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kneelingshadowsalome · 7 months

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FATUM NOS IUNGEBIT 3/4

König x F!Reader

Summary: You have seen him in your dreams. The seer has divined his coming. But nothing has prepared you for witnessing him in the flesh. (Historical AU where König fights for the Roman Empire in an auxiliary unit, finds a cute barbarian woman and decides to keep her as his own.) Part 1 Part 2 Word count: 9.4 k Tags/warnings: 18+ ONLY. Spoils of war/enemies to lovers trope, graphic depictions of violence, historical gruesomeness, pining, odd banter, mixed feelings, romantic fluff, dubcon cuddling, eventual smut. Captor/captive dynamic. König is a brutal warrior... and a gentle giant. A/N: König takes liberties with his mouth. Dubcon is at its most dubcon in this chapter so please tread carefully <3 The actual smut happens in the next (and last) part. Long chapter because these two just can't behave!!

The days are getting warmer now.

The sun warms the tent during the day, and the sound of birds searching for a mate threatens to drive you to madness. They sing during nighttime, too, and you miss the sturdy clay walls of your hut that blocked at least some of the sounds from outside. Now you are barely sheltered from wind and rain that beat the tent every now and then and can escape the swelling song of spring and lovesick birds to nowhere. König only snores with steady content as you mull over your strange fate there in his cozy bed, wondering how crazy it is that he never lets you go when he sleeps.

If König has an early council, you spend the morning eating breakfast in bed while studying odd parchments the translator gave you. The old man was quite insulted, not because you asked, but because you showed interest in the documents that, apparently, were of least importance to him.

You don’t care that they’re “only” travel guides because they’re filled with Roman letters and numbers and usually illustrated with pictures of columns. You don’t understand a word they say and how those strange papers could ever be a travel guide to anyone, but you like to trace the letters and pictures with your finger. König clearly understood your fascination with them: he left you this morning with another smile, which told you he only thought you were simply adorable this way. He tried to tell you that the letters represent towns and the numbers tell the distances between those towns, but they still remain bizarre pieces of paper to you.

Men pass by occasionally; you can hear it from how their gears clonk and clatter and swish. You can hear the soft thump of sandals on the dirt, but you pay it no attention because you’ve always trusted that you are safe here. As long as you stay inside the tent, no one will touch you, even if they can currently see you because the flap is left open a wink.

The only times his men witness you are when König takes you out for a walk in the woods so that you can take care of your bodily needs. Everyone can see that your hands are never tied, your face is never bruised, and your posture is still that of a proud, unbroken woman. And everyone looks at you with both hunger and wonder. Apparently, you are an even tempting spoil because you are not yet spoiled.

The special treatment was rubbed in your face one time when you passed by a Roman soldier disciplining his slave, a woman who had shared your fate and clearly was having the worst of it. The other half of her face was unrecognizable, but the man kept beating her, and you stared in horror as whatever deed she had done to anger the man was now being punished far too cruelly.

“Romans very dumb,” König said from next to you without even shedding a glance at the morbid scene. No one seemed to give a shit about what was happening to that poor woman, but you would never have expected such a comment to come from König’s mouth. When you asked him what he meant by that, he only shrugged and said: “That man piss on his luck.”

You wonder if the only reason why you haven’t been raped yet is because you are some sort of a lucky charm to him. The mere thought has the effect of making your blood boil, but some distant, tender voice inside you reminds you that König is not Roman. He does not share Roman customs, even if he fights with and for them. Perhaps slaves are treated differently in his land. Perhaps in there, it is considered an outrage and an insult to the gods to beat a woman, free or not.

Whatever his reasons are for not beating and raping you to death, it was a tremendous stroke of luck that König found you first. You dropped right there on his feet when he was victorious, so of course his men allowed him to take you as his: you were clearly a gift from the gods. But now that time has passed, you understand you are by no means safe if you wander outside this tent. König can protect you only when he is present or when you are safely tucked away in his own personal space.

It’s a false feeling of safety, however, because you soon learn that out of sight is out of mind for these soldiers. Now that you are on display, sweetly and neatly on the bed, a tiny little wrinkle forming between your brows from studying the peculiar parchment, you are like fresh livestock on the marketplace, even inside the tent. You notice that someone else is in here with you only when you hear the sound of munching and turn.

A relatively big soldier is standing in the doorway, eating an apple, watching you like he would rather have a bite out of you.

And you thank all the gods and stars above you, all the spirits and the Mother below you, that he doesn’t even get to take a step before a sword impales his chest.

König kills his own man so casually that all the thoughts of him falling to the gentle side of giants disappear instantly. He even twists the sword inside the broad man from daring to cast eyes on you. And you probably should feel bad for him… But you don’t. Not at all. The apple falls into the dirt and rolls away, but the man slumps into the threshold of the outside world and the safe womb of the tent, like an offering to guardian spirits - or to you.

You look up at König, eyes wide only because you are yet again speechless, but this time because of odd, bashful gratitude.

“No touching,” he says without even blinking – it sounds like a stern explanation.

“No touching,” you agree with a whisper. König only nods, wipes his gladius clean on the dead soldier’s cloak, and carries the body into the woods.

…

You don’t know if he has lost some of the favour he enjoys among the Romans after killing one of their soldiers. You suspect he has not. Actually, you are sure his reputation only soared for it. He just showed everyone that his prize is not to be touched: you are not to be even looked upon. Romans probably respect such a thing.

A few wagons arrive one morning, carrying various supplies for the soldiers. There are many other items too, completely unrelated to warfare but all to do with pleasure and gambling and trade. You assume König gets to pick his favourites among the first soldiers, if not the first soldier, from the abundant cargo that arrived, because he brings his spoils to you with boyish excitement. There is close to nothing there for himself: only a thick, heavy cloak, made of dark wool with lush fur on the shoulders. It looks like something a northern king would wear, and you find yourself quite happy for him, but the other items he’s carrying are clearly all hand-picked just for you.

There is a dress, a pair of sandals, a bone comb, some fruit and a large, round copper dish. It serves as a mirror as you change into the dress – a Roman one, dyed ocean blue – just to appease König and get him off your back. It hurts your heart to see how happy it makes him to see you accept his gifts. He holds the dim, uneven mirror in front of you when you get the dress on, and you’re feeling strangely meek: you’re not even sure if you have put it on properly. The bone comb is milk white and has two horses carved on it – it reminds you of the offering that was never made to appease the Great Mother because it couldn’t have prevented the Titan from coming to your lands. It’s another odd omen: black horses now turned to white, but an omen for what, you can’t say.

And then… he kneels.

König falls at your feet and starts putting the Roman sandals on, tying the strings around your calves so gently that it makes you feel like you’re made of clay. The sandals are not the kind he wears: they’re made for women, apparently, because they’re so skimpy and delicate. The strings reach the upper part of your calf, and when he’s done with you, happy to have now clothed you in Roman garb, he caresses your thigh and presses a kiss above your knee.

And he looks up at you like you’re everything but his captive. He looks at you like you’re a queen. He stares at you like he’s the slave here.

“You like?”

The soft rumble catches you off guard, as does the fond caress he gives your leg. He doesn’t even try to move his hand upwards and under the dress; he just admires you from the ground, looking a bit foolish while crouched there at your feet. You swallow arduously and nod. What else are you supposed to do?

He smiles with his eyes and gives you another kiss. He presses it on the sensitive part where your calf meets the inside of your knee. He even raises his hood to do it, and you finally feel his breath as his lips meet your skin, hot but tender. You fight the urge to shrink from him, and despite it only being a soft peck, a lover’s touch, the kiss leaves a burning sensation on your skin.

Then he tucks your dress down, like a slave who simply stole a little kiss from his mistress. You’re rendered weak and silent before such reverence, but then the playfulness returns as he raises one finger, as if telling you not to say a word because he just had an idea. You look at him with odd curiosity as he crawls on all fours and reaches for something underneath the bed. You panic a little, fearing he might notice that you’ve been there, too: rummaging through his things and throwing the pieces of jewellery back there without caring to ensure that they are placed back in the same position you found them in. But he doesn’t seem to care or notice.

He tries to offer you the golden pendant first, the one that has three discs on it. It’s a little too much, and you shake your head, fearing you will upset him by declining his gift. He tries to offer you a more delicate necklace next: full of cute, filigreed beads, but you shake your head again. He wishes to give you a trinket so badly that you finally raise your hand and graze your fingertips over a leather string holding a few chunks of amber. It also bears the claws of some animal: fox, perhaps. He looks very pleased with your choice and puts your new possession around your neck. You reach for the copper plate yourself this time and hold it up to see how you look in your odd Roman dress and your humble but powerful new necklace.

“Sehr schön,” König says behind you as you take in the wobbly image. He is so, so happy - you have never seen him quite so happy. It looks like he thought this to be the prettiest, most compelling piece of jewellery too; as if the gold and beads were simply currency for him, too. As if it was obvious that you would be interested in bones and sea gold instead of the gold of men. Then he pulls out something from under his tunic: another leather string that has a large hunk of bone hanging from it. He’s presenting it to you like he wants to show how you two are now very much alike.

“What is it…?” You ask, trying to determine whether the bone came from an elk or a deer.

“Bear cock,” he says proudly while dangling it in front of you like it’s the most natural thing in the world for a man to carry the penis bone of a bear around his neck. “Makes man strong in battle and bed.”

“I don’t think you need that,” you whisper while looking up at him. It’s your first joke to him, and he laughs. Heartily.

“Kleine Fee. You have only seen me fight.”

He puts it back under his tunic as if it’s his secret amulet now. You really don’t think he needs any more luck in war, or in any other… field. He seems like the kind of man who can pleasure women all day. It’s a bitter thought, somehow, and makes your heart feel heavy. You wonder how many women he has had already when you have refused to open your legs for him.

“We can try how good it works in bed,” he offers, as cheerfully as ever.

Oh.

Oh…

“I’m—I’m hungry. I think I need to eat something,” you summon an excuse out of thin air while raising your hands against his chest to keep him away. As if you could get your breakfast down after him saying things like that…

“Hungrig? I can feed you,” he suggests, still in the happiest of moods. Then he sweeps you off your feet and carries you to the table. He’s ever generous today: you get to sit on his lap as he starts to feed you grapes.

And you didn’t think he’d actually, veritably feed you. But that’s exactly what he does. You get an entire meal: ripe fruits, a thick handful of bread, a fine slice of fat, delicious cheese. Wine to wash it down, and then some more grapes. He holds them gently on your lips until you open your mouth a little so that he can push them onto your tongue. He watches with utter content how you eat everything he offers you. He even gives you a few bounces with his knee, and every now and then, he gropes your tits: just squeezes them and plays around with them while you eat.

It is quite evident that this man really, really likes your boobs. Perhaps that is why he carries the statue of Great Mother around… To your horror, you realize the piece of carved wood is not an idol of worship for this man, just a lewd image he probably digs up and looks at when he wants to stroke his cock.

Gods... This man is even worse than you thought.

You begin to pout again, and he draws you flush against him, seeing that he somehow managed to make you displeased. Unaware as to what could have caused this, he gives you another bounce and tries to find the reason for your sudden change of mood.

“Are you fed now?”

“Yes,” you mope even more as you realize you would very much like him to continue feeding you even if you’re full. To just… do that thing with the grapes again. Just a few more.

“Gut. We have to leave soon.”

“Why?”

He shrugs. “To fight.”

The camp is packed up in such haste that you find yourself under the sun in practically no time. You stay as close to König as possible without being glued to him, seeing that the new dress and hairstyle you made with the comb is high currency among the war-torn, lust-filled soldiers. Someone gives you a long whistle, which is followed by a few harsh comments you luckily don’t understand, but all the stares are cut off when König stops preparing his horse, rises to his full height, and wraps his fingers around the handle of his gladius.

You don’t get a single look after that, not even a sideways glance. Everyone acts like you don’t even exist.

The army moves at a slow pace at first, leaving a heavy dust cloud behind. It’s a fine day for travelling because there isn’t a single cloud in the sky. Everyone seems to be having a good time except for the slaves, and König is the only one who is vigilant, watching his surroundings at all times, head turning from side to side, hand never leaving his sword.

You get a horse – his horse – and a lot of hateful stares from the other women, none of whom you have ever seen before. Captive girls from other villages, you presume, and they all hate you now because you get to ride a strong black stallion while they have to march in a dust cloud with their hands bound and their feet full of blisters. Their captors don’t give much thought to feeding or giving water to these poor women, mainly because they’re too busy laughing with each other and having hearty gulps from their wine sacks. You wonder if these men have ever fed these women a single grape during their campaign.

König, on the other hand, marches next to you like he’s your servant. He offers you his waterskin, his wineskin, too, and as the march goes on, an awkward knot starts to form inside your belly.

He’s behaving so oddly. You can’t find any other reason for his behaviour than that he simply has no full understanding of Roman customs because he comes from somewhere else. (Mountains, he said, when you asked him.)

You only now notice that he has servants but only uses them to pack or set up the tent. Other high-ranking officers and commanders have their servants with them at all times, tending to their every need. König is the only one who behaves like a foot soldier: he pours his own wine, gets his rations and supplies himself, lights his oil lamps without help and never lets anyone else touch his armour or swords.

The servant he uses the most is the translator, a slave who’s clearly responsible for teaching König more and more of your words. He also serves as a mediator when König gets ready for another battle. You have naively wanted to forget the reason why these men are here in the first place, and as you see König putting on his full armour the next day, tying the swords on his waist and leaving to search for his shield, you feel like bursting into tears or a scream. You look away as he gets dressed, and refuse to give him a single kind look that morning. You stand with your hands crossed over your chest as he’s finally ready and fetches the old man to the tent again.

The Roman soon stands next to him as König takes a step and falls on one knee before you.

“He asks you to bless him,” the old translator says – weary and bored.

You stop breathing for a second and look at König, there at your feet again, head bowed, leaning on one elbow placed on a strong knee.

Bless him… For going to slaughter another clan? Give your blessing to him leaving people fatherless, childless and homeless?

Is this some sort of a joke?

“Are my words… correct? Master asks that you give him your blessing for the upcoming battle.”

You bite your lip in frustration. You want to put your hand over this proud warrior’s head and send him away with words of might and fortune, but even the thought of wanting to do that is about to make you sick.

“I will do no such thing,” you say coldly and earn a sad, confused stare from König, who raises his head to look at you with a horrifying, pleading gaze. This man doesn’t beg for anything from anyone, and yet here he is, in his full armour, armed to the teeth and looking like the God of War again, asking for a kind word or two. You turn away, not because you deny him, but because you can’t stand to be under that defenceless gaze. The Roman sighs behind you, and from the clatter of König’s gear, you can hear that he has gotten up and is about to leave.

You turn again, only to face his withdrawing back. Tense, and already beaten.

He grabs the satchel, the one that holds his Mother, but stops to look at it like it’s simply an ordinary object instead of a powerful entity. Then he places it back down on the table with a sigh. You look with horror as he leaves for war without taking his amulet, idol, fate, source of luck and joy – whatever the statue represents to this man – with him.

It doesn’t take long before you regret you didn’t give him your “blessing”.

It somehow feels wrong that he left without it. You’re his captive, but he has fed you, clothed you, kept you warm. He has practically done no harm to you except hold you through the night and have a few gropes at your tits, which you haven’t found harmful at all… The least you could do to thank him is to lay a hand upon his head or sword before he left. Just a simple little gesture, not even a true blessing… Just a little something would have sufficed, to help him go into battle with a slightly lighter heart.

Because as much as you loathe this man, you don’t actually want him dead. You don’t want him to march into battle and think you wish him ill. You don’t want König to get careless just for the sake of feeling miserable about the thought that his little slave girl despises him.

Because you don’t despise him.

You just don’t… like him.

And he’s your captor still. Why should he deserve your blessing?

But the image of him cutting through his enemies with sorrow and bleakness in his stare, walking into a spear just because he’s had enough of life and more than enough of difficult, uncaring, ungrateful women, makes your heart bleed. He could’ve taken Mother with him since he didn’t get a good luck’s wish from you, but he chose to leave even Her behind. As if his faith had failed him, as if the few things and people he has ever placed his trust in have now abandoned him.

The night rolls in, and the moon crosses the sky slowly, so slowly, as you wait for his return. The old Roman looks at you sideways every time you peek outside the flap and sigh. Your guard is a weak, old man, but you reckon that if you were to escape, the tired slave would simply follow you out of the camp and tell König which direction you have gone so that he can hunt you down when he returns. The few Romans left to guard the portable garrison would probably seize you and take you as their plaything before you managed to set a foot outside the vallus, and even if König came back to claim you, you could be a bloody heap by the time he returned.

And it’s not even caution keeping you inside the tent. You don’t actually think about fleeing at all.

In the dead of night, you go to his satchel and pull out the statue of the Great Mother.

“Dear Mother... Great Mother. Please let him have his victory. Please let him come home unhurt. Even if he fails, please let there not be a scratch on him as he falls. Please, please, please…”

You improvise your prayer as you go, thinking about something to offer Her while being captive and not having access to most of the resources you would normally go to.

“I’ll give you my next moonblood. I will give you amber and fox claws…”

Your heart hurts, knowing you just promised the necklace König gave you as your sacrifice. But it’s a small gift for his safe return, and you renew your prayer, over and over again, while squeezing the Mother between your hands and pressing Her against your forehead.

You’re not sure if She can even hear you, because haven’t you wished this man dead not too long ago? You return the Mother to her satchel and pace around the tent, about to go mad. When the first horses arrive, you almost run outside to see if you can see or hear him coming. Soldiers march into the camp: there is so much din and racket outside that you know this is the least opportune moment to go outside and show yourself to the survivors who clearly have their morale and cocks up high from the recent battle. You wait and wait and wait, thinking about whether your god is among the wounded, being carried to some other tent where they treat injuries. You go and sit on the bed; you rise up and sit on the table. Then you go and press your ear to the fabric of the tent and try to listen like a fox.

The flap is, blessedly, finally drawn aside, and you hurry to meet whoever has arrived. It’s König – of course – breathing heavy, looking slightly high-strung but primarily unscathed, and you forget yourself completely when running to him.

“Are you hurt!?”

He takes off his helmet and takes in a good breath of air, eyes melting into pure love when he sees you.

“Nein. Not a scratch.”

You swallow your relief – of course no one can get to this man. Your fears have been stupid and ridiculous. But in the deepest chasm of your heart, you thank the Mother three times. You promise to deliver her your sacrifice as soon as possible.

“You fear for me?” He asks, so excited again that you have to dig your nails into your palm so that you won’t go and clutch him and cry from joy. You don’t nod or shake your head; you only stare at him with what must look like a frightened deer stare.

Your giant comes to hug you so tight you can’t even breathe. Then he lifts you into the air, and there is nothing you can do - there is nothing you even want to do but to be there in his stout embrace. You’re so relieved that he is alive and unhurt that there are tears in your eyes, and he sees them, and smiles.

“Don’t worry, little Fee. Ich könnte dich niemals verlassen.” His voice is throaty and parched; apparently, he has shouted his throat raw on the field.

You almost say you’re sorry that you didn’t give him your blessing, but seeing how pleased, triumphant, and gleeful he is causes you to shut your mouth and shut it tight. It’s enough that you have babbled prayers for him all night, praying your knees and tongue sore.

König returns you to the ground and leaves, only to return with ample loot. Two slaves carry in a small but heavy jute sack of coin, a tiny chest filled with honey, two bottles of scented oils, three gorgeous jugs of milk, a beautiful bronze sword, all laid there at your feet.

“Für dich,” he says, throwing a wide arc with his hand to gesture that all this is now yours. You watch all the stunning, lavish, extraordinary gifts, again picked with care just for you. You remember how there was not a single coin in this tent before you were dragged in, no bronze, no gold, no milk nor honey. No fine dresses, no stolen, scented oils. How many families did he have to kill to bring all these fine goods for you?

“I don’t want your loot,” you whisper on the brink of tears.

“What…do you want?” The smile in his eyes fades, and it stabs your heart full of pain. “More sea honey?”

“No, I–”

“Slaves?”

“No,” you step forward. If only you two could have met some other time, in some other place… “I just…I want my freedom.”

“What will you do with freedom…?”

You finally get to see what König is like when he argues. He cannot understand your logic; he can’t understand what more he must do to satisfy you and make you happy.

“Your chief is dead,” he says bluntly, causing your head to feel two times too small for your anger and pain.

“You don’t have to remind me,” you blurt, equally bluntly. Because whose fault is that? This man is a thick-skulled, thick-cocked idiot.

“You have no husband. No village.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Why angry?”

“Because you are infuriating,” you almost shriek.

He looks at you, lost and confused, not knowing how to calm you down or make you pleased again. And it must be confusing: some gifts work, some don’t. Other times, you look at him lovely and sweet; other times you sulk and pout. You have luckily stopped your crying, but now you have suddenly decided to yell at him?

He approaches you after seemingly coming to the conclusion that you must want him to either pet or fuck you. He tries to raise his hands to touch you, but you push him away.

“Don’t you fucking dare grope me again!”

He withdraws quickly, now utterly nonplussed. If you don’t even want to be held, then what is he to do? This goes against all the laws of this world: he has arrived, triumphant and joyous from the battle, clearly favoured by all the gods, above and below, and favoured in full. The only one who doesn’t grant him a boon is you. His head tips to the side - it always does that when he’s curious or thinking hard. Then his eyes light up with understanding, and you know you’re about to hear more nonsense coming out of that oafish mouth.

“You don’t want me to fight?”

“I don’t…care what you do,” you scoff.

“Ah. You hate Romans?”

“Yes, I hate Romans. I wish they would all die. I hate their stupid battles and their stupid campaigns. And I hate you too,” your spirit rises with your words, your voice gaining volume and strength as you hurl all your frustration at him.

And he’s shocked. Not at your first declaration, nor the second, not even the third. It’s the last sentence that clearly drives a dagger straight into his heart.

He steps back, nearly toppling a milk jug as he pulls away from you. Then he mumbles something under his breath, something in his own crude language. The words are muffled by the mask as he scratches the back of his neck and leaves the tent without even taking his blood-stained armour off.

His name, the name that sounds so foreign to you, never leaves your mouth. But the following words do.

“Wait, I didn’t… I didn’t mean it.”

Not all of it.

He’s out of the tent by then, and you’re left with your beautiful gifts, your bitter sorrow and regret. You sigh and look up, hoping you could see the sky and whisper your inquiry into the night air.

Why on earth did you two have to meet like this? Why does he have to be so thick-skulled and so… So him?

You calm your racing heart and start to organize the loot he brought you. You have never liked messy places and have done your best to keep this tent from getting cluttered. You taste some of the milk he brought you and inhale the sweet scent of those oils; you dip your little finger inside the honey jar and have a taste. The golden liquid tastes like the food of the gods when paired with milk. You put the blade on the table where König usually keeps his swords and settle to wait for him.

And you have to wait for a long time, so long that you eventually withdraw to the bed, alone and with a heavy heart. When König finally returns, you can hear he has had a drink. More than one, too: he has probably drunk an entire jug of wine alone. He doffs his armour with curses and sighs, and lets it drop on the ground with a sloppy clang that makes you jolt under the furs. He eats something very noisily while throwing his helmet somewhere to the ground too, burps loudly, and sighs again: so deeply that it makes your heart burn. After getting rid of the tunic and his sandals – an operation that takes him more than a while – he crawls on the bed with a heavy breath. Your heart is at your throat as the stench of wine hits you, and his hands are clumsy and stern when he comes under the same fur and reaches for you.

“König—”

Your whisper ends abruptly as you are pulled against a familiar, broad chest. He growls at you for being awake – or at himself for waking you up with a drunken racket.

“I don’t… I didn’t…” you start weakly and have to clear your throat as he huffs against your neck, listening to what you are trying to say.

“I don’t hate you,” you finally whisper.

He grumbles against your back and buries his masked face in your neck. The arm around your middle tightens and tightens, and you hurry to praise his gifts.

“The honey is delicious. And the oils are–”

"Fee… Du machst mich verrückt."

He speaks through gritted teeth while panting laboriously in your hair. You're relieved to hear sorrow instead of anger in his voice, but it’s his body that makes you arch your back and guide your bottom to meet his crotch.

The biggest mistake you’ve ever done, surely, because the whole body behind you grows taut. He gives you a tight roll of his hips, pushing his cock against you with immediate fervour. His balls meet your bottom, tight and heavy: you have gone to bed in your ridiculous Roman dress because you were feeling cold, but you can still feel them. You can feel all of him.

“König… We–We need to sleep…”

You sound like a bitch in heat, not at all like a woman who wants to stop wherever this heated cuddle is spiralling into. König is letting out noises you didn’t even know a man could make, and it makes your cunt wetter than ever before: tight and throbbing and embarrassingly needy. You try to remind yourself that this is not the proper time or way, that you don’t want it to happen like this: with the smell of wine and blood and dirt and sweat surrounding you, with him soon thrusting that cock between your thighs and shooting his seed on the bed before he can even get it in. You don’t want him when he’s drunk, and you don’t want him when he’s clearly a bit angry with you still. You place a weak hand over his, the one currently wrapped around your middle like a bond.

“Please, I mean it…”

“Not the time for sleep, little one,” he rasps on your shoulder, mask dragged aside and mouth breathing hot against your skin. His voice is gentle but his body is not: it turns out he has only been waiting for the slightest little cue to have the permission to take you. Unfortunately for you, moaning and grinding your hips against him is more than just a cue.

“Göttin der Erde... Gib dich mir.”

He grunts odd, boorish words on your shoulder, leaving you breathless with another tight roll of his hips. It feels like a spell or a chant, the way he speaks. You want nothing more than to give yourself to him, and fear that whatever tie has been knotted between you two, whatever shackle has bound your souls together, has also granted him the ability to hear your thoughts. He must’ve heard them, or then he must smell the change in the air, because he rolls you on your back and pushes a knee between your legs.

“Meine Königin... Ich werde dich sehr glücklich machen,” he mutters more incantations in your neck, broad thigh forcing your legs further apart. He doesn’t even need strength to coax them open: they drag up and aside by themselves.

“Ah–Why can’t you talk like normal people…”

You sigh your silly thoughts out into the night air, and your fierce giant turns his head a little, now right there next to your cheek.

"Normal? Was ist das…?"

Your lips draw into a quivering little smile – you just can’t help it. Him lying half on top of you, asking what the word ‘normal’ means while smelling like an entire wine house just burned down makes your lips and heart flutter. Your soft laugh makes him raise his head a little, drunken, half-lidded eyes now fixed on you.

“The opposite of you?” You offer innocently and try not to laugh, but it’s no use. You start to snicker, then giggle, and the way he growls only makes things worse.

“You little–I will go crazy because of you,” he whispers, drunk as a heartbroken man can be. Your own heart seems to open with a flood.

“Then go crazy,” you whisper back.

And gods… He takes your sigh as a permit to go absolutely berserk. He crawls on top of you and rips your dress apart from the middle with both hands, exposing your breasts to him and the cold night air. There's a weight in his gaze that turns your nipples hard; a gaze of promise, just before he descends.

He attacks you like a starving man, devours and licks and sucks your breasts until you shake and moan on the bed, until your hands come to cradle his head with greed.

“I will make you scream tonight,” he pants roughly on your tits – you can feel the words on your skin. You’re veritably afraid that this man will swallow you before he even gets to the main event, which is no doubt to satiate the need to fill you with potent seed. He doesn’t exactly caress you, no: he gobbles you like your body is an entire feast, the generous kisses almost turning into bites when he reaches your hips.

“No–no teeth, König,” you try to whimper, somewhere on the borderline of tension and lust.

"Fee... I promise I'll fuck you like king. I'll fuck you until you cry.”

Your head goes blank from his words; from terror and love and lust. There's no time to decipher whether you should be afraid, because he scoops up your thighs, grabs you like a wrestling partner, and draws you against his face.

“Wait—What are you–”

Your words are cut off as he drives his nose up your cunt and breathes in your musk like it's divine incense. It doesn’t matter that you’re still covered by the skimpy dress he just ripped to shreds: the fabric is so thin that he could be virtually sniffing you through sheer gossamer.

There’s no escape now; he can feel how wet you are. He can practically taste it.

“König—”

You can't understand why he would want to push his face there, so you mewl and try to push him away – very weakly – but he’s immovable, glued to your scent down there, panting into your warm, wet cunt with harsh breaths and starved groans. You're lying there at his mercy, dress torn to pieces and breasts heaving, thighs spread as far as they can go.

It's futile to even try reason with a starved giant between your legs, a cunt-deprived warrior about to finally take what's his. You should've known better than to joke around and play with a man who could snap you in half – either with his hands or with his cock – and Mother was wrong: you're not smart at all, teasing a beast like this. A beast whose teeth are currently bared over your most vulnerable place protected only by a thin veil soaked with your wet.

König lashes his tongue out and presses it flat against your dress, on your throbbing womanhood, and your words turn into an ample, lewd moan.

“A–ah…”

You fall weakly back on the bed, head spinning although you haven’t drunk a drop of wine. The broad body almost trembles there between your legs.

“Ah… You want cock, ja? I can taste it,” he grunts, blunt as ever. The thought of that thing being bullied into you inch by thick inch makes your cunt clench tight. Gods, you want it, but it will never fit, never…

Unless he… Unless that's why he's down there, panting hot inside you, trying to coax you open with his mouth. Perhaps he's not that dumb after all...

“Please,” you beg for him to love you, taste you, take you, your pride melting into copper and gold, pooling somewhere down, down, down…

“Don't worry,” he speaks straight to your cunt like a man intoxicated with something far better than wine. “I will give you cock. All night.”

He lifts the dress with his nose like a dog, nuzzles under your ruined attire like it's his shelter for the night, headed back towards his plump prize. There will soon be nothing between his mouth and your poor, throbbing cunt, aching to be licked and loved by a cruel giant. A giant who brings you milk and honey and grapes and gold in all its forms…

But just when you have finally forgotten that beasts possess teeth, he sinks them into you. He sinks them into your inner thigh, waking you up from the dream with sharp, harrowing pain.

The fucking idiot actually bites you, hard.

“You fucking—Go to hell!”

You push him away in earnest now, using his shoulders to propel yourself away from him. His teeth threaten to pierce and tear skin because he's so reluctant to let go, and the horrors of the battlefield seep into your skin; the safe warmth of the womb turns into a suffocating darkness.

Your kicks have enough power to make him rise from between your legs, and the clear-cut pain in his eyes makes you want to both hug and hit him. You do the latter and hurl your fists at him, not bothering to even try to hit a target or cause pain; you just want him to stop making you afraid.

Of course, he takes your breathless state and lust-filled rage as a cue to leave – and he does precisely that, but not before he has struggled away from you and your fists in an overly dramatic manner. It would look funny in another situation, especially when he's as hard as ever, cock jutting high towards the sky just from having a little taste of your love. Drunken and slightly wobbly, he almost falls when he grabs the tunic from the earthen floor as if his tent is a site of execution where he will soon be stoned.

At the mouth of the tent, he stops, throws his head back, and roars. The guttural, booming rage echoes towards the gods like a furious curse, and you’re quite sure that the entire camp is awake by now. Every soldier nearby must be dying of a scared heart, thinking that there are either bears or Gauls upon them.

You hold your arms against your chest and safeguard your soft belly as you take in all his fury and frustration, then watch him stagger into the night, head hanging heavy between slumped shoulders. You’re left breathing, afraid and alone in the darkness, thinking about what the hell just happened… And spend the next moments in shock. Soon enough, the cold and terror fades, melting into something more palatable. You're shivering and wet, but intact, at least on the outside.

And the oddest thing is that you find yourself missing him. You miss his presence, his body, you miss his dumbness and his jokes. You fucking miss him.

The man who almost raped you.

With his… mouth.

You curl inside the furs and try to get some sleep with a hammering heart, ending up thinking about him all night. You thought he was going to pound you with that ridiculously long cock all night – and wasn't that his threat, too? – but what you didn't expect was that the giant barbarian who rips people's throats open with his teeth would want to lick and lap you into submission. You never would have thought that König wanted to bury his face between your legs, and eagerly at that.

Perhaps you understood his silly words wrong in your half aroused, half scared state. What if he meant to make you scream and cry from pleasure, not pain?

The burning bruise on your thigh reminds you that you are probably wrong, but you still wake every now and then from a thin sleep, glancing around you in despair, only to see that he’s not there. You feel so hollow that you think for a moment whether König has left the camp entirely, whether he is wandering away, towards some other adventure, exhausted with you and the war and the Romans.

The most unbearable thought in your head is not that he has left you for his dogs, however. It’s the thought that has abandoned you. That he has finally had enough. Because you realize… König hasn’t gone anywhere. He simply left to have his fun with some other woman. Perhaps he’ll be back in the morning, but his patience is gone; it has finally ended, your silly little game. A difficult slave girl who won’t even let him lick her cunt is simply no amusement to him anymore.

Just before dawn, your will breaks; it splits in half. You can almost hear it. The sound of cries is muffled in the bed that nowadays has both his scent and yours: both of your scents combined, mixing together into a wonderful haze of love and despair.

…

König comes back when the dawn is already turning into a full day.

He strolls into the tent the same way he left: with a hunched posture and unsteady feet, but the fervent vigour from last night is gone. Actually, you have never seen him so weak. The dramatic sighs, the groping and the bullying have turned into a piercing silence. His muscles have lost their strength, his head is hanging heavy between those once proud shoulders, and his eyes are cast down as if he’s hoping there wouldn’t be such a bright orb in the sky. He drags his feet as he enters the tent; he doesn’t even look your way when he goes and slumps in his chair.

You are so glad to see him that you nearly jump from the bed and fall right there at his feet. You want to kiss his thighs and grab his hands and look up at him, doting and adoring like a good little slave. You want to whimper and beg that he can give you love bites everywhere he wants.

Instead, you snap at him, voice filled with poison.

“Did you have fun raping women last night?”

There are leaves on his mask and dirt on his shins and knees. Even his hands are a little grungy, and the proud red Roman tunic could also use a wash. He sheds you a tired side stare, then sighs.

“Was?”

“Were you with women,” you spell out every word slowly like you’re talking to a child. The venom on your tongue threatens to spill out as froth. And you almost say, 'other women'. Almost.

König raises his head and looks at you with a slight tilt in his head. He’s curious again, so, so very curious. He has clearly fleed the sun into his tent rather than seek your gracious presence, which shouldn’t make you this glum... But what you just said has managed to brighten up his entire day.

“Meine Fee… She’s jealous,” he points out in a far more jovial tone.

“No. Not at all,” you hurry to say, chin drawing back from his stupid accusations.

“You are,” he says with unbridled fascination.

“I assure you I’m not.”

Your cheeks are heating up, and the nervousness inside your belly roils like a snake. How does he always manage to get you into a trap?

König leans back in his chair, now with his usual dignity on those shoulders. He even crosses his fingers loosely in his lap, looking like the conversation he’s about to have with you will, yet again, become another favourite of his. You’re not sure why you always feel like you’re being interrogated on the sly with him because König is the most simple, straightforward, blunt object of a man you have ever met. And still…

“Fucking other women is bad?” He asks innocently from that chair.

“Bad?” You huff. “Yes, if you have to force women under you, you are a brute.”

“And… ugly?”

“Very ugly. The ugliest man in the world.”

"Hm. But who say anything about forcing?"

König looks at you, calmly, as your stomach sinks from his words.

You can only stare at him as the world seems to fall apart around you, crumble into nothingness when there's sun shining and birds singing outside. Kicking him out of the tent – and almost kicking him in the face in the process – because you got afraid when he gave you a fervent little nib seems like the stupidest idea right now. If you were so willing to part your legs for him and moan under his tongue, surely some other insane woman would want to do that as well? Surely there is at least one woman in this camp who would gladly be pleased by this giant who doesn't hit or force women. Who only likes to… bite and squeeze and lick them.

You pout at him, lip almost trembling now, and he’s smiling, so, so very wide behind that mask. Gods damn him.

Then he rises and walks to you, suddenly looking like he isn’t suffering from a hangover after all. He strolls towards you with slow purpose, and you swallow the tears down, trying not to show him how they turn into ice inside your stomach.

“I have not touched women. Only you.”

He towers above you, looking down at you like you are indeed the most adorable thing in the entire world. You are not sure whether his words are to be believed, but something inside you says that this man never lies. As dense and dumb as he is, he is the most trustworthy human being you will ever meet.

“Only sleep with earth last night,” he says and starts to caress your hair. He even weighs some of it in his hand before sweeping it over your shoulder. Like you are simply his precious, silly little wife who has been spoiled too much.

“It was a cold mistress,” he laments, overly dramatic again, like a poor actor in a tragic play. Your heart aches, badly – you swear König is the most annoying man you have ever met, the most insufferable and lovable. You wonder if he has spent his seed on the cold, hard ground too. Given it to the Great Mother, who is a cold lover sometimes indeed… But not as cold as you.

You wonder how crazy it is that you have the power to drive this giant into the cold night from his own tent. König has had to face his hangover by waking up to a chilly dawn. His hand is not as warm as usual, and you start to worry that he has caught the wrath of wind spirits outside, soon rendering him weak and feverish. His skin is not supposed to feel this cold, not when he’s almost always blazing.

“I know a plant that might help,” you say diplomatically. “With your… Head.”

He looks at you, more and more curious by every passing moment. You hope he doesn’t weigh in his mind whether you are trying to poison him when he is weak. But he’s not that clever, perhaps, because he only looks at you like you’re an entire sun now, and very unlike the one that is giving him a headache today. You turn away from his hand – but not too quickly. You’re only feeling shy. And a bit uncomfortable.

“You should eat something. And drink water, not wine.”

“You care about my head?”

Gods… His voice is so, so soft. He’s seeing past all your defences again, and there is nothing you can do about it. You want to curse him but can’t. You simply can’t.

“Just… Eat some fruit, alright? And I need a kettle so that I can boil some water for the herbs.”

You rise from the bed and try to ignore his adoring stare. He doesn’t attempt to touch you again; he merely watches as you go about and eat a little something as if to show that when it is morning, people should have breakfast. Like you’re a mother trying to lead by example or a fussing young wife who is trying to help his husband. Your lips are a thin line as you search for grapes that aren’t too soft and a piece of bread that doesn’t yet have mould in it. You grab some figs: you know they are his favorite, and bring them to him to tell him you’re serious about him needing to eat.

And you feel silly.

You can’t even look at him. You’re feeling so odd, so weak, so warm inside, and it’s not because you’re disgusted; hell, it’s the opposite of being disgusted….

“I have fallen in love with you,” König says as he accepts your humble offering of food. You freeze in the middle of setting them on his palms, held upwards as if content with whatever you give him, even if it’s only a piece of bread and a few figs.

Gods. Mother… Don’t do this to me–

“That how you say it?”

You breathe in and out, calm, collected – you're not going to faint because some crazy giant thinks he's in love. Yes, that’s it… Everything’s alright. He’s just being silly again. He’s just playing his own little plays again.

But when you look at him, there is no actor there, no silly play: he’s just… König. He returns your helpless, cornered stare with warm kindness, reminding you of something, of some Roman or Greek god… Apollo. Yes, that’s it. Laureled sun god Apollo, the one everyone loves so dearly, because he always drives fear and doubt and darkness away. He’s Apollo, even though he doesn’t even prefer a bow.

And has the translator taught König the correct words? Has he memorized them so that he can say them to you when the time is right? Your lip starts to tremble, and you fight to not shudder a sigh. The old seer was wrong: this man will be your downfall.

“I’ll go get that plant,” you whisper, soft eyes wide and chest curled tight.

“Nein,” he says cheerfully, full of life and hope again. “Not alone, little one.”

…

A/N: Please don't send me death threats. Remember, big bang bang next chapter! Huge!!

Translations:

Sehr schön - Very beautiful

Kleine Fee - Little fairy

Hungrig? - Hungry?

Ich könnte dich niemals verlassen - I could never leave you

Für dich - For you

Du machst mich verrückt - You drive me crazy

Göttin der Erde… Gib dich mir - Goddess of the Earth… Give yourself to me

Meine Königin... Ich werde dich sehr glücklich machen - My Queen... I will make you very happy

Was ist das? - What is that?

#könig fanfiction #könig x reader #könig x you #könig x fem reader #könig x female reader #könig cod #konig x reader #konig x you #historical au #Roman soldier!König #könig smut

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explosionkatsu · 2 months

Text

Fulfilling Desires

Human!Alastor x Killer!F!Reader

Warnings: Gores, mention of killing and blood 🩸

Early 1929 - 1930

You were one of the people who were entertained by the Black Tuesday, known as the Stock Market Crash in 1929. You were one of the pessimistic bearish investors who betted against the market making you instantly rich in no time. But after this occurrence, you were somewhat delighted that it didn't cause the ‘Great Depression’ is what they named it. You can still catch a glimpse of how everything went to an ordinary state as if nothing major happened, but the trash and debris around you say otherwise.

As the year 1930 came close, a sudden number of murder cases ascended. You were unbothered by this though.

As the sun began to set, an eerie silence fell over the city streets. The once-bustling roads now lay almost deserted, devoid of the usual hustle and bustle, as if the very air was thick with a sense of fear. Shops and stores, usually open till late, are now closing their shutters and locking up their doors much earlier than usual, as people seek the safety of their homes. The only sounds that could be heard were the rustling of leaves in the wind and the distant hum of the city, almost as if it was holding its breath, waiting for the danger to pass.

You find this odd since you haven't slaughtered anyone for a few months, so it seems like there's another murderer in town. You couldn't help but grin inwardly as you observed the group of people scurry towards the shelter of their homes, seeking refuge from whatever threat or danger loomed in the distance. The sight of their hurried movements and anxious expressions was both amusing and intriguing, and you found yourself quietly contemplating the amount of emotions that must be coursing through their minds at that moment. But it made you question, who is the murderer and what is their purpose.

Well, you know why you slaughter, and you wouldn't even deny the sense of rapture whenever you listen to the cry of your prey who was pleading for mercy. Just thinking back to this made you chuckle.

‘Oh, those poor souls’ You pondered to yourself as you now gazed upon the deserted street of New Orleans, Louisiana.

It's been months since you slaughtered, and you took it upon yourself to take a break after seeing how people do the same measures when you were still active.

Feeling sufficient at glimpsing out of your window, you fixed yourself a hot coffee before resting on one of your cozy settees and shifting on the radio, tuning to your favorite radio host.

Alastor, with a wicked smile on his face, finds it amusing knowing the sudden transformation of a bustling street into a lifeless ghost town. The fear and terror that radiate from every corner of the abandoned street only fuel his twisted sense of pleasure, driving him to keep moving forward with confidence. Nothing and no one can stand in his way as he relishes the power he holds over the once-bustling town.

But it is not yet the time to strike.

"Good evening, wonderful people of New Orleans! As you settle into the comfort of your homes tonight, I do hope that you are all secure and cozy. I cannot wait to share the latest news with you, but before we proceed, I would like to take a moment to express my gratitude to the hardworking authorities. These amazing individuals have been working overtime on some important cases these past few days, and their dedication to keeping us all safe is truly commendable! So, let's give them a big round of applause!" Cue the sound effect. "Now, let's dive into the evening news!" Alastor leaned in closely to the microphone as he spoke. He carefully flipped through the pages of his script, making sure to stay on track with the prepared content. As he read, his rich voice filled his home studio with a sense of confidence. Despite being live on air, Alastor remained calm and composed, delivering each line with precision and clarity.

"Another civilian was found in a gruesome situation in an alleyway near a club. The authorities recognized the body to be Daniel Thompson who's a worker in a men's boutique." Alastor smiled wickedly as he performed his unnatural serious yet saddened voice. "Authorities said they found him with a few of his organs missing, including his heart. Up until now, the perpetrator responsible for the incident is yet to be identified due to insufficient evidence."

Alastor's grin was so wickedly mischievous. As he scrutinized his script, he was transported back in time, reliving every moment with vivid clarity. The words on the page had the power to evoke memories and emotions he felt, almost as if he were living the scenes all over again. Oh, what a pleasure!

Alastor leaned into his microphone, his resonant. "It's truly astounding the thoughts that run through people's minds these days, isn't it?" he mused. "But let's not forget about the safety of those working the night shift. Take extra care on your way home tonight. We don't want any more victims to fall prey to the dangers that lurk in the dark. With that being said, please enjoy this music while I'm off-air! Have a lovely evening everyone."

As soon as Alastor finished his performance, he switched off his microphone and decided to treat his audience with some smooth jazz. After that, he stood up, leaving his script behind in the studio. He walked towards his basement to retrieve a few items that he needed for his later agenda. He carefully checked if everything was secured before speaking, "I'm pretty sure you must be feeling famished by now."

Suddenly, his shadow appeared beside him, grinning playfully. "You know me too well," his shadow replied.

Alastor chuckled at his shadow's response. "Don't worry, we'll be out in a while after I present my final script to the audience," he said confidently, feeling proud of himself.

With that being said after the final music played, Alastor went back to his studio for his final script before bidding goodbye.

Alastor's voice echoed through the microphone, "I'm afraid it is now time for me to leave. Let's give my colleague, the next host, a round of applause. Thank you for listening, and once again, this is your host, Alastor, signing off." With a click, he turned off his on-air light and proceeded to unplug all the devices he had used in his studio.

He then reached for his velvet trench coat, which was hanging on the back of his chair, and put it on. He tipped his black trilby hat and walked towards the door with a small bag on his back. The sound of his footsteps echoed in the empty hallway as he made his way out of the studio, leaving behind the dimly lit room, and proceeded to the front door for his next agenda.

It was now 10 pm as he left his home with all the lights switched off. Every step he takes is hushed as he makes his way to the deserted street. He knew that he'd find every drunkard going home at this hour, especially since almost every club was still active at this hour which he was grateful for.

"I'm craving for a woman.." Says his shadow in his head.

Alastor arrived at a well-known club, his heart pounding with excitement. He made his way to a dark corner, where he could observe the establishment without being noticed.

Suddenly, his attention was drawn to a group of friends who were leaving the club. Among them was an intoxicated blonde woman who caught his eye. Despite her friends' attempts to convince her to ride with them, she declined and instead began walking away, waving goodbye.

Alastor's heart raced in excitement as he saw his opportunity. He followed the woman from a distance, his footsteps silent as he moved closer. He could hear her soft laughter and the gentle sound of her footsteps on the pavement.

'What an idiot,' Alastor thought to himself as he kept an eye on her.

As he trails her in the shadow, he watches a fleet of police vehicles zoom past without offering any assistance to the vulnerable woman. The sound of their sirens fades away in the distance, leaving her alone and helpless. It's as if they deemed her unworthy of their time and resources. When he finally noticed the coast was clear, he watched her vomit in a nearby alley.

He then began his approach.

"My, my. A pretty woman like you shouldn't be alone at this hour!" Alastor approached the woman with a friendly ambiance. "May I offer you assistance, my dear?" He smiled offering her his hand to hold.

Too drunk, the woman looked at him, captivated by how handsome the man who was willing to help her. Without thinking, she nodded and grabbed his hand. "You look so handsome~"

Alastor chuckled at this, "So I've been told, darling." He responded, ushering her to walk. "May I ask, why a lovely woman like you alone at this hour? Didn't you hear about the murderer on the loose?"

"Nah! I know I'll be fine~" The woman giggled. "Now that you're here. I know you'll protect me~"

"Oh, don't worry darling. I will keep you safe." Alastor smiled.

Guiding her to the unlit alleyway was too easy, especially when the woman suddenly passed out on him. 'This is too easy.' Alastor thought as he smiled viciously.

"Keep an eye on the area. Make sure no one sees." Alastor commanded his shadow who immediately nodded and left.

Of course, without letting any more seconds go by, he put a gag on the woman, as well as blindfolded her eyes.

As he lifted the weight of the woman in his arms, he turned his head and his eyes met yours. A smile played on your lips, and for a moment, the world around him faded away as he felt a small dread over him.

Alastor's smile twitched. 'Fuck' He thought to himself.

You noticed him staring at you with a tense expression. Without a word, you raised your index finger to your lips in a shushing gesture, indicating that he should remain silent. The suddenness of the gesture seemed to surprise him, and he watched as you walked away with a sense of bewilderment, wondering what had just happened.

He now knows who's his next target.

The morning sun shone brightly as you stepped out, breathing in the fresh air. The street was slowly coming to life, with stores opening up and people bustling about. You walked with purpose, your steps confident and elegant.

As you walked, people couldn't help but notice you. Women scanned your outfit as you passed by, admiring your choice of clothing and the way you carried yourself. You were a sight to behold, a true embodiment of grace and poise.

Suddenly, a gloved hand grasped your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. You turned to see the same man from last night, Alastor, standing before you with a smile on his face.

"What a stunning elegant woman you are," he said, his voice smooth and confident. You giggled in response, knowing exactly where this was going.

"Why, I appreciate the compliment, Sir," you said, slightly bowing your head in acknowledgment.

Alastor watched you with half-lidded eyes, admiring your beauty. "A polite one as well!" he beamed. "What do you say I treat you to breakfast? I couldn't help but admire you from afar as soon as I saw you."

"Aren't you a charmer," you giggled, your hand covering your lips in amusement. "I don't mind the offer."

"Shall we?" Alastor gestured towards the door of the nearby cafe, his eyes never leaving you.

"Why, thank you," you smiled as you entered the establishment with him following close behind.

The sound of smooth jazz filled the cozy and inviting cafe, creating a relaxed atmosphere that put everyone at ease. As you walked in, the patrons briefly looked up from their coffee and newspaper, taking in both you and Alastor's presence before returning to their affairs. The chimes hanging near the door suddenly made a delicate sound, adding to the already pleasant ambiance.

Alastor courteously escorted you to a cozy corner seat in the bustling cafe, carefully selecting a spot where there were fewer people having their breakfast. He pulled out a chair for you and patiently observed as you comfortably settled into it.

"Thank you." You smiled and watched him sit across from you.

As you settled into your seats, a courteous waiter appeared at your table, menus in hand. You both took your time reading the extensive selection of dishes, taking note of the appetizers, entrees, and desserts. After a few minutes, you both decided on your meals and handed the menus back to the waiter, who gracefully took them and jotted down your order. He then returned to you with a small card bearing your table number, ensuring your meals would find their way to the right place.

Alastor's gaze fell upon the withdrawing waiter, his eyes half-lidded as he commented, "Hm. Such a nice young lady." His voice carried a sense of intrigue thinking what would her flesh would taste like before turning to face you. You could feel his presence looming over you as he continued, "I'm quite sure you know why I invited you." The tone in his voice made it clear that there was something important he wanted to discuss with you.

You smiled at him knowingly and replied, "Oh, believe me, I already know why." As you looked at him, you couldn't help but notice his striking eyes and his calm demeanor. "It is an absolute pleasure to have this unexpected encounter with you. My name is Y/n L/n." You extended your hand towards him, hoping that he would reciprocate the gesture and shake it.

Alastor's lips curved upwards into a charming smile as he reached out to take your hand. He didn't shake it, but instead, he pulled it towards his face and planted a delicate kiss on your skin. "I must say, the pleasure is all mine, Y/n. I am Alastor," he said, introducing himself with a suave tone. "Quite a pleasure."

Once Alastor let go of your hand, he spoke with a hint of closeness, "I'm quite positive you know me from my broadcast."

‘I see.’ A realization dawned on you, and you couldn't help but smile, "I am a big fan of your evening stories, Mister Alastor. They're my absolute favorite. Although, I was quite baffled when you didn't share any tales last night." You pouted your lips playfully, trying to taunt him. "I was truly saddened," you added with a tinge of disappointment.

Alastor couldn't help but stare at you as you made that face. He knew that you were trying to pull his leg. "I truly apologize, Y/n. But something suddenly came up, and I just couldn't make it," he responded while taking your hand in his and gently caressing it to comfort you.

You flashed a smile, trying to mask the growing emotions that were brewing inside you. "Do not worry, Mister Alastor. I quite understand your reasoning." A glint in your eyes almost showed your true as your smile slowly morphed into a knowing grin. The corners of your natural pink lips curled up, revealing the hint of a sinister plan that was about to unfold.

Alastor's eyes narrowed as he caught sight of the familiar smile. He knew right away that this person was not as naive as he had previously thought. "If it would interest you," he said with a smooth and charming tone, "I would be delighted to invite you to my humble abode where I perform my nightly broadcast." His smile was inviting. "You can watch me live tonight if you so choose."

You flashed a smile at Alastor, conveying you're accepting his offer. "That would be lovely, my dear sir," you said politely.

Alastor's eyes lit up with excitement as he exclaimed, "Wonderful! I will have you taste my mother's secret jambalaya recipe!"

You couldn't help but giggle at Alastor's enthusiasm. "I'm sure it will be a delight," you replied, eagerly anticipating the dish.

For a brief moment, you both stared at each other, as if silently communicating through your eyes. However, the arrival of the waiter carrying your food broke the spell, causing both of you to avert your gaze.

Alastor hummed, his eyes glinting as he watched the waiter approach their table carrying their orders and placing them on the table. You thanked the waiter and gestured to Alastor to tuck into your much-awaited breakfast.

As you finished, Alastor pulled out a piece of paper and scribbled his address on it. "Make sure you arrive before dusk," he said, his voice low and intense.

You took the paper from him, tucking it safely into your bosom. "Thank you for the delightful breakfast and your company, Mister Alastor," you said, bowing your head in respect.

"Please, call me Alastor," he insisted, placing a finger under your chin and tilting your face up to meet his gaze. "You're not some peasant beneath me."

Your lips graced a smile reaching your eyes as you locked eyes with Alastor, feeling a sudden and intense connection with him. "I'll see you this evening," he added, his voice dropping even lower.

The smile never left your lips as he kissed your hand and turned to leave, his back straight and his head held high. You watched him go, his figure disappearing into the crowd.

'This evening will be unforgettable,' you thought to yourself, turning to walk the other way your smile dropping.

Arriving at his home, Alastor quietly entered. Not a small squeak was heard from any of his movements. His eyes are still half-lidded while he makes his way to his cellar.

The cellar is dark, the only source of light is coming from the small window located at the end of the room. But it wasn't enough to illuminate the entire place.

Alastor took a few steps into the dark room. The scent of rotting flesh was all around the room, the floor was stained with dried blood, and the walls were full of scrapes, claw marks, and even a few splatters of blood. There sat the now awake blonde woman who was gagged and blindfolded. Her arms are tied behind her back and her feet are tied together. Next to her was a stainless bowl with a spoon and a water bottle which Alastor used to feed her before he left.

"It seems like you won't be alone any longer in here, hmm." A wicked smile appeared on his lips as he gazed down at the woman who was crying in the corner. "Don't cry now, darling. I don't want my meat to taste bad."

You had a fast-paced day and were now making your way towards Alastor's house. The house was located in the middle of the woods, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of calmness as you approached it. However, you were ready for anything, with a rapier in its sheath strapped to your thighs. As you walked closer to the entrance, you noticed the house was much like a cabin in the woods, but much bigger and tidier, almost like a mansion.

Once you knocked on the door, it was instantly pulled open by Alastor "Ah! Y/n. Please, come in," He said, welcoming you inside and locked the door behind you, which you couldn't help but notice.

You could see a bunch of deer antlers hanging on his wall, and the seemingly decomposed head of a deer hanging in the middle of the room where his chimney was located caught your attention, "I see that you hunt. Mostly stag." You slightly smirk turning your head to look at him. You could see that Alastor was a skilled hunter, with his collection of deer antlers and other hunting trophies on display.

"Ah, yes. I hunt for fun. But I sometimes crave venison meat, my dear." He chuckled and admitted. "They are quite softer than any ordinary meat."

"How curious." You giggled. "Now you made me wonder what they taste like, Alastor," you said, expressing your curiosity about the taste.

"I don't mind giving you one, my dear." Alastor chuckled. "But it might take a while for me to get my hands on it."

"Is that so." You mumbled looking at him. "But I know one type of meat that was indeed soft and scrumptious."

"I'm not quite sure what you are talking about, my dear." Alastor smiled walking toward his studio with you following behind.

"Alastor, dear. I am not foolish." You chuckled. "I am fully aware of your intentions after what I saw last night." Once you mentioned this, Alastor halted and turned to look at you. You can see his smile thinned. "And I do know this is the reason why you invited me here." You giggled covering your lips with your hand. "I know your game." You said as you confidently walked into his studio without asking for his permission, ready to take on whatever was waiting for you.

"Then I believe I don't need to hide anything from you, Y/n," spoke Alastor, his voice like velvet. As he gradually made his way towards you, he wrapped his arm around your waist in a slow, almost dancing motion.

You didn't feel uncomfortable with his touch though. You simply let out a carefree laugh, which delighted Alastor. You took your time gazing into his half-lidded eyes, which were staring back at you, before slowly pulling away from him. You dusted off your skirt, a small action that didn't go unnoticed by Alastor. "It's for you to decide, Mister Alastor," you said, your voice laced with a hint of playful mystery.

Alastor arched an eyebrow inquisitively, his piercing gaze fixed on the object of his affection. 'Is she teasing me?' he wondered out loud. Without missing a beat, he reached out and placed a strong, reassuring hand on her lower back. "Perhaps you'll find this a lovely present, my darling," he said with a hint of mischief in his voice.

As you both stepped out of his studio, you looked around and asked with curiosity, "Hm? Where are we headed now?" You couldn't help but feel intrigued by the unknown destination as you walked alongside him.

"You'll see."

You decided to go along with his plan, despite feeling uncertain. You wanted to be prepared for whatever might happen next. However, your suspicion began to grow when you realized that he was taking you down to the basement. This sudden change in direction made you feel slightly uneasy.

The scent of rotting flesh was the first thing you noticed once you both reached the cellar. Despite the utter darkness that engulfed the room, you cautiously trailed behind Alastor, trusting his lead. As you neared the threshold, a faint glimmer of light illuminated the scene just enough to reveal the silhouette of a blonde woman. She appeared to be the same person he had carried on the night you apprehended him.

Alastor anticipated that you would be frightened upon witnessing the sight of the weeping woman who was captured. But instead, you displayed a devious gaze and a vicious smile. He became more interested in you.

With measured steps, you closed the distance between yourself and the mysterious woman. The soft click of your heels beneath your feet echoed in the stillness. As you drew nearer, you could see the delicate features of her face and the strands of hair that had fallen across her sweaty forehead. Finally, you knelt beside her, feeling the coldness of the ground beneath your knees before taking the blindfold off of her. The woman looked at both of you, terrified. Tears kept streaming down her cheeks as she whined through the gag as if begging for freedom.

"You poor thing.." You mumbled looking at her eye to eye. "This is why you should never walk in the dark." As you uttered words, your hand stretched out, delicately brushing away a solitary tear that trickled down her cheek.

Alastor stood there, his eyes fixed on you, as you went about your task. He couldn't help but wonder if the way you were doing things was your usual method.

"Such beautiful face, my dear." You whispered. "Too bad it will go to waste.." With utmost care, you slid the gleaming rapier out of its scabbard, the metal glinting in the light. You held it up for the woman to see, her fearful gaze fixed on the sharp edge that seemed to shimmer in the air.

"Nothing is as beautiful as you are, my darling," Alastor spoke behind you, brushing your h/c locks to the side. He then sensually leaned down, placing an alluring kiss on your nape just as he wrapped his arm around your waist and leisurely held your hand where your rapier was.

Your eyes narrow as you watch the woman closely, who is frantically attempting to flee from the both of you using her abilities. You can see the fear in her eyes and the desperation in her movements. As she tries to escape, you notice the subtle quiver in her hands and the beads of sweat forming on her forehead. Despite her efforts, she seems to be struggling to try and escape, making her attempts all the more frantic. "Oh, I would assure you. Nothing is as beautiful as her bathing in her own blood.." You spoke.

The woman's final screech was heard through the night followed by your rapier's blade slithering against her neck bringing her blood to splatter on the pair of you.

But as he witnesses the death of the woman by your hands, Alastor can't help himself but bring fingers to your face, clutching you by your jaw and wringing your face to him before he aggressively places his lips against yours. His actions caused you to drop the rapier and wrap your arms around his neck, returning the kiss almost too desperately.

Your lips danced against his as you felt him fighting for dominance. You felt his arm unbuttoning your blouse, drenched in blood. This causes you to do a similar action, unbuttoning his clothes and sliding both your arms in, feeling his bare skin brushing against your palm.

You felt him pushing you gently, bringing you to lie on the blood-soaked floor while he pulled your maxi skirt.

#alastor x reader #alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor x you #alastor x y/n

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the-dixon-effect · 10 months

Text

The way back home

summary: While out looking for Sophia, Y/N is attacked in the woods by a group of men. After managing to fight them off, she heads towards the farm and is noticeably... changed.

word count: 1.5k

pairing: Daryl Dixon x f!reader

warnings: blood, gore, weapons, fainting, usual twd stuff

Your ears were ringing and your vision blurred. Four bodies lay on the ground in a formation that was anything but neat. From head to toe, you were covered in a thick layer of red. Unbeknownst to you, who stood motionless in a bloody trance, you could've easily been mistaken for a character in a cheap horror movie.

You blinked, once, twice. What the hell just happened? You inspected the nightmarish scene and suddenly it was coming back. You had been searching for Carol's little girl... what was her name? Sophia, yes. The last thing you remembered was a dirty hand covering your mouth before you reached for your knife... and the rest was a blur. Upon closer inspection, it became clear that you shot two of the guys with your short-range pistol, one in the head and one in the neck. You scrambled for your knife, which should've been tucked away in its holster, but instead, you spotted it plunged deep into the skull of one of the sickos who came at you. There was a single body left. The largest of the four men bore a filthy grey t-shirt, camo pants and combat boots. You rolled his limp body over to discover a big pool of dark red blood. You had... you had slashed his neck open. Suddenly you felt a pit in your stomach rise to your mouth and- you were about to be sick.

After expelling the only energy you had left in your body, you realised at once what that familiar growling meant, coming from a few metres away. Shit, you thought, you had to get out of here now before the men you killed start trying to kill you again, in a much more gruesome way.

You ran and ran, and could only hope you were going in the right direction. Collapsing beneath a tree, you glanced at your clothes and noticed your loose white tank top was stained completely red. After a little while the adrenaline wore off, and your stomach hurt like hell. Lifting up your shirt, it revealed a nasty cut from one end of your torso to the other. Immediately, the pain spread throughout your whole body and the excessive bleeding was almost unbearable. One of the guys must have slashed at you with a knife in an attempt to get you off of them.

Your thoughts were fading away, and it was getting harder and harder not to pass out right there. Suddenly, you heard a faint voice in the distance.

"Sophia? Sophia!" You could barely hear the voice, let alone tell who it was. Hell, for a second you couldn't remember your own name. A man appeared in your sight, and you didn't know whether to be scared or thankful. Were you hallucinating? As he approached, you noticed that the man was wielding a crossbow... it was- it was Daryl.

"Y/N? Shit, Y/N! Can ya hear me?" you looked up at him, and he could tell just by looking that you could barely keep your eyes open. "Hey, hey, it's alrigh', it's alrigh'. I'm gon' get you back and Hershel's gonna fix you up, I promise."

Hearing Daryl's voice was like a lifeline. Setting down his crossbow on the ground, he helped you up and held you with your arm draped around his shoulder. As you headed back towards the Greene Farm, warm sunlight began to filter through the trees. It felt like your brain was moving at a quarter of the pace it should be, and the sight of the Greene house in the distance, though beautiful, felt like a million miles away as you and the archer trekked towards it.

"Y/N? Oh my God, Daryl, is she okay?" said Andrea as the two of you approached the house. You were a frightening sight to see, especially for certain members of the group that hadn't quite immersed themselves in this brutal apocalypse.

"Rick! She's got a- a nasty gash underneath her shirt. Hershel better take a look at it."

Right in that moment you collapsed on the ground, falling limply out of Daryl's strong arms. The tall grass of Hershel's pasture enveloped your body, and you could no longer hear the great commotion that was taking place. Despite the incredible amount of pain you were just in, sleep was heavenly.

First came a flurry of voices. Then, the white ceiling appeared and several blurred countenances around the room. Strangely, you couldn't remember a thing about how you got here.

"D-Daryl? Where's Daryl?" you asked, innocently. Suddenly, every face in the room turned to look at you. You were pale, very pale, yet you sat upright in the makeshift hospital bed resting on your forearms.

Following a sudden rush of people turning to surround your bedside, you blacked out again.

"Everyone, I would strongly appreciate it if we could give the girl some space," spoke Hershel, calmly.

"Ya think I could stay?" said Daryl.

"Alright, then. Just don't make a big fuss."

This time, you awoke to a cool breeze through the wide open window and noticed only two figures in the room. It looked like... Daryl and Hershel?

Hershel approached you and placed a hand on your forehead, and though you felt extremely hot and clammy, he seemed to deduce that you were going to be fine.

The door swung open and in entered Shane, Glenn and Hershel's youngest daughter, the blonde one... Beth. That was it.

A wave of confusion passed over you suddenly, as if, in a second, somebody has swiftly erased your memory. "Wh- Where am I? What are you doing here?" You sat upright once more and removed the rest of the covers from yourself. Your eyes were wide and a little bloodshot, and your mouth was shaped by a distinct frown.

"Y/N, Y/N, it's alright. Daryl tells me something happened out in the woods. I just need you to tell me the story. It's okay." said Shane, leaning into you.

"What story? What happened?" Tears began to fill your eyes as you spoke and it was like your whole body was consumed in a state of fright. Immediately, you began to hyperventilate as images of mutilated bodies clouded your mind.

"What's happening?" said Beth.

"She's in shock. Everybody out!" announced Hershel.

When you awoke later, you got out of the bed in the back room and entered the living room. Everyone was gathered around, seemingly waiting to find out what on earth had happened to you. Daryl relayed the story countless times to the likes of Dale, Rick, Shane and Maggie. Just like before, they all turned to face you as if you were some lost child, or a deer in headlights. Daryl captured your eyes and noticed how they seemed... different. The same cheerful, good-spirited girl suddenly appeared before him, pale and cold, and with a new thousand-yard stare that didn't go unnoticed by a single member of the group. If they didn't believe how harsh the new world was before, they certainly did now.

"Y/N, sit down," said Dale. His manner was kind yet you couldn't help but feel threatened by anyone who tried to communicate with you.

"Tell us what happened," spoke Rick.

"I- I don't remember..." you declared. Your legs were shaking and you held you face in your hands as you wracked your brain for anything, any trace of a memory of the event that occurred earlier that day.

Bodies.

How many bodies?

"There was... four. Four bodies. Which meant... four guys, I guess?" you looked up at this statement, this time receiving several pitiful looks from around the room.

Shane was about to speak when Rick raised his hand slightly, "Let her talk."

"I don't know- I don't know! There was... blood, there was so much blood," you began, trying to muster up anything you could. "Please can I go back to bed?" At this request, Daryl practically jumped up from his seat to help you and guided you back to the bedroom to rest.

A heated debate had broken out in the front room. How many more of these men are there? Are they dangerous? Is she even telling the truth? For some members, they feared the worst and assumed that this incident would be the first of many to come, involving a new threat; people.

(one day later, at dawn)

You sat with Daryl on the white porch, facing the sunset behind the trees. The trees, in fact, that the two of you had ventured out of the previous day. Although you hadn't known him long, you decided that you enjoyed his company most of all.

"You know, I think I'm going crazy, Daryl," you said, somewhat wistfully.

"Oh yeah, why's tha'?" he drawled.

"I was just walking 'round here, over in the woods. Saw some freak stumbling around. Went to look a little closer, and this sicko was dressed up like some kind of corpse! You know, fake blood and everything. Guess he was just trying to scare little kids or something."

#brandy writes #daryl dixon #twd angst #daryl dixon angst #the walking dead #the walking dead fanfic #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon fluff #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x reader #daryl x y/n #daryl dixon x y/n

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bitchiswild · 5 months

Text

Her Angel

GP Winter x F! Reader

Warnings: Blood, Killing , beginning is kinda gruesome, slightly rough smut, fluff, creampie, breeding, etc. 💃🏼

Word Count: 2.5k

A/n: Mafia leader minjeong 🧎‍♀️

┏━━━━ ★ ━━━━┓

"Boss, he’s here." Winter's eyes snapped up toward her underboss Karina, the pen slipping from her grip. A glint of steely resolve flashed in her gaze as she rose from her seat, her expression hardening with determination. Without a word, she strode purposefully to the door, her underboss trailing behind her.

With measured steps, Winter descended the staircase, the sound of her heels reverberating against the concrete walls of the dimly lit basement. There, in the stark shadows, a man sat bound to a chair, his body bruised, his head bowed in a display of defeat.

Witnessing the sight, a surge of revulsion and fury twisted Winter's features. She approached him, her presence casting a foreboding aura in the enclosed space. Standing tall before the captive, she bore into him with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine.

Reaching out, she grasped his hair firmly, coercing his head upwards until his gaze met hers in an unflinching confrontation. Her eyes radiated an icy, and unyielding resolve.

The man winced, his voice strained with agony as he pleaded, "Please, I didn't know."

Winter's expression remained unforgiving, her silence deafening in the oppressive atmosphere of the basement's stillness. Her gaze bore into his, a testament to her displeasure and the depth of her disappointment.

Winter's voice sliced through the air, raspy and chilling. "I'm glad you understand who I am." Her words carried an edge, laden with a cold finality. With deliberate steps, she advanced toward a table adorned with an array of weaponry, her silhouette casting ominous shadows against the basement walls.

The man, desperate and pleading, persisted, "I didn't know she was yours. Just let me go, I promise I won't say anything."

Slowly, almost deliberately, Winter turned her head toward him. In her hand, a knife caught the glint of the dim light, its presence ominous. Her movements were deliberate, measured, as she closed the distance between them, each step echoing the gravity of her intent.

Her countenance betrayed no emotion as she approached, the stark determination in her eyes painting a chilling picture of what was to come. The silence in the room grew palpable as the scene unfolded, a haunting prelude to an impending resolution.

The man's voice cracked with desperation, tears streaming down his face. "Please," he begged, his voice trembling with fear and anguish.

Winter paid no remorse. She raised the knife, stabbed the man's hand, and twisted it. He screamed in agony. An evil smirk appeared on her face; it was like music to her ears. She withdrew the knife and performed the same action on the second hand, except this time she purposefully severed a finger. Blood gushed on her pants. She glanced down at it, admiring the pretty crimson, but she was getting bored at this point. She got behind the man, raising the knife to his neck. "No one touches my wife.” She said menacingly.

"N-ggghdjsdfj…." The man began to scream, but Winter sliced his throat, causing him to gargle on his own blood.

As the man's life drained away, Winter felt a surge of satisfaction, relishing in the sight of his agony. The room fell silent, except for the gurgling sounds of his last breaths.

In a commanding tone, Winter directed Karina, who had been observing the entire scene, "Clean this up."

"You got it," Karina responded with a nod, moving swiftly to attend to the aftermath without question.

Winter ascended the stairs and made a beeline for her car, eager to head home to you, her wife.

A mere couple of nights ago, You, Winter, and her formidable gang—graced one of Winter's exclusive strip clubs. The club, a sanctuary of opulence and secrecy, buzzed with an electric atmosphere. As a feared gang leader, Winter held court with an air of command, her presence casting a shadow that demanded both respect and fear.

In this world, everyone knew the unspoken rules. Fear dictated respect, but there was one unbreakable decree: no one dared to encroach upon her wife. Amidst the allure and chaos of the night, it was an understood truth—her wife was off-limits to anyone but Winter, a privilege granted exclusively to her within their formidable realm.

In the midst of the club's pulsating energy, an outcast of a man dared to disregard the unspoken rule, making you uncomfortable. Locked in a momentary gaze with Winter, a silent plea for intervention passed between you.

Instantly, Winter rose from her seat, determination etched across her features as she strode purposefully towards you. However, before she could reach your side, Karina, her loyal underboss, intercepted the intrusion. With a swift and decisive move, Karina deflected the man away, a testament to her unwavering commitment to Winter's protection.

Acknowledging Karina's swift response, Winter settled back into her seat, a tacit trust placed in her capable underboss. Her eyes, though, remained fixed on you, a silent reassurance communicated through her unwavering gaze—a promise that she was there, vigilant and ready, should anything escalate.

The guy grumbled but yielded to Karina's unwavering stare, backing away reluctantly. With a silent nod, Karina guided you back to Winter's side, her protective presence a reassuring shield.

Safe in Winter's embrace, you expressed the desire to leave, and she complied without hesitation. As she made her way out, her eyes caught Karina's, a wordless agreement passing between them—an unspoken understanding that the man who dared to lay a hand on you would face consequences.

In an unspoken pact between Winter and her loyal underboss and friend, Karina took matters into her own hands. The man found himself kidnapped and bound in the basement of their gang mansion—an ominous testament to the consequences of defying Winter's boundaries, especially when it came to you, her cherished partner.

Before Winter could even reach the threshold, there you stood, an ethereal vision in the soft glow of the hallway lights, adorned in a lustrous silk robe that cascaded gently around you. Your presence seemed to command the space, a captivating allure drawing Winter's attention even before she crossed the threshold.

The fabric draped elegantly against your frame, the sheen of the material accentuating every contour and curve, hinting at a quiet confidence. The robe's delicate folds danced with every subtle movement, casting an air of effortless grace upon you.

To Winter, you were a breathtaking sight. As her eyes fell upon you, admiration sparked within her, a swell of affection flooding her heart. The way the light played upon your features, highlighting the elegance in every gesture, made her pause, her chest swelling with love and adoration.

In that moment, seeing you standing there, leaning against the archway, Winter couldn't help but marvel at your beauty. The way you carried yourself, your serene presence against the familiar backdrop of their home, stirred a profound sense of love within her. Your beauty, both inside and out, was a constant marvel to Winter, and she cherished every moment she spent in your presence.

"Welcome home, my love," I exclaimed, my eyes bright with an unmistakable spark of excitement as Winter stepped through the door, her presence filling the space.

"Welcome indeed," she rasped, her voice laced with a hint of longing, as she closed the distance between us. Pulling me close, she enveloped me in a kiss that held a silent narrative of our reunion.

Her lips, a gentle yet fervent touch, conveyed a depth of emotion that stirred a symphony of feelings within me. The warmth of her embrace, the scent of her lingering cologne, and the soft brush of her hand against my cheek created a tapestry of intimacy, a moment suspended in time that whispered of our unspoken connection.

I withdrew slightly, my eyes tracing the patterns of blood adorning Winter's attire. The crimson stains, stark against the fabric, stood as a testament to the tumultuous nature of her day. Gazing into her calm eyes, I couldn't help but notice the weariness that hid behind her stoic expression, a silent narrative of the challenges she faced.

"Long day?" I inquired softly, my concern etched in the furrow of my brows as I guided her inside, determined to help her find solace in our home. Urging her gently toward our sanctuary, I intended to procure a fresh change of clothes to alleviate the weight of the day.

"Just an average day at the Kim estates," she quipped in a teasing tone, her attempt to lighten the mood despite the gravity of the situation. I moved towards our closet, reaching for a new set of clothes, ready to offer her respite from the day's trials.

However, before I could hand her the garments, she intercepted them with a swift motion, tossing them onto the bed. "Missed you," she confessed, her voice filled with genuine adoration. Drawing me into her embrace once more, her closeness was a comforting reassurance amidst the chaos, a genuine yearning for connection after enduring the trials of her world.

“Minjeong!" I exclaimed, a laugh bubbling up. "You're covered in blood. Let's get you cleaned up."

"Help me?" she asked, pouting slightly.

"How are you a gang leader? Hmm? You're just too cute," I teased, a playful grin tugging at my lips.

"What do you mean? I'm not cute; I'm hot and sexy," she retorted, feigning offense and pouting once more.

"Sure, Min, let's take off your clothes so I can wash them," I offered, starting to unbutton her shirt to assist.

Winter, with a tender touch, rubbed my sides as I carefully assisted her. Her gestures carried a silent acknowledgment, a comforting reassurance amidst the situation. Guiding her towards our ensuite, I walked alongside, feeling her supportive presence. The gentle rubs on my sides from Winter conveyed a subtle tenderness, a small yet powerful display of her care for me in that moment.

Carefully, I prepared a bath for Winter, intent on easing the weight of the day from her shoulders. With precision, I added bubbles and a few drops of fragrant lavender oil, the soothing aroma mingling with the warm steam. Winter observed the process, her eyes reflecting a sense of gratitude and affection for the care I was providing without hesitation.

"Thank you, angel," she whispered softly as she sank into the inviting bath, a sigh of relief escaping her lips as the stress began to dissipate.

"Of course, Min," I responded, settling nearby as she soaked in the soothing waters. The gentle ambiance of the bath enveloped us in a tranquil moment, the unspoken bond between us palpable in the way I tended to her needs, offering comfort in silence as she found solace in the serenity of the bath.

"Come join me," Winter invited, extending her hand in a gesture that beckoned me to share the tranquil moment with her.

Slipping out of my robe, I readied myself to join her, feeling the steam from the bath embrace my skin as I approached the inviting warmth. With each step, the serene ambiance of the room wrapped around me, offering a sense of tranquility that matched Winter's calming presence.

Winter's touch on my sides in the bath was soothing, both of us unwinding in the warmth of the water. However, the ambiance took a turn as an unexpected desire began to stir between us.

Winter’s hand cascaded from my waist to my core. Her fingers stop right above your clit, making you quiver. She smirked, leaning closer to your ear she whispers “ Turned on angel?” She continued her assault on your clit , sending electrical currents through your body at the feeling.

“Fuck Minjeong” I sighed out in pleasure. You could feel her hardening behind you, so you reached back and pumped her shaft.

“Fuck angel” She groaned. Inserting three of her fingers inside you, curling it immediately causing you to cry out in pleasure. Her lips latched on to your neck marking them, but she couldn't take it anymore. She pulled out her fingers causing you to whimper, and softly pushed you forward turning you around to face her. She stood up, lifting you in her arms, and made her way to the bedroom. Upon entering, she gently placed you on the bed, desire burning in her gaze.

“ I wanted to take it easy on you” She rasped with desire. “But that can wait”. Her voice, low and sultry, sent shivers down my spine as she leaned in closer. Winter gripped your neck, choking you slightly as she pressed her lips to mine. Your core burning in pleasure as she continued thrusting her fingers inside of you. The intensity of her touch matched the fire in her eyes. " Fuck Minjeong" You mewled."J-just like that."

Winter growled as she continued to please you. Her skilled hands moved with precision, each touch igniting a new wave of pleasure. "Fuck, look at you, angel." The room was filled with the sound of my moans, and the air was thick with desire. She pulled her finger out of my core, sucking her fingers while she pumped her shaft. Her other hand, still on my neck, grips it harder this time, my vision blurring slightly. "Delicious as always," she remarked with a smirk.

Your eyes trailed down to her cock, precum oozing from the tip. Winter took notice of this and guided her dick to your core, thrusting her entire length inside you

“Shit!” You cried out, the bed creaks as she rams into you. Your hands tug her hair making Winter moan and grunt as her hips slap against yours. She fucks you hard in the mattress, her lips crashing into yours.

Her hips unrelenting as you wrapped your legs around her waist, your legs are starting to get sore. She now angles her hips, the vein on her dick rubbing your insides deliciously, filling you to the brim with the snaps of her hips. “Good girl taking me so well.” She purred. “ Fuck -you feel so good around me angel, let me put a baby inside you.”

“Yess, fuck, Minjeong!” I cried out.

“I’ll fill you up till you're carrying my babies” She said, as she continued pounding into my core harshly.

Your body on fire, burning with ecstasy as you cried out for her. Your cunt clenches around her hard dick. Winter knows you're close, so she started to rub your clit which sent you ever the edge. “Shit minjeong I’m cumming” You moaned out, your eyes shut closed as your mouth agape opened as your orgasm knocked your breath away. Your legs shake with pleasure. Winter moans at the tightness of your pussy and shoots her load inside you as she keeps thrusting, her cum leaking out of you as she fills you till the brim, making you full of her seed, sweat gleaming on her forehead as she keeps herself inside of you. Once she softens she pulls away kissing you and caressing your stomach.

"You're mine, Y/n," she uttered softly, the weight of every word laced with unwavering commitment. Her gaze held a mosaic of love and determination, a testament to the depth of her emotions. "I promise to protect you and our future children, to shield them from every storm that may come our way.”

"Thank you, Minjeong. I'll always be by your side forever," I expressed gently, the assurance resonating in my words.

Who would've thought, huh? Falling for someone like her, the one who leads an entire gang. She's usually this stoic, formidable figure that everyone fears, yet with you, she sheds that tough exterior. It's like she's a completely different person—gentle, compassionate.

Your Minjeong.

┗━━━━ ★ ━━━━┛

#bitchiswild #aespa x reader #aespa #kim minjeong #aespa minjeong #minjeong x reader #winter x reader #kim winter #BIW.WRITES #gp minjeong #gp #smut #aespa winter

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heartpascal · 1 year

Note

can we get more father figure joel? You know when Ellie killed the David, and then Joel comforted her? Maybe that but instead of Ellie it’s the reader, thank you <3

i am good

▹ joel miller x platonic!f!reader

▹ — summary: joel finally sees the darkness in himself reflected in you.

▹ — a/n: ok first request i hope it’s ok!! i know its kinda similar to the game but erm. its reader and joel this time!! and reader is much much less ok with the whole. murder thing but its ok bc joel is there to fix it <3 yes he is your dad no you don’t get a choice he has decided it

▹ — warnings: allusions to sexual assault (nothing happens but the intention was there), vivid descriptions of murder, reader is misled and attacked, similar to the game with ellie (so kinda spoilers?), joel is ready to kill for you (and does), lots of blood, tears, father figure joel, lots of angst and upset, vomiting

masterlist

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

Getting air into your lungs was proving to be one of the hardest things you’d had to do for a long time, which, considering the journey you’d been on, was shocking. The act of simply breathing should have come easily to you, but it didn’t. It couldn’t. Not as you saw the reflection of your own bloodied face in the knife that was held up, a clear threat polluting the air.

You knew you had probably been lucky to even make it as far as you had — born into a world full of death and chaos and infection, you were bound to meet your gruesome end some day, but you didn’t want to die.

For the first time in a long time, your chest ached for the breath you couldn’t seem to provide, the want, the need to live almost suffocating you on its own. You had someone now, someone who cared whether you survived or not, who felt like you deserved even a glimpse at a happy ending, even if he didn’t like to state those things out loud.

Resentment was growing in your stomach, filling you with the need to be sick. Why did you always have to listen to the words Joel didn’t say, rather than the ones he did say? If you had just listened, conserved your trust for those who actually earned it, you wouldn’t be in this situation.

When your hunting escapades had led you into a small horde of infected, you had just blindly put your faith in the aging couple who came to your aid, not thinking of what they might want for their troubles. You’d never had to escape without Joel’s help before, and you quickly discovered you weren’t all that good at it.

The two of them had dragged you back to their nearby settlement which they shared with a couple dozen others, all whilst you were kicking and screaming, trying to get away, your resolve fading each time they hit you to near unconsciousness. When they passed by a young man stood beside an older lady, you had called out to them, “Please, help me, please.”

“Gotta get something in return for the gear we wasted saving her ass,” the man had snickered to the two of them as glanced at the couple, just nodding at his words before turning back to their conversation.

You’d been knocked out when they approached a large community house, just getting a glimpse of the carpeted floor before the woman had struck her gun against the side of your head.

You had woken up in the middle of a chilled room, your arms straining with effort as you pushed yourself to sit up, seeing the woman holding a knife towards you. You couldn’t be sure how long it had been since they’d taken you, not with the way your stomach clenched with pain. The whole reason you’d been out there was to solve that, but you were sure that it had gotten worse.

“Listen, please,” your scratchy voice came out, much quieter than you had meant for it to be, “I—I can get you replacements for everything you used, but you gotta let me go.”

“We don’t gotta do anything, girl.” The lady snickered, as if even you saying such a thing was amusing. It made you feel small, powerless.

She got up, hearing her name being called, Cheryl, you noted, and sneered at you. Her skin was dull, and she looked vaguely ill, but that didn’t change anything about her threatening demeanour. At least one thing you’d taken from travelling with Joel was never underestimate your opponent, no matter how small, or ill, or kind they may appear to be.

Her hand grazed your face as she strode past, “Yeah,” she said quietly, like she was complimenting you, “You’ll do nicely. We’ll both enjoy you.”

You managed to avoid throwing up until she left the room, hearing a lock click into place. All that came up was bile, the clench of your stomach just becoming sharper afterwards. Your muscles felt weak, likely beginning to waste away with you having been inactive for a little while and injured, less energy wasted on muscle cells and more going into fighting off the infections that were likely trying to poison your blood.

Scanning the room, like Joel would’ve advised you to, you found nothing of much use to you. An old rickety chair, perhaps, but that would only help you if you could lift it, and you weren’t convinced you had the strength left within you, but you’d be damned if you didn’t at least try.

Something deep in your chest nagged at you, the longing for Joel, probably. He had saved you on countless occasions, and you could only hope that it had been long enough that he had finally gotten worried. It seemed likely, he really did worry a lot for a man who wasn’t meant to care, but then there was the factor of him finding you, managing to take down all the people in the settlement that might fight to protect each other and—

You took a deep breath, finally feeling your lungs expand and take in some oxygen, and pulled yourself from the ground, keeping the bile that threatened to rise down as the nausea hit you.

The chair was lighter than you expected it to be, the insides of the wooden frame likely rotten away, and you managed to pull it towards the door, waiting beside it with shallow breaths. When the lock finally began to click open, you raised the lightweight chair as high as you could, and smacked it down against the person who entered the room. Splinters flew from it as it impacted, and you heard the clatter of metal as a tray they carried hit the ground with them.

Food, maybe, to keep you alive for… whatever it was that they had planned for you, you reasoned, but didn’t look to check. Instead, you grabbed a mostly-intact leg of the chair that caused splinters to dig into your palm, and stepped over the body of the man who had taken you, exiting quickly.

Footsteps hurried you, and you ducked behind a booth as they approached the room you were being kept in. There were lanterns lit all around the room, giving it a warm look that greatly contrasted the cold air and feel it had.

“Shit!” Cheryl cursed, and you saw her bend down to check on the man from over the top of your booth. A radio crackled though the air, before, “Lewis is down, the girl’s out. Anybody got eyes?”

Your fingers shook and you gripped on to the booth to stop them, hearing the distorted reply of whoever was on the other end of the radio, “She ain’t got out, yet, she’s gotta be in there with you. You need backup?”

“No,” Cheryl replied, her cold voice sending shivers down your back, “I’ve got her.”

The drag of Lewis’ clothes against the floor made you peak your head up, seeing her drag him into the room, before she exited and locked him inside. You ducked back down, heart hammering. You couldn’t escape from them in an open forest — how would you get out of a locked down building?

“Come on out, kid. It’s okay, you just gotta start behaving yourself.” She called, her slow footsteps failing to mask the sound of her unsheathing her knife. It wasn’t okay, it was very far from okay, you would argue, and you could feel that crushing fear of death pushing down on your shoulders, your chest constricting once again.

You tried to reassure yourself — you had faced countless amounts of infected and come out on the other side, what was one woman with very bad intentions? But it didn’t make you feel better, not when it was another human, who could feel exactly what you felt.

Her footsteps approached, and you leaped from where you were in the booth, trying to run as far away from her as fast as you could, but she caught up to you with surprising ease, your muscles clearly weaker than initially thought, and she grasped the back of your shirt, pulling you to a stop as you fell to the ground.

“Get the fuck off of me!” You cried out as she knelt down, one knee beside you and another pressing against your stomach, knife approaching your throat as soon as she settled you firmly against the carpet. It was red.

“You could’ve made this real easy for all of us,” she muttered your name, and you froze, having forgotten the way you’d yelled it out to them in the midst of the battle. “Be a good girl, now.”

You heard gunfire outside, and when her face glanced toward the guarded front door, you twisted underneath her, pushing yourself away to find enough room to kick the knee against the floor out from under her. She fell, her chin hitting the ground with a satisfying crack, and when she cried out, anger overcame you.

“You were gonna hurt me,” You said aloud, almost as if it was a realisation, rather than just fact. Your eyes hardened, gaze going red as you snatched the knife from her weakened grip. She reached out to try and snatch it back, but only got the drops of your blood that fell from the blade as you held onto it, twisting it until you finally held the handle. “Why— why were you going to hurt me?”

Her response didn’t filter through your ears, and the rage at how easily she and Lewis were going to do it pulsed, making your vision go blurry. When she sat up, tumbling forward to take you down again, you swiped her own knife until you felt the drag of something resisting it, and then you pulled harder, feeling something warm gushing down your hand.

Cheryl’s breath stuttered slightly, her hands rising to her chest as she groaned in pain. You looked down to your hands, where they were coated in a red that was darker than the carpet below them, and you were so lost that you didn’t notice her hand coming below yours, hitting it so hard that the knife went flying to the other end of the carpet.

Like a reflex, your fists came down on her face, feeling the shift of bones beneath your knuckles as they shattered upon contact. You didn’t stop, too wrapped up in the fact that you didn’t want to die, that she was going to hurt you, to kill you when she was done, she was going to tear you apart and throw away the pieces, she was going to take away what little humanity had left, she—

Arms pulled you away from the body beneath you, arms much stronger than your own, and you screamed, yelled out with your broken voice, “I’ll kill you, I’ll fucking kill you, get off of me! I’ll kill you!”

The person shushed you, only holding tighter as you thrashed, turning away from Cheryl where she… wasn’t breathing. You stopped, tense muscles in your body going slack and burning as you stared at her, at her body, lifeless and covered in blood.

“Kid, it’s okay, it’s okay, I’ve got you.” said the person holding you— said Joel. Your hands dropped from where you had scratched his forearm, his arm covered in blood — though whether it was his, or Cheryl’s, or yours, you didn’t know.

He loosened his grip on you, eyebrows creased in concern as your entire body slipped when he moved his arms away, as if you couldn’t even hold yourself up.

“No… she— it wasn’t, I didn’t—” you trailed off, unsure of what to say, the words dead on your tongue, because you didn’t what? Didn't mean to kill her?

Joel followed your blank eyes to the body he’d pulled you from, and he turned your head towards him quickly, eyes hard. “No.” He said, and at your somewhat confused expression, he continued, “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Joel, I—”

“No,” he repeated, and pulled your head towards him, keeping you looking away from Cheryl as a gunshot rang through the room, echoing in your ears so loudly you couldn’t hear Joel at first, as he held up the smoking gun for you to see, “—killed her, see? I killed her.”

“They were going… they wanted to—” You choked on the words, feeling that bile come creeping back up your throat, and you lurched away from Joel as it came out, feeling him pull your hair back from your face.

Something in his eyes settled, however, at the choice of word you’d used — they. So this body wasn’t the only one in here? His question was answered by a bang at a door on the other side, the way your entire body flinched at the sound.

The door splintered, and a battered man came tumbling out, hurrying over to where he could see people crowded. His face went red, and he began to shout, “You fucking bitch—!”

Joel shot one between the eyes, and the man crumpled before he could get anything else out. He turned back to you, to where you were hunched in on yourself. He shoved his gun back in its rightful place, and held your cheeks between his hands, gunpowder residue transferring to your skin.

“Do you hear me?” His muted voice said, and you looked up to his face with a confused shake of your head, “It was you or them, and the only answer is you.”

“But, Joel,” you were interrupted, and he wiped the underneath of your eye of a tear that you hadn’t even known had fallen.

“No. You listen to me, remember?” Joel affirmed, and you nodded, the tears falling more now that you’d acknowledged them, your hands shaking as you tried to look past Joel, but he just pulled your face back to him. “I’ve got you, kid. Keep your eyes on me.”

You turned your face into his neck as you all but threw yourself into his arms, and they wrapped around you like they’d been waiting to do so. You missed his pained expression at the words, and the way heartache burrowed in his chest as he stood the two of you up, his knees clicking.

He swept you up, as if you were the smallest and lightest thing he’d carried in years, and he carried you away, your eyes staying glued to him as the two of you left behind the carnage he’d caused in looking for you.

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junggunz · 6 months

Text

nyctophobia ft. gun park | 🔞

summary: your fear of the dark has been bad for as long as you can remember. many restless nights lead you to forget to turn on your night light before going to bed and your nightmare comes to life. cw: fembodied!reader, sleep paralysis demon!gun, reader is mentioned to be in therapy, kinda plot heavy tbh oops, mentions of derealization since u know...reader has sleep paralysis, SMUT, masturbation is mentioned, TW!!!!NONCON somnophilia, fingering (f receiving), oral (f receiving), p in v, spanking, creampie. all characters featured are 18+ wc: 3.7k an: spooky szn was kinda rough this year ngl. BUT HEYY I POSTED BEFORE HALLOWEEN hehehe. also ily if you catch the asking alexandria line reference.

Discarded clothes trail from your bedroom door to the foot of your bed. Judging by the pieces and imagining how they must have looked when they were on your body, it’s obvious why you were in such a rush to get out of the confines of the fabric. In such a deep slumber, worn out by all the activities and obligations that took up your daylight hours, it’s no wonder why you skip your usual nightly routine.

As soon as the sun is done setting, beautiful golden hues no longer warm your apartment and nightfall is sneaking in through the window, you’re usually so quick to turn some lights; trying to emulate the comforting warmth of the sun. But today, it was already night time when you got home, your living space seemingly consumed by the black abyss. With how much you prefer being in a well lit space, it was out of character seeing how swiftly you navigated your exhausted body through your apartment and to your room without stopping to even turn on a single hallway light.

So focused on getting into bed and heating up the cold sheets with your own body temperature, you didn’t pay any real attention to the way the shadows of the night warped and twisted in your presence. Even after you’ve settled and gotten comfortable, you refuse to acknowledge the murkiness surrounding you; choosing to keep your eyes closed. Letting your mind wander and take you far away, it wasn’t long before your thoughts were filled with erotic fodder that caused a tingle of heat to develop between your bare thighs. Thumbs hooking into the waistband of the flimsy fabric you called your panties, you hastily shoved them off your hips so you could partake in some stress relief before you fell asleep.

And now, here you were. Fast asleep, indecently exposed from the waist down as Gun circles your bed in the same manner of a shark hunting its prey. It’s just you and the demonic embodiment of darkness now. After so many nights of keeping him confined to only the shadiest corners of your apartment—the closest he could ever get to you being inside your closet that was far across your room—he felt like he was the one going insane.

Ever since you were young, you knew the darkness wasn’t all it seemed. It noticed you. It whispered to you. It beckoned toward you. It plagued you with night terrors; taking you to the limbo of consciousness and unconsciousness, forcing you to see gruesome faces on the walls of your bedroom as you lay paralyzed in bed. When you finally acknowledged it, it took you in its claws and dragged you into its madness.

No one believed you when you talked about what you experienced, the adults around you simply dismissing it as a childish phobia you would grow out of when you were older. With how often the darkness would speak to you, it only grew louder and more demanding; seeming like it grew stronger and taller just like you were as you got older but still remained scared of the dark.

Whenever Gun recalls the way you behaved after your first therapy session, he can’t help but laugh at how brave you tried to act around him. Insistent that he wasn’t real and he didn’t scare you, echoing the words that everyone around you said to you. You could deny him and reject him all you wanted but he would always be right behind you or just out of your peripheral vision as a mass of black smoke staining the walls. And because no one could ever understand what you experienced, it was easier for them to all assume that you were just crazy.

Oh, if they only knew…

Gun’s touch is very real as his fingers dance along your exposed thigh, leaving goosebumps in their wake. His patience had worn thin long ago and he had no desire to take his sweet time with you. Countless nights of taunting and teasing you in your dreams in retaliation for you treating him like a caged animal. Whether you were aware of it or not, your fear of the dark had been feeding Gun for as long as he had been in your life. With a phobia so intense, it was only natural it was able to manifest itself this way. And you seemed to be aware of that, going to extreme lengths to avoid being shroud in darkness and never sleeping with the lights off.

Despite all your efforts to conquer your fear of the dark completely— managing it to the best of your ability as you work toward that goal—you’ve been having persistent nightmares as of recent. Nightmares disguised as erotic dreams that have you waking up sweating and shaking; unsure if it was from being face to face with your biggest fear or if it was from the excitement of seeing your fantasies play out in your mind and feeling oh so real. Even if it’s basically the same dream night after night where you spend half of your dream trying to outrun the inky figure chasing you down an unilluminated corridor until it finally backs you into a dead end, yanking you flat on your back by the ankle and looming over you. Then, his features become more apparent and it’s no longer just a shadowy figure standing over you. His eyes are a pitch black devoid of all light but the rest of him leaves you at a loss of words; not knowing if you had the language to describe how attractive he is. The scar between his obsidian eyes seems to be the only imperfection he has but in all honesty, it makes him even more handsome.

Overcome with desire for this man in front of you, it slips your mind that you were still having a nightmare. The beginning embers of lust are quickly put out by the bone chilling gaze he stares down at you with.

Tch, you’re scared of the dark but here you are, looking at me like I’m something to eat. Crouching to your level, he takes your chin in his hand and examines the expression of uncertainty painted on your face up close. Thumb grazing over your plush lower lip, he’s suddenly prying upon your mouth and holding it open; his thumb now pressing down on your tongue. The action has saliva pooling in your mouth until it’s dribbling down the sides of your lips. Such a sinful mouth. No wonder why you seek out the light for salvation.

Your one sided conversations with the man differ every night; as do the way he interacts with you after he’s backed you into a corner. But how he chases you down to taunt and torment with tactics that arouse both fear and longing within you then waking you up right before you could get to the good part is consistent.

At least, it usually is.

The lines between dream and reality blur as you look at your bedroom through heavy eyes, your eyelids sticking together from you being too exhausted to remove your makeup. Your room looks exactly how you remember it before you fell asleep; the only thing that makes you doubt you’re awake is how muddled your mind feels. It’s like there’s some grainy filter over your vision and there’s a disconnect between your brain and body. You try to roll over to the other side of your bed, craving escape from the sheets you were tangled up in and the overbearing heat it was causing but your body doesn’t move on your own accord. Instead, you feel hands that mimic the temperature of a furnace on your hips, turning you to lay on your back. Using every bit of strength in your body to crane your neck, to see what was going on and there he is.

Between your bare legs.

Cheek nestled against your inner thigh, tepid breath fanning across your private parts.

How could a man you’ve only ever seen in your dreams be in your bedroom? Accepting that this all just had to be a dream, you lay back and simply wait for it to be over. And that’s exactly how Gun wanted you to respond. He wanted you to believe it was all just a hallucination and he wasn’t actually lapping up the arousal trickling out of your hole; going as far to lick up the dried remains on your inner thighs from when you had masturbated right before falling asleep. If you had thought all of this was some sort of erotic dream, you’d have no problem surrendering to him. But given how you reacted to him in your dreams, Gun didn’t doubt that you’d do that at any time.

Being able to touch you and taste you like this turns out to be worth his while, making Gun feel like your thighs were made for cheeks to graze as his lips drink up your nectar straight from the source. Tongue slipping between your folds, leaving a warm trail of his spit from your clit to your entrance, his eyes train themselves on your sleepy face; watching the way you react to him.

Such a needy little human you are. Canting your hips up with every little action he makes, leaving a sticky mess all over his lips and chin. Gun can already imagine how desperate your screams for more are gonna sound once he’s had his fill of you.

Living in the same obscurity as your shadow, Gun has seen you getting down and dirty with hookups and temporary boyfriends with his own eyes. They’re never anything impressive or worth writing home about seeing that you’re still single. And just a sliver of attention to the swollen pearl between your folds has you gushing.

It’s all quite pathetic, honestly.

But it’s what Gun revels in the most. All it takes to get you to open up is him bringing his fingers up to your entrance, applying the slightest amount of pressure. Then, just like that, your hole is stretching around his finger like it was meant for him. Slow and easy, the digit is sinking all the way into you; not for your pleasure or comfort but solely so Gun could enjoy all the worldly pleasures of you shuddering and clenching around him.

Mostly unconscious still, you manage to put up a fuss and whine as his lone fingers slowly moves in and out of you. Craving more of him whether you were aware of it or not, by the time Gun eases a second finger into you, thick strings of your arousal are seeping out of you. Each push of his fingers fills your otherwise silent bedroom with filthy, wet noises. Having an almost innate understanding for what it takes to bend and break you, he angles his hand to press his fingers into a spot that somehow manages to get you even wetter. A few firm presses into that soft spot within your gummy walls and you’re clamping down on him so tight he can barely move. Unamused by you trying to hinder his actions, the clenching of your pussy only fuels him to thrust his fingers into the spot harder until he’s drawing out little bursts of your wetness that make the muscles of your interior thighs quiver.

Eyes not even half open, you’re barely able to register the familiar feeling of that knot in your stomach snapping when you orgasm. You can feel the wet sheets sticking to your butt and thighs confirming the thought that you had a wet dream yet your body refuses to cooperate with you to let you escape the damp bedding beneath your body. Through the little field of vision you have, you can see the inky shadows moving around your bed and it sends a chill throughout your body. Heart hammering against your chest as you begin to panic, realizing you couldn’t move to turn on the lamp on your bedside table. The most movement you’re able to make is to squeeze your eyes shut and pretend that you didn’t notice the darkness playing with your mind.

Alas, every time you had noticed the darkness, it would notice you back.

“You never put up much of a fight when you get sleep paralysis, do you?” A voice speaks to you, cold, menthol scented breath infiltrating your nostrils and making you feel dizzy.

Dread really settles in as you don’t know what’s worse; the possibility that a real person was in your apartment, speaking to you while you were immobile or the off chance you hadn’t been hallucinating and you were actually face to face with something from your nightmares. Accepting that either option yielded unfavorable results for you, you slowly crack open one eye.

And when your vision adapts to the eigengrau landscape of your room, there he is again.

On top of you and looking down at you with an amused expression. Your body had been so numb you didn’t feel him pinning your wrists on either side of your head—even if both of you were well aware that you weren’t going anywhere.

“Lucky me. On the one night you don’t have your home lit up like a beacon for moths, you’re already half naked for me. Have you been waiting for this?” Gun chuckles menacingly.

You don’t notice the single tear escaping your eye and streaming down your cheek but you do feel him leaning in to lick it away; making you whimper in fear. Pulling back from you, you’re able to really take in his appearance as your eyes widen slightly. Totally black eyes void of all light with perfectly coiffed hair just as dark, the scar—he’s definitely the one from your dreams. What you thought wasn’t possible was very much a reality right now.

“Don’t you get tired of always gawking at me like that?” He asks in a patronizing tone and as much as you want to avert your gaze, you’re scared of what he might do if you take your eyes off him. “I think I like you better when you’re sleeping and not looking at me with that pitiful expression.”

You want to believe that you were finally able to turn over on your own but the fingertips digging into the meat of your hips are so hot you swear they would leave behind burn marks in their wake say otherwise. His touch is like being nipped by stray embers; fleeting but hot enough to shock your nerves and make you flinch at the contact. Slowly but surely regaining sensation, you’re able to move your leg when Gun’s knee knocks against it.

Settling between your spread thighs, you can feel all of the heat emanating off of Gun’s body and you don’t have to think too hard to realize what’s coming next. Even with how silently he moves in the night, the unmistakable sensation of precum dripping on your skin gives him away before he teases your entrance with the tip of his cock. Back arching and hips rolling toward him, you let out a soft mewl; finally becoming aware of how your arousal was outweighing your fear of him.

“Have you no shame?” Gun teases, amused by you trying to push your weak, little body more toward him and take him inside you.

You never would have guessed but your eagerness pleases him and soon, he’s gripping your hips tighter and pulling you back on to his cock; entering you in one clean thrust. So wet and so inviting, your hole doesn’t even try to resist him. Instead, it’s squeezing him tighter and urging him deeper. You think you let out a moan when Gun gives you his entire length, but your mind is so hazy and you still haven’t fully come to terms with whether or not you were dreaming. None of those silly little thoughts matter anyway when the head of his cock is sinking into you with no remorse; the stretch of him causing your expression to morph into one of discomfort.

“Too big for you?” He laughs at your whimpering, feeling the way your limp body suddenly tensed up.

You don’t reply, only letting out a pitiful wince as he starts to thrust into you slowly; each movement so intensely deep it felt like he wanted to break you. Displeased by your silence, the direction of his thrusts changes ever so slightly until he’s grinding up against some sensitive spot within you that you weren’t even aware of until now.

“F-fuck…” You gasp, squeezing your eyes shut and grabbing the sheets like they were a lifeline. As much as it would amuse Gun for him to taunt you further and coax an answer out of you, he doesn’t care enough to hear the assurance that he was the biggest you’ve ever taken. It’s pleasing enough to see how easily you turn into a mess of moans and sobs as his pace picks up, sharp hips slamming into your plump behind so hard it feels like you’ll bruise there too. Every single one of Gun’s actions and movements are so rough and brutal, he doesn’t consider how fragile and puny your human body is compared to him. Although, when the thought crosses his mind, he still doesn’t think to ease up on you in the least bit.

Gun is no stranger to otherworldly pleasures, but there’s something about the way you’re wrapped around him so snug and oh so wet that has him hooked. The combined heat of your bodies joined as one is addicting. All he can think about is feeling every inch of you inside and out.

“Why the fuck is this still on?” He growls, referencing the oversized sleeping shirt you had on then angrily ripping it off of your body; tossing the shredded scraps of fabric off to the side and leaving you fully nude before his hands are greedily taking in the feel of you beneath his hands.

You weakly look over at the torn fabric, frowning slightly at the idea of having to buy a new sleeping shirt but quite honestly, that was a shirt left behind by an ex and had overstayed its welcome in your wardrobe.

Being so savagely taken advantage of like this shouldn’t arouse you so much but there’s no denying the lewd squelching of your wet cunt every time Gun pushes into you. Maybe you find solace in the idea that this is just a dream; even if you didn’t fully believe it. Maybe your newfound kink was something else you needed to bring up in therapy. Either way, being in this state of delirium induced by all the pleasure you were feeling combined with the fact your brain was foggy as you tried to gain full consciousness has you moaning into your pillows.

Sweaty and flustered with droopy eyes, your body no longer feels like deadweight when you squirm beneath Gun again, trying to escape his punishing thrusts. Alas, even with the newly regained mobility, you forget to consider the tight grasp he keeps on your hips until he pulls you back to meet his movements. Gun’s hips plow into you hard and fast with no regard for your current state. You may have been sleeping earlier, but he had already gifted you one orgasm and that was pretty generous of him. Now, he’s focused on his own pleasure, using your body as he pleases; you seemed to be enjoying it enough anyway.

You’re babbling nonsense as he continues to ruin you with his cock, your pillow damp with your tears and drool. Realizing that you were trying to speak to him, Gun lifts one hand and brings it down on your ass cheek one, two and three times.

“Speak up, slut. What do you want?” He questions you, the same hand he spanked you with gliding up the expanse of your back before intertwining into your hair and harshly tugging. “Don’t tell me it’s too much for you.”

Your jaw hangs open in a wanton moan as Gun pulls your hair again, causing your neck to twist at an uncomfortable angle so he can take in your unbecoming appearance.

“Is this a dream?” You finally ask in a meek voice to which Gun responds to by leaning down to pull your whole body up so your back is pressed to his front and wrapping his arms around your torso to keep you in place; his hands roughly groping your tits.

“Is it really that good you’re questioning if this is a dream or reality?” He chuckles darkly in your ear, hips unrelenting and the new position making you feel him even deeper if it was possible.

Your walls pulse around him and his cock responds by twitching inside you. An animalistic growl rumbles in Gun’s chest before he leans down to sink his teeth into your shoulder. Thrusts getting sloppy and falling out of their rough rhythm, the constant pressure against your sweet spot causes you to cum all over his aching length. Not even seconds after that, you feel a rush of warmth flooding your hole; hot ribbons of his seed painting your insides. The way your greedy little pussy squeezes around him in an attempt to milk him for every last bit of cum causes him to let out a maniacal laugh before he roughly shoves you off of his cock and face down against your bed in your original position.

“You’re not too bad. Sleep with all the lights off tomorrow night and I’ll help you figure out if this was all just a dream or not.” Gun tells you, giving you a goodbye in the form of one last slap against your ass.

And with that, the stinging of your flesh is enough to cause all the nerves in your body to go into a frenzy; that familiar tingly sensation in each of your limbs coming out of nowhere. Finally able to move again, you sit up in bed. Looking around your dimly lit room as the first rays of the sunrise peek through your blinds, the man is nowhere to be seen but the combination of body fluids leaking out of your hole and onto the sheets is still very there…

Guess you would have to do as he says and sleep without a nightlight if you wanted to see him again.

#tw: noncon #tw: somnophilia #lookism smut #lookism x reader #gun park smut #gun park scenarios #park jonggun smut #park jonggun x reader #junggunz.txt

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strlingsav · 1 year

Note

Your writing is *chef’s kiss* 🙏🏼❤️ would love to request CNC breeding with Ghost, convincing him to put on all his gear and dominate you until he decides its over

RAHHH THANK YOU FOR LISTENING TO MY TED TALK

After much deliberation and some pep-talking from @mykneeshurt, it's here!! Enjoy!!

Fantasy

– Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

— You have an unexpected request for Simon.

Two

Warnings: Dead dove: do not open. Cursing, consensual NC/dubcon, degradation, soft hitting/slapping, fingering (vaginal & barely anal), breeding kink, rough sex. Explicit sexual content under the cut. Read at your own risk.

It came to you in the middle of the night; an overtly sexual scene on one of the late-night TV shows. Bondage, submission. It intrigued you. It was an odd feeling, one that pushed you far beyond your usual flippant regard for romance shows- it sunk to the deepest parts of you, fluttering with arousal.

You found yourself beneath the stream of the shower that night, touching yourself, fingers between your thighs at the phantom of your husband having every single inch of your body for his every desire.

You'd kept it to yourself, not wanting to scare him, make him think of you differently, like you were a masochist. He wasn't a prude by any means, but your conscience was telling you he might be off-put by your suggestion.

It wasn't that you wanted to be hurt- you just wanted to have him entirely in control. Submit to him, your body and mind. You trusted him, implicitly, after all, but still; you never told a soul what that scene did to you, or what you did afterward.

Simon had an inkling you were hiding something when you'd suddenly told him to slap you while you were mid-climax. He was thrown, unsure whether it was a test of some kind or a trap that he could so easily fall into. To say he didn't want to would be a lie. He did, want to, he just didn't want to hurt you. But he did, softly, enough to sate you for the time being but not long enough to keep the requests at bay.

"You alright?" He asked.

You laid against his chest, his arm wrapped around you lazily, staring at the TV screen while his curiosity ate at him. There must've been some explanation for the recent, new requests you made while beneath him, through clenched teeth and swollen lips.

"Yeah," You sighed, cuddling into his side.

"You sure?" He knew you weren't alright- there was something on your mind. It was given away by the flicker of your gaze, how you'd chew on the inside of your lip when you were anxious.

"I- just..." You trailed off, unsure where to even start. How to soften the blow, make it seem less gruesome than it sounded.

"Out with it," He interjected, his eyes meeting yours when you lifted your chin to look at him.

"I have this thing, this fantasy, I guess, that I've been thinking about," You started, sitting up a bit higher. He was already intrigued, just watching your eyes light up. "I'd really like you to just... fuck me."

He quirked a brow up. "Already do," He nearly grinned, amused at your shyness while approaching the topic.

"No- like, hard. In your uniform. Degrade me, slap me, don't take no for answer." You held your breath, eyes widening as you stared at him.

He pursed his lips, staring at you for a moment before he nodded slowly. "You sure that's somethin' you want?"

"I can't stop thinking about it," You sighed, your hands resting on his abdomen as you sat up.

"How long?"

"Not long," You said.

He nodded again, thoughtfully, thinking over your suggestion while his Adam's apple shamefully bobbed in his throat. The mere suggestions of filthy things from your lips made him sweat.

"Alright." He was firm and decisive.

"You'd tell me if you didn't want to, right?"

"Yeah."

"You're okay with it? You like it?" Your teeth chewed at your lip.

He was even more amused now. "Whenever you're ready."

You smiled. His willingness had your pussy fluttering already, liquified warmth sloshing around in your abdomen. "You'd use me, like the slut I am?" Your fingers ghosted the muscles of his torso, teasing.

He could already feel his cock getting hard, his blood turning to ice in his veins as it travelled to his groin.

"Be a pleasure to, sweetheart." He was grinning, his imagination overactive while he thought over your offer.

It wasn't immediate; there was much more to be discussed, which the two of you deliberated over dinner and bedtime routines. A safe word, boundaries.

He was just as enthusiastic as you. In fact, he'd spent a few early-morning showers with his cock in his hand; long, languid strokes while he imagined his sweet, innocent, wife, on your knees, choking on his cock. At his disposal. He let his forehead rest against the shower wall, the warm stream of water washing away every sinful thought until it hit him all over again.

Now that you'd mentioned it, been the one to bare your desires, he wished he'd said something sooner. Told you how badly he wanted to fill you with his cum, while you couldn't do a damn thing about it. Then, he wouldn't be on edge most of the day, fighting an erection at just the thought of you.

You were fucking filthy, he knew that. He could see it in your eyes anytime you had sex- the whines and gasps you let out when he was a little too rough. You liked it. You liked letting him have control of you, letting go of responsibility to choose or decide. Being manhandled tended to get you off faster than anything, and he noticed.

He came home from work a bit later than anticipated, approaching midnight on a Friday. It wasn't unusual, not in his line of work, but still made your heart leap to hear him come home safe.

He strode in, covered in his fatigues, mask over his face. You'd busied yourself with cleaning before that, relaxing on the couch afterward, flipping through channels until you'd landed on a semi-entertaining show.

"Hey baby," You called over your shoulder, eyes averting back to the screen. "How was work?"

He didn't answer for a few moments, before he appeared beside you, moving to sit down. Your brows furrowed at the image of him- he didn't usually wear his mask at home. You decided against asking him about it when he let out a tired sigh.

"Fuckin' tirin'," He answered, his arm reached the back of the couch.

"Sorry to hear that," You frowned. "Can I make you something to eat?"

He smiled; the sweetness you exuded, practically seeping from every pore, made him weak.

"S'alright," He sighed, shaking his head.

You moved closer, cuddling into his side with open arms. Your head laid on his chest, watching the flashing images on the screen.

His eyes landed on your robe. You'd showered. Smelled like absolute heaven, wearing nothing but the silk wrap. Your thighs and calves peeked out from beneath the fabric, every slight movement further teasing the curve of your ass. You'd adjust it back over your shoulder when it slid down, unknowingly revealing your cleavage, showing a bit too much of your body for him to resist any longer.

"Could use a cheerin' up," He said suddenly.

Your head tilted up, "Anything, babe."

"Take it off," He spoke resolutely, not a question, or suggestion. It was an order. "The robe."

You were taken off guard, not expecting such a harsh demand as soon as he stepped through the door, but your mind quickly caught up with the fantasy you'd discussed at length- and suddenly it was so easy to do as he asked. Your body temperature rose a few degrees with the tone of authority in his voice.

Your hands untied the belt of your robe, letting it fall from your shoulders. You were bare, at his mercy as his eyes raked down your form. You shivered- not just from being exposed, but the overwhelming flutter of anticipation in your abdomen.

"Been thinkin' about you all day," A soft touch on your cheek made your eyes drift closed, leaning into his hand. He sighed- restrained and controlled. "Had a hard-on all fuckin' day cause o' you. You oughta fix that. On your knees."

His thighs spread, making room for you between them.

You slid down to the floor, kneeling before him with those wide, doe-eyes he found fucking irresistible.

"You remember your safeword?" He asked, his other arm now hooking around the back of the couch.

You repeated it back to him, earning a strangled inhale of arousal.

"Undo my trousers."

Your fingers worked quickly over the button and zipper, waiting with burning anticipation for your next order. Your hands laid on your lap, a pretty picture of obedience that he more than wanted to take advantage of.

"Go on," He nodded. "Put those lips to good use."

The permission nearly made you leap forward, yanking his briefs down to release his erect cock from his pants. Your lips wrapped around him, soft and gentle at first, before you inhaled, taking him deeper into your mouth.

His head fell back, a deep groan leaving his lips. Your tongue was warm and wet over his cock, eager as it slid up and down alongside your plush lips.

"Thaaaat's it," He blew a harsh breath from his lips.

Your eyes lifted to watch him, his fists clenching, his thighs flexing. Saliva pooled in your mouth, the excess dribbling from your lips to run down your chin, landing on your breasts.

He leaned closer, his hands reaching out to massage your breasts, thumbs running across your perked nipples.

You were enthusiastic, offering him nothing but fervent pleasure. You wanted to please him- to make him forget about the day, while also greedily savouring the way he touched you and bluntly told you what to do.

You pulled away, wiping the saliva from your face. "Enjoying yourself?" You quipped, raising a brow.

His head rolled forward, eyes piercing yours with an unforgiving intensity. His fingers gripped your jaw, tugging you closer. His eyes flickered between yours, before he laid a harsh slap against your cheek.

"No talkin' unless I ask you a question."

You gasped- your eyes fluttering shut, a tingle running up your spine. You straightened, turning your head back to look at him.

"Didn't say stop, dirty fuckin' whore." He leaned back, still focused on you.

You inhaled, a shaky breath accompanied by your racing heart, it was exhilarating, exacerbating the warmth inside you that spread like a wildfire. Your mouth opened to take his cock in your mouth again. You were softer this time, a bit apprehensive, knowing he did have what it took to punish you.

"Do I have to do it for you?" He asked, low and threatening.

You shook your head.

"Then get on with it. Know you can do better than that- suck my cock like a good whore."

You weren't entirely present, your head still reeling with the rush of arousal.

He groaned disapprovingly, his hands reaching your head, suddenly slamming it down. You gagged, sputtering and coughing as he continued to push harder, dragging you back up before another unrelenting shove. His abs flexed as he thrusted into your mouth, making your eyes and nose sting, tears gathering in your eyes.

He was groaning, leaning forward as both hands rested on your head, forcing your mouth and throat as far as possible, intent on making you beg for air. Your body lurched, your throat bulging as his cock plunged behind your uvula.

"Fuuuuck," He breathed.

His hand wrapped around your throat, feeling the head of his cock lodged inside your trachea, mumbling to himself with utter disbelief.

He could hear you desperately sucking in air through your nose, and finally relented. You gasped as you lifted your head- coughing. He chuckled. Low and menacing, entertained by the expression of pain and horror on your face.

"You ain't done," He said. "Keep suckin' my fuckin' cock."

Your eyes watered, dripping down your face, saliva and dry tears staining your cheeks. You inhaled again, your tongue reaching out first before you took him in your mouth.

His hands were there again, though this time he gripped your hair, helping you up and down the length of his cock. Soft slurps and grunts from you made his head roll back again, basking in the utter worship you offered his cock. Eager, searching for praise.

"Christ," He growled. "You like my cock in your mouth, don't you?"

Your eyes fluttered up to meet his, tears still spilling from the clumped lashes of your waterline, nodding slowly.

"Course you do," He huffed. "You're a fuckin' slag."

You shut your eyes, a quiet moan vibrating against his cock. You relished in the praise, even the degradation from him made you wet. Your hand slid between your thighs, desperate for some kind of contact to ease the ache. When he looked down at you, catching sight of your nostrils flaring, eyes shut- he saw your fingers running circles over your clit.

"The fuck are you doin'?" He asked, sitting up.

You stopped, waiting expectantly for his reaction. He did, and with a disapproving head shake, his hand wrapped tightly around your throat.

"Can't resist touchin' that cunt, you greedy fuckin' slut."

He lifted you to your feet, practically dragging you through the hall to the bedroom, where he let you fall back onto the bed.

"You wanna be used, sweetheart?" He asked, towering over you as you leaned back on your elbows. "Oughta treat you like the right whore you are."

"Yes," You breathed. "Yes, please."

"Spread your legs," He ordered.

You did, and his hand came down swiftly against the flesh of your pussy. You cried out.

"Shut the fuck up," He growled. "Or I'll leave you here."

"I'll be quiet," You nodded. "I'll be quiet, please."

"That's right, beg for it. Beg me t'ruin this cunt."

Your hands twisted the bedsheets between your fingers, knuckles bleeding white.

"Please, ruin it. Ruin me."

He hummed- not quite satisfied but he was too selfish not to continue.

He lifted his mask, enough that his lips could press against the flesh of your breasts, sucking harshly to leave deep, reddened splotches of broken capillaries. His hands reached your wrists, pinning them at your sides while he tugged at your nipples with sharp teeth, listening to your pleading whimpers and soft cries every time he'd bite a little too hard.

He reached the expanse of your inner thighs, holding both wrists with one hand, he let the other caress you softly before his now-bare palm would strike against them. You flinched, thighs closing together inadvertently, stifling the shout out of surprise and pain. He let his saliva shoot out of his mouth to your pussy, before leaning down and absolutely devouring your clit.

You arched your back. A relieved sigh, echoing around the room, low moans as he sucked and licked at you, sloppy, messy. His biceps hugged your thighs, tugging you closer. He nipped and bit at your clit, eliciting a twitch in your hips, harsh exhales when he'd envelope your clit in his mouth, caressing his tongue over it with reckless abandon.

On the third orgasm, you tried to push him away, tried to wrench your hands from his grip but it was no use. His strength overpowered yours tenfold, and the position was too difficult to slip out of. Your hips twisted, bucking wildly against his face.

"Stop movin'," He growled, his eyes narrowed as they flickered up to yours.

You swallowed, whimpering pitifully instead. Your pussy was drenched but sore.

"Please," You whispered, your head turning to press against the duvet. "No more- can't take anymore."

"Can't take anymore?" He repeated. "You'll keep cummin' until I say so, sweetheart. Y'like it, I know you do."

You let out a low groan at the feeling of his fingers opening you up, sliding into the drenched warmth of your pussy, curling upwards repeatedly.

"I feel how wet you are," He muttered. "You're enjoyin' this."

You grunted. "I-I can't, no more, please," You whimpered, your voice breaking.

"Take it. Know you can take it."

He continued, relentlessly flicking his tongue over your clit, drawing his fingers back and forth inside you. Your body was writhing, tears dragging down the apples of your cheeks. You were overwhelmed, your vision distorted with the fresh tears brewing in your eyes, thoughts flustered and incoherent. It was methodical torture.

"Look at you," He cooed. "Hardly even started yet 'nd you're fuckin' cryin'. You wanna stop?"

You nodded.

"Too fuckin' bad. I ain't done with you yet, love."

You groaned, eyes squeezed shut when your fourth orgasm overtook you. It was brutal, drenching you in sweat, making your hips and thighs ache with how long you'd been flexing to keep steady.

His lips and chin were soaked with your cum when he settled before you. He grabbed your hips, flipping you over. He yanked your arms behind your back, forcing your chest down to the bed, his other hand caressing the soft flesh of your ass that pressed against his pelvis.

He savoured the sight of his wife on her knees, bent over for him to use as he saw fit. His hands pulled at the malleable flesh of your ass, teasing slaps intermittently, soothed by calloused palms.

"Just a hole for me to use, ain't you?"

A quiet sob racked your shoulders- overwhelmed and overstimulated.

He pulled his cock from his pants, stroking roughly a few times before he plunged inside you.

"Fuckin' hell your cunt is tight. Gonna have to make this cock fit, huh?"

You whimpered, a pleading noise that came from your throat as your head fell forward. You took in a deep breath, relaxing into his touch- you trusted him.

A pleased sigh left his lips, he lifted you to his chest by your arms, his dark and mocking voice in your ear as he said, "There's a good girl. 'M gonna fuck you dumb."

The initial strokes were painful, deep and unforgiving, taking far longer than you'd like for him to glide freely in and out. Your teeth bit at your lip, holding in any and all cries building up in your chest, pounding against yours ribs.

"Go on," He groaned. "Wanna hear you scream on my cock."

You took in a shaky breath, your ribs flaring as you inhaled. He had a tight grip on your hands, his other wrapping around your throat, bruising the delicate skin. His shoulders tightened, back flexing as he moved his hips back and forth, using your pussy to massage his cock.

It was hazy, a veil of utter exhaustion having fallen over you. Your cheeks were tight with dry tears, nose running, body sore and contorted in a way that was uncomfortable. But Simon's hands didn't relent and his thrusts were poignant, purposeful and ruthless.

"Tell me how much you love this cock," He grunted, sweat dotting his forehead from his efforts. "Punishin' you like the pathetic whore you are."

"I love it," Your voice was meek, grainy.

A hand met your ass with a harsh impact.

"Can't hear you, speak the fuck up."

"I love it. I love being punished," It sounded pathetic, like complete surrender to his hands.

He grumbled, satisfied with your answer but still not finished his endeavour.

He took a handful of your hair, roughly pulling your head back to rest on his shoulder. You were sniffling, your eyes relentlessly leaking with tears.

"Fuckin' pathetic," He growled, his hips meeting your ass as he drove his cock up into you. "Feels good doesn't it? You love takin' this cock, eh sweetheart?"

You nodded, "Yes- yes it feels good, so good- fuck."

"Need a cock in you all the time, like the desperate slag you are."

"I do," You whimpered, your lip trembling as your eyes shifted to look at him.

His released you, forcing you to the bed while he slammed his cock in and out of you. Your arms bent at an uncomfortable angle on your back, hips positioned so he could dive deep inside you.

You were hardly stifling the sobs now, your lips parted as you gasped for air. His hand reached down against your cheek, his palm pressing your face further into the bed.

"You keep on cryin', I ain't stoppin' 'til this cunt is full of my cum."

His thumb traced over the tight entrance above your pussy, pressing every so lightly, teasing- the way he knew you liked. You couldn't suppress the moan that crawled up your throat.

"Might just try this hole next." He lifted you again, pressed tightly against his chest as he cupped your ass, parting your cheeks for better access.

You shook your head, quiet protests falling from your lips, barely audible.

"Think you'd like it up your arse." He was smug, relishing in your helplessness.

You couldn't help but moan as he whispered the filthy and depraved words in your ear. You were still protesting his suggestion, though with less conviction as you felt your abdomen tighten, flutters of pleasure dancing through your clit.

"I'd rather fill this cunt tonight," He said, his hand wrapping around your waist to reach your clit. "Put a kid in you. Use this cunt just how I like."

Your whines had turned to moans, back arching even further with each stroke of his fingers, every thrust inside you. He could feel the muscles inside you squeezing down, pushing against his cock- and it made him twitch.

"Be a good slag for me-" His breath against your ear made you shiver. "Cum on my cock."

You did- toes curling, crying out with unbridled pleasure, eyes watering, wrenching violently against his hands keeping you in place. Your heart pounded in your chest, sucking in deep breaths as his pace stayed steady.

"'M gonna fill this fuckin' cunt," He breathed.

You shook your head again- a quiet no leaving your lips as you twisted your body, trying to get away.

"Stay right there," He grunted, his hold on you even more firm than before, a slap against your ass punishing you. "'M buryin' my cum in you, like it or not."

His head fell back as he released inside you, his hips still driving against your ass. He began to slow not long after, pausing for a moment with his cock still deep in you.

Once he pulled out, he released your wrists, coaxing you against his chest in a firm hold. When you'd regained your breath, he spoke.

"You alright, sweetheart?" He asked, a light hand moving the hair from your face.

You looked up at him with tired eyes, smiling softly.

"More than alright- you?" Your eyes were half-shut with utter bliss.

He nodded. "I'd say the same."

He held you in his arms, fingertips and palms leaving soothing touches over the reddened expanse of your thighs and backside. He left comforting touches along your waist and hips. He kissed your cheek, gentle and loving, before pressing his lips to yours. He kissed you slowly, appreciative and loving, finally pulling away.

"Let's get you a bath, love."

#cod mw2 #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost smut #simon riley smut #cod mwii #mwii #simon riley #strlingsavwrites #ghost x you #ask strlingsav

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mothwingwritings · 6 months

Note

C and F for my boy Pickle

Eyyy sorry for the delay! (Yes I am still working on these!!!) Here is some Pickle goodness for you my dear.~<3

WARNINGS: Sex and violence and one love sick feral man.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

Pickle would honestly treat you as nicely as he is able too. His living environment has its limitations, but he does everything he can to make it comfortable and inviting for you, adamant about making it a home that is fitting of his mate.

Once you are safely stashed away in his secret abode he sets to work constructing you a nest of things so that you may find pinnacle contentment in your new home. He’s gathered an amalgamation of the softest blankets, clothes, linen, etc. that has been given to him or that he has scavenged, so that you may rest in peace and luxury while in his presence. He also brings you the best cuts of meat after his hunts, though he caught on quickly that you were apt to turn your nose at his bloody, raw offering (he couldn’t quite understand why, he was sure you would love it if you just gave it a chance). Once he picks up on your distaste, he instead begins to hoard ingredients and snacks he steals picks up out in the world, supplying you all manner of foodstuff till he pins down the ones you like.

While Pickle prefers you in your natural state, he understands your body needs protection from the elements. He doesn’t quite get modern fashion, but you seem sad wearing the same thing over and over again. While he’s out he procures a hodge-podge of varying clothing, presenting it to you by dumping it at your feet, a huge dopey grin on his face. He loves seeing you in the clothing he gifts you, you look so beautiful in each and every piece that he can’t help but stare, holding back the urge to rip it right back off and have his way with you.

Pickle won’t mock you and wouldn’t dream of disrespecting you in anyway. Any harm he causes you is either completely unintentional or for your own good. He loses control of himself sometimes, forgetting his own strength. You are just so small and he loves you so much, it’s hard to hold himself back. He hates using his strength against you to prove a point, but if you remain insistent on trying to escape him he will do what he must to protect you. You are HIS mate and HE’S the only one who can take care of you. All that’s waiting for you in this strange new world is danger, so if you won’t stay by his side willingly, he will force you there.

All that said, while you may be relatively safe from Pickle’s more violent tendencies, anyone else most certainly is NOT. If another person approaches you, threatens you, or tries to take you away from him they will be obliterated, decimated, ripped to shreds, torn apart until nothing is left. He’ll bask in the gruesome slaughter, their end another validation that he is the best one for you, the one who loves and can protect you above all others. Doesn’t matter if that person is a stranger or your own mother-he is all you need, anyone else butting in is an unnecessary threat.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

He would find it incredibly charming if you tried to fight him. Pickle doesn’t see it as an act of aggression at all, but views it as you trying to mimic him as a sign of reverence. You think he is so impressive and strong that you strive to be like him, going so far as to challenge him to a fight. It’s adorable, and he can’t help but break out into a huge toothy grin when he sees you assume a fighting stance.

And it excites him- seeing you tense up, clenching your fists and bending your knees, preparing to strike at a moment’s notice. Seconds before the fray, you stare him down with such intensity, sizing him up and calculating what moves you should make against him, gears turning in your head as you focus wholly on him. The fixation on him sends a shiver of anticipation down his spine. He is the only one you are thinking of in that moment, and in turn you are all that is occupying his thoughts.

Your strikes never hurt him and he can tell how much that frustrates you. He’ll play along sometimes to make you happy, yowling like a mother lioness that is being batted by her cub. He’ll cringe at your punch, shy away from your kick. If he’s convincing enough, you sometimes award him with a small smile, a brief look of accomplishment. It warms his heart, knowing you are having as good of a time as he is.

He also relishes the closeness the two of you share when you initiate these little fights. Usually you try and hide away from him, distancing yourself as much as possible whenever he is in the vicinity. At first he thought it was another game you were trying to play with him, something coy, cute, and seductive to grab his attention. But when the chase became a regular thing he was disappointed, why did you put up such a fuss each time your mate tried to approach you? You didn’t even give him a prize when he finally caught you, just flailing and screaming and spitting. It hurt his feelings- this was supposed to be fun.

But the little brawls you had were fun, and they gave him a chance to have you near him without any to-do. He could feel your skin on his, smell your sweat as your body writhed and wriggled against his. Feeling your small hands grab at his hulking form, listening to your strained moans and heavy breathing as you threw your all into attacking him… Witnessing you in such a state, holding you close as your body rubbed his in just the right way, it doesn’t take long for him to completely lose control.

Before you can recognize what is going on, your body is sheathing his cock, previous grunts of exertion quickly turning into wails of pleasure.

He doesn’t understand why you cry so much afterwards, though. Were you not having as much fun as he was? You initiated the fight, why are you so upset at the outcome? It was a good tussle, and judging by the noises you were making, he was able to make you feel good. Even if you struggled a bit when he was trying to enter you, you always end up yielding to him. The fit is tight, and there have been several times he was afraid he would outright break you when he pushed deeper, pressing into your core. But the pleasure that courses through him as he bottoms out is indescribable. He loses himself in the feel of you surrounding him, completely consumed by the euphoria your body has supplied him.

You are his perfect mate, his brave little warrior, and his love for you is endless. So don’t cry, OK? Maybe next time he’ll let you really ‘win.’ :)

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electronickingdomfox · 10 months

Text

The Kobayashi Alternative (or the 1000 deaths of James T. Kirk)

Finished this game (a text adventure) recently, and oh God, what a glorious mess it was!

The frame story (which only appears in the manual, by the way) places you as a Starfleet Academy cadet, playing a simulation of one of Kirk's famous missions, as a sort of alternative to the infamous Kobayashi Maru test (hence the title). But the actual game revolves around Kirk's mission, trying to find Sulu, who has disappeared in the Trianguli sector. And you're given complete freedom to explore the area and planets in whatever order you choose, and to mess the game in whatever way you want.

And that's my main point of interest here. I've witnessed so, SO many deaths for poor Kirk, because of my ill-advised decisions... Falling into craters, being run over by lava from a (not-so-extinct) volcano, sinking in quicksand, being eaten by a dragon, falling into a moat (and then being eaten), beaming down to a planet with a temperature of -250° in just my uniform (because why not?), or the more gruesome version of beaming down to a no-atmosphere planet without a spacesuit. It's also possible to return to Earth without finishing the mission, just like that, which gets you court-martialed. Or beam down some unsuspecting redshirt to a dangerous area, and to his unavoidable death (which here causes a Game-Over, very much unlike the series). Want to swear at someone until the crew arrests you for bad conduct? Check. *For the record, these are the swear words I found to work: bitch, bastard, suck, c*ck, f*ck, ass (use them in any combination you see fit). There's also many crazy things to do, which don't necessarily lead to a game over. Leave poor Scotty stranded on a planet and depart without him (good luck when you need something from Engineering). Or make Spock mindmeld with clay. Or tell McCoy to enter Spock's quarters, and just leave him there for the rest of the game. There's a planet with aliens that are offended by clothes and will put you in jail for wearing them (well, this is inaccurate, because James Tits-Out Kirk would definitely beam down naked, if it would help the mission... and make sure to video-call Spock right before doing so).

Anyway, despite being a primitive game from 1985, I'm impressed by the sheer amount of possibilities and open-ended options in this game. The graphic adventures from the 90's (25th Anniversary, and specially Judgement Rites) are much, much better games overall. But I wanted to talk a bit about these, more obscure text adventures.

If anyone's interested in playing them, I've found the best way is through this custom installer here, which includes all three adventures: https://collectionchamber.blogspot.com/p/star-trek-first-contact.html It automatically runs the games through an emulator for modern systems, and has the last version of Kobayashi Alternative (which is very important, since previous versions were buggy as hell). First Contact uses the same engine of Kobayashi, but since it's a much linear and smaller game, it's obvious a lot of options go un-used. The Promethean Prophecy is a more traditional text adventure. It has some ingenious puzzles, but I found its typical plot of "go there and collect gems" less Trek-like.

#star trek tos #star trek videogames #text adventures #the kobayashi alternative #james t kirk #simon & schuster #abandonware #diane duane

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builtbybrokenbells · 3 months

Text

CAPITAL VICES | WRATH

Wrath: a strong anger and/or hate towards another person.

Masterlist

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!reader

Word Count: 21k (oops)

Warnings: PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS AS THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS VERY HEAVY THEMES—SMUT 18+, unprotected sex, hate sex, rough sex, fingering (f!receiving), masturbation (f!receiving), touch of voyeurism, choking, praise, degradation, dom/sub, sir kink, choking, touch of impact play, name calling, bratty sub, ANGST, very toxic themes, intentional jealousy, jealousy/possessiveness, very descriptive scenes of anger, gaslighting/manipulative behaviour/phrases, fighting, crying, mentions of physical violence, yelling, belittling oneself and others, self destructive behaviour, self-hatred, mentions of abusive relationships, mentions of cheating, mentions of grief/parent loss, mentions of breakups/breakups, depression, anxiety, mentions of addiction/drug use, mentions of blood/bleeding, swearing, drinking, so sorry if i miss any!

here it is, the long awaited chapter. wrath has been a chapter I’ve been looking forward to since the very beginning, so from the bottom of my heart, thank you for helping me get this far. as always, enjoy, be kind, and don’t mind any grammar mistakes (lightly edited) 😘

Heartbreak is such a cruel word, always insinuating that the very thing that breathes life into your body has been shattered and destroyed beyond repair. Heartbreak is violent, it is isolating, and it is gruesome. It is also something you never once believed you would let yourself feel again, and for years, you had done so well adhering to your own rules.

Love in itself is a funny thing; such a powerful emotion that is not only widely felt, but almost always ends in catastrophe. You were not one for love, and you had known that ever since you found yourself sitting in a bleak beige office across from a divorce lawyer at the young age of 22. Before that, when you cried ugly tears over a hospital bed while holding the sick, frail hand of your once mighty father, the notion began to rise in your mind. You could distinctly remember looking across the room, catching sight of your mothers grief-stricken eyes, and even then you could not begin to comprehend falling in love only to lose someone so tragically.

It always seemed like a curse to you, rather than a blessing; you watched too many relationships fail and leave disaster in its wake, too many people never recover from heartbreak greater than this lifetime, and too many people watch their greatest loves succumb to sickness before their very eyes. You could not position yourself in such a powerless situation, nor could you choke down the pain that came after it. The idea of giving yourself completely to another was not something you were keen on, nor ever wanted for yourself, especially after doing it once and receiving nothing but sorrow in return.

A lifetime of loneliness seemed better than decades of pain, because if you were going to suffer, you thought it best to do it on your own accord.

It’s not like you were isolated; perhaps your heart always craved a little more, but never enough for you to throw your morals in the garbage. Company came in all forms, as did fulfillment. You found solace in friends, family and colleagues. Your life was full of love, even if it was not in the way that is most expected of a person. You knew how to feel it, how to appreciate another in a selfless show of emotion, but never in romance. Casual sex was your forte, and it bridged the gap between your fear of committing and the human urge for connection. It was something you did well at, never lingering for too long and cutting things off before becoming too invested. As of recent, you seemed to stray away from that lifestyle, too, as you began to understand that one wrong move left you in a position that was uncomfortable and complicated. You adored your peace, and you loved your personal space, and if that meant keeping everyone else out, you were willing to sacrifice fulfillment on behalf of happiness.

Your friends and family thought you were insane for lacking the desire to settle down and start a family, that you would rather live alone instead of make space for another. They couldn’t understand you, nor could you understand them. You were two sides of the same coin, and it was always best to leave the discussion of love under the table. Your mother had another daughter to give her grandchildren, and even if she did not, you could not take that burden upon yourself just to make her happy. With time, she had grown much more understanding, and you knew that the more the years went on, the more she would be able to comprehend your feelings on the matter.

You were committed to your job, and your lifestyle. You loved drinking at the bar, and you loved to have fun in every aspect of the word. You liked to laugh, to do things that left impactful memories, and you didn’t want anything to get in the way of that. You did a good job of keeping life simple, and you were confident in your ability to maintain your integrity in the process.

Five years of that lifestyle had made you a professional of sorts. Then, Jacob fucking Kiszka walked into your life and ruined the whole damn thing.

With his pretty eyes and his devilishly beautiful face, he had charmed his way into your bed. With his witty humor and compelling aura, he’d managed to convince you to be his friend. With his sweet words and gentle smile, he’d easily become your favorite person in the whole world, and not long after that, you realized that you had fallen for him beyond any doubt. You were in love with him in the most sincere and honest way, and you loved him enough that you could not manage distance yourself from him, even if you so badly wanted to.

But, he was a man, and beyond the surface, they were all the same. It took one night for him to shatter the comfortability the two of you created, and it took one night to destroy the heart that he had a helping hand in repairing.

You wished you could say that at the sight of his lips locked with another woman and his tongue down her throat, you vowed to be the bigger person. You wanted to walk away, to forget he ever existed and move on with your life. You intended to stitch your wounds in silence, and flourish in seclusion. When you stepped back out into the real world, maybe he could catch a glimpse of you and realize all that he’d lost by being so immature. You wanted it so badly, and you did not crave to involve yourself in his childish behavior. When you left the bar the night he found himself wrapped around another girl, you promised yourself that you would never see him again, nor would try to hurt him the same way he hurt you. You wanted to move on, to take the loss and be better for it.

You had quickly come to learn that promising something and following through are two very different things.

The first night, you cried yourself to sleep. When you woke the next day, the pain was still abundant and relentless. You drank a bottle of wine while playing the saddest songs you knew on the piano, but not even that seemed to help. After that, you did all you could to ignore the hurt in your heart, hoping that if you did not submit to it, it would leave you alone. Food sickened you, and no matter where you situated yourself in your home to try and lessen the memory, it only seemed to hurt worse. His presence clung to every surface. It lived in the fabric of your couch, and the soft cotton of your bedsheets. It was sitting at your kitchen table, and even in the shower, too.

Even if you notice something in a room is missing, the memory of the loss ensures that it will remain indefinitely.

By the third day, you had become so angry that you could not even recognize yourself in the mirror. All of the hurt you were holding back was unbearable, bubbling to the surface with a vengeance. It was upset about being ignored and begging to be heard, disguising itself as anger to showcase its unhappiness with your unwillingness to acknowledge it. You were irritable, your patience thin and bordering non-existence. You cancelled your upcoming clients with a promise to reschedule, and you went to the gym excessively in hopes that the ache of your muscles would cover the sound of the ever-increasing pain in your heart.

You knew you were too far gone when one day, instead of walking away in frustration when your fork had fallen to the floor while trying to heat up old takeout remaining in your fridge, with little care, you had thrown the plate in its entirety to the ground, too. You watched as the porcelain shattered and the food scattered across the floor, no horror or regret in your body. Instead, you only felt emptiness at the sight of the mess you’d made. You took a step over it, ignoring it until you had the energy to clean it, and crawled into your bed in a mess of tears.

Thats when it finally started; all of the hurt turned your maturity into childish rage. You were angry with everything, and you were so full of sorrow that it made it difficult to breathe.

Wrath was just around the corner, and you were too far gone to stop it before it started.

An idea blossomed in your mind amidst the chaos, and at first, you denounced it as quickly as it appeared. It was immature, irrational, and would only open the door for even more trouble. But, as you raised a whiskey glass to your lips with a shaking hand in the darkness of your living room on a boring Wednesday night, you could not refute the temptation. You wanted to hurt Jake the same way he hurt you. You wanted to make him suffer just like you did, crying in his brothers arms while he occupied himself with the prettier, more convenient option.

It was a shot in the dark, and it would only work if he felt the same for you as you did for him. In the last few days, you had been seriously debating whether or not he did. He seemed to move on so easily, making you wonder if he was just playing a long game with you or if you’d hurt him bad enough that he knew no other way to cope with his own breaking heart. Then, you remembered his hands on her, and his lips on her, and it sickened you to the core. It made you feel like he really did want the cop out option, or that he wanted someone who was easier and much less broken. He wanted less baggage, less commitment, and with you, he could not have that. You had long passed simplicity, and outgrown casual. He didn’t want you, and you needed to choke down the fact if you ever had a chance at recovery.

But, with the slim chance that he did care for you the same and he was just being immature about his hurt, you knew you had to act if you were ever going to get the justice you so desperately craved. Revenge is a dangerous game, but you had already gambled your life when you offered your heart to him.

After losing so many times, the prospect of winning became all the more appealing. You would gamble your last breath to finally have the upper hand on him.

So on a warm Saturday evening, you found yourself holed up in your bathroom with a curling iron running through your hair. Your lips were painted red to match the skimpy dress that hugged your body, and your eyes were dark with eyeshadow and dramatic eyeliner. You had put on your best perfume, which just so happened to be the one Jake had claimed as his favourite. As you finished up your hair, you sprayed a thin layer of hairspray so it would stay in place. Just as you did so, a knock sounded on your front door. You went to greet your company with a fake smile on your lips and less than genuine enthusiasm. As you opened the door, a nervous flutter in your stomach reminded you that your idea could end catastrophically.

Behind the door was a familiar face, handsome and smiling as his eyes landed on you. But, his beauty was nowhere near Jake’s, and his smile was nice, but not even close to the breathtaking nature of his. A few days prior, you had scrolled through your Facebook friends in search of a suitable candidate to take on a date. When your eyes landed upon a name of a friend you had lost contact with after high school, you thought it would be a great opportunity to catch up while also using him for your ugly ulterior motives. You reached out, and he responded instantly, thus making your work so much less tiresome. Within a day he was flirting, and within two, you had plans for dinner at an expensive restaurant nearby Jake’s apartment complex. He had picked the spot, and the location just happened to relate with your plans.

“Hello, beautiful.”

“Hi,” you continued forcing the smile, hoping that by the time you settled down to eat, the false nature you held in your heart would settle into comfortability. “Come in for a second, I’m just finishing up.” You stepped aside, allowing him entry. His eyes scanned your walls, taking in the decoration, but he didn’t study it for too long before his stare landed back on your chest.

‘Classy.’ You held back an eye roll as you made a mental note of his lack of maturity. Then again, who were you to judge him when you were only going on the date to piss someone else off? He followed as you walked to your bedroom to grab your purse. ‘Perfect.’ You smiled to yourself, your eyes catching the large mirror displayed in front of your bed. You grabbed your purse and looked over at him, noticing that his eyes were still glued on your body.

“A picture before we go?” You asked, nodding towards the mirror. “Wouldn’t want to forget how good we look.”

“Of course.” He agreed, smiling as he took a step towards you.

You grabbed your phone from the bed, pulling up the camera as he positioned himself behind you. His hand landed just above your hip, his fingertips resting near your stomach as his palm cupped around your side. His seemingly expensive watch was displayed perfectly in the frame, making you wonder if he was also using you as a showpiece for his own personal gain. You turned your head towards him, looking upwards at his face. He was considerably taller than you were, so he had to look down to meet your gaze. You gave him a smile, which he returned with little hesitation. You rested your hand just below his and you raised your phone to your chest, centring it between you two and pointing it at the mirror. You snapped a few pictures, looking down at the screen to check if they were sufficient enough to post.

“We look good together,” he noted, his hand still lingering on you.

“We do.” You agreed, biting back a smirk.

‘Don’t get used to it.’ You thought, heaving a little sigh.

“Ready?” He asked. You gave him a nod, slipping on a pair of heels you’d placed by your bed. Without any further conversation, the two of you went to the front door and walked out. You locked it behind you while he started towards his car, opening the passenger door for you. You settled into the seat, noticing the overwhelming scent of cologne still lingering in the air. It was nice, but not nearly as delicious as the one Jake wore so often. You had to stop comparing the two; yes, you were intending to piss Jake off, but you did not want to be stuck in a constant state of wanting him anymore. As much as you were using the boy to make Jake angry, you were also hoping that when the night was through, you would no longer be stuck on him the same way you had been for the last week.

“I’m really glad you agreed to go out with me.” He said, backing out of your driveway and pulling you from your thoughts. “I’m really glad you reached out at all, actually:”

“I am too,” you smiled “it’s going to be really nice to catch up. I haven’t seen you since… well, high school.” You chuckled.

“Yeah,” he nodded, starting the short drive to the restaurant he’d made reservations at. “If I’m being completely honest, I always had a crush on you back then. Guess I was always too scared to say anything.” You tried your best to hold back a grimace at his words. After spending so many months with someone who was all but shy about his feelings, cowardice seemed to turn you off. If Jake were the one sitting in the drivers seat, he already would have told you how badly he wanted to take your clothes off (only after praising your beauty, of course). Now faced with someone who was nearly shaking at the thought of calling you pretty, you missed the blunt nature of his words more than anything.

“Well, I was a bit preoccupied, anyway.” You tried to ease the tension, regretting bringing up your ex the moment the words left your tongue.

“Yeah, that’s true. He was a dick, and I’m glad you got away from him.” He said, turning onto the highway without another word. Your stomach churned at the thought of him, and there was a rush of fear that flooded you. It had been so long since you had associated with someone who knew your ex husband, and you had forgotten how peaceful it was to be around people who did not know he existed. “You look stunning, by the way.” He wanted to change the subject, realizing that talking about your ex while on a date may not have been the best idea.

“Thank you.” You gave a soft smile, looking from him to the phone sitting in your lap. It was time for phase two of your devilish plan. “You look good too.” You said as you picked up your phone. You unlocked the screen, scrolling through the pictures you’d taken moments before and carefully choosing the one where you looked the best. You edited the lighting slightly on your camera app to make it look even better before opening Snapchat. You chose the picture from your camera roll, picking a heart sticker and shrinking it down so it just fit over his face. You hit the ‘post to story’ button, biting down on the inside of your lip as anxiety began to plague you.

Within seconds, the picture was uploaded. Before you even looked away from the screen, you could see that someone had viewed the image. You had your doubts that he’d seen it so quickly, but there was an incessant nagging in the back of your mind to check and see, just in case. You loaded the story, swiping up to see the view list, and sure enough, Jake’s contact was the only name on the page.

‘Let the game begin.’ You thought, unable to hold back the smirk as you locked your phone again.

“So what have you been up to, Scott?” You asked, turning your attention back to the boy behind the wheel. You could feel your phone vibrating against your leg, but you did not care enough to check it just yet.

“I went away for school for a while, then decided to come back home when I finished. My parents had a hard time with me living so far away, and I guess I did, too.”

“That’s sweet.” You smiled, trying not to notice the prickle of sadness that filled your heart when he spoke of his parents. “What are you doing for work?”

“I’m an accountant at my dad’s law firm, now.” You almost forgot he came from money, nodding along as he inadvertently told you all about his generational wealth. You had no idea how it slipped your mind as you were sat in this years newest Audi model, and the Rolex on his wrist was blinding you every time the street lights pooled in through the windows. “I don’t think I need to ask you, though. You’re one of the most popular photographers in the city, now.”

“Some would say that.” You chuckled. “Not sure if I would agree.”

“I would.” He cut you off, not willing to take argument on the fact. “Your work is really good.”

“Thank you.” You felt your cheeks redden at the sentiment. For a moment, you let the guilt get the best of you. You almost asked him to turn around and take you home, needing to confess to your sins and repent for the fact you were only using him for your own benefit. Then, the moment passed as soon as it came. You did not need to tell him and risk hurting his feelings more; you just had to sit through the night and make civil conversation, and maybe share a kiss or two. The thought wasn’t terrible, even if you’d rather be kissing someone else. When you parted ways at the end of the night, you would thank him for the fun. In the morning, you could tell him a half-truth and confess that it wouldn’t work, and you weren’t ready for a commitment like you previously thought.

That would solve it all, right?

You hadn’t thought it all through yet, and you could admit to that. But, you were good at thinking on your feet, and you were certain you would be able to get yourself out of the mess you were making.

“I remember in high school, you would always walk around with that big clunky camera from the yearbook committee. You took pictures of everything, all of the time.” He chuckled. You were only slightly embarrassed at the memory, but you chose not to respond. “I thought it was cute, and I think it’s really cool you’re still doing that. You have to do what makes you happy, right?” He glanced over at you, his dark hair offsetting the paleness of his skin.

He was incredibly attractive, and you could not deny that. His skin was soft, smooth and inviting. A small, slutty part of you wanted to reach out and touch him, but you refused to allow yourself the pleasure. His hair was soft, shaved down on the back of his head and faded perfectly into the longer hair on top. It was black, and looked perfectly silky, tempting you to run your fingers through it. His smile lit up his whole face, the upturn of the corners of his lips (which were soft and pink, the sight alone sending a flutter to your stomach) made dimples appear on his slightly blushed skin and crinkles form by his eyes. His arms underneath the suit jacket seemed strong, and the veiny hands that gripped the steering wheel aided the assumption.

The suit he had on was perfectly tailored to his body, probably with the funds lining his wallet from his fathers law firm. For a second, you forgot why you had asked him out, focused only on his blinding beauty.

Maybe he was exactly what you needed to forget about Jake, and you wondered if should use that to your advantage. His hands seemed like a perfect distraction, and his mouth seemed even better. A single night didn’t seem so bad, and the longer you thought about it, the harder it was to ignore the ache growing between your legs.

But, your anxiety got the best of you yet again. You feared you would end up in an even messier situation than the one you were in already; in love with someone and in bed with another who seemed overly enamoured with you. A love triangle was not what you needed, but it seemed like you had opened the door for it amidst your struggle to feel better. Then, your mind soured when you realized that Jake had likely fallen into bed with the girl from the bar. For all you knew, she might be with him right now, laying in his bed and giggling at his jokes. The thought sickened you, and you looked back at your company for the night.

Whatever happened was meant to happen, you deducted. You would not encourage anything, but who were you to stop it if the opportunity arose?

“You have to do what makes you happy.” You agreed, shooting him your first genuine smile of the night.

What would make you happy, you had no idea.

Surely not by having meaningless sex with a boy you’d seen for the first time in nearly a decade, especially after having such meaningful sex with Jake for so long. You were confused, and you were hurting. Your internal debate was chipping away at your psyche, but you looked too good and you were too committed to the bit to back out now.

When he pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant, relief flooded you as you realized you wouldn’t have to continue on the conversation of happiness and how to find it. Before the two of you made your way inside, you felt your phone vibrating intensely on your lap, signalling an incoming call. You rolled your eyes, glancing down at it just long enough to see Jake’s name on your screen.

You sent the call to voicemail, looking quickly over the text messages that had been filtering in non-stop since you had uploaded the incriminating picture.

😈

Who the fuck is that?

😈

That text was immediately followed by a phone call, and when that went unanswered, he tried again.

😈

Answer your fucking phone y/n

It seems as though your plan was working fantastically, and against his better judgement, he had broken the radio silence without a second thought. The next step was simple, but probably the most effective one yet; you clicked on the notification bars, bringing yourself into the chat so the read receipt would show under his last texts. Then, you turned your phone on do not disturb and slipped it in your purse.

Jake hated being ignored, and you knew if he had such a volatile reaction to the picture itself, this would surely send him straight to insanity.

‘Checkmate.’ You thought to yourself, biting back a cocky smirk.

You did not think your plan through nearly enough, and disaster was looming overhead, just out of sight.

“Ready to head in?” You asked, shaking off the nervous jitters in your hands.

“Yeah,” he nodded, opening his car door. Before you could even unbuckle your seatbelt, he had walked to your side of the vehicle and opened your door for you. He extended a hand to you, which you accepted with a smile. He helped you out of the car, and once you were steady on your feet, he slipped an arm around your waist. You tried to ignore the flutter in your belly as he secured his hand to your hip and pulled you closer to him.

The two of you advanced towards the entrance. You stood back while he checked in for the reservation, and within moments, you were being lead to a table on the quieter side of the building. When you sat down, the romance in the room was immediately overwhelming. There was tea light candles lit around the table, and a large centrepiece with flowers and fairy lights sat directly in the middle of the table clothed with a white cloth. Menues were sat in front of you, and the waiter assured you he would be back in a moment to take your drink orders.

“Have you ever been here before?” He asked, looking at you over the top of his menu.

“No, actually.” You shook your head, catching his gaze. Your heart leapt to your throat, finding yourself lost in the dark brown of his irises. Then, your eyes trailed downwards, noticing a flash of toned muscle from underneath his collared shirt. He noticed your reaction, smiling at your intrigue. He had a gold chain clasped around his neck, accentuating the columns of his neck that lead down into his collarbones.

He was stunning, and in another world, you thought you might even pursue him further.

“It’s my first time, too. I’ve heard good things, though.”

“Yeah, apparently it’s the best in town.” You gave a nervous laugh, focused on his hand resting comfortably on the table. You thought it would look much better decorating your thigh.

“What do you want from this, y/n?” He asked, genuine intrigue plaguing him. You tried to swallow your anxiety as you formulated an answer. “You can be honest.”

“When I reached out, I definitely wasn’t expecting anything like this.” You said, truthful in your response. You had hoped, but you definitely did not expect it to go to plan so quickly. “I’m a busy woman, and usually I don’t do this. I was hoping to catch up, but I don’t know how committed I can be to anything serious.”

“I respect that.” He nodded, placing his menu down on the table again. “If I’m being honest, I just went through a pretty rough breakup. I may have jumped a little too quickly.” Your sigh of relief was audible, and quite heavy in the room.

“Me too.” You admitted, the confession weighing on your shoulders. It was the first time you had referred to what you and Jake had as a breakup, but it felt right. What you had was much closer to a relationship than anything else, even if it was not what you wanted to call it. You did not need to divulge into the details of the real reason you agreed to go on a date with him. You felt it would be too harsh.

“So we’re here as friends, and we’ll see how the night goes?” He offered, not seeming too upset about the conclusion. You stared at him for a moment longer, a smirk breaking out on your lips.

“You can say you want sex, Scott. We’re adults, we can be honest.” His cheeks heated at your words, but a smile did form on his face. “I would be lying if I said the thought hadn’t crossed my mind.” He seemed to relax in his seat, now comfortable knowing that he need not worry about impressing you as much.

“Okay,” he chuckled. “A friendly dinner with the intent of sex. No promise of anything more after that.”

“I like that better.” You grinned, also feeling the anxious feeling subside at the agreement. The two of you had drawn a line that both of you were happy with. “So your last girlfriend…?” You asked, treading the topic carefully.

“Yeah,” he laughed, nodding as you asked. “We were together for a while. Three years or so. Couple months ago, I came home and she was gone. All of her shit was packed up and when I called to check on her, went straight to voicemail. Never heard from her again.”

“Oh, wow.” You breathed, your eyes widening slightly. “I’m sorry, honey. People are the worst.” He shrugged, looking to the side as the waiter approached the table again. He ordered a bottle of wine, waiting until he walked away to speak again.

“Shit happens. Sometimes you just have to take it as it comes.” He explained, not feeling any need to go any further into it. “And I’m assuming your boyfriend was no better?”

“No,” you laughed, looking down at your manicured hands. “But I don’t think you could really call him my boyfriend, anyway. More like a guy who only showed up to make my life more complicated. I thought we were exclusive until we got into a fight, which I’ll admit was my fault. We made up when we ran into each other at the bar, then his date for the night showed up.” You gave a tight-lipped smile, the memory causing a bitterness to rise in your chest.

“People are the worst.” He reiterated your point, sending you sympathetic eyes.

“They are indeed.” You agreed.

“So am I on a revenge date?” He asked, picking up on your nervous stare. “It’s okay if I am. Either way, I’m still the one who gets to spend the evening with you.” He flashed you a breathtaking smile, showing his enthusiasm either way.

“When you put it like that, it makes me sound terrible.” You said, your cheeks burning red and incriminating you even further. You were terrible, and you deserved to be treated as such. Asking him on a date to piss someone else off was a horrible thing to do, and you never should have done it in the first place.

“Not if I support it.” He shrugged, thanking the waiter as he dropped off the bottle of wine and two glasses. He poured two for you both, sliding one in your direction. “Like I said, beautiful. I get to have dinner with you either way.” You reached for the glass, taking a long sip. Your red lipstick decorated the rim, claiming the beverage as your own. “Just friends is okay with me if you’d rather do that. I’m just happy to see you after all these years.”

“I’m happy to see you, too. You were always great company back then.”

“I told a joke or two every now and again.” He laughed, remembering his goofy stature and desire to be the class clown. You wished so badly that you could just get over yourself, to move on and enjoy the time you were spending with an old friend. You wanted to be done with Jake and lean across the table to kiss the incredibly attractive man who was smiling over at you, but you felt frozen in place. As nice as it was to be with Scott, and as much as you wished to purge Jake from your life, you could not seem to do it. The thought of kissing someone else nearly made you sick, which also brought you to the horrendous reality that it was so easy for Jake. He was not caught up on you the way you were with him, and you needed to understand that in order to get better.

“Do you remember when you super glued all of Mr. Barksdale’s stuff to his desk?” You giggled, recalling the memory fondly as you searched for a subject to change the conversation up.

“How could I forget? He turned as red as the dress you’re wearing.” He let out another laugh, this one genuine straight from his belly. You could not help but join, finding the sound incredibly infectious. “He was so mad at me, I thought I was going to get expelled.”

“We all did. He hated you.” You grinned, wiping tears from your eyes that formed while amidst the laughing fit.

“Let’s be honest, most of the teachers did. I was a little shit.” He said, leaning back in his chair to calm himself down. Once he recovered, he took a long sip from his own wine. “One time, I took all of the free condoms from the guidance counsellers office and put one on every door handle in the building.”

“Oh god, that was you?!” You exclaimed, causing him to let out another belly-laugh. The happiness floating in the air was real, and you did not need to fake the joy written all over your face. It was the first time in days you had genuinely smiled, and weeks since you’d laughed like you were in that moment. It was freeing, and it helped you realize that there was life after Jake Kiszka, just the same as there was before.

“It was.” He nodded, wiping away his own tears.

“I had to wash my hands every time I opened a door for like a week!” You blamed him, but you knew it was due to the lack of janitors employed at the public schools. “And they never bothered to replace the free condoms, either.”

“You went looking for those a lot?” He teased, still trying to rid himself of the fit of giggles.

“It was way more convenient than buying them!” You plead your case, not really caring about the joke at your expense.

“Right,” he nodded, exhaling a long sigh after gaining his composure. “You see? I’m always down for a little mischief. Plus, if you’re using me to make someone jealous, I kind of take that as a compliment. Means you think I’m cute.”

“I always thought you were cute,” you rolled your eyes. “Funny and rich? How could I not?”

“So shallow,” he let out a disaproving tsk, but he did not seemed bothered by your comment. “I think that being friends would be nice right now. Who knows, maybe in the future, it’ll work out in our favour?” He offered. “If not, I’ll still be happy to have you as a friend again. If I remember correctly, you were a fierce little sidekick to have, and a pretty good wing-woman.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Your voice was shrill, surprised at such a statement.

“Oh, come on!” He rolled his eyes. “You were the first to tell someone off if they deserved it. Remember Alex Kiser, that little asshole on the football team?”

“Of course I do.” You scoffed.

“He seemed pretty intent on making my life hell for years, and then one day when we were in the library, you got up in his face and said everything that you had on your mind. He left crying, and I don’t think he ever bothered me again.” Your cheeks burned at the memory, not realizing that your gall had been so memorable that it stuck with him that long after it happened. “And junior prom! You helped me make the poster to ask Rachel Miller, only after you talked me up for months when you sat with her in History class.” You finished your wine as he spoke, trying to hide the blush on your cheeks. When you sat your glass down, he refilled it for you.

“Okay, okay.” You groaned, hiding your face in your hands to save yourself the extra embarrassment. You hated thinking about your antics in high school.

“What I mean is, you were a great friend back then, and I’d be lucky to have you as a friend, now.” He said, reaching over the table and placing a gentle hand on your arm. You peeked at him through the cracks of your fingers, the blush still lingering on your skin. After a few seconds, his hand trailed up to meet one of yours. He locked a finger around your own and gently pulled your hand away from your face.

“Thank you, Scott.” You mumbled, averting your gaze to the white tablecloth. His eyes were too pretty to keep watching, and you feared that with another few sips of wine, you would end up making an even worse decision for yourself. “Friends would be very nice. I haven’t had many as of late. I think when I left Seth, I cut off everyone. Wanted to start over, and I did.”

“We can do friends, y/n. I’d love to be friends, actually.” He promised, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. “With a little jealousy on the side, of course.”

“Right, how could I forget.” You chuckled.

“Is it the type of revenge that makes him regret everything, or the kind that makes him angry enough to show up here tonight? Cause I can play both parts. I make for a phenomenal actor.”

“Oh yeah? You take up Drama Club in university?” You raised an eyebrow.

“No, but I did have to pretend to be interested in Macroeconomics for three whole months, and I promise you it was not easy.”

“You poor thing.” You smirked, your fake sympathy completely apparent.

“So what is it, sunshine? I’ll put on a good show.”

“Both, I think. I’m not sure what I want yet, or if it’ll even do anything.” You shrugged. “He seemed quite uninterested at the bar that night.”

“Have you checked your phone yet?”

“Not since we came in here.” You admitted, not shy of the fact you had been completely immersed in his company. You pulled it from your purse, turning on the screen to see if he had tried to message you again. Your eyes nearly popped out of your head at the amount of notifications piling on the screen.

“Seems like it’s working.” He smiled. “You think another picture will do him in?”

“I think it might give him a heart attack,” You muttered, letting your eyes wander over the few words you could read from the notifications. He was pissed, and in some strange way, it made you feel good. “Let’s do it.” You said, unlocking the screen and ignoring everything Jake had to say about your night out on the town. You opened your camera again, looking around the table while thinking of the best course of action.

“If you’re looking for a movie-style blowout, I suggest putting the menus in the picture.” He offered.

“You’re a genius.”

“Evil genius,” he corrected, positioning both menus under your hands that were already intertwined. Without moving too much, he moved the wine bottle so it was in clear view of the camera too. “My only stipulation is that we have to go for lunch soon, just so you can tell me how it went.”

“Are you playing wingman, now?” You questioned. He gave a sheepish smile and a shrug of his shoulders.

“I was kind of hoping that you might let me have the pictures too, so maybe I could do the same.” He explained. “Not to get her back, but I know me going on a date with an absolute smokeshow would definitely piss her off.”

“Of course.” You laughed at the universe, finding it perfectly comedic that the two of you would be going through such similar things. Hand in hand, you snapped a few pictures of the sight while ensuring the restaurant name was easily recognizable. You fixed up the image, adjusting the brightness and contrast before opening Instagram and uploading it to your story. Once it posted successfully, you shoved your phone back in your purse.

“Now we wait.” He said, almost excited for what was to come next. He’d loved attention, and he was always ready to be the star of the show.

“What if he hits you?” You said, finally realizing how poorly the night could go.

“I can take it,” he promised, no real fear over a fight. “So what’s he like, anyway? He must be something special to have you so enamoured with him.” A sad smile crossed your lips as you thought of a good answer, unsure of exactly how to word it.

“He is.” You muttered. “I gave up on dating and romance, and when I met him, I still felt that way. But after a while of spending every day together and doing things that I’ve never done with anyone else, it started to feel normal. It was more strange when he wasn’t around. I fell without even realizing it, and I was in way too deep before I could even admit it to myself. He turned my world upside down, and he made me feel things I never thought I would feel again, but he took it away too, and I don’t know how to move on from it. I don’t know what to do, or how to act, or anything.” You sighed, suddenly realizing all of the incriminating things you’d said. You looked up, plagued with guilt for talking about another man so intensely while on a date, but he was only smiling at your words.

“You can’t let that go, y/n.” He said, catching your eye to show his sincerity. “After everything you’ve been through, you deserve the love you always should have been given.”

“Stop,” you waved him off, overwhelmed with the profound statement.

“Does he make you happy?” He asked.

“Yeah,”

“Do you want to make it work?” You had to think about it, but eventually you gave a nod.

“I think I do, but I don’t know how.”

“If he feels the same, you’ll figure it out.” He promised, taking another sip of wine.

“Do you want me to pay for the wine? I feel terrible about how this turned out.” You laughed.

“Of course not,” he scoffed. “I’m having a fantastic time. You can buy lunch when you catch me up on all of the details.”

“Sounds like a deal.” You grinned, happy that he was so understanding. Before you had the chance to speak again, your attention was grabbed by a loud voice booming over the sound of soft classical music and low chatter. It sounded once, and you thought you might be able to ignore it. You couldn’t make out what it was saying, and it did not seem like the disturbance would continue. You took another sip from your wine, finishing off the second glass before you tried to continue the conversation.

As the bottom of the glass touched down on the table, your gaze shifted to the newest excitement in the room. Your stomach dropped and your eyes grew wide. You couldn’t find the words to communicate with Scott, so instead you gave his leg a gentle kick under the table to warn him of the fact that Jake had indeed cracked the code, and was pissed off enough to show up and get the answers he so desperately needed. Before your date could even catch on to what you were trying to tell him, Jake was close enough that his cologne was suffocating you and you could see his chest heaving with anger.

“Get up.” He ordered before he even stopped in front of the table.

“Jake, what the-“

“Get the fuck up, y/n. We’re going home.”

“You can’t just show up and tell me to leave.” You scoffed, still trying to digest the fact that he was in front of you. Part of you thought that the picture might push him too far, but a bigger one believed that he did not care enough about you to let it bother him that much. Now that he was in front of you, clearly dressed to impress you and outshine your date (or, his new-found enemy, rather), you could not seem to grasp the fact that after everything, he still wanted you. He sat up at night thinking about you, wondering if things would ever get better. He tossed and turned, hating that his bed still smelled like your shampoo, and he sat by his phone every minute of the day waiting for you to reach out. He wanted you just as much as you wanted him, but for some reason, it was too surreal for you to accept it.

“I’m not asking.” He made that point abundantly clear.

“Hey, man, I don’t mean-“

“I’m not fucking talking to you, am I?” Jake’s head turned sharply towards Scott, an abundance of anger pooling in his eyes. If Scott cared for his own safety, you hoped that he would heed the warning.

“Fuck off, Jake.” Although you had poked the bear, you were having a hard time finding any sympathetic feelings for his distress. You knew that he might show up, but it did not change your naturally strong personality. You lived to fight with him on every stance he took, and now seemed no different. His harsh approach and cocky tone were pissing you off more by the minute.

‘Who does he think he is? Showing up after days of no contact, demanding I go with him? What a-‘

“I’m not going to say it again,” Jake spoke, cutting your thoughts short. “Get up, go outside, and get in the car.” His dangerously low voice sent a shiver down your spine. “I promise that you do not want me to have to repeat myself.” He caught your eye, the look familiar and more chilling than it ever was before. It made your thighs squeeze together instinctively, the need for friction on your aching core more dire than anything else you were feeling in that moment. You had no fear that he would hurt you, but you knew that once the two of you were alone, punishment would be due. If you survived the horrific aftermath of the fire that was blazing in both of your hearts, of course.

“Maybe she’d cooperate if you weren’t talking to her like a fucking dog.” Scott cut in, finding Jake’s tone too strong for his liking. He was not battling for your affection, but he did not care for the way he was speaking to you. He stood, ready to get between the two of you, but Jake turned on his heels so fast that it made your head spin. Scott was easily a head taller than Jake, but despite the physical difference, Jake was holding all of the power.

“You don’t get to talk to me about her, ever.” He took a step closer, fuming at the thought of your name on his lips. His finger was pointed at him, pushing into his chest further with each word he spoke. For a moment you feared that he might strangle him, realizing the look in his eye was far more dangerous than you’d ever seen before. You stepped towards Jake, placing a delicate hand on his shaking arm. At your touch, he immediately relaxed and lowered his hand.

“Let’s go.” You said, pushing Jake towards the door. After a moment of a staring contest between the two, Jake allowed you to nudge him in the right direction. As you walked behind him, ensuring he wouldn’t turn around, you turned your head back to look at Scott, sending him an apologetic stare. He raised an eyebrow, silently asking if you were okay. You gave a nod alongside a subtle wink, which he returned after he was certain you were okay.

When you managed to get Jake to the front door, the strength in which you were holding his arm increased in an angry fashion. In the parking lot, you felt the need for damage control flee you, and your own pent up rage began to surface. “What the fuck was that about?” You let go of his arm with a little more force than intended, pushing him forward slightly as your hand disconnected from him.

“Who the fuck was that, y/n?” He said, turning around to face you with the same fire burning in his eyes. “And why the hell are you on a date with him?”

“I think you lost all rights to ask me that.” You warned, scowling at his forward questions. “Who I spend time with is none of your business anymore, and neither is my dating life.”

“None of my business?” He hissed, stepping towards you as he spoke. A cloud of wrath was forming around the two of you, locking you in and locking the rest of the world out. There was no escaping it even if you wanted to. “You are my business. If you’re safe, if you’re happy, all of it, whether you like it or not!”

“Oh, yeah, because you’re so concerned whether I’m fucking happy or not!” You exploded, throwing your hands out and landing your palms flat on his chest. In a sudden burst of emotion, you pushed him backwards, causing him to stumble. “It sure meant a whole lot to you when you were practically fucking that ditzy blonde in a booth in my bar!” He was stunned at your words and the strength in which you delivered them. “You don’t get to show up here and ruin my night and then pretend you fucking care, because you don’t and you never have!” You pointed a finger at him, uncaring of the grand show of emotion in the middle of the parking lot. “You apologize and tell me how much I mean to you, you have sex with me in the bathroom because you can’t wait until we get home, and then you make out with someone else in front of me all night!” Your voice cracked with tears, all of the hurt you’d been feeling pouring out at once. “Did you just say all that so you could fuck me? Or so you could leave it on good terms while you left for someone better?”

“Y/n-“ he warned, stepping forward again.

“Shut the fuck up and let me talk!” You begged, tears pooling in your eyes. “Was that all I was to you after all? Sex and somewhere to sleep for the night? Were you just keeping me around so you didn’t have to be alone while you looked for something else? Someone with less baggage, someone who’s easier to deal with than I am?” He reached up, grabbing your wrist tightly in his hand while his eyes warned you to back down.

“Get in the car.” He said, his voice as quiet as a whisper, but as impactful as a punch.

“I don’t want to go home with you, Jake! I just want to know the fucking truth, and then I never have to see you again!” His grip only tightened as you spoke.

“Get in the car, and I will answer your ridiculous fucking questions.” He tried again, keeping his cool because he knew that you were hurting much more than he was. The wine was clouding your mind, making your chest ache more than it ever had, and allowing you to make a fool of yourself in the public parking lot. “We will talk about this once I get you home safe. I’m not letting you get in a cab like this, and I need to know that you’re going to be okay.”

“Stop pretending that you care!” You tried to shake out of his grip, but he was much stronger than you. The longer he continued the act, the worse your heart hurt. You were confused, tipsy, and more than anything, heartbroken. You could not allow yourself to believe that he cared this much, and every time you let yourself second guess your doubt, the picture of him kissing the blonde at the bar plagued your mind.

“I’m not pretending!” He finally reached his limit, yelling back at you with just as much force. “I would never lie to you about that. If you know me at all, you’d know how much you fucking mean to me!” His voice cracked too, but he did better than you at covering it up. “Now get in the car, and then you can yell at me, and you can hit me, and you can scream all you want.” He was not willing to negotiate; his eyes were heavy with anger and his expression was stony. With a huff, you pushed past him, but you did as he asked and you climbed into the passenger seat of his car.

You slammed the door behind you, tossing your purse on the floor as you crossed your arms over your chest quite like a child amidst a temper tantrum. He got in the drivers side, closing his door with the same force as he shoved the keys in the ignition. Within seconds, he was pulling out of the parking spot and began driving down the streets to bring you home. You kept your mouth shut despite wanting to fill the stale air with cruel words and harsh insults. As he drove, you tapped your foot against the ground to pass the seconds until you were home.

You had not thought your plan all the way through; you wanted to hurt him, to piss him off and make him feel all the same ways you did at the bar that night. When talking with Scott, the prospect of making Jake angry enough to show up at the restaurant was intriguing, and definitely thrilling. Once the adrenaline wore off and you were left alone with the rotten feeling that had been steadily growing in your heart, you realized you did not want to see Jake at all. Having him in front of you reminded you of all of the feelings you were trying to bury, and seeing his face only made you fall in love with him even further. You were so angry with him that it made your head spin, but you cared about him so deeply that you were sickened at the thought.

Love itself is a funny thing after all, for not even the devil himself could understand it.

Jake's knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel, unable to hide the intensity of his emotions. When you allowed yourself to peek at him from the passenger side, you could not help but feel enamored with his face, even if wrath was wrapping itself around every feature that he had.

It almost drove you crazy, the seriousness etched into his stature. The downturn of his lips, leaving just the ghost of his earlier scowl would be off putting to some others, but you found beauty even in the midst of his pain. The furrow of his eyebrows was minimal, but you were drawn into the tiny wrinkles it left on his tanned skin. His eyes were black with anger, and he was almost unrecognizable.

To anyone untouched by the devil, the man before you would strike fear. To you, submerged and nearly buried underneath the sin, his wrath was like a drug. You could feel it seeping under your skin, igniting every nerve with flames and striking the match for your own. The devil within you fed off of his wicked heart, and his own evil did the same with yours. Between you was empty space, stale air that did not even hold a whisper of relief from the deafening silence. From nothing grew an unholy feeling. There was no room in the vehicle for anything lesser; the euphemisms and illusions you had previously drawn about his lack of morality no longer fit the narrative. Satan himself sat beside you, horns growing rapidly and his skin blistering red. You could not fear him, because when you turned to look out the window, you noticed your reflection and saw the pitchfork in your own hand as your eyes turned black as night.

The sin had finally caught up, and not even a priest could excise the demons from the two of you. Salvation was no longer an option, and the only thing left to do was face the devil within yourselves. The seventh, and the deadliest capital vice was begging to be heard. It was bleeding you both dry, the wrath so abundant that it was replacing all of the blood coursing through your veins with its own ferocious fury. Wrath was sewn into your skin, tying knots around your lips and blinding you with rage. It was wrapped around your neck, choking you and laughing as you begged for air. The two of you had done so much damage that you had turned yourselves into the personification of evil itself.

Walking away was the safest option, but after a lifetime of running, staying was the only thing the two of you wanted to do.

How pitiful to learn the lesson only after it manifested itself to be lethal.

“You’ve got nothing to say, now? Only want to fight with me if we can cause a scene?” He asked, flipping on the turn signal with nearly enough force to break it clean from the car.

“As if you need any help getting attention.” You rolled your eyes, muttering it to yourself. “As if I’m the one who fucking caused the scene in the first place.” You said the second part louder, stronger so he could hear the disdain in your voice.

“Like you weren’t trying to start something by posting those pictures.” He growled, the memory striking him particularly unpleasantly. The thought of another man’s hands on you was enough to drive him to violence. “Sorry, I forgot that I always have to be the bad guy.” He added, his grip tightening even further on the wheel as he turned off the highway.

“Would you fucking quit with the pity party?” You exploded, finally turning towards him. “Do you really think that you’re innocent? From what I understand, exclusivity doesn’t mean very much to you. If it did, you wouldn’t have been finger-fucking your side piece at the bar while I had to sit and watch!” The obscenity of your words didn’t even phase you, your anger so flaming that you were willing to say anything to get under his skin. “Or is it only okay when you do it, Jacob? You can fuck whoever you want, but I have to sit there and stay loyal to someone who doesn’t fuck about me! I’ve done that once before, but you’re not nearly special enough for me to want to do it again!”

“You didn’t stay and let me explain myself! I was only with her because I didn’t know how else to get your attention! You make me fall in love with you, and then you push me away. Then you tell me you care about me, and you walk away!” He brought his hand back, slamming it back down on the wheel with an intensity that made your head spin. “If you weren’t so fucking stubborn, maybe we would have went home together instead!”

At the sound of the guilty confession, your world came crashing down around you.

Your worst fear had been spoken into existence, and you weren’t sure if you could survive the grief plaguing you.

“Yeah, it’s all my fault Jake.” You nodded, attempting to blink away the tears that were falling faster than you could comprehend. “It’s my fault that you broke the only promise I ever asked you to keep, and it’s my fault that I didn’t tell you I loved you after I explicitly told you that I don’t do that, and it’s my fucking fault that instead of being an adult about it and talking about your feelings, you buried your dick in another girl!” You slammed your fist against his dashboard, your emotions piling up so high that a physical release was the only way to calm them down. “It’s all my fault, and I’m just the fucking worst! God forbid you take some accountability for your own stupidity!” Your hand slammed down again with every point you made, the ache spreading up the entirety of your arm. For a moment he feared you might set off the airbag with the strength you were using to hit the dash.

As you retracted your hand from the scene of the crime, he pulled into your driveway. You rubbed your knuckles, soothing the ache in your bones until the car rolled to a stop. As soon as it did, you were unbuckling your seatbelt and opening the door. You grabbed your purse as you stepped outside, slamming the door before he could try to stop you. But, he was fast, and he was not willing to let you lock him out. He shut the car off and was hot on your trail before you even made it to the front steps. You fumbled with your keys as you tried to unlock your door, and when you finally saw the inside of your house, relief flooded you. You stepped inside, moving quickly to try and keep him out, but his hand collided with the door as you tried to shut it in his face.

“Take a fucking hint, asshole.” You spat, pushing against him.

“I’m not done talking!” He argued, barely straining as he rivaled your strength.

“I am!” You cried, begging him to understand. “I’m done talking, I’m done fighting, I’m done, Jake! I can’t fucking do this anymore!”

“I’m not letting you go, y/n.” He said, calmer than he was moments before. “I’m not letting you walk away again. I won’t walk away again.”

“Stop it!” You exploded, dropping your arm from the door in a moment of pure weakness. You were too distracted by the moment to remember your vow to keep him locked out. His words were too much, and it made all of the strength flee you and the pain grow larger. More than anything, it made your already poor judgment cloud even more. “Stop doing that, Jake! Stop hurting me and then telling me you care. Stop trying to be what we both know you aren’t!”

“What, y/n?” He scowled, his jaw clenched so tightly you feared he might pop a blood vessel. “Say it! Say the word! Stop being so fucking afraid of it!”

“You’re not my fucking boyfriend!” You yelled, reaching your breaking point. With that, he pushed the door open and stepped towards you. He reached out, landing one hand on your hip while the other one cupped your cheek. He kicked the door shut with a force as he leaned forward, capturing you in a kiss. The change in pace made you weak in the knees, but his advance was not unwelcome. The anger that was so evident in his features had been causing a mess between your legs since you first laid eyes in him.

The kiss was messy, both of you still fighting for control. He continued walking, keeping a firm grip on your hip so you didn’t lose your balance. You stepped in time with him, letting him lead you wherever he pleased. When your ass landed roughly against the lip of your kitchen counter, your stomach began to twist into knots. He pulled back, his chest heaving with the remnants of anger and now, desire.

“You’re right, angel. I’m not your fucking boyfriend.” He said, his expression completely foreign. It was like a stranger was standing before you, but it was not making you fearful; you were aching to know this version of him, and you wanted to know him as intimately as the situation would allow. He seemed like a man gone mad, all humanity gone from his eye and sex being the only thing that held any value to him.

For once, sex was finally the only thing the two of you were concerned about. No love, no respect, and not even any kind of affection. It was purely primal, and comfort was the last thing he had in mind.

But even more so than that, sex was the only way the two of you knew how to communicate, and he was using it to his advantage.

“I’m not even your friend.” He said, his eyes dark with lust. “I’m just sex to you, yeah?” His fingers were burning into your hip, leaving trails of blistering fire on your skin as they wandered to your thigh, settling just under the hem of your dress. “That’s all I’m good for, right sweetheart?” He moved his hips towards you slightly, but with force, causing your ass to press further into the marble countertop. You let out a gasp of pain, the sting radiating deep into the muscle as the solid surface settled in at a bruising angle.

“Y-yes.” You thought you could keep up the act, but his eyes intently focused on your own were sending you into a downward spiral of love for him. He was the whole world, and you were just living in it. You couldn’t lie enough to cover the fact, even if every word you spoke for the rest of your life was laced with dishonesty.

“I’m just something to help you get off,” he continued, his hand slipping under the fabric of your dress. “To fantasize about when your fingers are playing with that tight little cunt?”

“Yep,” you said, more confidently than the last time.

“Good to know,” he growled, pulling at the fabric of your dress until he heard the seams pop. You were so enthralled in his performance that you could not even find the will to care. “Now I can fuck you like a whore, and I don’t have to feel bad about it.” With that, he gave another hard tug and the stitching on one side of your dress came loose completely. It slumped from your body, falling around his hand in a pathetic heap. He let go of it, letting it fall to the floor without ever breaking eye contact. “If sex is all you want, I’ll fuck you just like you deserve.”

You wanted to fight with him; the anger was still bubbling under your skin and begging to be let out, but now that you were naked in front of him and his eyes showed unwavering dominance, you fell back into the roll with ease. He watched your face, not searching for discomfort, but obedience. This was not a debate, and you did not even pretend to hold any of the power. He slid his belt from the loops on his dress pants, folding it over on itself and gripping it tightly in his hand. Slowly, he placed the leather against your bare thigh, looking down as he slowly pulled it across your skin. The light tickle sent a shiver down your spine and you found yourself staring at his face, wondering what was running through his mind.

Had you pushed him too far?

Was he really stopping the whole conversation just to fuck you?

You were confused, and still incredibly hurt, but the arousal pooling between your legs was undeniable. There was so much that needed to be discussed, but the longer the minutes dragged on, the less you cared about working it out.

He reached out with both hands, his grip holding on your hips. In one swift motion, he lifted you and placed you on the cold countertop. You jumped at the sudden chill that ran through you, but he did not comment, nor did he even seem to notice. With little warning, he snaked his hand between your legs and roughly pulled one to the side. His eyes were still focused on your cunt, his gaze never faltering. He didn’t want to look at your face; he didn’t want to see the contempt you held for him in your eyes, nor did he want to see the pain he caused any longer. He couldn’t look you in the eyes and face you like a man; he was angry, and hurt, but most of all, he could not forgive himself for how much he’d hurt you.

“You want to act like a whore, I’ll treat you like one, angel. Taking guys out on dates just to piss me off, posting pictures and ignoring me when I call…” he brought his hand to your heat, running his fingers through the wetness and spreading it to your clit. “If you wanted me to come over and fuck you, all you had to do was ask.” He said, his tone eerily calm. His middle finger tracing agonizingly slow circles around the sensitive nub, making your want to buck your hips forward into his hand for more. You needed him the same as the starving need food, but you were unwilling to sacrifice your dignity while showing him. “Or did you want to take him home? Have him between your legs like this, trying to make you feel as good as I can?”

You were faced with two options; tell the truth and fuel his ego, or lie and make him even angrier with you.

You were foolish to think that the devil would ever allow for the truth in your godless relationship.

“I did.” You replied, causing him to look up and finally meet your eye. The animalistic look was enough to drive you crazy, but you stayed put, pretending that the emotion in his eye did not phase you at all. “And I know he would’ve done it better than you can.” At that, his fingers stopped all movement. His grip tightened around the leather belt in his hand, tempted to use it, but knowing that it would not change your attitude. Instead, he gave you a smirk, fake but effective.

“You think he can fuck you like I can?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. You held back a frown when he moved his hand away from you, completely cutting off contact. “You think he can make you feel better than I can?”

“Yeah, I do.” Your false confidence was astonishing, and even you believed it yourself for a moment.

“Okay, angel.” He nodded, taking a step back from you. He reached down and grabbed your purse that fell to the floor, opening it and grabbing your phone from inside. He dropped the bag to the ground again and tossed the phone on the counter beside you. Your stomach twisted with anxiety, wondering what he was doing. “If you think he can do a better job, call him. I’ll go home, and he can finish what I started, but I’ll be waiting for you to text me, asking me to come back because he couldn’t fucking do it right.”

You were appalled at the thought, but not because of his cockiness. That was normal now, and not often did it phase you. You were sickened at the thought of having someone else do what you so badly wanted Jake to do. Hours ago, you had convinced yourself that hooking up with another guy would help ease your pain, but now that Jake was in front of you again, you could not stomach the idea of another man touching you the same way.

He watched your face, taking in your shocked expression. He was bluffing; he would not let anyone else touch you like this in a million years, and he definitely would not hand out the invitation himself. His hope was that you realized that he was what you wanted, and not the guy you went to dinner with. He knew you well enough to know that you would never do such a thing, which is why he was confident enough to offer the idea. When you didn’t respond, he let out a low chuckle.

“That’s what I thought.”

Damn him and his ability to see right through you.

“Now shut your fucking mouth and behave yourself.” He said, taking a step back even further. “Since I can’t do it right, you can get yourself off.”

“Jake-“ you protested, unhappy with his decision.

“I don’t want to hear another word. YouI’ll do as you’re told.” He cut you off, giving you a stern warning. His nostrils flared slightly with anger, and the muscles in his jaw were tense. You bit back a snarky comment, clearly upset by his ridiculous request, but you let your hand sink between your legs anyway. He moved back towards the counter opposite of you, leaning against it and crossing his arms over his chest while he watched you run your own fingers through your folds. He still had his belt clenched tightly in his hand, making sure it didn’t stray too far. You knew he was itching for a chance to use it, and you couldn’t deny your own desire to feel it across your skin. You could see the erection growing in his pants, tenting the zipper and straining the fabric. You wanted him more than you ever wanted anything in your life, and sitting there touching yourself while he was so accessible was equal to torture.

Then again, that was his intent; he did not want to please you like he was often eager to do. He was angry with you, and when you anger the devil, punishment is not only expected, but ensured.

“Like this, sir?” You taunted, slowly trailing your middle finger to your clit, tracing slow circles around it. You wanted praise, but he wasn’t generous enough to give it to you. Even more than that, you wanted to push him enough to make him do the job himself, rather than sit and watch. He did not respond, but his eyes were intently focused on your hand as you touched yourself. Beneath the rage still lingering in his gaze, there was a sense of longing for you. He was torturing you, but he was doing the same to himself by having to hold back.

Since the night at the bar, he hadn’t been able to get the thought of you out of his head. Worse yet, he couldn’t forget the feeling of being inside of you, your cunt clenching around him as you dissolved into a mess below him, desperate for an orgasm. Being near you was like getting a fix of a drug he’d been withdrawing from for weeks, and he wasn’t sure if he could handle watching you get yourself off. There was a small fear inside him that he might come undone at the sight of you in pleasure alone.

You anchored your arm on the counter behind you, holding your weight on the single limb as you leaned backwards, allowing him a better view of the show you were putting on. You added more pressure to your finger, feeling your breath hitch in your throat as a wave of relief washed over you. You kept your eyes on his face, only allowing yourself to look at his cock strained in his pants every so often, knowing that it would only make your neediness worse. His gaze was still locked on your hand, and his chest was deeply rising and falling with every breath he took to calm himself. He was irresistible, and you did not know if you could keep going without as much as his hand on you in support.

“Oh, fuck.” You gasped, feeling a pressure begin to build in your belly. It was nothing like how he could make you feel, but it was something, and that’s all that mattered. Progress, even if it was slight, meant that you were a little closer to him taking over for you.

“That’s it, sweetheart.” He unraveled his arms from across his chest, reaching down and adjusting himself in his pants to relieve some of the pressure. “Listening isn’t so hard, is it?”

“Fuck off,” you rolled your eyes, still working your way up to an orgasm.

“Watch it,” he warned, unhappy with your sharp tone. “You’re lucky I’m even letting you get yourself off.”

“Oh you’re so generous.” You scoffed, your hand still working at yourself. The angry banter seemed to be helping your search for a climax. “Jake the hero! He’s just so fantastic and everyone should bow down and kiss his feet! I’m so happy to do all the hard work for you, thank you so much.” You grumbled, trying to keep your words as nice as you could despite wanting to tear a strip off of him. You were still angry, even underneath all of the sexual tension, and you were a bomb waiting to explode. You feared that if he pushed you just a little too far, the night would come to an end without any sexual gratification at all.

“You’re going to start with me again?” He asked, raising an eyebrow as he stepped towards you.

“Can’t take it?” You asked, a bit breathless from the pleasure pulsing through you. Your cheeks were tinged red from the feeling, and from the anger still simmering from earlier. Your skin was sticky with sweat and you were growing more desperate by the second. The sight of your struggle made him smile, knowing how badly you wanted him to reach out and touch you.

Once he was within an arm's reach, he settled himself between your legs again as your fingers remained in a steady pace on your clit. Before you could speak again, he drew his arm back and brought the belt down on your thigh. You let out a hiss of pain, instinctively trying to shy away from him, but his hand shot to your hip to hold you in place. Once you calmed down from the initial shock, you relaxed into his hold, surprised that he hit you as hard as he did.

“One chance, Angel.”

“W-what?” You asked, distracted from the rapidly changing environment.

“Tell me what the fuck your problem is.” He said, looking down his nose at you. In that moment, you could see his humanity return to him again. He cared so much, but he was sick of scaring you away by loving you. This was his only way to get you to tell him what was wrong without you running away. He’d been waiting for the opportunity to come all night, and he wasn’t letting it pass him by. “Get it all out now, ‘cause once you cum, I get my turn.” You were dumbfounded, unsure of how to respond to his request.

“You want me to berate you while I get myself off?” You questioned. “That’s a little fucked up, even for you, no?” Your tone was airy even after you tried to maintain your composure. The pressure in your belly was unbearable, but you slowed your movements to allow yourself some time.

“I want you to get rid of that fucking attitude.” He corrected, grabbing your cheeks between his forefinger and his thumb. “Look at me and tell me what’s wrong. I want to hear all of it, and don’t you dare stop touching yourself.”

“All of it?” You clarified, hoping he was being serious and you weren’t trapping yourself. He gave one curt nod, showing you he meant what he said. You withdrew a long breath, gathering your thoughts before you began. “You’re a selfish, ignorant prick, Jake. You promised me that you wouldn’t fall in love and fuck this up, and then you did it anyway.” You huffed, finding your temper hard to keep up while looking into his eyes. “And when I told you I wasn’t ready, you played the victim and told me I was only good for sex. Why do you think I was scared of dating you, hmm?” You pressed, waiting for him to answer before you continued. When you were met with nothing but a harsh stare, you continued on, anyway. “Because I was fucking terrified of you lying, or believing you when you say all of that stuff just for you to change your fucking mind, and you proved me right!”

“Mhm,” he hummed, allowing you to continue.

“A-and… oh, fuck.” You groaned, your eyes fluttering closed for a moment as an intense wave of pleasure ran through you. “And I went to that bar that night to forget about you, but you showed up, and I cared about you enough to be the bigger person and apologize. I felt like I was taking a step in the right direction, and I was finally able to move past all of that fucking trauma and fear. I felt good, I was happy, and when we left that bathroom I was ready to take the next step.” You confessed, the words weighing heavily on the both of you. Your mind was hazy, and you weren’t sure if you would have said it all if you were in a proper state of mind. “Then I got to meet your date for the night, and it got me thinking that all men really are just the same. I wondered if it was me, if I was too much, or if there was too much baggage, or if I was too complicated for you to handle. I cried to your brother about you while you sat in that booth and made my worst fucking nightmare come true.”

“Keep going.” He encouraged, placing his belt on the counter and moving your hand out of way. It broke your focus, the sudden loss of contact devestating for you. Then, he moved his hand in place of your own, slowly pumping two fingers into you and letting his thumb drift over your clit. A moan broke from your chest, filling the air with desperation amidst the despair.

“S-so I left, and I promised I was done, but I can never just be done with you, can I?” You hissed, squeezing your eyes shut as the feeling in your belly grew stronger. “I decided to get back at you, so I took Scott on a date to try and forget about you. I taunted you with those pictures to make you feel the same way I did, but I worried it wouldn’t work because you don’t care about me the same way I care about you.” He let out a quiet noise, almost sounding astonished that you could believe such a thing, even while he was trying to make you feel good while you berated him. “Then you showed up, and for a second I believed I had it all wrong. You cared enough to be there, to come and find me and try to win me over, but then I was just mad. I’m not your property Jake, and I’m not your problem.” You had to stop, feeling yourself teetering on the edge as you spoke. You waited for a moment, focusing on not cumming so you could say all you needed to feel better.

“You don’t get to pick and choose when you love me, and you don’t get to decide when I’m ready for something. You don’t get to choose when I’m someone you love, or when I’m just good for sex. You don’t get to make me fall for you and then take another girl home with you!” You could feel tears rising in your eyes despite the pull of pleasure from his hand. You were surprised that you could speak so much emotion so clearly while he was working so intently at your cunt, but the emotional turmoil was much more pressing than the sexual tension. “You don’t get to tell me I mean something to you and throw it in the garbage. You don’t get to mean this much to me and also have the power to take it away.” He heard the quiver in your voice, and it nearly shattered his psyche.

“It’s okay, Angel.” He muttered. “You’re okay.” He promised, moving his fingers at a more precise angle. “Cum for me, beautiful.”

“Don’t do that, Jake.” You stopped him, hating how badly you loved hearing the sweet words. It was too much. He was too much. It was all too much for you, and you feared that you were crossing a line you would never be able to come back from.

“Get used to it.” He snapped, leaning forward so his forehead was resting on yours. He couldn’t handle your denial any longer; both of you felt the same way, even if you refused to admit to it. Love was surrounding you completely, and you knew it long before he took your clothes off. The only reason it hurt so bad was because you loved him so much, and if you did not care it would never have mattered. “I’m not going anywhere.” He said, a little softer but still harsh enough to offset the sweetness.

“F-fuck,” you gasped, stuttering over your own profanity. It was exactly what you wanted to hear from someone your entire life, that they were there for good and they wouldn’t leave your side, but somehow when it came from his lips in the way you’d always longed to hear, you could not allow yourself to believe it. The orgasm was right there, and you could no longer hold it back. You were slipping over the edge, and he wasn’t helping. His hold on your face softened, but his fingers were still burning into your skin, leaving a mark for the rest of eternity.

“That’s it,” he crooned, rocking his hips forward into nothing. He was so desperate for relief himself, but he wouldn’t allow it until he was sure you were satisfied. Your hand reached out for his arm, your fingers locking around your bicep as your other arm snaked around his neck, pulling him closer and holding him tightly, ensuring he could not slip away. “Doing so good for me, baby.”

Your muscles tensed and your legs shook with the intensity of the euphoria. No pain existed within your mind anymore; it was filled with thoughts of Jake, and the sweetness of his face and the warmth of his eyes. For once, the thoughts invading your mind had little to do with the sexual desire between you both, and everything to do with the yearning of your heart. The pleasure came from him being close, and the prospect of spending the rest of your life doing the same thing with him and only him.

You were too far gone, and there was no way you could surface from the experience the same as you were before you descended into it.

Love had blossomed, infiltrating every second of your day and every fibre of your being. It was so plentiful that it altered your DNA and changed your entire outlook on life. You were nothing but in love, and the moment was so beautiful that it almost sickened you.

When you came down, your mind was foggy and your eyes were begging to stay closed. You were exhausted, but he was only just getting started. As soon as you relaxed against him, you felt him remove his hand from your cheeks. He unbuttoned his pants, pulling them down along with his boxers just enough to free himself. He grabbed your hips with both hands, pulling you to the edge of the counter with a strength that made your head spin. He hiked your legs around his waist and let the tip of his cock rest on your entrance before going any further.

“I didn’t plan to fuck anything up, y/n.” He said, making sure you were listening. The softness he held seconds before was gone, now. It was his turn to air out his feelings, and he wasn’t going to miss the chance. “Falling for you was the last thing I wanted to do, because I knew it would leave us here. You don’t get to sit here and call me names, because you’re not a fucking saint, either.” With that, he slammed his hips forward, catching you completely off guard. You let out a yelp, his cock hitting your cervix and sending an addictive type of pain through your entire body. “You’re the most stubborn, self-assured, snarky woman I have ever met in my entire life.” He listed, clearly showcasing that your time to talk was over. “I hate it, but it’s so fucking addicting that I can’t stay away.” He growled, pulling your hips forward as he thrusted into you, making the impact all the more intense. “You don’t get to be angry with me for caring about you, because you’ve been doing all of the same things.”

“I get to be mad about whatever I want!” You argued, but he pulled you down on him again, cutting your thoughts off completely. The sound of skin on skin was too much to bear, and suddenly, you felt like he was wearing too much clothing. You reached your hand between the two of you, grabbing a handful of his shirt where the last few buttons were joined together. You gave a hard tug, and the buttons popped free from the threads holding them together. It didn’t even phase him for a second, and all he did was pull back for long enough to shake it from his arms.

“It’s my turn to talk.” He said, bringing his hand to your throat, his fingers locking around your neck like a gruesome decoration. He did not apply any pressure, but kept his grip there as a looming threat. “You broke my fucking heart, too.” At his words, your chest ached with a fervor you had never felt before. Hurting Jake was the last thing you wanted to do, and hearing him say it out loud broke you beyond recognition. “Do you really think that I took her home that night?” He asked, his hips still moving at a brutal pace. “That I even wanted to entertain that any further? That I even wanted to kiss her that night? You really think I would ever touch anyone else like this?”

“I… I don’t know.” You whined, your stomach twisting into knots at the pleasure he was granting you.

“You are the only thing that has ever mattered,” he huffed, looking down at your face, admiring the way your expression was telling him how good he was making you feel. “The only reason I invited her was to get your fucking attention, and I forgot she was even coming after I went to the bathroom with you.” You couldn’t respond, too immersed in the euphoria of being so close to him again. You did not realize how much you missed the feeling of him on your skin until he was touching you. “Then you walked away, like you always do, and I thought that was it. I thought I’d never see you again.” He was struggling to get the words out, but he continued on anyway.

“Then you post those pictures, posing like a fucking whore with some other guy to get under my skin?” He spat, his anger clear in his tone. You had hurt him perhaps even beyond how much he hurt you, and you could finally see it. You weren’t so blinded by your own pain that you could ignore his. You were both so blinded by pain that you had convinced yourselves that you hated each other. “You thought you were going to bring him back here and let him see you like this? That I would let you get away with it, let someone else put their hands on you?” He was growing more intense the longer he spoke, but it was so intoxicating that you did not realize how dangerous it was. “This is all for me, sweetheart. Don’t you ever think otherwise.” The possessive claim made you weak, and could not even voice how blissful the thought of being his forever was. His fingers tightened around your neck, finally beginning to cut off the blood flow to your head. “Did you think that he could even come close to me?”

“No, sir.” You rasped, his hand stopping most of the words, but you still managed to speak them so he knew the truth.

“He could never make you feel this good.” He spat. “Nobody could, Angel. You can lie and say that you don’t love me, but you can’t fucking lie to me about that.” His fingers constricted around your neck again, making your vision go blurry and your head feel light. Your entire body felt like it was floating, but you had no fear.

Just the same as it was the beginning, you knew that death at his hands would be the most pleasant experience of your entire existence.

Without warning, you descended into pleasure once more. You tried to withdraw a breath, but you could not get any air in. Your legs were locked around him, trembling with the intensity of the climax. You tried to reach an arm out to tap him, but you were so strung out in euphoria that you couldn’t summon the strength to do it. When you thought you might slip away into unconsciousness, his fingers loosened around your neck, never willing to push you too far. Even as angry as he was, your safety was the most important thing to him. Instead of the harsh grip he previously held, his fingers massaged against the sensitive skin as you filled your lungs with air. You coughed for a moment, sputtering on the oxygen that you’d been deprived of, and eventually your body relaxed from the stimulation. His hips were still moving, but you were nearly too fucked out to care.

Without any warning, he pulled out of you and slid you from the counter and onto your feet. You were completely at his disposal, but you had no fear that he would mistreat you. You trusted Jake completely, even if you didn’t want to. He spun you around, bending your top half over the counter and grabbing a fistful of your hair. Within seconds, his cock was back inside you and his hips were continuing their earlier page, this time with much more freedom.

“Tell me, sweetheart. I want to hear you say it.” He ordered. You felt a slight stutter in his movements, realizing that he wasn’t far behind you. He was holding on by a thread, and he was desperate to hear your praise, even if he would never admit it.

“Only you can make me feel this good, Jake.” You groaned, so exhausted that the words barely made it past your lips. “Nobody else could ever come close to you.”

“That’s it, baby.” He sighed, reaching around to the front of you and moving his hand between your legs. His fingers settled on your clit, now adding more stimulation to your already tired body. You tensed against him in response, your walls clenching around him and pulling him even further. “God, you’re so fucking tight. Take my cock so well.” Your knees went weak at the sound of his filthy words. “Give me one more, sweet girl. I know you can do it.”

“I can’t.” You shook your head against his hold on your hair. “I can’t do it.” You pleaded with him to see reason, but Jake had never been one to take no for an answer. You knew you could come again, but you feared that your body would not be able to handle it. Even as you doubted it, the pleasure was steadily rising again, begging you to let go and give in to the temptation.

“You can, and you will.” He barked, still feeling some residual anger coursing through him. The movements of his fingers sped, and if possible, became even more precise. Your whole body felt like it was on fire and he did not let up for a second to give you a break. He was pushing you to the brink of insanity, and he didn’t have a single regret about it.

“Fuck, Jake.” You cried, squeezing your eyes shut as an even more intense pleasure took over. You had surpassed any level of care, and you were practically screaming as obscenities fell from your lips, mixed delicately with his name. He coaxed you through the orgasm, muttering praise as he held you steady on your feet.

“That’s my girl.” He groaned, the sinful noises driving him even closer to the edge. Before you came down from the high, you could feel his hips stutter, his previous pace failing him as he descended into his own euphoria. His cock twitched inside of you, and he let out a slur of curses as he spilled his release into you. If it was even possible, the feeling of him filling you sent you into a whole other world of bliss. You tried to catch your breath as your body shook with the last few seconds of your orgasm, but your chest burned and your heartbeat pounded in your ears.

You had never felt like this in your entire life, and although it was fantastic, it was incredibly dangerous. You had finally sold your soul to the devil, and your repentance had only just begun. You feared that a lifetime of suffering would not be enough punishment for the nefarious acts the two of you committed.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” He breathed, slowly releasing his hold on your hair. You let your cheek gently fall against the countertop, the cool surface calming your burning skin almost immediately.

“Yeah,” you replied, keeping your eyes closed in hopes of regaining some energy again. He pulled out of you, but neither of you rushed to the bathroom to clean up. You could worry about the mess later; there were things more pressing than that, and dealing with the aftermath of your wrath was at the top of the list. When you felt strong enough to open your eyes, you pushed yourself up off the counter, feeling his hands softly running over the marks he’d left on your skin, destined to turn purple as a reminder of your sinful indulgences. You turned to look at him, leaning against the counter to keep yourself upright. He took a long look over your face, seeing the exhaustion written deep in your features. Underneath that, the pain was still lingering.

The two of you hoped that when you faced each other again, the burden of your mistakes would disappear and a new found peace would emerge from the rubble. Now, when you looked at him, it seemed like the pain was permanent and if anything, the suffering only grew stronger. He reached out, cupping your cheek in his hand, but not even the gentleness of his touch could satiate the raging hurt in your heart.

The damage was too plentiful, and you were certain that your relationship would never recover from the evil the two of you had turned to. The sin had caught up to you, and it was breaking you down further the longer you stood before him.

Again, the question remained unanswered; how much sin could you engage in until salvation is no longer an option?

“I’m sorry.” He muttered, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to your forehead. You wished that the feeling would take away all of the bad like it so often did before, but it only made your heart break even further. The longer his lips lingered on your skin, the more it made you want to cry. It wasn’t right, and it never would be. The two of you were disastrous together, and although the connection was undeniable, it was also lethal.

“I am, too.” You said, the quiver in your voice louder than any of the words you spoke. He pulled back, looking down at your face.

“Don’t cry, sweetheart.” He pleaded, unsure if he could handle the sight of you in tears again. “Let’s go get cleaned up, then we can talk.”

“Okay.” You nodded, knowing that the longer you waited to tell him the truth, the worse it would hurt for you both. Still, you let him guide you to the bathroom where the two of you tried (and failed) to wash away the sinful memories of the night.

You stood in front of the mirror, looking at the smudged mess of your makeup and the trails of mascara littlering your cheeks from the crying you had done. You did not recognize the person staring back at you, nor did you want to get to know her. She was empty, chilling when you looked into her eyes for too long. She was not the person you had worked so hard to become, and as you looked over your shoulder at Jake, you knew why.

His love was euphoric, but it was not good for you. It had changed your entire world, but it was not in any way positive. You were a stranger to yourself, and you saw the devil in your eyes, laughing at your own foolish ignorance. The things you had done for his love did not give you what you so badly wanted. Instead, it turned you cruel and vile, your motives twisted and hurting everyone in the crossfire. You wanted him so badly, but you knew you could not have him and maintain your peace at the same time. The two of you cared about each other so much that it was dangerous, and you could not risk everything you had worked so hard to attain.

Even as you came to your senses, you could not help but gaze at his face with a type of longing only felt in fiction. Your heart ached to be his, and your body craved to be in his arms. He was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen, but sometimes the most precious things can hurt you the most. Worse than that, the most beautiful things turn out to be rotten at the core. What you felt for him was so much stronger than anything you’d ever experienced, and in some ways, it was fantastic. What wasn’t fantastic was the things you were willing to do to keep him all to yourself. It was cruel and wicked, and you did not want the evil to take over your entire soul.

Even as you fought the idea, a small part of you knew that you were too far gone to be saved.

His arms reached out for you, landing on your arms as his fingers trailed over the smooth skin. He stepped towards you, placing a kiss on the top of your head as he reached for the pack of makeup wipes on beside the sink. He grabbed two from the package, and turned you to face him. Wordlessly, he wiped away the makeup staining your skin, but he could not work fast enough to rid you of the tears that did not want to stop falling.

You were already grieving him, and he wasn’t even out of sight yet.

You had always been fantastic at ruining a good thing before it ever happened.

“Is that better?” He asked, dabbing away the last bit of mascara on your cheeks. The coolness of the cloth soothed your skin, but it did not make you feel better at all. You weren’t sure that anything would.

“Yeah.” You lied, giving a weak nod against him. He discarded the used wipes in the trash, grabbing your hand and leading you out of the bathroom. He nudged you towards your bedroom, and you followed his guidance without complaint. Once you were in the safety of your room, he grabbed two of his shirts from the drawer of your dresser you had given him for his clothes.

The thought alone pained you, knowing that soon enough, it would go back to an empty compartment that served as a reminder of your own failures. You were not ready for Jake to become a stranger again after knowing him so well.

He tossed a shirt in your direction, which you caught and threw over your head. You would worry about returning his clothes to him another day, knowing that the pain was plentiful enough tonight. He changed into his own, comfier clothes and took a seat on the edge of your bed. He held his hand out to you, beckoning you to come and join him.

“I’m sorry I said all of that stuff.” You said, trying your best to sit away from him on the mattress, but gravity seemed to be pulling you towards him. “You’re not my boyfriend, but you are worth way more than sex. And you’re not selfish, either. If anything, I think that I am.” He was not your boyfriend, but you both desperately wished he was.

“It’s okay, angel.” He assured you, reaching for your hand and intertwining your fingers with his. “I’m sorry, too. You are worth the whole world, and you’ve always meant more to me than sex. I never should have said that, either.” He confessed, wishing that he never said such harsh things about you.

“I’m also sorry that I hurt you. I never wanted to. I thought I was protecting myself, but all I was doing was making things worse. Scott didn’t mean anything, either. He was an old friend from high school, and I only took him on a date to piss you off.” You muttered, looking down at your hand in his.

“She didn’t mean anything, either. I did the same, and I shouldn’t have taken it that far. I was hurt and stupid, and I didn’t know how else to deal with it. I felt like you didn’t want me, so I just wanted to feel like someone did.” His transparency was haunting, especially considering you were going to hurt him all over again. You were prolonging the inevitable, and you were terrible for doing such a thing to him.

“These last few months have been… everything to me.” You confessed, feeling more tears stain your cheeks. “More than I ever thought I would have again. I’ve been so mad at you for breaking your promise, but I think I broke it first. It’s not fair, and I wish that I could deal with my feelings better.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart.” He turned towards you so he could see you better. “We can figure it out together.” He promised, but the look in your eye made him regret the sentiment immediately. He knew what was coming just as well as you did, but he so desperately hoped that he was wrong.

“No, we can’t, Jake.” You whispered, holding back a sob begging to break free. “All we know how to do is hurt each other.”

“That’s not true, angel. Come on.” He pleaded, hoping that you would at least be willing to hear him out.

“Look at us,” you replied, begging him to see reason “we’ve been avoiding falling in love so much that we’ve gotten comfortable with hurting each other instead. I thought that after we talked it out, or after sex we might feel closer and all of that pain would start to go away, but it’s not. It’s still here, and it’s telling me that you and I need more than what we can give each other. The games and the avoidance and the fear… It’s not getting us anywhere.” You bit down on your lip, stopping it from quivering from the strength of your emotion.

“We can make it work. If we try, we can do anything, y/n. I would do anything for you.” He said, pained at the thought of leaving you again.

“When I said I don’t fall in love, I said it for a reason. It’s not because of you, and if I’m being honest, you are the easiest person in the world to fall in love with. It’s because I’m not good at it Jake, and I’m not good for you. I’m going to hurt you more than I can ever give you anything good. I’ve got too much history, too many problems… you don’t deserve that. You deserve the world, and I can’t give that to you. I can’t be selfish anymore. I can’t do that to you.” He reached up, wiping your tears away while he tried to process your words.

“Y/n, you are the world. I don’t want to try with anyone else, because a million bad days with you are worth way more than one good one with someone else.” The sweetness was killing you, and you had to stop him before he took it any further. You were always weak to his power, and this time, you were even more susceptible to it.

“I want that too, Jake, but I can’t.” You stressed the same point. He sat for a moment, drowning in the sorrow but unwilling to push you any further.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” He asked, voice so quiet it barely broke through the air.

“No,” you shook your head. “I don’t want it, but it’s for the best.” You closed your eyes, wishing you could feel differently about it. You wanted him so badly, and you wanted to make space in your home for him to be there, too, but you couldn’t. You were too afraid, and your fear had always paralyzed you. It was your biggest weakness, only second to Jake, now.

“Okay.” He said, holding back his own tears. It was killing him, but even if he did not agree, your comfort came first.

“I don’t want to lose you.” You said, making sure he knew that you still wanted him around. A selfish being could not fully rid themselves of the burden, and selfishness was all you knew when it came to him. “We’re just getting good at being friends, and I would really like to keep it that way.” You were lying; friends was equal to torture when all you wanted was to love him.

“I can do friends, angel.” He promised, but it was empty. He did not know if he could do it, but he was willing to try. Having you as a friend was better than not having you at all. “Can we just… Can we wait? I’m willing to try, but not yet. I just want to be with you right now.”

“Okay,” you breathed, nodding in agreement. You didn’t want him to leave yet, either, and you were willing to take as much as you could get, even if you were loving him on borrowed time.

The two of you fell back into the mattress, and he wasted little time pulling you into his arms. What normally would be a joyous moment now seemed bleak, drenched in despair. He didn’t want to leave, and you did not want him to have to repair damage that someone else had done. You were too hurt to be loved, and he loved you too much to see your hurt. The sin was plentiful, and this time, it had destroyed the two of you down to the core. You had done so much damage and repair was not an option, and you hated the fact that the universe did not want to allow the two of you to be together. In another life, the two of you would love each other more intensely than the world had ever seen.

Wrath had shattered the last bit of humanity the two of you held within your hearts. It was in his jealousy, and your revenge. It lived in your hurtful words and harsh truths, but most of all, it was plentiful in your own self-reflection. You had never hated yourself more than you did in that moment. You were angry with yourself for being so broken, and angry that you could not put your fear aside and let yourself love him. Most of all, you were angry that you were letting him walk away when all you wanted was to be held by him for the rest of your life. At the same time, he was furious with himself for ever hurting you at all and making you think that he would not do all he could to show you what you meant to him. He was angry for allowing you to let him leave, and angry that he was not strong enough to force you to let him stay.

Fury was the most abundant emotion in the room, followed closely by sadness. Above your heads, the seven deadly sins conjoined to force the two of you away from each other indefinitely. You had sinned too much to ever reap any rewards, and your wicked warpaths led you straight to your own demise.

Lust had driven you too him, and gluttonous you had become. Greed was not far behind it, but sloth ensured that you would never see the truth your hearts were trying to speak. Pride had stopped you from seeing him as he was, and pride had forced his hand in cruelty. Envy left you broken, and wrath had lead you to revenge. Now, you were cradled in the devils arms and awaiting your fate; god could no longer look at you and lead you down the right path, and your own salvation was out of your hands.

You prayed that the devil might see mercy and go easy on you as you tried to rebuild yourself from the evil mess you had become.

The hours passed and you stayed tangled in his limbs, with his hands in your hair and soft kisses placed on your skin. You felt better than you ever had, and you knew that nobody else in the world would ever love you the same as Jake would. You fought exhaustion, forcing your eyes to stay open so you did not miss a single second of his company. You laughed at each others jokes and shared sweet sentiments, recounting the months of happiness you had brought to each others lives. It was a dream come true, but dreams must always come to an end. When the sun began to peek through the darkness, you knew your time together had come to pass.

When he stood, your bed felt emptier than it ever had. There was a divot in the mattress from where he laid moments before, reminding you of all you were losing as he walked out the door. You stood with him, holding on to every last second that you could.

“So this is it?” He asked, wondering if you would change your mind.

“I guess so.” You replied, feeling your voice begin to shake with sadness again. If it was the right thing to do, why did it hurt so bad to do it?

“Friends?” He asked, clenching his jaw in hopes of holding back his own emotions.

“Wait,” you shook your head, stepping forward and wrapping your arms around him. He wasted no time doing the same, holding you with all of the love he could muster in his heart. Your head settled in the crook of his neck and his chin rested on the top of your head. The two of you sat for a moment, immersed in the comfort of each other's company. Before you let go, you leaned up and placed a kiss on his lips. It was sweet, drawn out, and telling of everything you did not have the strength to say. When you pulled away, you could see tears shining in his eyes from the early light of the sun. “Okay.” You breathed, in trance as his eyes burned into yours. “Friends.” His lips upturned into a smile, but it appeared more like a grimace.

“You were right from the beginning, angel. I never should have doubted you.” He said, his voice weak as he blinked away tears. If he had listened, he would have spared you both the pain.

“I’m so glad you did.” You said, making sure he knew you didn’t regret it. If he had listened, you never would have had the chance to know him at all. He placed a small kiss on your forehead, and with one last look over your face, took a step back.

“I’ll see you soon?” He asked, hopeful that you really did want to remain friends. He could not imagine how sorrowful life would be if he never saw you again.

“You know where to find me.” You left the invitation open, hoping that he would come back. You couldn’t understand the feelings flooding your chest. They were so powerful and abundant that it made it difficult to breathe.

“I do.” He nodded, stepping out of your bedroom to retrieve his shirt from the kitchen. “I’ll uh... I’ll buy you a new dress.” He chuckled, looking to the torn fabric on the floor.

“Don’t worry about it. It was worth it.” You gave him a weak smile.

“Alright.” He nodded, grabbing his shirt. “Goodbye, beautiful.” You wanted to say something back, but you were frozen. Dread filled you, leaving no room for anything else.

Why did you want him to stay?

Why did you want him to try and change your mind?

Why, if this was the best for both of you, did it feel like the world was ending?

The idea of him walking through the door was killing you, but you did not have enough courage to tell him to come back to bed despite wanting it more than anything else. You needed him to stay, to love you until you forgot about all the hurt that was plaguing you. You needed him, but you could not allow yourself to have it. Instead, you took in a shaky breath and nodded your head.

“Goodbye, baby.” You struggled to speak, your throat feeling like it was closing around the word and forcing it back down. You watched in horror as he walked to the door, opening it as he slipped his shoes on. He blew you a kiss, lingering for a moment too long. When you didn’t speak again, he stepped outside and the door gently fell shut behind him.

The grief hit you with such a force that you feared you would fall to your knees in anguish. You wanted to run after him, to tell him that you were wrong and the only thing you wanted to be good at was loving him, but you were frozen. You heard his car back out of your driveway, and you knew that it was over; you had to suffer the consequences of your own sinful desires and learn how to move forward despite them. It was the right thing to do, and you had to persevere through the pain to understand that you had done the best thing for the two of you.

But still, upon telling yourself that over and over again, you still did not believe it. Now that your house screamed with emptiness upon his departure, you felt like you had made the worst mistake of your life.

Perhaps the devil was not punishing you for your sinful endeavours, but rather the sin was standing in the way of seeing the truth once again.

With your head in your hands and your heart lying broken in the pit of your stomach, the heaviest realization thus far washed over you. You were wrong about him, and you were wrong about leaving him. Jake was not the enemy, nor was he the thing making your life harder; you were your own worst enemy, and all you had done since falling in love was stand in the way of your own happiness. You wondered if the Lord would ever forgive you and bring him back, or if you would have to suffer the punishment and spend every lifetime searching for him in everyone you met.

Hope was and had always been a feeble idea, and you had little desire to believe that life would work itself out again after making so many deals with the devil. Instead of running after him, you turned to your bedroom to hide away under the covers and begin your repentance that would take a lifetime to complete.

TAGLIST: @sacredjake @profitofthedune @thewritingbeforesunrise @sacredthethreadgvf @klarxtr @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @freefallthoughts @jaketlove @clairesjointshurt @ageofbajabule @dannys-dream @earthgrlsreasy @starshine-gvf @brujamagik @gvfmarge @ignite-my-fire @twistedmelodies @gretavangroupie @alwaysonthemend @edgingthedarkness @gvfpal @sinarainbows @writingcold @starcatcher-jake @literal-dead-leaf @takenbythemadness @gretasfallingsky @hsfallingsky @freyjalw @itsafullmoon @lyndz2names @blacksoul-27 @i-love-gvf @vikingsisthenewsexy @mp0801 @mindastreamofcolours @indigogvf @sparrowofthedawnsworld @jordie-gvf @cassy-face @highway-tuna @creadliz98 @dancingcarbon @do-it-jakey-baby @lallisonl

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lovelybluebirdie · 5 months

Text

The astonishing failure of a simple plan

Astarion x f!Reader

Summary: Astarion tries to wrap his head around you, when a sudden tumult in camp occurs.

[AO3]

The concept of altruism had always been quite strange to Astarion.

Doing something solely for benefiting others, without one's own needs primarily in mind – how outrageously foolish.

And yet, he caught himself considering the idea more often since he had met you.

You, the soft-hearted soul who always seemed to stumble directly into the next best opportunity to solve the problems of complete strangers that would cross your way – gladly interfering with any sort of personal drama.

Although you and the rest of your travel companions had been infected with a tadpole to the brain, leaving you in desperate need for a cure to this rather urgent condition, somehow you would always manage to save a child from getting gruesomely killed by harpies, pick a fight with a powerful hag to rescue some random woman you just met or annihilate an entire camp full of goblins to ensure safe travels for a bunch of Tieflings – without at least demanding a proper compensation for all your troubles.

You just did those things, and it drove Astarion mad.

Perhaps one of the reasons for your undeniable saviour complex were the recurring thoughts that plagued you. You had once explained it as particularly dark urges, the impulse to hurt and kill spreading its roots inside your brain, evolving into a yearn to act out the most gruesome visions one could imagine. Gloriously kill an innocent to bathe in their blood, crush a squirrel to death with your bare fists or rip off a stranger's hand in need of help – malicious ideas that would otherwise never cross your mind.

The origin of these unwanted desires were unknown to you, but you sensed that it had to be connected to your past somehow – a part of you that had yet to be completely revealed. Of course, you had sworn to give everything in your might to resist them. And luckily for the life of your travel companions, you were mostly able to succeed.

Regardless of these murderous tendencies coming with your affliction, you were still the kindest person Astarion had ever met. A contradiction in itself, and yet you were – well, you.

Lately, Astarion had caught himself just perceiving you.

Taking in your soft expression as you were mindlessly humming a song to yourself, sitting barefoot by the river, hands elbow-deep in the cold water to wash your clothes, sticking this stupid little melody to his head for the rest of the day.

While resting at camp, he had watched you reading – one of your favourites, the lexicon of bird species in Faerûn – a terribly boring topic, but you seemed to indulge in the lengthy descriptions of a blue jay’s wingspan. You would fetch Astarion a caught smile between slowly turned pages, eyes half-closed, before eventually dozing off in the flickering light of the fire. He had barely been fast enough to catch the edges of your slipping book, saving it from landing in the dirt.

The other day, he noticed you carefully picking flowers from the road, acting like it was the most important task on your schedule. Later, you would sit in silence, brows furrowed in concentration and hands busy with knotting them into a beautiful headband. A gift for Karlach, since you had sensed that she hadn’t been too well on this particular day.

A sickeningly sweet gesture.

And yet, so typically you. Affectionate, always looking after your dearest companions.

He remembered the feeling of you casually squeezing his shoulder after an exhausting battle, the concerned look you would give him as you noticed that he had been injured, and how you insisted on treating his wounds with the utmost care, not leaving his side before you made sure his bleeding had entirely stopped.

There was the sensation of your fingers gently forming circles through his white curls, while he had buried his fangs deep inside your neck, greedily gulping down the blood you had been willingly offered to him. The quickening of your pulse, the little shivers your body would give away as he was feeding on you.

Your thumb shyly placed against his brow, the tender movement as you traced his features. The sincerity in your voice as you described the outlines of his face to him, after he had shared with you that his lack of reflection had turned the image of his own appearance into a dark shape from his past. Profane vanity was all he had initially seeked from you that evening, listening to you calling him beautiful and stroking his ego, and yet there had been a certain intimacy resonating in that moment. You had described to him what the world would see when it looked at him – what you would see.

Astarion groaned and pulled his blanket up to his chin, almost covering his bottom lip with the thin woollen fabric.

Gods, how you irritated him.

How you had infested his mind with your nauseating goodness.

When you first met, Astarion had decided that precisely this outstanding character trait of yours should be your undoing.

You offered an easy prey, he had thought to himself in a blissful glee, as he imagined all the ways in which he would bargain your trust.

Luring and deceiving were practically moulded into him, therefore charming you appeared as easy as picking the lock on a broken chest. In order to survive under his former master Cazador, he had become an unwilling adept in these abilities.

Astarion flinched as the memory of his ruthless tormentor reentered his mind. Cazador had turned him into a vampire spawn almost two centuries ago and made him his slave, forcing him to a life in complete darkness and made him use his body to bring more than thousands of victims to him.

In order to deceive you, Astarion had formed a rather simple plan: Seduce you, sleep with you, manipulate your feelings so you would never turn on him – old habits that cemented over the past centuries had kicked in.

Therefore, it should have been easy with you. Instinctive. Following a pattern of studied behaviour, throwing his best lines at you until you would breathe his name between tousled sheets - leaving your body aching for him and trusting him unconditionally.

All he had to do was follow this nice little plan of his, deepening the selfish bond he aimed to create between the two of you in order to secure his safety. To get you on his side.

It should have been nothing more than an insurance. A simple transaction, so to speak: His honeyed words for your protection. Performing an act, yourself delightfully unaware of your leading role in this little play of his.

Well, and what else could it ever be? After all, manipulating others in order to get something out of them was the only way he had ever known.

And yet: with you, things had somewhat felt entirely different.

At least, his plan had evidently borne fruit by now: Not only were you voluntarily offering your blood to help him with his cravings after he had revealed his past of being a vampire spawn, you had also sworn to help him finding out the meaning of the scars on his back and dealing with Cazador when the time would come.

Still, instead of savouring his accomplishment he found himself distracted with his attempts to wrap his head around you.

Sometimes he wanted nothing more than to peek inside this little skull of yours, picking your brain until he would satisfy his curiosity with you and determine the reason why you were lingering on his mind of late.

He wanted to figure out what made him actually want to listen to the things you had to say, admire your wit when you would share a heartfelt laugh over one of your foolish jokes or why he would seek your company after a night spent in familiar solitude. And even worse: Why in the Hells he had caught himself enjoying how your face would light up after you had saved another unfortunate soul in need on your travels.

Astarion sighed and pushed his fingers to his eyes, hoping that pressing them shut would free him from his vexing thoughts, as a sudden noise distracted him.

The pounding of hurried footsteps and jumbled voices rose outside his tent, growing louder and faster.

He let out another disgruntled sigh.

Gods, what would it be now?

Whoever was roaming around your camp this late at night, screaming like an animal, better had a rightful reason to do so.

His annoyance fell off immediately as he came to understand what the unfamiliar voices were yelling: Your name. Followed by pleas for help.

Before he even comprehended what exactly posed this sudden level of urgency, his feet had already dragged him outside in the dark, a cold breeze brushing against his skin.

“What is going on?” he heard his own voice meddling into the sudden tumult.

Then he spotted you: Arms and legs hanging lifelessly, brought down on your bedding by one of the Harpers he remembered from the Last Light Inn. You were followed by a few other Harpers who positioned themselves around your tent - they were desperately shouting for a healer.

An icy grip twisted Astarion’s chest as he stormed forward to reach you, stomping through mud and dirt.

“Is she hurt?” His voice broke as he saw your face. You were lying on your blanket, eyes rolling behind closed lids, cheeks all flushed and a thin line of sweat forming on your brow. You looked utterly terrible: Weakened and sick, seemingly in a feverish delirium.

Astarion had seen you wounded before, due to blood and gore being in the nature of your journey to free yourself from the tadpoles, but never like this: more dead than alive, not moving a single major muscle.

What in the Nine Hells had happened to you?

Astarion swallowed hard before he found his voice again and turned to the ones who had brought you in.

“What did you do to her?” he hissed, readying himself to grab the Harper next to him by the throat and shake him until his tongue would loosen. “Explain yourself, now!”

Before any of the men could open their agape mouths in response to Astarion’s daunting request, Shadowheart broke the heated atmosphere with a soft push to his shoulder and made way to kneel beside you.

“Let me see her.” She spoke quickly as she felt for your pulse and started to spread her hands protectively over you, encompassing you in a blue radiance. She was already casting a healing spell.

“Your friend, she… she was fighting a shadow creature, and it must have poisoned her,” the Harper that had carried you pressed between quivering lips. “We already sent someone to call for Isobel. She will know what to do.” As he met Astarion’s furious glimpse, he hastily added “They – they should be here any minute.”

Poison? Astarion wrinkled his nose. Indeed, your blood smelled different – somewhat tainted.

He focused his gaze back to you, suppressing the urge to slap that damned Harper straight across the face.

Instead of acting out this violent thought, he sank to his knees next to Shadowheart and carefully laid one hand on your cheek. You were burning hot and letting out ragged breaths between your cracked lips.

“I can cast my spells, but I am not versed in the toxins of the Dark”, Shadowheart declared with the most tensed look on her face, her magic still hovering over your body. “We need Isobel – fast.”

Another twist in Astarion’s chest. He racked his brain for a solution, his hand still held helplessly against your cheek. You were in need of healing, desperately, and more adept than Shadowheart could provide. His senses began to blur.

Through the pulsing sound of blood rushing through his ears he could only gather a few scraps of the enfolding conversation between the Harpers and the rest of your companions that had hurried to your aid.

It was enough to paint a picture of what happened to you: During your night watch, you had noticed a Harper being dragged away in the shadows and went immediately to his aid. With a few quick blows, you had managed to kill the attacking creature and save the unfortunate man from his demise, but for its final act it stroked you with its claw, leaving a deep scratch on your right arm – the source of the suspected poison that would flow through your veins.

Astarion bit the inside of his cheek, spilling blood. His mind was racing.

Of course you had gotten yourself in danger over saving someone else again.

In normal times, he would have loved to tease you for your foolish act of heroism and give you an “I told you so”, probably earning a defiant look from you while you would emphasise the importance of helping those in need.

Hells, he desired nothing more than to listen to your moralising if it meant that he could just hear your voice right now.

But instead of lecturing him on morality, you were still lying on your mattress, unmoving and probably on the verge of death, and he couldn’t think of a single way to rid you of this terrible state.

He felt numb. Useless. It made him sick.

A gut wrenching thought rushed over him.

What if you would die right now – just like that?

Before he could… Well, before he could do what exactly?

The image of your limp lifeless body with dead staring eyes entered his mind.

No. You didn’t deserve to die. You couldn’t die. Not like this. Not now, not ever, not from saving a goddamned Harper.

Then you whimpered.

Silent, almost inaudible, but enough to set Astarion ablaze.

The urge of punishing every single one who had dared to lead you to harm overcame him like a ruthless wave crashing shore. He wanted to cut open, to rip apart and to send everyone into eternal hell.

Fire took over his crimson eyes as he bared his fangs, the look of a predator on his pale face, ready to curse those wretched Harpers or worse, as another quiet sound spilled from your lips.

“As… Astar... ion…?”

He froze.

His name – spoken as gentle as a flicker of moonlight glistening through leaves. Not moaned in lust or used to denounce him in anger – just… him being called, in the most faintest way.

He felt his eyes wet before he even knew it, his mouth opened for a split second only to his lips pressing it shut again, forcing himself to blink before a single tear could make its way down his cheek.

You sounded so fragile. So ... in need of him.

“Asta...rion?”

His chest twisted again.

He wanted to whisper words of comfort to you, chanting them over and over like a prayer, assuring you that everything would be alright.

“Don’t speak,” he managed to breathe in a cracked voice. “I’m here, my sweet.”

Your eyes were still closed and moving fast underneath your lids. You spoke in a fever, and he could sense that you were in pain.

Astarion brushed a strand of hair off your sweaty brow, using just the tips of his slender fingers. A most careful touch, as if a hint of deeper force would break you.

Then, there was no more sound coming from you.

“Hells, where is that goddamned cleric? If she doesn’t arrive here any second, I’m going to drag her over myself-” Astarion’s voice was nothing more than a helpless plea. He sounded way less threatening than he had wished for, almost spilling those tears he had to hold back, and seconds before bursting if there would be no aid for you right now.

“No need to shout, my friend. I’m right here.”

Isobel. Finally.

A fire in his stomach again.

How dared she sound so calm, considering your condition?

With haste, Isobel knelt between him and Shadowheart and opened her pouch, revealing a set of different sized bottles. She began to examine you with concentration, lifting your eyelids to look at your pupils, checking your vitals and thoroughly inspecting the wound the monster had inflicted on you.

Astarion gritted his teeth in anticipation, a thick lump forming in his throat.

“Will she be alright?” he eventually demanded, his voice cracking like a violin out of tune, but Isobel ignored him and silently continued her treatment.

“Astarion, I’m worried about her too, but I think we shouldn’t disturb Isobel right now,” Wyll interfered softly and squeezed his shoulder.

Taken aback, Astarion pressed his lips together. Of course Wyll would be the voice of reason in a situation like this, but unfortunately he wasn’t wrong. Isobel was the most profound healer available, an expert on the shadow creatures - and unlike himself, she offered the possibility to save you.

“As I thought,” Isobel mumbled after a minute that had felt like eternity and opened one of her potions with a loud plop. “She will need this.”

She then put her thumb on your chin, carefully opening your mouth and pouring in a dark liquid, before she continued to clear your wound.

Astarion eagerly watched her hands treating you with expertise, still not laying his gaze off you.

“I gave her a powerful antidote,” Isobel began to explain calmly as she spread a colourless balm on your torn flesh. “Such poison needs fast treatment. Fortunately, if dealt with in time, it can still be cured. I’m glad I was able to aid your dear friend before it made its way through her entire body. Otherwise… It most likely would have been fatal.”

Astarion’s muscles tightened and his stomach turned. You almost died tonight.

Isobel seemed to notice his tension, so she quickly added “With this antidote, she will be completely fine in the morning. Her fever might continue through the night, but I promise that there is no more reason for concern.”

“Are you completely sure of that, Isobel?” Shadowheart asked, seeking out reassurance that the treatment truly had succeeded.

“I swear by Selune, she is not at risk anymore. The antidote freed her from the poison and the balm will heal her wound,” the cleric responded confidently. “Her body will do the rest.”

The tight, dark blanket that had wrapped around Astarion’s chest began to loosen up.

“I… I’m glad that she’ll be alright,” was all he managed to vocalise as the adrenaline slowly faded from his body.

“Thank you, Isobel,” added Gale, who had been nervously walking up and down your tent as Isobel had tended to your condition.

Even Shadowheart, a devoted follower of Lady Shar, spared a few words of gratitude towards the cleric following her sworn enemy’s beliefs.

A general sense of ease took over from the strained atmosphere that had prevailed just a moment ago.

“She needs rest and quiet now,” Isobel claimed and gave a telling look to your companions and the assembly of Harpers that gathered around your tent.

An unspoken demand that it was time to give you some space now.

“I will stay with her,” Astarion announced to Shadowheart and the remaining group after Isobel and the Harpers had left for the Last Light Inn. There had been a quick discussion if you should have been brought with them, but eventually it was decided that you were more safe in your own bedroll than being dragged through the shadow infested lands again.

“Are you sure, Astarion? I’d be more than glad to watch over her myself,” Shadowheart responded, not hiding her surprise over his proposition.

Even if Astarion wasn’t sure about anything in particular right now, he felt the pressing need to remain by your side until you would open your eyes again, ensuring that Isobel had spoken the truth and the threat had passed.

“Well, I won’t be able to get some more rest tonight anyway, so I might as well just stay over here,” he attempted in a more indifferent manner. “Besides, her tent is by far the most comfortable one our excuse for a camp has to offer, and I’m looking forward to indulging in some peace and quiet after all of this night's terrible trouble.”

Karlach listened to his explanation in slight amusement and gave him a supporting nod. Liar, her smiling face said.

“Well, if you’re sure, and there are no objections… Then it’s fine with me, I suppose,” Shadowheart replied with a raised eyebrow. “But promise to shout for me if something’s the matter, will you?”

“Gods, would you please give me some credit here, you mother hen. I got this,” Astarion said and rolled his eyes. On the inside, he was still shaken up, and he could only hope that the slight pitch in his voice wouldn’t give him away. “So hush hush everyone, off you go now. Get in some beauty sleep, as you all are evidently in need of it.”

“Chk!” Lae’zel interfered in the most angry whisper she could muster. “Leave Astarion to look after her for the night if he insists. I’m certain he knows the fate that will await him should she come to harm under his supervision.” Lae’zel’s very own way to express that she came to care about you.

“Charming as ever,” Astarion replied at this implicit threat, still holding no intention to move merely an inch from his spot next to your bedroll.

“You see, Shadowheart? There seems to be no need to worry about our dearest friend,” Gale added with a slight chuckle. “I suppose she’ll be in good hands for tonight.”

Shadowheart let out a grunt and readied herself to leave with the others, but not before she would lay one last gaze on you, ensuring that you had not gotten any worse over the last few minutes.

Astarion watched your chest rise and fall in a soothing rhythm.

What a mess this night had been.

From the moment the Harpers had brought you in it had been like a heavy weight violently crushing his chest over and over, turning him into an angry, scared wreck, and the pressure only began to wear off by now.

Realistically, he knew that you were safe and the danger had passed. But then, why was there such an uneasiness lingering on him?

He had been scared in his life before, probably more times than he could recall, and yet… The fear over losing you tonight had shifted something in him.

You had called for him in your feverish delirium, as you were lying helpless and in pain.

It was an image hard to shake off.

Astarion sighed, when he noticed that you were still in your armour. There was no way in Hell he would let you sleep in this reeking dirt-covered piece of cloth, so his dexterous fingers began to peel it off, piece by piece. Carefully not to wake you, he stored your armour aside, until you were lying in your undergarment. Then he took your blanket and wrapped it around you.

With another gentle motion, he let his finger stroke along your brow, brushing over the dampness of your skin. You were still feeling hot.

His nose wrinkled as he pulled down his sleeve to cautiously wipe your sweat away. There was no need to get up to fetch some extra cloth, and he would be perfectly capable of cleaning his shirt the next morning.

For a while, Astarion would just watch over you, mustering your relaxed face and ensuring that your breathing continued steadily. You seemed to be in a calm sleep, still feverish, but evidently better looking than the moment you had been brought in.

The next morning came to his mind. Perhaps he might attempt to prepare your favourite food for you, a simple but apparently very delicious berry porridge. Not that he had any particular experience on the matter, since his culinary needs were restricted to blood these days, but if someone like Gale was able to cook it, he surely would be too. Maybe he would surprise you with the dog or the owlbear for some morning snuggling in bed, as you seemed to never spend a single day without indulging in some pets on your journey. Well, he probably should bring in both. Oh how delighted you would be, waking up to these furry little beasts, he thought with a grin.

Then it hit him.

Shit.

His nice, simple plan with you had truly and utterly fallen apart.

What should have been nothing more than an insurance for his safety, a way to rid himself of the tadpole in his brain and offer him a powerful ally to face Cazador some day, had developed into something he never experienced before.

He genuinely cared about you - more than he thought himself to be capable of. You had become most precious to him, and he felt the urgent need to be honest with you.

You were incredible, and you didn’t deserve to be lured into a selfish alliance.

You deserved something real.

He wanted things between you to be something real - even if he didn’t know what real looked like. After all, charming and deceiving others was the only way he had ever known. Forming a sincere connection and being close with someone posed an entirely new and remarkably scary sensation. But maybe, with you…

Your faint voice brought him back from his thoughts.

“Asta...rion?”

His face softened, not as an act of will, more like a reflex.

You looked at him with half-open eyes, sounding still a little weak.

He bowed his head closer to you and spoke softly, letting his thumb brush gently over your cheek.

"There you are, my little fool. Getting ourselves in trouble over our constant need to do something heroic again, weren’t we?”

“Mh… Is that so?” you asked in a raspy voice, offering a weak smile through glistening eyes underlined with dark circles, your hair pressed damp to your skull. “And you saved me, I suppose?”

Astarion’s heart grew tight with adoration. To him, you had never looked more beautiful.

“I’m afraid not, my dear. Actually, you have been poisoned by a shadow creature, so you were in need of a more adept healer. Isobel treated you.”

“Mhm.. How bad was it?”

He thought for a moment, the fear he had felt rushing over him for a split second and piercing his chest like ice.

"Well, not as bad as it could have. I’ll spare you the details for tomorrow.”

“That’s… good.” You hummed, sounding drowsy and still a little feverish. Then, you gave a soft plea. “Astarion… Would you… stay with me tonight?”

There it was again, a pull at his heartstrings.

Gods, you wicked little thing.

“Of course, my darling. I’ll stay as long as you need me.”

A promise, unimaginable honest had it been another time, with another person, but this was now, and this was you.

He gave another gentle press to your hand, carefully intertwining your fingers with his, as if to underline his words.

"Thank you,” you whispered, eyes closed for a second before you let your gaze meet his again. Another quiet mumble. "Could you... hold me please?"

Astarion was overwhelmed by your vulnerability for a second. He wanted nothing more than to provide you comfort, to make you feel safe, but didn't know if he should give in. Even though you had often shared your bedroll these days, this somehow felt more open, more intimate.

Before he realised what he was doing, he swiftly lifted off your blanket to slip underneath and laid his arm around your waist, pulling you in close.

He could feel your hand on his chest. Your head gently resting on his shoulder, fingers loosely clutching around the end of his collar. Your warm body against his cold.

Astarion let his fingers gently caressing the small of your back.

You were breathing steady, already seeming to doze off again. A soothing calmness came over him.

“I hope… I didn’t worry you too much,” you mumbled, more asleep than awake.

Astarion bit his lip.

“Well…” he said and cleared his throat. “I managed.” A complete understatement of events, but this was also a confession for another day. “Rest now, my love.”

Astarion continued to gently stroke your back, his lips turning into an affectionate smile. He never thought his heart to be this full over the failure of such a simple plan.

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yelena-bellova · 1 year

Text

Twenty Years Later: Joel Miller x F!Reader - Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen: Room For Three

Plot: Two weeks after Silver Lake, Joel, Y/n and Ellie travel the final stretch to Salt Lake City.

Word Count: 5.6k

Warnings: language, implied violence, implied attempted SA, detailed description of s*icide attempt, mention of loss of a child, injuries, (16+)

A/N: Well, we’re almost to the end….I hope this grand finale for Joel and Rosebud is equally as enjoyable as the show’s finale. I still haven’t recovered from it…

A small detail that I had to retcon because of the timeline of Joel at the triage clinic…the breakup now occurred two days after Sarah’s death rather than three. I played with it as much as I could, but that’s what fit the best.

As always, this series is 16+ and I will not be adding anyone to the taglist who doesn’t have their age/range specified in their bio.

Read on, my loves! Enjoy the mind-numbing fluff before the angst…❤️‍🩹

—————

Y/n felt frozen.

It had been two weeks since Silver Lake, since Ellie and her had fought their way out of, and delivered. a gruesome fate, Joel catching them in the aftermath. Stuck somewhere between being present and comfortably dazed, Y/n felt like she couldn’t fully pull herself out of the numbness that had set in after their escape.

They’d arrived just outside of Salt Lake City, Joel and Y/n briefly left Ellie to rifle through abandoned vehicles for supplies. Joel moved around with the freedom he had weeks before, his injury having fully healed. Y/n, on the other hand, had slowed down significantly. The fight with David had left her with at least two cracked ribs, causing every breath and step to send waves of pain through her. It had caused them a longer travel time.

“Find anything?” Joel asked from the front of the RV.

Y/n dug through the bathroom cabinet, finding a few loose tampons and old, visibly used, toothbrushes.

“Nothing for you,” she announced, sticking the feminine products in her backpack and exiting the bathroom. She found Joel going through the kitchenette.

“Check it out,” Joel victoriously held up a can of Chef Boyardee, “For Ellie.”

Y/n smiled softly, “She’ll like that.”

The change in Joel that had occurred on his and Y/n’s fateful night in Jackson seemed to be long-lasting. He was smiling practically all the time, his voice had lifted from its gruff timber, and he was unbelievably talkative. Y/n had watched as the man she loved slowly came back to himself, she was trying her hardest to meet him there.

She finished up looking for supplies, kneeling on a dusty old couch and checking the space between it and the wall.

“Oh my gosh,” she muttered.

“Hmm?” Joel hummed, still searching for more food.

Y/n reached into the crack, pulling out the mutilated body of an acoustic guitar and holding it up to Joel in stunned silence. He finally turned around and matched her surprise, a small chuckle escaping him.

“Wow,” he marveled.

“I know,” Y/n flipped it in her palms, looking to see if there was any possible way for Joel to play it.

“Busted to hell,” he said, having crossed the room to examine the instrument, “Lemme see.”

Joel took it into his hands, attempting to hold the splintered wood with pieces dangling off it, and form a chord on the fretboard. The sound that came out what horrendous.

“I guess you need it in one piece for it to sound good,” Y/n grimaced.

“Yeah, little bit,” Joel smiled, setting the instrument on the couch, “Nice to dream though.”

“Yeah,” Y/n said, her tone far off as she watched Joel hesitate to take his hand off the guitar’s neck. All along the journey, there’d been little moments where she’d recognized him from twenty years before, but this…this was an essential piece of who he was.

Joel dragged his eyes up to meet Y/n’s, she was smiling at him.

“What?”

“It’s just really fucking unfair that the world comes to an end and you still look this good,” Y/n commented.

Joel practically snorted, shaking his head at the compliment, “Haven’t showered in three weeks.”

“Notice that I said look and not smell,” Y/n smirked, crossing her arms and pushing off the wall to walk past him.

Joel reached out, grasping Y/n’s elbows and gently pulling her back to him. Despite her slow progress, her ribs were still a nuisance, and he’d handled her like china since Silver Lake.

“How they feeling?” Joel changed the subject, spreading a hand across Y/n’s abdomen.

“Not as bad as the other day,” Y/n answered, taking as deep a breath as she could so Joel could feel the motion, “But it’d be nice to sit for a while.”

It wasn’t a request so much as a pipe dream without the smoke. Y/n needed more time to heal than they had.

Feeling powerless against the body’s healing capabilities, Joel stroked his thumb over Y/n’s belly and kissed her forehead.

“Hey,” he mumbled, bending down to pick up a box near their feet, “You always destroyed me in this. Think Ellie might like it?”

Y/n looked down at his hands, it was a Boggle box, something she hadn’t seen in a long time. She glanced up at Joel, admiring how hard he was trying to make their lives any brighter.

Joel could feel Y/n’s eyes on him and met her gaze, “You’re starin’ again.”

Shaking her head and smiling, Y/n pressed a kiss to Joel’s shoulder and walked off towards the RV door.

Joel watched her leave, she was moving slow with something other than pain. Neither her or Ellie had been the same since Silver Lake. Y/n had given Joel fragments of the harrowing tale, but he had yet to have the whole story. He knew better than to push, they’d come to him when they were ready, but it broke his heart to see the two of them anything less than whole. Making a point to grab the board game and the Beefaroni, he left the RV.

Y/n paced herself as she crossed the highway, still timing her inhalations in the beat between steps. It didn’t take more than one or two long legged strides for Joel to catch up with her.

“Good news, we don’t have to hunt tonight,” Joel called to Ellie, who had her back turned to him, “Ellie.”

The girl was seated in the back of a flatbed, still as can be.

“Ellie,” Joel called out again, the third time a little louder.

Y/n sighed, knowing she was in her own world. “El!”

She finally turned around.

“D’ya hear me?” Joel asked.

“No,” Ellie replied, her voice sounding painfully innocent, “What?”

“Well, I found this in there,” Joel gestured back to the RV before holding up the can, “Beefaroni. Chef Boyardee.”

Sensing that this was a big victory for Joel, Ellie forced as much a smile as she was capable of, “Oh, cool.”

Joel’s grin faded, thinking the nostalgia might have been enough to get a genuine reaction. Y/n trailed behind him as he made his way to the truck.

“And have you ever played this?” Joel held up the game for her, “Boggle. It’s a word game.”

“Mm-mm,” Ellie shook her head.

“Well, if you wanna beat me at somethin’,” Joel continued, “It would be this.”

Y/n watched the exchange, leant up against the side of the truck and trying not to look directly at her people. It hurt to see Ellie glazed over just as much as it hurt to see Joel trying so hard to break through the layers of trauma.

“Well, all right then,” Joel announced, sensing Ellie’s mood, “We’re gettin’ close.”

“Mm-hmm,” Ellie nodded.

“Hospital’s that way,” Joel nodded down the freeway, “May be the one we’re lookin’ for.”

“Got it,” Ellie pushed off of the flatbed.

Y/n waited for Ellie to grab her backpack before falling into step with her. The girl didn’t have a particular favorite between Joel and Y/n, but with Y/n having been present for the events at Silver Lake, she was drawing closer to her. Closer being a relative term…

“Take this for me,” Joel held out the rifle to Ellie, letting her hold it as he strapped his backpack back on, “Thanks.”

The three of them set off once more, but not before Joel snuck one last longing gaze at the inside of the RV, or rather its contents.

“They had a guitar in that RV,” he began to tell Ellie, “It was all smashed up, but got me thinkin’, maybe I should find one. I haven’t played in forever. In fact, I was thinkin’, maybe I could teach you. I bet you’d be great at it.”

Ellie gave a slight chuckle, it was her best try.

“Do you wanna learn how to play guitar?” Joel asked, his hopeful gaze sitting on Ellie’s face, recieveing no answer. “Ellie?”

“Hm?” Ellie snapped back to the conversation, “Oh, yeah. That’d be great.”

Joel looked behind Ellie’s back and met Y/n’s waiting gaze, the helplessness in his eyes so very clear. He didn’t know how to bring her back.

The three of them hiked through the city, heading in the general direction of the hospital. They eventually snaked through an alley.

“Okay, so this is what I’m thinkin’-“ Joel began to lay out their plan.

“Cut through that building to get around that stuff,” Ellie nodded towards the massive pile of rubble ahead, “Find the skyscraper, go up and look around.”

“Uhh, actually this time,” Joel changed course, “I was thinkin’ we blast our way through that rubble. I found some dynamite in that RV back there.”

Ellie’s ears perked up, while Y/n just smirked, “Really?”

“No,” Joel answered, “So we’re gonna cut through that building, find a skyscraper and look around,” he turned back and gauged Ellie’s reaction, “But I had you goin’, didn’t I?”

By virtue of having lived through the whole of the pandemic as an adult, it was easier for Y/n to be drawn out by Joel’s loving attempts. She’d seen the worst of humanity long before Ellie was born, and that allowed her to chuckle at Joel’s joke.

The threesome climbed the tallest skyscraper they could find. The lack of much inside told them that it had been abandoned before the pandemic had started.

“Look at this place,” he muttered as they walked past pallets and exposed beams, “Talk about bad luck. Military drops bombs, not one of ‘em hits the building you’re tryin’ to demolish.”

Y/n smiled at nothing other than the fact that Joel was talking so much before unlatching a gate to a closed off area of the site. Inside were tables with schematics and loose supplies, along with their only way to the next floor.

“Think I found our way up,” she announced, staring up at the open floor at least ten feet above them.

Joel came to her side and evaluated the height, the tip of an old ladder dangling over the edge. Y/n was in no condition for him to lift her up and retrieve it.

“I get you up there, you can drop that ladder down,” he called out to Ellie, “Maybe we go through that way. Come on, I’ll give you a boost.”

Y/n glanced over to Ellie, once again tuned out of their conversation and absentmindedly looking over the building schematics. Once Joel noticed her as well, the two of them made their way over.

“You okay?” Joel asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Ellie turned away from the table and averted her eyes.

“It’s just you kinda seem extra quiet today,” Joel said, trying to tiptoe around the matter, “So…”

“Oh,” Ellie quickly changed gears, “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine,” Joel reassured her, “Did you hear what I-“

“Yeah,” Ellie replied, “Boost. Got it.”

Without another word on the subject, the three of them walked back to the wooden pallets. Joel took the main spot holding Ellie’s foot while Y/n stood by, ready to help her if she wobbled.

“One, two,” Joel grunted, “Up!”

He lifted Ellie into the air and she shimmied her way onto the next level, Y/n nervously held her hands out like she did every time they did this.

“You good?” Y/n called up.

“Yeah,” Ellie twisted the rest of her body onto the floor. She started to lower the ladder down to Joel when her eye caught something, “Whoa…”

Ellie dropped the ladder, letting it slide past Joel and Y/n and clatter to the floor.

“Damn it, Ellie,” Joel exclaimed as he went to pick it up, “Shit.”

“Stay there,” Y/n called, trying to help Joel lift the ladder and instantly feeling the pain in her ribs, “Ah!”

Joel took the whole of the weight, “Don’t do that.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Y/n grunted, clutching her abdomen. She hated being out of commission just as much as Joel had hated her babying after his own injury.

Joel leaned the ladder against the next floor and helped Y/n up, waiting at the bottom until she was all the way up in case she fell.

“You gotta see this,” Ellie cried out.

“Gee,” Y/n groaned as she carefully rolled onto her stomach, “If only we had a way up…”

Joel followed suit, pulling Y/n to her feet with great care. “Ellie?!”

“Up here,” the girl yelled, she was already on the next level.

Y/n nodded towards the staircase, “Go, I’ll catch up.”

Reluctantly, Joel let his hand slip from Y/n’s waist and ran up the stairs, chasing after Ellie.

Y/n slowly made her way up the steps, stopping every thirty seconds to take a deep breath before continuing.

“Rose,” Joel would yell down every few seconds, telling her where they were.

“Here,” she’d call back, measuring the distance between their voices.

Eventually, Y/n made it to their floor, Joel was waiting for her at the top of the stairs. He took her hand, helping her up the rest of the way and the two of them walked through the cinderblock halls that at their end revealed…

Life.

Through a massive hole in the wall, a giraffe poked its head in, eating shrubbery that was growing on the building. A little further and there was at least half a mile of green grass and trees growing in the middle of the city. Ellie’s silhouette tied the whole picture together.

Y/n’s breath caught in her chest, it was beautiful.

Joel walked close behind Y/n, letting her take everything in first. He carefully removed his rifle and set it down beside him.

“Don’t scare it,” Ellie whispered.

“I won’t,” he promised, going to the greenery and ripping off a chunk.

“What are you doing?” Ellie asked.

“It’s all right,” Joel assured her, looking back expectantly, “Come on, hurry up. Come here.”

Y/n nudged Ellie forward, the girl took the leaves from Joel and came back to her spot. She carefully held out the plant to the giraffe, which took it quicker than she’d expected.

Joel held out another large handful to both Y/n and Elie, beaming down at them as they giggled, feeding the giraffe with childlike joy. Something magical was happening. The light was returning to Ellie’s eyes, her nose was scrunching up as she laughed. For the first time in two weeks, she was Ellie again. And because of that, so was Y/n.

Y/n stood beside Ellie with tears in her eyes, the trauma had lost. For just one minute in time, things felt okay again.

“So fucking cool,” Ellie said, just before the giraffe began to walk away, “Aw, where’s she going?”

Ellie took off through the building, chasing after the animal, “Come on, come on, come on, come on.”

Joel spun as he watched her leave, eliciting a laugh out of Y/n.

“You started it,” she smiled.

Joel threw the rifle back over his shoulder and grabbed Y/n’s hand, pulling the two of them down the next hall.

They pushed through the rusted door they’d just heard slam open and shut, and found themselves with an even better view of the greenery. The singular giraffe was part of a heard, six of them, including a baby, grazing in the flower dressed grass. The color alone was more than Joel or Y/n had seen in a while.

Tearing his eyes away from the nature, Joel looked to Y/n, who was struck speechless at the sight. They stood there, both drinking in the separate beauties they’d both been without for so long.

Once Y/n’s eyes caught Ellie, she tugged Joel down the steps and they came to stand beside her.

“So,” Joel said to Ellie, bracing himself against the wall, “Is it everything you hoped for?”

Y/n glanced down and smiled, remembering the first time he’d asked that question.

“It’s got its ups and downs,” she answered before smiling out, “But you can’t deny that view.”

Y/n was too caught up in both Ellie’s momentary joy and her own to catch Joel’s falling face.

“Look, I don’t know exactly where this hospital is-“ he started.

“Yeah, we’ll find it,” Ellie said with quiet confidence.

“Sure, it’s just-“ Joel squinted, searching for the right way to phrase what he wanted to say, “Maybe there’s nothin’ bad out there, but so far there’s always been somethin’ bad out there.”

Ellie shrugged, “We’re still here though.”

“A little worse for the wear,” Y/n grunted, readjusting her stance to accommodate her ribs, “But still here.”

“I know,” Joel replied, “I’m only sayin’ there’s risk.”

Y/n finally started to pay attention to what he was saying, how he was saying it.

“We don’t have to do this,” Joel turned to Ellie, “I just- I want you to know that.”

“What do you mean?” Ellie rotated to face him, “What else are we supposed to do?”

“Yeah, I’m a little lost too,” Y/n nudged Joel’s shoulder, making him split the difference and face them both.

“Nothin’, we just go back to Tommy’s,” Joel answered, “We forget about the whole damn thing.”

It was a shock to Y/n’s system, but not as much as it should have been. What started as a mission to save the remnants of humanity, had evolved into one goal: saving Ellie. The girl had never just been a salvation to Y/n, since the moment she’d met her, but after three months of caring for her…Ellie was so much more than just a cure. Running in the opposite direction to ensure her safety wasn’t the most insane idea for Joel to have.

“After all we’ve been through,” Ellie smiled sadly, “Everything I’ve done…It can’t be for nothing. I know you mean well. I know you wanna protect me, you have,” Ellie glanced past Joel to Y/n, “You both have. And when we’re done, we’ll go wherever you want. Tommy’s, sheep ranch, the moon...”

Joel and Y/n both smiled at the memory.

“I’ll follow you guys anywhere you go,” Ellie said with a finality to her tone, “But there’s no halfway with this. We finish what we started.”

Joel was satisfied with Ellie’s answer, it was her choice and no matter how much she’d follow him or Y/n, it was a two way street.

She had also just referenced a conversation took had never actually taken place.

“El, can you,” Y/n’s hand squirmed against the brick wall, “Can you give us a sec?”

Ellie’s eyes darted between Joel and Y/n, unsure of what had happened somewhere in between her words, “Sure.”

The girl meandered back the way they’d come, no doubt waiting to eavesdrop on the other side of the door.

Joel, for the first time since before Y/n and him had reconciled, was afraid to look into her eyes. He was scared to find an answer he didn’t want.

“We, uh,” Joel’s fist lightly bumped the brick, “We never actually talked about…us…did we?”

Y/n puffed out a deep breath, “No, we, uh…we did not.”

“Huh,” Joel replied, staring out at the giraffes, hoping they would distract him from dropping to his knees and begging Y/n to do what he hadn’t been strong enough to do.

Stay.

Y/n had spent the last three months technically still a Firefly without doing any of the work. Somewhere between Boston and Salt Lake City, she had stopped feeling like one altogether. Without Marlene there or the security of a base of operations and daily tasks, there had been room for something else to fill that void.

Ellie and, eventually, Joel.

“I know you…” Joel already felt he was going to fuck up the conversation, but was trying to delay it, “I know that when we get to the hospital, you’ll probably go back to work but I…” he struggled to keep what he truly wanted to say silent, “I just-“

“Joel,” Y/n held up a hand, turning fully towards him and smiling, “Stop.”

Joel did as requested and shut his mouth.

“I’ve spent the last twenty years just,” Y/n sighed, “Just wandering in circles. Trying to find some way to make the world better. The Fireflies gave me that chance and though our methods haven’t always been the most,” Y/n frowned, “Peaceful…I like to think we’ve done some sort of good.”

Joel’s chest tightened, sensing where the conversation was headed.

Y/n looked back out at the greenery, her confidence suddenly withering under the intensity of Joel’s gaze. “But you,” she said, finding the strength to look back, “You were all I ever really wanted. You, Sarah, Tommy…” Y/n’s throat began to clog with emotion, “You guys were it for me. And I never thought I’d be able to get that back and then…” she shrugged, “I got it.”

Joel’s eyes were starting to mist, it was unavoidable to feel the ghost of Sarah’s presence every time Y/n mentioned their family.

“And I don’t think I could handle losing you a second time,” Y/n strained, smiling past the tears, “I know I couldn’t.”

Joel felt around for her hand and held it as tight as he should have two decades before.

Y/n inhaled deeply, “So this is the last job. That it’s. After today,” she cupped Joel’s cheek, tenderly rubbing her thumb over his scruff, “I’m all yours.”

It was everything Joel wanted to hear, everything.

“We go back to Tommy’s,” Y/n continued, “We go back to that house, and we make it a home.”

The pure relief that released through Joel’s body made him nudge closer, his forehead dropping to touch Y/n’s. He shut his eyes, savoring the rhapsody of the life she was laying out for them.

“I love you,” Joel muttered, the words hanging in the slim space between them. He said it with all the earnestness of someone still trying to make up for their sins.

“I know you do,” Y/n fingers brushed Joel’s lips, trying to reassure him that he didn’t need to prove anything. Their past was their past, and their future would be their future.

“You don’t have to say it back,” Joel said, shaking his head against Y/n’s “I know I gotta earn it.”

Y/n wet her lips and smiled, “I actually said something along the lines when you were passed out.”

Joel pulled back just enough to scan Y/n’s face, “Oh, you did?”

“Mm-hmm,” Y/n hummed.

As patient a man as Joel was, he was eager to hear the words he’d been deprived of so long. “You feel like…repeatin’ yourself?”

“Mmm,” Y/n’s smile turned coy, “Not really, no.”

Joel smirked, “No?”

The adoration in Y/n’s eyes couldn’t have been more real, “No.”

Tugging her hips forward, Joel’s lips stretched into a grin as they pressed a deep kiss to Y/n’s.

Y/n had watched her future with Joel come back to life, plummet to its near-death and reawaken in the span of two and a half weeks. She had spent twenty years trying to atone for her failures, and selfishly, she wanted to rest. She wanted to wake up every morning and fall asleep every night in Joel’s arms. She wanted to teach Ellie how to tend to a garden and cook actual food. She wanted to meet Tommy’s kid.

She wanted her life back.

“Are you two done over there?” Ellie called through the rusted steel door.

Y/n and Joel chuckled as they broke apart, Joel lovingly rubbing the tip of his nose against Y/n’s. In a matter of days, they’d have the rest of their lives to hold each other, kiss each other. After they completed their mission, they never had to spend another day apart.

—————————

If Joel and Y/n had made any peace with what had happened to them, it was overshadowed by a darkness only one of them could see.

A half mile from the skyscraper and through a tunnel, lay the carcass of a triage clinic. Joel and Y/n recognized the skeleton immediately, both of them tensing internally for different reasons.

“Was this a FEDRA thing?” Ellie asked, blissfully oblivious.

“No,” Y/n answered, her hand interlocked with Joel’s, “The army set these up the day after the outbreak. Medical camps for people to get their wounds tended to.”

Joel’s finger anxiously rubbed against Y/n’s hand, “They had us in one just like this.”

“With Sarah?” Ellie asked, it was the first time she’d spoken the girl’s name out loud.

“No,” Joel answered, “She was gone already.”

“Oh,” Ellie nodded, “So what was wrong with you guys?”

“I took a bullet to the side,” Y/n said, thinking about the white scar that rested just above her waist.

Joel pointed upwards to the mark on his temple, “It was for this.”

“Ah, the guy who shot and missed,” Ellie remembered from one of their earliest conversations, “I figured that would have happened later.”

“No,” Joel said plainly, “Second day.”

“Wait,” Y/n’s brow creased in confusion, “Why am I not remembering this?”

Joel let Y/n’s hand slip from his as he started to walk sideways, stopping in their tracks. If they were going to spend the rest of their lives together, they had to do it honestly. But he didn’t think he could handle looking into Y/n’s eyes while saying what he was about to.

“Well, I’ve gotta hand it to the Army people,” Ellie continued walking, “They were way better at stitching you up than I was.”

“I still don’t remember this,” Y/n said, a little louder from frustration with her memory.

Joel took just enough breath to get out the truth.

“It was me.”

While Ellie and Y/n both stopped their steps at the same time, the realization of what Joel meant hit them at different speeds. Y/n knew immediately.

“I was the guy who shot and missed,” Joel expanded, his eyes flicking in Y/n’s direction and quickly turning back down. He moved to sit on a piece of concrete, removing his rifle before doing so.

Ellie followed, coming to sit next to him, but Y/n stayed planted where she was, unable to move.

“There’s no story,” Joel began to explain, “Sarah died…and I couldn’t see the point anymore. Simple as that.”

The day spun back in Y/n’s head like a VHS tape being rewound over and over. She played back Joel, in all his grief crazed delusions, telling her she was a liar and storming off. His fist breaking through the glass window of the truck before stealing it and speeding off. His glassy, grief-struck gaze…

The signs were all there as to what happened after he’d left.

“And I wasn’t scared either, I was ready,” Joel looked off, remembering the feel of false peace that had fallen over him in that moment, “I couldn’t have been more ready.”

Y/n’s lip trembled before anything else, hesitating between crying and staying silent.

“When I-“ Joel hesitated, chewing on the side of his lip, “When I…went to pull the trigger, I flinched. Still don’t know why.”

Joel didn’t dare look up at Y/n, lest he lose what nerve he still had. “Anyway,” he went back to addressing Ellie, “The reason I’m tellin’ you all this-“

“I know why you’re telling me this,” Ellie interrupted.

“Yeah,” Joel sighed, “I reckon you do.”

A few beats of silence rested between them, Y/n’s tears pooling in her eyes, Joel staring ahead at the ground and Ellie, with one foot back out in the light.

“So time heals all wounds, I guess,” the girl mused.

Joel, for all his initial denial, knew exactly what had caused him to be able to talk about his trauma so freely. Three months of raging against his instincts, fighting ever smile, laugh and loving gaze, had landed him right where he’d never wanted to end up. Except it was all he wanted, every single part of it.

He looked to Ellie first, “It wasn’t time that did it.”

When her understanding gaze crossed with Joel’s, he glanced over to Y/n, still stuck in place with her red cheeks and puffy eyes.

They hadn’t just saved his life, they had brought him back to life.

“Well, I’m glad that-“ Ellie eventually gathered the words, her voice on the verge of cracking, “That didn’t work out.”

Joel nodded, “Me too.”

Y/n finally took a step forward, before her feet practically flew her forward to Joel. She came to stand over his leg, drawing his face upwards until she had the whole view.

Joel’s wet eyes gazed up into hers, the freedom that came with the terrible truth granting him to strength to face her.

Y/n tilted Joel’s head so she could see his temple and the terribly tragic scar across it. With shaking fingers, she grazed the skin and it all suddenly became real. Joel had really almost gone through with it. She flashed back the pain in his eyes the day he’d abandoned her, the sorrow, the grief, the utter despair…

His hand trembling, Joel reached up to encircle Y/n’s wrist, trying to be with her as she processed it all. He was the source of so much of her pain, and all he wanted to do was give her a future built on hope. This was the last time he’d ever hurt her.

If Joel would have pulled the trigger, he would have changed the lives of everyone around him or that ever would be around him. Tess wouldn’t have had a partner, Tommy would have certainly died in an act of bravery, and Ellie and Y/n would have been dead before they ever left Boston.

But none of those thoughts crossed Y/n’s head. All she could think about was how utterly empty her life would have stayed if she never would have seen Joel again.

With a stifled sob, Y/n wrapped her arms around Joel’s head, pulling him into her chest and burying her face in his hair. Joel fisted the back of her shirt, feeling a stitch in the fabric pop from the force he was holding her with. Y/n ignored the ache in her ribs, she needed to feel Joel more than anything.

They stayed lost in each other until Y/n moved to press her lips to Joel’s temple, softly kissing the scar that had almost kept them apart. Joel felt ripped to pieces and entirely complete at the same time.

The last divide between them had been shattered.

“I love you,” Y/n whispered against the scar. Joel dug his face deeper into her chest, oxygen deprivation mattering not so long as he was swallowed by her body.

Y/n tried to pull herself together, it wasn’t until Jackson that she’d be able to let herself fall apart fully. She smoothed Joel’s wild hair back down as much as she could and dragged her palm under her eyes. Joel’s hands traced the sides of her hips on their way down from her back, paying extra mind to her ribs.

“We should probably get going,” Ellie announced, too overcome by both her own emotions and Joel and Y/n’s.

“Yeah,” Y/n and Joel both hummed a variation of as they dried the remnants of their tears. Before they took another step, Joel grabbrd Y/n’s hand again, locking her into his side.

“You know what I’m in the mood for?” Joel asked, his voice somewhat cheerful again as he looked to Ellie.

“What?” Ellie glanced up expectantly at him.

“Shitty puns.”

“Oh, Lord,” Y/n smiled.

“Oh ho-ho,” Ellie exclaimed, twisting her backpack to pull out the book.

Y/n gave a mock salute, “That’s it. This is where I leave you,” she began to let her steps drift away from Joel, “Give the Fireflies my regards.”

Joel smiled deeply, pulling her back into him. Ellie was already searching through her book for the perfect page.

“‘People are making apocalypse jokes like there’s no tomorrow,’” she recited, catching Joel’s disapproving stare after, “Too soon?”

He snapped out of his fake-out, grinning after, “No, it’s topical.”

Ellie laughed, “Oh, I love this one! ‘Moon rocks taste better than Earth rocks. Why?’”

Deciding to egg on her less enthusiastic guardian, Ellie looked across their row, waiting for Y/n to reply.

“Why?” Y/n said, rolling her eyes in good humor.

“‘Cause they’re meteor,” Ellie delivered the punch line.

Joel grimaced, “Oh, that’s terrible.”

“If you’re gonna set me up,” Y/n complained, “At least pick a good one.”

“Fuck you,” Ellie exclaimed, “That was actually good.”

“That’s a zero outta ten,” Joel finished.

“All right, all right,” Ellie flipped to the second page, “‘What did the green grape say to the purple grape?’”

Y/n snorted, already guessing where the joke was going.

“‘Breathe, you idiot,’” Ellie answered.

Joel’s lips crept upwards, “That was a three out of ten.”

“Seven, minimum,” Ellie corrected.

“I’ll go as high as five,” Y/n countered.

“Yeah, five,” Joel agreed, swinging his and Y/n’s hands a little, “Five outta ten.”

Ellie’s jaw dropped in shock, “Five?”

The clink and the hiss from behind them turned them all around. Y/n and Joel spotted the flash bomb, their bodies reacting quickly and throwing themselves over Ellie.

The three of them were knocked to the ground in a smoky haze.

Five seconds or five minutes, no one could tell. Y/n couldn’t clearly see more than a few inches in front of her, spotting Joel’s watch and Ellie’s grey sleeve.

“Joel,” she could hear Ellie calling out past the ringing in her ears, “Y/n.”

“El,” Y/n called back, attempting to move with the new pain in her abdomen, “Joel.”

“Y/n,” Joel breathed.

Thudding footsteps broke through the next layer of hearing loss, Y/n blinked a couple times to see Ellie’s body being picked up.

“Joel,” she cried, “Y/n!”

“Ellie!” Joel yelled, reaching to grab Y/n’s hand as they struggled to pick themselves up.

“Ellie!”

It was the last thing any of them heard before everything went dark.

————

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weemsfreak · 6 months

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We Fell In Love In October

This is late late, I have been working on it for so long but I have been busy. It is a fall/halloween story, sooo Happy Halloween!!

Larissa Weems x f!TeacherReader

Warnings: Mention of blood, fake weapon

Autumn held a special place in your heart. This time of year wasn't too chilly or overly warm, and you lived for fall fashion. Halloween, in your opinion, was the supreme holiday, and you'd fight anyone who said otherwise. You weren't particularly keen on horror or gruesome themes, as you were a bit of a pussy, but the mystery and dark undertones were totally your thing.

Donning your trusty combat boots and a burgundy sweater dress, you set out for the quad. The leaves descended gracefully from the trees, adorning both the ground and the sky with their vibrant hues of red, orange, and yellow. Lately, your thoughts have been preoccupied with Halloween costume ideas, an opportunity to indulge in your need to dress up, to temporarily adapt a different persona. You thought it was always interesting to not be yourself, or be a different version of yourself, even if it was just for a day. As you made your way down the path to the decorated school, you allowed the soothing sound of gravel and rustling leaves underfoot to envelop your senses. This morning the students were having in a pumpkin carving contest, and you had a brilliant idea in mind for your class's entry.

"Chemistry!" you exclaimed, presenting your pumpkin idea to your class. Your students returned raised eyebrows and cheers, but it was fitting, you thought, considering you were the chemistry and potions teacher.

As the time for judging arrived, each class eagerly presented their carved pumpkins to the panel of judges, which comprised the school's secretary, the student council president, and Principal Weems. Your students had crafted their pumpkin to resemble a gory scene, complete with brain-like patterns painted on its top. It was an impressive sight, but there was a secret added touch.

When it was your class's turn to showcase their pumpkin, Wednesday and Enid took the lead. Wednesday had attached a small container filled with yeast and water, the vital catalyst, to the top interior of the pumpkin. All eyes in the quad were fixated on her as she raised a carving knife and plunged it downward, piercing the pumpkin's 'brain'. In one swift motion, the knife was withdrawn, taking with it the pumpkin's brain matter. Thick, crimson fluid followed, erupting from the pumpkin's top like a gory volcanic display. The audience's reactions ranged from collective "ew" and "gross" exclamations to screams, but you took note that Principal Weems, in stark contrast to some others, appeared unfazed. Your heart raced with excitement when you noticed a hint of a smirk on Wednesday's face. The audacious display, which was not well-received by others, brought her a sliver of joy, which in turn made your day successful.

Enid then cleared her throat and proceeded to explain the concept behind the pumpkin's gruesome spectacle.

"We employed a simple experiment of 30% hydrogen peroxide, dish soap, and red food coloring. When Wednesday stabbed Mr. Gourd of Gore here, she introduced yeast into the mixture as a catalyst, which triggered the rapid and bloody reaction." Enid then went on about the scientific principles at play, and you reveled in the amused expressions of your students. While you loved artistic and engaging activities with your students, you believed that there were valuable lessons to be learned in every aspect of life.

The principal approached the lectern with her signature smile, and you felt butterflies invade your stomach as she spoke.

"This event has been an absolute delight, brimming with fantastic ideas! I want to thank everyone who took part." You watched in awe as her gaze wandered through the audience, ultimately landing on you. She sent a sly grin your way as she subtly fluttered her lashes, before lowering her head to open the piece of paper she was holding.

"The victor of this competition is none other than 'The Gourd of Gore!'" Your students erupted in cheers and applause, and Enid enthusiastically drug Wednesday up to the lectern to receive their prize.

🎃

By day's end, you found yourself utterly drained. Your students had been unusually rowdy, likely due to the multiple anticipated fall-themed activities the principal had organized. The events that she was so enthused about included the harvest festival, a trip to a corn maze and pumpkin picking, and costume day. It hadn't escaped you, however, that Principal Weems had become noticeably less enthusiastic about these activities since the harvest festival.

As you descended the stairs toward the main entrance, your hand reached for the door handle. Just then, a familiar voice cut through the air, though it was far from pleasant. This was not the velvety tone or accent that pleased your ears, no. Instead, it was a voice of judgment, a gravely voice. You heard the words, a sentence that made your teeth clench in anger as you quickly travelled towards it.

"Boys, look at this lesbian."

Wide eyed you turned the corner and immediately spotted the source, Kyle, laughing with his friends. You glanced around to see who the target of his ridicule was, and your eyebrows knit in disbelief when you found her. She was stopped in her tracks, blinking, silent, inhibited. You, too, froze, trying to comprehend the situation until your anger took over.

"Slenderman, she's woman Slenderman!" Kyle hollered, pointing at her as he hunched over in hysterics. Principal Weems still stood, her mouth agape and her eyes wide, rendered silent. You watched the gears turning in her mind, knowing she should address the situation, but reluctant to respond to such insult, such an audacious comment from a man, a boy.

"Kyle!" you seethed, striding purposefully toward him, your fists clenched. Kyle turned to face you, his eyes widening. "You will never judge someone for things beyond their control, you will never judge a woman, full stop," you said, your anger evident.

"You will never understand what it's like to walk in someone else's shoes. Apologize to Principal Weems this instant."

Ironically, it seemed that Kyle was more frightened of you than he was of Principal Weems, as he would never dare say such derogatory remarks to you, or so you thought.

Kyle's smug expression transformed into a sly smile as he turned toward the principal. She had ventured closer now, and she met his gaze with her lips pursed.

"I want to hear it from her," he said, narrowing his eyes at her. He then pointed directly at you, "Or does a teacher need to stand up for the principal, huh? You're even more bitchy than her" he chuckled, smiling at you menacingly.

"Detention tomorrow at 4, Mr. Dunn." The principal spoke with force, her tone abrupt enough to make you flinch. She straightened to her full height as she stared down at Kyle with the heat of the sun. Leaning closer to him, she lightly pressed her finger to his chest. She spoke quietly, yet you could hear how the words hissed through her teeth.

"If you fail to attend, this 'lesbian Slenderman' will see to it that you are expelled."

🎃

You were not particularly hard on your students, but you weren't easy on them either. You had standards, you hated laziness, and you had no patience for any foolish behavior. Of course you were human too, you understood where the line was between slacking and being inhibited, between acting out and having fun. Larissa admired your character, you knew what you wanted and you weren't scared to voice it. Occasionally, she heard students whisper about how you were 'worse' than her, but she honestly got a kick out of it.

Lunch today was provided by the Weathervane, courtesy of Marilyn, who settled down with you at your desk.

"Okay, I got three different sandwich's, so you can pick. I also got a hot chocolate, a matcha latte, and a chai tea!"

Marilyn went on to talk about the planned events, pulling both chuckles and eye rolls from you. She was delightful to talk to, but there was a point, the red head just had so much energy. The principal walked through your door suddenly and slowly made her way to your desk. Your head snapped to her as soon as you heard her enter and you offered her the biggest smile, joy filling your body and pouring out of the seams. Marilyn turned around to find the principal when she noticed your change in demeanour.

"Oh! Hi Principal Weems" she chirped.

"Marilyn, Y/N" the principal greeted smoothly. Marilyn faced you once again, her observation catching you off guard. "You know y/n, you're a lot like Wednesday" she commented.

Your smile faded as you looked at her, "What?"

It wasn't exactly an insult, per se, but you had no clue where she was going with this.

"Well, you're usually pretty neutral, and you don't smile much or seem to express much enjoyment." You cut Marilyn off with a glare, unsure of what she was implying. "But, whenever you see something or someone that you really like, you light up!" Marilyn finished with a smile.

You blinked in surprise, not realizing you had such a noticeable reaction. You glanced at the principal, who was giving you a knowing smirk. Oh this was embarrassing, you didn't mean to do that, you didn't mean to be so obvious. Sure, when you looked at Larissa you got butterflies, you felt warm and fuzzy, and your lips involuntarily stretched into a smile so big that your eyes almost shut, but did you not smile otherwise? Were you really that unapproachable?

When you said nothing, the principal spoke up.

"I wanted to compliment you on your pumpkin idea from the other day, y/n."

Marilyn had finished eating and decided to excuse herself as she bid you both goodbye. Once she left, the tall woman took her seat. She agreed with Marilyn, you were a bit like Wednesday. She had taken notice of a change in your demeanour, from watching your reserved nature when around your students or others, to when you were around her. She found it incredibly endearing and cute, how she seemed to make you happy with her presence alone.

The principal batted her lashes at you, "I thought your classes pumpkin was quite intelligent. It was well executed, if you know what I mean."

You giggled, "Thank you Larissa, I knew the students would like it."

Larissa smirked as she looked you up and down, her voice dropping an octave, "I was quite impressed."

A blush so deep formed on your cheeks that Larissa had to hold back a laugh. Attempting to avert her gaze, you noticed that Marilyn had left the third drink on your desk. You pushed it towards the woman, "Hot chocolate?"

Larissa accepted gladly, wondering if you knew of her love for hot chocolate. "Would you like to join me for a drink tonight? My office, 7pm?" Larissa watched you with hopeful eyes as she forced the question out of her mouth.

You were surprised, allowing your face to contort into one of confusion before you realized that you had.

"Oh, of- of course!" you stammered.

🎃

Nervously, you entered the Principal's office and sat down at her instruction. She smiled down at you as she neared the couch and offered you a glass of red. You two chatted about autumn and the Nevermore family for a while, but you couldn't help but notice Larissa shivering slightly. You realized that she had a blanket on her lap, and there was no fire lit as usual.

"Larissa are you cold? Why don't I light a fire for you?"

Larissa sighed and glanced at the fireplace, gesturing with her hand in dismissal. "I just haven't had the chance to get more wood. I'll be fine."

You smirked at her, "Nonsense, I got you." Standing up, you walked over to the fireplace and knelt down in front of it. Placing your hand on the cold stone floor, a warm fire appeared right before you. You returned to the couch, and Larissa blinked at you in amazement, a smile gracing her lips. You chuckled at the woman as you sent her a wink, "I'm magic."

"Thank you for standing up for me the other day."

Larissa spoke quietly as she looked into the crackling fire, breaking the silence. "I wasn't myself, I was caught up in my head, and when Kyle insulted me I- I just didn't know what to say because, well, he's right."

You set your eyes on golden hair and pale skin illuminated with an orange glow. You furrowed your brows at her, he was right?

"What? Kyle? He's not right. He's rude, judgemental, he doesn't care about anyone."

Larissa nodded her head in agreement as she hummed, "Yes, he definitely needs something, discipline of some sort." She looked over to you, her gaze boring into your own, and you suddenly understood what she meant. You took her hand in yours and leaned closer to the woman, "What was he right about, Larissa?"

The principal didn't pull way, but you cold tell by her body language that she was bracing herself for rejection.

"I am a lesbian, and I am as tall as slenderman" she chuckled, swallowing the lump in her throat. You let out a scoff that was followed by a laugh, and you gripped her hand tighter in reassurance. You smiled at her, "Well, if that's the case, you're the most beautiful lesbian slenderman that I've ever seen."

🎃

You were overly excited to visit the corn maze and pumpkin patch. You loved picking out pumpkins and gourds, white ones, black ones, painting them and decorating with them. You took in the crisp autumn day as the chatter of the students was heard in the background, it brought you peace.

As you helped organize the students at the start of the corn maze and settled yourself at the back of the group, Larissa made her way to your side. The woman in charge of the corn maze then asked for the students' attention. "Alright then, the pumpkin patch will be found at the end of the corn maze, enjoy!"

Just as the students began their journey through the maze, she added a "Oh I forgot to mention, there's a bit of mud in the maze, so hopefully you're all wearing boots!"

You immediately turned your attention to Larissa. You were dressed in cozy fall attire and your boots, but you knew that she was, in fact, not. Larissa, in her infinite wisdom, had chosen fashion over function by wearing high heels. A light blush graced her cheeks as she realized why you were looking at her. "Maybe I'll stay behind," she casually suggested. You knew how much Larissa had been looking forward to this event, listening to her talk about wanting to pick pumpkins from the patch. You were about to agree with her, offering to select pumpkins on her behalf, but a better idea popped into your mind.

"Well, let's see how muddy it is. Maybe you can get around it!" you said with a playful grin.

After a few turns of the maze, you realized that Larissa wouldn't simply be able to 'get around it.' "Shit," you muttered as you gazed at the muddy path ahead. Larissa sighed, "Well, I tried." Your eyes sparkled as you looked up at the woman, and you couldn't resist the chance to be her knight in shining armor, or whatever version of that you were.

"Principal Weems," you declared, playfully bowing to her, "It's clear you missed the memo about fall footwear, but fear not, for I shall carry you over the mud."

Larissa raised an eyebrow, her expression one of surprise and delight. "What?" she asked, shaking her head.

"I will carry you, if you wish," you replied, offering her your hand. Reluctantly, she looked between you, her heels, and the mud, before finally placing her hand in yours. You carefully lifted her into your arms bridal style, reveling in the delighted giggle she let out as you scooped her legs off the ground.

With each step through the mud, you tried to watch your footing, but your focus remained on her. She was so close to you, clinging to you tightly as you did her. A huge smile lit up her face as she took in the scenery, and your heart swelled at the thought of her enjoying herself with you.

As you carried Larissa through the maze, she pointed out various things to make the experience fun. The maze was not particularly long, so you arrived at the pumpkin patch before you knew it. As you gently set Larissa back on her feet, you realized that you hadn't noticed when the mud ended, and you had carried her the entire way. Maybe she hadn't seen the end of the mud either, or maybe she simply didn't want to mention it.

The pumpkin patch spread out before your eyes, an array of different shapes, sizes, and shades of orange, white, and dark green. You picked your way through the field, choosing a white pumpkin and two different-sized orange ones. You watched the principal as she carefully padded up the rows of pumpkins. You wanted to laugh, her hands clasped in front of her, posture straight as a board. She was observing the scenery before her, and so were you. Your attention was diverted to the students, who ran around in a competitive game to find the perfect pumpkin. You watched them for a while, reminiscing about the carefree days of your youth when you, too, could play and have fun.

Your gaze returned to Larissa, who was a few rows away from you, getting help with cutting a large white pumpkin from its vine. Despite getting lost in the fall endeavour, you remembered that you were, in fact, a teacher.

"Be careful please, I don't want anyone tripping over vines and getting hurt!"At the sound of your voice, the principal looked up at the students. They were still playing the game and having fun, but they were noticeably being careful. She then shifted her gaze in your direction and silently mouthed a thank-you, winking at you.

Exiting the maze was more challenging than entering it. You opted for a different route, hoping for less mud, but you soon discovered that it was no better. You and Principal Weems had been keeping up with the students until you noticed that she was no longer by your side. You halted when you felt the absence of her presence and looked down at the ground. It seemed you were standing in a sea of mud, and it extended as far as you could see.

"Crap," you muttered under your breath. You turned and walked back to Larissa, who was chucking at you profusely.

"What's wrong? Am I heavier than you had anticipated?" Your cheeks reddened as you looked up at the woman, she was actually lighter than you had expected, or perhaps you were just stronger.

"Of course not. I would carry you any day, my lady."

Making your way through the maze with Larissa in your arms was tough. You both got caught in a dead end a couple of times, Larissa's laugh when you did enlightening your heart immensely. You placed her down when there was no mud, as she insisted, but when the mud returned, you scooped her back up. Eventually you caught sight of the end of the mud and realized that the maze would soon be ending. You held in a laugh as you purposely took a wrong turn and ended up at a dead end again.

"Oh frig me and my horrible sense of direction" you said, smirking at the woman in your arms. Larissa let out a loud laugh and made your breath hitch as she pressed her cheek to yours, hugging you close. She knew what you were doing, and she thought you were adorable.

"You're a joy to be around, darling."

🎃

After the schools rendezvous, you ventured to the Weathervane. Standing in line, you were trying, and failing, to decide on a drink. Your attention was rather focused on something else, like a tall blonde standing a few people ahead of you. So lost in your thoughts, you didn't notice when a student made his way to your side.

"Principal Weems and the mayor huh? Bet they're banging."

Kyle said it so nonchalantly that it took your brain a minute to register, it was so unhinged and random. You turned to him wide eyed, ready to knock him out, but as you shifted your gaze, he was beelining to the exit of the Weathervane. You stood with your mouth open in shock, unable to formulate a response or punishment for that statement. Leaning to the side, you glanced ahead and realized that Larissa was indeed in line with the mayor.

Larissa and the mayor, Larissa and the mayor. They worked together, they had a cooperation, but it wasn't like that, was it?

The more you thought about it, the more you rejected that theory. But the more you thought about it, the more bothered you got. You couldn't shake the growing jealousy.

Visions of them together invaded your thoughts, an ethereal frame against, well, a man. Large hands on soft thighs, plump red lips on rough ones, delicate pale skin against hairy skin, the sounds she would create, sounds you wanted to hear, sounds of - "No!"

You shook your head frustratedly, forgetting yourself. This kid made you angry, Larissa made you irrational, the thought of her with someone else made you insane. Up ahead, you noticed Larissa had directed her attention toward you and offered a warm smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she waved. It was as if she knew you were thinking about her, although you hoped she didn't. You were far too flustered to even smile back, and you didn't have a clue of what to do about Kyle. So, you made the quick decision to take your leave, before you did or said something stupid.

🎃

Since Halloween was on a Saturday, Friday was costume day. You had thought hard about what or who you wanted to dress up as, and you finally settled on an idea. A rather clever idea, as you thought she would get a kick out of it. You handed treats to your students and complimented them on their costumes. Some students didn't dress up, and some dressed up just to spite others.

"Are you supposed to be Principal Weems?" Wednesday asked, looming over your table in the quad. You swallowed your lunch, nodding at the girl. "Uh yes, kind of" you chuckled. Wednesday looked you up and down, nodding in approval. "I like it" she said before walking away.

At days end you made your way through the halls. You were disappointed about your lack of Halloween plans, especially since your favorite holiday was on a Saturday. You were also extremely disappointed that you hadn't seen Principal Weems today, perhaps she was busy.

Taking the longer way to your quarters, you stopped as you approached the hallway which held the principals office. Your feet had involuntarily brought you this way, and now that you were here, they would walk you right past her door. As you entered the hallway, Kyle popped out of nowhere and scared the absolute crap out of you.

"Hi Ms" he said, standing directly in front of you as he gazed around frantically. Your face scrunched as you looked down at him in question, he was definitely up to something.

"Kyle, what are you doing?" Kyle turned to look at the large doors behind him before he turned his attention to you.

"I'm just uh, supervising the hallway. It's nice outside, go enjoy the day" he said, desperately trying to usher you away. "What do you mean supervising? Why are-" You were cut off by a horrified scream, a scream that sounded like it came from her office. Your head swivelled to the doors before your gaze locked on Kyle.

"What did you do!?" you growled at him. He shook his head and shrugged his shoulders, "I didn't do anything!"

You scoffed and made your way frantically to the doors, but you were stopped by Kyle grabbing your hand and putting himself in your path. "Don’t go in there! Principal Weems said that she doesn't want to be bothered."

You shook your hand lose from his grip and stared down at him menacingly.

"Get out of here now, or you will be in so much trouble so help me god" you spat. You stepped around him without question and entered the principal's office, almost slamming the door behind you. You scanned the office quickly and found nothing out of the ordinary, except for a box on the desk. Walking towards it, sounds of sniffles and whimpers became louder until you found the principal. You hurried around the desk and almost fell to your knees at the sight of the woman sitting on the floor in tears. She covered her face with one hand, and held a photo in the other. Before you could ask her what was wrong, your eyes landed on the photo. Dark ink printed a picture of you, lying on the floor covered in blood. Confused, you scrambled to your feet and peered into the box on her desk.

Inside was a pint of blood labelled with your name and a letter on top.

Dear Principal Weems,

I believe I have taken the life of one of your staff. My deepest apologies, but my thirst does not discriminate.

Happy Halloween,

your favourite Vampire

"What the hell" you whispered, staring down at the note. Just then, it all fell into place. Kyle must have figured out that you had a thing for the principal, as he has seen you two together recently, and he has been super annoying about it. It was sly for him to use Larissa's care for you against her, and it was believable, after all he was a vampire. But why would he do this to her? It was an unnecessary, lousy prank.

You settled down on the floor next to the woman and took her hand in yours, throwing the photo to the side.

"Larissa" you whispered, stroking her arm. She let out a sob as she ignored you, it was like she didn't realize anyone had entered her office.

"Larissa I'm not dead" you said a little louder. You reached up to pull her other hand away from her face and she flinched at the contact. Her head spun to meet you in a panic, wide eyed she let out a gasp.

"D-darling! You’re here?!" she questioned, bringing her hand to cup your face to make sure that you were real. You placed your hand on top of hers as you giggled, "Yes Rissa, I'm not a ghost."

The principal closed her eyes and focused on her breathing as you watched her. She was extremely frazzled, not that one wouldn't be if they had found out one of your staff members (and hopefully friend) was murdered.

"Come, lets move to the couch" you offered as you stood and helped her do the same.

You sat close to the woman and looked down at the photo. "Someone's good at photoshop" you murmured.

Larissa reached out and slowly took it from you. You watched as she stared down at the photo, small tears escaping her as she tried to compose herself.

"So it's, it's just a prank?" she asked through sniffles.

You scooted closer to her and rubbed at her back soothingly, "Yes Riss, it's just a stupid prank. That's not my blood in that jar, hopefully it's not anyone's." The principal eventually calmed thanks to your presence. You noticed her attempt to put on her personal or perhaps professional façade, but she gave up as her nerves were far too shot.

She whispered, "I thought I had lost another Nevermore family member. I've been so on edge lately, I thought it had to be true."

You stopped all movements and leaned closer to her, looking her in the eyes. She wouldn't look at you.

"What do you mean another Nevermore family member?"

Larissa's gaze slowly but surely met yours, and you watched as her lower lip quivered.

"I haven't been entirely truthful with you" she murmured.

As you stared into pools of blue, you could see that she was hurting, she was tired. So, you decided to let it go, for now. "It's alright Rissa. Let's just deal with Kyle, shall we?"

Larissa nodded her head before looking back down at the photo, not wanting to deal with it at all. The thought of you dead, not being here with her anymore, not taking care of the students any longer, not carrying her through corn mazes, and not looking at her with those adoring eyes, made her heart break. She could no longer wait.

"Would you like to come to my house tomorrow? Perhaps we can hand out candy and watch a movie?"

Larissa looked down at you with hope as she wiped a tear from her cheek.

A smile instantly lit up your face, maybe Halloween would be fun after all. You nodded enthusiastically, and you watched the woman's expression brighten.

Until her brows knit. She looked you up and down, taking note of your elegant updo, your red lip, your pearl earrings, your high collared knee length dress, and your heels. You looked like her, a rather dark mysterious version of her, like she was the white swan and you were the black.

"Are you dressed like me?" she asked with a bit of insecurity. Of course, you did look like her, but she never thought that you would purposely dress like her. She didn't think you'd adapt her style, didn't think that she was beautiful, not enough for someone to want to look like her on purpose.

You let out an embarrassed giggle and nodded in confirmation as you played with your hands. A huge grin grew on the older woman's face and she let out a loud laugh. You smiled at her mascara smudged skin as she leaned in and took your face in her hands. Her eyes scanned your face before she looked you in the eye, "You are absolutely precious."

🎃

Draping a long black hooded dress over your body, you applied some dark makeup. You adjusted your hood and added a tattoo to your forehead, finishing your look as one of the Dimitrescu daughters. Staring at yourself in the mirror, you noted that you were rather creepy looking, even sans blood. Your intention wasn't to scare the kids, you didn't want to scare them, or maybe you did. You shrugged as you grabbed your fake sickle, making sure your powers were in check before setting out for the night.

You made your way through the woods, a torch being the only source of light besides the moon. You finally stumbled onto the road and giddily set out for the principals house. You had wanted to be there before it fell dark, but you had a matter to attend to where the darkness was paramount. So, you skipped down the road with your sickle in hand, enjoying the rustling leaves in the breeze of the night.

When you arrived at the principals house, there was a small line of trick or treaters. You watched from afar as she handed out treat bags, big ones at that, and made conversation with all of the kids. She looked over the moon to be seeing them all, asking about their costumes and plans for the night. Her red lipped smile was the cutest thing you've seen in your entire life, and all you wanted in the world was to kiss it off of her. Your gaze moved around her house, and you wondered how you missed all of the decorations. The large windows at the front of her house were lit up by orange, purple, and green lights from the inside, contrasting brightly against the dark outside. There were a couple pumpkins on the step, and one of those huge skeletons in her yard, the 12 foot one that you've always wanted. You decided to pop in line behind the kids, and you squinted your eyes at the woman, as if that would help you see better. She definitely had a costume on, was she a devil? You squealed internally as you took in her red horns, choker, and black cape. This was the first time you've seen her in black, and damn did it look good on her.

You held your sickle over your shoulder as you waited for the kid in front of you to leave and for blue eyes to meet yours. When they did, her jaw dropped slightly and she paused, looking you up and down.

"Y/n?!" she squeaked, shaking her head at you.

You smiled, "Hi Rissa!"

The woman pulled you into a half hug before stepping to the side, "Why are you in line? Come in darling."

You stepped into her house and immediately went wide eyed at the sight of the elaborate design.

"I was waiting for candy" you chuckled.

You saw Larissa's side smirk as she continued to pass the treat bags out, and you barely caught a chocolate bar that she sent flying your way.

🎃

You were passing out treats when some students arrived at the doorstep.

"Oh! Hi girls, how's it going?" you greeted.

"Great!" Enid squealed, pulling at Wednesday's hand in excitement. As Larissa appeared behind you to greet the students, she placed her hands on your shoulders, sending a shiver down your spine. "Ah, girls, do come in."

"So Principal Weems, you’re a devil?" Enid asked brightly.

"Sure am" Larissa replied, collecting some treats to give them.

Enid then looked at you, "And Ms., you're a…a"

"A Dimitrescu daughter, obviously" Yoko said.

You laughed and winked at Yoko, "Exactly."

Wednesday looked you up and down, her monotone never faltering, "Yesterday she was Weems, today she's a killer." Larissa returned to your side and handed them all treats. She then turned her attention to you, smirking down with dark eyes, "I appreciated her costume yesterday, it was very clever, and detailed" she breathed.

You flicked through the Halloween movies looking for something good to watch. Your favorites were along the lines of Beetlejuice, The Nightmare Before Christmas, and Edward Scissorhands, but you've watched them SO many times already. Larissa placed a charcuterie board on the table and passed you a glass of wine, taking her cape off. As she sat next to you, you couldn't help but let your eyes trail down her figure. She was wearing black leather pants and a tight long sleeve shirt, you almost spit out your wine at the sight. Larissa never failed to notice your expressions or actions, no matter how subtle.

She scooted closer to you and batted her lashes, "I'm so glad you came over darling. I was worried I had made this food for nothing" she chuckled. Your lower lip quivered at the thought of someone standing her up. You were elated at the thought of her wanting to hangout with you, but putting this much effort in and being worried that you wouldn't show? She was too sweet for this world.

"I would never leave you hanging Rissa. I'm sorry I was late, I had to tend to…something first." Larissa tilted her head at you, wondering what on earth you were tending to.

She pursed her lips, "You know, we never did come up with a discipline for Kyle."

You snickered down at the floor, shaking your head amusedly. "I may have taken that into my own hands."

The woman's mouth opened in question before she closed it, grabbing her wine off of the table and settling beside you. She smiled and brought the glass to her lips, "Go on."

-A couple hours ago-

Just as it was getting dark out, you set out for the old Gates' mansion. You had left a note for Kyle and a few of his friends, anonymously, for them to meet up there. Of course you didn't know if they would actually show, but to your delight, they did. You hid behind a wall by the entrance of the house, watching as the group conversed. It was dark now, the only source of light being their flashlights.

"Why are we here dude?" one of his friends asked nervously.

"I don't know man! I got a note!" Kyle replied.

"Oh sorry, I didn't realize that you got a note!" his other friend said sarcastically.

It took everything in you to not laugh at their bickering, boys. Once you figured it was time, you made a loud noise to get their attention.

"What the hell was that?" Kyle questioned, fear evident in his voice.

Just then, you flicked your wrist, and in a second the house was illuminated by a ring of fire. You peeked out from behind the wall, seeing the boys staring at the flames in terror.

With a nod of your head, a message was burning on the front lawn.

'Kyle, we know what you did. We're coming for you'

The boys stepped away quickly when they felt the heat, and Kyle went wide eyed as he read the message.

"Shit boys! Let's get out of here!" he hollered.

You could hear the horror in his voice, but it only made you laugh menacingly. Once they had vanished, you cut the fire off, no trace of the event left.

"And then I came here" you smiled. Larissa's jaw was on the floor, staring at you in disbelief.

"Y/n I- I don't know what to say. Are you sure you weren't too hard on him?"

Despite Larissa's attempt to portray her usual headmistress demeanour, you could see her smirking.

You shrugged your shoulders and shook your head, "Rissa, there are a couple things he's done that you actually don't know about. So, no, I don’t think I was too hard on him."

You paused, "Plus, I wanted to get revenge, for us" you winked.

🎃

You agreed on a horror movie, to your dismay. You didn't want to look like a wimp in front of Larissa, so you clicked on the conjuring as you swallowed the lump in your throat. You turned your focus to other things while the movie played, things like the interior design of the house, your costume (which you thought was fire), and Larissa herself, who was lost in the movie. You watched as she sipped her wine, plump lips resting on the rim of the glass. 'What a good distraction, just drink' you thought.

When you got tired of that, you turned to the movie, hoping you could stick it out. But as a particularly horrifying string of music played, you squealed and buried your head into the woman's shoulder. Larissa let out a soft laugh as she brought her hand to stroke at your hair.

"What's the matter love? You don't like scary movies?" You shook your head no, holding onto her arm.

"Do you want me to turn it off?" she asked quietly, to which you sat up and quickly said "No!"

You stuck it out for awhile, watching the movie while partially distracting yourself with snacks and wine. Some of it was hilarious to be honest, but certain parts you just couldn't do. Larissa noticed as you sat wide eyed, your breathing staggered as you attempted to calm yourself. She wrapped an arm around your shoulder and pulled you close to her, which immediately brought you some peace. You smiled as you continued to watch the movie, but when a jump scare happened, you grabbed the woman tightly and buried your face in her neck. Your eyelashes brushed against her skin as you blinked, it was dark and you felt safe. She was so soft, her skin smelled of lavender, and she was so, so comfortable. When you felt her settle into your touch and pull you tighter, you closed your eyes and let your breath become even once again.

You didn't know how long it had been before the movie ended and Larissa turned her face toward yours, her chin resting lightly against your forehead. You lifted your head from her neck and peered up at her, the light burning your eyes. She smiled caringly down at you, and you both sat in silence as you scanned the lines on her soft skin.

"Would you like to take a walk, darling?" she whispered.

You sat up eagerly before looking out into the night and sighing sarcastically, "Sounds like something you'd say If you wanted to murder me." You then picked up your fake sickle, "Good thing I have this!"

🎃

Larissa led you through her backyard and into the woods. She had assembled a breathtaking light up trail around the perimeter of her yard, white lights hanging from the trees and leaves scattered along the dirt path. You sauntered through the woods as you took in the beauty of the trees, reveling in the colors one last time before fall would fade and winter would come. Larissa basked in the peace and in your presence, and you could tell that she appreciated nights like these, she needed more nights like these. You entwined your fingers with hers and stroked your thumb over the back of her hand gently as you walked side by side. You then snickered as you pointed to her shoes, she wasn't wearing heels this time.

"Someone didn't want me to carry them tonight, I see" you spoke sarcastically. Larissa looked down at her boots and quickly removed them, leaning on you for support.

"Oh no, now how will I walk through this path!?" she said, bringing her hands to her face in faux panic. You rolled your eyes at her and scooped her up, loving the giggle she let out.

At the end of the path there was a bench, a small spot decorated with pumpkins and gourds. You sat down on the bench and placed Larissa in your lap, holding her close with your arms around her waist. You wrapped a blanket around her, scared that she might be cold.

"Thank you, love" she whispered, resting her head on your shoulder.

You both basked in the calmness of the night, finding comfort and warmth in each others embrace.

Larissa looked up at the bright full moon, "It's such a gorgeous night."

She then turned to you, her face only inches away from yours. You watched as she spoke, watched her lips move in a taunting manner, a seducing manner.

She was beauty, grace, she was gentle and kind. She was pure, unique, she was stunning. The sweetest woman you've ever met was sitting in your lap, her melodic voice sounding for only you to hear.

Yet, you were unsure of what she was saying as you scanned your eyes over her delicate face. You brought your hand up and traced your finger over her smile lines.

"Y/n? Are you listening?"

Your gaze shifted from her lips to her eyes, bright and wide and questioning.

"Can I kiss you?" you whispered, stroking your thumb over her bottom lip lightly.

Larissa's eyebrows softened, her surprise evident. She didn't speak, so you took that as a no and removed your hand from her face. As you backed away and went to apologise, the woman pulled you against her, slamming her lips gently against yours.

You hummed into the kiss as she caught you off guard, threading your fingers through her light hair. The taste of red lipstick and wine overtook your senses, feeling her exhale against your skin made you shiver.

She pulled away, stroking your cheek with her thumb and resting her forehead against yours.

"I noticed how much you like Halloween, love. Would you like to carve pumpkins together? Maybe roast some pumpkin seeds?"

You squealed in excitement as you nodded your head, grabbing her face and pressing your lips against hers with need. You gave her light but meaningful pecks on the lips before moving to her cheeks and forehead.

You then tucked your head into her neck, "I wish this night didn't have to end."

Larissa lifted your head gently and pressed her cheek against yours, both of you gazing up at the moon.

She pressed a kiss to your forehead, "When we're together, darling, every night is Halloween."

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