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gojorgeous · 4 months

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arranged marriage! gojo heacanons

pairing: gojo x fem!reader synopsis: just some headcanons about arranged marriage gojo! headcanons do follow a linear plot content: MDNI (18+ONLY), nsfw & sfw content, arranged marriage, p->v, oral (fem!receiving), pregnancy, breeding, not proofread because i'm lazy!!! a/n: i had a request to do a sort of expansion/sequel/prequel (?) on my business or pleasure fic, so... this is that. enjoy! and remember AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED!! divider credit to: @cafekitsune wc: 2k (that's so much headcanon lmao)

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who reluctantly agrees to an arranged marriage when the clan decides it’s time to secure the lineage and make a new heir.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo whose jaw nearly drops when he sees you for the first time as you’re walking down the aisle. No way you’re that hot…

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who’s practically rocking on his feet waiting for the minister to give him permission to kiss you.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who drags said kiss on a little (a lot) longer than he needed to and spends the rest of the night wishing he’d dragged it on even longer.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who’s actually really pissed that there are so many damned guests at his wedding. All of them want to talk to him when all he really wants to do is talk to you!!!

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who only gets about three words into you the whole night and feels like pouting every time someone pulls him away from your arm.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who finally relaxes a bit when the party’s over and he finally gets you alone.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who has a hard time keeping his hands to himself on the drive home.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who can’t help but stare at your lips as you answer his silly little questions about your favorite color and your favorite food.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who has to restrain himself from literally pulling you out of the car and up to his penthouse.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who suddenly finds himself a little nervous when he finally has you to himself. It’s his wedding night and he has to please his wife, right?

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who revels in tearing away your dress until he sees the lacy little white set you have on underneath.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who pins your wrists to the bed just so he can admire the way you look beneath him.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who nearly comes with no warning the first time he hears you moan his name. He decides it’s his sole purpose in life to make you moan like that as much as possible.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who is somehow both gentle and rough, who peppers you with kisses but rocks into you so good he has you seeing stars.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who thinks he ascends when you come around his cock and then ascends again when he remembers he married you and gets to see it for the rest of his life.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who makes sure to cum inside you and give you every last drop. After all, you have to make a new little Gojo heir, right?

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who holds you tightly to his chest until you drift off to sleep with your head atop his heart.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who takes the next two hours to be able to fall asleep himself, too hyped up on all the endorphins he’s feeling.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo whose brow furrows and stomach drops when he wakes the next morning to you not in his arms.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who scours the house for you and finds you in the living room reading, already having been up for hours.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo whose heart fractures a little bit when you greet him soooooo formally and tell him that there’s some breakfast in the fridge.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who spends far too long in the shower, letting the water run over him and trying to figure out where he went wrong.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who comes to the conclusion that he just needs to win you over a little more slowly, who smiles and thinks he knows exactly how to do it.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who finds you still reading on the couch and tells you to get ready to go out– you’re going shopping.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who takes you to every designer shop he can think of and buys everything your eyes so much as graze over. Even if you tell him you don’t want it– he doesn’t care. You’re getting it.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo whose heart flutters in his chest when you smile at a pretty little necklace he buys you. It’s not the most expensive thing he’s bought you by far, but it makes you the happiest nonetheless.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who’s confused as to why you keep thanking him so profusely on the way home. His money is your money now… do you not know that?

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who makes a stop at the bank on the way home and gets you a flashy black credit card with your name (and new last name hehe) printed at the bottom. He loves the way your eyes widen and your lips part when he tells you there’s no limit.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who asks you what you want to do that night. Fly to Paris for dinner? Pack for a vacation to Bali? Maybe just a fancy meal at Tokyo’s most exclusive restaurant? He’s shocked when you say you’d prefer takeout and a movie on the couch, but all too happy to oblige.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who orders half the menu at your favorite ramen restaurant that he’s never heard of.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo whose eyes go wide when he takes the first bite and tells you it’s the best thing he’s ever eaten.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who stares at your lips when you laugh and ask him, “really? The best?”

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who’s suddenly tugging your skirt down your thighs and burying his face between your legs. He takes one long lick and moans, saying that the ramen is now only second-best.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who thinks he could fuck you for hours on his couch, but stops after just a few rounds. He doesn’t want to tire his little baby out.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who savors the way you let him hold you after sex. Why couldn’t he hold you like this all day? So what if you’d just met– you’re his wife???

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who buries his face in your neck to memorize the moment, dreading the second you pull away from him.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who almost protests when you wrap a blanket around your body and pad off, saying you’re going to take a shower.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who debates cornering you in the bathroom for another round, if only so he can hold you again, but thinks better of it and cleans up your forgotten ramen instead.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who is completely exasperated when you never return to finish the movie. He finds you sitting in your shared bed, reading again.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo whose heart drops when you only look up long enough to give him a small smile instead of tumbling straight into his arms.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who finds himself once again in the shower contemplating his existence.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who decides he’ll win you over one way or another, even if it takes longer than he originally intended…

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who climbs into bed next to you and slings an arm around your waist casually, like his heart isn’t hammering in his chest when he buries his face in his pillow.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who doesn’t truly fall asleep until you turn off your bedside lamp and lie down beside him. His heart does little skips when you don’t wiggle out from under his arm.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who wakes first in the morning this time to find you curled so tightly into his chest he’s sure his pounding heart is going to wake you.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo whose eyes turn into little hearts when you wake blushing after you realize how closely you’ve curled into him.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who tells you it’s okay and pulls you back into him and smirks when you can't see his face.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who spends the next few weeks buying you every knick and knack, every snack and meal, and bending you every surface in the house.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo whose eyes light up whenever he sees you wearing that little necklace he bought you on that very first shopping trip.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who buys you another necklace… this one with his initials dangling from the chain.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who makes you ride him so he can see his letters swaying from your neck as you come on his cock.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who spends every waking moment with you on his mind, who gets in a sticky situation while fighting more than once because he’s waiting for you to text him back or remembering all the nasty things he did to you last night.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who finally takes a look at the pages of those books you like so much and realizes the pure filth his dirty little wife reads right beside him every night.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who’s not angry or put off, but rather excited. He uses it as a manual the next he has you under him and when he repeats a line verbatim from your book he laughs so loud at your shocked little blush that he’s sure you’re both getting a noise complaint in the morning.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who makes every effort to find out what you like (beyond reading smut) and buys you front row tickets to a concert for a band that you both happen to love.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who finds out your favorite movie series and takes three (unapproved) days off of work just to have a marathon with you.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who is having his morning coffee (full of cream and sugar and caramel sauce, of course) when you make your way into the kitchen with your lip pulled between your teeth.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo whose eyes blow wide when he sees a stick with two little pink lines and realizes he’s managed to knock you up on the first try.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who simply has to have you right then and there, bending you over the counter and groaning your name when he slides inside your cunt. He’s gentler this time, though. Can’t be too rough when his wife is pregnant, right?

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who goes overboard with his excitement and buys a new car the same day he finds out you’re pregnant. It’s practically a tank with all its safety features. He says you’re only allowed in that specific vehicle for the foreseeable future. Get used to it.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who’s all over you now. Whatever restraint he had before is gone now that you’re carrying his baby. He touches you… everywhere. All the time. It’s like it pains him to not have at least a smidgen of his skin on yours.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who keeps trying to win you over in the following weeks. He needs you. Not just your body, but your mind and your soul, too!

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who just lets it slip that he loves you when he’s balls deep in your cunt. Doesn’t even get embarrassed or flustered about it, just keeps pounding into you and whining about how much he loves you over and over again while he’s filling you up.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who lets the floodgates open after that. He tells you he loves you at every opportunity. It gets to the point where those three little words don’t even fluster you anymore, but you haven’t said them back. Not yet.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who waits patiently. He knows he’s getting to you, little by little. He’s sure he’ll hear you say it back soon.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who’s blindsided despite having convinced himself he’d be able to play it cool. He’s got you on the couch, wrapped up in his arms with his head on your tummy (he gets to hold you as much as he wants now hehe). You’re braiding his hair when you tell him that you love him.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who flushes the deepest shade of pink you’ve ever seen and pulls down his blindfold like he needs to see you say it again.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who begs to hear it again and again and again until he’s smiling so wide it's literally blinding.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who thinks his arranged marriage was definitely the best thing to ever happen to him <3

taglist (DM me to be added!): @lacheri, @la-undercover-latina

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#bree’s fics #jjk #jjk smut #jjk gojo #jjk x reader #gojo #gojo smut #gojo headcanons #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #jujutsu gojo #jujutsu kaisen #jujustu kaisen

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wife-of-all-dilfs · 5 months

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Hii! I love love love all of your finnick fics! Could I please request a fic where reader is also a victor from an earlier game and she is in an established relationship with Finnick. They both get reaped (not the same district) for the 75th games and reader gets critically hurt in the part where the cornucopia spins. Like she falls into the water after maybe being injured and she can’t swim, so Finnick has to risk everything to save her life.

I’m really looking for like a hurt/comfort with a seriously injured reader and Finnick going through hell to save her because he cannot imagine a life without her in it.

Thank you so much if you’re willing to write this or something like it, feel free of course to change anything to your liking!

two souls, one heart | f. odair

masterlist

summary: finnick refuses to lose the love of his life. your inability to swim complicates things, especially when the cornucopia begins spinning.

pairing: finnick odair x fem!reader

warnings: pre-established relationship, heavy angst, drowning, death, bone fracture

notes: thank you so much!!! i really enjoyed writing this, shed a few tears but still enjoyed it lmao. listen to 'beginning of the end movement v' by the newton brothers on repeat for the full experience <3

A quiet nursery rhyme was being sung by the water's edge.

The calm waves around the Cornucopia lapped at the rocks, the blistering sun causing the surface to sparkle. Wiress' voice interrupted Peeta as he mapped out the arena's clock-like wedges in the dirt. Everyone was focused on the map; you should have been too.

Dark blue ripples had your eyes captivated. So tranquil. So hauntingly beautiful. Loving the sea was in your blood, as your District Four was your home. You would think coming from a fishing district would mean your swimming abilities were mastered. In reality, they were practically non-existent. No matter how many times Finnick had attempted to give you lessons, they never stuck.

Neither of you seemed to care though, always too enraptured by simply being in each other's company—feeling Finnick's hands support your body as you floated on the surface...

"Don't you let go of me, Finnick Odair, or I swear to god I'll drown you."

"Will that be before or after you drown first?" he chuckled, though ultimately tightening his grip on your body in an attempt to reassure you.

....hysterically laughing when he got wiped out by a sudden wave...

"No way! I can't—" You broke into a fit of laughter— "I can't believe that just happened!"

"Are you laughing at me, sweetheart?" Finnick asked, trudging through the water towards you, his hair drenched and swept across his forehead.

"Yes!"

You doubled over, knees buckling as you struggled to contain your laughter. Despite trying to put up a serious front, Finnick too let a few chuckles slip at the hysterical sight of you.

"Oh really?"

Just like that, his arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you down into the cold water, earning him a squeal just before you crashed together below the surface.

...and washing up on the sandy shore in each other's arms, salty lips capturing one another.

"I'm covered in sand," you murmured against Finnick's lips.

He gave you another kiss before pulling away. "It's okay," he said, pecking your lips again. "I'll help you wash off in the shower when we get back." And then sent you a stomach-flipping grin.

Even though you wouldn't trade those memories for the world, if you had known your life would soon depend on the ability to swim, you would have paid much more attention to the lessons.

Finnick stood closely beside you, his trident digging into the dirt as he gripped it tightly in case of an attack. He had noticed your drifted attention, observing the way your eyes stared at the rippling water, like death was lurking just beneath the surface waiting to drag you down to the murky depths.

He could protect you from most things in the arena, but fear was something entirely different. A trident couldn't defeat the darkness in your mind.

A hand slid onto your lower back, rubbing gentle strokes to gain your attention. Your gaze tore from the blinding blue and settled onto Finnick's face beside you, watching his mouth curve into a light smile. You knew the silent words he was trying to convey: 'You're okay, sweetheart. I've got you.'

For a fleeting moment, the anxiety had disappeared. How could anything ever go wrong with Finnick by your side? The corners of your mouth quirked, preparing to send him a smile in response. But it never came. Something new had caught your attention. The woman by the water was no longer singing.

Wiress had been murdered.

The second Katniss let her arrow fly into Gloss' chest, everything around you seemed to explode into action. Anything that could go wrong would go wrong—Murphy's Law. And it did.

The Careers had initiated an attack.

Charging forward from the waterside was Cashmere, determined to avenge her brother's death. Instinct quickly kicked in and the spear in your hand was sent barrelling through the air and into her chest. As you watched her body slump to the ground, an enraged yell came from the side.

Finnick was fighting Brutus.

With your only weapon lodged within Cashmere's chest, aiding Finnick was impossible. Enobaria revealed herself beside Brutus, displaying her vicious fangs and throwing a dagger that sliced a small cut across Finnick's shoulder. Though the wound was minor, your heart lurched as he cried out in pain.

Before a single thought in your brain could form, your legs were moving. Not towards Finnick, but after Enobaria. Remember who the real enemy is—screw that. Finnick could have died. Your Finnick. He called out your name, his voice hoarse and frayed, but you continued on, hatred fuelling each step. It seemed Katniss and Johanna had the same idea, following behind you with their weapons bared.

Salt water sprayed onto your face, but you paid it no attention. Nor did you notice as the jungle surrounding the island began to blur into one overwhelming hue of green. Only when your body was thrown to the harsh rocky terrain did you realise what was happening.

The Cornucopia had started to spin.

Nothing could compare to the terror you felt as gravity's merciless force dragged your body toward the violent waves surging against the rocks. Just as your lower legs breached the edge, a hand grabbed onto your own. Katniss. She too was hanging onto Johanna whose only lifeline was an axe buried in the rocks.

A moment—that was all you were given to scan your surroundings. Supplies and sharp-edged weapons were flying everywhere. White water was spraying into the air. Finnick, who was thirty feet away, was gripping onto a rock ledge whilst keeping Beetee from sliding into the furious waves. His head turned to the side and even from a great distance, your eyes met.

It was at that moment you knew, you just knew the odds weren't going to be in your favour. God forbid you lived a simple happy life with the man you loved, days spent together on a calm beach. God forbid the Gamemakers gave you one last chance to be in his arms. God forbid you survived.

And with that sudden realisation, the universe, sick as it was, decided it was time.

Your hand began slipping from Katniss's; an unseen tear fell from your eye, and you smiled. A smile of goodbye sent to the love of your life. His face contorted into one of agony, lips moving but you couldn't hear his voice over the roaring waves. Still, you knew exactly what he was shouting.

"NO! NO!"

There was nothing he could do but watch your body disappear into the waves, repeating over and over "no, no, no," and praying his cruel eyes had deceived him. They hadn't.

Dark blue was in every direction you looked. The undertow tossed and rolled your body like a ragdoll in a washing machine and despite your attempts to swim, the surface only seemed to be slipping further and further out of your reach. Darkness engulfed you, so thick that you couldn't tell which way was up or down. That was when the panic set in.

Your arms and legs thrashed frantically, struggling against the water's force, desperate to reach safety or an air pocket. Cold water flooded your throat as you gasped uncontrollably. You screamed as every attempt at breathing felt like fire burning in your lungs. Finnick. Where was he? Where were you? What was happening? Why wouldn't it stop?

Thoughts submerged your mind in terror, and you were powerless to stop them. All you could do was feel. Pain. Fire. Burning

At some point, the Cornucopia had ceased its spinning and your body came to a rest in the water. An eerie calm suddenly washed over you; a sense of clarity stilled your wild movements. This was the end. There was no future. No hope. The world above wasn't yours to call home anymore. You now belonged to the sea.

Of course, your water-logged mind had forgotten that home was where the heart was, and your heart was still beating... above the surface, in the aching chest of another.

Tendrils of hair floated around your face like fronds of seaweed. Rays of sunlight penetrated the surface, turning the surroundings a vibrant sparkly blue. As you sank further down, the water, now a comfortable lukewarm, cradled you in its embrace. It felt safe, like being in Finnick's arms again. Like home.

You gazed at the sun's rays; they looked beautiful. You felt beautiful. But time was running out and the bright light soon began shrouding your entire vision, though not before you witnessed a dark figure dive beneath the waves.

**********

Finnick loved the ocean. He spent most days in District Four down by the beach, swimming, spearfishing, and watching the sun rise and set on the blue horizon. If he believed in reincarnation, he would have imagined himself to be a lionfish or dolphin in his past life, living in an underwater world, free from tyranny and oppression. He loved the ocean.

But that love was incomparable to what he felt for you. So, when he dove into the rocky waters to save you and felt the currents fighting against him, he determined there was nothing he hated more than the ocean. Not as he watched its strong grip drag your motionless body further down below him.

Your back had just touched the soft seabed when he swam far enough down to envelope you in his embrace. He should have swum you back to the surface immediately, but in his distressed state, he couldn't help but foolishly stare at your lifeless appearance. Your skin was blue. It's just the water's colour, he told himself. Your eyes were closed. She's just asleep. Your neck didn't pulse under his touch. She's... She's...

He had no justification for that. Feet planted firmly on the sandy floor, he propelled both himself and you back up to the surface. As Finnick paddled back to the Cornucopia, the others reached down and helped lift your limp body onto the rocks.

"Is she...?"

"Peeta," Katniss quietly reprimanded him.

Finnick paid them no attention. He said nothing but trauma screamed in his eyes. His breathing was ragged and his hands were trembling as he frantically checked your pulse again—in both your wrists and your neck; he even pressed his ear to your chest. All he heard was the waves lapping against the rocks.

"No," he whispered again.

It seemed to be all he could say anymore. No. No, this couldn't be happening. You were just standing beside him a few minutes ago; your eyes were just looking into his. However much he tried to deny reality, it didn't seem to make it any less true. You were gone.

He choked out a rough determined breath, interlocked his hands over your chest, and began pressing repeatedly over your heart. Wet strands of tangled hair were strewn across the rocks like dead seaweed. The usual soft pink accompanying your cheeks was nowhere to be seen, devoid of any life.

"Come on, sweetheart," he muttered before pulling down your chin to blow air into your lungs. The kiss of life. And when nothing happened as he pulled away, he restarted the chest compressions. "Oh, don't do this to me," he begged, voice breaking. "Don't do this. Breathe."

Any moment now. Any moment, your eyes would flutter open, the colour would return to your glowing skin, and your heart would beat with life beneath his hands. Your lips would whisper his name and he would pull you into his arms, where he would keep you safe until the end of time.

"Breathe."

Thirty compressions. Two breaths. Nothing. He did it again. Thirty compressions. Two breaths. Silence. Maybe he should've just ripped his heart out and replaced yours with his own. Death would come for him within seconds but hearing something beating inside your chest would've made the sacrifice worth it.

Life would flash before his eyes and your beaming smile would be the last thing he'd get to see. His last thought would be of relief that you were alive.

Johanna rested a tentative hand on Finnick's shoulder. "Finnick, she's—"

"No, she's not!" he exclaimed, continuing his movements. "She's fine. Aren't you, baby? You're fine." He cupped your jaw, his thumb stroking your soft skin before he pressed his lips to yours and blew twice. "You're fine."

The golden bangle around his wrist glimmered in the sunshine as he pressed on your ribcage. All he had to do was keep you alive until Plutarch rescued everyone. One simple task and he failed.

"Finnick, we have to go," someone said. Who? He didn't know nor care.

Leave me, he wanted to say. Leave me here to die. Let the Careers mutilate my body, take my life, my last breath, but let it be by her side.

Something cracked beneath his palms and he knew one of your ribs had fractured. His arms stilled, half-expecting you to cry out in pain but then he remembered. And with that sickening crack came a devastating realisation—you really were gone.

A sob erupted from his throat and his head fell to your chest, drenching your already-soaked wetsuit with hot tears. Everything else seemed to disappear. The arena, the Careers who could attack again at any moment, the spectators who were avidly watching. Everything.

It was just him and you. He didn't care that his screams and deafening sobs could bring unwanted attention or jeopardise the group's safety. Any tribute with half a mind would know crossing him in such a state would be a fatal flaw. Even if they did, it wouldn't matter. Nothing mattered. Life no longer had meaning.

Finnick pulled your lifeless body onto his lap and cradled you protectively in his arms, lightly rocking back and forth. His forehead rested against your own, cold and damp. You always were the cold one, needing his touch to light a fire beneath your skin. He loved having you rely on him for warmth, but not like this.

"Come back to me, baby, please," he begged almost inaudibly. Tears were running down his cheeks as he brushed pieces of hair away from your face. His lips were on yours once more, heartbroken and painfully delicate; not to fill your lungs with air, but to fill your heart with his love in the hopes it would be enough to bring it back to life. "Don't leave me."

Pleas, prayers, begs, and wishes flew past his lips, over and over. And then they stopped and Finnick simply stared. Silence fell across the entire arena. The birds didn't chirp, the other tributes remained quiet, and the trees stood still. Even the water had calmed, resembling a perfectly flat mirror.

Finnick only had three words left on his tongue. Three final words to give you, wherever it was that you were. He slowly leaned down, squeezed his stinging eyes shut, and pressed a long farewell kiss to your forehead. His eyes remained closed as he parted from your skin, unable to take another look as he whispered his final goodbye.

"I love you."

And then, for the first time since he had rescued you from the blue depths, he felt his heart beating again. Just like yours was.

**********

There was a voice, distant yet reassuring—a lifeline to consciousness. Black was all there was. Coldness was all that was felt. It was desolate. But that voice... that voice was so anguished yet so familiar and encouraging that it lit a fire inside your chest, warming you from the inside out.

In the distance of the dark void was a figure, their body made entirely out of a pulsating golden light. Each word the voice spoke enhanced the light's brightness. "Come... me, please..." Brighter. "Don't leave..." And brighter.

The light was warm and comforting, just like the voice attached to it. Whoever's voice it was that brought the light resonated deep in your mind, tugging at the strings within your heart.

Your heart.

The thumping in your chest was weak, almost non-existent, but it was still there. Though it seemed time was running out. Pitch-black darkness outweighed the golden light ten-to-one; you could feel its cold breath creeping onto your back. So, you started running towards the figure. Sprinting. Until all that surrounded you was golden.

"I love you."

Water. At first, it came trickling out in two fluid streams from the sides of your mouth. Then suddenly, it was spraying into the air as choked coughs forced the liquid from your burning lungs. Light flooded your vision—not golden and inviting, but vivid and overwhelming.

There was something warm beneath your legs, against your arm, rubbing at your back, holding you in an upright position. While you heaved, dry-retched, and gasped, that soothing warmth remained.

As your airways began to clear and the expulsion of water ceased, your half-lidded eyes rolled around the area. Still dazed and disoriented, you struggled to make out what surrounded you. There was immense rippling blue, vibrant hues of green in the distance, dark rough grey beneath you, and elongated blobs of colour that stood a few feet away.

"Just–just keep breathing, sweetheart." That voice. The one belonging to the figure of light that brought you back. It was madly repeating the same words over and over. "You're okay", "Deep breaths", and "You're alive."

Shaky fingers brushed the stray wet strands of hair from your face. So warm. With the little energy you had, your head turned to seek out the golden light again. And you found it.

The blinding sun shining down reflected off his bronze hair, turning it a divine golden hue. His brows were raised and scrunched together as though he couldn't possibly believe what he was seeing. Deep lines were etched into his tear-streaked skin, evidence of his previous turmoil. Those sea-green eyes stared at you, afraid that if he so much as blinked, you would fall lifeless in his arms once more.

"You're here," he whispered.

Finnick. YourFinnick. Your light.

When your eyes met, a splitting grin lit up his face, made up of an inconceivable amount of raw emotion. You weren't sure what to do—smile, laugh, cry, kiss him? Your mind was scrambled, overwhelmed with love for the beautiful golden-haired man in front of you.

Without warning, your face scrunched up and the tears began flowing. You weren't sure why you were crying. Maybe it was because you had just been brought back from the brink of death; maybe it was because you couldn't believe someone actually cared so deeply about you.

Finnick cradled your face in his hand. "It's okay," his voice trembled, tears now cascading down his cheeks. His smile, however, never disappeared. "You're okay. You're safe now. I'm not letting you go."

He took your face into two large hands, brought you to his lips, and pressed a tender kiss to each tear that rolled over your skin. One of your hands rested over his; the other was placed against his chest, feeling it rise and fall so you could synchronise your breaths.

His arms moved to pull you tightly against him, almost like he was trying to merge your body with his. Or perhaps, it was your soul. You didn't care about the pain aching in one of your ribs. You wanted to tell him that his soul was already intertwined with your own, but words couldn't describe the sentiment as profoundly as you felt it.

In the simplest of terms your water-logged brain could muster, you whispered, "You're my light, Finnick."

Brows scrunched together, he looked down at you, fighting back the urge to start sobbing in your arms. If he had been anywhere else, if there wasn't an entire country watching, he would've gone on for hours, explaining how stupidly, selfishly, and incredibly in love with you he was.

But he couldn't do that. Not now. So, he placed his hand over the one you had resting on his chest and readjusted its position. He could feel the thumping, even through your palm.

Your eyes were full of emotion as you stared up into his. You already knew what his next words were going to be and for the first time since you were thrown into the water from the Cornucopia, you smiled.

Rhythmically, your hand and his pulsed together. Finnick's gaze flickered across your face and he grinned. "You're my heart."

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mariasont · 1 month

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can you do aaron x wife reader who also works in the bau with him & on a case a police officer openly flirts with aaron in front of the team and reader so she stakes her claim on her husband && the team ( mostly derek & pen ) are teasing the two of them for it ??

Marked Territory - A.H

A/N: AHHHHH thinking ab claiming aaron hotchner as ur man has me giggling & kicking me feet

THANK you sooooo much for requesting angel <3 hope you like it!

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

wk: 1.2k

pairings: aaron hotchner x wife!bau!fem!reader

warnings: heavy makeout, jealously

You stood a few feet away with a watchful gaze, arms locked across your chest. The consultant was laying it on thick, her eyelashes sweeping up and down in a practiced rhythm aimed at Aaron. It made you want to throw up. You couldn't help but let out a soft, almost inaudible scoff. The consultant's laughter pierced the quiet, an exaggerated display that felt out of place. Her hand rested on Aaron's arm a moment too long. Your glare could have set the room on fire, you were sure of it, and it only seemed to intensify when Aaron offered a polite, yet distant smile in return.

"Careful there, sugar," Derek joked, sliding into place beside you as he nudged your side. "You're about two seconds from turning this into a crime scene."

You offered a half-glance towards him, "I suppose I can't fault her taste," you said with a forced lightness, even as a twinge of jealously coiled tightly within you, your attention fixed on the hand that dared to claim familiarity with Aaron. "But good taste doesn't come with good sense, apparently."

Penelope swept in with a gasp that could rival a Greek chorus, her eyes wide with a feigned shock. "Wow, I could practically taste your fury from down the hall! Mrs. Hotchner, are we in strategy mode, or should I grab some popcorn?"

You rolled your eyes with a dismissive wave. "You two are ridiculous. What do you expect me to do? Drag her by her hair? Please, I trust Aaron," you stated firmly, because, well, you did. This, however, didn't stop the tiny spark of irritation that flickered within, unbidden and unwelcome, but you squashed it with a laugh. "Besides, if I started a catfight every time someone flirted with him, I'd need my own filing cabinet for all the assault charges."

A glance was all it took for Garcia and Morgan to share their amusement. "Sure, sure," Garcia drawled, her voice dripping in sarcasm.

Morgan's eyebrow arched in silent agreement as he smiled knowingly. "Of course, you're calm. But we both know if that bubble of anger pops, it's going to be one hell of a show."

You tried to ignore it; you really did. You buried your nose in your work, determined to keep your mind off that infuriating woman. You shuffled papers, dove into your case files, and tapped away at your computer with a vigor that doesn't go unnoticed by the team. Every time you caught a glimpse of Aaron, there she was--the consultant--hovering like a shadow. It's almost comical how she mirrored his every move, but you were not laughing.

You found reasons to be anywhere but where Aaron was, taking your coffee break when he's in the break room, opting for the stairs when he took the elevator. It's a dance of avoidance that has you mentally exhausted, but you're trying to channel your inner zen, and being around that woman is doing you no favors.

The office air is thick with tension, a tangible presence that envelops your desk, your focus splintering with every laugh and hushed conversation that drifts over from Aaron's direction. You're the very image of concentration until you see it--the consultant, her proximity invasive, her hand lingering on his shoulder with a familiarity that sears through your veneer of calm. It's the tripping point, the moment your restraint fractures.

You stand, a fluid motion that betrays her anger that charged the room with an energy that has the whole team's attention snapping to you. They recognize the signs--the firm line of your jaw, the fire in your eyes--a rare display that signals an unstoppable force is about to be set in motion.

"Hotch," the name is a clear, firm declaration across the room, a tone you usually reserved for the field. "Can I speak to you for a second?"

The room falls still, a collective breath held by the team as Aaron excuses himself and follows you into his office. The door closes behind them with a soft click, leaving just the two of you. His gaze meets yours, a furrow of worry creasing his brow as he takes in the tempest swirling in your stance.

"Honey, are you alright?" he asks, the professional facade giving way to a soft undertone of worry, as he takes a deliberate step towards you, his eyes searching yours for signs of distress.

With a swift assurance of privacy, your eyes lock on the drawn blinds, and you waste no time diminishing the space between you, hands clasping up to his neck with an urgency that pulls him down to you. Your lips found his in a fervent collision, coaxing a surprised murmur from him. He softly pulled back, his chuckle deep and knowing, as his hands encircled your waist.

"Honey--I, we're in the office."

His words may have carried a hint of reprimand, but the gentle exploration of his hands across your back drawing you nearer seemed to contradict him. An innocent smile graced your lips as your fingers wove through his hair, eliciting his head tilting back in contentment. "Just missed you is all."

An eyebrow lifted in amused acknowledgement. "Mm, is that so?"

Gently tugging his head closer, your lips crashed against his with a desperate intensity, your hands gripping him as if he were a lifeline.

With deliberate strokes, you raked your fingers through his hair, creating artful disarray. Your hands glided to his tie, tugging it just enough to break the perfect line, then across his jacket, crumpling the fabric with feigned carelessness. Each touch a strategic step in enhancing his unkempt image.

A gentle exhale escaped you as he pressed you back against the desk's edge, his hands forming a cage around you, both protective and possessive. Your lips curved into a smirk, your teeth capturing his bottom lip and tugging with a teasing pressure, probably a little harder than you should have, causing him to pull back. "Christ, sweetheart."

Instinctively, your hand rose to trace his bottom lip, smoothing over the swollenness your teeth had caused. A soft smile graced your features as you took in the delightful disarray of his appearance. With a satisfied nod, you left a featherlight kiss on his cheek and glided towards the door. "I love you, Mr. Hotchner."

His eyebrows knit together in loving exasperation as he observed your retreat, his hand absentmindedly caressing his lip. God, you kept life interesting. "I love you more, Mrs. Hotchner."

Emerging from Hotch's office, your hair perfectly disordered, a small smirk etched on your lips. You watch as the consultant's eyes stretch wide, a flush of embarrassment covering her cheeks. With a sly wink tossed her way, you glide towards Penelope and Morgan.

"Well, well, well," Morgan drawled, a sly grin spreading across his face as he watched the scene unfold, arms folded confidently over his chest. "I had a feeling those claws were just waiting for the right moment to strike."

"That's our girl! Showing the world whose boss without breaking a sweat." Penelope chirped. "Well, I mean, maybe a little sweat. I'm seriously striving not to speculate about what you two were doing in there."

A playful smirk dances on your lips as you peer over your shoulder at Hotch's door. "Just wait for it," you tease, fingers poised for the dramatic reveal as you count down. "3, 2, 1.."

Right on cue, Hotch steps out, looking every bit as ruffled as you'd intended. His tie hangs crooked, his suit crumpled, and you didn't miss the dark red tint around his bottom lip. The sound of Morgan and Penelope's laughter filled the air as you offered a nonchalant shrug.

"It's all in the day's work, besties. A girl's got to do what a girl's got to do."

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotch #hotchner #hotch #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fluff #hotch x reader #hotch x you #aaron hotchner x your #criminal minds x you #criminal minds fic

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wandagcre · 5 months

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under your spell | sam carpenter 🔞

(Mob Boss!Sam Carpenter x Fem!Reader)

Samantha Loomis will do everything to keep the journey of your love story with her floating, come what may. Even if it takes killing an important figure in your life, she won't risk it.

WARNING: dom!mob boss sam, sub!reader, manipulation, graphic depiction of violence, strap-on sex, teasing, 69 - not proofread | 18+ men & minors dni. Words: 3.5k Note: more of mob boss sam! this was requested by one of my favs, @romanoffsbish! hope i did justice with this one ahhh🫣

[ series masterlist ] | [ masterlist ]

You lost count of how many times you tossed and turned in the bed. It’s particularly lonesome even while you’re enveloped in the comfiest mattress and sheets of layers that provide much-needed warmth. You craved Sam by your side.

It was unimaginable how you didn’t want to be in this bed almost a year ago.

Now, it was nothing but an embarrassing fact as to how your body and mind depended on the woman. You yearned for her touch; her chin perched against your shoulder as her strong arms wrapped around you protectively and how you heard Sam’s light snores that oddly brought comfort rather than a nuisance. In your comfort lies the much-needed presence of the woman.

The thought raised concern for you, as usually, Sam wouldn’t waste any time to join you here.

Having enough time alone, you got up quickly took your robe, and sauntered your way to Sam’s office. You’re immediately relieved that you put on a robe, covering your sheer nightgown underneath. You just saw some of Sam’s men patrolling outside the house as you passed through the wide halls, one of them nodding in acknowledgment as they saw you through the sliding door. The last time someone saw you vulnerable…it did not end well.

You rub your arms for warmth. Entering Sam’s office at your home was an experience. You’ve been here only a few times, understanding that the woman needed her own space – even if that concept felt foreign for the two of you. Pushing one of the two doors, the intimidating air welcomed you. The high ceiling, and the modestly tiered chandelier hued her lair. It was as grandiose as it can get; with the pillars and currently enclosed European rolling shutters, layers that provided extended privacy. If it weren’t for her chandelier and lamps in the room, it would be a total blackout as light did not stand a chance.

Whether it was out of Sam’s paranoia or extra precaution of safety, you love her just the same.

When you carefully made your way through her to the U-shaped table, Sam didn't say much, but you figured she knew it was you already. She’s pensive and painstakingly occupied with the files on her hand.

“Mi amor, come over here…” Your heart soared at her tiny voice.

Sam welcomes your touch with ease. Like a reflex; she freed one of her busy hands to clasp it with yours that hugged her front. Yet, it was her mind that was drifting.

“I miss you, come to bed.” You murmured and felt her soft laughter vibrate against your body.

You ignite a familiar glint in Sam’s eyes. “I like the sound of that. Domestic. Married.” She turns the paper with a faint smile.

In closer view, you have the sight of Sam in her trousers and importantly, her cufflinks and blue button-down undone, hugging her from behind. You take advantage of the proximity, breathing in Sam’s scent which is mixed city dirt and a particular musk that you love, heightening your serotonin. You can’t help but wet your lips with the thoughts you’re being wrapped into.

“Hm. Well, your wife needs attention now.”

“I’m sorry, mi amor.”

“Hey. I knew what I signed up for, Sammy.” A fracture of it, your mind quips. Not that you minded. It blows over quickly as Sam hums. “Nothing that a few kisses can’t solve. You can start by downplaying them now…”

Your sultry words didn’t fly over her.

She indulges your play immediately. “And you’re charging this with interest, I suppose?” Sam can feel your devious fingers dancing on the expanse of her toned stomach, skipping over the material of her work clothes. The air rapidly thickened with the brewing hunger and tension, rousing both of you into a familiar pit of lust.

Sam’s back still is facing you, momentarily pulling away to unbutton her top.

“Very much so I’m afraid.” You lazily murmured against your girlfriend’s back as you jumped back near her. Sam feels herself grounded towards reality, her icy exterior melting. You feel Sam’s tense muscles wearing off. A faint smile comes over you. How do you even do that? Sam wonders each time. “What are you even worrying about? Your beautiful eyebrows are bunched up like a grandma.”

Sam swiftly turned. Her kisses soon trailed over your jaw and lips, insistent.

“I need to pay up first, amor.”

“But Sammy—Oh!”

Sam deflects. Although you noticed, it was hard to be devoid of her wishes as you did not have a choice but to take in her little yet adamant pecks. Soon, it grew into seemingly aggressive and bruising kisses. She tasted a hint of whiskey, burning on your tongue. Letting out a gasp wasn’t too good either as Sam took it as her chance to kiss you harder and swallow your moans. She lifts you to have you sprawled out on her oak table, determined to stir a carnal disarray. With each tilt and lean, the bites and growls that Sam released onto you had made your brain all muddled. You caress her firm shoulder and decide to pay back; you give her breast an adamant squeeze through her sports bra.

Sam pulls back and her matching gold accessories shine from your view. God, she looked beautiful – almost forbidden. Her shiny, half-lidded eyes peer over you lustfully and mischievous.

“M-mm, you’re so good for me… I had something in mind, would you excuse me for a second mi amor?”

You teasingly ran your fingers through her nape and undid her tied-up hair, letting her alluring black tresses cascade messily, and tugged her hair back for good measure. Sam gulped at your assertiveness, gripping your hips firmly.

“I won’t go anywhere but here.”

As Sam came to fetch a spice to spruce up your evening, you gratefully absorbed the time she gave you. She can be an intense lover who knocks the air out of your lungs without fail. Your eyes flit over the mess sitting atop her desk. The sepia-colored portfolios were noticeable, strung up neatly. Her Glock particularly stood out with its metallic shine that made your heart race in nervousness. The daydreams can be hot, sure, yet if you were to be frank; you’re still taking in this new life one day at a time.

Until you saw another notable profile related to you.

It struck a personal vein as it was none other than your beloved partner and coworker for years, only her papers were marked “CLOSED” with a bright, red stamp across her personal description and profile shot. Your stomach churned at the possibility of her in danger. She was the closest figure you had for a mother. Although a part of you feels worthy of the success you have now, you can’t help but also think you have grown selfish and self-centered.

The last time you talked to her was 2 months ago, her birthday. A bittersweet smile spread across your features. You even kept postponing a simple brunch date with her – one that you didn’t have trouble with, until… no.

What’s wrong with you?

It’s not like she also reached out to you. You wonder what Grace thought of your Sam. She appeared skeptical, though you brushed it off knowing that what you and Sam have are unique. Perhaps you left out a few minor details that made her disapprove of it – detecting easily when you’re secretive about things. You didn’t find the point to it, though. You, among all people, were the most aware of you and Sam being from two worlds that happened to collide. But you insisted that it works; both of you put effort and love into it.

Sam is your person.

A hand rubs comfortingly on your shoulder. “Mi amor, are you okay?”

“Sammy, why do you have these files? What does Grace have to do with your business?” You bit the inside of your cheek. “Is she… okay?” The apprehension coursed through your veins unsettlingly.

You’re not even sure if you were ready to hear the truth.

With shaky hands, you gather the papers and examine them. Reading them made the coldness eerily vivid as though you’re holding a decomposing body, as though Grace that you once knew was now nothing but a closed history. Your vision blurred as your eyes trail over the personal information. Not one has registered in your mind.

Meanwhile, Sam carefully examined your reactions, silent as you soaked up the files that appeared to rattle you. Lost in your bewildered thoughts, you didn’t even notice the tanned woman’s presence until she gently took your forearm and her lips were pressed against your wrist.

“You won’t be seeing her anymore. Would you like me to elaborate?”

Fuck, you sure hope so. “Sam. This– this doesn’t look good to me,” Your voice cracked at the end and your eyes were starting to well up. Your figure moved in discomfort.

“You’re right.” Sam sighed and threaded her fingers through her hair. “It does not look good… but for all right reasons. Can you lay your back on the desk?” You tilt your head inquisitively, yet following Sam made her appeased with your actions.

“O-okay,”

She hooked her hands around your legs, making your lower back pressed on the oak table. The robe you wore slid off, but you didn’t mind — Sam did not mind.

“Good girl.” Sam praised you with her honeyed voice. You felt the familiar desire stir in your stomach. However, it did not stop you from staring – waiting – at those plump lips to further elaborate. “She’s gone.”

It expeditiously induced a sharp pain in your chest. Grace is gone – echoed faintly in your head. Your heart and mind throbbed at the sudden news.

Despite Sam’s monotonous tone, you’re unable to dissect the emotion further as you feel Sam lock your lips into a titillating kiss, her body atop you. A tear rolled down your cheek, Sam did not mind, hurriedly swiping them away with her thumb. Your mind ebbs slowly of its previous worries, tangled in the woman’s skillful touch; latched onto your skin with greed that appeases both of your needs. It confused you greatly, while as despair filled you, you were also throbbing, your cunt aroused again and wanting for more.

“My men bagged her head with a canvas, almost suffocating her.” You helplessly groan as Sam places a hand over your mouth. You couldn’t speak at her firm hold. “But don’t worry, she passed swiftly… least as I could let her be. She was interfering with us, mi amor. I hope you do understand – I’m doing this for us. I haven’t failed you yet, have I?”

You only nod weakly. It was the truth; she didn’t disappoint at all. Your body was still in fight mode and attempted to relieve it by desperately clawing on your girlfriend’s tanned bare back – searching for something tangible. Your fingernails dug into them and rewarded you with Sam’s breathy moans, swallowing the lump in your throat. On the other end, Sam was relieved by your response. No matter how it was laced with sugar coating, she still fears that you will never meet each other by the eye.

“I can’t hurt you, ever. You know that I wouldn’t do something bad when it comes to you, (y/n/n).”

She’s real and you’ll be alright… your girlfriend always had a good reason for her decisions, right?

Sam’s carnal ways did not waver; instead, you hear the rustling of her trousers and how she unzipped them. You didn’t even notice how she smoothly set your underwear aside, your wet pussy exposed to the cold air that made you quiver as Sam was ready to plunge in the tip of her strap.

“The things you do to me, amor, fuck!” Sam uttered gruffly as she parted your folds, the action impenitent and dirty. Her thumb probes over your wet insides, resulting in your breathing growing erratic and your head being thrown back, as she didn't hesitate to put a few inches on you unannounced. “I had fun playing Russian roulette with your dearest Grace. I can hear her terror each time my revolver clicked. If only I had the reins to get messy, I would have gutted her stomach apart until her insides spilled!” She punctuates the anguish in her tone by pounding in you harder, rocking both of you and the entire length of the strap almost inside of you.

The squelching and the slapping of skins reverberated in her room. You felt dirty and guilty, knowing it was the place where parts of Sam’s empire were laid tactfully. Though, you fucking loved every second of it. It felt that it was a Cathedral and all you knew was to worship and moan Sam’s name — until every fiber of your being occupied nothing but her.

Your ragged breathing and continuous moans were interrupted with Sam grabbing you by the cheek again. Her brown eyes were pierced into your drunk ones. “I love you. Nothing’s going to wreck that. Not even the slightest.”

This was a real woman in front of you, unashamed to tell the tales of how far she was willing to go for you. You never had that in your life – until her, your Sammy. So, you gratefully nod, your heart felt as though it was going to burst in hopes that your eyes could convey how the feeling was mutual.

It should be disgusting but you can’t help but gush more at the stretch even while in Sam’s morbid monologue. “And I’m here, fucking you with my cock senselessly. Do you like being put in this situation? You have no shame, amor. That’s why we fit perfectly,” She grabbed you by your jaw, “Answer me.”

“Y-yes! Fuck, yes!” You wail as the phallic inside of you feels too vivid against your walls. Your eyes rolled at the back of your head. The shame burned your insides but oh so satisfyingly. “I-I love it!”

“You do, don’t you? This is what you deserve. Goodness and me. Your partner didn’t even cry out for you, they cried out for Marly, the bitch from work that they cheated on you with. Don’t worry mi amor, I’ll gut her next for ever hurting you like this…” The huff and panting of Sam’s eagerness had overpowered the internal dilemma growing out of you. It cemented your mind on one thing; you were hurt, but Sam has once again swooped in to rescue you.

Marly was soon history as Grace was. You couldn’t believe your mother figure had disposed of you just the same.

“You’re always there for m-me… ‘could never doubt you, Sammy,” You choked in moans and felt Sam’s breath ghost to your bare neck. “I-I love you,”

Reeling back to full pleasure, you’ve easily taken it in, both Sam’s strap and the new life you were in. You might as well accept it – take it wholly – no matter how much red is drowned in Sam’s ledger. And Sam? The macabre beast melded inside of her and groaned in satisfaction. Your robe was halfway off, the nightgown almost ripped in half, revealing your skin and breasts that were painted with deep red and purple hues, as you’ve braved through a storm. More importantly, you took her with almost no hesitance and your pretty lips affirmed how much you loved her, even with Sam admitting her sick ways of keeping you both safe.

It made her feel worthy and on top of the fucking world. All of the blood and gruesome journey she has gone through — it was all for you and so, so worth it.

You wail underneath Sam’s relentless pounding that fueled her to thrust in varying angles to make your mind all fuzzy. You feel everything and then nothing all at once, completely spent as your orgasm crashed — the strap still buried inside of you. You were certain that Sam wanted it molded on your velvety walls until all it knew was her.

In your drifting-off state, Sam gently pulls back the robe on you and picks you up, carrying you against her front. You’re perched against the crook of her neck and you want to giggle at her sidestepping, the bodyguards looking away from your sight as Sam is careful to not reveal your current state. It was proving to be a challenge not to moan and simply fuck yourself against the strap, as for some reason Sam kept it in.

You thought it was the end as your girlfriend placed you on your shared bed until Sam fully unbuckled her then loose belt, and her trousers pool by her ankle. She’s bare for you, her blemishes and scars were open to you, and somewhat they made an appetizing touch to her perfectly carved body. Now you feel the familiar throbbing rising on your tummy once again and your thighs spasmed at the light strain it encountered from earlier activities. Sam deviously chuckled at your reaction and crawled her way on top of you.

“I wanted to return the favor…” You whispered against the shell of Sam’s ear, hands busying themselves on undoing the strap laced on her waist. “I need to have you in my mouth.”

Sam’s stomach visibly twitched at your words, her throat drying up at how they dripped with much desire, just for her.

“Funny, because I was planning to eat you, too.” A tender kiss was pressed against your lips. Sam moved teasingly as her words did, affecting you greatly.

“We can do it at the same time, you know…”

Sam’s heart constricted at your suggestion. She would be stupid if she were to turn down your offer. Imagining you between her thighs and putting all of her will not to suffocate you? Sam grew wet. She twitched like a junky in need of a fix and her orbs were glazed with excitement and tenfold desire. Perhaps, Sam was rubbing off on you too much these days.

“Fuck, you mean—?”

You timidly nod. “Yes. It’s a win-win situation for us, Sammy.”

You strip out of your useless clothes quickly. There was no use for it. Sam watches you as if she were hypnotized. How this woman has a nonstop carnal desire to take you at every moment possible was lost on you.

Getting into position was inevitably awkward. It was a new thing, both of you were testing the waters. But given Sam’s words of encouragement, the intimidation soon dissolved and it made you communicate better. In reverse positions, you were met with Sam’s long and toned thighs. Having the strong inner skin wrapped between your head was a daydream much as her face. You can smell her arousal vividly – one that was caused by none other than you – which had made pride surge wildly in your chest. Sam easily slid and handled your body towards her face.

“You’re so wet…” Sam whispered as she peppered your thighs with soft kisses. Each contact had left you squirming and frenzy for more. “My pretty girl, have you imagined this for so long?”

You were too shy to admit it.

Although it was very telling on Sam’s end, seeing your slick smeared. Her mouth watered. Soon it will be all over her face. She grabbed the back of your thighs and eagerly lapped on your wet folds, your cries of pleasure served as wonderful stimulation against her exposed cunt. Her tongue flattened up for good measure, Sam slid perfectly against you. Opposed to her confident moves, your movement was gentle and slow, as though you wanted to savor all of Sam’s fluids. This made your rhythm against hers messy and uncoordinated, but it was you so she didn’t mind.

Your cheeks were heated not only out of disbelief that this was happening, but also from the warmth that Sam emits – somehow that makes you flustered. While you’re lost in the haze of lust, Sam tries to be gentle with her thigh grip. However, as it grows tense and firm, it seemingly pulls out a moan from you that makes Sam weak in her knees.

You feel the tip of her tongue dip inside, as though Sam is curious to extract more – savoring the flavor on her tastebuds. The repeated motions continue with the relentless lapping of her tongue, muscle invasive and fast, almost slurping between. It was addicting, like seeing red, only with Sam’s stimulation and breath existing to reel you in further. You keep up and mimic her actions and soon you two find the groove, moving and grinding on each other’s body – mouths barely detaching from the waterfall of wetness. As happiness is meant to be consumed, you do it with such bliss, eyes closed.

Soon, both of you convulsed at the rush of release. Hurriedly, you lapped on Sam’s cum like it was the last thing you’ll ever drink. Sam was more brutal, and practically buried herself in your pussy until you had to push her away. Your fingers dug into the soft flesh of her thighs, both cunts were tender and as Sam did, your breath was heaving as well. A sheer sweat covered both of your bodies. Fuck, you can’t believe you’ve just done that.

This was fucking heaven.

Sam was the first to get up. You were spent and your clothes were gone, meant for replacement again. She giggled at your adorable sight, a chaste kiss laced with strong remnants of your taste greeted your mouth – ending it with you in her arms, lulled by Sam's heartbeat against your bare chest, and open-mouthed kisses on your tired jaw.

A triumphant smile makes its way to her devious features and whispers I love you against your forehead.

She has done it again. You barely knew what rattled you moments earlier, instead, your mind was filled with the woman and how you can’t live without her.

do not repost/translate on other sites. © wandagcre

#gg.writes #sam carpenter smut #sam carpenter x fem reader #sam carpenter x female reader #sam carpenter x you #sam carpenter x y/n #wlw #lesbian #fanfic #au #scream vi #requested #sam carpenter x reader

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angelicyoongie · 6 months

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lovesick (XII)

— pairing: yandere ot7 x (f) reader — word count: 6.3k — warnings: yandere, obsessive behaviour, explicit sexual content (vaginal fingering), other content that may be triggering. — summary: You dreamed of the day you would get your very own soulmark. Though, you didn’t expect to wake up to a searing hurt in your arm, the phantom pain of your shoulder being dislocated and your forearm fractured. As if dealing with the worst possible soulmark ever wasn’t bad enough, you also have to come to terms with the fact that you’re being stalked. When the letters and gifts you receive begin to escalate and the police offers no help, you have no other option than to figure out who’s behind it yourself – and hopefully before it’s too late.

Previous – Next

You pad slowly into the common room, rubbing your eyes.

Yoongi was abruptly called into work a few minutes ago – something about missing files and a tight deadline – so he had to usher you out of bed with gentle touches and soft apologies, sending you to wake up on the couch with Namjoon.

"Hi darling," Namjoon croons as you collapse next to him, picking up one of the thick blankets strewn about to bundle you up with.

You let yourself be tucked in, the extra warmth is more than welcome with how chilly the cabin gets in the early mornings. The fireplace is barely crackling, the flames struggling to take hold with how recently they've been lit.

You mumble something unintelligible in return, pulling the blanket up to your nose to fend off the cold. Namjoon lets out a fond laugh as he scoots closer on the couch. He puts an arm around your shoulder, guiding your head to rest on his chest as he mindlessly plays with your hair. The soothing touches make your already heavy eyes flutter shut immediately, your consciousness drifting further away with every rise and fall of Namjoon's chest.

You drift off for a while, the sounds of Yoongi's rushed goodbye as he runs out the door and Namjoon turning the pages of his book muffled under your sleepiness. Sitting curled up against Namjoon allows your body to slowly wake up, and lets you forget about everything that awaits you while you're caught in the in-between of sleep and reality.

It's the sound of cupboards slamming that finally wakes you up, a sheepish sorry! being called from the kitchen. Namjoon's fingers still in your hair as you huff, your eyebrows creasing with displeasure as you realize it's time to open your eyes.

"Morning," Namjoon murmurs warmly, "Jungkook doesn't always remember how strong he is, especially not when he's tired, so he has a bad habit of slamming things shut. I'm sorry he disturbed you."

"'S okay," You yawn, "I should probably get up anyway."

"Hmm, you don't have to," Namjoon curls his arm around your waist, holding you securely against his chest. "We can just stay here and cuddle until breakfast is ready."

I'm sure you'd like that, you–

You stifle the vicious voice inside your head as soon as it rears its head. Even though you have decided to accept the cards you have been dealt, or rather, the cards that were forced into your hands; it's not something that can happen overnight. They've terrorized you for over a year so rewiring your brain to follow the path your soulbond is trying to lead you isn't easy. But you are trying.

"Sure," You concede, snuggling closer to Namjoon's firm chest.

You watch as he delicately turns another page in the book he's reading, your eyes growing wide as you recognize the poem that's printed on it in faded letters. Your breath hitches as you blink, dumbstruck, down at the same collection you asked him about that day you visited him at the library.

"Aren't these the poems Jungkook used in his letters?"

Namjoon tenses as he notices where your attention has drifted. His fingers subconsciously splay across the page, almost as if he's trying to hide the words, as he says, "Yeah, it is."

"Why did you bring it here?" You ask as you eye the book warily. It's not like the book carries any good memories for you and on top of that, Namjoon seemed rather perturbed by the sight of it all those months ago.

"It... I guess you can say it holds sentimental value," Namjoon murmurs.

"My mom passed away when I was young so I don't remember much of her. I just have a blurry memory of us visiting a garden somewhere, her blue dress fluttering in the wind. Her passing broke my dad's heart. They were soulmates, so I think a part of him died that day too," He heaves a heavy sigh.

"Grief made him do stupid things and one of those was throwing away most of her belongings. I think it just hurt too much, that her things were still there but she wasn't, you know?"

You give a silent nod, heart squeezing at the way Namjoon's voice turns slightly shaky.

"He luckily donated most of her books to the library. I don't think he knew she had written one of them," He gently taps the collection in his lap. "It wasn't until a few years ago that I found some old papers he had missed, once that were drafts of half-written poems and random thoughts. It was just luck, fate maybe, that I recognized her writing. I had read through most of the local donations by that point to do a little feature stand and hers was one of them."

"I'm sorry, about your mom, I mean," You push aside the throw to curl an arm around Namjoon's waist, giving him a comforting squeeze.

"It's okay, it happened a long time ago," He whispers in return, resting his cheek on top of your head.

"Do you know what happened – why she passed so young?"

"I'm not sure," Namjoon says, "Dad never told me the full extent of it. I just know she had a lot of health issues."

The pit of your stomach feels heavy as you rub your cheek against Namjoon's chest, hugging him close. His mom's history must be why he's been so adamant on making sure you're healthy and taking care of yourself, why he even went as far as scheduling medical check-ups for you. It doesn't make it right and it does not excuse his behaviour, but it does explain things.

"Do you know how Jungkook found the book? I remember the section being pretty hidden away," You tentatively say, trying to steer the conversation over to something a little lighter.

"Hm, I showed him that aisle a long time ago. It's probably the section that needs the least work since so few people know about it, so it would be easy for him to use it and put it back without me even noticing. He probably copied them down in his letters whenever I wasn't on shift – I guess he didn't want me to notice and ask about it."

You suppose that makes sense. No one besides Taehyung and Yoongi was open about their newfound soulmate connection and letters, so it adds up that Jungkook would want it to be a secret too.

"It's weird that he ended up with that particular collection out of every book in the library though," You muse.

Namjoon's breath fans across your hair, his voice equally as thoughtful as he says, "Maybe it was our bond that did it. Even if it's just connected through you, it's still strong enough to influence us. That could explain why he was drawn to it."

"Right," You swallow thickly.

You suppress the shudder that wants to travel down your spine. It's a truly terrifying thought that everything has fallen into place like it was supposed to happen, like the universe made it that way. Even if Namjoon said that your bond is rare, there have to be others out there who are dealing with the same thing. Or, at the very least, there has to be some sort of explanation as to why all seven of them are acting this way – it surely can't be that it's just because they're feeling the bond more intensely than you are.

"Actually, do you think you could do me favour?" You pull back just enough to glance up at Namjoon, giving him the sweetest look you can muster as you say, "Could you bring me some books on soulbonds from the library the next time you're there? I think knowing more about it will make everything a little... easier for me, you know?"

Namjoon stares at you in silence, the second dragging on for much too long before he breaks out into a pleased smile. "Of course, darling, anything for you."

"Thank you," You press a fleeting kiss to his jaw, hating how the action makes your own heart pick up speed.

You catch a glimpse of Namjoon's bright grin, dimples indented on his cheeks, as you hurriedly settle back down against his chest. He puts his book aside in favour of wrapping you up in his arms, humming something under his breath as he holds you close.

Perhaps not all luck has left you just yet. Namjoon practically runs the local library, so if there's anyone who can bring you all the books you could ever want on soulmates and soulbonds, he's the right guy for it.

You're sure there is some information out there that can be useful for you – you just need to find it first.

"He's not giving up."

You halt at Jimin's low hiss, wiping off the last bit of moisture on your hands on your sweats. You're halfway between the bathroom and your old room, shrouded in darkness as you wait with bated breath for Jimin to continue.

"This is the second time he's come by this week and he even brought his boyfriend along to 'act as a witness'. I barely managed to keep them from making a scene."

You can hear the agitation in Jimin's voice, can easily picture how his lips must be pressed together with annoyance as he paces around the room. You keep to the shadows as you creep closer, making sure you can't be seen from the open door.

"It's Heejin– no wait, Heejun right? Y/n's friend?"

Your heart jumps to your throat as you catch Seokjin's low murmur, gripping the wall for support as you listen to them talk.

"That's the one," Jimin lets out an exasperated sigh. "He refuses to accept the story we came up with even though there's no evidence to suggest foul play. He keeps prodding and poking and if he continues, something will eventually lead him back to me, hyung. I don't care if he thinks I'm an incompetent cop; but if he's starting to suspect me, we'll have to deal with it – one way or another."

You press your hand to your mouth, muffling the broken noise that squeezes past your lips. You have accepted your faith, have decided to work with it instead of against it, but your best friend doesn't know that. He just knows that you were being stalked and then one day, you were suddenly gone. If the situation was flipped, you would've been beside yourself with concern. You know he cares too much to give up but you can't let Heejun get hurt because of you. You miss him and Jaemin so much your body aches with it, but their safety is all that matters. You won't be able to live with yourself if the boys harm them in any way.

You stumble back, ears ringing as Seokjin says something in return. You feel along the wall as you hurry back to the bathroom, your breaths falling quicker and quicker. You close the door behind you with shaking hands, leaning on it as you sink to the floor.

You're not sure how long you sit there, mind racing with possibilities of what you can do to stop them until Seokjin knocks on the door.

"Angel, are you doing okay?"

"Yeah! Just a minute," You clear your throat, legs unsteady as you clamber to your feet.

You glance at the mirror, wincing at how disheveled you look. You brush your hair back with your fingers as you take deep breaths, attempting to make yourself look more put together and not like you weren't just tethering on the edge of a full-blown panic attack.

"There you are," Seokjin grins as you open the door. He doesn't seem to find anything amiss as he grabs your hand, leading you down the dark hallway toward Jimin's room.

Should you ask Seokjin about what you heard? Should you beg him to stop Jimin from doing anything rash?

"Let me know if you need anything, angel, you know I'm right across the hall," Seokjin's long strides take you to Jimin's door before you can make up your mind. He pauses before he opens it, leaning down to deliver a lingering kiss to your cheek.

Warmth blooms where he touched your skin, your burning face thankfully hidden by the low light.

"Sleep well, Y/n," He whispers. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze before he pushes the door open, guiding you in by your shoulders.

"Angel delivery!" Seokjin announces as he walks you into the room, snickering at the embarrassed noise you make in protest to the cheesy line.

"About time!" Jimin whines, "I thought hyung had stolen you away for the night."

He pulls you out of Seokjin's grasp and into his arms before the older can hog more of his time, shuffling backward towards the bed as he says, "Close the door on your way out."

"Excuse me?" Seokjin splutters, "Is that any way to treat your hyung?"

"Oh right," Jimin has his chin hooked over your shoulder, flashing Seokjin a teasing smile as he says, "Please close the door on your way out."

"The disrespect! I swear– " Seokjin's voice tapers off into irritated mumbles as he shows himself out, closing the door behind him as Jimin requested.

Jimin waits until he hears Seokjin's footsteps recede and another door close before he pulls back, making sure he isn't going to pop back in to ruin the moment. The boyish smile Jimin is sporting after teasing Seokjin softens as he meets your gaze.

"Hi baby," Jimin cradles your face in his palm, running his thumb soothingly over your cheek. "I missed you."

"Hi," You murmur back, easily returning his smile.

He's only been gone for two days, but something in you settles as you feel Jimin's touch; like a weird itch you didn't even know was there has been scratched. Jimin's shifts at the station often force him to be away for multiple days at a time and while it's a bitter pill to swallow, you've actually started to miss him while he's gone. It's not even just Jimin – if any of the boys are gone for more than twenty-four hours, your chest starts to feel hollow, like an important piece is missing.

You hate it.

Jimin looks at you like he's drinking you in, his eyes never settling on one spot for too long.

If you're feeling their absence this strongly already, you're sure it must be a much worse experience for them. You've grown accustomed to the boys being a little more clingy than normal when they return and the extra skinship always seems to soothe you too. Yet, your breath still hitches as Jimin moves his thumb down to your mouth, lightly grazing over your bottom lip.

The way Jimin's gaze keeps flickering back to your mouth makes it very obvious what he wants – craves – but he doesn't act on it; none of them do. So far the boys have seemed content, though perhaps somewhat resigned, to limit their kisses to your cheeks and hair. They know that pushing you past your limits will only backfire, that they'll only get what they truly want once you're willing and want them just as much as they desire you. They've already spent over twelve months watching you from afar, so you suppose a few months more doesn't make much of a difference now that they already have you in their grasp.

It's only a matter of time before you break and you all know it.

"Let's go to bed, baby. I've had a long day."

"Everything okay?" You grip Jimin's hand a little tighter than intended as he leads you to bed, his earlier conversation with Seokjin echoing in your head.

"There's been a string of minor burglaries that have been giving me a headache, but there's nothing you need to worry your pretty head about," Jimin pulls the covers back, throwing you a reassuring look over his shoulder as he adds, "You're safe here with us, Y/n."

"I know. Thank you," You murmur, swallowing around the knot in your throat.

You couldn't care less about some random break-ins, not in a situation like this and with Heejun's safety in jeopardy. Why would you worry about the monsters that are out and about in the city when you're fighting your own demons right here in the cabin? Regardless, you know that Jimin is speaking the truth. You pity anyone who would ever think to come to this cabin when you got seven, frankly unhinged, soulmates that are willing to do anything to 'keep you safe'.

You crawl into bed first, getting yourself situated on your side as Jimin slips into place behind you. You raise your arm just in time for Jimin to curl his own around your waist, your legs slotting together with practiced ease.

Jimin hugs you close to his chest, letting out a content sigh as he breathes in the slightly woodsy scent that lingers on your skin. "Sleep well baby, we'll catch up tomorrow," He drawls, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck.

"Good night," You whisper back.

You curl both hands beneath your chin, staring aimlessly out the dark window that's visible from the bed. The rapidly approaching winter has made the already dark nights almost pitch black, engulfing the trees despite the clinging snow that tries to brighten them. There are no stars out, nothing but endless darkness that stretches around the cabin like an all-consuming void.

You find you can't quiet your mind, your thoughts racing much too fast for it to happen. You can't shake off the conversation you overheard earlier, of how annoyed Jimin sounded as he mentioned Heejun and Jaemin. The boys have already proven that they're willing to go to great lengths to ensure that they get what they want, so you don't doubt for a second that they'll hurt your friends if they deem them to be in their way.

You can't let them harm them. You won't be able to live with yourself if they do.

Jimin's breathing has almost evened out when you reach down to grab his hand, your mouth opening to blurt out a choked, "Please don't hurt them, Jimin."

There's a second where you wonder if he's already asleep when there's no movement aside from the steady rise and fall of his chest. Maybe it would be better if he is asleep, at least that would give you time to come up with a plan, but you're too frazzled to think straight. All you know is that you need to convince Jimin to back off.

"Jimin–"

You're gently shushed as he intertwines your hands, resting them on your stomach.

"I guess you heard us talking," Jimin mumbles drowsily.

He rests his face against your shoulder, voice muffled against your skin as he asks, "Do you remember how I told you about the night I first felt the bond? That time your 'friends' ditched you at that club. Do you know how you got home that night, baby?"

"What? Don't change the subject–"

"Just indulge me," Jimin interrupts you with a squeeze to your hand.

"No, I... I don't remember. I don't know," You mumble, eyebrows creasing as you try to recall any details from that night. Everything is fractured into broken memories, blurred from the copious amounts of alcohol you had in your system.

You can only picture the sneer one of your 'friends' was sporting behind your back, clearly not meant to be seen by you as you suddenly turned around to ask her something. The flashing lights on the dance floor. Your bleeding knee as you tripped outside the club. Dark, polished shoes barely visible through your tears.

"I didn't just see you that night you fell outside the club, baby. I was the one that brought you home."

"You did?" You stare into the darkness, stomach twisting with emotions you can't quite place.

"Yeah," Jimin confirms with a slight nod. "You were drunk as hell and all alone, it wasn't safe for you to attempt to find your way home on your own. I knew you were hurt so how could I just leave you there to fend for yourself?"

"I think you, or the bond maybe, recognized me right away. You were all over me as I was trying to walk you to my patrol car, touching my face and giggling about how handsome I was," Jimin lets out a breathy chuckle. "You're a touchy drunk, baby, I almost had to put you in handcuffs on the way over to your apartment."

– handcuffs, but I'd rather not do that to you right now. Just keep your hands in your lap, alright Miss?

Baby, you hear your own voice sniffly grumble, not "miss" – that's so boring.

You're not going to make this easy for me, hm? Okay then, baby it is.

The memory comes out of nowhere, catching you off-guard. You were the one that permitted Jimin, no – practically begged him – to use such a nickname for you?

"You weren't easy to handle, Y/n," Jimin snorts. "It took me way too long to wrangle you to your couch and you almost started crying again when I left the room to grab your first-aid kit. You kept stroking my hair as I patched up your knee, switching between acting pouty and cute as you tried to convince me to come to bed with you."

"I didn't, by the way," He adds as he notes the tension in your body. "I just helped you into bed and made sure you fell asleep before I left. Nothing happened. I would never take advantage of you like that."

You believe him. Jimin's letters were always so sexual, always so ready to describe the ways he would touch you as if he was picturing your first time together. If he had already done so, you can only imagine what kind of imagery he would've painted for you in his letters.

"So that's how you know where I lived," You say, mind reeling with the new information. You just thought he had passed you by that night, just long enough to feel the bond. You had no idea that he was the one that safely got you home.

Jimin hums.

"If you knew, why didn't you tell me? All of this, everything, could've been avoided that way."

You feel him pause and hold his breath, before he slowly releases it. "I don't know, baby. I was overwhelmed that I had finally found you – scared that you wouldn't like me when you were sober. It just felt easier to watch you from afar and try to build up the courage to approach you again."

Your heart twists with the idea of what could have been.

Jimin was the first soulmate who felt your bond and who later sent you a letter. If he had just approached you normally the day after your night out, you're not so sure everything else would have transpired the way it did. Maybe you would have looked for your remaining soulmates with his help once you figured out there was more than one. Maybe you would've met the other boys through Jimin or perhaps they would've been more inclined to approach you normally once they realized you shared a bond with their friend.

Perhaps everything would have been different if Jimin had tried.

"Why are you telling me this?" You whisper.

"I know I haven't given you a great first impression but I'm not a bad person, baby. I just.. wanted you to know that," Jimin says, lips moving against your skin.

This new knowledge does paint him in a slightly better light. You're mortified over the way you acted that night and you clearly gave Jimin some signals as to how you felt about him, but it still doesn't excuse the way he has acted or the things he has said over the past year.

He lets out a small, sad sigh when he doesn't get a response.

"You asked about your friend. What if we come to an agreement on how to deal with him?"

"Yes," The word spills out before you can even consider the consequences.

Jimin goes perfectly still behind you, his voice a low rumble as he says, "Do you even know what you just agreed to, baby? I haven't told you what I want in return yet."

You swallow thickly, giving him a barely-there nod. He might not ask for what you're thinking about but when it comes to keeping your friends unharmed, you're willing to do anything. Giving Jimin what he's been craving for over a year should hopefully make him more inclined to listen to you, to trust you.

Jimin's breath hitches as you slowly bring your intertwined hands up your body, not quite touching but still making the implications very clear. You untangle your fingers as you reach your chest, leaving his hand resting just shy of it.

You bite your lip, heart racing, as you wait for Jimin to touch you. A beat passes, and another, but his hand stays frozen in place where you left it, not even a finger moving closer to your body.

"Why aren’t you?–"

"You're tense," Jimin murmurs, nudging his nose against your tight shoulder. "I’ll only touch you if you want it – want me."

"Do you?" He asks.

The question hangs in the quiet air between you, pending, as you try to find your answer. Had Jimin asked you the same question a few months ago, you know what your response would have been. Your body would have curled up in disgust, you would have screamed and kicked and punched if he had so much as tried to put a finger on you. But now... You're not so sure anymore. While the thought of what he's put you through still sickens you, it's not repulsion you feel as you imagine him touching you.

You want it.

Whether it's the soulbond, the isolation or just your mind breaking apart, you don't know. But that doesn't change the fact that you don't mind the idea of Jimin touching you. You even brought it up first, not knowing if this is what he wanted out of your agreement or not.

You want him.

You lick your lips, your mouth feeling dry as you whisper out a quiet, "Yes."

"I need a full sentence, baby. I want to make sure."

"Jimin," You barely manage to raise your voice, but it sounds so loud, so damning, in the quiet night. "Please touch me."

Jimin stifles a groan against your shoulder, sounding hoarse as he says, "Okay, baby, as you wish."

He nudges your oversized shirt to the side with his nose, attaching his mouth to the revealed skin. You let out a soft mewl as you feel the slight sting of his teeth sink into your shoulder, the sensation soothed by his tongue as he licks over the bite, sucking the skin between his lips.

Jimin moves his mouth from your shoulder to your neck, leaving behind a trail of kisses and slowly forming bruises. He reaches out to grope your chest, moaning at the resulting shiver that runs through you.

"Gods," He groans as he massages your breast, rolling your nipple through the thin fabric of your shirt, "Been thinking about this for so long."

"Jimin–" You arch your back, gasping, as he suddenly pinches the nub. Jimin pulls and rubs at it in a way that makes your core throb, wetness coating your folds. As you push your breast into his hand, you feel something hard poke against your lower back, Jimin's hips rolling forward on instinct as he feels some friction.

After all you've been through you know you shouldn't enjoy it, but it feels like your soul preens at the contact. You never thought you would end up here, that you would ever want to be in a position like this, but there's no denying that your body is practically vibrating with excitement as Jimin touches you. Still, there's a small knot in your stomach that only feels heavier the more skin you let him explore. You don't know how much of this is actually you and how much of it is just the bond that ties you together.

"My pretty baby," Jimin murmurs as he moves his hand over to your other breast, giving it the same treatment as the first as he slowly grinds his cock against your body.

He gives your nipple one last mean tug, one that makes your cunt clench with need, before he slowly trails his hand down to your stomach. Your breath hitches as he moves his fingers under your shirt, the skin-on-skin contact causing you to let out a soft moan. Your body feels electrified as Jimin caresses your stomach and sides, his fingertips mapping out every inch of the area before he dips them down under the waistband of your sweats.

"Please," The word barely has time to leave your mouth before Jimin obliges, hand sliding between your legs to cup your cunt. He glides his fingers between your folds, groaning as he feels how soaked the material of your underwear has become.

"Fuck, you're dripping for me already, baby," Jimin curses as he continues to feel up your cunt, dragging the pad of his finger from your aching clit down to your slick hole, giving it just enough pressure to feel the tip of it dip in.

The sensation makes you squirm with want, rolling your hips against Jimin's cock. He lets out a choked sound at the action, attaching his lips to your neck to give you another hickey. He hisses with frustration as he struggles to touch you properly, the angle awkward and your clothes restricting his hand.

Jimin taps the inside of your thigh to make you spread your legs further. Heat floods your face as you feel just how wet you are as your legs part, hooking your foot over Jimin's calf to give him more room.

"Good girl," He praises as he finally pushes your underwear aside. The first touch of his fingers against your aching cunt makes you both moan, your heart thumping harshly in your chest with anticipation.

You know there's no going back after this. The knot in your belly, the lingering hostility, is practically overshadowed by your mounting pleasure. You can feel the part of you that's still angry quieting down more and more with each touch, the tight grip you've had on your resentment loosening. You know this is wrong, that you never should have let Jimin – your stalker – touch you like this regardless of how much your soul is yearning for him. But the horrible truth is that you're never getting away from them. And if this makes Jimin happy, then that means you should have it easier too, right?

Gods, how could you sink so low–

Jimin doesn't waste much time teasing you, too impatient for it when you're already this dripping wet.

He drags his finger along your slit, coating it in your slick before he prods at your entrance. The digit slides into your wet heat easily, your walls fluttering around it as you try to get used to the feeling. He gently pumps his finger in and out at first, making sure you're relaxed before he adds another one. He thumbs at your clit as the second finger joins the first, the jolt of pleasure masking the slight discomfort as you're stretched out more.

You can't quite believe how easily your body allows him in, how painless it feels compared to the previous times you've been with someone in the past. Maybe Jimin is just more skilled, but it feels like your body knows to relax in Jimin's hold, like it wants to be good for your soulmate.

"Shit," You whimper as Jimin's fingers curl against your walls, bumping into the spot that makes stars explode behind your eyelids. You clench down around him, trying to keep him in place and yet draw him in even deeper, desperate for that burst of pleasure again.

"P-Please don't stop," You beg, your mind blissfully blank aside from the mounting pleasure in your core.

"I won't, baby, I won't," Jimin groans. He keeps up the steady motion of rolling his hips against your body, grunting as you work yourself on his fingers, pressing your ass harder against his cock.

You bury your head into your pillow as Jimin's fingers begin pumping into you faster, stifling your increasing moans as he touches that sensitive spot over and over. Your leg trembles, toes curling, as Jimin angles his fingers, ceasing his thrusting in favour of rubbing your g-spot head-on.

Desperate noises fall from your lips as your stomach begins to tighten, your release building so quickly that it leaves you gasping for air. You're almost there, your cunt clenching needily around Jimin's fingers.

"Come for me, baby," Jimin rasps. The faintest brush of his slick thumb against your clit is all it takes for you to come undone.

"Jimin!" You cry out his name as your pleasure unravels, your vision whitening out as your release hits you. You feel your slick gush around Jimin's fingers as he keeps brushing against your walls, prolonging your orgasm for as long as possible.

The sound of you moaning his name with so much passion makes Jimin growl, his hips snapping forward. Your wetness coating his fingers and your warm body twitching underneath his is all it takes for Jimin to find his own release; he grinds his hard cock against you once, twice, before he explodes with a deep groan.

You lay in bed, panting, as you try to catch your breath. You let out a choked whine as Jimin carefully pulls out his fingers, everything feeling so sensitive after the intense orgasm you just had.

"You're amazing, Y/n," Jimin croons as he presses a kiss to the nape of your neck. He slips his hand out from your clothes, rubbing your stomach contently as he says, "Just give me a second to find something to clean us up with, baby, I'll be right back."

You let out a soft noise in return.

You wait for the deep regret and anger to come rushing in as you hear Jimin swiftly exit the room, for the high in your veins to turn to disgust as he returns to carefully wipe you down with a damp cloth and whisper sweet nothings about how much he adores you.

It doesn't happen.

Everything in you feels thrilled at Jimin's attentiveness, at how closely he wraps you up in his arms when he's done. Your heart flutters with excitement as he tucks you close to his chest, arms wrapped around your body securely.

Your soul feels so content that you struggle to grasp onto the hatred you feel for them, the feeling buried deep beneath the happy emotions your soulbond tries to overwhelm you with.

Your resentment hasn't changed. Won't ever change. But how do you explain that you wanted Jimin to touch you – that you enjoyed it? You don't want this or them so why do you feel so content? It breaks your heart to realize that while you do hate them, some small part of your is starting to like them too.

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to block out Jimin's pleased hums as he runs his fingers up and down your arm. You know you won't get any answers tonight and letting your mind run around in circles won't do you much good either. You need the books Namjoon promised he would get for you, that's the only place you'll be able to find some answers.

You let Jimin's repetitive motions soothe you towards sleep, your eyelids growing heavy.

"Baby?" Jimin murmurs, the rhythmic fall and rise of his chest skipping a beat as he tenses up for a split second.

"Hmm?" You make an affirmative sound in return, brows furrowing at the sudden shift in Jimin's mood.

"We've been pretending to be you on your phone, texting your friends and family to keep up appearances. Heejun doesn't buy it."

Your eyes snap open in the darkness, your breath catching in your throat.

"He knows something is wrong since we can't pick up whenever he tries to call you. We won't hurt him or his boyfriend, I– we, know you'll never forgive us if something happens to them. But we need him to back off," Jimin grumbles.

You clutch at his tee, sleep washed away and voice bordering on frantic as you ask, "What do you need me to do?"

"Simple," Jimin sighs, pressing a fleeting kiss to the top of your head, "You just have to convince him that you don't want to talk to him anymore. That's the only way he'll leave us alone."

The thought makes you want to laugh. There's no way Heejun would ever believe something like that. You've practically been attached at the hip ever since you were young, been through so many highs and lows that you taking a trip to the moon sounds more possible than ever growing bored of him. Heejun would never buy such a simple excuse, hell, he would probably only double down harder to figure out why you're so hellbent on ignoring him.

"Right, simple," You echo, deflating in Jimin's arms.

It's never going to work.

You'll have to come up with a much better idea if you want to protect your friends and keep them safe.

a/n: hhh.... so that happened?? 🫣 we got a lot of new information in this chapter! we finally learned more about namjoon's backstory and his connection with the poems, the mc needs to figure out how to convince her friends she's okay and well... we have finally reached the smut!!

please leave a comment and reblog if you enjoyed the chapter and let's scream about what went down with jimin lol 💖

see you soon!

#yandere bts #bts x reader #yandere x reader #bts smut #yandere jimin #yandere seokjin #yandere jungkook #yandere yoongi #yandere hoseok #yandere namjoon #yandere taehyung

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spacedace · 11 months

Text

Here be the first little bit of the new DP x DC AU I warned about earlier where Tim, due to his constant repeated attempts at cloning Bart & Kon, accidentally summons slightly eldritch Elle who is very interested in what he’s up to.

As always feel free to run with this as a prompt if yall find anything here interesting :D

Tim didn’t mean to summon her.

He’d been in the lab, staring at the data on the latest failed attempts at cloning Kon and Bart and feeling like he was cracking in two. Eyes burning, chest tight, world spinning out into shifting impossible shadows around him as his mind and body struggled to push him forward into another day without sleep. The hush of water in the tanks, his unsteady steps on the cement floor, the chill seeping into his bones.

He stumbled and swayed through the maze of the lab, numbers dripping like blood down the screen as he tried to stare at the figures. He needed to try again, needed to bring them back, in whatever capacity he could. This time would work. This time he’d get it right.

When he saw her, feet clumsy as he rounded a corner, he thought she was just another hallucination.

How could she be anything else?

Skin like a polished mirror, hair like the white-hot flash of lightning, eyes as green as the depths of the Lazarus Pits. She floated before a tank, spectral and strange with a long wisping tail that drifted off into nothingness in place of legs, body shifting and changing before his eyes in ways that bodies should not be able to. Outside of the eyes the face was…not there. An impression of the shapes that you’d expect to see in a human face, like the Question’s. Sometimes though the features defined, sharpened. Mirror bright skin crackling as faces took shape in the glass.

In the low light of the lab, he almost imaged one of those faces was Kon’s. Dimples and freckles and high cheek bones and the slant of a silhouette that haunted Tim’s dreams at night. A flicker of her lightining hair and it was gone. Smoothed back into soft blankness once more.

He watched from the of the aisle as she lifted too-long mirror shard fingers and rest them gently on the glass as she seemed to peer in at the lifeless body inside.

Attempt 76.

One of his tries with Bart. The organs hadn’t grown right during the age-up process. Tim had cried for that one as he had for all the others. As he had for Bart and Kon when they had died. As he still did as the fact that it was more maddened grief than hope that kept him pushing forward anyway.

He closed his eyes to the hallucination at the end of the aisle. Breathed deep and steady. It might be gone when he opened his eyes again. It might not be. It might be something - someone - else when he dares look next. He’d been through this time and time again over the days and weeks he’d been throwing himself at this agonizing wall. The only difference this time was the intricate strangeness, the total lack of recognition he had for the figure, baring the moment he almost saw Kon in its face.

Coffee. Maybe some harder stimulants, if he had any left. New data to review, new attempts to be made. He didn’t have time for the effects of sleep deprivation.

Tim opened his eyes.

He jerked back as he came face to face with himself, warped and strange and green in the reflective face of the being where it now hovered so close that if it breathed he would feel it upon his face.

She tilted her head at him, curious. Hands rose to cup his face, rest on his shoulders, wrap around his arms, cradle his hands. More hands than he’d seen before. More hands than he was able to truly comprehend, stomach souring as his eyes stung and strained in the attempt to look at the impossible warping of her body. Despite the glint of shattered glass that made up her fractured palms and splintered silver fingers, her hands were soft and warm where they curled around him. Almost human in the way they held him in place, the hold pleasantly firm.

He’d never had a doting elder aunt to pinch his cheeks and demand to get a look at him, but he imagined this might be what that felt like. The way the being shifted her head from side to side, his reflection warping in the curved reflection of the planes of her featureless face, added to the strange idea. His hallucinations didn’t normally touch him, though. And never so…kindly.

Tim felt his blood go cold as he realized it might not be a figment of his fracturing mind floating before him.

Swallowing nervously, he tried to shift backwards, to slip out of the many grasping hands before the softness turned sharp and began to cut into him. He felt something cool against the back of his legs, hair standing on end as static electricity built up on his skin where he brushed the trailing tail he hadn’t noticed her curl around him. The entity leaned in close, the depthless green of her glowing eyes consuming Tim’s entire field of vision, and he was flooded by the sudden, horrible awareness of being Known.

The world fell away from him, his stomach lurching with the sick-sweet feel of free fall that used to exhilarate him when he’d first become Robin and had flown from rooftops dangling by his grapple and his belief in the magic being Robin instilled in him. The lab, the equipment, the piles of data and desperate scribbles, the failed clones, Tim himself. All swept away in the flood of green and the roar of lightning and the cool press of glass.

He came to would could have been minutes or centuries later. Gasping and sick on the cold cement floor, shivering as he dry heaved. His mouth full of salt and copper and the burning crackle of ozone at the back of his throat.

For a moment, disoriented and dizzy, he thought it had all been a hallucination after all. Or some fractious dream visited upon him by his torn and tattered mind after he’d finally collapsed from exhaustion on the lab floor. That the entity truly had been just in his mind, a consequence of his refusal to rest until his work was done.

Then he felt the glass-cool fingers running through his hair, the warm hand rubbing at his back, heard the low murmurs of reassurance in a voice that was almost, almost human.

He spasmed as he tried to jerk away, hissing with the sharp sting of pins and needles dancing over every nerve. His limbs were heavy and clumsy, and he was crashing back to the cold floor under his own weight before he could even try and drag himself away. His breathing came in short, aching gasps as he tried to twist away, only managing to roll to his back to see the entity where it sat calmly looking down at him.

She had a face now. A solid, steady one that fit her in a way that made him think it must be her real one, though what that meant exactly he didn’t know. The glowing eyes had dimmed and shifted, more human looking with black pupils and white sclera. Button nose marked with silver-tarnish freckles that spread over her cheeks too. A mouth, with lips curled into an apologetic smile. Her hair, still shifting as if caught in a wind that wasn’t there, was still the bright white it’d been before, but the lighting of the locks had settled into faint crackles between the curls. Whatever she was, whatever she’d done to him, he could look at her without feeling like his mind might just crack in two.

“Wha-“ His voice cracked, painful and hoarse like he’d been screaming. Maybe he had been. Swallowing around the burn in his throat, he choked out a hissed, “What are you?”

Her head tilted in that curious slant again, more human features giving her a bright, youthful look as she peered down at him questioningly. “You summoned me, Little Gaffer, shouldn’t you know?”

Gaffer is a term used for a glass crafter, as well as light technicians for stage/movie productions. I’m using it as the term for the person who creates a Clone, with the clone themselves being a Mirrorborn, and the person they are cloned from being called the clone’s Reflected. Gaffer is probably a bit of a stretch for this, technically I think someone who makes mirrors would be called a Glazier (Glaziers are glassmakers) but I wasn’t vibing that as much. Besides I like the vibe of glass + light = mirror in a way.

Anyway, opening volley of a new AU where Tim ends up becoming like a warlock to Elle to get his loved ones back, while Elle is just having the time of her sorta eldritch little life watching this absolute mess of a human wreck shit and cause so much chaos even without the powers she starts giving him.

(Elle in this is both the God Queen of Clones/Mirrorborn as well as the Ancient of the Speedforce (which I’ve decided is called the Ever Onward in the Infinite Realms, because I literally can’t be stopped from trying to make normal DC things sound mystical because spooky Infinite Realms aesthetics haha)

Have a tiny bit more written for this, but don’t know how much I’ll end up writing for it with all the other projects I have currently lol, so if anyone is interested feel free to run with it as you so desire haha

#dp x dc #dc x dp #dpxdc #dp x dc writing prompt #Tim Drake #dani phantom #danielle phantom #elle phantom #god queen of clones Elle #ancient of the speedforce elle #unhinged tim but that's not a surprise #eldritch dani #kon kent #bart allan #mostly just their dead clones but still they're relevant #warlock tim #patron dani #unreliable narrator #only for a bit though #yall thought Tim was bad in canon just imagine what he'd get up to with fucky bullshit ghost powers #tim accidentally ending up as the leader of a cult because he actually is a prophet for a god like being #Kon and Bart are gonna be SO CONFUSED when they come back to life to this shit #Cassie just mad she joined the wrong Death Be Gone cult #also was anyone gonna tell me Cassie joined a cult after Kon died or was I supposed to just find that while reading wiki pages at 4am

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honestsycrets · 5 months

Note

hi sy! first things first, you’re a fantastic writer. i am in LOVE with your western series! second, may i request an idea? it’s the 1920s, and miguel is one of the top mobsters in nueva york, while the reader is his mob wife. after an attempted hit from one of miguel’s rivals that nearly kills her and gabriella, the reader decides it’s time to her and little girl to skip town, but miguel will be damned if his family tries to leave him. cueeeee angst, drama, the whole shabang!

canary I: a threat | [miguel o'hara x reader x gabriel o'hara]

❛ pairing | miguel o'hara x reader, gabriel o'hara x reader

❛ type | double shot; 5k

❛ tags | non-monogamy, some angst, 1920s inspired piece, irish clan inspired piece, bootlegging and mention of hits, explicit, a depiction of killings, some jealousy, some trad-roles elements, f!reader, 1920s slang and Spanish not translated, time period birth control (cervical cap).

❛ sy’s notes | i have spent weeks staring at this piece. it's a bit longer than my usual works and for that reason i decided to split it up into two chapters. this piece takes on a little bit more of a generalized irish mob approach rather than italian. this chapter is more domestic than the subsequent one will be.

Miguel O’Hara hated it when his kills ran. No matter how many alleyways they ducked into, shoddily constructed fences they tumbled over, or crappy cars they tried to hitch a ride in, he always found them.

His fingers were blisteringly tight around his kill’s throat, sure to leave certain bruising if the man made it out alive. He wouldn’t. Not based on the blood that seeped over Miguel’s tanned hand. He gurgled underneath Miguel’s hand, the kill messier than he imagined. Any number of his hitmen could have carried out this contract but instead, his crisp white top was slathered in the contract kill of the week. He recalled the sudden memory of his hand on your slight waist, the kiss on the top of your head with the promise of his night. He snarled the memory away.

Should’ve just shot him, Miguel thought. Mierda.

With the fading of the man’s life, his choked grunts drifted into silence. Miguel allowed the man to slump over. Silence fractured, his world bursting with sound. The salt-laden wind whistled past his hair as ships sailed into the pier, carrying cargo, and his latest shipments. Bootlegged booze had its own benefits-- poor training and numbers among agents, for example. A crackle of an engine sped down the road was followed by the bright beams of an electric headlamp.

“¡Oye, Miguel!”

Of course. Under the bright moon that shone arrogantly in the dark sky, the figure came into focus. His polished suit was just a tad too big for his toned, but hardly muscular frame. Even in the darkness, he had the kind of smile that made people feel like they were the special ones. It matched the gentleness in his eyes behind that swoop of chestnut brown hair. If the feds published men of their color on army recruitment posters, he’d certainly make the cut. Handsome, but not too handsome. Strong, but not too strong.

“Gabe,” he breathed. “The lights.”

“Lights? The lights!” Gabriel looked back at his shiny black car. He bounced back toward the car, bellowing. “This a Spot boy? You did a number on him.”

“You sap. Could you be any louder?” Miguel threw aside. “Why are you here?”

“Thought you could use me tonight, big shot,” Gabriel said in that sugar-dipped tongue of his. It works less on Miguel than it had on you. It was oddly discomforting. As the days wore on, he loathed his brother’s silver tongue.

“I could use someone watching my girls.”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I was. They're sleeping." Gabriel booted the man, more than minced meat when Miguel was done with him. “You had some beef with him, huh?”

“No.” Miguel mumbled, looking at the man’s body rather than his own, something sharp hovering there. There was nothing he wanted less than to stand in the biting cold listening to his baby brother prattle on a moment longer. He wiped his blade on his once-was-crisp slacks and slid it back into its sheathe. “Let’s hit it.”

“Jake,” Gabriel said, an annoying rendition of an okay. Gabriel was full of shitty terms from his stint in the big house. Almost as many as he picked up at Miguel’s speakeasy.

“Say. Miguel?”

Gabriel’s voice was soft, almost strained. Miguel caught his eyes, knowing subconsciously what his brother would say. He sucked in a breath to calm himself from a reaction to thin, sharp words. They balanced on the point of a knife as Gabriel spoke them into existence.

“They're our girls.”

This setup wasn't going to last. One day, you'd probably settle with Gabe. Miguel jerked up to the sensation of your fingers ghosting his chest, twiddling around his inky black chest hair, gliding across scars. He senses the source of his disquiet, your small frame draped over his side, watching him with a foreign curiosity.

“Muñeca?” he murmured sleepfully, tucking a lock of your hair behind your ear. “What's it? Did Gabriel sleep in?”

He finds it hard to believe that his chirpy brother would do such a thing. Mornings were notoriously his favourite part of the day. Unlike Miguel, who shunned the light that streamed in from your thin curtains.

“Coppers took him in for questioning,” you murmured, leaning in to lay a small peckish kiss on his lips. That was quick. His eyes swept down to your lips, lingering there as you spoke. “Gabi said you’d come with me to iglesia.”

“Chingado. He passed the buck onto me.” Miguel groaned, dropping his head back onto the pillow, weighed down by such a stupid request. You thumbed the golden necklace he’d forgotten to take off, gliding one of your legs up his hirsute thighs. He finds himself hiking your leg higher up his thigh. “That’s what you woke me up for?”

“‘Course not,” you muttered. “I missed you last night. Where’d you go off to?”

“To finish intake.”

You didn’t believe that.

“Promise it didn’t have nothing to do with what Gabi got carted off for?” He holds you in a working gaze, something that tells you he isn’t about to answer something like that. You are his woman. Yet, some secrets aren’t ones that he’s willing to disclose. It could put you in a compromised position. Most men, namely the Italian boys, had enough sense not to drag a man’s family into problems between the mob and the clan but in this world, not everyone had sense.

“Miguelito, you’re scaring me.” Your breath quickened, palpable with your chest against his. His large hand encompassed the middle of your back, guiding small, consolatory circles.

“Some things you’re better off not knowing,” Miguel worked at an explanation. Some things like the amount of hits he was getting for Spot boys. The booze going missing from the speakeasy. Some of his girls licked off the street. Just-- some things. “Got it?”

“Long as it’s not another dame,” you mumbled, fisting his necklace around your fist, dragging him forward for emphasis. A smile tugged at his lips, somehow pleased with your response. “What? You been out the house more times than not.”

“I share you with my brother,” Miguel worked the back of his neck. “Better that I skip town than hear you moaning for him. Might hem him up one of these days.”

You laugh-- but Miguel doesn’t find a lick of it funny.

“You got me now,” your hands drifted up to Miguel’s massive shoulders. “How ‘bout this. You fill me all up for church, wear that spiffy dark blue suit. Then we take Lyla out to get her some cherry coke at the apothecary’s. Maybe I’ll even sing you a whole song today if you’re lucky.”

Church, again. Miguel rattled a groan. Of course, he couldn’t have one day off from frateurinizing with people who hated the fuck outta him. Church folk. He didn’t know why you insisted on going with people who openly called you loose.

“Can do without one of those things.”

“If you want me, you go to iglesia, Miguelito.”

West-Side Violence at All-Time High! Italian Enforcer found dead! The West clan’s Gabriel O’Hara facing added charges on suspicion of--

Tch. You interrupted the scowl on his face with a well-placed kiss to his cheekbone, sliding a piping hot mug of Joe before him. Wafts of steam warmed his cheeks. You set down his morning’s breakfast, a plate loaded with fats. No tamales today, but baked beans from a few well-established Irish wives in the area. You wiped your greasy fingers off on a dirtied apron. Miguel stabbed a hunk of sausage as you spoke.

“Gabi’d never do that. They’re trying to hem him up like that capo last month,” your voice quaked, strutting back toward the cabinets. “It’s too personal. He’d… fill ‘em up with lead sure, but a stabbing? It just don’t make sense.”

Sure didn't. Miguel dropped the paper to the side of the oak table, tracing lines of worry that grew into spiderwebs of panic across your forehead. You spoke so feverishly in defense of Gabriel, whose absence was palpable. He often talked about the latest hired singer, sneaking behind your waist for kisses on your nape when Miguel could barely drag himself out of bed in the morning after pulling all-nighters.

“I have someone on it.”

“I bet Papa did it.” His daughter-- or Gabriel’s-- they were never quite sure. He glanced to his foot where Lyla sat. A full seven-year-old, Lyla was a spitfire of a thing, her hair in a bouncy bob topped by a silky ribbon. She glanced up from the dreidel she was spinning around and around. His lips pulled into a minced smile. “What? He’s a liar.”

“Miguel.”

Couldn’t even eat in peace.

“Lyla,” Miguel gestured toward the door. “Go wake up Maeve. Go on kid, get.”

That kid had a smart mouth. He watches her roll her eyes, only budging when you supply her with a hunk of pan dulce. She takes a mean bite, eyes locked on Miguel as she hopped out, somehow less bothered than she was a few seconds ago. You closed the metal door behind your daughter, a hand balled up on the bend in your waist as you watched her skip down the stairs and out of view.

“Most girls don’t talk like that about their papas,” you mumbled. Your arms crossed one over the other for support. “Does she hate him that much?”

“Most girls don’t grow up in the life.”

“Mi culpa.”

With his breakfast all but spoiled, Miguel pushed the plate away. His hand was soft on your waist, nose burrowed into your hair, tracing the notes of jasmine and rose, vanilla and sandalwood. The scent was unmarred by the stench of speakeasy smoke so early in the morning. Your hand came over his, steadying yourself from the rushing thoughts by leaning into his touch.

“I need a girl at the speakeasy tonight.”

Unlike his brother, Miguel’s requests rarely offer a tone of choice. It rolls off his tongue dry and hits your ear like a spike. Nothing about your relationship with Miguel was easy-- it was marred by the rivalry among the brothers-- and as you suspected-- interloping from your grandfather.

“Y Lyla?”

“Maeve is her nanny.”

“How can I step in there without Gabi?”

“He’d want you to. And I want to see you out of this dumb apron.”

“It isn’t dumb,” you pursed your lips, somehow more convinced despite your reservations. Most days, you spend the day in the house-- isolated from any life you came to Nueva York for. Any half-formed excuse that was on your tongue flopped. He nearly has you. “It is right dumb, isn’t it?”

“Sure is. What happened to my canary?”

“She met a pair of terrible brothers who don’t care for pulling out.”

“Don’t blame me.”

He pushed himself against your back, twiddling your fingers against the pantyhose that clothed your thighs. A smile tugged on your lips as Miguel leaned over to kick the front door shut, dipping onto his knees. It wasn’t often that he allowed you to ruin his perfect face before work. Today is a special treat.

But… if you thought back, you really should have.

Took a long time to get any mail from the island. Almost impossible.

In your hands is a sloppily penned letter-- You should be married to one of those boys-- your grandfather. He isn’t stupid enough to think that you’re opening this for the first time tonight, here and now, right in front of him. If you’re ‘reading’ it, you must be wanting him to take a hint. Miguel bent down, placed a kiss on your temple, gliding his hands over your own to place the letter onto the vanity.

He used those very same hands that were meant for maiming against the clasp of a set of pearls around your neck with gentle precision. His fingers coursed along the curls at your nape as he clasped them together.

“How long before your set?”

“Half an hour… maybe.” You stood to face him, pursing ruby-red lips, whispering in his mother’s tongue. He never liked it when his mother barked at him in Spanish, but when it's off your tongue, he knows how sweet it could be. Your hand inched its way over his chest, tracing the fat knot against his throat.

“What’s the issue?”

“I don’t-- feel very perfect. You have all these shebas out there--” women who not only knew how to sing but weren’t terribly mottled by stretchmarks or burdened by the eviscerating effect of motherhood. They’re beautiful, free canaries when they sing in his speakeasy. As much as you loved singing-- you felt shy on that ruby-red stage lately, before a dozen ruby tables and the hopping band.

“They’re to bring in the sugar.”

“Uh-huh, bring in the sugar until they take you away.”

“I’m satisfied.” Miguel took a step up, communicating the way he knew how, by settling his large hand over your jaw. His strong hand glided to your chin, urging you to look him in the eye. “I’m not going anywhere. Tied me down with Lyla as it is.”

“Words are just words. Why buy the…”

“Cow if you can get the milk for free, sí, I know what your grandfather says.” He slips into your chair. “Què quieres?”

“I don’t know, Miguelito. A promise. A marriage. Algo.”

“You want me to wife you up? Don’t remember ever talking about this.” He gestured you to come closer. You stepped up, knocking between his legs. Miguel’s gaze falters, chasing the glint of your tassels as they come to a stop.

“What’s the issue?”

“Nothing. I thought you’d ask Gabe.”

“Gabe gets around.”

“You believe those rumors.” You slap his large hands groping up your thighs, climbing over his lap like it was your throne. His massive frame eclipses the chair, suppressing your comparatively smaller frame. “And don’t think I do?”

“Do you?”

“No,” he laughs. Or, not recently. It’s hard being a father-- harder when he has a whole ass business to keep on top of. Most women wanted those things: jewels, a new pair of silk knickers, and a home. “If that’s what you want, you got it.”

“Oh Miguelito,” he suckled your neck, drawing horrendous marks to the surface. Marks of his ownership in the absence of a ring. He hears the pleased hum of your voice, low and sweet, and knows that’s exactly what you wanted to hear.

“I haven’t put in my cap,” his fingers danced across the outside of your thighs, slipping past your stockings to your silken shorts. He slotted his fingers underneath the fabric, grazing his fingers through your neatly kept curls. Your breath came in deeper bursts as he melded his hand over your vulva, expecting you to grind back on him. You did, ever so eager for him.

“Don’t bother me with that,” he said in a low, husked voice. “You know how I feel about your birth control.”

It was your idea, primarily. Gabe was ever too content to simply be with you-- he didn’t need a large family like the rest of Miguel’s Irish clan. Four, six, sometimes more. Unlike Gabe, Miguel wanted the exact opposite. You shifted over his thigh, obeying his desire to have you ride him. Miguel urged your hips down, working his thumb over the precious button as you did. Miguel’s leg trembled up against your slit, bursts of warm friction warming your hungry body. With his slacks freshly cleaned, you worry about soaking them, soaked in lubricant as you were.

“Come here,” you surrendered a soft moan to him, leaning forward now, less to ride his thigh than the bulge in his slacks. He does not quite care for the idea of ruining himself inside the confines of his pants, but if you want to feel him, he has no reason to deny you. You’re wonderfully spoiled, juddering your hips over him like any whore walking the streets in exchange for a coin or two. What he’d give to have this to himself.

It donned on him-- he could have it to himself. This time, he’d be certain of who the child belonged to. He adored his Lyla, though his irritation with her quips was ever palpable, this-- right here, the ability to fill you and be certain filled him with fat hunger and possessive need to burst into his slacks.

“Stop-- Muñeca-- stop,” Miguel tipped his head back, gathering his focus by digging his hand into your hair, stopping you immediately. His harsh grip loosened, followed up by loosening the button of his slacks and shoving them below the curve of his ass. His cock slapped your silken shorts, beads of his desire dripping from his cockhead. “Take those off. I’m finishing inside.”

“Miguelito,” you slipped onto shaky feet, enough that Miguel could force the shorts underneath your dress to the floor. “We agreed that babies would be--”

“You asked to be my wife. Ain’t this what wives do?”

“I know bu-- not there, deja, let me,” you stopped. His cockhead clumsily poked here and there, until finally, your hand guided him properly. Your mouth fell into a hazy moan when Miguel’s cock shoved forward, breaching your cunt with a snap of his hips. You seated yourself back onto his fat cock, reminded of the absence of your cervical cap in your cunt.

For all your talk, you ached for him, dipping your intertwined hands down to your mound. The rhythm was as sloppy as whatever singer was on stage right now, her voice giving way into a distinct crack. Whatever-- if it bought him more time to properly seed you, he didn’t mind.

He buckled forward as you clenched down upon him, holding him prisoner deep in your body. Liquid soaked his slacks-- and Miguel huffed, puffs of hot air warming your back. That was going to be fun to walk out in. His wife’s cum soaking his crotch.

“Hold still. It’s almost showtime,” Miguel’s voice was thin, his hand splayed on your waist as he used you less like his woman and more like a toy for his pleasure. It didn’t take long for Miguel to find a proper rhythm, his muscles flexing against your back. You were preoccupied as it were with the pain of Miguel’s teeth sinking on your shoulder, spiking hot as his pleasure crested. Soon enough, you felt his warmth fill your core, your head lulling back against him only after his thrusts ebbed.

“Don’t clean up, go on stage leaking.” Miguel held out his hand for you to take, allowing you to pull your shorts back up your ass, nestling his leaking cum in the fabric. It helped ease the anxiety of having you on stage, somehow, to see you in such a state.

“When you knock me up, you’re telling Gabi. I... can't.” You told Miguel, smoothing your dress over your shorts. There was a nervous flush in your eyes-- shame, he placed the emotion. He scrubbed the smile from his face. He had at least a few weeks.

“Sure thing.”

There was a certain delight in seeing you dressed up in that little black dress, all bright red lips, and sultry song. Not that you didn’t look tasty in that stupid apron you wore not to dirty any one of the pretty dresses you wore to church-- like you weren’t a heathen for warming the bed of two O’Hara boys. The people knew it. The church knew it. Damn well, the town knew it.

“Pal, that’s her on stage,” went an Italian boy. An allied family through nothing but contract killing and coin, he was safe here for the time being. One little lapse in a contract could shake it all. “That’s their kitten.”

“She married?”

Miguel turned his gaze back to you for a long moment. Your warm, sweetly lidded words slipping off your tongue, making his mind sluggish and relaxed after a long day. He captured your eyes, minding how your hands fell to the tasseled ends of an already short skirt, daring to expose your skin obscured by pantyhose to the crowd. You knew the game, how far you could lift your skirt without your would-be husband jumping his cage.

“Don’t be goofy. Miguel’d get sore if Gabe tried. She has ‘em both around her finger. Has a kid by one of them. No one knows whose. I got my money on--”

Stupid kids.

“Kid, I’m gunning for another.” Miguel cut the boy off, eyes crinkling at the edges. Something in the way you moved on stage reminded him of Lyla’s pregnancy, perhaps the glitter in your eyes when you met him at his table, instead of backstage, holding his large hands in your own. Some sparkle in your eye, a ginger announcement in his ear. Half elation, half… something else. Something, not quite fear, swirled in the boy’s eyes. Miguel watched with a keen interest as the boy flushed.

“Right on, big shot.”

Miguel brought his cigarette to his lips, letting his eyes flutter closed and his mind wander to the past. He should have known you were hands-off from the moment Gabriel wouldn’t beat it with the idea of adding another girl to their speakeasy.

The best time to tell Miguel about his new girl in the speakeasy was when he was in a good mood: catching any bootleg thief put him in a good mood. Not that he was particularly partial to grey matter and blood spraying him like a fresh pinata, but… he was more partial to money in his pocket and a good reputation. His boys cared for much of the violence in the West of this shitty little town.

“You hired a new girl?” Miguel repeated, drawing a long hit of his cigarette with blood-smattered fingers.

“Spanish girl. Like us. We don’t have a Spanish girl in this joint.”

“Gabe. Most of our clients are Irish. They don’t speak Spanish.”

“You should see her Miggy. She’s got this angelic little face,” Gabe whacked his elder brother, his grin growing ear to ear. There it was, his baby brother got blinded by his dick again. “When she sings you-- well, you get all twisted up.”

“Angelic face,” Miguel mumbled under his breath, tapping excess off of his cigarette. For the price he paid his girls, she had better have the face of Mary herself. The last few Gabe had pulled were mistakes. Some drug-addicted. Others whose husbands always caused a mean stir. He drags his hand down his face, weighing the costs. “She another dumb--”

“She’s Daniel’s littlin’. You remember Daniel? Taught you how to use a kn--”

The sigh that sat in his chest dissipated like vapor, perfusing into his tissue. Miguel looked at the paper Gabriel set in his blood-tinged fingers. He rotated it, gave it a look with his tired eyes. Talk to Gabriel. That old man knew just what Miguel would have said: get your ass back on a boat and go home to whatever rinky-dink island you foolishly sailed off of for this shitty city.

“Lemme see her sing.”

He doesn’t pay attention when Gabriel introduces you onstage for the first time, focusing on the paper ledgers Peter arranged for a review. Unlike his Italian connections, he don’t mind mixing it up with the Jewish boys. They’re twice as smart on the books and twice less likely to be hauling in trouble. Bootleg booze was one thing— the opium, the heroin, the cocaine, and morphine another. It packed too much heat from the coppers.

He hadn’t meant to look up.

It didn’t occur to him that you could have a sickly sweet voice, tempered by the rich Spanish on your tongue, only rivaled by those beautiful looks. His abandoned ciggy threw smoke into the air. He slumped back into the chair with a heavy thud, unclenched his tense jaw, and listened to a siren’s song that felt both familiar and distant all the same.

You had the sort of eyes he swore he’d met before, despite knowing he’d never seen a face like yours around. He’d remember sinking his teeth in that delicate neck that sat under pearls that he supplied most of his singers for their performances. His eyes hungrily cantering down your tassel dress. Not one he provided, no, he knew most to all the pieces in the back. There was a simple beauty in the gown.

You were trouble. He caught your eyes with an intent expression and expected you to blush and look away. You smiled. He wasn’t sure if it was for him or Gabriel, who flicked a grade-A smile, and a twiddling wave of your little fingers. He wants to feel them scratching down his back.

“--anyone home? Miggy? Miguel. Don’t tell me you’re already stuck on her.” Gabriel teased, elbowing Miguel in the arm. “You are! Told you she could sing.”

“Pipe down.” He jammed his ciggy in the dish.

“Sorry.”

He watches you a moment more, the slide of your legs to the tune of the band. The way your laugh resonated through the speakeasy when a patron stumbled onto the stage for his take on some stiff-legged swing. Most women would push them off, look to him for help in the swing, but you ran with the twirl the drunk led you into. He hated to admit that Gabriel was right. Among all the girls in his speakeasy, you brought a lightness to the life of a drunkard he’d not seen in a while.

“Gabe,” he mumbled, standing up and whirling his suit jacket over his broad shoulders.

“Yeah?”

I told’ja so, Gabriel’s voice sounded in his head. He could already feel the stiff annoyance that would be Gabriel’s fist connecting with his shoulder. Why did Gabriel have to know him so well? Miguel spoke with an undercurrent of annoyance.

“Let’s keep her.”

“You don’t gotta tell me twice.”

A hail of loud pops ruptured his sweet, distant memories. He reaches out to snatch his gun from the table, settled between the fresh flowers he plucked for your show. For an instant, his world wasn’t quiet. It wasn’t sounded out by the deafening assuredness of a kill, but very real panic under the singled out by the shrill of your scream.

They're going to push up on us, Miguel told Gabe. He never did take anything outside the speakeasy seriously.

Except tonight, there was no Gabriel. Miguel clasped his hand around his gun, whirling for the source of the flame. The barrage of gunfire is put down as quickly as it began. With a host of Irishmen in the bar, he should be so unsurprised. One of the Italian kids slumped over on his table.

There’s blood-- a lot of blood. Hysterics bound all around, some soothed by their partners or friends. The other Italian boy just stares-- lips slightly apart-- jarred by whatever horror was before him. Miguel finds it hard to believe that he hasn’t seen worse. Others burning his ears like the morning sun in his eyeballs every day you forgot to pull the curtains closed.

“God damn it, Peter.” Standing there is the scrawny little devil of a bookmaker himself, smiling cheesily.

“Hope that’s a good god damn it.”

He shoved his way from the tables, numbing out the complaint of the Italian boy. You were long since gone, probably a good thing that you weren’t here, that’s for fucking sure. It’d been the first time since Gabe’s incarceration he managed to drag you out of there and now… you were somewhere, undoubtedly frightened. Maybe even hurt.

“Boy, wonder who this kid crossed. Say, about Gabe, I got good news--”

He seized a chair, flicking it past Peter, a sure hiss for him to shut the fuck up about his baby brother in the can. Peter put his hands up reflexively, tracing Miguel’s rising shoulders.

“She ran to the back.”

The slender hallway down to his office is cold, only illuminated by the occasional pull-pin light bulb swinging overhead. He came here most days that he wasn’t on shift, taking a hit, or caring for his boys. Keeping track of everything was the best way to stay ahead. And even still-- he missed something from one of Spot’s boys.

You didn’t bother to close the door, balled up in a corner of his small office. He has a glorified cot for a bed in a corner, a heavy desk that nearly killed Gabe trying to hike it down the stairs years ago, and a rack stuffed with any number of books.

“It’s me,” his voice filled the room. You peered up from behind your arms, wrapped around your knees. What a stupid oversight, he thought, whoever was in charge of the damn door let someone in that was… going to be a problem. He was good with Lucky’s crew. Now he was gonna have to pick up that wired phone and tell him some kid was dead.

Your heels scratched across the ground, scooting back to the cool wall. You weren’t hurt-- just, sort of shocked. Maybe being conned into church with you panned out somehow.

“Muñeca.”

“That ain’t… ever happened with Gabe before.”

Gabe. Dy by day that he heard his brother’s voice, it became more of an annoyance. It wasn’t fair to make the comparison-- Gabe caring for most things that went on in the speakeasy, Miguel caring for interpersonal deals and security. With Gabe away, he’d not… it didn’t matter.

“It won’t happen again.”

“If Lyla were here--” You’re a shark-- going after the one thing you knew would hurt. The little girl back at home who he went to great lengths to make sure was safe. She was… his, even if he felt was his brother’s, putting more salt into an ever widening sinkhole that was his irritation.

“She wasn’t.”

“But what if she was?”

“Cállate,” he barked.

“Fine, I’ll beat it. You can holed up all alone down here like you like to be, you-- you-- big lug.” You recoiled for an instant, before forcing yourself up, rubbing at heavily fallen tears in your pursuit of the door. Your cheeks were kissed by raw agitation, all pink and in any other situation, beautiful. Miguel swayed to catch your elbow.

“Discúlpame,” he murmured, a rare apology if you could even call it one to begin with. There was a long pause, and he wondered if you would be upset with him for the rest of the day. “Don’t go. Don’t leave me.”

He knew he made it damn hard not to.

That was the thing about Miguel. He made it hard to get close, but even harder to leave. No matter what he did, you wanted to stay there right by him-- because he was the complicated brother. The one who… well, hell, you wanted to be about. Gabe was good and easy, your Miguelito was…

“Dios mio, Miguelito. This hinky stuff ain’t happening again. Or-- Or I’ll leave you both. Take Lyla right back to the island I came from and marry a man who isn’t in wrong with the police.”

You should have known the day that you gave birth to his daughter that something like that wasn’t going to happen.

#miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara x you #atsv imagines #atsv imagine #miguel o'hara/reader #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel ohara imagine #miguel o'hara smut #miguel ohara x reader

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thedovesaredying · 4 months

Text

Monsters in the Dark | Nikto x Reader | Cowboy AU

Prologue

Introduction to my fic set within the cowboy AU created by @ghouljams for our dear boy Nikto. This is just a quick starter piece to set the scene for the fic so to say. Also decided to include Sputnik since I don't see many fics including the precious baby!

A/N: Obligatory note that I do not condone the owning of dangerous or wild exotic animals as pets regardless of a country or state's laws. Exotic animals require a large amount of knowledge in their husbandry and specific requirements to ensure the highest standard of welfare is maintained. They should never be treated like domestic animals, they do not make good pets.

Warnings: Discussion of Serious Injury, Limb Amputation.

Masterlist: CoD Masterlist

Next Part

Nikto had been waiting for death to greet him throughout the entirety of his career. It was simply an inevitable fact of life both in the military and working as a mercenary for hire. People died constantly at his sides, and it quickly became a question of “when” and not “if” the final string would be cut and his body would fail him for the last time.

There were days when he almost wished for the reaper to claim whatever remained of his empty heart. Torture was tolerable, an old friend at this point, but the months and years of recovery afterwards were what really felt like suffering.

Alive, and yet completely useless. A fractured mind trapped within an equally ruined body.

The only thing he could look forward to was getting back to work once his body was finally strong enough to pass medical approval. Tedious as the waiting game could be, he wasn’t stupid enough to push himself beyond his limits like some honour-hungry rookie. No, he waited and saved his strength for when it would one day be needed, for the days when nothing but sheer willpower can save his pitiful soul.

And yet despite his many brushes with death, he had still yet to be taken by it, even when by all rights he should have been. Death yet remained a stranger.

But why? Was his mind too corrupt and darkened for even the devil to want to touch? He had never believed in any God, but surely there was one looking down on him and mocking his pathetic existence. How else could he have survived an injury that should have killed him?

He could remember little of the mission, only the sounds of people shouting orders, the potent scent of smoke and chemicals in the air, and pain. Certainly not the worst pain he’d experienced in his life, a blade to the gut still had the honour of that, but close to it. He was fortunate that the concussion he’d received had left him drifting in and out of unconsciousness for most of the trip back to base.

His arm was fucked. According to the doctor and the reports from various other operators present on the mission, his elbow was bent in a way it definitely shouldn’t have been, and there was enough shrapnel in the remaining flesh that he might as well have lopped the whole thing off entirely.

Which is exactly what the doctors ended up doing.

It was their last resort, but with the complete lack of feeling in the limb coupled with an infection that just couldn’t be stamped out no matter how many antibiotics they pumped into his IV, it was necessary. They tried as hard as possible to save it, but necrosis had set in, and the safest course of action was to remove all damaged and dead tissue.

He still wasn’t sure what would have been worse, being taken out by sepsis, or dealing with his current existence.

And what a miserable existence it is.

KorTac wanted to keep him on – surely, they couldn’t just let a wild beast like him roam free without a firm hand on his leash – but there was very little they could offer for him. Stay with the PMC and become a glorified guard dog? Train bratty little recruits? Sit behind a desk pushing papers nine to five? No, that would destroy what little grasp he still had on his sanity.

That was how he ended up standing on the rundown porch of a house that could be described in a single word as dilapidated. It was cheap but came with enough land for him to not need to worry about nosy neighbours. He’s so far lacked the motivation to do anything to try and restore the building, but it has four walls and a roof, which is more than can be said for some of the “safe” houses he’s utilised over the years.

He’d been lucky to discover the place at all with how small the town is. A passing comment from a fellow soldier about the region had caught his attention and, considering the impossibility of returning to Russia, he’d decided to look into it. America was a massive continent, and in the US he wouldn’t be questioned for owning weapons. Even better? This particular state allowed him to continue to keep Sputnik without suspicion.

The old man who had been selling the house had been sympathetic after he’d played the whole “injured veteran” card and had even offered him a reduced price for the property. It still sickens him to think about how weak he must have looked in that moment, but needs must, and what he needed was a place to call home, even if only for a little while.

One terrible accident and he’s reduced to begging for help like a stray dog wanting scraps.

His irritation has the hand of his prosthetic curling gently into the fur of Sputnik’s pelt. All it can do is open and close around things to allow him some form of grip, but it works, and he supposes that’s all that matters. His girl doesn’t seem to care that it’s not a flesh and blood hand petting her, leaning into him regardless.

She’s the centre of his current predicament and the reason he’s been forced to reach out for help. No amount of puppy dog eyes and wide grins sent his way are enough to save her from a trip to the vet. Or rather, a visit from one.

He waits patiently as a large car rolls down the gravel road that leads to the small house from the property’s front gate. Sputnik whines as it draws closer, before beginning to laugh with nervous excitement. The moment the vehicle pulls to a stop she moves to investigate, but is quickly stopped with a barked, “МЕСТО!” command from Nikto.

Sputnik huffs, unimpressed with not being allowed to greet their visitor, but settles for sitting at the top of the stairs while her master approaches.

In all honesty, Nikto had been expecting a grizzled old man or woman with decades of experience under the belt when the receptionist had promised to send someone with knowledge of exotics. What he wasn’t expecting was... you.

#writing #fanfic #call of duty modern warfare #reader insert #call of duty nikto #nikto x reader #cowboy au

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fangsandfracturedhearts · 5 months

Text

Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 4: Little Lamb

Summary: After embracing eternity as a vampire spawn under Astarion's wing, the Crimson Palace becomes a haunting symbol of the man he once was. As his personality unravels into a dark abyss, you flee. A year of hardship unveils the harsh reality of existence as a vampire spawn.

Just as all hope seems lost, a twist of fate reunites you with Astarion, revealing a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows. As you navigate the complexities of your relationship, you must confront the unsettling truth behind the Rite of Profane Ascension and the devilish secrets it holds.

In a race against time, you embark on a daring quest to save Astarion from his descent into darkness. With each choice you make, the stakes grow higher, testing the limits of your courage and determination.

Will Astarion find redemption, or is he destined to succumb to his own inner turmoil?

Word Count: 6K

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn

Warnings: [Will try to continue to add more, but in general expect explicit content for mature audiences]

Possible spoilers. Eventual Explicit Content. Slow Burn. Thoughts of Suicide. Violence. Blood. Injury. Mature Content. Self-Harm.

If you notice a very critical tag missing, please don't hesitate to let me know

Rating: Explicit 18+ - [Meant For Mature Audience]

As soon as you make it out of the city to a secluded spot, you fall to your knees brokenly and start to weep. Your body wracks painfully between your sobs, and your eyes burn as if they can’t shed the tears fast enough.

Of course, he had moved on from you and found someone else to entertain ... Ugh, even thinking the word sickened you to the very foundation of your essence.

Did I really expect any different?

Raphael’s words echo in your head, “The arousals of man will return to him.”

That had scarcely been the case. Except for the night you agreed to be his spawn, Astarion had barely laid a finger on you unless you specifically requested it, and you never did, knowing intimacy was complicated for him. Perhaps you duped yourself into believing that he just needed time, but you wonder if so easily agreeing to be his spawn had a role.

Or maybe he just prefers warm flesh. Now, he’s bedding that… that harlot!

Sitting on the hard ground, you bring your knees to your chest and wrap your arms around your legs. Resting your head on them, you let your eyes drift shut. You’re too exhausted to fight it anymore, and you let the misery wash over and consume you.

How many times will I have to endure losing him?

The sanguine hunger is gnawing at your insides like a rabid animal. Your empty stomach spasms so painfully it makes you retch dryly between scattered sobs. Every muscle, tendon and ligament in your body convulses, making your limbs jerk sporadically, begging for sustenance. You should hunt, but instead, you choose to wallow in your dismal self-pity.

When did I become this hollow shell?

You have never lived an easy life. You’re not born of wealth, nobility or with a silver spoon in your mouth. You lived a challenging life. You were not prone to pathetic displays of weakness such as this. You had the blazing fire of your draconic ancestors coursing through your veins, and you always defiantly faced any hardships that came your way, whether by diplomacy, persuasion, or, if all else failed, scorching them from the earth.

When you met Astarion on that beach, that dagger of his threatening to gut you, you had been so close to turning him into a charcoaled husk until your tadpole resonated with his dousing your flames.

Now look at me.

You’re not sure when it happened, but that raging vigour you had possessed had been snuffed out. What was left behind was a yawning void where your willpower to survive once resided.

The next time you look up, you can see daybreak threatening on the skyline. You consider letting the daylight consume whatever is left of you, but you remember Shadowheart’s promise to Astarion if you didn’t return home.

“I will kill you, Astarion, even if it’s the last thing I do.”

She would make good on her threat, even if it got her killed.

Which it surely would.

Your will to live may be dead and buried, but your concern for your friend’s lives is alive and well. The dejection that kept your body planted on the ground all night suddenly lifts its burden, and you take off in a sprint.

You enter the house quietly, hoping that Shadowheart is still asleep, but you find her pacing in the large living room, muttering to herself. She jumps at the creak of the door, the radiant glow of divine magic on her fingertips.

“I was almost out of my mind with worry!” She says, distress rampant in her voice.

“I’m sorry.”

“Wait... what’s wrong?” Fury bursts into her eyes, “What did he do to you!?”

Your back slides down the rough wooden door, splinters catching on your robe as you just let yourself sink to the floor, “Nothing, I didn’t bring on myself.”

“Did he hurt you!?”

“No.”

Yes.

“You’re lying,” she knows you too well, “tell me the truth!”

“He didn’t hurt me.”

He broke me.

Her voice softens as she realizes tears have begun to spill out of your eyes, “Tell me what happened.”

“Another time. Can we... can we please drop it for now?”

You don’t think you could bear to speak any of it aloud, not right now.

Suspicion runs over her features, “Fine.”

You can see the anger in her eyes, her mouth set in a stern, grim line. Her heart is rattling around in her chest.

“Please do not go looking to start a fight with him.”

She huffs, “Why are you still protecting him? What has he done to earn such loyalty?”

“Astarion doesn’t need my protection or anyone else’s - not anymore.”

She folds her arms over her chest, “I’m sure he believes that.”

“Shadowheart, please.”

She sighs reluctantly, “Fine. How is your wound? Do you need more healing?”

“I will be alright. I heal fast.”

Or I should…

Your side still aches with a grievous burning that makes your eyes water.

An uneasy silence stretches out between you, “and the hunger?”

“Keep your distance.” It sounds more like a threat than it had in your head, and you wince at the severe intonation, “Sorry, that didn’t come out right.”

“I understand.”

You drag yourself off the floor, and your wound smarts in objection at your movement, “I think I’m going to go get some rest.”

“Good idea,” she brightens, “you look terribly pale.”

You smirk at her and make your way to your bedroom. Your trance does not come easily to you, and even when it does, you toss and turn as echoes of memories play out in your dreams.

You’re back in camp, curled up in your tent but unable to sleep. The city is close now, and your mind is troubled. Your draconic fire pulses and dances over your fingertips in a mesmerizing display. The glorious heat of your ancestors radiates from your skin. With nothing but your thoughts and control of the Weave, you will the flames higher, lower, brighter, dimmer, hotter, colder in a measured cycle.

“Neat trick. What other things can you do with that fire of yours?”

Astarion pulls back the flap to your tent. The reflection of your fire prancing along your fingertips highlights the vibrant cardinal red of his eyes.

“Can’t sleep?”

Relinquishing your hold on the weave, you let the flames sputter out, “No. Successful hunt?”

“Your necks may rest easy tonight if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“Astarion, I didn’t mean-”

He chuckles low, “I’m just playing with you, my dear.”

He crouches down and takes your hand in his. His skin feels like ice compared to the feverish warmth your flame has left behind.

“Come, my love. Why don’t you join me tonight?”

"Join you? Where?”

“In my tent.”

You hesitate, “That’s not necessary.”

“Please?”

You eye him intensely, probing him, searching his body language, his expression, his eyes, for that well-practised, albeit false, veneer he wraps himself in.

“I’d really rather you disrobe me for real, beautiful. Come.”

Alarm bells blare in your head, “Astarion…”

“My sweet, sweet girl. Do I look uncomfortable to you?”

"No.”

It’s the truth; his expression is relaxed, and perhaps it’s part of the reason you feel so perturbed.

“I want you close tonight. Are you truly going to deny me the pleasantries of your fine company?”

You start to stand, and he rises from his crouched position with you. When you’re nearly on your feet, he gives your arm a quick tug, jolting you forward and off balance. You stumble and fall into him.

“You’re beautiful.”

His lips meet yours, gently at first, but the pace quickens to a ravenous frenzy as if he’s been starving and you’re the sustenance he needs to survive.

His mouth expertly parts yours, and you feel the groan rumble in his chest as his tongue explores, tasting you. Your body pushes into him further, and your arousal awakens in a visceral torrent.

When he breaks the kiss, you moan your displeasure with your eyes still closed, “Not fair.”

"Oh, darling. Don’t fret.” he leans close to your ear, “I’m not done with you just yet.”

Jolting awake, you nearly propel yourself out of your bed. You take deep breaths, even though you don’t need them. Your dead body seemingly has a hard time letting go of the comforts of life. The air fills your lungs with a whistle as the rigour battles with your panicked breathing.

He was so gentle, so sweet, and I ruined him.

With a groan, you lay back down. Holding up your hand, you stare at your unnaturally pallid skin, and you mourn the colour your complexion once held. Desperate to feel the comfort of something familiar, something tangible that you can control, you take hold of the weave. Blazing fire springs into life from your palm born of your draconic ancestry. You let the flame frolic and lick climbing up your hand, over your fingertips and back in a captivating parade.

This is something no one can take from me, not even him.

You register frantic pacing coming from the floor below, and you can faintly hear the elevated pulse of a pounding heart. You douse the fire still burning hot in your palm and relinquish your hold on the weave. Sitting up, the wound afflicting your side bellows in radiating bursts, but you push the sensation away and focus on the restless stomping below.

Something is wrong.

You stumble out of bed, momentarily confused by the clumsy feeling of your limbs.

I’m not graceful by any means, but tripping over myself getting out of bed, that’s new.

You don’t have time to consider it further, so you let it go. You scramble into your clothing and walk to the top landing of the staircase.

“Shadowheart? Are you okay?” You call down to her in a raised, concerned voice.

Even from this distance, you’re already fighting your bloodlust; your body tenses, shakes and trembles, waging warfare on your restraint. Squeezing your eyes shut, you pray to any God that will listen to grant you strength.

“No. I need to speak with you urgently. Can you come down?”

No.

“Yes, but-”

She cuts you off, “I will keep my distance.”

“Get your weapon.”

She scoffs, “I trust you.”

Gods, she has no idea how good she smells.

“Please, Shadowheart. It… It's really bad today.”

“Fine, if you insist, but I’m not scared of you.”

You should be.

Your hunger is frantically digging its talons deeper and deeper into you. It feels like it’s ripping you apart from the inside out. Your mind whispers repulsive thoughts, and you can feel it's starting to take any of the control you had away, draining it out of you.

The pain. Gods, the pain.

You descend the stairs with shaky steps as your stomach once again starts to convulse and cramp sickeningly. Shadowheart smells like fear, and her heart beats so fast it sounds like a roaring thunder. You can hear her lungs expand and contract with her rapid breathing.

This is how Astarion always knew when I was upset even when I told him I was fine. He could hear it the whole damn time.

He had explained this to you, or tried to, on multiple occasions. Experiencing it for yourself was vastly different. Suddenly, all his weird, often poetic metaphors make perfect sense.

As you get to the bottom of the stairs, you keep your hand tightly grasped around the rail, giving yourself something to focus on. The wood complains under the pressure of your clenching hold.

Shadowheart is standing on the opposite side of the room. Her weapon is in her hand as she promised you. It gives you a sense of comfort.

“Are you okay, Shadowheart? You don’t sound like yourself.”

“I received a letter from my parents. They have requested that I see them. It said it was an urgent matter.”

Shadowheart mother had fallen unwell some months ago, and she wasn’t recovering from whatever ailed her. You had tried to push Shadowheart to stay with her parents so she could help her mother, but she had refused.

“You need to go to them, Shadowheart.”

She nods, “I know, but I am not keen on leaving you.”

“I’ll survive. I am well equipped to care for myself, as you well know. Plus, if I remember correctly, a vampire spawn is difficult to kill.”

Her eyes narrow, “Not if Astarion comes for you.”

“Astarion has a new toy he’s busy playing with right now. I doubt he will give me a second thought.”

Shadowheart’s brows rise, “What? A new spawn?”

“No. She still possesses her life, so far anyway.”

Her voice softens, “Are you okay?”

She pities me.

“I will be. Go see your parents, Shadowheart. It sounds important. Please don’t let me keep you from living your life.”

“Yes, I think I should. I won’t be gone too long. Stay out of trouble, will you?”

“I can’t promise that.” You shrug, “Trouble seems to find me.”

Shadowheart gives you her best disapproving glower.

“I will stay out of trouble. Go.”

Shadowheart starts briskly moving about the house, collecting her belongings. Her heart’s pace picks up further, pounding in her chest until it’s the only thing you can hear. Your grip intensifies on the wooden rail, and it splinters.

“I’ll be in my room. Travel safe, Shadowheart.”

Returning to your room, you stuff your head under all the pillows you can find, trying to drown out the raging thumping in your head. You dig your fingernails into your skin, scratching long weeping lacerations up your legs, giving yourself something to focus on in a desperate attempt to remain in control.

Astarion had mentioned that there were times he was so hungry he was all but robbed of speech and reason, and you wonder if you’re getting to that point.

Shadowheart knocks on your door, “I’m leaving now. I will be back as soon as I can.”

You groan at her closeness, “Go, Shadowheart. Don’t worry about me.”

You hear her bound down the stairs and out the door, leaving the house in a blissful silence. With her gone, the hysteria of your bloodlust fades just enough that your thoughts become your own again.

That was close. Too close.

Glimpsing at the window, you eye the boards nailed over it to protect you from the sun. You reach out and hover your hand over the rough wood. Slight warmth radiates off their surface, letting you know the sun still shines.

Your mind plays the memory of Astarion. His arm wrapped around you protectively as he held you firmly against him. The scarlet of his eyes alight while they gazed at you as his thumb swept across your cheek.

It’s a pleasant memory until - the mulberry-haired woman. Her sapphire eyes. Her triumphant smile. Her disgusting, sensual saunter.

You recoil, shake your head, and scold yourself for letting your thoughts run away with you. Moving away from the window, you stumble over your own feet again, your ankle rolling gruesomely to the side as you misstep.

It should alarm you. This new incoordination is bizarre, but you’re too fatigued to give it any pause. Energy feels like it’s being siphoned out of your body, debilitating you.

You drag yourself back into your bed and allow your trance to take you.

Your condition worsens steadily over the following days. Blood still percolates out of the wound on your side, with no signs of healing to be seen. Black streaks now stretch up your torso, down your side, and low into your thigh.

You’re disoriented and weak. Your vision is hazy, and reality feels like it’s ebbing and flowing like waves over a rough sea. Your legs feel feeble beneath you as you get up to check your bandages, which are once again saturated in blood.

I need help. Something is very wrong. Can I die from this? What ailments can kill a vampire spawn? There is so much I still don’t know.

But I know who does.

With shaky hands, you manage to re-bandage yourself sloppily and slide into a robe. You fiddle with the laces for far too long. You see double, triple, even quadruple, and your fingers grasp at nothing but air. It makes your eyes cross, and your head drum cruelly. Putting your boots on is challenging as your knees quack and you tumble to the floor repeatedly.

You should be terrified for your life, but you’re walking the fine line between delirium and complete incoherence, and you find it all rather… amusing. You giggle to yourself, grinning widely as you try and figure out which door handle is the corporeal one.

The walk to the Crimson Palace is long and arduous. You can barely pick up your feet, embarrassingly tripping over yourself repeatedly and falling to your hands and knees in the streets. Thankfully, there are few people out as most would be packed into the various taverns found in the city. Those who are around to witness your uncoordinated lumbering laugh at your ineptitude for walking.

They think I’m drunk.

The thought makes you giggle.

Rounding a corner, you prop yourself up on the wall for a second to catch your breath, only to laugh to yourself at such a silly notion. You don’t need to breathe anymore.

I’m dead.

More giggles.

Wait, where was I going?

You glance up and vaguely make out the shape of the Crimson Palace bathed in the darkness of a cloudy night, triggering your fading memory.

Oh, yes, to see my master, Lord Astartion.

You giggle again, rolling your eyes at the factitious thought. It sends your vision whirling, and you groan.

You look up at the Crimson Palace while you struggle to force your failing body to continue moving forward.

I wish I had reduced that place to nothing but a pile of rubble when I had the chance.

Through the murky darkness, a voice calls out, “It’s so nice to see you again.”

You know this voice, but you can’t seem to place it, and your brain makes sluggish attempts to connect that familiar tone with a memory. You have trouble getting your thoughts to form coherently.

You squint your eyes to peer through the fog clouding your vision and catch the colour of mulberry.

It’s her.

“Ugh. Go. Away.”

Not her. Anyone but her.

She blocks your path.

“You don’t look so good, sugar.” She says in that upbeat, harmonious tone that makes you want to puke.

I should kill her.

A sinister smile tugs at the corners of your mouth, and you try to stifle the feverish giggle erupting from your mouth. In the diminished and very nearly incoherent state you’re in, she would be more likely to kill you, but alas, it was a lovely fantasy.

You don’t bother dignifying her with a response and clumsily try to dodge around her.

“I can’t help but notice you appear to be walking towards the Crimson Palace. Are you going to see Astarion?” she pauses, “I’m not sure he will be up for visitors. We have been having a lot of fun every night. He is quite generous, but you would know all about that, wouldn’t you?”

No. No. No. No. No. No.

“Sweet thing, you do know what I mean by fun, right? Or would you like me to spell it out for you?”

Keep walking... just keep moving forward.

“Sex, sweetness. I mean sex.”

Despite your deranged state, your heart still breaks, and a single tear escapes your eye and rolls down your cheek, thinking of him and her together.

“I’d offer to buy you a drink, but it looks like you’ve had one too many already.”

Pure rage surges through your body, and in an instant, your palm ignites, and fire sways and oscillates over it.

“The only drink I would ever accept from you is your blood. Every. Last. Drop.”

You didn’t feed on the blood of thinking creatures, but you would exuberantly make an exception for this wretch.

You stand up straight, your fury parting the daze veiling your mind, allowing you to think lucidly for the first time in days.

You grin menacingly as you will the fire in your palm to balloon into an enormous glowing sphere, “Or I could just reduce you to an impotent pile of ash where you stand.”

The woman’s mouth drops open, and she watches the fire blazing on your palm, “Pardon me?”

“I’m sorry, sugar,” you mock her, “Do you need me to spell it out for you? I will kill you!” “Astarion will not be pleased if you kill his lover.”

Her emphasis on the word lover makes your stomach lurch, and you grit your teeth, your jaw clenching hard.

She’s trying to get under my skin, and it’s working.

A menacing laugh rises from your throat, and you fix an intimidating gaze on her, “Well, Astarion isn’t here to save you now, is he?”

Her confidence falters. The broad, toothy grin plastered on her delicate features dissolves under your dangerous glower. Her heartbeat accelerates, thrumming the chorus of a grand symphony in your ears. The smell of fear drifts laden in the chilled breeze.

To your immense dissatisfaction, she recovers her serenity quickly, and the beaming, albeit phoney, smile returns to her rosy lips.

She speaks to you pleasantly, as if you two were old friends, “I’m sure we will meet again soon.”

Gods, I can’t stand her.

It sounds reminiscent of a promise, and you pray it's not one.

“Surely, you should be in a better mood by then. Have a lovely night!”

The picturesque mulberry-haired woman swaggers off down the road, disappearing into the murky darkness of an alleyway. The fireball hovering above your palm burns out as your rage recedes. I should have eaten her.

The walkway to the palace door is long and meanders slightly uphill. The stupor clouding your mind surged forward as soon as your adrenaline fell, and you are once again in that dreamlike state. You hesitate at the door of the Crimson Palace.

This is a bad idea.

You have escaped him twice already. Now, here you are, willingly coming back to ask for his help.

He would probably slam the door in your face on the spot at best or throw you into the kennels at worst. The wound in your side aches maddeningly, reminding you of the reason you’re standing here in the first place.

Not possessing enough coordination to knock in the traditional sense, you slam the palm of your hand as hard as you can against the ornate door. It makes your fingers croon with a sweet sting. Quiet minutes tick by with no answer or sound of movement from inside.

Of fucking course.

You sag into the door dejectedly, closing your heavy eyes with a dismal sigh.

I am so tired.

The hefty door swings open abruptly, and you don’t have time to steady yourself. Without the counterbalance to keep you upright, you nosedive forward.

Astarion’s arms quickly slip under yours, halting your fall, “Little love, you simply must stop falling for me like this.”

He sets you back on your feet, keeping an arm out to steady you, but you push it away, still irritated by your exchange with that horrible woman.

Not bothering to wait for an invitation, you stagger weakly into the palace.

His eyebrow cocks at your awkward lumbering, “Do come in.”

“I hate her.”

“Who would you be referring to, my dear?”

“That... that fucking trollop!” You say spitefully.

The dim room seems to undulate around you, and your words are slurred, “I’m going to eat her one day.”

His eyebrows rise in a vexingly handsome expression, “Well, now I am intrigued. Do tell me who you are talking about?”

Jealous anger slithers hot through your veins, “Your.... your purpled-haired hussy!”

A wide grin crosses his face, “I see. I knew you were jealous but murderous?” He chuckles, “I’m impressed.”

His forehead furrows slightly, and he cocks his head, “although, you don’t look entirely yourself.”

“Something is wrong with me.”

"Now that, my treasure, is something we can agree on.”

Rolling your eyes, you continue, “I need help.”

“Petitioning me for help, are you? Cute.”

You huff at him, exacerbated, “You know what? This was a bad idea. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

You start towards the door, stumbling awkwardly.

“Wait.”

His hand reaches out and tenderly encircles your forearm, steadying you. Your eyes drift to his. Is that concern you see reflected in those deep crimson irises?

I must be truly delirious. "What's wrong?”

“The wound from the stake isn’t healing.”

His eyebrows furrow, “Show me.”

Your fingers fumble with the lace ties of your robe in uncoordinated rigour. Your vision sways, rocking like trees in a blustery wind. Cursing under your breath, you squint, trying to focus.

Astarion steps forward, coming close enough that you can finally see him clearly. He’s shirtless, and his trousers are untied at the front.

Good Gods…

“Have I ever told you how pretty you are?”

The words spill out of your mouth dreamily, and you giggle at how free you feel. You’re no longer shackled by the fear or sadness that has consumed you and hollowed you out. You feel unencumbered, a great weight lifted from your shoulder.

“Yes, I think you have mentioned it a time or two, but please, do feel free to tell me again.”

You stop squinting and fumbling with the laces on your robe to look up at him doe-eyed, “You’re beautiful.”

“You are in quite the state, aren’t you?”

His hands brush yours away, and he starts to deftly untie the laces.

“Hey… Rude.” You stick your tongue out at him childishly.

Losing your balance, your hand finds the smooth skin of his shoulder to stabilize yourself. His body stills under your touch, muscles tense.

A sharp pang of guilt slides down your throat, “Sorry.”

You withdraw your hand. He catches it and places it back on his shoulder before undoing the remaining laces holding your robe.

Astarion gently slips your robe over your shoulders and lets it fall to the ground around your feet, leaving you in your underclothes. He eyes the blood-soaked bandages wrapped carelessly around your abdomen intently.

“May I?” he asks, pointing to the sodden dressing, “I need to examine it.”

“I can do it."

He scoffs, “My dear, you can barely stand. How about you just focus on keeping that pretty little face off my floor.”

You scoff back, imitating him, but nod your consent, “I hate her.”

“Yes,” he laughs lightheartedly, “we have established that.”

“Do you love her?”

The question erupts from your lips before you have time to stop yourself.

Do I even want to know?

The question makes him flounder as if he had physically tripped on your boldness, “Am I capable of love?”

“I don’t know. Are you? Loving your reflection doesn’t count.”

He smirks, “Hold onto me.”

“What?”

“Little love, you are not wearing these grimy boots in my house. They need to come off.”

“I’ll do it.”

“My dear, we’ve been through this. For once, will you just listen to me?” Astarion kneels before you, one knee on the floor, “Are you ready?”

You tentatively reach out and put both hands on his shoulders to keep yourself upright. Astarion lifts your weak, trembling leg and starts slipping off your boots.

“What are these?”

You glance down at your legs, where your fingernails ripped long, jagged cuts into them to fight your revolting temptations.

“They’re nothing."

Astarion looks at them studiously, running his fingers over the irregular long gouge. He leans in closer, and you try to pull back, but he grabs your leg and holds it firmly in place while giving you a stern look.

When you stop fighting, he leans in and places gentle kisses on those long wounds, slowly trailing them up toward the apex of your thighs, making you squirm. He stops short.

Moving onto the next leg, he repeats the process of sliding your boot off while you use his body to steady yourself and then trailing those long cuts with gentle kisses, once again stopping short.

You can’t help yourself, and you groan loudly.

Once Astarion has stripped your boots from your feet, he slowly rises to his full height so he doesn't throw you off balance since his body is the only thing keeping you on your feet.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He motions for you to follow him deeper into the palace, but your legs buckle under you. Before you can fall again, his arm hooks under your knees and the other cradles your back as he sweeps you off your feet effortlessly.

You struggle weakly, “I can walk.”

“Truly? Can you?”

He looks at you with an obvious imitation of melodramatic astonishment, and a laugh rumbles in his throat.

He’s having too much fun at my expense.

Astarion walks with an agile grace as he cradles you in his arms and carries you through the familiar dark halls you called home for a short while. The floor barely creaks, and his footsteps are all but silent.

Not fair.

Candlelight bathes the bedroom in a saffron-coloured warmth. The room smells pleasantly like finely aged brandy, bergamot, and rosemary. It smells of him, and that comfortable recognition envelopes you. Astarion eases you down on the fine, silk bed cover, taking care not to jostle you about. Grabbing a clean cloth, he wets it in the washbasin perched on a carved table. He crouches smoothly, positioning himself between your legs.

Oh…

Memories flash across your vision of him in the forest clearing, him in that bedroom the night he turned you, and heat pools between your legs. A needy groan escapes your lips as you tear your eyes off of him meekly. If your heart could beat, it would be battering against your ribs as if it were trying to rip itself from your bosom. A sensual chuckle rattles deep in his chest, fully aware of what he’s doing.

Oh no.

You are starved for physical affection, having spent the last year distanced from your friends or locked away entirely. They had tried to comfort you, of course, but you couldn’t be trusted to get too close to anyone with a heartbeat. Except for a few brief uncomfortable hugs or reassuring squeezes of your hand, you haven’t been touched since before you fled this place. You craved it like the desert sands crave moisture during a drought.

You struggle to push yourself further up the bed and away from him. You squeeze your legs together, trying to shut him out. You feel too vulnerable, almost stripped bare with your legs spread, and entirely too aroused, given the predicament you currently find yourself in.

His hand grips your thigh tenderly but firmly, keeping it to the side and pinning you in your place.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he tuts, “hold still.”

You groan loudly and cover your face with your hands, surrendering to him.

“Good girl.”

With light, gentle strokes, he starts wiping the smeared blood from your midsection. He looks at the injury curiously, cocking his eyebrow. Blood continues to weep gradually from it, and the black streaking spreads out like inky tendrils across your ghostly skin. He pushes his fingers on the wound, coating them in your blood.

You wince at the uncomfortable pressure, “What are you doing?”

His crimson eyes meet yours with an intensity that makes you hold your breath, yet another reflexive habit. Bringing his fingers to his mouth, he sucks on them while holding your gaze. It’s oddly sensual until his face contorts into a grimace. He spits your blood out into the cloth.

Well, that can’t be good, he would never waste blood.

“Poison. You need an antidote and rest, pet.”

“Don’t call me pet.”

“I’ll call you whatever I like.” He hisses.

“Why do you do this?”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He pouts sarcastically.

“Don’t you? You swing from one extreme to the next so fast I can hardly keep up. You’re nice one moment, and treating me like a belonging the next.”

He frowns, “You do belong to me. I made sure of it.”

He’s trying to get under my skin.

“Yes, you did. Are you proud of yourself, love?”

“Indeed I am.”

You grumble, “Pompous prick.”

He laughs at you, “Sassy tonight, aren’t we?”

"You didn’t answer my question.”

A malevolent smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, reaching his eyes, “I do rather enjoy you like this, you know.”

You swallow hard, “Like what?”

“Nearly naked, laid out before me on my bed, and entirely at my mercy.”

Levelling a glowering look at him, “You don’t scare me.”

If nothing else, your incapacitated mental state gives you courage, or perhaps you are just too far gone to feel fear. Either way, speaking your mind feels magnificent. You have muzzled yourself too often around him, but the muzzle is off, and your fangs are bared - sort of speak.

“Oh?” he pouts innocently, “I suppose I will have to try harder then, won’t I?”

“I suppose you will if that’s what gets you going.”

“I would be happy to demonstrate what gets me going.”

Astarion rises slowly from his crouched position between your legs. His hand holding your thigh starts to glide leisurely up your body, delicately skimming over every curve. You try to push him away, but it’s like a feather trying to push over a brick wall.

His knee nudges your legs further apart, and he pushes his hips into you, anchoring you between him and the bed. The friction is serene, sending waves of need rocketing through you. You would be lying if you said his proximity was entirely unwelcome.

“When did you eat last?” he whispers as his lips ghost over yours.

What a weird question.

“Why? What difference does it make?” You squirm under him, the pressure of his body overwhelming your senses.

“I have my reasons, darling.”

Your eyebrow pulls down slightly in confusion, “Which are?”

“None of your concern.” He says curtly, “When did you eat last? I won’t ask again.”

Do I dare?

Yes.

Yes, I think I dare.

You meet his gaze, dead on, challenging him, “None of your concern.”

Astarion scowls harshly, “Shall I force you to tell me, my sweet, sweet spawn?”

You scoff, “Oh, spare me the bullshit, Astarion.” You roll your eyes at him, but it makes your stomach lurch. You fight the wave of nausea and continue, “If you’re going to force me, then just do it already. I’m beyond sick of your threats.”

He pushes himself back abruptly, ending the decadent feast of friction you have been savouring. He paces back and forth menacingly in front of you. A terrifying expression is painted across his face.

Did I push him too far this time?

Astarion strides over to a cabinet and flings the door open, nearly pulling the door straight off, grabs a bottle and comes back to you. He looks at you with animosity brewing in those cold red eyes.

“Drink this and get out.”

He throws the bottle on the bed beside you.

You finger it hesitantly, “What is it?”

“Antidote. Drink it and leave.”

“Fine.”

Astarion leaves the room and fades into the dark hallway. You swig down the bottle of antidote as fast as you can, trying to get the least amount of it on your tongue as possible. The taste still makes you want to throw up.

It works fast, and you can already see the constant dripping of blood from the wound start slowing, and the black streaks start to recede slowly. The haze clouding your mind dissipates, and you are once again lucid... mostly.

You manage to get yourself up off the bed, but your limbs are still weak, trembling and not complying with the orders you’re giving them.

Astarion returns with your robe, chucking it to the floor at your feet. By the time you manage to get your boots on and out the door, you realize that dawn is not far off.

I don’t have enough time to get back.

“Astarion, dawn is soon. I’ll-”

He cuts you off, “Burn, yes. I am aware.”

I pushed him too far.

His brows pull down, low in a sinister glare, “Run, little lamb.”

Big thank you to everyone who takes the time to read/follow/like/reblog/comment/etc -- I hope you're enjoying it as much as I enjoy writing it :)

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

If you're interested I have another with Spawn Astarion x Tav called -Shadows of the Past

AO3 [Crossposted]

#bg3 astarion #astarion x tav #bg3 fanfiction #astarion fanfic #astarion x you #astarion x reader #ascended astarion #bg3 #astarion smut #astarion #baldurs gate 3 #astarion ancunin

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quinzzelx · 1 month

Text

Don't Go

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: Azriel thought he knew what pain was. But faced with the consequences of battle, he shatters.

Word Count: 4.8K

Warnings: Heart-shattering angst. I'm sorry, this does not have a happy ending. Death. I need to still proofread this!

A/N: One of my favorite Band's songs, one that I hold very dear to my heart, is called "Don't Go"... Let's just say, this song expresses the feelings of this perfectly. If you are interested in an alternate ending, one with a happy one, let me know.

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I was raised in the valley There was shadows and death Got out alive but with scars I can't forget

You never imagined that drowning could be so tranquil. Drifting, falling, floating deeper into the abyss, your once-alert eyes now glazed over with a distant emptiness. The shimmering surface of the moon above reflected in the water, casting a serene glow upon the scene. Despite the turmoil raging within you, the water remained calm, almost comforting as it enveloped you.

With each passing moment, consciousness slipped further away, your limbs heavy and unresponsive. The light above grew dimmer, more distant, as you descended into the depths. A sharp pang in your chest served as a grim reminder of impending death, your lungs screaming for air that was nowhere to be found. The burning agony of suffocation clawed at your throat, the water filling your lungs with each desperate gasp.

This was the end. At the age of 347, a mere blink in the lifespan of a Fae, you faced your demise. While humans might find such longevity unfathomable, for your kind, it was but a fraction of existence. Yet, as the final bubbles of air escaped your lips and rose toward the surface, a sense of peace washed over you. Despite the fear that once gripped your heart, in this moment, all was calm.

Your death would not be in vain. You had fought until the very end. And now, as you surrendered to the depths of the lake, you found solace in the embrace of the water, welcoming you home. Your vision blurred, the edges of your consciousness fading as you struggled to stay afloat. Every movement sent waves of agony rippling through your body, your broken bones protesting with searing pain. Despite your efforts, the darkness continued to close in, suffocating you with its crushing weight.

But then, a sensation unlike any other tore through you, a visceral reaction that seized your heart in a vice-like grip. Panic surged through your veins, amplified by the frantic beating of your heart. It was as if every fiber of your being screamed out in terror, a primal instinct that screamed for survival.

Ears ringing and throbbing with agony, you felt a sharp, stabbing pain shoot through your skull as your eardrums burst under the immense pressure. The pain was excruciating, a relentless assault on the last bit of strength you held onto.

An orphan and a brother and unseen by most eyes I don't know what it was that made a piece of him die Took a boy to the forest Slaughtered him with a scythe Stamped on his face An impression in the dirt Do you think the silence Makes a good man convert?

In the tumultuous landscape of the Illyrian Mountains, whispers of dissent had been stirring for years. Cassian's hunch had sparked a relentless pursuit of the rebels, their motives driven by a desire to reclaim power and revert to antiquated traditions. Their disdain for the new order, especially Rhysand's leadership, fueled their rebellion.

Months of meticulous investigation led Azriel to their hidden stronghold, nestled deep within the rugged terrain. The plan was in motion: pairs deployed, each with a specific mission. Cassian and Feyre, Rhysand and Mor, Nesta and Azriel, and you with Gwyn and Emerie tasked with liberating the captive females.

Amidst the chaos of battle, Azriel wielded Truthteller with lethal precision, dispatching adversaries with practiced ease. Yet, his focus fractured when Emerie and Gwyn rushed to his side, your absence glaringly apparent. Dread coiled in his gut as Gwyn's wide-eyed gaze met his. It was then that Azriel noticed your absence, a sinking feeling gnawing at his gut. "Where is she?" His voice was tight with worry, urgency lacing his words. Her response only fueled his anxiety. "There was a group of about ten. She's our best fighter, and she insisted we go for help." Azriel's instinctive reaction was to scowl at Gwyn's decision to leave you behind, but he knew you were capable. Still, the thought of you facing such odds alone churned his stomach. So many of them? Fuck, he had to find you. A glance at Nesta was enough as she immediately nodded. "Find her." With a silent nod, Azriel launched himself into the sky, his wings slicing through the air with a fierce determination. The urgency of his mission spurred him onward, each powerful beat bringing him closer to the treeline that marked the edge of the battlefield.

It was only recently, during your parting, that the bond between you had awakened with startling clarity. The sensation pulsed within him, a potent reminder of your connection. How had he overlooked it for so long? The question gnawed at him as he scanned the landscape below, every hut, every tent, every clearing scrutinized for any sign of you.

As he neared the cliffside, a gust of wind carried the pungent scent of blood, assaulting his senses with brutal force. Panic seized him, his chest constricting with a primal fear as he descended closer to the source of the chaos. Then, amidst the carnage, he felt it—a flicker of your presence, fragile yet unmistakable.

We all have our horrors And our demons to fight But how can I win when I'm paralyzed? They crawl up on my bed Wrap their fingers round my throat Is this what I get for The choices that I made?

Landing with a staggering thud, Azriel stumbled forward, his chest heaving as he fought to quell the rising panic. Ears ringing, he scanned the scene before him, desperate for any sign of you amidst the chaos of battle. The sight of severed limbs and pools of blood sent a shiver down his spine, his heart hammering with dread. The battlefield was a scene of utter devastation, a macabre tableau of violence and chaos. Bodies littered the ground, their limbs twisted at unnatural angles, pools of blood mingling with the churned earth. The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood and the acrid scent of sweat and fear.

A sudden sound to his right shattered the eerie silence, drawing Azriel's attention like a predator honing in on its prey. His eyes narrowed, scanning the landscape until they landed on a figure slumped against a tree stump. The Illyrian's battered form was a testament to the brutality of the conflict, bruises marring his face, blood staining his clothes. As Azriel approached, his shadows coiled around him like vengeful serpents, an ominous aura of danger emanating from his every movement. His broad shoulders were squared, his stare intense and unwavering, like the embodiment of death itself stalking through the battlefield.

The Illyrian male flinched as Azriel loomed over him, a towering figure of wrath and retribution. With a swift motion, Azriel snatched him by the collar, yanking him up and pressing him against the tree with a force that left no room for defiance. "Where is she?" Azriel's voice was a low, menacing growl, barely contained fury simmering beneath the surface. The Illyrian snarled in response, his bruised and bloodied face contorted with defiance. He spat into Azriel's face, a vile mixture of blood and saliva, his defiance fueling the flames of Azriel's rage. "I won't tell you a gods damn thing, Bastard," he spat, his voice dripping with venom.

Azriel's fury intensified as he tightened his grip, bones cracking and snapping under his relentless grasp, the Illyrian's defiant sneer faltering as pain seared through him. "Tell me where she is," Azriel growled, his voice a dangerous rumble that reverberated through the air like a thunderclap, echoing the storm raging within him.

The Illyrian's lips curled into a twisted grin, his defiance unyielding even in the face of Azriel's wrath. "Your whore? We took care of her," he taunted, his voice laced with malice as he sought to goad Azriel further. Azriel's gaze darkened, a storm of fury brewing behind his eyes as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against the Illyrian's face. With a swift motion, he slammed him against the tree once more, the force of the impact jarring his senses. "You will regret those words," Azriel growled, his voice dripping with icy venom. In an instant, Azriel's shadows surged forward, wrapping around the Illyrian's limbs like vengeful tendrils, constricting and squeezing with crushing force. The Illyrian's defiant grin faltered, replaced by a look of sheer terror as he struggled against the suffocating darkness. Azriel's grip tightened, his fingers digging into the Illyrian's flesh as he leaned in closer, his voice a low, menacing whisper. "You will tell me everything," he snarled, his words a promise of retribution as he unleashed the full extent of his wrath upon the helpless captive.

Azriel's gaze hardened, his patience wearing thin as he pressed the Illyrian harder against the tree. "You will tell me," he insisted, his voice a deadly whisper. "Or I will make you wish you had."

With a defiant glare, the Illyrian spat back, "You can't scare me, Shadowsinger. I'd rather die than betray my comrades."

Azriel's jaw clenched, his fury simmering just beneath the surface as he stared down at the defiant captive. "So be it," he growled, his voice cold and unforgiving. "But know this, your death will be swift compared to the torment I will unleash upon those who have harmed her."

With a final, chilling glare, Azriel released his grip, allowing the Illyrian to crumple to the ground in a heap. Azriel's heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing like thunder in his ears as he stumbled forward, the weight of the bond pressing down on him like a suffocating shroud. Desperation clawed at him as he scanned the surroundings, his senses straining to pick up any sign of your presence.

God forgive me for all my sins God forgive me for everything God forgive me for all my sins God forgive me God forgive me

As he reached the edge of the cliff, overlooking the vast expanse of the lake, a sinking feeling settled in the pit of Azriel's stomach. Where were you? His mind raced, frantically trying to piece together the puzzle of your disappearance. And then it hit him, a searing pain shooting through his head as the bond between you wavered and dimmed. Gasping for breath, he clutched at his chest, his vision swimming with panic and fear. He couldn't lose you, not like this.

Azriel's mind reeled as the realization struck him like a bolt of lightning. You were dying, and he had only just discovered that you were his mate. The weight of the revelation bore down on him, suffocating him with a sense of dread and urgency. With a fierce determination, he forced himself to focus, pushing aside the overwhelming surge of panic threatening to consume him. He cursed himself for not recognizing your distress sooner, for failing to protect you when you needed him most.

The sensation of suffocation intensified, the air growing thick and heavy around him. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't bear the thought of losing you. Then it hit him like a physical blow, his eyes widening in horror as the truth dawned on him. "No," he whispered hoarsely, his voice trembling with fear and desperation. In an instant, he was on his feet, his movements fueled by a primal instinct to save you at any cost. The chaos unfolding at the cliffside suddenly made sense, and he knew what he had to do.

With lightning speed, he leapt into the depths below, his senses on high alert as he scanned the eerie still surface of the lake. Every fiber of his being screamed for you, a silent plea echoing in the depths of his soul. No, no, no. He couldn't lose you. Not now. Not ever.

Don't go I can't do this on my own Don't go I can't do this on my own Save me from the ones That haunt me in the night I can't live with myself So stay with me tonight Don't go

Frantically, Azriel swept over the vast expanse of the lake, his heart pounding in his chest with each beat of his wings. The enormity of the task ahead overwhelmed him, but he refused to succumb to despair. With each passing moment, the silence from the other side of the bond grew louder, echoing in his mind like a haunting refrain.

"Please," he pleaded silently, his thoughts a desperate mantra as he called out your name into the void. "Hold on, just a little longer." He tugged at the fragile thread of the bond, hoping for some sign of life, some glimmer of reassurance. But there was only emptiness, a faint flicker that threatened to snuff out entirely.

Then, like a beacon in the darkness, a glimmer of light caught his attention, reflecting off the surface of the water below. It was a small ray of hope amidst the vast uncertainty, and Azriel clung to it with all his strength. Grateful for the clarity of the lake's icy waters, he scanned the depths below, searching for any sign of you.

And then he saw it—a flash of metal glinting in the moonlight, unmistakably your sword. His heart leaped with a mixture of relief and dread as he circled the area, his keen eyes scouring the surroundings for any trace of you. With a surge of determination, Azriel dove into the clear waters of the lake, his muscles straining with the effort as he propelled himself downward. Anxiety gripped him like a vice, each stroke of his wings a desperate plea for your safety.

His heart hammered in his chest as he descended deeper into the murky depths, his senses keenly attuned to every movement, every shadow that flickered in the water around him. The pressure of the water pressed in on him, threatening to crush him with its weight, but he pushed on, fueled by the urgency of the situation.

"Please," he prayed silently, the word a fervent prayer on his lips as he scanned the darkness below. The faint outline of your form came into view, a haunting specter in the gloom, and his heart clenched with fear at the sight.

His Illyrian wings strained against the resistance of the water, their powerful beats driving him ever closer to you. Every fiber of his being screamed for him to reach you, to pull you from the grasp of the icy depths and into the safety of his arms.

With each stroke of his wings, Azriel descended deeper into the darkness, his heart pounding with a mixture of dread and determination. His fingers strained, grasping for your form as he fought against the relentless pressure of the water.

When he finally reached you, his heart twisted painfully at the sight of your vacant eyes staring lifelessly into the abyss. Gently, he pulled you into his arms, cradling your limp body against his chest as he began the arduous journey back to the surface.

Tell me that you need me 'cause I love you so much Tell me that you love me 'cause I need you so much Tell me that you need me 'cause I love you so much Say you'll never leave me 'cause I need you so much

As he ascended, a sense of urgency gripped him, his movements swift and purposeful as he struggled against the weight of your lifeless form. Halfway to the surface, he summoned his power and with a flicker of shadows, he winnowed to the shore, still holding you tightly in his embrace.

Your body felt unnaturally cold against his, your skin pallid and clammy as he laid you gently on the ground. Panic surged through him as he knelt beside you, his hands shaking as he pressed against your chest, desperate for any sign of life. But there was nothing—no rise and fall of your chest, no flutter of your eyelids. Tears stung his eyes as he stared down at your motionless form, the weight of his failure crushing him with each passing moment. "No," he whispered hoarsely, his voice cracking with emotion as he fought to suppress the rising tide of despair. "No, no, no."

With tears streaming down his cheeks, Azriel bent over your motionless body, his hands trembling as he began chest compressions. Each push was an agonizing reminder of his helplessness, his fingers pressing against your chest with desperate force, willing your heart to respond.

The bond between you dimmed with each passing second, a thin thread of connection that threatened to snap at any moment. But Azriel refused to let go, his mind consumed by a singular determination to bring you back from the brink. Leaning down, he pressed his lips to yours, breathing life into your still body with every exhale. The taste of saltwater lingered on your lips, a bitter reminder of the depths from which he had pulled you.

His movements were frantic, almost desperate, as he continued to alternate between chest compressions and breaths, his own breath ragged with exertion. His wings, normally a symbol of strength and power, drooped at his sides, soaked with water and heavy with the weight of his despair. In the midst of his efforts, he failed to notice the arrival of Cassian, Nesta, Rhys, and Feyre, their shocked gazes fixed upon the scene unfolding before them. They hovered at a distance, unsure of how to intervene, their hearts heavy with the weight of your precarious situation.

But Azriel was lost in his own world, consumed by the task at hand. He refused to acknowledge the fear gnawing at his heart, the dread that threatened to consume him whole if he dared to let it in. Azriel's hands moved with a desperation born of sheer terror, his fingers trembling as they continued to press against your chest. Each compression sent a jolt of anguish through his body, his muscles straining with the effort to bring you back to life. "Please," he whispered, the word barely audible over the rush of blood in his ears. "No, please."

His vision blurred with tears, the world around him reduced to a hazy backdrop of grief and despair. He chanted your name like a prayer, a desperate plea to whatever gods might be listening to spare your life. "You can't go," he pleaded, his voice breaking with emotion. "Not like this." Beside him, Cassian's heart shattered at the sight of his brother's anguish. Stepping closer, he placed a hand on Azriel's back, a silent gesture of support in the face of overwhelming sorrow.

"Brother," he murmured, his voice thick with unshed tears. But before he could say anything more, Azriel's head snapped in his direction, rage blazing in his eyes. "No!" Azriel snarled, his shadows swirling around him in a tempest of fury. Cassian recoiled, his heart aching at the sight of his brother's pain etched so clearly on his face. Feyre's sobs echoed in the background, a haunting melody of grief that underscored the desperation of the moment. Rhys and Cassian shared a look, their expressions mirroring the anguish that weighed heavy on their hearts.

But it was Azriel who bore the brunt of the agony, his entire being consumed by the terror of losing you. As he clung to your lifeless form, he felt the weight of despair pressing down on him, threatening to crush him beneath its unbearable burden. With each passing moment, he watched helplessly as you slipped further away from him. Your lips, once full of color, now turned a lifeless shade of blue, your cheeks growing hollow with every breath you didn't take.

"Please," he begged, his voice raw with anguish. "Do something! Rhys, please!" His words were a desperate plea, a cry for salvation in the face of overwhelming despair. But as Rhys stepped closer, a defeated look on his face, Azriel's heart shattered into a million pieces.

"I... I can't," Rhys murmured, his voice heavy with sorrow. "I'm sorry, brother, but..." Azriel's rage boiled over, his pain spilling out in a torrent of emotion. "You don't understand!" he screamed, his voice cracking with anguish. "She is my Mate!"

Don't go I can't do this on my own Don't go I can't do this on my own Save me from the ones That haunt me in the night I can't live with myself So stay with me tonight

The words hung in the air like a heavy fog, their significance sinking in with a painful clarity. Rhys and Cassian exchanged shocked looks, their faces a portrait of sorrow and disbelief. And as Feyre wept silently in the background, the weight of the truth settled over them. Azriel's cries echoed across the desolate landscape, a symphony of grief that pierced the night with its raw intensity.

With each failed attempt to revive you, his soul fractured a little more, the pain tearing through him like a relentless storm. He clung to you desperately, his fingers digging into your lifeless flesh as if trying to anchor you to the world of the living. But no amount of pleading or praying could bring you back, and with each passing moment, the reality of your loss became more unbearable.

Tears streamed down his cheeks unchecked, mingling with the cold water that surrounded you both. In that moment of utter despair, he felt as if his heart had been ripped from his chest, leaving behind nothing but a gaping void where you once belonged. In the eerie silence that followed, broken only by the lapping of the lake against the shore, Azriel held you close, his heart shattered into a million irreparable pieces.

His tears mingled with the water that now cradled your lifeless form, a cruel reminder of the love that had been torn from him so suddenly. "I love you," he whispered brokenly, his voice barely a whisper against the vast emptiness of the night. "I have always loved you." Each word was a knife to his soul, carving out the depths of his grief with ruthless precision.

As his tears fell upon your face, mingling with the coolness of death, Azriel felt the weight of his loss bear down upon him with crushing force. With trembling hands, he brushed a lock of hair from your forehead, his touch gentle yet filled with unbearable sorrow.

And then, with a heart-wrenching realization, the bond between you flickered and died, snuffed out like a candle in the wind. The agony that tore through Azriel in that moment was unlike anything he had ever known, a searing pain that threatened to consume him whole.

A guttural scream tore from his throat, raw and primal, echoing across the desolate landscape. His shadows burst forth from him in a frenzy of writhing darkness, swirling around him like a tempest unleashed. Rhys acted quickly, raising a protective shield to contain the torrent of emotions that threatened to overwhelm them all. Clutching your lifeless body to his chest, Azriel's whole being shook with terror and despair.

"No, this isn't true," he cried out, his voice a desperate plea to the uncaring heavens. "Don't leave me." But there was no answer, no miracle to bring you back to him. In that moment, the reality of living without you crashed over him like a tidal wave, threatening to drag him under. How could he go on without you? How could he face a world that suddenly seemed so cold and empty?

Your laughter, your smile, the warmth of your touch—all of it was gone now, lost to him forever. And as he held your lifeless body against his, Azriel screamed, a primal cry of anguish that echoed into the night, a haunting lament for a love that had been stolen away too soon.

With his forehead pressed against yours, Azriel wept, his tears mingling with the water that surrounded you both. He pressed a gentle kiss to your cold cheek, his lips trembling with sorrow and regret. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "I failed you. I failed us."

The shadows around him finally began to still, their frantic dance slowing to a mournful sway. Rhys lowered his shield, allowing the others to approach, their faces etched with sorrow as they took in the devastating scene before them. Cassian stepped forward first, his expression a mixture of grief and disbelief. "Az," he said softly, his voice thick with unshed tears. "I don't know what to say."

Azriel looked up at his brother, his eyes red-rimmed and haunted. "Say that it's not true," he pleaded, his voice breaking. "Tell me this is just a nightmare and I'll wake up soon." But Cassian could only shake his head, his own heart heavy with grief. "I wish I could," he said quietly. "But this is real, Az. And I'm so sorry."

Azriel's voice cracked with anguish as he spoke, his words a desperate plea to the heavens. "Why you?" he cried, his voice raw with pain. "You were everything good in this world, everything bright and beautiful. Why did it have to be you?"

He clutched your lifeless form tighter to his chest, as if by sheer force of will he could bring you back to life. "It should have been me," he whispered, his voice thick with sorrow. "I'm the broken one, the one who's lived in darkness for so long. You deserved so much better than this."

Tears streamed down his face as he pressed his forehead against yours, his breath hitching in his chest. "I can't do this without you," he confessed, his voice barely more than a whisper. "You were my light, my reason for living. And now you're gone."

His heart shattered into a million pieces as he held you close, the weight of your loss crushing him beneath its unbearable burden. "Please come back," he begged, his voice choked with grief. "I can't bear to live in a world without you."

Don't go I can't do this on my own Don't go Save me from the ones That haunt me in the night I can't live with myself So stay with me tonight

Rhys approached Azriel cautiously, his expression heavy with sorrow. "Az, we need to leave soon," he said gently, his voice barely audible over the howling wind. "You'll freeze to death out here." Azriel's tear-streaked face twisted with fury as he turned to Rhys, his grief-stricken eyes burning with intensity. "I can't leave her here," he growled, his voice thick with emotion.

Rhys nodded solemnly, understanding the depth of Azriel's pain. "I know, brother," he replied softly. "But we can't stay here forever. We need to take her home."

Azriel's sobs echoed through the desolate landscape, his voice barely above a whisper as he pleaded, "Just five more minutes." His gaze remained fixed on your beautiful face, etched with pain and longing.

Rhys and Cassian exchanged a somber glance before silently stepping back, giving Azriel the space and time he needed to say goodbye. The minutes stretched into hours, the sun dipping below the horizon and rising again, painting the sky with hues of orange and pink. But still, Azriel clung to your lifeless form, his whispered pleas of "just a little more" echoing through the silent air. Each passing moment felt like an eternity as Azriel grappled with the reality of your absence. The weight of his grief was palpable, a heavy burden that threatened to consume him. But still, he couldn't bring himself to let go, as if leaving this place would make the devastating truth more real.

As the sun reached its zenith once again, casting long shadows across the landscape, Rhys approached Azriel with a heavy heart. "Az," he said gently, his voice filled with compassion, "we need to go." Azriel's voice was raw with emotion as he stood for the first time since arriving at the desolate shore, still cradling your lifeless form in his arms. His eyes, once filled with anguish, now held a haunted emptiness as he spoke to Rhys, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I can't live without her, Rhys," he confessed, the weight of his words heavy in the air. Each syllable was laden with the depths of his grief, a pain that seemed insurmountable in the wake of your absence. Rhys's heart clenched at Azriel's words, the pain evident in his brother's voice piercing through him like a blade. He could see the devastation etched into Azriel's features, the unbearable weight of loss bearing down on him.

"I know, Az," Rhys murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "I understand. But we have to take her home. She deserves that much." His own grief threatened to overwhelm him, but he pushed it aside, focusing on the task at hand. "We'll give her a proper farewell, Az. Together." Azriel cradled your lifeless form in his arms as he followed Rhys, his steps heavy with grief. He thought of all the moments they had shared together in Velaris, the quiet nights spent stargazing on the balcony, the lazy mornings talking over coffee. He thought of the way your laughter echoed through the streets of the city, a beacon of light in the darkness.

But now, all of those moments felt like distant memories, fragments of a life that was no longer his to hold. As Azriel prepared to winnow back to Velaris, your lifeless form cradled in his arms, he couldn't shake the overwhelming sense of regret that consumed him. He would never get the chance to kiss you again, to hold you close and tell you how much he loved you. He wished he had confessed his feelings before, before the bond had been revealed, before it was too late.

You had died alone, unaware of his love, unaware that you had a mate who cherished you more than anything in this world. The thought tore at his soul, leaving behind a gaping wound that he knew would never fully heal. He would carry the weight of that regret with him for the rest of his days.

But as he prepared to winnow, to leave this desolate place behind and return to Velaris, he knew that he had to find a way to live with the pain, to honor your memory in every moment of his existence. You may be gone, but your love would live on in his heart forever.

With one last lingering look at your peaceful face, Azriel whispered a silent promise to himself, to remember you, to cherish you, to love you for all eternity. And then, with a heavy heart and tear-stained cheeks, he winnowed away, back to Velaris, with you in his arms, your spirit forever intertwined with his own.

Don't go Don't go Don't go Don't go

☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆

A/N: I'm sorry. Whew. I made myself cry while writing this. Please let me know if you enjoyed this and if you'd be interested in an alternative ending. :)

#acotar #azriel x reader #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #reader insert #azriel spymaster #x reader #azriel angst #angst #tw death #death #loss #heartbreak #dealing with grief #grief #angst without a happy ending #cassian #rhysand

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danikamariewrites · 7 months

Note

Hey! Could I request Cassian saying to reader “who did this to you?” Maybe Devlon or someone hit her and Cassian goes feral, a bit more on the dark side. 😊

Protector

Cassian x reader

A/n: one of my fav tropes with one of my fav boys 😋

Warnings: injuries, abuse, violence

Not wanting to give the camp anything to talk about you headed straight to Rhys’s house. Slamming the door shut you waited for Cassian and the others on the couch, cradling your mangled arm to your chest.

Your brother, Bade, has been your biggest bully all your life. He constantly used you as his personal punching bag. Usually it wasn’t too bad, a few bruises here, some cuts and scrapes there. This time he had taken things too far leaving you with a fractured wrist and some other broken bone in your arm, a black eye, and a nasty cut running through your eyebrow.

Your parents never did anything about it. Your mother and father always just saying “males will be males” and treating Bade like the golden child. You had had enough though. Today had shown you that Bade would never stop and the people who were supposed to love and protect you unconditionally weren’t going to make it stop.

You have no idea where you’d go but at least you still have your wings. They probably thought Bade hurt them so bad it was pointless to clip them. Another thing your parents were wrong about.

Cassian comes home first. He kicks the snow off his boots before looking at you. His rugged face changing from excitement from seeing you to concern and anger. Rushing over to you Cassian gently grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him. He tilts your face side to side. The frustration rolling off him in waves.

“Who did this to you?” He grits out. “My brother.” You said with slight hesitation. A sick part of you wanted to protect him, that small voice in the back of your mind saying he’s family. Cassian knelt between your legs rubbing your thighs lightly.

Cassian calls out to Rhys to bring a healer home in his mind. In that moment he was making a plan to get you to Velaris and out of this gods forsaken camp.

“He’s never going to hurt you again sweetheart, I promise.” You gently kiss his forehead and give him a sad smile. “Thank you my love.” The two of you wince as the burn of a bargain tattoo stings the inside of your wrists. Looking down you see the black ink formed a pair of wings in flight for the freedom your mate has promised you.

You stay with him that night, not wanting to return home to your fathers wrath for running off. You’ve always felt safe with Cassian. Even before the bond snapped you were always attached to each other. As you snuggled into his chest and drifted off to sleep you dreamt of a future with Cassian. Where you’re happy and surrounded by friends and family.

The next morning Cassian slips out of bed before you can wake up. Even though the camp healer mended all your injuries you still need rest. He kisses your forehead after getting dressed.

Shutting the door to the house his face turned to stone. Pure wrath swimming in his eyes. Cassian is on a war path. His goal; end your brother.

“Bade! You’re against Cassian. Get in the ring!” The commander yelled. Bade visibly paled at the sight of Cassian flexing and cracking his knuckles. Rhys and Azriel stand behind Cassian wearing matching stoic faces.

“Don’t go easy Cass. Y/n’s father needs to be taken down a few pegs anyway.” Rhys said in his mind. “There won’t be anything of this fucker left after I’m done.”

Stepping in the ring the males put up their fists and began circling each other. Cassian didn’t give Bade a chance to get a hit in. He immediately pounced on your brother, hitting him with a right hook. Then a blow to his stomach, then ribs.

Bade stumbled back, his face drenched in blood. The commander didn’t stop Cassian. Letting the beating continue. Cassian continued his assault until Bade was flat on his back on the cusp of consciousness. Cassian lowered himself on his haunches, gripping Bade’s blood soaked face in his large hand.

“You will never lay another hand on her. Or any female. Ever. Again. If I hear you are I’m going to kill you.” Cassian shoved his head into the ground so hard Bade passed out.

Getting up, he strode over to his brothers, wiping off his knuckles.

Tonight. Tonight he’d take you to Velaris. You’d live in the House of Wind and Mor would keep you company. You’d be part of the family. And most importantly, you’d be free.

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar reader fic #acotar reader imagine #acotar imagine #cassian acotar #cassian x you #cassian fanfic #cassian imagine #cassian x reader #cassian x y/n #cassian

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stillxnunpxidintern · 6 months

Text

Shanks x Reader Imagine - Unfortunate Sailing

(This little imagine has been stuck in my brain for a while.)

You're part of the Red Hair Pirates, while you're happy to drink and get drunk with the crew, you only do it sometimes as you like not waking up with hangover or trying to do your liver in. Plus in the mornings you enjoy the quiet before everyone starts to wake up and groaning with a hangover.

If you're feeling annoyed because of the crew you will bring pots out of the kitchen and banging them, watching the crew moan, simply for your pleasure.

One particular morning you got a call on your personal Den Den Mushi, from your childhood friend, explaining a situation that was happening and needed help. After listening to them you figured that the rest of crew of wasn't needed for this, as you knew a few people in your hometown that will that would be more than happy to help.

After telling crew and declining the offer for them helping, knowing that them being there was a little overkill and you didn't want the town run dry of rum, with how much they all drunk and stocked up on, but did promise them that if you needed help you would inform them.

After packing what you needed and weapons, you told the crew to behave till you got back and hopefully you would be back as soon as possible. Shanks asked once more if you were sure of your decision and told him you were. He then said where they would potentially gonna be when you finished with business, you pressed a kiss on his lips and left, as you began your journey home.

You made it to your hometown quicker than you were expecting and immediately started making plans with some of the other people to deal with the problem of the bandits.

Having dealt with pirates of varying crews, the bandits were easy to take care of and very little injuries were attained by all. The whole town held a party after the bandits were defeated and didn't have to worry about them anymore.

Having spent a week catching up with your friends, you knew it was time to leave and head back to your red headed man.

Surprisingly you were able to get on a ship that was heading near where Shanks and the crew should be, so that made your life easier or it would of, had the ship not been attacked in the night half way through the journey.

You were thrown from the bed you were sleeping into a table with such force you were certain that you heard cracks, as you wheezed trying to get your breath back.

Hearing shouting and screaming, you grabbed your weapons and left the room to find who was attacking and help out. More cannonballs were being shot and you were doing the best to dodge people and the splinting wood that was flying around.

Just as you reach the deck, you were thrown again by the sheer force and you crashed into the railing of the ship, with your left collarbone taking the brunt, making you give a small cry of pain.

You did your best to fight but due to the darkness, the pain you were in and being unable to recognize who was attacking, most likely pirates, the battle was over and you were left clinging to broken wood to keep yourself afloat.

At some point you slipped unconscious and when you woke next, you were in a white room with light hitting your face, you were sure you would of died drifting unconscious at sea.

Eventually you found out from the doctor that had been looking after you, that a fishing boat had gone out earlier and had found you and brought you back to their island to be treated.

The doctor explained that you had broken your left collar in two places, and that it should remain in a sling until it was healed, you also had a couple of ribs that were fractured and the others were bruised, so best to avoid to doing much as they heal and then there was a gush to the head that was healing fine.

You had more cuts and bruises all over your body, that were bandage up, but resting and not moving much was the best thing for you.

After a couple of day, you were able to contact Shanks and the crew, letting them know you needed to be picked up, but conveniently left out what had happened, that was a conversation for later.

You had been at the port since the ship was spotted, so when the Red Force had finally arrived in port and docked, you were relieved to finally be going home, sleeping in your own bed and taking a long bath but you were also apprehensive giving your current state.

Taking a deep as breathe as you, being mindful for your ribs, you watched as the gangplank was lowered and waited for the commotion of the crew, when a little voice in the back of your mind made you wonder if you could escape before they saw you but that thought quickly left, as you heard your name being called.

You quickly told them to shut up, it was too early to be dealing with them and their shenanigans plus you weren't in the mood for it. You could hear Beck say it was past midday and you shot him a betrayed look he was meant to be on your side, as the other responsible person on the ship.

You were doing everything in your power to avoid the glaring issue and certain red head, you were happy they were here but you just wanted your bed and deal everything later one.

You were distracted by the crew that you didn't notice the looming shadow over you till your head was moved so you were looking up into the face of your captain and lover.

You could see concern in his eyes, obviously, but also there was a hint of anger and could see he was about to ask, but you stopped him by putting your hand up and shook your head.

His shoulders fall and pressed a kiss into your hair, and only says later to you, to which you just nod your head as his hand rests on the small of your back, as you head back aboard the ship.

Once back in the capital cabin, you looked at the bed and couldn't wait to be in it but you first a had a quick wash and pulled on loose cloth, with slight difficulty and pain but you managed. You then settled on the bed and did the best you could to find the best position to sleep.

At some point when you were napping Shanks had come in and settled behind you, gently pulling you between his legs and laying you against his chest as he rested his chin on top of your head.

When you wake sometime later it takes you a few moments to realise you weren't in the same position as earlier but definitely felt more comfortable than what you had fallen asleep in.

You felt a hand stroking your hair and moved your head to see Shanks, you didn't think it would anyone else but you never know its happened before.

After a few moments and feeling more awake, then shuffled around so your right side was against his chest, allowing you to look up at him easier. There was silence between you two as his hand came up and ran his fingers over the nearly healed gush on your head. It left a little scar but your hair would cover mostly.

His hand then travelled down your face and stroked your cheek with his thumb, then travelled down your neck and across your left collarbone with the lightest of touches and then continued down over your ribs before resting his hand on your waist.

The stillness between the two of you only last a few moment, before Shanks is resting his cheek on top of your head before asking what had happened to you to end up with those injuries.

So you explained to him how everything had happen, there were a couple of moment, while explaining when his fingers digged to your waist, which made you wince as you were still covered bruises and cuts.

You knew that he was down right furious, murderous, at the pirates that had attacked you and a little angry at himself for not being more insistent that the Red Force went with you, and you getting hurt could have been avoid altogether.

To distract Shanks from his musing, you moved your head and pressed kisses into his jawline and a couple of his neck, which got him, as he looked down at you with a cheeky smile.

He then peppered your face with kisses, as he teased that you couldn't be that hurt but he wouldn't fall victim to your alluring smile and addictive kisses till you had recovered.

You just laughed at him and kissed him again, to which he turned his head away each time and said nope, he wasn't falling for it again.

After a few moments of trying, you pouted at him and saying you were gonna tell Beck that he was being mean and attempted to get up but Shanks just tighten his hold to keep you against him, as he gave you a couple of more kisses and rub his face against your, whining that Beck would make him do some sort work.

You shook your head at his antics before a yawn escaped you, so you settled into a comfortable position and closed your eyes. As you drifted off you felt one more kiss pressed into the side your head and a mumbles words of affection.

It had been over a week since your return to the Red Force and had docked at some little island, having a party on the beach.

You were happily sitting in-between Shanks legs, using his thigh as a pillow, watching the fire as Lucky was cooking on it, when an unexpected visitor turned up, making some of the newer crew mates reach for their weapons.

Lifting your head up to see who was causing the commotion, you saw that it was the sword wielding Warlord. Shanks told the men to stand down as he welcomed Mihawk to come and drink with them.

Mihawk eyes locked on you, as you gave the Warlord a smile as you laid your head back down, noticing the bandages and sling that your arm was still you.

While Shanks was carding his fingers through your hair, Mihawk came and crouched in front of you, taking your face gently in his hand, he then called you Darling as he looked over you.

Upon hearing Mihawk call you darling, Shanks pouted at the swordsman and complained why he never got called darling.

Noticing the look that Mihawk was giving Shanks, you giggled to yourself, before his attention turned back to you and inquired as to what happened, as he stroked your cheek. You gave a murmured short explanation of what had happened.

When he let go of your face, you made a little grumble at the loss as you went back to using Shanks thigh, as the red head gave a better explanation of what happened to you to the Warlord.

As both men spoke (more like bickering you though) with each other, you slowly drifted off to the sound of their voices.

(Possibly implied MiShanks x Reader, take it how you wish)

#Shanks #Red Hair Shanks #Reader #Shanks x Reader #One Piece #dracule mihawk #one piece imagine #One Piece Shank #one piece mihawk #red hair shanks x reader #one piece x reader

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krahk · 6 days

Text

Blood for Ruin

Part One : Part Two : Part Three : Part Four : Part Five : Part Six : Part Seven

Master list

Alastor x OFC/Reader V(No use of Y/N)

Part Eight

(Or, Alastor and reader have a serious, non-physical church appropriate conversation in the woods that results in no action whatsoever and this author is a liar)

Minors DNI, 18+ below

“-just like her lack of tits?” Well, what a sentence to get you back into a conversation. You clued into the group in the sitting room, the corner having had most of your attention since Alastor had joined. Waking up this morning alone wasn’t a real surprise, but there was a small part of you that was more than a little disappointed he didn’t stick around. Then again, if he did, what the hell would that situation have played out? So, as expected, you got out of bed, dressed yourself and joined everyone downstairs for the morning discussion.

Vaggie had tried to convince everyone that Charlie was alright, just ‘thinking’ upstairs, however it was no secret that with only a month to go, the hotel was fractured. You kept zoning in and out of all the talking, mind constantly drifting to the night prior. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Alastor fade rapidly into shadows and you cursed yourself for not paying attention to what caused him to leave in such a rush - and with such a maniacal look on his face to boot.

The imaginary pressure of awkwardness having left the room with Alastor, you finally joined in and said your piece about what was happening before the air felt sucked out of your chest. Something hurt - bad - and it caught you by surprise. There was a massive force building inside of you, and you managed to escape the room without any protest from the paranoid residents. You hauled yourself into the little library, the deceptive metal sign still up from Lucifer's visit, and you kneeled down on the ground while the pressure continued. Suddenly the room was growing in shadows, and you could see a bright green haze illuminate the space.

The light appeared to be coming from your hands, but the room's static that was increasing in spades had no known origin. Your head was filled with loud static and intense pressure, and somewhere in the background you heard Vaggie yell out ‘No!’ Before it sounded like a herd of elephants running upstairs. You had been lowered to all fours now, your head slack on your shoulders, hands and knees pressed into the ground. After what had felt like the fasted working Tylenol your body’s tense state lessened. What the actual fuck was that all about?

You took your time settling your nerves, a full body shiver taking over you. It felt like your skin wanted to crawl off of itself, like you stuck a fork in a light socket or you were an over changed battery. The pressure that was sticking around felt as if it were moving around your own soul. It felt like you were almost seasick without the nausea. It was a strange sensation overall. Outside of the library you could hear a string of angry Spanish, and Angel calling out your name. You opened the door and poked your head out, answering his call.

Vaggie had continued out the hotel's main door, slamming it behind her. You made eye contact with the tall demon and both of you were quite perplexed at whatever was happening. Angel shrugged, answering the silent question, “Charlie and Alastor left in a hurry and Vaggie is either tailing after them or doing her own thing - I dunno, my Spanish ain’t too impressive. I only know sexual words and curse words.”

You frowned, “Why did Charlie and Alastor leave? Did they say where they were going?” You leaned on the door frame to give Angel your full attention.

“Alastor n’Charlie made a deal, toots.” He said, almost grimly as his face cringed.

A deal? Was that always a bad thing? Come to think of it, you didn’t really know too much about demon deals, even though you had been here for a couple of months. Staying in the hotel was contributing to your naivety of Hell. You were still unsure how hell politics worked with Overlords, the ‘Royal’ family of Hell, and the other Lords like Sloth or Gluttony. Not to mention the mystical god-like beings that reigned in their own manner, generally staying away from the Pride district as Sinners were not able to leave this realm at all. You nodded at Angel’s statement, and made a mental note to read up on deals in hell. Some things still embarrassed you to have to ask. As the youngest person in the group in every sense you found yourself constantly asking questions that were very second nature to everyone else.

”Oof. I gotta…I gotta call Cherri or something. I’m gonna grab a bottle, sit my skinny ass in bed and hope I forget what’s coming…” Angel spun on his heel to walk towards the bar and waved at you without looking back. A soft goodbye left your lips as a habit, but the library door was closing behind you before you finished the 2-syllable word. You hustled over to a particular section that you had reorganised what felt like ages ago - Demonology…Sinners & You…What to Expect when Eternal Damnation sets in - Hmm. You hadn’t really looked too hard at the titles before but some of them were pretty ridiculous, even for hell.

“I need a book on Deals, what would that even be called?” You questioned no one in particular out loud. In your peripherals you noticed a bright green-yellow light pulsing from a shelf. Frowning, you approached it with slight hesitation, squinting through the light and noticed it was coming from a book. The book was named “Demons, Deals, and Divine Intervention : Getting the Most out of Your Soul Pacts.” - Okay, a little on the nose. Why did the book glow?

“Did you glow because I talked out loud?” Nothing. Then what…Maybe it was the way you structured the question? You threw out a couple of silly questions with no other lights appearing. Weird. This hotel was getting stranger by the day. “I need to know how you glowed, is this normal?” Another light appeared, highlighting a book in a stack that was still being worked through. You dug through the pile and read the title through the cracked and well read book as best as you could:

“Voodoo & You! A guide on Gris-gris, Summoning, and Souls.”

Hmmm. Interesting. You tried another question with the same lead - “I need a place to sit.” Scraping across the floor had you turned around to notice your preferred sofa chair moving towards you, seemingly pulled by large shadows. They wisped away once the chair was in place near you but you felt as if they might have been lingering around.

What. The fuck.

You stuttered for a second, concerned at the new development - “Wuh-what? Why is this happening?” The brightest glow yet appeared. This one came from a book that was rather large, and made you groan not only because of the lame title, but because your evening just became a complete write-off.

“An idiot's Guide to the Occult: A Phenomenon.”

Fuck.

No more questions, Idiot. You thought as you sat down and opened the first title.

Half a day and a pot of coffee later, you felt pretty well-read on ‘deals’. Charlie and Alastor were still not back from whatever quest they were, neither Angel nor Vaggie had come downstairs, and Husk was never a bit seeker for conversation so getting through the books took no time at all. Your only company were the shadows that took shape on the walls, smiles occasionally present. It reminded you of the first one you saw back in your motel room before you died.

Deals were made on a sinner soul. Hellborn, The Lords of the Rings, and the Goetia were not involved in selling or generally ‘buying’ souls. Souls were a form of currency, and Overlords were such because of the high quantity of souls acquired. The more deals one makes, the stronger they become. If a soul has a higher value, for instance if one Overlord gains another Overlord's soul the power is increased even more so. If one consumes a soul, the power is exponentially increased. Which from what you recalled, was what Alastor did. So it made sense to you why he was so powerful , because you had been told he did just that when he arrived in Hell.

The only thing you were having difficulty with was understanding where exactly you fit in with all this deal nonsense. Technically Alastor and yourself had made a deal about not speaking on your situation, but no further. But that did not involve a transfer in souls. He had mentioned that the two of you were akin to ‘soulmates’, as whatever awry magic you accidentally manipulated linking the two of you together. And if the soul link the two of you had did not have glowing objects and lingering, tangible shadows handing you things before today.

Could it be that whatever deal Alastor had made with Charlie had increased his power so much that there was a spillover onto you? You had been allowing the shadows to wrap around your legs and shoulders, occasionally playing with your hair. It wasn’t much of a bother, however it was more the fact you didn’t quite know how to get rid of them. Suddenly the door slammed open and Angel burst in, tossing something at you. you dropped your book on the floor and caught the item, a hammer.

“Jesus Angel! A hammer?” You exclaimed.

“Arm ya’self toots, we’re renovating.” He said with an enormous smile. A couple of Pentious’ egg boys had gathered around the tall man's legs chattering about reinforcement and boss’ plans, etc. They generally spoke nonsense as it was but this was more confusing than usual.

Unfortunately for you Angel didn’t give you much time to recover and grabbed you by an arm to drag you out into what could only be described as disorganised chaos. Windows were being boarded up, Pentious was strategically bracing the walls and furniture - honestly it was so chaotic it was hard to focus on a single thing.

Angel broke it down to you that Vaggie was on a mission to deal with Carmilla Carmine, some weapons overlord, Charlie and Alastor had gone to recruit sinners to defend the hotel and in that interim Angel had managed to gather the remain hotel tenants to build defences of the hotel so the others had something promising to return home to. And that was, in fact, how they found the group.

Trying their best against all odds, prepared to defend the only home they had.

____

Later in the evening, chewing on your cuticles as you stared at your bedroom door, you tried to work up the courage to deal with the knowledge you had and ask Alastor about the deal he had made with Charlie. Would it be worth telling him? the idea of telling him that with every deal he made was possibly pouring over into you scared you. Not just because of Alastors pride, but you had no idea how to handle the changes. Even now, with the simple addition of these strange shadows you couldn’t control them. Or the glowing aid that appeared when you asked a question the right way.

You had a lingering suspicion that you could also detect lies as well - earlier Pentious told you he had no feelings for Cherri and the static sensation that ran over your tongue caught you off guard. It happened again when his egg boys told a few known half truths. Everyone else had headed to their rooms before you could prove this theory but again - this was just another thing that had you on edge.

Deciding that if he found out later that you held information from him would be far scarier than just facing it head on, you decided to pay the demon a visit. Barefoot, you crossed over the hall and hovered for a moment before knocking softly on the door, shadows through the crack near the floor flickering at the sound. The door cracked open and your new shadow friends seemed to merge with the shadows that erupted from Alastors room. Still creaking open, you peered in through the open door. Expecting to see Alastor inside, but other than the crackling fireplace and the soft music coming from one of the many present radios, he wasn’t there.

Your eyes drifted over to the strange forest landscape, the bayou-like bog habitat seemed eerier than usual. There was a hazy mist present, and you could hear the ambient sounds from the shadows within the forest. Present but unseen.

“A-Alastor?” A chill had overcome you despite the fire roaring close by, and you shivered away the first feeling of being scared. Crossing the threshold lightly, you glanced all around, hoping to catch a glimpse of him somewhere. When you got about 4 steps in, the fire went out, enveloping you in darkness. The shadowy figures around you grew to the ceiling, eyes and mouths present and illuminated.

Scared stiff, you froze in place for a moment before taking a step back. One step and the door slammed shut. You could hear something new coming from the bayou, and it seemed like there was a growing glow from deep within it, pulsing like a heartbeat might. In the depths you could almost hear your name, softly making its way to your ears. Shadows licked at your arms and legs, causing you to shake slightly. You still walked backwards to the door, blindly grabbing for the handle when your back hit the wall. The handle wouldn’t turn and you made a noise of distress.

Suddenly, you heard laughter. Deep and dark, emanating from the trees. It was distorted from static and the creaking of branches and leaves crunching started to get closer and closer. Your eyes had adjusted to the dark slightly, and a figure was almost visible coming out of the tree line. Long, contorted limbs, a massively arched back, tentacles sprouting from it. A large, demented head sat upon a thin, stretched neck and in its massively large toothed mouth was a dead deer. Blood dripped from the lips of this creature, and the only reason you could tell that was the blood, like the eyes of the creature, glowed a steady red colour.

The beast was breathing heavily, and when the eyes locked on you, fainting seemed close by. Your breathing started to stutter, and your eyes welled up with tears. The demon beast dropped the deer, bright red saliva pooling out of its mouth onto the ground, and it began to approach you. The handle in your grip was still not turning, and your free hand began to lift as to prevent the beast from inching closer. A loud hum started to grow in your skull as the gap closed between you. You shut your eyes, a tear falling down your face to fall off your chin as you started to duck your head into your shoulder, hoping whatever was coming wouldn’t hurt.

Suddenly there was a hand on your chin, a thumb wiping away your tear. The hum had stopped, and the strange noise you heard from the forest had stopped. The only thing you could hear now was your beating heart. Your eyes flickered open, shooting over to catch eyes with Alastor. Dressed with a closed lip smile, his eyes were heavy lidded and softly glowing red. You stared in awe, confused, and Alastors thumb continued to rub the edge of your chin, using his fingers to move your head and face him more head on. Thumb grazing your lips, he used it to pull your bottom lip down, cold air drying out the small amount of naked gums. You instinctively tried to lick away the dry sensation and your tongue nicked the edge of his finger, causing him to grip your chin harder.

You attempted to utter his name, but as you started he pressed your lips closed with his thumb as he hummed a sound to keep you silent. His hand freed your chin, and he turned his hand to graze your cheek with his knuckles, and you leaned into his hand when he reached the side of your eyes, and your eyelids fluttered closed, and you made a soft sound of approval. He wasn’t usually gentle, or fond of touching, so the way he was behaving now made your bones melt. You had stopped shaking from fear, but your body still had a massive chill as you started to feel a familiar burn in your stomach.

Suddenly a soft kiss was placed upon your lips, and for a few moments you were unsure of what to do - your eyes had remained closed. Alastor bit your bottom lip in encouragement and you met him with a similar voracity. Very quickly it was if the two of you were trying to consume one another. His hands had drifted to your waist, yours to his jacket, pulling him in close. He was pulling you in return, lifting you up against the wall to have your face closer to his own.

As he lifted you slightly, you wrapped your legs around his waist, the two of you almost trying to become one person with the force you were placing on one another. The sucking sounds of hot, wet mouths meeting and periodic gasps for air had both of your blood burning. He started to roll slightly against your core, and you moaned in return, breaking the kiss and hitting your head against the wall. He started kissing your neck, sucking and biting his way around as he ground against you, eliciting more cries of pleasure from you. Your hands were in his hair now, and your nails raked against the part of his ear that met his scalp, resulting in a moaning growl from the demon, who responded with a bite to your shoulder that had you groaning his name and jerking your hips in tandem with his.

You could feel him smile against your neck, and he pulled back suddenly, causing you to look at him. A thin line of saliva connected the two of you together, and the lustful gaze he was giving you shot an electric sensation down your body. He pulled you away from the wall and spun your bodies around, lips back on yours as he walked with frantic purpose. When he finally stopped he started to bend down, and your ass made connection with the ground as he laid the two of you down onto the grassy marshland that was in his bedroom.

Crickets could be heard again, and the air was no longer chilly, the mist wrapping around the both of you and blanketing you in a subtle warmth. Your legs unravelled around Alastor, your feet coming to either side of him as your knees were bent, enveloping him in your person. His arms were bent at the elbow, and he rested on them as a hand played with one of your ears and the other had a knuckle rubbing your chin, nearly overstimulating you with contact.

At some moment, he raised up and was kneeling in between your legs, having made his jacket disappear in a flash of black shadows, and he was reaching for your top, grabbing the bottom hem of it and dragging it up until you raised yourself up slightly to allow him to pull it off of you. His eyes feasted on your body, your breasts still hiding behind your bra. His thin smile stretched further up his face as a finger went from your navel to your bra, and before you could utter a complaint about him using his claws to sever the middle of your bra, breaking it, his lips were back on yours working in tandem with the hand that was now firmly gripping a naked breast. You moaned in his mouth and he took advantage of your opening, his tongue fiercely fighting against yours.

At this point your pleasure had built so intensely you could nearly feel your eyes build with tears, desperate for more. His hands alternated to either breast, making sure to spread the sensation out evenly, pinching a nipple to have it pebble between his fingers as his tongue dominated your own. Somewhere along the line you attempted to unbutton his shirt, but getting caught up on his bow tie almost immediately. You broke your kiss to utter a firm, “Off.” As you pulled at the fabric around his neck. He chuckled darkly, as he replied with a crisp “Yes dear”, chuckling at your immediate frown at his terrible pun.

He swiftly removed the offending article, and unbuttoned his top two buttons of his shirt before moving his hands out of the way when you started to reach up to finish the job. Lips united once more, he was soon shrugging out of his shirt as your hands went from his shoulders to his waist and back up again. Revelling in the sensation you got from his skin, which was slightly furred - just barely, he gave a stuttered groan as you raked your nails down his back at the sides of his ribs.

His teeth grazed from your neck to your shoulder as the both of you roamed hands freely over one another, revelling in the sensations the two of you were giving one another. Your hands drifted to his belt, and he froze for a moment, mouth hesitating above your collarbone, and a quick glance had you notice the slight tension in his face. He rested his forehead on you, controlling his breathing, and he raised himself up on his hinds to take over where your hands had started. You pulled back, letting him gather control over the situation and he pulled his belt out from their loops, casting it aside. He popped the button off his trousers, and like true 30s fashion, they were without a zipper - simply built with a wide waistline to accommodate wear.

Trousers loose, he directed his hands to your own pyjama bottoms, and fingered the top of them gently. Your hips raised, and the pair of you worked to shimmy them off, you folding your knees to your chest quickly to pull them off your legs before putting them back on either side of him. Clad only in a modest pair of black underwear, Alastor visibly fed on your form, the hunger in his eyes unlike anything you had seen from him before. Arms coming up to cover your breasts from shyness, he dipped down to interrupt your action with a kiss to your sternum that lingered. The hum he gave rumbled on your chest and you released a soft sigh at the tender action. His hands swept over your body, as if memorising it by touch. You yanked at his waistband of his pants and grumbled something about it being unfair he was more clothed, and he responded by gracefully removing his pants and whatever undergarments he was wearing with minor lack of contact between the two of you.

Looking down it was clear he was painfully hard, the throbbing in your head and blood understanding the cause. His tip was glossy with pre-cum, and as he rested above you again, with his hands coming to rest on the ground on either side of your shoulders, the hard length ran against the inner section of your thigh, making you gasp in response. A snarky grin flashed upon his face, barely visible with the lurking soft light as if moonlight was kissing the two of you.

His eyes were bright red at the iris, his pupils blown out. One hand drifted back to your panties, finger folding in between the skin and hemline, and you silently consented with a nod, raising yourself onto your elbows to meet his lips in a chaste kiss. He responded by tearing off the underwear in a swift pull, the tension causing a moment of pain that was replaced with the ferocity of his desire in a kiss.

Pain forgotten, the two of you again attempted to devour one another, the push and pull sensations that the two of you had been resisting for the better part of a month coming to an impasse. His knee moved your own over, and he grabbed your other leg to hoist up and put on his shoulder. Now he was in the prime position to enter you without interference. His tip settled outside your wet cunt and prodded slightly, earning another moan from you. He hissed at the sensation, and your eyes connected again, nearly pleading for permission. You nodded again, but he softly responded -

“Out loud, chère.” Filter free and French had you sighing a soft “Yes,” much to his pleasure.

He entered slowly, the friction of the stretch causing both of you to groan harmoniously. Inch by inch, he took his time, his intense focus clear on his face. You winced at one moment, but urged him to continue when he hesitated. Both new to this experience, taking it slow was no issue. You were eager to take your time having your body clearly worshipped by him, and he was ready to finally consume another human in such a manner. The connection that the two of you shared had complicated his life massively, but he couldn’t remember why he was ever angry about it. The sensations that you were giving him were otherworldly, and the irony that he could perhaps taste a bit of heaven after nearly a century of being in hell made him inhale sharply to withhold a chuckle of laughter.

Below him you were shifting to help with comfort, and he responded by following your body’s lead and moving his own hips. Before long, he managed to fully hilt himself within your willing pussy. He pulled out an inch before jutting back in, causing you to groan in pleasure. He did it again, intent on memorising the face you were making in response to his actions, as it was definitely a face he had not been responsible for before. Your hips attempted to roll, or shift, to meet him and start a new tempo. The throbbing nature of his cock picking up speed, pumping slowly at first before both of you snapped like an elastic band and feverishly met one another, was causing a familiar buildup of burning pleasure within both of your bodies.

His movements became more desperate, and your hands connected with his body however you could reach with the position you were in.

“Alastor,” you started breathlessly, “I’m s-soo, close, I need-” You reached down to your clit, eager to assist with the endgame, but one hand of his swatted at your own and replaced it, his thumb pressing down hard and starting a quick circle around it. You slammed your head into the ground, letting out a strangled wail of pleasure, and started to knead your breasts in tandem with his movements. The two of you for a moment were the only beings in hell, completely oblivious to any goals, or responsibilities expected from the two of you - the only mission at this moment was to come together, in this strange bayou environment, completing this ancient ritual between two restless souls.

A few sharp pumps paired with his thumb picking up speed on your clit had him slamming into your cunt as you lost control and came to orgasm, him meeting your own with a quick uncontrolled jerking of his hips, both of you riding it out together. His hot release was filling you up, and your inner walls were clenching around him, sucking out the final moments of his orgasm. He moved your leg back to the ground and collapsed beside you, pulling out during the movement, and the emptiness was immediate and almost upsetting. You were unsure if it was just the normal action of sex or the unbreaking bond the two of you shared that made you feel like a whole person with him inside of you, but you missed his presence internally already.

Both of you laid in silence, the air hitting your sweaty bodies and reminding you that whatever just happened had, in fact, just happened. You were both getting control of your breathing, and you shivered at the loss of adrenaline and movement, teeth slightly clattering. You laughed sharply at your embarrassing sounds, and covered your face with your hands, apologising for the noise.

He chuckled in response, and came to embrace you, pulling you close to him, enveloping you within himself and holding your head to his chest where you could meet his rapid heartbeat. He covered the two of you with a blanket conjured from who cared where, and the two of you laid comfortably within each other's arms on the bayou earth, breathing together until sleep overtook you.

Whatever you came to him for could wait, not that you could remember anyway. This evening certainly took a strange turn for the better, for neither of you had felt such a sense of completeness since you arrived. Both were eager to revel in it before everything went to shit.

___________

Guess how many times I read this to make sure it wasn’t a complete dumpster fire. So many.

Be prepared, the next chapter is like 7k of just smutty goodness because I figured I owed it to everyone.

Taglist:

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#alastor #alastor smut #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel #alastor x ofc #alastorxreader #alastor x you #soulmates trope #hazbin #alastorxyou

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