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gutsby · 2 months

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Cabin Fever

Pairing: Dark!Joel x Dark!Reader

Summary: Joel saves your life, but help comes at a price.

Warnings: 18+. DEAD DOVE: DNE. NONCONSENSUAL. I’m never ever beating the insane bitch allegations, I fear. Protector-turned-pervert-turned-unwilling-captor-kinda. Corruption kink. Daddy kink. Somnophilia. Misogyny. “It’s too big; it won’t fit” + Joel “I’ll make it fit” Miller. Captivity on both ends. Oral (f!receiving). Gunplay. Oversimplified first-time anal. Uno Reverse Drugging. Evil, inexperienced reader meets evil, feral, slutty Joel. Attempted murder x3. Russian Roulette…as foreplay?

Notes: Both characters SUCK. I condone nothing they do. Please do not take any of their behavior or language to reflect my own moral predilections. That is all 🚬😵‍💫

You were hardly shaking at all when he’d found you chained, maimed, and frozen half to death on the plains.

He didn’t see that every day, that was for-fucking-sure.

Joel Miller barely got to see his share of happy, grinning girls on the cold and bitter frontier he inhabited. Ones that were tied to posts and clinging to life were even less common, so the sight of you there had almost frightened him at first. He’d approached you like one might advance upon a sleeping bear: with the utmost caution and a Winchester Model 70 levelled directly at your head.

He’d learned you were unarmed and defenseless in less than a second. He’d come to realize you were largely unconscious—and unclothed—even sooner than that.

He had been industrious in freeing your hands and feet from their restraints but never uttered a word as he did.

Even on the two-and-a-half mile trek back home, he hadn’t spoken once. You’d hung off his left shoulder like a pretty, frosted slab of meat, covered only with the sherpa blanket he’d secured around your neck, and dangled precariously down his back for the entire fifty minutes.

Your toes were two shades shy of onyx with frostbite.

Your limbs were hanging like lead over his chest.

A whisper of, ‘You’ll be fine, darlin’, I promise’ had just seemed ill-suited for the circumstances and his nature. In truth, Joel didn’t know if you’d be fine. You might die. The blood wouldn’t be on his hands one way or the other, but he never had liked burying bodies this time of year. He’d have to wait until April to break ground, at least.

Presently, he dropped your limp form to the floor of his cabin and hoped he wouldn’t be needing to bury anyone.

You sort of looked charming in the firelight.

He stomped off to the kitchen and began rifling for pans, preparing to defrost the icy stranger as best he could.

You didn’t die.

You didn’t wake for forty full hours, but you didn’t die.

When you stirred on the floor with warm sherpa around your shoulders and a rough calfskin rug under your ass, you thought you had died—maybe taken a pit stop in cowpoke purgatory while you were at it—but then you blinked. Breathed. Realized you were still very much inside your body and most likely still in Wyoming.

You sat up where you were and looked around.

“Da-a-d?”

You knew it was useless, calling for your father.

He had been dead almost eight months; you just wanted to double-check to make sure you were still on earth.

When dead dad didn’t answer, you tried someone else.

“Momma?”

Still no answer.

Figured, since she was among the ones that had left you chained outside in the first place. It’d been worth a shot.

You started to rise from your place, when a sharp pain in your side made you plop back down on the rug. You winced and lifted the blanket, then your old nightie.

A neat little taped-down bandage had your ribs encased in antiseptics and gauze. You frowned down at a stain in the centre, which looked to you an awful lot like blood. That circle of old fluids must’ve been twice the size of your fist and currently oozing tiny, fresh beads of blood from the strain you’d just exerted. You pursed your lips.

Least they could’ve done is kill me, not leave me here.

You’d take it up with your old would-be assassins another day, you were sure. Right now, you were parched, starving, in dire need of a piss, and reeling on the floor to grab hold of something sturdy to lift yourself. But you were as much a child then as you had ever been, swaying in place and clawing at air like someone who’d never kept their balance before. Or might’ve been drunk.

You rolled onto your good side and cast a sweeping look around the cabin. You smelled slow-cooked barbecue.

Thank fuck, you thought.

Now, if I were a juicy rack of ribs, where would I be?

The kitchen was dark and empty; the smell was coming from elsewhere. You craned your neck, tilted your chin, spotted a loft overhead but figured it wasn’t too likely to find someone grilling up there, so where the hell was it?

And who the hell was it, smoking meats and mending up strangers in the cold and lonely dead of winter like this?

You put a pin in that thought as you searched for a place to pee.

By the time you’d hobbled out of the bathroom, the smoky smell had grown even stronger. It was so pungent it bordered on vertiginous, invading every inch of the cabin with a force. Then it was leading you, teasing you by turns to venture outside. All you had on your feet were some oversized socks and two strips of medical tape.

Against your better judgment, you continued to hobble.

Out the door, down the steps, slowly, then following your nose and the first whiff of smoke you smelled to make it to the place you were almost certain you needed to be.

You trudged around a corner of the cabin’s exterior and stopped. Turned around. Cursed your own senses for being so stupid to miss the huge fucking shed spewing smoke out front—or was it the back?—and plodded on.

Your feet might have carried you a third of the way there before your powers of sight and sound eventually failed you again, and you missed another big something.

Big and beige and coated in snow—baring its teeth and snarling at the unfamiliar presence as soon as it saw you.

The next thing you knew, sixty-two pounds of Belgian Malinois had had you knocked to the ground in less than a second. You hardly understood what had hit you until it was barking and chomping away an inch from your face.

You fought hard and frantic to shove the ugly fucker off, but your bandaged hands were no match for its paws. The dog continued to tear at your blanket, nip at your ears, claw at your neck, and all around snuff out any sense of peace you might have acquired in the dozen-odd minutes since you’d first woken up. You screamed.

You yelled as loud as you could and felt yourself cower and sink lower into the snow as you fought.

Just when you tried to raise a knee—to kick the animal in the ribs or else protect your own—a sound broke out above the buzz.

A voice, clear as day:

“CUJO!”

The dog stalled on top of you a moment, just to be yanked off the next, and the closest thing afterward was a face—kinder than Cujo’s but not by very much.

It was a broad, bearded, pock-marked head with more soot to recommend itself than skin. Lips smeared with ash and grime and curved down in the single most decisive frown you’d seen in your life, the man looked to be beside himself seeing you tits up in the snow.

He gripped one arm of yours, then dropped it.

Picked a leg up, paused, then hauled you into a cradle carry as graceless as you’d ever felt it done before.

“Come!” he snapped, and it took you too long to realize that he was talking to the dog. You’d already wrapped your arms around his neck in abrupt complaisance.

He carried you back into the cabin and kicked the door open in front of you. He held you firm for a second, then, just as he had outside, changed course before you knew what to do and was shortly depositing you on the sofa.

You winced when your ass hit the cushion.

You started to sit, grab a pillow for your back or just bring your knees to your chest, when suddenly a palm was pressing flat on your front. Forcing you to lie down.

“Hey, hey!” you cried when the man started lifting the hem of your nightgown.

If he’d heard you at all, he didn’t show it. He just worked his thick, dirty fingers under the fabric and raised the white satin like he might the hood of a car. He frowned.

It was then that you noticed a blooming red splotch on your side, slowly overtaking the terra-cotta color of dried blood on the bandage and spreading out. Then a pain.

Instead of pushing the man’s hands away, you were holding them tight, wrestling that same touch which was trying to keep you from poking around the area now.

“Quit,” the man said, sedate as could be.

“Hurts,” was all you could think to tell him—and you guessed he’d already had that part down by the outpouring of blood. He shoved your hands off.

The brand new crimson hue had already soaked through the bandage. He pulled it off. You caught a glimpse of a wound that seemed to be weeping through its stitches—oozing pus and blood and a gore you could’ve gone your whole life without seeing. You would’ve liked to run a couple gentle, awed fingers over it, but as it was, your coarse and tight-lipped medic wouldn’t let you.

“Hold still,” he commanded.

“Heystopstopstop!” you implored him, feeling a streak of pain up your side as his calloused hands delved deeper.

At your latest flinch and plea, the man seemed to have had enough. Or just needed to angle your body in a different direction for easier access to the site. He gathered you back up in his arms and walked over to the kitchen, where he set you down again on the counter. Hands moved to your hips, briefly, to push you back on the surface and allow him to stand between your legs. Again, the man frowned as he peeled off your pyjamas.

Two warring fears of pain and overexposure fought like wild beasts in your brain for a second—you yelping and trying to cover your breasts in a hurry, then realizing how much it hurt to lift your arms that way when your ribs were dripping blood, then the man making the decision for you both as he pushed your hands behind your back and said a simple ‘Fuck’s sake’ to keep you pinned.

You didn’t like it.

You didn’t like it, and you let him continue, because you knew that you didn’t know shit about doing this yourself.

Joel must’ve fixed your dressings fourteen times before turning you loose. He’d had you perched atop his counter like goddamned Prisoner-of-War Barbie, all riddled with bumps, bruises, and lesions galore, looked your body up and down just once, and nearly grew sick at the sight.

He’d disgusted himself by feeling as aroused as he was.

Shortly thereafter, he’d toted you off—before the blood could rush down to his dick and start to swell—shrugged your gown over your torso, and stepped away. Simple.

Then you’d had to go and throw a wrench in his plans.

“What if I need to pee?” you’d said as soon as Joel started up the stairs with you in his arms again.

He had meant to drop you off on the bed in the loft, out of sight, but it seemed you were more concerned about the prospect of traversing the steps up and down for potty breaks. Joel had audibly huffed above you.

“I can leave a bucket.”

“Yu-uck.” The latter word had been given two syllables to show the full extent of your disgust, like a child might do.

And that was how you’d ended up here: snug in his bed on the ground floor, curled up in more layers of flannel and wool than you could count and staring blankly up at the man who was standing cold and aloof off to the side.

Your eyelids were growing heavy with sleep.

He figured they would be.

Joel picked up the glass that sat beside your empty one on the nightstand and drank, watching you all the while.

“D’you know my momma?” you asked, voice sounding extra small coming from the depths of your cocoon.

Joel finished his drink in four big gulps.

“Sure hope not,” he said once he’d set it back down.

By the sight of the scars he’d found littering your hands and back alone, Joel was able to surmise you’d come from a pretty rough, ragtag group. Maybe even Raiders. Knowing folks like that simply never struck one’s fancy, so he’d been honest. You might’ve argued, or laughed, if you hadn’t been nabbed so tightly in the grips of those first stages preceding sleep, so instead, you nodded.

“Figured,” you mumbled.

7:11, Joel read on the clock. You’d finished your drink at seven, or somewhere thereabouts. Judging by your size, it wouldn’t take long at all for the medicine to take effect.

‘Medicine,’ Joel thought, sounded a whole hell of a lot better than ‘drugs.’ One was meant to rehabilitate, rejuvenate, bring new life to your worn and weary bones. The other would just knock you cold and keep you there.

On second thought, those were definitely drugs Joel had just slipped in your water before giving it to you to drink.

As your eyes blinked from closed, to open, to closed, then open but slightly less open than the time before, and closed again, he felt a sick sense of accomplishment twist in his gut. If only his former-nurse friend could have seen what he was doing with those morphine sulfate tablets he’d traded for—he likely would’ve slapped Joel across the face. And Joel would’ve smiled all the same.

Yeah, okay, drugging the unsuspecting and defenseless female he’d just saved from death’s doorstep two days ago didn’t look great on paper, he would fully concede.

But this was all in good fun.

Great fun, even.

For him.

“Sick fuck,” Joel muttered as he started to undo his belt. The button and zip were taken apart just as fast, and with two steps, he was standing at your bedside—his bedside—and tugging his trousers down his legs. He took his cock in his hand and glanced over at the clock.

7:15.

He nudged your shoulder.

7:16.

Peeling layers of blanket away from your body.

7:17.

“Hey…honey?”

A lot more nothing from the girl sleeping in front of him. He shrugged his jeans to the floor, kicked them off at his feet, and moved onto the bed. You just looked so sweet.

Joel tried working around the fabric of his boxers but got impatient pretty quick. He hauled those off, too.

Soon, his beefy, bare, and surprisingly tan legs were bracketing your hips as he stroked himself above you. His eyes roamed the lax and tranquil features undeniably characteristic of sleep, and he pumped himself faster. Really, there was no need for theatrics or enhancements now—he was already hard as three tonnes of steel—but Joel would be lying if he said he didn’t like the build-up.

You were no longer in danger of dying, thanks to him. You were slowly but surely on the mend, no thanks to Cujo at all, but many thanks to him, Joel Miller, the man who had pried you off of that post, pulled you out of your chains, ushered warmth back into your limbs, and stitched up your side out of the goodness of his heart.

Any objective onlooker could see that you’d availed yourself of his medical attention and aid without ever asking, so why should he request access to you now? This was the way of the world these days, anyway. Sex was no longer so much a question as it was an answer in most scenarios—a mere transaction, wherein the physically weaker of two parties was forced to capitulate. Not within the four unsullied walls of Jackson and a few other pockets of homestead communities here and there, but on the whole, absolutely. Jackson was down the road a ways away and sufficiently far enough from Joel’s cabin for him to be disentangled from their rules. What mattered now was obtaining what he was owed.

Still, the man hesitated a half-second longer above you. He jerked his cock even faster and felt his stomach start to clench. Was that? No—nerves were fucking juvenile. Getting close to cumming from just the sight of you alone was for chumps. Joel Miller was no chump.

He lifted your nightie and lowered the head of his cock to rest between your folds. Then he shifted his knees so that he could rub himself gently against your warmth.

Joel Miller was a monster, but he was no brute. He also understood female anatomy well enough to know that, well…wetter was better. He started moving his hips.

You exhaled through your nose. Nothing major; you probably hadn’t even felt him long enough to whine.

Joel planted a hand beside your head—a preemptive warning.

“There…” He liked to talk as though you could hear him. Like you might be semi-conscious and dimly aware of what he was doing to you then, “Right there…ah, baby.”

He never did catch your name.

That was no matter. So long as you stayed put and made a nice, wet, pretty little hole for him to fuck, you would be fine. By the feel of your folds alone, he could tell you’d be a fun thing to use. Soft and snug and plied with drugs, you could do, and be, anything he damn well needed.

Or maybe nothing at all, he thought without humor.

Joel brushed your cheek with the knuckles of his free hand and watched you turn away, making a face. He snagged your chin and tilted it back to him, sharply, before gliding those fingers down your chest, then your tummy, then your hips, then dipping between your legs. He found your clit and pressed it with a deliberate touch.

“Hey,” Joel whispered, again, as though you might hear, “You’re gonna stay still and let me do this.”

Your nose scrunched in response, thighs clamping together. Joel pried them apart with one push and continued sliding his cock back and forth. He grunted.

“Gonna let me take what’s mine, hear?”

You didn’t hear much of anything, he suspected, but he asked the question all the same. At least now your legs were staying open and he could rut himself gently into that space without having to keep them spread. A first, gentle ‘mmph’ sounded from your lips, and he was glad. He kept thumbing that spot he knew you would like and rubbing along the seam of your cunt with his erection.

Then Joel felt a weight on his shoulders. Remorse? No. Anxiety? Perhaps. This felt more like a fog, though, seizing his muscles and seeping gently between the grooves of his brain. He gave his head a fierce shake.

“Hold still,” he said, more to himself; you hadn’t moved.

Joel fisted the base of his cock and angled the tip toward your entrance, caring much less whether you were ready or not now that his desires had grown stronger.

He was met with resistance on trying to push in. He dug his fingers in the pillow beneath your head and scowled.

“Quit…clenchin’…like that. Ain’t…fair to me,” he huffed.

He was one to talk.

Now, he’d been with a staggering number of women, experiences ranging all across the spectrum, but even the tightest, most untouched pieces of ass he’d ever tapped had given way more than this. Your walls were unyielding, refusing to give him entry. Joel cursed and rutted his hips in a rough, entirely unsuccessful, thrust.

You hummed in response, eyes still closed, one hand fumbling mindlessly for something to hold. Joel seized it.

“Not lettin’ you off that easy, darlin’, I—”

“Fuck,” you breathed, followed by a low whimper.

Joel froze. Had you heard him? Felt him just now?

Something about the uncertainty laden in those questions sent his mind into overdrive, heart beating a wild cadence in his chest. He realized then that his mouth had gone dry, his vision was skewed just slightly on the outskirts. And his cock was throbbing.

“Ya like that?” Joel seethed, not thinking, still rubbing, “Like givin’ daddy a hard time before lettin’ him in?”

“Uh-huh.” Softly.

You little slut. He knew it all along.

Whatever it was that kept your body from being coupled with his was almost immaterial to him now. Joel’s mind was swimming with desire, cock dragging in desperate, fitful bursts between your legs, never penetrating but still wringing massive jolts of pleasure from that place.

With the way he was feeling now, Joel could cum from just fucking your thighs. And that was alright.

You were moaning underneath him. Even…smiling?

“Fuck, baby, you look so pretty.”

Joel had never called a girl pretty before and meant it. But he hardly knew how else to describe you now with how good and sweet and fine you were making him feel. A strange warmth sank into his chest, making it harder to breathe, and then he was panting above you, as if he were really inside that dripping wet spot. He was close.

“Such a pretty…sweet…fuckin’ thing for me.”

That red, raging, leaky cock of his was almost a blur between your legs, he was thrusting against you so fast. Joel thought for one frightening second that it might be his skull that would explode instead, so high was that pressure between his ears, but his fears were promptly put to rest as the first rope of cum came stuttering out. Then another. Then another. Then another.

By the time he finished, he could’ve sworn he’d left a hundred spurts on your tummy. When Joel glanced down and saw a sea of opaque, sticky white, he groaned.

Then he fell. Fully collapsed at your side with his brain in a tizzy of wild, heady feelings and sank into himself.

He hadn’t even fucked you, and he felt like he had.

He lifted a hand to wipe away his spend, but he couldn’t.

He would get to it in the morning, before you stirred, he thought. He thought. He didn’t have the chance to think much longer at all, as darkness started hedging him in.

He slept.

It was 7:57 when he woke.

The man had no real way of knowing that, though, seeing as he was greeted with a nickel-plated revolver between his teeth the second he opened his eyes.

You were straddling his torso, gun pinched between two calm, bandaged hands. You frowned when he jumped.

“WH—” he started.

“Shut up.”

“ST—”

“I said shut,” you cocked the gun, holding it tighter, then shoving it even further inside his mouth, “the fuck. up.”

The man obeyed.

‘Joel M.’—you’d read the name etched on the butt of his pistol before picking it up some twenty minutes ago.

“Pretty fuckin’ thing,” you mocked the man’s Texan drawl as you wiggled the barrel even deeper along his tongue, “Like givin’ daddy a hard time before lettin’ him in?”

The man’s eyes widened.

How dumb did he think you were?

Offering a semi-clear liquid that should’ve been water; he hadn’t even waited for the morphine tablet to fully dissolve before handing it over to you. Fucking idiot.

You were more disturbed by the fact he’d thought you stupid enough not to notice than him actually trying to drug you. The latter was almost to be expected from predatory, execrable men like him, but the insult to your intelligence? Unacceptable. You’d remedied that affront fairly quickly, though, swapping his glass with yours the second he hadn’t been looking, then nestling into his bed and playing pretend for what had felt like an eternity.

You’d been awake the whole time the man touched you, not knowing what the hell was going on but feeling like you had to stay still. Let him finish. Out of fear, at first, then curiosity, then some strange and unfamiliar sensation that you couldn’t quite describe as anything but a pleasurable itch between your legs. You let the man continue, hearing him grunt and groan and swear up a storm before he shot something hot all over your tummy. By the end of it all, you knew it was wrong, and you knew it was dirty—though you weren’t sure exactly what it was that he had done—but you wanted to learn more.

Which was probably why you hadn’t just shot the old pervert right between his eyes the second he’d stirred.

You shifted atop this ‘Joel M.’ and frowned once more.

“Why’d you stop?”

Gun still wedged in his mouth, Joel’s voice sounded garbled as he spoke, “Wha-agh-at?”

You retracted the metal just long enough to pose the question again. When you had, he still looked stunned.

“Answer me,” you barked, and feeling your patience lapse, got straight to pistol-whipping the motherfucker upside his half-grey head, “You DUMB, or somethin’?”

The man sputtered again.

“No, no— I don’t— dunno what you mean.”

He sounded dumb. You would need to spell this out.

“Why did you stop rubbing me like that?”

If anything, the clarification only seemed to baffle him further. He opened his taut, bearded mouth, then closed it, then eyed you up and down with a look that said he was considering something. Then he stared at one spot.

You glanced down at it too.

“And what is this, anyway?” you asked, swiping one finger at the mostly dried moisture on your stomach, “Why’d you spit this stuff up all over me, huh?!”

“I ain’t—”

You raised the gun as if to hit him again. He jolted back.

“I didn’t mean— shit. Shit, I just…came on you, ‘s’all.”

“Came?”

The word hung in the air like a grenade, waiting. Mr. M was already bracing himself for the impact, it seemed.

“Came?!”

That bracing served him well, because in the next second you were lifting the weapon even higher and eyeing him with the most pointed, putrid look of disdain. You’d never been one for letting grenades go untouched.

“Ejaculated!” Joel hissed, lifting a hand to shield himself, “Felt— felt so good I just couldn’t stop and I-I-I came.”

You paused.

Came. Felt good. Couldn’t stop.

You had felt good when he’d rubbed you. You had not wanted him to stop. But then he had. And you were mad. You’d never been touched that way in your life, and now you were feeling fifteen hundred emotions at once.

Were you supposed to ‘come,’ too? Why did he stop?

“Why didn’t you let me…ejaculate, too?” The words felt foreign and strange on your tongue.

For the first time, you saw one side of Joel’s lips twitch. Evidently fighting the urge to turn them into a smile.

“Girls don’t really…do that,” he said. Then, after a beat, “Why? Ain’t ever had your pussy rubbed on by a man?”

You shortly landed the blow you’d been holding over his head, splitting the skin along his brow with one hit from the butt of his gun. Joel jumped again, then moaned.

“Crazy bitch!”

“Creepy fuck.”

Your eyes narrowed with loathing, unable to comprehend how a man so vile had just made you feel so good. Your stomach was twisting in knots while Joel rubbed his forehead, pawing helplessly at the gash you’d just left.

“I saved your life,” he grumbled, low, “You owed me.”

“Did I?”

Abruptly, and without really thinking, you were sinking the muzzle of the gun into the spot you’d just cut, mouth kicking up in a smile at the sounds of pain it elicited.

“Did I, Joel?” you cooed.

“How the— the fuck do you know my name?”

Momentarily, you yanked the revolver from his face and tilted it to show him his name carved into the bottom.

“What’s the ‘M’ stand for? ‘Molester’?”

“Means ‘mind’ your fucking business,” he spat.

You probably would’ve hit him again had it not seemed as though he were trying to sit up just then. You slid swiftly from his frame—just to take a step off the bed, gun still pointed at his head. Then you backed away.

One by one, rapidly, you unloaded the bullets from the cylinder, maintaining a safe distance from the man all the while. You watched him blink and try to get some thing from his eyes, but he didn’t seem keen to move.

You left just one live round inside. You made a point to spin the cylinder and, again, aim it straight at his head.

The man was blinking even harder. Rubbing now, too.

“I feel…” Joel murmured.

“Drugged?” you returned, “Yeah, that must suck.”

A set of wide, irate, and horrified eyes met yours. His mouth hung open in a stupid look of shock. Trying to piece the last bits of this fucked up jigsaw puzzle together and growing angrier by the second.

“You fuckin’—”

Joel’s words were cut short by the weight of your body barreling back over his. Graceless, you imagined, but still nothing close to something you cared about now. You planted your knees on either side of his ribs and grazed the tip of the six-shooter down the length of his nose.

“Tell me,” you said, “How’d you make it feel so good?”

Your hips twisted for effect, jostling the man’s own parts beneath yours and clearly causing some effect in him. The muscles in his jaw jumped up as he gritted his teeth.

“You know damn well, slut,” Joel griped.

Without another thought, you squeezed the trigger.

Click.

The man’s whole body lurched underneath you. Trembling with the realization that you’d left just one lone bullet for him—and he didn’t know which chamber.

As far as foreplay went, Russian Roulette was probably a first, even for a man as wanton and depraved as Joel. You smiled sweetly and made another gyration with your lower half, which prompted him to grip you. Tight.

“What? Ya want me to fuck you, is that it?” he growled.

“I thought it wouldn’t fit.”

“I’ll make it fit.”

“How?”

Try as you might to conceal it, your gaze likely betrayed a hint of sincerity as you made that last inquiry. Joel’s eyes flickered between yours, searching for something there, and just when those glossy brown irises had found it, they stopped. Blinked. He shook his head, incredulous.

“My mind ain’t…right,” he said, slowly, “But I— I know you know what I mean by that, sweet pea.”

Something in your tummy fluttered at the sound. You gripped the pistol tighter to get rid of the feeling.

“I don’t,” you answered.

Again, Joel was stumped. For the first time, though, there appeared to be some sympathy behind his eyes. Or stupidity. Or just a shit ton of morphine coursing through his veins as he tried to make sense of this situation.

As if to confirm an idea in his drug-addled brain, he lowered a hand between your legs and hovered there a second. He watched you; you watched back but didn’t move.

Then slowly, almost clinically, Joel slipped two fingers underneath you and found a soft, pulsing warmth—far wetter than the last time he’d touched down there. When he pulled his hand away, both fingers and half of his palm were glistening with a fluid. You let out a startled cry at the sight of it and nearly dropped your gun.

“What is that?!”

Joel looked to you, equally awed—for different reasons.

“What do you mean?”

“Why’s it all…sticky?”

You couldn’t even try to hide your horror at the thought of that weird, syrupy stuff leaking out of you. It was strange enough feeling it come out of a freak like Joel, but from your own body? He had to be fucking joking.

“It’s normal.”

“Like hell it is— you— STOP!” The last fragment of your sentence was swallowed by a scream, leaping back when Joel moved his fingers toward your face.

“What? You’ve never seen this?” He sounded like he was teasing. You could shoot him for how smug he sounded.

In very small amounts, you’d seen stuff. Blood every month. Bits and pieces of bodily secretions that, to you, had always seemed gross. But never this. Never big, sticky globs of…whatever the fuck this was. You continued to back away on the bed, gun still tipped toward Joel but now trying to put some distance between your bodies. You didn’t know how else to act.

You did know you wanted to scream when Joel stuck his fingers in his mouth. Bile might’ve jumped in your throat.

He sucked the dew clean off the digits, then wriggled them to show what he’d done. You felt the urge to vomit.

“That came from— from— why are you eating it?!”

Joel grinned. Big.

You weren’t sure why, but he looked psyched to be alive in that moment, and not just because of the narcotics.

Before you knew what was happening, he’d pushed you flat on your back, hips pinned underneath his hands as he moved over your body. He didn’t even try for the gun.

“And here I was thinkin’ you were just fuckin’ with me,” he chuckled, palms sliding under your nightdress. When you felt the residuum of wetness from his spit and your slick stuck together on his fingers, you wanted to squeal.

But you didn’t. You tried propping yourself up on elbows until Joel was sliding your one and only article of clothing over your head, then beckoning you down on the bed in front of him. You watched his gaze flit down to your side.

“Still hurt?” he murmured, tracing over the bandage.

You shook your head no, though it did, a little. At the moment, it seemed the pain was the furthest thing from your mind as you saw Joel slide down your body and try to take up residence between your thighs—with his face planted right there. You kicked his shoulder in protest.

“Quit!” you cried, pulling your legs up to your chest.

“You quit,” Joel returned, yanking them back.

Then you felt you had no choice but to brandish the gun, taking the thing between two palms while you pointed it again—as if he needed the reminder.

“Fine. Why don’t you keep that thing aimed at my head while I give you some?” he muttered. The subsequent ‘See if I give a shit’ was silent.

“Give me some what?”

“Head.”

Head. You’d never heard something phrased that way. Joel’s head was down there, sure, practically grinning from ear to ear as he hooked your legs over his shoulders, but certainly he didn’t mean to do a thing as drastic and dirty as—

“JOEL!”

“Hm?” His voice was muffled by your thighs.

You tried to shy away, but he held you down.

“Joel, I— I pee out of there,” you hissed, “Why the fuck would you wanna put your mouth on that?”

As if your groans of disgust and vehement attempts to get away weren’t enough to deter him, you watched Joel’s tongue dart between his lips and down to yours. The sick fuck was actually licking your folds, tracing the tip across that warm, sticky place and moaning into your skin. Holding you tighter when you pleaded for him to stop. Then, with the hand that wasn’t prying your legs apart, he reached down and started stroking his cock.

Again, it felt dirty and wrong. Beyond the fact that this man was a perfect stranger and easily decades your senior, you were repulsed by the sight of his lips and his tongue and his spit mixing up in that messy, wet place you still didn’t quite understand yourself. You didn’t know much about your body, but it had never once occurred to you to be kissed down there. Joel was roaming every contour and crevice with his tongue like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he liked it.

“I hate it,” you whined, feebly.

You knew you could’ve easily blown the man’s brains out, but some small part of you was still plagued by curiosity. ‘Hate’ was just the first word that came to mind when you were faced with something that made you scared.

“It’s weird,” you tried again. This time pressing the gun to the top of his bobbing head while you grit your teeth, “And wrong.”

At that, Joel stopped.

His eyes flickered to yours, all glass-like and hooded.

“Why? Practically lickin’ ya clean here,” he said, starting to grin to himself as his words came slightly slurred, “There’s nothin’ wrong about this, sweet pea.”

You felt something flutter between you. He felt it, too.

“Like when I call ya that? ‘Sweet pea’?” he said, pausing to flick his tongue over the spot that had just stirred at his words. He watched you fight back a whimper.

“No,” you choked. You pinched your eyes shut, unsure whether it was pleasure or pure revulsion overtaking you—or both.

Suddenly, you felt Joel’s hand smooth over your thigh, still warm from when he’d been stroking himself below. He placed an affectionate kiss to your belly and grinned.

“Is that what this is? Feel guilty about feelin’ this good?” he murmured, “Think it’s…dirty, what we’re doin’?”

At length, and just barely visible to him, you nodded.

“It is dirty,” you corrected him quietly.

Then you saw that stupid pseudo-sympathetic smirk tug at the corners of his lips, and just when you thought he might nudge his way back up your body—to do what, you weren’t sure—he sank between your legs. This time, he made sure to hold your gaze as he re-assumed the position. His palm continued to rub at your thigh, as if to distract you from the rough brush of his stubble or the fact that his mouth was hovering so dangerously close.

“Sweet pea,” he rasped, “Ain’t nothin’ dirty about this.”

As if to punctuate his words, Joel dragged his lips down your slit to press a kiss to your centre, eyes never leaving yours.

“Not here…”

He pointed with his tongue, moving it deftly between your folds. You gripped the sheets, trying to ignore the pleasure that the simple act wrought through your body.

“Not here.”

He kissed your clit. You squeezed even tighter.

“Not on my tongue, on my fingers, anywhere, y’hear?”

You were about to answer—maybe tell him he was supremely full of shit, then flash the gun in his face—when Joel shifted onto his knees on the bed. He moved slowly and as calm as he ever had, motions languid while his mind was likely steeped in the morphine by now. He snagged one of your ankles. He slid his hand up the back of your calf and tugged you down to the edge of the bed. Then he stood up, right between your legs. The warmth radiating from his bare lower half was immediate, almost suffocating from where you lay. You didn’t like it at all.

You refused to meet his gaze, grip tightening on the gun.

“Joel…”

When that warmth at your front shifted inward, though, you hardly had a say in what your reflexes did or didn’t do. You jumped when you felt the head of his dick slip past your pulsing core, closer to the other hole below it.

“Not here, either,” Joel continued, grin still evident from his tone.

Before you could even think to ask what he meant to do ‘here,’ Joel moved one of your legs up, tilting your hips, and pushed ahead with just the tip of his cock. Not breaching it fully, but nudging—prodding at that hole.

For the first time, you let out a moan.

You hastily clamped a hand over your mouth to stifle it.

“Aw, honey,” Joel murmured, “Did that feel good?”

His words reeked of condescension. You scowled at the ceiling.

“No.”

You felt him push a little further—this time making the head of his dick notch into that tight ring of muscles.

No, the word rang through your skull once more. Your curiosity was shortly supplanted by disgust—how the fuck could you let this creepy old man, this stranger, press into you like that? Talk to you like you were dumb? You seized hold of Joel’s pistol with both hands and aimed directly for his chest.

“Stop doing that,” you growled. When the man’s grip on your leg only tightened and you couldn’t writhe away, you lifted the other and tried kicking him in the gut. Of course, Joel caught your foot midair, and it never landed.

“Just givin’ ya options, darlin’,” he said, easy-going. Not seeming to care about the firearm pointed his way.

Fuck it.

You squeezed the trigger again.

Empty chamber.

If Joel flinched, you didn’t see it. He did, however, knock the gun right out of your hand the next second, sending it tumbling with an unceremonious thump on the bed behind you. You tried to leap back for it, but your arm was quickly pinned. Joel cocked one silver-flecked brow.

“You done?” he asked, almost bored.

Your last—and only—leverage taken away from you, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of anger. And desperation.

“I don’t wanna do this,” you cried, trying to squirm away.

Joel didn’t move his cock, but he did hold you still. Blinking with indifference and a fair bit of drug-induced dissociation, it seemed, from the far-away look in his eyes. He pushed both of your legs so they were folded up to your chest, and ignored your whimpers when he did. At length, he pulled out just enough to smear some of your wetness down to the hole he was trying to fuck.

“You want this,” he countered gently.

“I DON’T!”

Joel continued as though he hadn’t heard you, and moments later, you sensed another slick something pooling against you. From your position beneath him, you could see a bead of spit slip from Joel’s mouth and stretch into a thin, glistening string all the way down to the space between your thighs. You watched him rub the saliva in with his fingers, almost meticulous as he did it.

Then he eased his hips forward an inch, wedging himself back in your ass. He groaned when he felt resistance—and a sharp clench of your muscles.

“I can teach ya…show ya everything…there is to know.”

His words somehow made it out through ragged breaths. That broad, tan chest was heaving with every labored pull of his lungs, and you could tell he was feeling good.

You might’ve been able to say the same for yourself, were your mind not singly occupied by the desire to escape. Still at war with yourself, wondering how it would feel or what you might see that first time, all the while despising the man who seemed hell-bent on forcing it.

He might’ve saved your life, but there was no fucking way he’d get to use you like that and stay breathing.

You were raised better than that.

You could do better than anything this man had to offer.

You resolved to kill him as soon as the drugs knocked him out—just like you’d had planned from the second you woke up on the floor of his cabin that afternoon.

Of course being chained, maimed, and frozen half to death on the plains for some well-meaning stranger to find you had always been part of your mother’s—and the rest of the Raiders’—grand plan. Having this stupid, horny sap take you into his home with the hope of claiming you as his own was just the icing on top.

Now you had a reason to kill Joel and steal all his shit.

At present, he fed another inch of himself inside you and grinned when you let out a startled cry.

“Atta girl,” he said, smirking, “Feelin’ okay?”

“Fuck you.”

“Will do.”

Then, as if to prove a point, he bottomed out, sheathing his cock to the hilt in spite of your cries. Your hands fisted the sheets, and you tried to pull off. It didn’t work.

In fact, all it accomplished was giving Joel more room to thrust back into you. And pull out. And shove back in. The snap of his hips was like cruel and excruciating clockwork, completely unhindered by your words or your gestures or your pleas to stop fucking doing that Joel, it fucking hurts! If anything, the sounds of your censure only got him harder, and with it, made it that much easier to fuck you rougher. His eyes shone with pride.

“What’s’at, sweet pea?” he hummed, strokes coming into a steady pace.

“It’s too…big…doesn’t fit,” you whimpered.

In response, Joel glanced down to see the spot where your bodies were joined. He pushed even deeper.

“Yeah?” he said when you yelped, “I think it fits just fine.”

Motherfucker, you wanted to wail, but then your neck craned sideways—your mouth trying to find purchase in anything you might grit between your teeth—and the only thing that escaped your throat was a sob. You tried burying your face in the comforter, only for Joel to yank it back.

Cupping your chin and pinching both your cheeks in a single, punishing squeeze as he continued to fuck you, “What’s the matter, darlin’? Too much?”

You groaned and clenched your jaw, head jerking away.

Per usual, Joel was undeterred. Even smiled.

“My pretty girl need somethin’a bite, huh?” he hummed.

He probably knew you wouldn’t nod, so he went ahead and decided to oblige that one need he saw anyway. Snagging your nightie, Joel raised a hand to your face and proceeded to push the fabric inside your mouth.

Just as he started to lift his hips to deliver another thrust, he had to stop. A sudden, sharp ‘FUCK!’ left his mouth, then a groan, and his hand retreated fast.

You’d bitten him.

You were grinning just a little, and you’d bitten him.

Joel promptly slapped you across the face. If you weren’t so fucking amused by the sight of his bright red fingers, you just might’ve winced. Instead, the smile stayed on your lips, the slap barely registered, and, to your utmost disbelief, something else had just then started to form.

Pleasure, in the pit of your stomach.

“Fuckin’—” Joel snarled.

“Shit,” you finished, eyes rolling back.

You couldn’t help it. Joel was rutting into you relentlessly. That brief hand bite detour had only stoked the flames of his hatred—and arousal—and now he was practically splitting you in half with the force of his thrusts. He slapped you once more for good measure.

“Oh, that you fuckin’ like?” he seethed, cheeks flushed, “Can’t get off with my…tongue on your cunt, but a slap— and my cock buried deep in your ass gets the job done?”

“Uh-huh,” you answered softly. Mindlessly.

Really, there were no two people more fucked up than you in this moment, you thought. Joel growing harder with each desperate objection of yours, you going all soft and hot and bothered the second he slapped your face and fucked you rougher, and together, the two of you letting out grunts and moans of pleasure while the bed shook like an earthquake just shy of a 9.5 on the Richter scale. Were you not already planning to slit the man’s throat after all of this was over, you just might’ve wanted to marry this Joel M for how wonderfully he fucked you.

You let him know as much when you seized his forearms.

Bouncing into his thrusts, you bit your lip and finally met his gaze. Joel’s eyes were trained in somewhat of a daze, pupils all but swallowing his irises as he fucked you.

“Like being daddy’s little cocksleeve, huh?”

Only the sentence was slurred so bad you could scarcely make out half the words. You nodded just the same.

“Like it when he fucks you in the ass?” Joel panted.

You nodded again.

That pleasure in your belly had worked its way up to a full swell—and whatever it was, you couldn’t bear the thought of losing it now. You gripped Joel’s arms even harder as his chest swayed into you, then sank further and further until your fronts were pressed flush to each other and your ankles were hooked tight around his back.

It almost felt intimate. That coarse, weathered, sweat-coated face spattered with patches of grey seemed to you nearly handsome as his lips hung limply in an ‘o.’

Joel’s cock dragged back and forth between your walls at this new, snug angle, and moans fell out of you both.

“Baby.” His voice was hoarse. Strained.

You couldn’t quite make sense of the expression above you, but there was an unmistakable, muted desperation lurking somewhere beneath it. Joel rutted into you quicker, balls leaving rapid smacks against your ass with every thrust. His hair was disheveled, and his hands were making fists in the sheets on either side of your head.

“Joel—”

“Jus’ lemme use you.”

Words so low they were barely audible as he panted.

“But—”

“Daddy’s…almost done, sweet pea. Just take it.”

You were surprised he’d had it within himself to be so soft. A peculiar sort of haze hung over his face, the pace of his hips picked up even more, and suddenly those plush pink lips were hovering a mere hair’s breadth away from yours. Mumbling. Rambling on and on about how wet you were, how perfect you fit him, how nice and sweet and tight your body felt as he fucked you stupid.

That sensation in your own stomach grew even stronger.

Unsure of what to do, you pressed a palm to his chest.

“Joel, I…I feel funny,” you whispered.

Joel hummed. Didn’t slow.

“I know.”

He knew?

“What’s it—ah, fuck.” Your words broke off in a whimper.

Instead of proffering a verbal response, Joel just slipped a touch between your bodies—thumbing sloppily between your folds to earn a couple more high-pitched moans. Your legs tightened around his middle.

“Joel, s-stop!”

It felt so good it almost hurt. He didn’t stop.

“S’just an orgasm, baby,” Joel panted, “You’re okay.”

And, in spite of his own impending climax and the effect of the drugs likely reaching a fever pitch inside him, Joel managed to slide his other hand beneath the back of your head. Cradled you to him while he fucked you into the bed and made you come unraveled with his touch. You tried to writhe away, but he was used to the drill by now—he just fucked you harder and rubbed you faster.

Whatever he wanted would come soon. You doubted there was anything you could do to stop it, but you tried.

Without thinking, you grabbed hold of the damp locks of hair at the nape of his neck and yanked on them hard.

“Joel, I can’t— I can’t,” you keened.

The hand at the back of your head held you firm.

“You can,” Joel returned, tough but surprisingly calm, “Give it to daddy, ‘s’all ya gotta do.”

What exactly ‘it’ was was still unclear. You just knew you felt good and warm and full—about ready to burst. When you felt tempted to give his hair another tug, Joel’s eyes met yours, and they were soft. Insistent, still, but soft.

Dilated as all hell and probably swimming in clouds of a delirious, bleary haze, but always soft. Almost tender.

“Be a good girl and give it to daddy,” Joel slurred, slow, “C’mon, sweet pea…cum for daddy, please.”

For the first time in that short, rough, utterly deranged time you had known this man, he was begging you. Pleading with you, now, as his body grew overwrought with pleasure and just needed release. You needed it, too, not even knowing how you would get it, but the force of his thrusts, the warmth of his body, the look in those warm, bare, powerless eyes—you fucking loved whatever it was that could make a man like that so weak.

You had to strike while the iron was hot. You slid back.

Joel didn’t notice, too focused on your face and the feel of your body to see when you’d reached for the gun.

Just as you took hold of it, a jolt of pleasure tore through you. Your heels dug into his back, and you nearly lost control of the pistol. Joel groaned in your mouth, begged you once again to cum all over this cock, make a fuckin’ mess of it, baby, please, and you could only whine, grip the metal tighter, and raise it slowly to the side of his head while he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

The peak of your pleasure had come into view. You felt it.

You nudged the muzzle through those soft, slick, salt-and-pepper shaded tufts of hair near the edge of his temple right when the first throes of euphoria seized you.

“FUCK!”

You squeezed the trigger.

#NEED DARK!JOEL TO TAKE ME TO HIS PENTHOUSE AND FREAK ME IN WAYS UNIVERSALLY CONDEMNED BY POSTMODERN FEMINISM #IT'S SOOOOO BAD Y'ALL #this might be too niche but i hope at least one person enjoys LOL #joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel miller smut #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us #tlou #the last of us fic #joel miller x you #dark!joel

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bluetimeombre · 3 months

Text

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ And I wouldn't marry me, either.

You were Azriel's mate, but it took losing you three times for him to realise.

[this is long. i'm talking 5k words long so i've split it into two parts. anyway, azriel is the best bat boy and no i won't hear anyone out. i'm so excited to write for him and hope you enjoy. it's very angsty but that's what i love. i hope i can write more for him and maybe other characters if you like. it's been a while since i've actually read the series so if any information is wrong, do let me know. also it was my first time using the term y/n and yes, i cringed NOT PROOF READ... enjoy]

warnings: references to sexual assault and references to suicide. nothing explicit but please don't read if this is sensitive to you.

Part 2 soon…

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The first, was the worst...

You were Rhys's half sister, the bastard daughter of his father. But when your mother had died giving birth to you, Rhysand's mother took you in and raised you with your brother and sister. You were so little and adorable that your sister loved you at once. Rhys did to, at some point of your life, you were sure he actually cared about you.

But when his mother and sister had died, his eyes shifted, he started to look at you with contempt. After all, you were only his half-sister. The worst half. He only kept you around because it's what his mother would have wanted.

And because there was no way Cassian and Azriel would ever let anything happen to you.

Besides, Rhysand knew when to use you.

Although Azriel was his spymaster, you were pretty good at staying swift-footed too. And you were frankly, very terrifying when you wanted to be.

You tread with power through the war camps, all of them looking at you as you went. All of their gazes wrecked with a predatory gaze. They either wanted to have their way with you, or kill you. Or both.

Rhys had said you could handle it, it was only supposed to be a check in. Cassian hadn't liked it, neither had Mor but it was Azriel who had almost- and for the first time- disobeyed his high lord to accompany you. But no, your brother wanted you to do this alone, so alone you would.

Just to show him you could.

'I can come with you,' Azriel had said, standing in your room as you tied your boots up. 'I won't even have to be seen.' At that, his shadows wrapped up your calf.

You smiled at them, as if they were his own pet. 'I'll manage just fine. Besides, i'm sure that's what Rhys wants, me needing a man.'

It had done nothing to calm your friend. The worry was still stuck between his brows, marring his handsome features. You'd held his cheeks, your wings hiding the two of you. His large ones (enough to swallow the both of you) over-lapped yours.

It was the last time you'd feel your wings.

The war camp wasn't as easy as you'd hoped. It was terror and horror in a place. You'd been to the court of nightmares, you'd gone to the slaughter of the spring court after they killed your family. But this, this was hell of another kind.

You had no idea how many days you'd been locked up, wrists bound in chains and hanging from the cell roof above you. Blood rolled down your arms from the force you'd tried to use to get them out. Your eye was swollen shut and your body trembled in pain.

All because they wanted to know your brothers secrets, and you wouldn't budge.

Your check was only supposed to be a day, but you were sure it had been longer. Days of endless pain and torture. Your uniform hung in rags of stripped material, your hair matted with blood and hiding your face.

You'd used the last of your energy to keep your walls up. You weren't anyone's mate, you didn't have anyone on the other end trying to feel what you felt. But should Rhys come looking (though you doubted it) you didn't want him to feel it. You didn't want anyone in your mind.

The gates opened with a sickening clash.

One of the Illyrian's knelt in front of you, his wings hiding those coming in behind you. 'Listen sweetheart. I don't want to make this any harder than it's about to get. All you have to do is tell us your brother's hide outs.'

You grit your teeth, staring down at the ground.

'So loyal, to a man who doesn't care if you live or die.'

Suddenly, your wings twitched as hands grasped them. Brute hands, the sort you wouldn't want touching any part of you.

Fear spiked in you, horror twisting your gut. 'What are you doing?'

'I told you I didn't want to get things messier, darling.'

You whipped your head from side to side, trying and failing to get a look at the assailants behind you. Your wings were being held apart, no matter how hard you tried to bat them away. You knew the sort of people they were, and what they did to girls like you.

That's when the begging started. 'No, no please. Anything. I'll do anything! Beat me, kill me, rape me, not my wings, please!'

'Anything?' the bastard asked, tongue poking out from his lips. 'Then tell me where your lord's hideouts are?'

You should betray him, you thought. He would never lose his wings for you. Perhaps it was stubbornness that kept you from, or maybe you were clinging to the last bit of love you want from him.

The bastard scoffed, 'anything, she says. Your brother has his own bitch wrapped around his finger.'

That's when they started hacking at your wings.

Your screams tore through your throat, blood spitting and dripping down your chin. Tears soon joined when they hacked away at the bone, the membrane, the flesh of it all. The three of them worked through your screams and your tears and your pain, tearing and cutting at it like it was nothing more than paper.

Not your whole life.

Let them hear you. You hoped your brother heard you, you hoped all and every court heard the pain.

Eventually, even you couldn't keep screaming. The only sound was the hacking away at your wings and the drops of blood.

'Now look at these beauties. I've got a perfect spot on my wall for these.'

They left you after that. There wasn't much more damage they could do. It already felt like they'd destroyed your life. You had never really thought about your wings, they were just part of you, as much as your wit or hair was. But they'd took it and now, you felt empty. Never would you fly with Azriel again, or use your wings to smack Cassian over the head.

Rhys, your dear brother, had took that from you.

The days blended in together after that. You were pooled in your own tears and blood, vomiting up anything they forced down your throat. No, they'd made it very clear they didn't want you dead. They just took pride in making it feel like you were.

At some point, you'd stopped reacting to the gate opening. You let them do whatever they wanted with you. Your wrists were still chained, arms still hanging up, your clothes hanging on your thin body in strips of dirt.

'No...' you heard a mumble. 'What have they done to you?'

Suddenly, the chains gave way and you lurched forward, with no strength to catch you. Luckily, you didn't have to, as strong and warm arms pulled you into his chest.

'Hey, wake up, look at me, dammit.'

Azriel.

You'd know the voice in the darkest days, in the pit of your worst nightmare you'd know.

You try to speak but your head's heavy, your lips are stone and your arms can't lift to hold onto him. You're exhausted, you're dying. The only thing you could do use all your strength to try to open your eyes.

'Please, please, look at me. You have to look at me,'

You were trying, you wanted to tell hm, snap at him, but you couldn't.

You felt Azriel shake, or maybe you were. Then, there was wet drops landing on your cheeks- you flinched.

'I'm sorry, i'm sorry. Rhys! Rhys! hurry up, please!' he was screaming. You'd never heard him scream before.

You heard the rush of feet at the cell doors, you knew it was your brother. You knew it from the presence of him, from the shuffling of feet and chocked sob. Your brother didn't cry, least of all for you.

'Her wings, oh mother, her wings,' said Azriel, his voice barley above that of a whisper.

Your wings. You didn't need reminding. They were gone, long and far gone. You were without a part of you, the very part of your soul that loved to be free. Never would you watch the stars up close or fly over everyone. Never race Cassian or make jokes with Az.

No, this would destroy you.

'y/n,' your half-brother called. 'No, y/n. Can you hear me?'

Your lips parted, mumbling. 'Hurts.'

Azriel's grip on you tightened. 'I know, we're gonna get you out of here, just hold on for me.'

You wanted to tell him you would hold on, you'd always need to hold on to him. That, no matter what he asks, you'd do it. To kill, to live, to breathe, to die.

And that's when it clicked. Amongst all the pain and the doubt. In your blood soaked clothes. In the fear you wouldn't make it, there was a tug. Weak and one-sided, but there. You knew you'd be safe with Azriel, knew you would always be with him.

Mate.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The pain subsided to a dull ache, there and beating but not excruciating. You were warm and covered in a soft material. Nothing like the cell you'd been kept in. Your fingertips sunk into something soft- a bed. Your bed. It was familiar in its lavender scent to you and the silk wrapped around you gave you some semblance of warmth.

Your wings.

Even coming to consciousness was difficult. You were exhausted but light, without the weight of wings holding you down. You'd never realised how much you needed to feel that weight, to feel pulled down in order to be free.

Gone, all gone.

Your hand twitches around something cold, a shadow holding your hand, creeping up your side.

'You're awake, thank the couldron.'

It wasn't Azriel, master of the shadows. It wasn't your mate. Mate. The word replayed like a terrible song in your mind.

How dare the mother do this to Az. How dare he- nothing but loyal and kind- get stuck with a person made in darkness, who bled shadows, who's heart was so full of hate there wasn't room for love. They'd cursed Az, with you.

But luckily it wasn't him, it was Rhysand.

'It really happened,' you whispered, voice hurting from the screams.

He sighed. 'I'm sorry, i'm so sorry. We-we thought you weren't going to make it, you'd lost so much blood.'

In spite of the pain in your shoulders, you made a shift, turning from him as he ranted on about your condition.

'y/n... sister, please,' he said. He'd never called you sister before. He'd always been content to treat you just like you worked for him.

'Leave me alone.' you couldn't bare to look at him, couldn't bare to face him. The shadows at your hand grew heavier, as if more were piling on. You stretched your fingers away from them, trying to get them off you.

'Are you in any pain?' asked Rhys.

'Get out,' you mumbled.

The end of your bed dipped where Rhys settled, hand splayed on the covers, begging for your hand. 'y/n.'

'Get out!' you snapped, body tense and straining. You felt your wounds open up, blood wetting the bandage around you. But you didn't care. You'd happily bleed if you couldn't fly. A part of you, sick part of you wanted to be left there. It would be better than false sympathy.

Be better than your mate being disgusted.

'Get out!' you yelled again, voice tearing through an aching throat.

'I just want to help you! please, let me help you!' said Rhys, standing from your bed and walking around, trying to face you.

'I don't want your help!' you screamed. You reached for the closest thing you could, a jug of water and chucked it toward him. You aim was terrible, marred with pain and exhaustion. 'Get out!'

Though hesitant, Rhysand slowly started walking back to your door. He did it all looking at you, his hands out to show he wasn't gonna hurt you, but you didn't care. You went for the glasses next and chucked them but they landed against the door which he disappeared through.

Before it slid close you caught sight of Cassian , Mor and Azriel. All crowded, all waiting to see you.

You'd be happy if you never let them see you again.

'Can we see her?' you hear Mor ask.

'Give her time,' said Rhys.

The shadows at your hand grew heavier, darker, tighter.

'Go away!' you yelled at them. To anyone else, you probably looked crazy, screaming to darkness. But the shadows understood. They departed, slithering away and under the crack of your door where you could see the shadows of feet.

Tumbling from bed, you stumbled over and locked the door, leaning on it to and catching your breath. Your nightgown was starting to get sticky with blood all over again. When you closed your eyes, you pictured the cell, the rough hands holding you down, the chain keeping you up.

And the pain, it all washed over you. The hacking at your back, the sting of a slap. It hit you like a tone of bricks as you slid to the floor.

There was a knock, rattling the door.

'y/n,' Cassian. 'Please let us in.'

Us. You felt him on the other side. Your mate, his presence lingering. His shadows under the door, wanting to come in but keeping their distance.

He didn't know. It hadn't snapped for him, you could tell. It was one tug on your end, a chord in your heart. At least he couldn't feel what you did. At least you could shoulder it alone.

'Please.' his voice was almost your un-doing. He sounded so sad, so desperate. It hurt you just to think you were hurting him.

Tears streamed down your face as your curled your fingers into a tight fist. You assumed Mor had left with Rhys, leaving you there with the males.

Cass was always like a brother to you. Granted- a brother you had slept with once or twice- but he was your best friend. You'd always been close to him. But you'd always been good, a happy person.

You couldn't be that for them now, perhaps ever again.

It lasted like that for hours. Cassian and Az begging to come in, you curling into a ball with tears down your cheeks and blood down your back.

Eventually, they gave up. You couldn't hear them anymore and the shadows of their boots had disappeared.

Except Azriel's shadows that still lingered under your door. Maybe he'd ordered them to be there while they left you.

Eventually, you managed to find your footing on shaking legs. Your room was large, one of the largest. It was just as much a mess as it was when you'd left for you mission, clothes thrown over the place, books propped open on the pages you'd left them on. Everything was the same but could never be again.

It took you longer than you'd care to admit to get to your windows and throw the curtains close. Candles light at your request, the house looking after you as it had since you were a child.

You caught sight of yourself in the full length mirror. It seemed smaller, everything in the room felt too large and you too small, as if you were being swallowed by the expanse of it.

Your frame was small in the mirror, your hair disarrayed. Your eyes were red and shutting of their own accord from the tears that had drained you. The starving in the cells had made you look weak, made you feel weak.

And your back. There was no more looming black figures there, no more fluttering. There was just nothing. In spite of the ache as you lifted your arm, you felt around your back, feeling the hitch there, the lump from where they'd been torn from you.

You cry. You sob. You scream.

The scars were long and the nightdress was sticking to you by the blood you'd shed. All you could do, was hold yourself up as your body wracked with tears.

A breeze came from your windows, shadows tugging at the curtains.

You felt him before you saw him. You wanted to tell him to leave you but you couldn't talk without chocking. Without feeling like you couldn't breath.

Azriel had you in your arms before your knees could hit the ground. He fell with you, softening your body on the floor. His arms held you into his chest, his legs caging you into his body. His head rested on yours as he held you. He didn't try to talk, he didn't try to help. It was just him, you and his shadows.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Azriel remembered dozing off with you, his head on yours. His arms holding you into him, as if it was up to him to keep the sadness away and take it for you.

Afterall, you were his best friend. He should have been there for you, and he'd failed terribly by letting you get hurt and your wings stolen from you. He could hate himself every day for it, for letting you down. But it would never amount to what you felt for yourself and that killed him.

He could see it in the way you cried, in the way you were already keeping everyone out. He'd rather die than let you go through all the pain alone.

When his hands had been scarred by his brothers, you'd help heal him, tell him about everything he still was and all the power he still held in his hands. In the worst days, when he didn't let anyone touch him, he let you.

It was always you.

Azriel wasn't sure how long he'd been asleep, or how deep. He was sure he was still with you, still in your bed.

His shadows crept up on him, engulfing him slowly and whispering to him. Your name, just your name on repeat. It was enough to lull him back into sleep, to keep him calm.

Gone. Missing. y'n. Roof.

He shot up and ran fastest than he ever had in his life. It was as if he'd never been asleep but had been fighting a battle with the way he raced over.

He burst through the doors, the cold hight air hitting him.

You stood facing the stars, your bloody back to him. It wasn't as much blood as when he'd found you, but it was still enough to put a lump in his throat.

Immediately his shadows fell to you, cascading down your body and wrapping around your waist. There was a breeze in the air, pushing your hair back and exposing more signs of the pain and torture you must have gone through.

'I'm not gonna jump, if that's what you're thinking,' you said. You didn't even have to turn to him. The shadows probably told you enough.

'Why are you up here?' he asked, walking to you slowly and with careful steps. As if every step closer could you push you away from him.

'I'll never feel the win properly again,' you answered.

Azriel gulped down his own pain. You’d never sounded so small. ‘Can you get away from the ledge?’

'I'm not on the ledge.'

'You're too close for my liking.'

'Leave if you don't like it.'

'Don't do this,' he said.

'Do what?' you asked, folding your arms over your chest. You were cold, out in the hight but you wanted to see the stars. Needed to see them.

'Make me leave. Make everyone leave you. I know that's what you're doing. It's what you do every time,' you could feel him dawning closer. His shadows were all around you, almost drowning you.

‘Every time,’ you scoff, stepping down and turning on him. ‘It’s not every day you lose your wings Azriel! But don’t let me stop you from leaving, flap them and go!’ You yelled, unable to stop yourself, no matter how hard you tried. You didn’t want to hurt him, you just wanted to be alone.

Mate. Mate. Mate.

'You jump and I’ll catch you,' he said. He was a step away, he could just reach out and touch, just a gentle caress. 'I swear it, whatever you do, I’ll follow. I’m not letting you get away.’

He watched your back shudder as he reached out, brushing knuckles against your shoulder blade. He heard your sharp inhale follow.

'Don’t think I won’t follow, y/n.'

Finally, you turned around in his shadows. You couldn’t meet his eyes but at least you could face his chest.

His hands were gentle on your shoulder as he rubbed it gently. 'Can I get Madja to clean you up?' He asked.

You nodded as he led you away. You truly did not deserve your mate.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Fifty-two years later...

When Amarantha had trapped the high lords of Prythian under the mountain, it hadn't be a conscious choice to follow your half-brother down. How Amarantha had allowed it, you weren't sure, but perhaps she wanted to use you just like her brother, or she thought it would bring more pain for him to see you suffer under there too.

You and Rhysand had barley spoke the last two years.

It had took you almost two months to heal fully enough to leave your room, another few months to face your family again. But even then, everyone knew something had changed in you. You didn't laugh as loud or smile as wide.

Rhysand was careful to ever let you out on a mission. Mor tried to take you out every night. Cassian spent all day every day with you and Azriel- he'd healed you better than any nurse.

Still, you had not told him he was your mate.

Still, you thought he wouldn't want it.

Still, you cared for your brother enough to not want him to go alone.

But being under the mountain, you could avoid your mate. At a painful price.

Until her. Rhys's mate. He hadn't shut up about her since he first met her, much to your dismay as you had to sit around and listen- having absolutely nothing better to do. And it only got worse when she turned up under the mountain. She was declaring her love for Tamlin- again, annoying your brother, and throwing Lucien into danger- which rather angered you. You had nothing against the ginger.

Rhysand had once sent you to find the girl to summon her as part of a bargain he'd made. He didn't want to go, he didn't want to look too forceful. You'd been lucky enough to find the two tangled up in each other against a cold wall, clothes ripped and hips moving together.

'Well, well well,' you'd intterupted.

Tamlin all but growled at you, but feyre was looking over you- evidently confused. She had no idea who you were. You, in your skimpy outfit that Amarantha kept you in (they all dipped low at your back, showing off your scars) and your eyes that were like a night sky.

'Amarantha's looking for her pet and Rhysand is looking for his. Honestly, i'd be a bit more worried if I were you. You know, considering Lucien still has an eye to lose.'

The two parted with your words as you sent Tamlin back to his master, the high lord glaring at you as you went. While Feyre tried to fix herself.

'Rhysand is over there, better not keep him waiting.' That was the first time you met her, having no idea how much trouble she'd be worth. The family that she'd become.

But Rhysand made sure you knew it all. From when the bond snapped in him and he'd stumbled. He ranted and ranted as they climbed out.

If only you were so talkative about Azriel. If only you could talk about him with your brother. But you'd tried not to painfully think about him. Climbing out of the mountain. It was all you could think of.

Maybe he'd have forgotten you? it had been fifty years. He'd probably realised how happy he could be without having to take care of you.

Rhys was allowed out of the mountain, he'd felt the breeze in his hair but you hadn't in fifty long years. You stood there a moment, bathing in the warmth as everyone left, as everyone ran off for their families and courts and the war that was inevitable. Eventually, Rhys offered you his arm. 'Shall we go home?'

He winnowed you there, on the balcony of your home. In a cloud of black smoke, the two of you appeared.

He went first, slipping through the doors slowly- like it could all be taken from them any minute.

You were hesitant, taking a moment to glance at the landscape behind you. It hadn't changed, not at all. The mountains were still there, everyone was still alive. Your home. In the last years it hadn't felt like home, but how could anywhere ever feel so close in your heart.

When you could find your feat again, you managed to slip through the doors. You were suddenly aware of how little clothing you were wearing, just enough to cover your chest and run down your legs. A chill settled down your back, your scars would be on show. What a way to great them all after fifty years.

Mor had her arms around Rhys's shoulders, crying into his shoulder.

Behind them you caught Amren, with something like tears in her eyes. You were just about to tease her before a body barrelled into yours in a blur of red syphons and your feet were lifted from the ground.

'Cassian.'

His arms tightened around you. You shoulder started to dampen with tears, his tears. The last time you'd seen him cry around you was when he'd seen a dog with only three legs. 'I'm keeping you on a leash from now on, stupid idiot.'

Your arms wrap around his shoulders, a smile gracing your lips. 'Is that a promise?'

He held you longer, tighter, not daring to let you go but at least settling you on the ground. He sighed against your head, controlling himself. 'He's missed you, you know,' he said. He was the only one you'd told, about your mate. 'Now that you're back, tell him. He deserves to know.'

Cassian slowly pulled away, holding you at arms length and smiling at you. He kissed your cheeks and then your forehead before parting to Rhysand.

Mor approached you next, slapping you in the arm.

'Ow!'

'Why would you follow him?' she snapped.

You blinked at her before she took you by the arm she'd slapped and embraced you, like a sister would. You dared not looking over her shoulder to find the one who hadn't come to you. Maybe Cass had got it wrong...

Mor pulled away, wiping at her eyes.

Azriel was as beautiful as the day you left him. His hair was the same length, he was the same height. He was just as you left him. It was hard to tell fifty years had passed on him.

And inside of you, tugging in your soul and heart you felt the familiar string of gold throbbing. But you still didn't feel that tug. You'd hoped it would have faded from you after half a year separated. Or at least have snapped for him. But no such relief.

He approached you, slowly. As if he was scared of scaring you away. But you just stood there.

His arms were delicate and soft around you as he brought you into his chest. He still smelled the same, cedar wood and shadows. Shadows that wrapped around you, shielding you from the rest of the room. They caressed you, head to two.

You held onto each other for what could have been another fifty years, but this time, it wasn't so painful.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Although nobody wanted to part after yours and Rhysand's return, you were exhausted. A trip to Rita's could wait another night or two. The only thing you wanted to do was hide in your room.

Strangely, your room looked lived in. As if somebody had moved in since you'd left. A moment of anger replaced grief. Had they brought someone else and given them your room? but then you smelt it, Az.

Lying in bed that night, exhausted, you couldn't find sleep. You closed your eyes and pictured Amarantha. You'd never been afraid of her, you weren't afraid of anything. But you re-played the horrors. Watching servants beat Feyre, watching Amarantha use your brother and on the occasion, even you. How she flaunted. How the most powerful lords were weak.

Under your door, shadows seeped in, rushing across the room to you. You smiled, watching your hand disappear in their darkness.

'Azriel?' you called.

There was shifting on the other side of the door before he slipped in, clicking it shut behind him.

You sat up in bed, shadows moving with you. 'Couldn't sleep?'

He wondered in, looking around your room. 'Sleeping's been... hard.'

You rolled over, opening the blanket and nodding your head. You couldn't think about the bond, not yet. Not while he looked so.... ruined. Beautiful- the most beautiful person in the world, but sad. As he climbed in next to you, you could see the dark circles under his eyes, his shoulders slumped and his wings too.

His eyes scanned over you. You were in a thin and silk night dress that only brushed your knees, but the way he looked at you, mother you could've been naked. 'Fifty years,' his voice sounded barley controlled. 'Fifty years. You followed your brother down for fifty years? Why would you do that?'

You gulp. 'I would've done it for any of you. Except maybe Amren, she'd probably enjoy the peace for fifty years.'

You go to brush your hair back but Azriel seizes your wrist. He was angry. That's why his voice was rough and his chest rising and falling with barley controlled emotions. Could he feel it? your nerves, your lying?

'You left. You should've stayed, y/n, you know Rhysand didn't want you under there with him,' he said. 'For fifty years I haven't been able to sleep through a night thinking about the pain you must have been going through. After I swore to keep you safe, after I promised to catch you every time!'

'You couldn't have stopped me. You didn't promise, Az.'

His grip grew tighter. 'It went without saying.'

You looked around his eyes, seeing the pain and grief there also. Slowly, you brought your other hand up. He flinched as you took his cheek but eventually settled as your thumb ran over his cheekbone. 'I won't leave again, ok? I promise.'

He gulped, letting go of your wrist and looking down. 'I slept here,' he mumbled, but just loud enough to hear you. 'I couldn't sleep in my room. This was the only place I could rest.'

Your heart stuttered. Your hand dropped from his cheek. This man was your mate. Your mate. Your only love, whether or not the cauldron deemed it.

Azriel took your hesitation. 'I-i'm sorry, you probably didn't want to hear that. I've probably ruined your one place of peace-'

'Stay,' you said, before you could think of what you were asking. 'Sleeping wasn't exactly easy under the mountain either. I just trust I won't have to put a wall of cushions between us.' as if you wanted that. As if you haven't thought about his calloused hands all over you.

Azriel smiled and stayed the night.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The third time he almost lost you, broke him...

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

#acotar #azriel #cassian #rhysand #rhys acotar #feyre archeron #tamlin #lucien vanserra #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x female!reader #cassian x reader #books and reading #booktok #angst #azriel x cassian x reader

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klausysworld · 7 months

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I don’t know why but I really want something with Klaus breaking reads heart.

Maybe…. Reader and Cami have been kidnapped and Klaus has to choose who to save. He chooses Cami but before reader can be killed Elijah saves her.

Left for dead

Living with the originals was hard enough. Between the betrayals and the wars just within the family was overwhelming let alone outsiders going out of their way to destroy each of them.

Being with Klaus was already difficult, between his mood swings and temper tantrum’s he wasn't an easy person to love and yet I did.

Even when I realised he was in love with someone else, even whilst knowing he was kissing someone else, I didn't leave him. I loved him with everything in me whether it was killing me or not.

I had offered my life for his, I took life for his and I ruined my own life for his. With Klaus came his family and I did everything I could to welcome them as my own. Even after I found out that his sister knew that he was seeing someone else.

Hope was treated the way I would treat my own daughter and I loved more than anyone else to walk the planet. Maybe that was why I stayed, for Hope. Or maybe that’s what I tell myself because how could I have been pathetic enough to stay for a an who only saw me as a warm body.

For some reason I had it in my head that perhaps he loved both me and Camille. Maybe he thought I wouldn't accept it and so he kept it a secret but surely after everything he should know that I would never try to change him or invalidate his feelings. It was stupid to be okay with him seeing Cami behind my back, I was blinded by something I had created in my mind.

I would smile when Cami was near and I tried to talk to Klaus but he labelled me paranoid and brushed it off. So I thought maybe he regretted it and he didn't want me to know because he wanted to stop. Maybe he did still love me.

This was the ultimate test really.

Both myself and Camille were beaten until black, blue and bloody. A loop of our cries and screams echoed through my mind and bounced against the walls of whatever dungeon we were seemingly chained within. I had no way of knowing how long we had been there but my body and soul felt such a sense of relief when Klaus's voice rang through the building. That feeling only lasted a few seconds before our captures taunting replayed in my head:

"Klaus will choose between you both, he will decide who lives or dies. He may think that he can have it all, have you both but I won't let him well. Whichever one he chooses, the guilt from the other will eat away at him, he won't be able to stay with the other. You will all end up broken and alone." he had whispered cruelly.

Her heart pounded in her throat as she watched Klaus approach them both, his hands coated in red as he forced the bars that separated us apart and went to step through only to let out a gasp and drop to his knees. The with who had tortured us for however long appeared from thin air in front of Klaus and I automatically pulled my legs to my chest to hide in the corner.

"Only one of them leaves" he stated, a grin on his face. "I don't care which but you will choose one or they both die and the next to go missing will be your daughter"

At his words Klaus let out a vicious snarl and attempted to lurch forward at the man but a sharp pain forced its way to his head and caused a loud yell of pain to burst from within him.

I could feel my eyes burning with another flow of tears just watching his pain, knowing what he felt. I could see Cami staring straight at me. Over our time in here together she had often brought up Klaus's ultimatum, I told her that I knew that they loved each other. I told her that he would choose her. She was certain that I was wrong and that Klaus didn't love her but just used her as a release. But I knew what Klaus looked like when he was in love. Even so part of me hoped she was right, it was a dark thought, a horrible hope that I wish I didn't have but I really wanted it to be true.

I looked back to Camille, a tight lipped smile that was probably more of a grimace formed on my lips as I mouthed the words 'it'll be okay' to her and her head shook as tears slipped down her cheeks.

Cami was sweet, she was lovely and I loathed it. She wanted to die instead of me, she said I deserved to live more than she did. That I was Hope's second mother I was apart of the Mikaelsons. She apologised for ever being with Klaus and it just made me feel worse. I thought that maybe they were lies, maybe she secretly hoped that Klaus would choose her and I would be left to die.

I couldn't tell and it didn't really matter anymore. Not when I realised that Klaus was right in front of me. I felt a small spark of hope as his arms wrapped around me and he pulled my close to his chest. A soft sniffle left him and his lips pressed to the side and top of my head

"I'm so sorry" his voice whispered with a crack and I went to tell him it was okay before I felt him pulling away and I realised what he was apologising for "forgive me" he uttered as he made his way to Cami.

My eyes stayed blurry with tears but they didn't fall as a complete feeling of numbness spread throughout me completely. I could hear my captures sickening laugh spin around me and I could hear Camille asking Klaus what he was doing.

"Klaus- go back to her" she whispered but he shook his head

"I love you" he admitted and a bitter laugh left my lips. I covered my mouth with my hands and pressed my forehead against my knees. I shouldn’t have been surprised and I shouldn’t have been so upset. I knew he loved her, I knew he would choose but for some reason it hurt so much more when he actually confirmed it.

I could hear Camille apologising to me as Klaus lifted her up, carrying her to a safety I thought I would never again know.

As soon as they left hands were on me, grabbing and dragging me by my hair to force me to crawl wherever he wanted me. Uncontrollable pain shot through me continuously and I had no time to comprehend the sobs that shook my body. I felt my back arch painfully, almost breaking but not quite, my head was forced back so my neck was bared and a sharp knife went to the edge of my neck.

"it's unfortunate really..." the voice uttered before the blade began to sink into my throat. My eyes closed and I welcomed the quick death but the pressure stopped and a thud sounded from before me.

Fingers pressed to the place the knife had began to cut, a familiar scent engulfed me and an arm circled my waist.

"You're alright darling" the voice whispered, pulling me into an embrace making me grab onto the back of his suit silently. "He's gone now Y/n. You're safe." he murmured softly, rubbing my back before i felt him pull back a little bit. My eyes slowly cracked open to see his face, his deep dark eyes boring into mine with a knowing look of pity. Silently I watched as an array of reds and purples scattered under his chocolate brown eyes and his pearly fangs dipped into the tough skin of his wrist. The fresh wound was lifted to my lips and I accepted the metallic taste with a sigh. I drank for much longer than I needed, I expected he would pull be off but his hand only pet the back of my head gently

"Good girl" he whispered "just heal". His touch made my heart hurt and I didn't bother trying to stop the tears from falling anymore. My hands clutched onto his jacket desperately and I gulped his blood down as though it was water.

Soft touches were given to the skin of my face before his silk handkerchief cleaned at the dirt and dried blood that had dripped down my neck. Reluctantly I pulled away from his wrist and licked my lips clean. He wiped his own wrist and tucked the material away into his pocket. Elijah proceeded to pull the jacket off of his body and instead wrapped it around my shoulders. The inside was warm and smelt of home.

My eyes felt heavy with exhaustion and I gave him a tired smile making him frown.

"I'll bring you home now okay?" he whispered but I shook my head

"I can't go back" I muttered "I won't stay with him anymore. I should have left ages ago" I admitted and his eyes grew glossier.

"Where should I take you?" He asked gently and I shrugged

"Airport? Train station? I don't care just don't tell anyone you saved me? Please?" I begged softly and he nodded.

"I'll give you whatever you need" he promised "anything"

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max1461 · 5 months

Text

Thinking about this post. "The only way to make a cell is from another cell" is somewhat of a troubling fact to me. I mean, not for any practical reason, just because it underscores the precarity of *gestures broadly*.

It's like, some people talk about trying to de-extinct the mammoth. And people are trying to sequence the genome of the mammoth, I don't know if they've done it yet. But even if they do, one of the problems with the idea of de-extinction is... to grow a baby mammoth, you need another mammoth! Last time I heard people talking about this, I think they were talking about using an elephant as a surrogate mother. But imagine if elephants were extinct too.

The point is that information is often tied to the systems that transmit it; even if you know everything in the mammoth genome, once all the mammoths are gone there's nothing capable of reading and using that information. Like when you can't read the data on a perfectly good floppy disk because your computer doesn't have a floppy drive.

This is related to why language death troubles me so much. Even the most well-documented languages aren't actually that well understood; linguists have produced more pages of work on English syntax than maybe any other specific descriptive topic and yet still the only reliable way to get the answer to any moderately subtle syntactic question is elicit native speaker data. We know almost nothing, we can barely extrapolate at all! And every language is like this, a hugely complex system that we know basically nothing about, and if the chain of native speaker transmission is ever broken it's just gone.

"Language revival", I mean from a totally dead language, is kind of a myth. It's like the "came back different" trope. In Israel they revived Hebrew, but Modern Hebrew is really not the same thing as Biblical Hebrew at all. I mean in a stronger sense even than Modern English isn't Old English. All the subtleties of Biblical Hebrew that a native speaker would have had implicit competence with died without a trace. All they left is a grainy image, the texts. The first generation of Modern Hebrew speakers took the rough grammatical sketch preserved in these texts and imbued it with new subtleties, borrowed from Slavic and Germanic and the speakers' other native languages, or converged at by consensus among that first generation of children. There's nothing wrong with that, but it would be inaccurate to imagine Biblical Hebrew surviving in Modern Hebrew the way Old English survives in Modern English. For instance, you can discover a great deal that you didn't know about Old English by comparing Modern English dialects. There is nothing you can discover about Biblical Hebrew by comparing Modern Hebrew dialects in this way.

There's nothing wrong with this, of course. I'm not like, judging Modern Hebrew. I'm just making a point.

Mammoths died recently, so we still have (some of?) their genome. Something that died longer ago, like dinosaurs, we have traces of them in the form of fossils but we could never hope to revive them, the information is just gone. Even if we're not aiming for revival, even if we just want to know stuff about dinosaurs, there's so much that we will never know and can never know.

We imagine information as the kind of thing which sits in an archive, because this is the context most of us encounter information in, I think. Libraries, hard drives. Well obviously hard drives don't last. And most ancient texts only survive because of a scribal tradition, continuous re-writing, not because of actual archival. So I think that imagining archives as the natural habitat of information is sort of wrong; the natural habit of information is in continuous transmission. Information is constantly moving. And it's like one of those sharks, if it ever stops moving it drowns. And if the lines of transmission are broken, the information is gone and can never be retrieved.

Very precarious.

#navel gazing

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eagerbby · 2 years

Text

ʙᴏᴏ? - ᴇ.ᴍ

pairing| Eddie Munson x female reader

synopsis| It was supposed to be a joke, payback, revenge, until it spiraled completely out of control. Just your luck.

an| inspired by the prompt "I hid in your closet to scare you as a joke but when you came in you started masturbating and I can't just get up and leave but if I get caught in your closet you'll think I'm a pervert I regret my life choices" from here. my brainrot is thriving.

warnings| 3k, masturbating (m), reader being a perv obvi, illusions to sex, 18+ folks

part 2

It escalated quickly; too quickly to even process what you were doing, and what you were doing wasn’t even a good idea to begin with, but it was the only thing you could think of.

The Hellfire Club was currently in the midst of a rather heated prank war, started of course by their relentless leader himself, and you had slowly been dragged into the cruel web he had begun to weave three weeks ago.

It was annoying at first, Eddie jump scaring you every chance he could. Jumping out from behind the cafeteria doors, slamming his hand against the locker next to yours while you were in deep thought digging through your own locker, or four days ago when he hid in the backseat of your car only to reveal himself once you’d hit five over the speed limit on the main road home; you almost crashed your car that day because of him.

He was a menace and although the other guys had it much worse than you, Eddie seemed to take more pleasure from simply spooking you. But at least it wasn’t shaving cream in your book bag like poor Gareth or when he stole the chains off Mike and Dustin’s bikes before school ended leaving them stranded -although he did give them a ride home after they got down and praised King Eddie- in hindsight you were getting off pretty easy in comparison.

But still, that last prank got to you, the seriousness of almost wrecking had scared you shitless. Enough that you had to pull over on the side of the road, trying not to break down in front of him. He had felt bad, you could see it on his face as he tumbled into the front seat and begged you to not cry, but you were just so mad you kicked him out of your car and drove off.

That’s how your little plan came to fruition. You skipped your last period just to make sure you’d beat him to his cozy little trailer on the outskirts of town, greeting his uncle Wayne as you ducked under his arm and into the living room.

“Whatcha doin’, kiddo?” He asked, blue eyes narrowed in amusement.

“Gonna scare the shit outta your devious little shit of a nephew.” You say simply as you fill a glass with cold water from the tap.

Wayne catches the wild glint in your eye, the mirror image of the one his nephew harbors in his own big brown ones. The older man could only shake his head, muted blue eyes dancing with amusement as he said..

“Give him hell, dollface.” Before he’s headed down the porch steps to his beat up Chevy truck.

Which brings you to right now, stuffed tight in Eddie’s messy closet, the fake fur of his creepy Alf costume tickling the back of your neck, your heart thudding loudly in your chest when you finally hear the loud wail of metal and the screeching of tires against gravel.

There isn’t much to your plan here other than jump out and make him scream. Make him regret fucking with you so hard the past three weeks. You’ve been giving him the cold shoulder since you both almost died -he’s lucky you had just got your brakes changed, a week earlier and you both would have been seriously hurt- which meant he wouldn’t be expecting your revenge, instead thinking you were still pissed. Which you kinda were, but he didn’t make it easy. He’d been groveling nonstop since it happened, bringing you little presents in hopes you’d forgive him, and you had but you still wanted revenge.

You hear him as he bounds up the steps, humming to himself, he slings the front door open followed by the sound of the lock clicking in place. Your fingers tremble in anticipation, adrenaline bleeding heavily from your pores. It’s unbearably stuffy in his little closet, sweat beading on your forehead and between your breasts, and the only light comes from a crack in the sliding door giving you a full view of his mirror. You can see him in its reflection, coming down the hall with his wild hair bouncing around his shoulders, eyes locked onto the cassette in his hands.

He enters his cramped bedroom and goes straight to his tape deck, the pink tip of his tongue trapped between plush lips as he stuffs the tape in and hits play, surprisingly turning the sound to a reasonable volume. As the music softly spills from the speakers he shrugs out of his denim vest and jacket combo, pulling his black tattered Iron Maiden shirt with the sleeves haphazardly cut off over his head. As he tosses it to the floor, the lyrics of the song he’s skipped to floods your ears. You know this song, love this song, fuck, you showed him this song. He’s humming along to it as he kicks off his sneakers, shimmies out of his black ripped jeans, calloused fingertips gliding gently down his soft tummy into the waistband of his boxers.

Okay, what the fuck. You clamp your eyes shut before you can see too much. This is absolutely, positively, not part of your plan. His bed springs groan as the lyrics echo around his room and you sit in his closet with your hands over your eyes trying not to breathe too loud.

Let's get away, just for one day,

Let me see you stripped down to the bone.

It was your Depeche Mode cassette, the one you’d lost a couple weeks ago and tore your room and car apart in a frenzy to find. You never did and now you know why; because you dear friend Eddie had stolen it.

Fuck this, you think to yourself as you raise off your feet in the cramped space. You’re about to bust out, ask him why he sat there and listened to you whine for days about your missing tape knowing full well he had it, when you hear something that makes your body freeze.

It’s soft, gentle as a breeze, but loud enough to still hear over the song playing from his speakers. A moan, shaky and almost desperate, and you can’t help when you peek out the slit of the door and catch sight of him in the mirror. Your mouth goes dry, eyes so wide they must be bugging out of your head, you’re looking into a mirror except you can’t see yourself, no, but you can see him and the sight is fucking beautiful.

Eddie’s laid out long ways across his bed, bare feet planted on the shag carpet just a couple feet from your hiding spot in the closet, his eyes are closed and his fist is wrapped tightly around the head of his cock.

“O-oh f-fuuck.” He whines, thumb dragging across his weeping slit, smearing the precum that beads there across the red mushroom head of his rather thick cock. Jesus, you had shamefully imagined what he was packing under those tight pants he always wore, usually alone at night in your bed, but never did you think you’d actually see it. Especially not like this.

Oh, this is wrong, so fucking wrong. You shouldn’t be here right now watching him thrust up slowly into his cock, shouldn’t lick your lips as he roams his hands over his bare chest, his fingers tweaking a nipple making his cock visibly twitch at the sensation. You shouldn’t be wet between your legs, squeezing your thighs together as best you can without moving much or making any noise. This is perverted, sick and twisted, a complete violation of Eddie’s privacy, but what are you supposed to do? You should have jumped out as soon as he came in, should have stopped him as soon as he got his shirt off, but instead you stayed frozen in place among Eddie’s clothes and now it was too late. You couldn’t just cover your eyes and leave, no that’d be horrifying for the both of you. Which left only one option; wait for him to finish and hope to a God you weren’t sure you believed in that he leaves right after.

But that’s also a problem because you can’t not hear the pretty moans that fall from his lips. Can’t ignore the way the bed frame creaks as his hips pick up a steady pace. Can’t stop looking into that stupid fucking mirror and biting your lip at the sight of him completely lost in his pleasure.

You are so going to hell.

“Oh, fuck, baby. J-just like that.”

Your pussy floods at just the mere sound of his voice, clouded with lust and his impending orgasm. You can see how close he is, his tummy flexing hard as his hand fucks his cock faster. He isn’t gentle with himself, not like before, fucking his fist with fast sloppy thrusts of his hips as he presses his head back into his ruffled sheets. You can’t peel your eyes from him, can’t stop the constant squeeze of your thighs as your body begs for some kind of friction. And you definitely can’t stop the looming thought that if you get caught Eddie will probably never talk to you again.

You wouldn’t blame him.

There’s a new song playing but you can’t really hear it, aren’t even paying attention, not when Eddie shifts up to lean on one elbow to watch himself work. He gasps at a rather rough flick of his wrist, biting his lip as his eyes flutter closed, his long black lashes dancing across his pale skin. You’re trying so hard to stay quiet, watching intently through the mirror.

You watched porn before but this, this was better than anything you’ve ever seen, and if you weren’t such a coward -and if you weren’t hiding in his fucking closet- you’d fall to your knees in front of him. Beg him to come all over your face, down your throat, in your tight pussy. You’d find your filthiest words, bat your eyes all innocent, drag your nails over his hairy thighs, just to see him cum. To watch his face scrunch up and mouth fall slack as he painted you all pretty in his hot seed.

Yeah, if you didn’t get caught -and probably still if you did- you were so using the sight of your best friend fucking his fist to get off later.

Maybe you were a pervert after all.

Eddie’s moans are getting louder, hot breathy noises falling from his bitten lips, he’s visibly having a hard time keeping his eyes open, obviously lost in whatever scenario he is conjuring up behind his eyes. Your hands were gripping the fabric of your skirt as tight as you can, trying your best to restrain from shoving your hand underneath and thrusting your finger deep inside your tight, wanting, hole. His fingers would feel so much better, long and thin, you know they must be talented considering how good he is with a guitar. All this thinking has your chest heaving, hands shaking, breathing slowly in and out of your nose. You can feel your willpower slipping away, gone without a trace, you need him to hurry up. There’s no way you’re gonna be able to handle this much longer.

But then Eddie says something so out of left field, so far from anything you’ve ever heard come from his mouth, that your brain completely malfunctions.

“Just like that, y/n. I wanna be inside you so bad, baby.” It’s all a tangled whine, your name a quivered pant, and you gasp so loudly you make yourself jump, backing up deep into his closet as you watch his head spring up.

Silence. Horrible, retched, silence as you cover your mouth with a shaky hand and close your now watery eyes. He heard you, you know it, and now all the heat and blood have left your aching core to wash over the apples of your cheeks. Hot like lava, the embarrassment of being caught doing something so wrong makes your eyes water.

He’s never gonna speak to you again.

There’s a click as the tape deck stops and then the drag of his closet door sliding open and you want to drop dead where you stand.

“Y/n” Eddie asks, all quiet and gravelly, arousal still heavy in his throat. You can’t look at him, can’t dare raise your eyes away from your feet.

“Boo?” Out of all the things you wanted to say, that was the only word to come out, soft as a whisper.

“W-What are you doing?” Good question, you think. What the fuck are you doing?

“It’s not what you think.” You say quickly with a dark humorless chuckle, eyes bouncing to his before you completely fucking regret it and lower them back to the floor. He looks too good right now with his pupils blown wide and a sheen of sweat on his bewildered face. “I was go-gonna get you back for scaring me so much, but then you started…” You gesture your hand in the direction of his cock, braving a quick glimpse before slamming your eyes shut. He’s still naked, standing in front of you with a pillow covering his bare waist, and it’s just too much.

“How much d-did you hear?” He asks softly, shuffling from foot to foot as he scratches the back of his neck. His nervous tick.

“Uhm, well, not… not a lot…” It’s kinda comical how unbelievable you sound and Eddie must think so too because he huffs out a laugh as he backs up to his bed, plopping down on the side of it and adjusting his pillow shield.

“So you heard everything then. Fucking fantastic.” You step out of the closet finally, shuffling quietly against the carpet as you close the door back and face him, hands clasped together in front of your chest.

“Are- Do you hate me now, Eds?” You ask, perturbed, fiddling with the black and red yarn bracelet around your wrist. The same one Eddie wore; a friendship bracelet he’d given to you after the first time you’d hung out one on one.

Eddie seems puzzled by your question, going to stand before he quickly realizes he’s only wearing a pillow. “Wait a second, will ya?” He asks and you nod covering your eyes as if you hadn’t just been watching him jerk off. When he's done, presumably getting dressed, he taps your elbow and when you don’t uncover your face, he grips your forearms softly and guides them away. He offers you a friendly smile when you meet his doe eyes.

“I don’t hate you.” He says softly, the heat of his fingers leave goosebumps on your skin.

“I would.” You mumble, shifting from one foot to the other.

“I thought you were mad at me?” He asks, trying to catch your eye but you’re too busy counting the tears in your worn out converse.

“M not mad. I just wanted to get you back.” You offer and out of the corner of your eye you can see him nod.

“Glad you’re not mad still.” He says and then, “How’d you get in, sweetheart?”

“Wayne let me in, before he left. I skipped last period to get here before you. I swear, Eddie, I only wanted to jump scare you like you’ve been doing to me for the past month, I-I didn’t- I didn’t know what to do when you started..”

“Hey,” He chirps, grabbing your chin between his thumb and index finger, and you try not to think about where that hand just was because if you do you’re gonna start thinking about the sounds he made while it was wrapped tight around his- no stop it.

Even in the middle of the most embarrassing conversation you’ve ever had, your thoughts betray you with images of his hot, rock hard, cock.

“It’s no biggie, really. I should have figured something was up, Wayne never leaves the door unlocked.” He’s fucking smiling at you now, a full smile that shows his teeth and crinkles the corners of his eyes and for some reason unknown to you; it really irritates you.

“No biggie?” You cry, pushing him away from you, and his face falls but you can’t handle him being so close to you right now. “You just caught me spying on you while you jerked off, but it’s no biggie?”

“Yeah, no biggie. No big deal.” Eddie draws out his words, hand rolling in the air as he elaborates. “I’m not mad at you. No biggie.”

“Eddie, I feel like such a perv-” You start, eyes still watery with shame, but Eddie cuts you off.

“You literally watched me jerk my dick while thinking about you, I think we’re both falling pretty hard on the pervert line here, sweetheart.”

You look him in the eye, finally, trying to judge if he truly means what he says. You find honesty, and something else you can’t quite decipher, with his gaze locked onto you and you nod and give him an unsteady smile before sinking onto the edge of his bed.

“‘M sorry.” You tell him. “Really.”

Eddie shakes his head, sitting down next to you in only his boxers, and places a hand on your bare knee. That fire surges again, deep in your bones, shooting through you like a bullet at the small contact.

“Don’t be sorry. I’m no worse for wear because of it. Kinda-” He trails off for a moment, reaches back to scratch at his neck again. “Kinda hot thinking about you watching me without me even knowing.”

Oh. Oh.

You really should have figured he’d be into it. Little freak.

“Was kinda hot watching you…” You offer shyly, biting your lip as Eddie beams at you.

“Yeah?” He asks, his nose scrunching up all cutely as his cheeks flush.

“Mhm, you know I’ve had a crush on you since, like, forever right?”

“Okay, don’t fuck with me like that.” He warns, umber eyes searching your smiling face.

“Not lying.” It’s simple, matter of fact. Eddie blushes even deeper.

“Well, fuck.” He runs a hand over his face, unable to wipe the cheesy smile from his lips. “I guess I don’t have to tell you I feel the same, huh?”

You laugh at this, leaning your head onto his bare shoulder. “No, I think I got the message in technicolor. You could put the porn industry to shame, Eddie.”

“You’re gonna give me a big head, sweetheart.”

“You already have one, Eddie.” You say, eyes falling to his lap.

Eddie chokes out a laugh in disbelief, shoving you back onto the bed to hover over you.

“You’re a little minx, aren’t you? Who woulda thought.” He teases with his face buried in your neck, lips ghosting across the sensitive skin there.

“Don’t you have Hellfire Club or something, you horn dog?” You ask acerbically and yet you still push your hips up to meet his when he bites down on your jugular.

“Mhm, they can wait. Found something better than playing D&D in a cluttered theater room.” He hums against you, lips following the curve of your jaw with feather light kisses.

“The guys would kill me if I was the reason you didn’t finish the campaign tonight.” You push him back by the shoulders smiling up at him as he watches you giggle at the sight of his bangs lifted up off his forehead.

“I can always just kill them all, they’ll be more mad about that.” He dives back to your neck, sucking and licking every inch of skin he can find, and as much as you want to stay here in his bed and fuck like bunnies; you’d hate to be the reason he was late. So you push him again, harder this time, until he rolls off you with a groan, slamming his fists into the mattress as you stand.

“You know I never got to cum, right? I’m aching right now, need you to help take my pain away, baby.” He’s pouting, lips jutted out, eyes like a puppy, and everything in you is screaming to give in to his guilt trip, help this poor helpless man out.

But that wouldn’t be any fun. So you lean over him, hands on either side of his head, and kiss him slowly. Mold your lips against his, drag your teeth sensually over his bottom lip, give him the most sultry look you can muster. It must work because his whole body shudders under your, desperate hands snaking up your skirt to grab your ass.

“Go to Hellfire, Eddie.” He groans at your words in disappointment, head falling back into his sheets.

“You’re mean.” He whines, slapping his hand firmly onto your ass cheek. You hiss at the pain that ebbs to pleasure and take his jaw in your hand, forcing him to look at you again.

“You didn’t let me finish. Go to Hellfire and maybe, just maybe, I’ll give you a helping hand after.” You lean down, tongue grazing the shell of his ear before whispering, “A helping hand, an open mouth, a tight wet pussy.”

Another shiver and his hand gripping tight on the back of your neck pulling you up so you can see his wicked, lopsided, grin.

“That’s not helping my little problem, baby.”

You giggle. “There’s nothing little about your problem, Eds.”

Eddie groans loudly, covering his face with the back of his arm but you’re swatting it away, giggling at his fiery red cheeks. You shower his face with kisses, every inch of rosy skin, until he's pulling you into his chest and caressing the edge of your jaw as he gazes at you with stars in his eyes.

The look in his eyes tells you your friendship is no longer that, instead there's a promise lying in his shimmering irises, something that was always there but you could never figure out the meaning to it. Maybe you were always destined to be more than friends, maybe this crazy -fucking bizarre- series of events was fated. You and Eddie, not as friends but as something more. Maybe the two of you were written in the fucking stars or something.

You’d like to find out.

So you kiss him once more, different than before, savoring the way he follows after your lips, how he cradles your head so tenderly as he kisses you back with the same fervor. Too soon you’re climbing off of him, smoothing out the pleats of your black checkered skirt as he watches with that endearing little pout.

“Lets go, Dungeon Master, the masses await thee.” He takes your outstretched hand, raising to his feet. He looks down at himself, in only his green boxers, and smiles at you all cheekily.

“Think they’d still respect me if I showed up like this?”

You pick his jeans up off the floor and place them in his hands. “Mm, probably not. But I’ll help you get undressed later, like I said, helping hand and all.”

“Fuck, my little minx.”

#if you see me posting this and not updating my other wips no you dont #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #stranger things smut #stranger things fan fic #stranger things x reader #eddie munson

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morallyinept · 2 months

Text

Azalea - A Lucien Flores One Shot

Summary: A man from your past shows up at a party and leaves you on the cusp of making a life changing choice. Do you stay, or do you leave with him?

Pairing: Lucien Flores x F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It’s you, bub. However Reader has hair long enough to be brushed over their shoulder and wears a dress.)

Word Count: 4.8k

Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️🌶️🌶 “You tell me I’m doing well, and then, you try to kill me”

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Warnings/Triggers: Unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!)/fingering/oral F recieving/mild ass play/kissing/infidelity/mentions of past issues with alcolholism and addiction/toxic relationship traits/unrequited love and longing/Lucien's chains come with their own warning

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ.☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

I write for me, and I share with you. If this story isn't to your taste, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: I get the sense (from the little clips we've seen of Lucien so far) that he's in love, and probably loves hard, and is messy and complicated with a turbulent past, and isn't a bad guy at all. So here he is, my version. I hope you like him. 😘 (I've used some of his lines from the clips we've seen too.)

MAIN MASTERLIST | LUCIEN FLORES MASTERLIST | FLORA & FAUNA MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

As guests mingle and laughter fills the air in the grand house, you can’t shake off the heavy feeling of discontent grinding sharply around your teeth.

As you stand invisible amongst the cluster of your braying friends, you can't help but cast a wistful gaze back towards the brown eyes staring at you from across the room, loitering casually with a hand in his pocket and lips wrapped around a cigarette.

It makes your skin itch and pickle that he's here.

How is it that he’s fucking here?

He’s like a ghost haunting the hollows of your bones. A constant white noise that only you can hear.

He looks good, well. Better.

He has colour in the capillaries of his cheeks again, and the way he stands is different, he seems taller somehow, a little more grey and wispy, but still handsome. He’s put on a little weight, a small paunch evidence of that. He appears more foreboding with those squared-off shoulders in their thick broadness.

He smirks at you, he never smiles. Just smirks, crookedly and you look away immediately. Those itches and prickles melting into warm heat that floods down your spine.

Fuck, why is he here?

You turn your attention to Mitch, basking in the spotlight of adulation. His animated gestures and booming laughter echo out through the open windows, mingling with the soft strains of music drifting from within the dining room.

Guests cluster around him, hanging onto his every word; their faces alight with admiration and respect. And it makes you fucking sick.

You slip away unnoticed, carrying a bottle of open and warm champagne, seeking solace amidst the blood red azaleas in the expansive garden.

You’re drinking from the bottle of flattening fizz bitterly, leaving your partner toasting his fortune and parry, and there’s tension swirling around your gut that hasn’t died down since the vicious verbal spat you endured the previous night with him.

Your jaw still aches from clenching it all night.

As the celebration in the house continues, the siren call of the garden seems to provide a contrasting haven for you amidst the vibrant azalea bushes that grow plush and full.

An immediate sense of relief washes over your clammy skin, being away from the pomp and grandeur of the party inside, where Mitch holds court with his characteristic charisma. Mitch is a man of stature, exuding an air of confidence that borders on total arrogance.

Tonight's gathering is, after all, in honour of the recent success of his book - a testament to his hard ambition and callous drive. You have no idea what it’s about. You’ve not read it, tiring of your opinions and input being constantly quashed.

Mitch moves through the crowd with ease, regaling guests with anecdotes of his success and achievements, which doesn’t care to highlight the months of patience and suffering you’ve endured whilst he wrote it; his crackling laughter mingling with the clinking of glasses and the hum of vibrant conversation.

Despite the outward display of celebration, you can't shake off the underlying tautness swirling in your gut, lingering from the fight that still hovers between you both. Mitch's ego often overshadows the relationship, and controls it, leaving your own feelings and desires overlooked and unappreciated.

And as you find welcome loneliness in the garden, a fucking moment to just breathe, you can't help but wonder if Mitch has even noticed your absence amidst the ass-kissing bestowed upon him.

Well, it's all about having the right mindset, you see. I've always been driven by success, and I refuse to settle for anything less than the best...

You roll your eyes at Mitch's self-congratulatory tone that follows out the windows and berates you further. It’s moments like these that remind you of the growing chasm between you, feeling a pang of disconnection, a sense of longing for something more profound than the superficial trappings of hollow success.

You find yourself retreating deeper into the shadows of the garden, seeking pause amidst the fragrant blooms with the champagne bottle as your only companion.

And then, startled by a familiar voice, one that grates on you for completely different reasons, you find yourself vis-a-vis with your ex-boyfriend, Lucien Flores, who’s unabashedly shown up uninvited.

Somehow inserting himself back into your life in blocks of time to taunt you further no doubt. The tension between you is palpable as you exchange awkward looks amidst the blossoming flowers under the moonlit sky.

His molten brown eyes are soft and deep as he smirks in your direction as you cast an aloof glace over your shoulder at him that is anything but. You swig on the bottle like his presence hasn’t jangled your nerves tenfold, but you both know that it has.

You can feel his eyes wandering and burning holes across your body framed in a cascade of vibrant crimson fabric; its rich hue contrasting beautifully against the wild backdrop of the garden. With every step, the hem of the dress brushes against the dew-kissed grass as you turn from him and head further into the darker recesses of the plush oasis.

Lucien follows, checking behind him to make sure you’re both still alone.

Lush greenery envelopes the space, with vibrant bursts of blood colour provided by the clusters of azalea bushes in full bloom, their delicate petals casting a gentle fragrance into the air. He watches as your fingers brush through their leaves and velvety heads as you pass.

Stone pathways wind their way through the verdant landscape, leading to secluded alcoves, where you find yourself now with Lucien’s presence engulfing the small space.

“This isn't really a good time for your bullshit, Lucien." You say, as you drink from the bottle again, feeling a trickle of its nectar within roll down your chin.

“I wanted to see you, amante," (lover) he says, nonchalantly.

You wince at the endearing nickname he used to shower you with, whispers of it keening from a set of explorative lips as they inked the affectionate moniker under your skin.

“Really.” You snort rather ungraciously. “Why are you even here?”

He drags on the last of his cigarette, smoke billowing from pink lips, before flicking it away, its embers dying in the night. “Can we talk?”

You shake your head adamantly. “We never just talk. You know I'm with someone else now."

“Yeah. Mitch.” He nods over to the house, the party still in full swing. “Quite the catch.” He slurs with a strained hiss, then smirks.

“He wants kids,” you scoff.

And Lucien’s face softens. “You’d be a great mom.”

“I don’t want to be a mom.” You confirm and he nods.

“I know. That's why I got the snip.” His eyebrow flexes in sympathy. “Remember that summer in Tuscany?”

You shake your head again. “We never went to Tuscany.”

He thinks for a second through the haze and frowns. “No, that’s right. That was Annabelle.” He corrects with a dip in his cheeks. He simply clicks his tongue at his mistake.

“Right. Annabelle.” You bristle. “How is she these days?” Although you don’t really care.

“We should go.”

“To Tuscany?” You baulk.

“Yeah, let's go. Right now. Slip away.” He suggests with a warm seriousness.

“Lucien-”

“Kiss me.” He steps in gently and you place a palm on his chest; the silk of his shirt like fluid under your touch.

Your eyes trail over the shiny watercolour of it, the way it hangs flimsy and baggy at the hem before you brave yourself to trail upwards over the familiar shape of his chest and exposed collarbone, shiny with sweat in the hollow. A duo of gold chains knotted around one another twinkle at you before your eyes find his own.

“You are so unfair.” You shake your head despondently.

“You’ve wanted to kiss me since you saw me tonight.” Lucien states, casually. You feel him take the bottle from your fingers and he drinks a mouthful of it for himself.

“I thought you were sober.” You frown.

“I am, but I still drink.”

You roll your eyes as he clears his throat and puts the bottle down.

“I don’t even know why you’re here tonight. Who invited you?” You question with a knitted brow. You’re pretty certain he doesn't know anyone here. Except you.

You he knows really well. Too well.

He looks at you for a moment, head dipped and cocked to one side as if taking you all in.

“You’re not happy.” Lucien says, brushing your hair over your shoulder and it lingers there, his fingers in your roots gently massaging.

You turn, your nose brushing the inside of his wrist and inhale the scents there. The sun, the natural salt musk of his skin, cigarettes. You close your eyes just basking in the innocent feel of him. He was always so generous with his touch.

“No, I'm not.” You turn your face up to meet his. You can't lie to him, not when he sees you - really sees you. “But I wasn’t happy with you either.”

“I am sober.” He reassures, dropping his hand. “Eight months. I have control of my life now.”

“Right.” You fold in on yourself. You can’t go there. You refuse to go there.

“I came here to apologise to you.” Lucien says, stepping back and casting his glance down the pathway back at the house and its design.

“Is that what your sponsor suggested you do?” You remark.

“Is it Venetian?” He asks.

From the outside, the house exudes an air of opulence, with its intricate facade adorned with ornate columns and graceful archways reminiscent of palazzos.

You shrug, watching him carefully as he frowns.

“I never knew Mitch had such exquisite taste." Lucien smirks with a sneer.

“He doesn’t. It’s his parent’s second home. We’re renting it for the summer. His stupid book tour.” You mutter.

"Pshoo. Fancy." He shakes his head. “No, my sponsor didn’t tell me to come here to apologise to you.”

He turns back to you, his features soft and moulding into concern at your watery eyes looking back at him.

“You seem... melancholy." You feel his thumbs stroke either side of your face and this time you don’t stop him. Just helplessly letting those rough, calloused pads swipe over the skin under your eyes.

“You’re all glittery and sad,” Lucien says, looking at the metallic shadow brushed delicately over your eyelids.

“Why are you doing this?” You query, deflating. Surrendering.

“Doing what?”

“Torturing me.”

“You think this is torture?” Lucien asks, stroking your cheeks delicately. “It got dark. I wanted to see the sun again.”

Your breath catches in your throat as he presses a long, lingering kiss to your forehead.

A phantom sensation dances across your skin - a gentle caress, feather-light and tender in its hesitation. In that brief, ethereal moment, you feel transported back to a time when what you and Lucien had was untarnished by the shadows of addiction and betrayal - a time when his touch had been a balm to your weary heart.

And you missed the sun too.

He walks with you, guiding you backwards to the craggy, stone wall encased in the curve of the dark. You can still see his eyes as they drop to your lips and you remember the taste of him, choking on the smoke of him as he draws nearer to your face.

A hushed conversation stirs your attention from the other side of the wall. A faint, muffled voice drifts through the thick stone wall, and your heart clenches as you recognize Mitch's unmistakable tone.

Lucien covers your mouth gently with an engulfing, warm hand as he ghosts his nose gently over the skin of your neck.

It's hard to focus as you inhale a faint remant of his heady cologne, but on the other side of the wall you can hear your partner Mitch on the phone; his voice dripping with honeyed affection that he hasn’t used with you for a long time.

Lucien pulls back as you push against his chest, standing straight, his palm flat against the wall above your head as he listens out curiously with you.

I can’t stop thinking about you either, darling…

Lucien’s eyes drop to yours, his smirk dipping. “He’s fucking someone else?” He mouths.

You nod. You’ve suspected it for a while now and are only more confounded as to why you haven’t left him yet.

"Pendejo." (Asshole/idiot) Lucien bites in a growl.

As he’s speaking beyond the wall to his clandestine lover, Lucien pulls back, standing upright and shaking his head.

Your hands clench into fists at your sides, your nails digging into your palms as Mitch waves his infidelity around the garden so casually.

His voice eventually fades out and Lucien takes one of your fists, unkinks your fingers, and brings your palm up to his mouth where he kisses it gently, eyes lancing at you, deep and entracing.

“Fuck him. Come with me to Tuscany.” Lucien drawls.

You wrinkle your nose. “What about Annabelle?”

He shrugs. “It didn’t work out.”

“Why am I not surprised?” You snort.

“Wasn’t the drinking.” He says, shaking his head and cupping your hand in between both of his ginormous ones. “Sober, remember?”

“You just drank from the champagne, I'm not an idiot.”

“Proof.” He says. “Proof that I can control it now.”

“You’ll never be able to control it.”

He nods. “Yeah, not without help. And I have help.”

You sigh and he looks at you earnestly pressing your hands to his chest. You can feel the ribbing of his heartbeat underneath them.

“I ended things with Annabelle ages ago.”

“Why? She was good for you.”

He breaks off with a garbled sigh amd swallows. You watch as he stares intonthe distance, and then he smirks.

“Do you remember when you threw my keys over the fence?”

“Don’t change the subject. Why did you leave her?” You say, fearing the answer.

“She’s not… you.” Lucien kisses your palm again and you can only watch him. Watch, rooted to the spot, heart thudding as he kisses slowly up your wrist and arm.

"I can't be with someone I don't love." He says simply.

You know it’s empty promises and hollow words as he paints this fantasy of a forever with him on your skin with his hot tongue. And it’s an illusion you’ll happily let yourself fall into for a while because it seems almost better than your current reality.

So you kiss him back. Pulling him by the lapels of his thin shirt until his lips are felt against yours, desperately.

He kisses you like the first time, when he was unsure and flighty. Before he became the man who broke your heart and left you walking barefoot on the shards of it.

His hands roam your face, cupping your cheek, thumbs stroking again as you feel his body crush against yours. Hips winding into your belly as he gasps around the taste of your lips.

You both part, panting and wanting, his deep eyes searching you out. He knows you’re in there somewhere, knows you’re better than this life, and also the one he tried - and failed - to give you.

Amidst the confusing turmoil, you can't ignore the unspoken longing lingering between you both, a palpable undercurrent of tension and desire on both parts.

He’s crushed tightly against you, bleeding into the shadows of the stone wall propped up behind you and your skin alike. You can almost feel the thrum of his heartbeat against yours, aquiline nose brushing up the side of your jaw inhaling the sweet scents of you that make his mouth water and his cock stiffen into your gut.

His hand pulls at the silk of your belt and your dress falls open, cascades of rich velvet and silk opening for his hands to roam gently over your naked skin.

You feel a rush of warmth flood your body despite the cool breeze puckering your nipples - warmth at the way Lucien looks at you, marvelling at you.

At the way he touches you, reigniting the sparks that you ensured you snuffed out a long time ago. You shudder at Lucien’s tender touch, the way his fingertips barely glide across your exposed skin, your weak heart fluttering in response to the raw vulnerability you see reflected back in his eyes.

You find yourself leaning into Lucien’s touch, finding solace and comfort in the unspoken connection that has always lingered between you both, despite everything. In that moment, amidst the fragrant blooms and the moonlit shadows, that small nagging thought mutates, that perhaps the love you’d always been searching for had been right here, in his stacked arms all along.

You shake your head, quickly gathering your wits and wrapping the dress around your body.

“We can’t do this.” You croak, trying to convince yourself of it despite all the blood in your veins rushing towards your centre and throbbing like a jungle drum.

“Yes we can.” Lucien assures. “I’ve fucking missed you, amante.”

It stops you in your tracks.

The words hang in the air, sharp and raw, teetering on the edge of a dreamy possibility that you’ve only allowed yourself to relive in the dark corners of your mind in quiet moments of a self-loathing masochism you allow yourself to harbour.

You feel his thick fingers on the tips of yours, a delicate yet invading touch that spreads its poison quickly and renders your resolve to crumble at your feet.

Any thoughts of regret are pushed aside as you wrap your arms around him and kiss him again.

Lucien worships your body as he trails his mouth over your naked breasts, sucking nipples into his mouth as he pushes you back against the wall. You gasp, already squirming and clenching as his lips leave more devastation.

He makes out with your stomach, dipping his tongue lavishly into your belly button as he sinks to his knees. Your fingers knot in his hair, tugging gently as you wind fluffed, messy curls around them.

Lucien turns you with ease in his large hands, gathering your dress to the side, and kisses across your butt, biting the pert cheeks of them softly into his mouth as his hands pry them apart and his tongue makes lewd discoveries that make you gasp into the wall.

He crushes you to him, wrapping his arms around your thighs and forcing his face further in between your cheeks as you reach behind and rake desperately through his hair.

Running his tongue around the tight knot of your skin, and your mind can't help to revisit all the times when he claimed it with his fingers and cock too.

He kisses over the dimples of your thighs, all around them, under them, the backs of your knees - just everywhere and anywhere he can run his scuffed lips against.

Turning you again, he stares at your cunt inches from his nose, that’s soaking through the flimsy, black lace panties you’re wearing.

“He doesn’t fucking deserve you.” Lucien growls, looking up at you. “I don’t fucking deserve you.”

“No, you don’t.” You breathe resolutely. But you pull your panties aside and he gasps as you yank him forward by the back of his head.

He groans out in sweet relief as soon as his tongue makes contact, swiping into your soaked folds.

His hands run up the back of your thighs as he squeezes your ass, pushing your sopping cunt further onto his mouth.

“Yes, Lucien, get in there… get right in there,” you pant as your eyes roll back.

You struggle to stay upright, your body like jelly as you feel yourself slipping against the ragged stone wall against your skin.

He pries you open with his thumbs, licking over the shiny, wet bead of your clit and your thighs shakes uncontrollably. He brutally sucks it, flicking his tongue over and over in his determination to make you unravel.

He won’t stop until you come, you know this. He always was a generous lover in carefree abundance. Far from what you’re used to now - Mitch hasn't touched you in months, and the thought of it makes your skin crawl.

Lucien’s tongue works you up quickly, lapping and gliding expertly as he mouths on you exquisitely. You hear him grunt in hunger and want as he pulls you onto him further; his blunt fingertips pressing bruises into your ass cheeks as he grips tighter onto you, your hips winding into his face.

“Lucien…” you whine as you bubble and brew.

His eyes look up at you, mouth and nose buried into your core as you come; the silvery moon bathing your face in sweet, adoring kisses through its crescent smile as your body heats and your bones shake.

He lets you taste it as he rises up and kisses you, slipping his honey coated tongue back between your lips as you groan.

"Taste so fucking good." He groans.

His fingers attack your pussy, sliding in and pumping fast as you gasp. Clutching onto his shoulders, the silk bunches up around them in knotted waterfalls spilling over your knuckles as you claw and squeeze.

“Come for me again, baby.” Lucien encourages in a low, deep tone. Eyes watching you as the shadows of the alcove play over his ragged face like Rorschach inkblots.

“I’m gonna fuck you right here, amante,” he grunts as you squeeze and contract around his fingers brushing over your spot. “And then I’m gonna take you away from here, away from that piece of shit, and fuck you again. And again.”

“Lucien, please…” you whimper.

“We belong together, baby. I fucking love you.” He mumbles into your lips. “I never stopped. Not once. And I know you didn’t either. And I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, baby... come for me, that's it, let go... come... Fuck, you're so beautiful.”

You cry out as your orgasm floods your body and his fingers. Your body shakes beyond your control, eyes glazed over and lost in a tumble of his sweet ramblings and bewitching ministrations.

“Come here.” Lucien reaches to his fly as he kisses your neck. His heady grunts sound like gravel in your ears, breath warming you with the acrid scent of smoke seeping into your pores.

He hoists your leg up over his thick arm, his hand coming to rest on your face again as you feel him run his cock through your folds. He dips his hips low as he breaks on through inside you.

“You feel that, you feel that all the way?” He asks, as he slides all the way in and out again.

“Lucien!” You gasp, your lips nipping onto his as you feel him pack you out. You never forgot the feel of him, so hard and thick.

"That's it, baby. Back where I belong."

His pants are desperate; puffy little breaths that soon grow into laboured whines of lusty need. Drunk off of you completely, sobriety smashed in an instant.

He vowed to stay away, to let you heal and move on, but he’s selfish. He knows he is. He can’t abstain, can’t ever quit you. It’s why he’s here, fucking another man’s woman because he’s selfish. Sabotaging every relationship he’s had since you, trapped in that cycle.

Basking in the addictive feel of your cunt squeezing around him as you come, watching as your eyes soar into the sky, howling his name into his mouth as he tastes your tongue and sucks on it greedily.

"Fuck, you feel so good." He grunts.

He comes inside you, filing you full, but he still keeps pumping, still keeps himself buried inside of you, fucking deep and slow. Unable to pull himself out of you, unable to be parted from you now that he has you back inside his hands.

You clutch on tighter to him, not wanting this to end; wanting to indulge in this secret shame in the back of the garden you've allowed yourself to wallow freely in.

He feels so good, so warm and thick. He peppers your face with kisses, the silk scruff of his jawline smooth against your cheeks. Your fingers coil in the curls behind his ears and the back of his bronzed neck, damp with sweat.

They tangle in the chains, one that you're pretty certain in your cock-addled haze that was a gift from you that he still wears - you pull him closer to you still.

“Come inside me again, Lucien,” you whisper as he pecks over your face gently.

“I wanna spend forever coming inside of you,” he whispers back, voice breaking.

And you know he means it. He always means what he says, it's just the follow through is often lost in translation. He’s not a bad man, you know this in your heart.

You spent days convincing your reflection in the mirror that he's not a bad man; he was just weak when you needed him to be strong - an unravelling mess. But he was your mess for time.

And now that he’s inside you again like this, so uncouthly unperturbed that anyone could venture down here and see him claiming you, you know a part of you still loves him too.

You believed it when he said he loved you and you suspect he probably hasn’t loved anyone else like he loved you.

It was raw, unfiltered. Intense. You know it because you felt it too. It hurt, viscerally. Consumed you both and spit you out.

A gaping wound that you’ve not been able to stitch up and every day you’re bleeding out. You wanna tell him how much it fucking hurt to watch him willingly drown, inadvertently pulling you under with him.

You want to lash out and scratch at his beautiful face, slap him and bite and bruise him like he bruised you.

But instead you kiss him, you hear him falter and become weak inside your ear and he groans and whimpers your name as he comes once more.

You let him flood you again, feel it dripping down your thighs, thick and warm as he stains your skin with him all over again.

In the afterglow of your post-coital bliss, your hand traces the contours of his weathered face, running lightly through the wiry greys along his jaw.

Lucien nestles into your palm, lips finding the skin to press in a kiss.

You want to believe it, you want to believe he’s changed and grown and learnt. That he's spent time reflecting, healing.

But you're still marred with the splinters of hurt that’ve lacerated your heart.

Looking into the rich, warm browns of melted chocolate, flecked with golden hues that dance like sunlight on water, you allow yourself to remember the days when Lucien was your everything.

When his gruff, nicotine soaked laughter was the sound that filled your days, and his touch chased away any fears you could harbour.

The ways he would fuck you for hours into the night; his sweat soaking into your skin, as you gnawed on his shoulder, like perfume you’d wear for days without showering him away.

You remember the first time you noticed the signs - the subtle scent of hard liquor on his breath, the empty bottles hidden away in the depths of your home in the most unusual of places. At first, you’d dismissed it as stress or a passing phase, but as the weeks turned into months, the truth became impossible to ignore.

You’d watched helplessly as Lucien spiralled further into the grip of his addiction, his once-charming demeanour giving way to bouts of anger and despair that would paint your bathroom in plumes of his vomit. You remember the sleepless nights spent drowning in tears, the ache in your chest that refused to relent, the biting emptiness that hollowed out your soul into a pair of unblinking eyes and a heart cemented over.

You wonder if that’s why you’re with Mitch now. Wonder if perhaps that this is all you deserve; that you’ll never be happy, so what's the point in trying to fight for it?

The nights had become endless cycles of fear and uncertainty, each day a desperate struggle to hold your crumbling world together. You’d become withdrawn, adept at hiding the truth from your friends and family, plastering on a smile to conceal the pain.

But amidst the chaos and despair, there had been moments of hope - fleeting glimpses of the man you had once loved, the man buried beneath the weight of his addiction and trying to swim out of it.

And though you had often questioned your decision to stay as long as you did, you can't deny the flicker of love that still burns within you for him, the belief that perhaps, just perhaps, there’s still a chance for redemption.

And you hate yourself for allowing your mind to go there.

Lucien reaches to the bush and plucks an azalea off the stem and combs it behind your ear.

“Beautiful.” He says with a smile. Not a smirk, a smile.

“I can’t go back to that place, Lucien.” You say, shaking your head.

You stare out at the house and the sounds of music and chatter still tinkle down the pathway towards you both.

“I know,” he says, running a hand through his hair listlessly.

You untangle the flower from your hair and look at it resting in your palm, the velvety petals smoothed out under your thumb as you stroke.

“But you can’t stay here, either.” His voice pulls you from your swampy thoughts.

"No," you agree. You turn to glance back at the house.

“Come with me,” Lucien pleads softly, deep eyes searching yours out. "What's stopping you, baby?"

Fingertips on your chin tilt you towards him. You tuck the flower inside his breast pocket and he looks forlorn as you do, eyes sinking and any trace of a smile vanishing.

You wrap your dress around your waist and he watches you belt it up into a messy bow on your hip. You can still feel him pooling between your legs.

You take in a deep breath, a steadying one that seeks clarity through the confusion, and inhale the familiar, swarming fragrance of the azaleas one last time.

My first time writing for Lucien and I'd love to know your thoughts. I'd appreciate a re-blog too so others can read and enjoy. Thankies! 🖤

MAIN MASTERLIST | LUCIEN FLORES MASTERLIST | FLORA & FAUNA MASTERLIST

Tagging @secretelephanttattoo @rhoorl @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @undercoverpena @linzels-blog @avastrasposts @trulybetty

#pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #lucien flores #the uninvited #lucien flores x reader #lucien flores x you #lucien flores x f!reader #jett's writing

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magpie-murder · 6 months

Text

it'd be wild if they gave asgard's citizens phones in marvel i bet they'd have the best drama

20 notes

👴🏻 is-odin-dead-yet

No.

#date: 2023/11/23 #when will he croak #i've been running this blog for centuries #frigga for allfather #kick the bucket already i'm getting bored of posting here

112 notes

⛈️ god-of-thunder

I come to Tumblr with a regretful update. As you may know, my family and our fiercest warriors have been traveling between realms in search of our stolen relics.

While attempting to recover one, my brother lost his life in battle while protecting us. He shielded me with his body. My brother died a hero.

einherjarl-deactivated20231120

May he reach Folkvangr. My deepest condolences. But I thought Baldur was impervious to all harm...?

⛈️ god-of-thunder

It was Loki. :( I'm devastated.

einherjarl-deactivated20231120

Oh.

🐍 magic-theatre

is that all you can muster? "oh." you thought i was dead, and that's it? that's all you have? what do you mean by that? let's talk. :)

⛈️ god-of-thunder

You're alive? Where are you?

⛈️ god-of-thunder

Wait, what happened to @einherjarl? He deactivated?

⛈️ god-of-thunder

Loki?

23,034 notes

🎨 bragis-apprentice

Just finished custom making this handle

#metalwork #artists on tumblr #double sided axe #my art

2 notes

⚔️ aesir-warrior-tournament

⚡️LIGHTNING ROUND⚡️

einherjarl-deactivated20231120

Lady Sif is not one of The Warriors Three. It says it in the name. There are three of them. Not four.

Correct this.

✨️ the-dashingest

I voted for Sif.

🪓 valiant-festivals

I voted for Sif.

🔺️ grim-warrior

I voted for Sif.

✨️ the-dashingest

Wait, Hogun? But you didn't tell us you had a phone?

🔺️ grim-warrior

I don't.

#lady sif propaganda #lightning round #poll reblog #only one more round after this! #i'm so glad lady sif doesn't have tumblr lol #i hope you guys dont mind that a mortal is running this blog btw #i really didnt expect any of you to see this 😬 #and srry for the reblog spam #also hogun lol

1,879 notes

🐍 magic-theatre

i see your thirst edits, you sick freaks.

#start tagging me in them #and/or sending them to me

689 notes

⛵️ modern-technologist Follow

umm i'm in ohio to visit my parents and there's like. um . a giant wolf running alongside my car? i'd call animal control but this thing is ginormous and i don't think that would do anything.

it doesnt have a leash or anything (obv its bigger than my car) but it's covered in chains. what do i do??

@identifying-d𝚘gs-in-posts ??

🐕 identifying-dogs-in-posts Follow

Fenrir Lokison?

#😨

197 notes

✨️ the-dashingest

I really don't think Loki is that bad. Sure, he's had a rocky history, but I don't think he's done anything worthy of scorn. Besides, hasn't he just died and come back or something like that, anyway? He has a blank slate, in my book.

#is it just me? #i hear people saying we should banish or kill him #i find that idea preposterous #he's just misunderstood

208 notes

einherjarl-deactivated20231120

I'm not going to @ them, but ugh... Someone I'm acquainted with just died in battle, and honestly? I'm so relieved. Is that terrible? Don't answer that, I know that it is. I'll probably delete this in a few hours.

🐍 magic-theatre

that's what you get for vagueing.

cowards don't go to valhalla.

10,560 notes

🔮 alchemist-aura Follow Sponsored with Blaze 🔥

buy my potions! i'm having a Thor's Day sale! you can get an invisibility concoction for only 3 gold today! cheapest prices in the market! don't let that einar guy force you to pay 230 gold for a wyvern tooth when you can purchase an authentic one HERE from my brand new online shop

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#i know they're all ooc i was just trying to amuse myself #loki #thor #fandral the dashing #moon queen and magic theatre #loki marvel #marvel thor #marvel asgard #marvel #thor odinson #dashboard simulator #the warriors three #odin allfather

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signedkoko · 3 months

Note

SPOILERS?? MAYBE

Wife!reader waiting for Alastor in his Radio tower after the final big battle, knowing he'd go there and waiting for him there, Scolding him and angry at him, Talking about how worried they were and how they saw everything. But then it turns fluffy at the end :3

Alastor X Reader [Romantic]

In which you lost track of him during the battle, so you wait in his tower hoping he made it. Reader is female.

The battle had been planned over the series of a day, everyone practicing and learning how to defend themselves

Being an overlord and promised watcher over the hotel, Alastor was of course given a tall order; he was to take care of Adam

While he acted as if it were nothing and swept it by as if it'd be another easy task, you weren't so confident in his abilities against such a powerful angel

Not that you didn't trust him, just that it's scary to think he'd be doing it all alone

Though you offered support, he outright refused it

" Can't have you in the way! You are just so distracting! "

Yeah right

As much as you wanted to protest, you knew he wouldn't budge on it

But as Adam parted the battle and Alastor was nowhere to be seen, you assumed the worst along with everyone else

He'd been killed so easily? Certainly not, would he really give up his life like that? Your anger boiled up in you as you fought, and it carried you past your limit until everything was rubble

While you had the chance, you quickly whisked away to his tower, which now lay broken in the soil, though still partially intact

You had to kick the door a few times before it finally broke open, having been blocked by some debris

You hoped to all gods that you'd see him in there, but it was as silent and empty as you dreaded

You figure Husk would have said something if he felt his chains come loose, though, so you crawled up into the chair which he normally sat to broadcast and waited

And waited

Until finally, your looped prayer was answered when he came limping through the hatch

You could tell he was panicking or overwhelmed; you weren't entirely sure what, but you scrambled towards him

" Alastor! You're okay- "

" Get away from me. "

You stopped in your tracks, staring at him with bewilderment

He'd never sounded like that, especially not towards you, it frustrated you beyond belief that he refused you at a time like this

" No, no! I thought you died out there! All because you thought you could handle things on your own when you clearly cannot! "

Hot tears welled in the corner of your eyes, the silence only intruded by creaking, and the sound of your hissing breaths

It took him a moment, but the overlord straightened himself out, a shaky breath leaving his lips as he soaked in your reply

It wasn't fair of him to say that to you, and you were right, but something in him felt so shaky; his smile felt more forced than ever; he felt as if his wings had been clipped

" Dearest, you know me better than anyone, but unfortunately, there are things I cannot tell you—even if I want to. "

You knew he was bound by someone and chained, and as he spoke with such a lost desperation, you couldn't help but cry harder as the guilt consumed you

" I'm just glad you're alive. "

While you stood with what felt like an infinite space between you, the crackle in the air started to come back to him, which followed with his arms reaching out to you

You found yourself burying yourself in them, clinging to his shirt until your knuckles strained, and you cried

With no one else around to witness it, he wrapped his arms around you, ensuring you were secure

He'd do whatever it took to find a way out, so he could promise you an eternity by his side

Author's Note - Finally got to your req 🖤 Its so lovely to see you in my inbox, Lilith!! Thank you for requesting 🥂

#koko writez #hazbin hotel #helluva boss #hazbin hotel x reader #helluva boss x reader #reader insert #x reader #alastor #alastor x reader

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fookinfandoms · 2 years

Text

tatties | 18+

pairing: eddie munson x female reader

plot: During a night at your friends, it’s revealed that Eddie isn't the only one with tattoos. The metalhead is determined to find out just where exactly you're marked.

authors note: pls let me know if he feels toooooo out of character! I hope this is okay :) Please leave some feedback! I’m a whore for words.

NOT EDITED, I’ll do it later.

word count: 4.6k words. oops

warnings: 18+. minors dni, I'll kick you across the pacific, language, dirty talk, oral & fingering (f! receiving), grinding

another authors note: I can hear this gif. I like it. 86’ baby 🤸🏽

taglist: @starsxmoonsx @imconfused28 @phobles-world @that-lame-ghoul9000 @arwen-rose @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives @creepytoes88 @manofworm @bamitzzsam @takemetoneverland420 @shortstoriesbyher

Everyone sat on the floor in Gareth’s basement, faint music being drowned out by the loud yelling of the boys as they fight over another game. Eddie and yourself shared a beanbag, his legs spread slightly to give you room between him. His arms lay over your shoulder, his hands playing aimlessly with the chain around your neck.

“Would you believe it if I said I was stupidly hard right now?” Eddie mumbles into your ear, immediately grinning as you begin to laugh at his reveal. “I wouldn’t move that much if I were you.”

“Wait,” You say through heavy chuckles. “You’re telling me that’s not your belt digging into my back?”

His arms squeeze around your shoulders a little tighter before his hands land on your arms. He rubs them in a tender way, shrugging a little in the process. “I can neither confirm nor deny.”

You slap at his thigh from its position at your side and it was Eddie’s turn to laugh as you call him a perv. He sighs as you lean your head back on his chest, Eddie giving your forehead a quick kiss. “I’m your perv though.”

“Lucky me,” You joke, knowing Eddie was no doubt rolling his eyes. “Y’know most boyfriend’s whisper poetry or some corny shit into their girls ear, but I am so glad mine tells me when he’s got a raging boner in his friends basement.”

“Hey hey hey, you give me a raging boner no matter where we are, I think that’s super romantic.” He joins in, the two of you continuing the back and forth for a little while as the night goes on.

Gareth’s mom had brought down pizza shortly after, and you now sat on the ground by Eddie feet, having finished a game of cards with Jeff. It was fun, but soon after the music started repeating and most of the games had been played. D&D was off the table, and you all now sat in a circle in an attempt to come up with a plan.

Eddie couldn’t be too far away from you and he slowly scooted closer, the tips of his fingers ghosting yours before he slides his hand over to intertwine your hand with his. You flinch a little at the feeling, Eddie’s eyebrows furrowing at the reaction.

“Your rings are cold.” You answer, knowing what he was wondering. He gives you a small smile, his head tilting at your words.

“Well now you can help warm them up sweetheart.” He replies, and before you can do the same, someone gags from beside you.

Jeff gives the two of you a disgusted look, his tongue out again as he gags. Everyone laughs at his reaction knowing he wasn’t a fan of PDA. With your free hand you reach over and pat his cheek. “You’ll know how to talk to girls when you’re older bud, it’s okay!”

He slaps your hand away, mumbling something as you all laugh harder at the faint blush on his cheeks. Soon enough, the laughter died down and everyone was throwing ideas for another game.

“Truth or dare?” You speak up, head tilted as you already began thinking about possible dares. “Pretty simple game in my eyes.”

A few mumbles of sure and other agreements met your ears, and you started the game. “Okay then, Mike, truth or dare?”

The teen sat across from you in the circle, and he sat backwards on his palms as he answered. “Dare.”

“Sniff Jeff’s armpit for ten seconds.” You laughed instantly at his visual disgust, his mouth open in shock as your cruel dare.

Gareth shakes his head at the dare whilst Eddie squeezes your hand as he beams down at you. “Now that’s super gross, I’m proud.”

Mike reluctantly crawls over to Jeff, the teen already having his arm up ready. Mike glares at you as he reaches his destination. “I am so giving you a bad truth or dare when it’s your turn.” He says your name with malice before slowly turning his head, his nose meeting it’s doom.

Eddie had a truth after that, having to pick a teacher he would French, Dustin choosing two elderly candidates much to his dismay. Afterwards, Gareth was dared to put on his mom’s makeup, you proving to be quite the makeup artist.

Mike stayed true to his word after all, and when it was your turn you chose dare. “Are you sure you want to pick dare?” He jests, his eyes narrowing at you from his spot in the Hellfire circle.

“Hit me with it.” You sit upright, your eyebrow raised as you wait for your dare. Before Mike can say anything, Eddie is pointing at him, a stern expression on his face.

“No kissing, no stripping, if you even so much as think about bra’s I am taking off your fingernails and wearing them as earrings. Got it Wheeler?.” Your boyfriend threatens, Mike nodding at the Hellfire leader.

“Got it,” He answers, swallowing as Eddie gives him a thumbs up. “I wasn’t gonna’ do anything like that anyway, not towards her anyways.” “What’ya mean kid?” Eddie asks for you, and already you felt uneasy knowing you were at the darers mercy of a teenager.

“I was going to dare her to take off your socks.”

“Well that’s not so bad all thin-“ Mike cuts you off before you can finish. Of course, there was no way he was going to go easy.

“With her teeth.” He finishes, his head turning back to you with an overly friendly smile. For what felt like the hundredth time that night, everyone laughed. It was your turn now to have a disgusted expression, your head turning towards Eddie who wasn’t sure what kind of reaction to have.

He wanted to laugh with the boys, but judging by your horrified look, he decided against it. He had to give it to the kid, he had a good revenge plan. “If it makes you feel any better, I actually put on a clean pair today.”

“Yeah, they were clean at 6am this morning,” You whine at him, shivering in disgust at the idea of Eddie’s socks. “Those puppies have been cooking in there all day!”

“You gotta do it!” Mike pipes up, laughing at the way you flip him the bird. Eddie already begins to kick off his converses, and you cringe at the reveal.

With heavy reluctance, you finish the dare, squealing and dry retching the entire way. Eddie squirmed at the feeling, almost feeling giddy at your touch. When it was completed, you kneel in front of Eddie, his eyes levelled with yours. His eyes were wide with humour, the complete opposite of yours as they narrowed. “If I look down and see a tent in those jeans… I am going to be so grossed out Eddie Munson.”

He grins at you, shaking his head. “Does it count if I’m still hard from before?” He jokes, chuckling as you again fake vomit in his lap. He reaches forward, pulling you into his arms. You turn at an awkward angle, and like the start of the night you end up in his lap.

After a few more truths and dares from the nerds, you began playing with the lighter Gareth was dared to steal from his stepdad. Eddie had known you were in need of a new one and was the one to give his friend said dare. You were busy, distracted by the small flame to not notice Dustin calling your name.

“Truth or dare?” He asks as you finally stare at him, and the lighter is placed into Eddie’s pocket as you think.

“I don’t think I can handle anymore feet related dares so I’ll go with truth.” You grimace at the thought, ignoring the way Mike smirks. Evil.

“How many tattoos do you have?” Dustin couldn’t think of anything to ask, having used the tattoos on Eddie’s arms as inspiration.

“She doesn’t have any Henderson.” The metalhead answers from behind you, to which you turn around to give him a confused look.

“Except I do,” You say, wondering if he was in fact playing around. “Are you playing right now?” “Am I playing? Are you?” Eddie gives you a weird look, confusion more than evident in his brown eyes.

“Oh my god,” You use Eddie’s legs as leverage as you stand up off the ground, keeping your eyes on him from his position below. “You’re being serious aren’t you?”

“I think I would know if you had any tatties.” He was hinting towards your many, many activities together that don’t require clothes, his brain trying to think over whether or not lately he had seen any new addition to your skin.

“I was wondering why you hadn’t said anything, I actually thought you were just pretending not to notice but wow.” He was being serious right now, he really hadn’t seen it.

Eddie’s birthday was coming up and he was adamant about not wanting anything. Not wanting to annoy him with gifts he didn’t want, you had gotten a tattoo for him. It was already a month old, and you were waiting for his birthday to reveal it was actually for him thinking he had already seen it.

He goes to say something but you hold your finger up, not wanting to discuss it more in front of your friends. You turn to Dustin, the boy looking almost apologetic for asking. “I have one, technically six but it’s in one spot so.”

“Six?” Eddie says rather loudly from the ground, his mouth shutting quickly as you again hold out your finger. You sit back down beside your boyfriend as he gives you a once over, his eyes scanning your arms and bare legs to spot any potential artwork.

The once usual chatterbox of the group remained quiet for the rest of the night, even when the others excused themselves to go home. Gareth had already pulled out the couch bed for both you and Eddie, sleepovers being a regular occurrence as you didn’t like driving late on a Friday night.

Soon enough, you were left in the basement with your now quiet metal head, the music having been turned off and the host going to his own bed upstairs. Your overnight bag rested on a table and you searched its contents for your pyjamas, noticing the lack of clothing in the shared duffle bag. “Hey Eds’ did you pack m-“ “You were lying about the tattoos right?” He interrupts you and you put the bag down, turning around to lean against the tables edge.

Eddie stands just a few metres away, he himself leaning against a beam with his arms crossed. The lights had been dimmed just a little, but they did nothing to hide the way Eddie’s jaw clenched.

“Have I ever lied to you?” It was true, you had never lied to Eddie and you certainly weren’t starting now.

“It’s just,” Eddie’s head tilts, his arm raising as he points at you in an almost teasing way. “I have seen nearly every inch of your body baby,” He says your pet name again, this time lowly. “If you’re telling me I've missed a spot, I’m going to feel very... very... wounded.”

“Well baby,” You reply, pushing yourself off the table and walking closer towards him. Slowly, you stand in front of him, raising your head to stare at him through your lashes. “I hate to break it to you, but you’ve definitely missed a spot.”

He frowns for a split second, his eyes narrowing as you give him a teasing smile. “Bullshit.”

“Cross my heart,” You do just that, swiping across your shirt to where your heart resides. “I swear on your guitar.”

“Oh shit.”

“Oh shit indeed,” The room quickly started heating up, or more so you were at the way Eddie watched you. His brown eyes were noticeably darker, and so you reaches your hands forwards to hold onto his. He followed your movements, letting you hold his hand. “I actually got it for your birthday.” “My birthday?” He repeats, and you hold his hand up to your lips, kissing the back of his hand as you nod.

“I really am surprised you haven’t noticed, but when I think about it more I remember you’ve been a big fan of having me on my hands and knees lately.” Eddie instantly becomes flustered, knowing you were right. Doggy had become one of his favourite positions lately, purely because of the feeling and being able to watch himself disappear inside of you. Also because of your ass. Anyways.

“C-Can I see it? Or do I have to wait for my birthday?” He mumbles, cursing for almost sounding like he was begging.

“Of course baby,” You pull back, dropping his hands in the process. He bites his lip almost in anticipation, wondering just where it could be. He knew it wasn’t on your back, that was one thing he was sure about. You unzip your skirt from the back, letting it fall to the ground in one swift movement.

Stepping out of the pile on the floor, Eddie quickly looks around your now exposed thighs, frowning as he notices nothing. “I never thought I’d see you look so upset to see me in my panties.”

“Trust me, I am loving the Winnie the Pooh look right now,” He jests, his fists clenching in hopes you don’t notice just how much he is loving it. You were wearing his favourite pair, and he hoped you were wearing the matching bra. “Just wondering where these six tatties are hiding.”

Without answering - you grab the bottom of your shirt, pulling it up and over your head and letting it go to match your skirt on the ground.

Yeah, matching bra. Eddie praises you in his head, knowing you definitely had something planned for the two of you tonight. Almost focusing too much on your matching set, Eddie’s gaze follows the swell of your breasts before focusing on your sternum. His eyes widen at the art before him, your boyfriend stepping closer to you as he kneels in front of your tattoo.

There in all of it’s glory were six little bats, matching the exact tattoo Eddie had on his forearm. “Two actually get covered when I take my bra off,” You break the silence, noticing Eddie was yet to say anything about his birthday present. “Forgot gravity was a thing y’know?”

“Do you have any idea how hot you are?” He stands tall once more before he himself reaches down to grab at his shirt, having already shredded his jacket earlier. Eddie pulls his shirt off with ease, his hands immediately reaching for his belt. He curses your name as you drag your nails down between his pecs gently, the feeling making him shiver. “Shit.”

“So you’re not mad?” You whisper, not realising he would react this way towards some ink.

“Mad? My girl gets a matching tattoo and puts it in one of my favourite places,” Eddie shakes his head at your question, pulling his belt out of its loops before throwing it to the ground. “Nowhere near mad, just really fucking hard.”

Oh.

“Do you, fuck, do you think we should really be fucking on Gareth’s couch?” He gives you a pointed stare for even bringing your friends name up. You shrug at him, pointing back towards the small frame of the pullout bed a few metres away.

“That old things squeaks more than you do,” God Eddie looked good like this, almost like was starving and ready to devour you. His jeans were long lost to the growing pit of clothes on the floor, the two of you standing in just your underwear.

You ignore the comment about your noises, knowing Eddie was far from complaining. Your mouth opens to ask where he had his eyes on when he almost jumps on you, the words getting lost in your thoat.

His hands grab at your hips, picking you up and sitting you on the edge of the table behind. Eddie keeps on hand on your bare hip, the other swiping away at your overnight bag and letting it fall to the ground with a thud. A oof leaves your lips at the action, Eddie quickly stepping in between the space of your parted thighs.

“What if someone hears us?” There were three people upstairs that could potentially hear the pair of you, and Eddie turns his head to look at the basements door.

He frowns for just a second, immediately shrugging as he faces back to you. “I think we could be quiet.” You just give him a blank stare to which he just shrugs again. “Just say the word and we’ll go to bed.”

There was no way in hell you were sleeping, not with how flustered he had gotten you. You shake your head, Eddie pushing away at the hair that how fallen around your cheeks. Your legs tighten around his behind, pushing him closer towards you as you lock him in.

He mutters your name, the hand in your hair sliding down your cheek to grip at your chin as Eddie tilts your head up, his dark brown eyes keeping you focused.

“Do you want this?” He leans forward a little, his lips ghosting your own as his nose gently touches yours. “Say the word baby and we’ll get those damn pyjamas on.”

“Something,” You pull him in for a small kiss, revelling in the way he begins to grin. You part, just enough for him to reach forward again to lick at your lips as you go to speak. “Tells me you might not want to go to sleep just yet.”

Nodding towards his straining cock in his boxers. He shrugs, not at all ashamed at the way he had absently been rubbing his front against your own. Eddie was never embarrassed at how you made him feel, and any fears in the past had definitely gone out the window.

You reached up to his chest, dragging your nails over the various tattoos littering his pale skin. He watches your movements, shivering as you drag a nail lightly over his nipple. “I’ll sleep if you want, s’okay, really.”

The last few words came out a little more strained, and you quirked your eyebrow at him. “Eddie, I don’t want to sleep.”

“Thank god,” He fakes a prayer with his hand, laughing lowly as you smack his chest. “Because I really wanna’ do this.”

Eddie strokes your chin, the coolness of his rings a quick shock to your skin. You sigh, and his thumb slides over your bottom lip. He tilts his head, his dark hair sliding over his broad shoulders. “You wanna kiss me?” You mumble against his thumb, hoping he’ll lean forward. He doesn't, and you sit there anxiously awaiting his next move. His boxers itch at your thighs as he takes a closer step, his head however staying away. His eyes stay fixated on you, and he takes in a small breath. “You just look so good.”

You felt unbearably warm, your slick having already begun to dampen your panties and the front of Eddie’s underwear. He quirks his eyebrow at the small wet patch, and you fought the urge to hide yourself against his shoulder.

Eddie curses again, taking in a ragged breath and he places his hands on the table, resting just beside your parted thighs. Within seconds, Eddie has slunk to his knees, his eyes focused on you as he stares through his messy bangs. “Eddie?” You ask, shivering as his hands begin to slide down from your thighs, over your knees to your calves, the heat of his hands stroking your smooth skin.

He parts your thighs even wider, making sure to press a kiss to your right knee as he pulls them over his shoulders. Your breath hitches in your throat as he reaches up to the waistband of your underwear, and you wiggle around helping him remove them from under you. It would've felt awkward had Eddie not looked at you with his brown eyes, his gaze becoming darker with lust as he licks at his lips.

You’ve been eaten out before, sure, it was one of Eddie’s favourite things to do. But it felt different now, was it the looming threat of someone possibly catching you? Doing this in your friends basement? Probably. He wraps his arms around your thighs in an attempt to pull you closer, his hair instantly tickling you. You reach down, pulling his hair out of eyes as you tuck what you can behind his ears.

Eddie gives you another kiss, this time to your inner thigh. “S’good like this sweetheart,” He mumbles as he nips at your flushed skin. “Could spend hours down here.”

Heat had well and truely surrounded you, the tension alone enough to make you tremble. “You really like the tattoo huh?” You managed to say, Eddie glancing up at you with an eyebrow raised.

Goosebumps litter your skin as you whimper, Eddie choosing to reply with his lips elsewhere. He usually took his time when he was on his knees, but not wanting to push his luck, his head dips further until it reaches heaven. Your mind went empty as Eddie licks a stripe up your pussy. His tongue finding your clit as you jolt beneath him.

Thank god this table was hardwood.

A loud whine leaves your lips as he leaves a sloppy kiss on the area above your pussy and your hips almost grind against his face in an attempt to feel him where you want him most. Eddie almost chuckled at how needy you were acting, deciding against it when he remembered this was for you after all.

You buck your hips once more, Eddie’s hands pressing into the skin of your thighs with a powerful grip. “Eddie...” You moan as you felt his tongue glide over your cunt in a slower motion. He stops again, just so he can stare into yours as you bite at your lip.

“I really wish you could be loud right now,” He forces out, keeping his eyes on you as he lowers his head once more. He circles your clit and trails down to your entrance, continuing his teasing pace as your hands reach for the edge of the table to keep you grounded. “S’good for me, so fucking good.”

A small cry leaves your lips as he curls his tongue and you can't help but squirm under his tender touch. Eddie revelled in, smiling as one of your hands reaches for his hair and grips it. You tug at his scalp as he presses his tongue flat against your folds, letting your thighs lock him in.

God the noises he made. His groans were music to your ears, and you cursed yourself for deciding to have a sleepover at Gareth’s instead of Eddie’s - where you both could be as loud as you want.

Eddie couldn't get enough, wishing he could spend eternity between your legs. He was unbearable hard in his boxers, precum leaking from his swollen tip and dampening his underwear. He decided against releasing himself, choosing to stroke at your skin instead knowing the sight of you alone could make him cum.

Your body grew hotter as a pressing need to release formed deep inside, another whine leaving your lips as you felt Eddie’s tongue stroking your most sensitive area. “You taste so good sweetheart,” His voice sounded different, a dominating yet loving tone meeting your ears. “God I love you.”

With a shaky breath, you whispered it back, ignoring Eddie’s wink from between your legs. The sight of him on his knees before you was enough alone to make you tingle, and Eddie’s rings left indents in your thighs as he keeps you in place. He maintained his gaze as he licked in between your wet folds again, dragging it out as you bit your lip in anticipation.

“Eddie,” You moan, quickly shushing yourself as you felt your voice get a little louder than attended. He gives you a pointed but knowing stare. “Eddie please.”

Your head throws back, losing his gaze as he hits a certain spot. You don't even notice the way Eddie’s hand leaves your thigh as he flicks his rings off, the small pieces of metal scattering on the floor. It’s only when you feel his tongue and his fingers at your hole do you clench around him.

You're so unbelievably wet, both your slick and Eddie’s spit combining around your thighs and on the table below. You tremble as he pushes in a finger followed by another, tears filling your eyes as he curls them inside. “I wish I could take a photo of this.” He rests his head against your thigh as he thrusts his fingers in and out, absolutely enthralled by the way your clench around him.

So desperate to cum, your grab at his hair rougher than before, almost begging him to keep his tongue on your clit. “Don’t worry,” He nods against grip. “I got you.”

He repeats his assault on your pussy, switching it up a little as he licks at your entrance and rubs your throbbing clit with his thumb. Your legs shake as he teased your entrance with the tip of his tongue one again. He pressed his face further into your heat, making you cry out loud until you came undone.

His name left your lips in a silent scream, Eddie licking upwards to suck harder at your clit as you convulsed under him. He groans at your movements, his own hips thrusting into the air as you cum around his lips. Your eyes squeezed shut as you came, Eddie trying hard to keep you on the table as you shifted. Arms weakening by the second, you were certain you were going to collapse forward as Eddie stood up, pulling you into an embrace.

He held you tightly, your sweaty forehead resting against his chest as you held one hand around his waist, the other absently trailing over the soft tuft of hair disappearing below his underwear.

“You with me?” Eddie asks, kissing your forehead as you nod against him. He pulled away, just enough to look down at you in his arms. His face glistens with your essence up to his nose, and he gives you a cheeky grin as you wipe at his mouth with the back of your hand.

“Don’t you want to-” “Already did.” He cuts you off, not at all embarrassed as you looked down at his now softening cock hidden by fabric. Eddie shrugs at you, his free hand moving down to rearrange himself as his cum leaked through.

A small oh leaves your lips, and his grin grew. “You make me cum even when you're not with me sweetheart, having you in my mouth is like,” Eddie makes an explosion noise, his hands mimicking the action. “It’s insane.”

“That’s oddly cute.” You quip, reaching down to run your hand over his soaked cock. He shivers under your touch, clearly not the only one feeling sensitive.

“Give me a couple minutes and I’m yours baby.” Eddie stretches out his arms, before pushing you back. With an eyebrow raised, he reaches around to undo your bra, letting the straps slide over your arms. Your nipples were still hard, and Eddie marvels at your breasts as if he was seeing them for the first time.

“You were right,” Your boyfriend leans forward to kiss above your tattoo. “Two do get covered without the bra.”

#Eddie munson smut #Eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things smut #stranger things x reader #fookinfandoms #Eddie munson

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razzle-n-dazzle · 3 months

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hello, friend!! i saw your adam hcs and i loveddd themmm!! i was hoping to request smth if that’s okay? could we get lucifer with a reader who also struggles with depression like he does (it’s mentioned in episode five if you didn’t know!!) and maybe reader had a practically rough week and gets home from work and just breaks down in tears, and luci find a way to cheer them up? either fem! or gn! reader if that’s chill, tysm for taking your time to consider this even if you don’t get to it!!

— 🪽anon

ᯓ★ "Give Your Corpse Some Smile Lines." Lucifer / Reader | Oneshot TW! Read at your own risk and comfortability! | talks about depression, suicidal topics/actions, overdosing topics/actions, reader breaking down, hurt to comfort, self destruction, abuse

ᯓ There are days and weeks, sometimes months and years, that prolonged like time, made it appear like it no longer moved and served a purpose. Like time was nothing but a feign idea that was made to torture everyone and anyone who dared think about it, who dared to calculate how it traveled and how long it took to pass a minute. And some days it made people want to break, and some day it made people want to kill other people, and some days it made people overjoyed, and some days it made people excited, and some days it made people nervous, and some days. . . It made you want to die.

ᯓ To be killed in the most brutal fashion known to man, to explode in a death either as silent as taking your own life in your own home or as bright and fantastic as the explosion of fire works. Time for you was never a friend and it continued to taunt you after you had died, overdosing on the pain medication you were prescribed after a horrible accident. Horrific! You had heard people call you, friends and family, after they saw the state of your decaying body after being rammed by a truck who lost control. Monstrous! None of them chose to stay around, none chose to help you when you were at your weakest and worst, when you could barely help yourself. And all you had done back then was help them! Was care for them! Be there for them at any time of the day whenever they needed, whenever they wanted, whenever they asked or called or texted or shouted or pleaded or-

ᯓ And it was a coward move, you were sure. Weak, many would call it, blasphemous and you were sure it was why you never got into Heaven despite having done everything in your power to be okay, to be the perfect person everyone wanted, to be good. But one night, when everything was moving too slow and no one seemed to blink twice at your presence, you would take your own life in silence. To overdose on your own pills, both praying it wouldn't work but gain the attention of someone yet also praying it would kill you and finally let you live in peace. In a world of black nights where you didn't have to open your eyes no longer, where time wouldn't be creeping over your shoulder, where nothing would hurt anymore because dammit. . . everything hurt.

ᯓ IT ALL FUCKING HURT.

ᯓ And then you ended in hell, and then you realized this would be your life . . . and then you realized you were still stuck with your worst enemy of all: Time. Forever stuck in an eternity after life, forever stuck here by yourself, forever being another face in the crowd or another person on the street for people to pass by and not think about twice. Someone. Just someone! Not even someone, no one. Just a shell, just a person decaying on the streets, decaying for all to see. A pitiful show.

ᯓ You could hardly remember when you met Lucifer; Maybe you were down on your luck one day and was eating cold Ramen out of the streets and he took pity to sit by you, to talk to you. Maybe it was when you were at a bar, downing another drink to forget the fact that you were chained down here, chained to your enemy, chained to your eternity of a never ending moment of the hands of time. Maybe you were working your minimum wage job to barely survive, or maybe you bumped into him. You memory hadn't always been good, party due to your own mental health and a constant flight or fight response, yet you had always knew life to be so bleak before you had met him. And then one day, everything was slightly a bit more okay. And slowly everything was a little more barrable; Even just slightly.

ᯓ And maybe a life can be handled in eternity, and you didn't have to be alone anymore . . .

ᯓ Yet, no matter how much anyone wished, love cannot fix all problems. Love can teach you how to heal, love can teach you how to live, love can teach you how to handle everything inside of you in a better manner than self destruction. But love cannot instantly fix everything wrong with you; You should have realized that sooner.

ᯓ You lived a life nothing short of a fairy tale for the last few months, living life alongside a partner who you could share the weight of the world with. Who felt comfortable enough to share the weight of the world with you. Where in the days you both laughed and played, pushing and pulling each other, peppering kissing on skin and longing ones on the lips. And at night you cuddled against each other, both with the fear of losing, both with longing, both just enjoying the company you now had, that you could now share. You've already shared tears, concerns, worries, troubles. You've both been vulnerable under the other's eyes, staining shirts under the other's careful and cradling hug, broken down and rushed out apologies. You've already both taken care of each other, took your time and held patience with each other and you both tried to heal the broken pieces of one another. Most would call it a disaster, a tragedy, yet for you both . . . it was like some sort of twisted hope, knowing you were no longer alone in your self deprecation. Knowing that even if either of you tried to self destruct everything around you, tried to gain that control that's slipping away, tried to push the other away, they would understand and be there. That in the end of the day you had someone to crawl to.

ᯓ Yet even with constant oxygen and wood, a fire can still grow dim in it's own silence and try to snuff itself out.

ᯓ This week had been long, it had dragged you by the heels and you could no longer put the energy to fight against it's slowing seconds. Working a minimum wage job, even after Lucifer had told you that you never had to again (yet you continued to do so for some sort of feeling of schedule and stability), that you hated and wished you could quite for a paycheck that wasn't even that high to withstand the abuse you had to. Lucifer constantly worried about you, about how the job affected you both physically and mentally. You often came home either drained or hurt, as costumers tended to get rather violent down in Hell. It was common to be stabbed during a shift and having to endure it until your shift was over. Effectively causing you to bleed out while still having to rep a costumer service smile. And the stabbing might not even be the worst part of everything; As you had to try many times to bite back any sort of emotion, ire and frustration and sorrow, as costumers yelled, screamed, tossed shit your way for a mistake you didn't even make. And yet it was your fault. It was always your fault and you couldn't do anything but stand there and take it, as your job would be on the line if you did anything other than stand there and take the anger and take the frustrations and the yelling and the stabbing; Being everyone's personal punching bag without any sort of composition.

ᯓ What was the point of it?

ᯓ The thought had came to you one day after you came home, slugging your shoes off your feet and tossing your keys onto the counter. Lucifer wasn't home, he usually was, yet you guessed he had something better to do than hear your sorrows of the day. You would want to do anything than hear about your sorrows as well, you couldn't blame him for trying to avoid you. So you dragged yourself to the bathroom, heavily sitting down upon the close lid of the toilet before sinking down some. A hand rested upon your stomach, the knife that pierced through your side slid in between your fingers like it didn't draw your blood out. Like it wasn't causing you pain; not even the worst pain in your life, just pain that poked and pricked and brought tears to the eyes, but you were no stranger to tears or to blood. You were no stranger to the bruises that covered your body from angry costumers, from the blisters that grew from harsher treatment, from the blood that seeped and stained. And maybe you should take care of that wound, but it was best to keep a knife into the wound than take it out; It stopped bleeding and you hadn't stained that much, you didn't think, and you were oh so tired so maybe. . .just a nap would help. It didn't have to be a long one, yet something in the back of your mind hoped it would be, and you leaned your head back against the back of the toilet. The light above gave out a buzz, showing it was working, sounding that it was on and here.

ᯓ Yet a nap sounded nice.

ᯓ "Honey! I'm home!" Lucifer shout, a cheerful laugh followed and a careful grin was stretched on his face as he tried to balance the bags of groceries that were in his arms; Trying to make his one round of bringing groceries in to work. He didn't want to drop a single one of them, "I'm sorry I took so long, yet I went to the store and wow! There were a lot of options for things that I was sure I would never make it out of there! Did you know that there's like. . ." Lucifer would pause to count his fingers, having successfully delivered the bags onto the counter without breaking anything, ". . .15 different brands of milk?! And they had like this Milk called Almond milk, where they apparently milk the almond and I don't know how they do that but-" Lucifer's voice fell flat as soon as he noticed you weren't around, at least, not around as usual. By now you would have sprung from the couch, or yelled at him from the bathroom that you were doing your business, or came from the bedroom to wrap him in a hug. Yet your presence was absent and it didn't allude Lucifer, at least, not many more. "H . . . honey?" He would call out again, this time with a more shaken voice and frowned eyebrows; His smile no longer held the confidence of a man who managed to do one round of bringing groceries in with 13 bags.

ᯓ And yet you didn't respond to his call, how could you when your own breath was so shallow your heart was speeding up, stressing, just to pump blood through your body; And Lucifer grew worried. It would triple upon seeing the mess you had left, a mess that hadn't caught his eye until now. . . Your shoes left lazily by the door, your keys stained with blood. Blood that streaked like a hand across the counter top and traveled inward, towards the bathroom and it's door that lingered tauntingly open. And instantly, Lucifer felt his mouth run dry and his feet speed towards the bathroom with nothing but horrible thoughts piling up in his head. You were hurt and you weren't answering his calls. You were hurt and you weren't doing anything to signal to him that you were okay. Are you okay? Are you dead? Oh god he hoped he didn't get to that bathroom door and see your dead body there, all stained and pale. Please don't be dead, please please please. . . "OH MY GOD!-" Lucifer hated to admit the way his body froze in horror by the doorway, one hand clinging onto the frame and the other shot up to cover his mouth. He hated the way his feet stuck to the ground like they were rooted, forcing him to look at your bleeding and barely breathing figure on the floor.

ᯓ And no, he didn't miss the way your blood was smeared on the toilet. He could never miss such a detail when your blood was the last thing he ever wanted to see seep out of your body and pool and stain everything around you.

ᯓ "Oh fuck! Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck!" The words fell out of his lips, fell onto deaf ears, as he ripped his rooted feet off the ground and rushed over to you, to your body. He felt dazed, confused, unsure of himself all of a sudden. What was he supposed to do? What could he do? "Hey, don't be dead come on!-" He didn't realize he was rambling to himself as he kneeled down next to you, not minding the way your blood seeped and stained his white clothes. He shuffled around, looking for your wound, looking for something he could fix to help you! He was so panicked, and had to stich up your wounds so often, that the thought of calling a doctor didn't cross his mind. Lucifer was hesitant to touch you, but didn't want to hurt you, "Wound, wound wound! Where the fuck is your wound?!" He asked before spotting the knife that was jagging out your side. It was mostly covered by your body, as he had happened to kneel down on the opposite side of where your wound pierced in. "Oh fucking duh, it's where the knife is. Nice job Lucifer can't spot a fucking knife when your lover is bleeding out on the floor!- Shit wait I need to actually take care of that. Fuck! Where the hell is the first aid kit?!"

ᯓ To say Lucifer was freaking out during the whole process of taking out the knife, tossing it to the side to be picked up later, disinfecting your wound, trying to stitch it up with shaking hands, and wrapping you up. . . would be an understatement. He was terrified to hold you, afraid he might make the wound worse or he might put you in more pain, yet somehow managed to move you from the bathroom floor to the couch in the living room. He would have put you to bed, at least provided your body a little more comfort, yet he was afraid to leave your side. Afraid that if he took his eyes off of you that something might happen, that you might roll onto the wound and break the sticking, that you might just stop breathing as a whole and leave him alone.

ᯓ He tried calling Charlie to help, yet physicked himself out right before he was going to press the call button. He needed some sort of help, he couldn't go through this alone, yet he didn't want to put his daughter through this either. All he could really do was find himself sitting in front of the couch, head resting upon the cushion, watching your chest rise and fall with heavy eyes; Just to reassure himself you were still here, that you were still alive and you could wake up. Maybe tomorrow? Hopefully. Maybe he should bring you to a hospital. Either way he was here, waiting, hoping.

ᯓ Fuck . . . He didn't know what he would do if you didn't wake up. But you did! By some grace of god you had happened to wake up in the middle of the night, the day after Lucifer had found you. He hadn't been awake, and you were barely moving due to the pain that jabbed at your side. Though you noticed the weight that indented the couch by the edge, slightly turning your head to see Lucifer's crossed arms and nuzzled head into it; He was sleeping, leaning against the couch while sitting on the floor. Drowsy, tired, you glanced over at the couch, wondering why he was sitting down there instead of up here with you. When did you even get to the couch? And then you noticed how you were wearing some of his clothes, with the shirt pulled up to expose your wrapped chest, the bandages still a stained a little crimson red. And you frowned, eyes heavy, looking down at the wound and realizing, at least to some sort of extent, why he wasn't up here. You had scared him . . . A heavy sigh left your lips as you reached a hand out, shaking, as you leaned down into the cushions. Gently, you placed your hand on top of Lucifer's, trying to intertwin your fingers without waking him. If anything, by the way he looked, you were sure he just managed to fall asleep . . . and most likely passed out from exhaustion rather than willingly succumbing to slumber.

ᯓ Though feeling the sudden warmth on his hands, and being half-awake and half-asleep in general, Lucifer's eyes fluttered open despite being rather heavy. He felt heavy, he felt tired . . . yet his hand felt warm, causing his eyes to glance down and notice your hand on top of his. Your hand, your thumb rubbing against his. "Love?. . ." He would mumble out, hoping this wasn't a dream, as he gently raised his head. You noticed the way his eyes sagged a little, his eyelids clearly heavy with eyebags starting to form under his eyes. The frown that had been on his face, tugged down out of pain, began, sluggishly, to tug into a warm smile. "You're awake. . . how are you feeling, do you need anything?" The way his voice croaked, clearly tired and clearly worn from tired and sobbing. His disheveled look, the way his hair was more frazzled than normal and the way his clothes were stained. It all made you upset; Not at him, no, you could never be upset at Lucifer. You were upset at yourself. For causing him so much pain, for making him probably so worried and panicked with the crawling thoughts of your death if he dared to ever take his eyes off of you.

ᯓ Lucifer, waiting for your answer, would gently bring your hand up to his cheek. He had missed your warmth, you had been so cold when he touched you last to move you from the tile of the bathroom floor to the plush cushions of the couch. He was glad that the warmth had returned to body, that he was able to watch your eyes sparkle in the dim lights that flooded in from the kitchen stove hood.

ᯓ His eyes were so gentle, his smile was so genuine, and all you managed to weakly croak out was a, "I'm sorry." And you felt bad feeling the warm tears starting to clump up in your eyes again and spill over. And you felt horrible as Lucifer shot awake, seeing your tears through the light of the kitchen, and rushed to bring his free hand up to your cheek to wipe away your tears. "I'm so sorry Lucifer I. . ." You would choked out, unsure what else to say. How else could you apologize to Lucifer when you knew that you had laid there, on the toilet, with the intention to hopefully die. And you didn't know how to tell Lucifer that to his face, especially when you've never had to tell anyone who's gotten as close to you as Lucifer has that you've thought about killing yourself. That you tried to plan it out in your shared home. Where you knew they would find you. Where you knew. . . "Hey, hey, it's okay. You're-" Lucifer paused for a second, glancing down at the side of your stomach. He had to reassure himself that you were alright before trying to comfort you, "-okay. You're okay now!" Lucifer grinned towards you, a little nervous at first before it fused out into more worry. "You're awake and you're not dying and it's okay! We can. . . talk about it all later okay? Just focus on getting better."

ᯓ You both would sit there in a comfortable, slightly-comfortable, silence as Lucifer stared up at you, and you stared back down at him. His hand, after having cleared your tears, hand reached up to play with your hair, trying to coax you back to sleep. Even when you knew he needed sleep himself, with the way his heavy eyes closed for long periods of time before opening again to meet mine. "Come here. . ." You would mumble, trying to reach for Lucifer, wanting to feel his warmth against yours. He was hesitant to do so, you could tell by the way his eyebrows scrunched upward and the frown that tugged on his lips. It took a while to coax him onto the couch, where even then he gingerly laid on his side and wrapped his arms cautiously a safe place above your bandages and nuzzled his head between the crook of your neck. You were able to play with his hair this time, give him a soft peck on the forehead. A silent apology for all the pain he had to endure because of you without you there to help, without the support he had shown you countless of times without fail.

ᯓ "I. . ." Lucifer's voice warily mumbled out, ". . .thought I was going to lose you." And the way his voice cracked broke your heart into a million pieces. And the only pathetic response you could muster back to him was a soft, shaken, "I'm sorry." As tears silently began to fall down your cheeks, and you could feel the silent tears that fell from Lucifer's eyes stain your neck. "I'm. . . so, so sorry. . ." "It's okay. . ." Lucifer would hug you a little tighter, "We'll work through it together, you're not going to lose me that easily, even if-" He would pause, choking out a bit of laughter between his tears, "-you try yourself."

ᯓ Oh. . . he knew. . .

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starogeorgina · 5 months

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𝐔𝐧𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧

Paring: Aemond Targaryen × Targaryen OC, minor Daemon Targaryen x Targaryen OC

Warnings: Swearing, smut, kidnapping, sexual blackmail, self harm (overall dark themes)

Chapter: 1.01

Blood and cheese.

Fucking blood and cheese.

The destruction that blood and cheese caused would haunt Aemond until the day he died. He never meant for Lucerys to die; he thought at most his nephew would piss his pants and fly off home crying to his mother; instead, he indirectly set off a chain of events that couldn’t be stopped and was responsible for tearing his own family apart.

If Arrax hadn't breathed fire on Vhagar, then Vhagar never would have...

It was his fault.

Deep down, he knew that.

And now Aemond had paid the ultimate price. He took his half sister’s son away from her, and now the blacks have taken his sweet wife and unborn child from him.

Not only was the prince demented with fear of not knowing what had become of his beloved Viola, but his poor sister Helaena was forced to make the worst choice a parent could make and lost her firstborn son, Jaehaerys. He could never bring his nephews back, but perhaps he could still save his wife, if he ever found her. His wife’s dragon Stardust has been circling the keep, squealing loudly while looking for her rider since the day Viola was taken, and whenever the dragon went silent, a fleeting feeling of hope would cross Aemond's mind that perhaps she had returned, but that was never the case.

The prince’s fingers grip the leather arm rest of the chair tightly, and his knuckles turn white as his mind takes him to a dark place. Was someone mistreating his wife? Was she dead? He had been tracking the dates and had determined that his unborn babe should have been born two months ago.

“Prince Aemond.”

He stands when the king's hand approaches him holding an opened scroll in his hand, “grandsire.”

“I believe we know where Princess Viola is.”

“You’ve said that before,” he spits harshly. “And all it did was cause my mother more heartache.”

As soon as the words leave Aemond’s mouth, he regrets them; his comment wasn’t fair. His grandsire cared for them all but had a particular soft spot for his granddaughters. Aemond often had to remind himself that his wife being taken affected the rest of his family as well. His grandsire had used every connection he had to try and find Viola, while his mother had sent ravens to Rhaenyra, begging for her daughter's return.

“I’m sorry,” Aemond says. “Where is she?”

Otto nods, giving him a look of understanding. “Dragonstone.”

“Dragonstone,” he repeats. Could it be that she was so close to home all this time? The last time Aemond thought he had found his wife, he ended up burning Harrenhal to the ground. “How do we know this isn’t a trap?”

Otto holds up the scroll: “A raven arrived from Prince Jacaerys.”

Believing he’s heard everything he needs to, Aemond goes to leave but is stopped at the door by Ser Criston, who gives him a sympathetic look and pats his shoulder. “There are still things you need to know, my prince.”

—

You stare up at the ceiling, waiting for your uncle to appear. He always comes when the sun disappears and the sky turns black. On cue, the door to the room is unlocked, and your uncle walks in with a strut in his step. One of his hands had a tight grip on the head of his Valyrian steel sword, while the other dangled the key.

Knowing what his intentions were, you pull up your gown, spread your legs wide open, lick two of your fingers before bringing them to your clitoral area, and begin rubbing in a circular motion. This wasn’t about putting a show on for your abductor; you just wanted it to be over quickly. “Your cunt of a brother stole my wife’s crown, sending her into early labor, and your husband killed our Lucerys in cold blood. You are going to rectify those things by replacing what was taken from us.” Since the day the maester cleared you for sex again, your uncle has visited you nightly.

Daemon smirks, “Such an eggar girl, I’m starting to think you enjoy our nightly activities.”

You wondered if Daemon convinced himself that he doesn’t mistreat you so he could sleep better at night and find a way to forgive himself because he knew the gods wouldn’t forgive him for what he was doing to his own kin.

“Don’t stop touching yourself until I say so,” he orders.

You do as he says, thinking of Aemond as you touch yourself.

“Husband.”

Aemond looks up at you with a smile on his face. You’d been searching for him for hours, and you now feel silly for not searching the castle's library first. He often reads late at night before joining you in bed, but because of the stormy weather, you thought your husband might have gone dragon riding.

“You’ve kept me waiting.”

“Oh, I must have lost track of time; my apologies,” he says sincerely. He puts a bookmark in place, then sits the book on the small table beside him.

You walk towards him with a smirk on your lips. “It’s quite alright, my love, but I don’t think I can wait much longer.”

“Wha—”

By unfolding your robe and pulling up your sheer nightgown, you grant Aemond complete entry to your glistening cunt. He slides his finger along your folds gently, “so wet already.”

“I warmed myself up while waiting,” you tease.

Aemond kisses over your clothed body while sliding a finger into you, a smile pulling on his lips. “Well, I better not keep you waiting any longer, my dear wife.”

Daemon smacks your hand away, replacing your hand with his, and rubs at your clit until a moan slips from your mouth. He kneeled down and buried his head between your legs, bringing you pleasure with his skilled tongue. You hated yourself for enjoying the feeling of his mouth on you. When your walls start to clench, Daemon abruptly stops and unties his breeches low enough for his cock to spring out. He spits into his hand and strokes himself to complete hardness before sliding into you.

You wince at the stretch. Daemon wasn’t much smaller than your husband, but it always seemed to hurt when he thrust into you.

Perhaps that was deliberate on his part.

It didn’t matter how rough Aemond was with you; he never hurt you. Not once.

—

It doesn’t take Daemon long to reach his peak inside you, filling you with seed. Once he’s caught his breath, he begins to quickly fix his breeches. “You had tears in your eyes.”

“I’m surprised you noticed.”

He scoffs, “If it’s causing you so much pain, I can have the maesters bring tea; that will help.”

“I don’t want a tea to dry my milk up, uncle; I want to see my babe, Daenys, and feed her myself.”

He shoots you a cold glare and says, “No.”

You practically leap from the bed and press your back against the door, just as he reaches to open it. “Please, Daemon, please. You said I could see my daughter. All I want to know is that she’s safe. Please, please!”

“I said you could see her once you held up your end of the deal.”

When he forcefully pulls the door open, you are forced to move forward to let him by, and your body shakes with anger. “I’ve held up my—”

Daemon grips your face harshly. “The deal was that I would return the Kinslayers babe to you once you're pregnant!”

The single door to the room is slammed shut and locked, and you're all on your own again. Tears fall from your eyes as you move to the bed and curl up in the thin bed sheets. You felt like a fool when Daemon first took you as his prisoner. You sobbed and begged at his feet, promising to do anything it took to stay alive so that your unborn child could survive. And out of all the horrific thoughts that crossed your mind, you did not consider that he would force you into becoming a vessel, with the sole purpose of giving him another heir.

The only person who was kind to you was your nephew, Jacaerys. Sometimes he’d manage to sneak you extra food during the day, but mostly he’d sneak in to see you during the hour of the owl and would bring Daenys with him.

The few hours a night you got to spend with her made everything you suffered seem worth it, but it was never enough. The visits had become less and less, as Jacaerys was terrified of Daemon finding out. Your nephew promised he’d find a way to free you, but day by day, your hope of ever making it off Dragonstone was fading.

—

Aemond squeezes the sapphire necklace that he had made from his wife moons ago. It was his intention to give it to her on her birthday, but he never got the chance. Her eyes would light up whenever she got excited, and he imagined how they would look when she received her gift. He knew his wife would appreciate the sapphire carved into the shape of a heart. The sharp point of the bottom of the heart digs into his palm; the sting of it is the only thing that reminds the prince he is alive as he listens to his grandsire talk about his beloved.

“It seems Rhaenyra has slowly descended into madness, leaving the island under the charge of prince Daemon, who has deemed princess Viola his new— whore.” The pain and disgust in Otto’s voice was clear as he spoke of his granddaughter's fate. “Jacaerys states Viola has given birth to a healthy baby not long after she was taken, a girl.”

Aemond struggles to breathe as all the air is sucked from his lungs again. He had a daughter, a baby girl. Tears threatened to spill from his eye, but he squeezed the necklace harder to stop that from happening. It’s not until Aemond feels a warm liquid falling from his hand that he realizes he had held onto too tightly, and now he is bleeding.

Ser Criston notices but doesn’t draw attention to it; the knight clears his throat. “What does the bastard want in return?”

“For his mother's life to be spared,” Otto replies. “He even says he’d bend the knee if it meant saving her.”

“It could be a trick.”

“No,” Alicent says. “I don’t believe he would gamble on his mother's life. Rhaenyra’s sons love her; this we cannot deny.”

“Mother, I didn’t hear you come in.” Aemond's chest tightens with guilt when he spots the tears in his mother's eyes. “You shouldn’t listen to the details; it will only upset you.”

“Oh, my boy,” Alicent strokes his cheek, “we will get her back, the both of them. This I promise.”

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen/you #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen smut #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon smut #daemon targaryen smut #Daemon Targaryen #Daemon Targaryen x you #daemon targaryen/you #Aemond Targaryen x oc #Aemond Targaryen x female oc #Aemond Targaryen/oc #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon targaryen x fem oc #daemon targaryen/oc

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maple-the-awesome · 1 month

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The Chain Meets Your Baby || 1/2

Part 2 ||

Pairing: Hyrule, Time, Wild, Four x Reader

Requested by @kieradumpzz081927: I hope your request are open(or if ur free for requests), so i saw ur LU oneshots about the one that is called ' He becames a dad ' or smth. So, why not that he would introduce his kid(s) to the chain? That ones going to be interesting Interesting indeed 😈Now, I have my own set of headcannons for what order the Chain becomes dads in, but regardless of their own experience, I'm sure the Links would all subject the new dad to lots of support and teasing. Here you go 💜 Warning: Some mature jokes here and there. Nothing major, but gotta give the new dad a little hell, right? ¯_(ツ)_/¯

Zelda Masterlist 🤍Fandom Masterlist

The last thing Hyrule was expecting to encounter during his village visit was his old traveling companions, the other heroes of courage. Then again, life has been full of surprises lately and it wasn't like he didn't already know that the portals between their worlds are still active. It was only a matter of time before their paths crossed again and honestly, it couldn't have aligned more perfectly.

Happy to see the rest of the Chain again, Hyrule takes the liberty of inviting them back to his home so that they can properly catch up and not be the subject of so many judgment stares from villagers. Throughout the short trip there, the group’s laughter is vibrant as they detail accounts from their recent adventures, soon turning it into a friendly competition of who has the craziest stories.

This conversation stays well alive all the way from their first steps outside of the village gates to the second Hyrule opens the door to his house, at which point the spirited teasing immediately dies off into a stunned silence.

“Oh! Hello again!” You’re just as pleasantly surprised to see the boys as your boyfriend had been, your smile more than welcoming as you turn around to greet them, yet they’re less focused on you and more so on the small infant you cradle in your arms.

“...I think the Traveler wins,” Wild mumbles, his disbelief shared amongst the rest of the group who merely nod distractedly.

“Right! I forgot to mention -” Hyrule excitedly hurries to your side before turning to his friends with a thrilled smile, “- This is our daughter, Hope.”

“You just casually forgot to mention you have a kid now…?” Legend narrows his eyes while pointing to the kid in question. He should probably be more annoyed with Hyrule’s tendency of always skipping over important details, but honestly he’s just too shocked to process it right this second.

“Well, she’s only about a month old. Being a dad now takes some getting used to,” Hyrule defends, rubbing the back of his neck timidly, but when you pass your daughter over to him, he shows practice in the way he gently holds her securely to himself before approaching the boys to properly show her off.

Despite their surprise, they’re eager to crowd around him, each wanting to get a good look to ensure this isn’t some clever joke you’re both pulling on them. Fluffy head of dark wavy hair…A little button nose…Sharp pointed ears…Yep, this baby must be yours. She looks exactly as one would imagine the product of Hyrule’s sex life to look like…

“...Geeze. She’s adorable,” Warrior awes, practically leaning over Legend who elbows him back with a glare.

“Isn’t she?” You preen.

“She’s strong, too,” The Vet acknowledges with an unamused pout. He had made the mistake of holding a finger out to the baby only for her to grasp it in an unwavering grip. His attempts at pulling away are fruitless, not that he’s actually trying that hard. Maybe he even likes the feeling of his heart melting just a bit.

“Congratulations. You two must be very proud,” Time praises kindly, having already felt the joy that comes with being a parent himself. He can recognize it in the way Hyrule and you affectionately watch your giggling baby with a pleasant glow surrounding you both.

“We very much are…”

Muffled commotion outside alerts you to the fact that you have visitors long before they stumble into your home, not even bothering to knock as their excitement gets the better of them. Now, any other day, your husband would be quick to scold such ill-mannered behavior, but fortunately for your guests, he's in far too good of a mood to let it be soured.

So, instead of acknowledging the Chain’s less than graceful entrance, Time immediately rises to his feet with a proud hand left upon your shoulder, "Everyone, we'd like you to meet Saria and Mallory."

The young heroes are in awe as they crowd around the bed just to get a look at the small bundles held within your arms. Sure, they've seen babies before, but these are Time's babies. For many of them, the complicated concept of love alone had once seemed out of reach for any hero of courage, yet here the Old Man is, hitched to a lovely wife and now the lucky father of two adorable daughters. It's an amazing accomplishment, really; one that has the entire Chain feeling happy for him.

"They're so little," Hyrule whispers, scared to speak any louder out of fear he'll accidently wake them.

"They inherited their dad's nose, poor things," Warrior jests, throwing a smirk Time's way.

"They'll grow into them," Rather than take it personally, he chuckles while carefully taking one of the girls from you. Despite having only become a father a few hours ago, he's already a natural at handling them. Ever so gently - as if handling the thinnest of glass - he cradles his daughter to his chest and fixes the tiny hand-sewn blanket around her; a gift from her godmother, Malon, of course.

"You'll have your hands full with twins," Four remarks prudently.

You sigh at the thought, your head thrown back against your pillow, "Ugh, we know…”

Although you’re visibly tired after having undergone hours of stressful labor, you still look upon the baby in your arms with nothing short of pure admiration, clearly having no actual regrets towards having either of them. In your eyes, twins just mean all the more love to give.

"Nothing we can't handle," Time promises before getting a mischievous glimmer in his eye while casually extending his sleeping baby out to Twilight, "This one is Mallory, by the way -"

"- W-Wait -!" The Rancher is immediately caught off guard by it, yet his objections are ignored. Time drops the baby into his arms anyway, practically forcing Twilight to take her, not that he truly minds. A natural around children himself, it takes him only a few seconds to adjust the baby comfortably in his hold.

Blind to the other boys who hover around his shoulders, Twilight's eyes are locked in amazement upon the tiny bean who scrunches her nose and whimpers quietly before soon settling down…To think, this small infant no more than a few hours old is a relative of his. He can't help but wonder how closely related they are. How many generations between them? Three? Two? Maybe even just one? It's a strange thought to consider...but also a very comforting one, too.

"...She's a real beauty, isn't she?" Time asks softly with a strong pat to Twilight's back. The only reply he gets is a wordless nod and whimper as the teary eyed Rancher sniffles.

What kind of horrors do they need to prepare themselves for? That's the question that rings through every hero's head as they approach Wild's home. They're concern only grows when - as if sensing them - the Champion suddenly appears in his open doorway with an ear-to-ear grin greeting them...Not the most comforting sight seeing as they've come all this way under his vague request.

A letter had been sent to each of them only giving the minor hint that there’s a certain 'surprise' he can't wait to show them, and with someone as chaotic as their accident prone centenarian, the Chain has every right to be anxious about it.

Even as they all crowd outside of his home, Wild refuses to add any context, instead maintaining his mysteriously upbeat aura before finally stepping aside to allow them in. It's only then that the heroes realize what his 'surprise' is, welcomed by the sight of you as you stand there matching Wild's grin while holding an unfamiliar baby in your arms. She can't be much older than a few weeks, judging on both her tiny features and the obvious bags under both of her parents’ eyes...

"You have a baby?!" Wind screeches with delight, not wasting a second to race to your side.

"Her name is Mikan," Chuckling, you kneel down to let him better see your pride and joy. It isn't long before you're surrounded by most of the heroes who are immediately taken by your daughter's cuteness.

"When did this happen?" Time inquires through a raised eyebrow, one of the few Links who had remained by the door with Wild.

"Uh, she'll be three weeks old tomorrow," Wild answers, his hand darting up to rub the side of his neck. He knows that isn’t exactly what Time meant, but it’s the easiest answer.

"I didn't think you -..." Begins Twilight quietly. Although he ultimately cuts himself short, the curious look he gives his successor wordless finishes what he might've said.

Nodding slowly with some hesitation, Wild bows his head while looking back over to you. There's a fondness in his eyes as he watches you carefully pass your daughter over for Wind to hold, "I know what I said before. I...I didn't think this was something I could have - something I could want this badly, but...Well…I probably don’t need to tell you how it is…”

Twilight pats Wild’s back with a knowing smirk, indeed understanding. He’s happy to see his friend finally accept the peaceful life he deserves instead of continuing to run away from it, after all, Twilight has never been blind to the curiosity and faint jealousy that would shine in Wild’s eyes whenever listening to the other heroes talk about their families. He’s been long overdue to have one of his own.

"Hey, just one question," While Wind is busy cooing and rocking your daughter, Four turns around to address Wild once they finally join everyone else, "Did you really name your daughter after a fruit?"

Wild's cheeks flare in embarrassment, "I - It can be a pretty name, too!"

"I'm actually the one who chose it," You confess sheepishly, taking the attention away from your partner, "I was really craving tangerines throughout the whole pregnancy."

"At least it's a somewhat normal name. I was half expecting you to name your future kids something like 'Biscuit' or 'Curry'," Legend snorts.

"...We did consider picking 'Sage'.”

Warrior laughs heartily before throwing a hand over Wild shoulder with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows, "Can we expect that to be the second child's name then?"

"Woah, woah, woah - Let's settle down now, gentleman,” You immediately scold while also taking the chance to save your poor partner by pulling him away from the onslaught of teasing he was about to endure, “One baby at a time. It’s not easy carrying those things, just ask your wives!”

Four has been off into his own little world - That is to say, he’s been both distracted and extremely tired; a terrible mix, but hey, it’s nothing he hasn’t dealt with before. Despite his eyelids feeling like bricks, he remains awake and alert, arms folded across his chest as he sits in the bedside chair keeping watch over your sleeping form.

You need the rest more than him anyway. Your husband has been through some pretty fearsome and ravenous beasts in his time, yet your work last night easily trumpeted every hell he’s undergone himself. Best to let you sleep unless he wants to change that statement.

A series of echoed knocks send Four bolting through the house, hissing a curse under his breath before tossing the front door open with plans to scold whoever’s on the other side, yet he’s stunned into silence when he realizes it’s no poorly timed mailman, rather the very friends he had invited over…although, they did come a lot sooner than he thought they would…

“WE’VE COME TO SEE -!”

“- SHHH!!!” Four nearly smacks a hand over Wild’s face.

“- …The baby…” Wild finishes with a whisper and a grimace.

Four quickly ushers the Chain inside, allowing them to make themselves comfortable with STRICT orders to keep the noise level down. Yes, their early visit may not have been exactly anticipated, but Four holds no ill feelings towards it, in fact, he’s rather smiley while leading them to the nursery.

“Here they are,” He practically sings, eagerly looking inside the large crib as if he, himself, still can’t get enough of its contents. He has every right to be infatuated, “These are my girls~”

Although Four is bubbling with joy as he admires his little creations, the rest of the Chain stands by with wide eyes. Some even take the time to count each baby just to confirm that they are, indeed, seeing triple. Inside lies three little newborns, each fast asleep after having about as stressful of a day as their parents.

“We’re thinking of naming them Marigold, Amber, and Camelia. You know, keep to the color theme and all…”

“Damn, three of them, huh? You didn’t hold back at all, did you, Smithy?” Warrior observes aloud, much to Four’s instant lack of amusement.

“They’re so cute~” Wind coos, Twilight having to pull him back before he accidentally falls into a crib again.

“I suppose it’s a good thing I brought some of the twins’ old stuff then,” Time hums, his smirk holding a hint of sympathy. Needless to say, he doesn’t miss those early days of juggling babies himself, as much as he loves them dearly.

Four preens at the attention his daughters get, however his smile falters when he notices Sky sticking to the very back of the group, awkwardly rubbing his arm and chewing down on his lip. Four frowns.

“...I’m sorry. We should’ve waited until we told -” He keeps his voice down as he joins the older hero who is quick to shake his head and muster his best smile.

“- No, no. We’re happy for you both. Really…” Despite the sorrow stuck in his voice, Four can tell Sky means every word of it, even the sighed: “...You’re a very lucky guy.”

“...I am,” While there could be more said, he realizes now might not be the time to discuss it. Not with so many new babies in the room.

“No wonder you wanted us to be quiet. I can barely handle one newborn at a time, let alone three at once?” Legend mumbles half to himself, his finger gently cresting one of the baby’s chubby cheeks.

“You know, if you ever find your house getting a little too quiet, you can always babysit -”

“- No way in hell. We already have our hands full as it is.”

#lu time x reader #lu hyrule x reader #lu wild x reader #linked universe x reader #link x reader #linked universe #x reader #reader insert #legend of zelda #lu four x reader

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