for a reason.”

“Don’t start with that toss.” He nuzzled Aziraphale, just behind the ear, a soft brush from the tip of his nose, and then released him, taking a half-step back. He pushed his sunglasses up his nose and stuffed his hands back into his pockets. “Well.”

Aziraphale sighed. “I am sorry, Crowley. Really. If you …” He swallowed. “If you don’t want to stay, I understand. I’m sorry for being so pushy earlier. Get some rest, and … I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

“Ready?” Crowley barked a laugh. “Angel, you said it yourself - I’ve been standing on the brakes for fifty years for you. I’ve been ready.”

“Ah.” He frowned, a little sad, but then took a breath, and raised an eyebrow, and allowed himself a little half-grin. “I thought I heard you say you were tired, though.”

Crowley hummed, and moved to stand next to Aziraphale, one arm slung over his shoulders as he steered him toward the back room, the two of them in lock-step. “And I thought I heard you say you have some nice wine and a couch to crash on.”

“Ah, well. So you did.”

-

I've been all around the world, done all there is to do But you'll always be the home I wanna come home to You're a wild night with a hell of a view There ain't no place, ain't no place like you There ain't no place, ain't no place like you

- Backstreet Boys (No Place)

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #azicrow #air conditioning #aziraphale #crowley #anthony j crowley #i can still be sappy #i wish i didn't enjoy fanfiction so much #inspired by a nick carter song god help me #and i quote the backstreet boys at the end bc fuck it #i am who i am