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sordidmusings · 7 months

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Age Gap (Buggy x Reader)

A/N: for @soft-mafia since she wanted more age gap Buggy! Mostly bulleted like a headcanon but has two little drabbles sprinkled in cuz I couldn't help myself. I will be posting a continuation of this actually writing out the scene mentioned at the end, but I wanted to get this out now.

Word count: ~2.6 k

Warnings: obviously an age gap but the younger one is mentioned to be in their 20s, fem!reader, NSFW mentioned at the end, alcohol consumption, probably (hopefully) silly humor, the touch starved shows hardcore for a second there, tried my best to get Buggy right but you know how it be especially because he exists as an amalgam of LA and anime Buggy in my brain

Now come get y'all dopamine

I imagine you joined Buggy’s crew largely looking for that found family goodness then found out how much you’d never been taken care of and how much you craved it

One day while going through the different acts you were learning from the crew trying to find what stuck, you took a decent fall. Not the kind that breaks bones, but the kind where you just gotta lay there a sec and recalibrate how you got to this point

After some laughter (I mean come on it is a crew curated by Buggy and they could tell it wasn’t serious), the nearby crew surrounded you to check on you. While you were breathlessly saying you’re fine from your position on the floor, they parted to reveal the Captain coming to your side:

Buggy bent down to loom over you. The shadow he cast over your face was a welcome break from the bright overhead lights. You just wished that the way they haloed him didn’t make it so hard to see the laughter on his face.

“Good form! I think we could just throw you around to see you flail like that as your act - you’d be our finest comedy routine.” His voice was thick with sarcasm and giggles. However, his detached arms were gentle when they lifted you from the floor. They changed to posing outstretched with his hands on your shoulders and he walked into them to reattach. He looked you up and down before circling around you, all the while his hands were nudging you this way and that for his inspection. Once he was back at your front, he changed to brushing some dirt from your arms and shoulders. You didn’t speak for fear of interrupting this attention you were receiving from him. He seemed to suddenly snap to clarity anyway.

“RIGHT.” Vocal control? Who is she? Buggy doesn’t know her. “So either get better at what you’re doing or actually fall on purpose. Wouldn’t want you fucking up that money maker.” He was already walking away when one detached hand gave your cheek two brisk pats and he made himself scarce.

It was obvious to you and everyone else how much you ate up his attention. The soft look you were still giving the direction he went in was damn near sickening. It was then you understood your purpose here - becoming Buggy’s spoiled lapdog.

Luckily for you, that was also the moment Buggy realized how his body buzzed when he touched you and how he lit up when you looked up at him with pretty, wide eyes.

Unluckily, he also decided that being near you would lead down a dangerous route of him needing more and more of you and he was positive that he was just being some old creep over a pretty little thing like you.

This led to a game where Buggy would try to keep you at arm’s length while he battled both his own desire to be around you and your seemingly supernatural ability to just appear next to him at all times.

He wasn’t great at the arms distance thing even when he thought he was nailing it because nailing it to him was being in his natural space as the center of attention and only checking (immediately and desperately) that you were watching and approving of whatever he was doing. The way his head would always snap to you for your reaction was neither subtle nor discouraging to your rapidly growing infatuation.

You decided that orbiting his personal space wasn’t working well enough. Sure, he’d give you a hit of what you wanted with some fleeting touches and mostly disguised compliments but you needed more. Hurting yourself intentionally so that he would take care of you didn’t seem like a sustainable option, so you settled on playing his own game. Time to practice owning a room.

This could be a dangerous game to play. You were certain that blatantly taking the spotlight would just make him upset with you not that you’d mind him taking that out on you. You settled on more subtle things like spreading your attention more through the crew instead of mostly on him, being more focused and daring in your training, participating more in the many games that broke out when the alcohol did, and dressing a bit more intentionally (whether that’s flashier colors, eye-catching accessories, bold makeup, new or intricate hairstyles, etc.)

The boldest card you played was feeding more into any of the flirting you received.

He has a freak show, yes, but have you ever seen how fine circus performers are?? Full fun costumes are It and also the tasks they have to perform either help them get conventionally attractive bodies and/or the rizz that comes with performing feats (just look at the traction Fryboy has gained with women like damn why he kinda-). Due to that, you’re around attractive people all the time.

While the flirting is for the purpose of pushing Buggy’s buttons, you must admit that it wasn’t a hard habit to keep up and may help inflate your ego.

Your attempts have mixed results. Buggy’s desire to claim you grew but so did his insecurity

In his mind, you look more natural next to one of the younger lookers in his crew while he’s certain the pair of you must look ridiculous together. It’s this very insecurity that’s gonna make it necessary for you to bluntly and shamelessly throw yourself at him both repeatedly and with no room for questions:

You have no clue what else you can do to get through that thick skull of his. You’re on your knees, quite literally at that. You figured that kneeling in front of that circus throne while he’s laid himself all over it would be enough to break the man. Enough to break any man, really, but he’s still finding ways to deflect you.

Buggy nodded his head to a nearby open seat. “You know they made chairs to be comfortable and your dumb ass is on the floor. That drunk already?” he snorted. Maybe choosing to do this during one of the many celebrations (you think this one is for one week of no one pregaming for show runs. ironic.) was a bad idea. You had been banking on some drinks loosening up whatever was holding him back. It always made you snicker when you entertained the idea of it being from a sense of propriety. Checking in on the situation, you could see how all the chaos going on around you two made it easier for him to keep his eyes off of you and his ears unfocused. Earlier, you had counted it as a plus that working up a buzz would help you bulldoze through his stubbornness. You had forgotten that any alcohol in your system would make for the perfect excuse for him to write you off.

“I’ve barely started my third drink,” you started with a pout, “and I’d be ashamed if that’s enough to get me drunk after all the time spent on your crew.”

“Then you are just being stupid.”

You huffed and rolled your eyes. Okay. Attention didn’t work. Compliments didn’t work. Kneeling didn’t work. Time for some big guns.

You shifted to the side so you’d be sitting towards your left hip with your bent legs beside you. Your drink found its way to your right hand but, most importantly, your chin found its way onto Buggy’s left knee. It brought you so close to where you’d really like to put yourself to work, and, man, was the temptation strong with the way his right leg was slung over the armrest of his seat. How did he expect you to stay away when he was serving himself up on a platter like this?

Buggy was definitely giving you his undivided attention now. His gaze was dark and slightly accusatory. The lighting matched with his makeup made him look more dangerous than usual. The nerves it sent through you might have had you back right off. Instead you held your ground because you saw his pulse hammer against his neck. You saw his throat bob as he swallowed. You saw his pink tongue contrast with red as he licked his lips and gave a shaky exhale.

While you were starting to settle into your bold move, Buggy was becoming more and more antsy. His grip on his glass became white-knuckled under his gloves, and he tried to give himself time to think by taking a huge gulp of his drink. Why did you have to look at him like that? So pleading? The angle from his lap made your lashes darken your eyes and it was impossible for him to keep the image of your hooded gaze about a foot closer to him out of his head. What did you want from him? You’d denied his accusations about money or intel so what the fuck could it be? Was this a game? Get in the pants of the Captain for preferential treatment and go back to whoever else you had in your palm on the crew to laugh about him falling for it?

You noticed his mood turning sour so you decided to interrupt whatever was tumbling around his head. “I think I could get much more comfy right here.” To prove a point, you dragged your chin to his inner thigh, right above his knee, and snuggled your cheek into his leg. His pants weren’t the softest against your skin but he was so addictingly warm through them. Your eyes briefly fluttered shut to enjoy the sensation before you looked back up at him and flirtatiously said, “I’m comfiest next to you.”

His hands itched with the need to grab you by the hair and force your face right where he needed you. Instead he scoffed at you. “Suuuuure. And why’s that, princess?”

“You make me smile,” you admitted immediately. His startled gaze met your lovesick one and you realized what you said and how quickly you said it. Too close to emotionally vulnerable; time to backtrack a touch. You want to get the role as his trophy before you even attempt to approach the title of Love of His Life. “You also said that you take care of your crew and I’m on your crew, right? So you’ll take care of me.”

The cheeky smile you spoke through melted him. An achingly deep sigh left him while his right hand detached from the arm to deposit his drink on the floor next to you. Quickly, it flew back to its limb. Both of your hearts pumped fire through your chests as he reached that hand out towards you. Buggy took his time stroking his fingers from your forehead into your hair. When his palm came down to join the gesture, you were very happy to realize that his hand was just as warm as the thigh still under your cheek. You shuffled closer so your legs squeezed in between his foot and the left leg of his throne. Buggy shuddered when he felt your fingertips graze the back of his calf and spread out like a star so you could grab it. Using your new grip, you snuggled more firmly into his leg and let yourself buzz off of getting this new touch from your Captain.

Ulterior motives be damned, Buggy couldn’t give them any credence when you looked so happy to sit at his feet and receive such a simple touch. He should probably laugh and call you a needy puppy to regain some control over the situation. Instead, he slipped his hand down the side of your head. He massaged his fingertips into the base of your skull and said, “I’ll take care of you, little star.”

Once he has accepted that you’re serious there will be jokes about the dynamic but do not be fooled - he can only dish it out and WILL spiral if he receives any type of comment about how much older he is (the word geriatric is punishable by death)

Sometimes the joke is him patronizingly treating you like a child (you almost socked him right there at the dinner table when some food came at your face with accompanying airplane noises)

Sometimes it’s calling you a gold digger (“then where’s my allowance, huh?” “OH so my gIFTS AREN’T ENOUGH FOR YOU NOW? YOU were the one ACTUALLY CRYING over me buying you that wonky ass stuffed seal with the lopsided face!!” “HIS NAME IS JERRY AND YOU WILL SHOW HIM SOME RESPECT”)

Sometimes it’s just dumb shit like pointing at the type of girl’s clothing store that has made a contract with God to own all the pinks and pastels the world has to offer before turning to you straight faced and asking if you want to stop in to look. Any way this man can think to goof, he will.

And it’s tooooootally a coping mechanism to process the fact that he’s nearly forty and dating a twenty-something and not at all because joking around with you has become one of his basic survival needs

The dynamic ends up helping both of y’all feel special - you have a hot, boisterous, spotlight-stealing pirate captain pampering (and then making a mess of) you while he gets a beautiful, capable, eye-catching young thing looking at him like he hung the stars in the sky

Nothing goes to Buggy’s head more than when you walk into a room full of people, attractive ones especially, and only see him.

He loves anything that makes it obvious to others that you are his, whether that's him draped over you, you draped over him, red stains on the back of your hands, your shoulders, your cheeks, your forehead, your neck, having his jolly roger on your outfit, having you in his hat or coat

This very much extends to him wanting anyone and everyone to overhear you in the bedroom. Everyone should know you're his and he's the only one who can make you feel so good

Don't worry, they'll also get the message that he's yours from all the moaning and praises

He gives you endless pet names but always comes back to “sweet stuff”, “sweets”, “princess”, “star”, “prima donna” (affectionate), “prima donna” (derogatory), and anything preceded by “little” (“little showstopper”, “little tease”, very rarely “little girl” if he feels especially like exerting power over you)

He prides himself on making you feel cared for and safe. Instead of feeling like a chore he has to do because he’s in the ‘older man’ role, he loves the way you preen under his attention and how you happily return the favor.

When in the Cross Guild Era, Buggy started going to all meetings with you by his side then on his thigh. It was a good defensive strategy because the other two seemed more hesitant to throttle him if you were in the way, but lets be real this man is also clingy and loves showing you off too.

At first he found it offensive that Mihawk and Croc were so disbelieving at the sight of you happily perched on your captain’s lap but then it made him the smuggest motherfucker when he would see their eyes trail over you knowing that they can only look and he can touch however he wants. This leads to him pushing until he hit your boundary at leaving very visible marks on you

One time he fucked you stupid right before a meeting so that you wouldn’t think about the bite mark surrounded by red makeup that kept playing peekaboo with your shirt collar (or the red smears between your thighs that showed whenever you shifted your legs)

#buggy x reader #buggy the clown #one piece #one piece x reader #buggy one piece #opla buggy #buggy x you #buggy x y/n #my writing #fem reader #afab reader #x reader

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heart-of-the-morningstar · 12 days

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✨Lucifer Morningstar NSFW Alphabet✨

Hey hey! Soooooo I saw some people doing the NSFW Alphabet for some of the Hazbin cast so I thought I would toss my hat in the ring! And of course I'll be doing it for the LOML Luci 💖

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

You already know, the King of Hell is the King of aftercare! Your sessions can go on for a while, so more often than not, you're absolutely spent. Luckily, Lucifer is at your beck and call. He'll give you whatever you need; cuddles, a bubble bath, a massage, a snack, and water of course! You're his Queen, after all, he'll sure as hell treat you like one!

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

I think Lucifer's favorite body parts are his hands. Not for the way they look, but for what they can do. He loves that his hands can roam every inch of your body, make you moan and whimper, make you scream his name, mark you. The fact that they can bring you so much pleasure makes him giddy! It's almost impossible for Lucifer to choose his favorite thing about you because he loves every bit of you! But if you pressed him about it, he would have 2 answers. The first is your lips, because the man is obsessed with kissing you! He'd do it all day if he could! Plus you have the most infectious smile, it warms his heart every time he sees it. The second are your thighs. Look me in the eye and tell me Lucifer is not a thigh man, you can't, it's impossible! Your lap is his favorite place to sit and to rest his head. Of course he LOVES plantings little kisses and hickies on your inner thighs when he's about to eat his favorite meal ;)

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

This goes without saying, Lucifer could survive on your cum alone if he was so lucky. Man is pussy drunk! He'll coax so many orgasms out of you just so he can get his fill of your juices. It's basically a drug to him. And of course he has no problem tasting his own once he's filled you up, definitely a different taste but one he enjoys nonetheless!

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

It's embarrassing for him, but Lucifer was smitten with you since he first laid eyes on you! He couldn't help but imagine all the things he would do to you and have you to do him if you ever gave him the chance. He mentally smacked himself for seeing you that way in the beginning, but GOD you were just an absolute angel! The amount of times this man jacked off to the thought of you before you were even together is way more than he'll ever admit to. If you accidentally bumped into him or touched his shoulder, rest assured that man was cumming into his hand that night because of it.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Lucifer is legitimately older than dirt, and had a wife for 10,000 years, he knows EXACTLY what he's doing! He makes it his personal mission to have you cum multiple times every session! Man invented eating pussy for Christ's sake!

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Old school as hell (literally lol), Lucifer loves missionary with you, but it's never boring! Every session with him is intimate and full of passion. He LOVES looking at when when he thrusts into you over and over, the facial expressions and noises you make when he makes love to you makes his heart melt! That being said, he loves any position where he can see your beautiful face, so PLEASE climb on top and ride that man into the next afterlife!

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Lucifer is the goofiest man to ever goof! I'd like to think once you two are super comfortable with each other, initiating sex becomes sillier. He would use old timey phrases like "hanky panky" or "horizontal mambo", but most of the time he would say something along the lines of "how's about you and me partake in a little bow- chicka-bow-wow :)"

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He has blond hair so his pubes are no different! Lucifer is very well kept and tidy in that area, the minimal hair he has down there stands out a little bit do to his pale white skin, but it's always perfectly trimmed!

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Intimacy master, let me tell ya! Lucifer has such a bleeding heart and is a hopeless romantic for sure! He only says the sweetest things to you when you make love. He hardly uses the term "fuck" as he thinks it's a bit too harsh considering how deeply passionate your sessions are. His praises are endless for you; "you're so beautiful", "you look like an angel", "you feel so good"

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

I touched on this earlier, but his masturbation sessions definitely lessened when you two started being intimate. Before that, Lucifer would probably masturbate to you AT LEAST once a day before you were a couple. When he started courting you, it got even worse because God forbid he initiate anything with you out of fear of scaring you away! But once you initiated, oh he was putty in your hands! After that, Lucifer gains a lot more self control, but he can't help but jack off to you every once in a while, but he'd much rather it be your hand~

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

PRAISE KINK PRAISE KINK PRAISE KINK!! Did I say praise kink?? Please praise this man when you're with him! Lucifer loves to know that he's doing a good job with you. Absolutely melts when you call him a "good boy". He adores hearing things like "You make me feel so good, Luci", "You're doing so well for me, my darling", "Just like that, sweetheart, just like that."

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

His room, of course! His bed is wide enough, for sure! But Lucifer would never restrict himself to just the bedroom. I hope you're ready to defile every flat surface in that mansion of his because he's fucking you in every single room. He has A LOT of rooms~

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

You. You turn him on. Every move you make, every sway of your hips, every laugh you make, Lucifer is GONE. But of course, teasing this man is a sure fire way to get him going. Wearing a short skirt around him and bending over seemingly innocently or placing a kiss on the pulse of his neck, dude is hard as a rock and you're so gonna get it when you two are alone! Good!

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

I feel like there isn't a lot that Lucifer wouldn't try at least once if you asked him to! But a big turn off for him is any mention of his ex-wife Lilith during an intimate session. He'd rather not think about her in that way anymore, he still hasn't fully recovered from her absence.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Oh baby, oh buddy, oh pal...you already know what I'm gonna say here! LUCIFER 👏🏻 IS 👏🏻 THE 👏🏻 KING 👏🏻 OF 👏🏻 CUNNILINGUS!!! This has already been said a million times but I'LL SAY IT AGAIN! He could live off eating your pussy alone!! Man needs his fill AT LEAST once a day, he absolutely WORSHIPS your pussy! He has a forked tongue and he knows PRECISCELY how to use it! Your womanhood will never know peace when you're with Lucifer Morningstar! Your pleasure always comes first pun completely intended but he'd never turn down a blowjob from you! He always gets so red in the face when he watches you suck him off~

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

You can count on one hand the amount of times Lucifer has been rough with you during sex, because it's extremely rare. He treats you like glass for the most part, always wanting to make the moment last as long as possible. He's VERY sensual when it comes to love making. Oh but when he's close to an orgasm, his pace picks up tenfold, almost too fast for you to register the amount of pleasure you're receiving. Almost~

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Quickies are definitely not Lucifer's thing. He views sex as a declaration of love, so to speak, it can't be rushed. However, there have been occasions where your over abundance of teasing caused him to snap and he had to push you onto the nearest surface and take care of you right then and there!

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Considering he's the literal King of Hell, Lucifer can take as many risks as he pleases. Who's going to stop him? Although he doesn't like to push it, he'd rather keep your love making sessions private. But, semi public sex is not out of the question, especially when he wants to pound you on the balcony of his mansion where the entire Pride Ring can hear your moans.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Lucifer's stamina is God-like, literally! He's not bound to the same restrictions as mortals so this man can go for literal hours if you let him! Of course you need a lot more breaks than he does and that's perfectly alright with him! But once you're ready to go again, it's off to the races!

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

You would definitely be the one to bring up toys in the bedroom with Lucifer. At first he might feel insecure because he thinks you need toys to help get you off, but that's the furthest thing from the truth! The first thing you bring up is a strap on, and oh my God, he's beet red. THIS MAN NEEDS TO BE PEGGED, DO YOU HEAR ME?? Pound that ass, he will fall even deeper in love with you than he already is!

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Lucifer isn't much of a tease himself, that's your department! The worst he'll do is squeeze your ass or place his hand a little too high up your thigh for it to be considered casual touching. His go to move if he's in a frisky mood will be to flash his signature V-shaped fingers over his mouth once he knows no one is watching.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Oh let me tell you something, this man is LOUD. Not in terms of actual words, but his sounds! Lucifer cannot help himself, his moans and pleas and whimpers are so fucking cute, you know for sure that you're doing something right when he mewls at the top of his lungs! It's music to your ears, this man is DESPERATE for you!

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

I made this headcanon a little bit ago, but I'm a firm believer that Lucifer is really not a fan of doggy style. He's such a romantic that his desire to see your face when you have sex is EXTREMELY strong. Sure you have a great ass that's fun to smack and grab at, but nothing compares looking into your eyes as you both cum.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Oh you know Lucifer is packing! He's not hung like a horse, but he's definitely larger than average, I would probably say around 7.5 -8 inches. Uncut. I will not explain further lol. His dick is slightly on the skinnier side in terms of girth but he knows exactly how to use it to make you scream~

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

When it comes to you, Lucifer's sex drive is through the roof! Sex marathons are not an uncommon practice between the two of you, a few had gone on for days at a time! If he could spent the rest of eternity inside of you, it would not be long enough for him.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Lucifer usually falls asleep after you, not just because he has stamina of heavenly proportions, but because he wants to make sure you're taken care of. You tend to crash pretty fast after a long session and he wants to make sure you're cleaned up before you zonk out. Once he knows you're alright, it's cuddle time baby and you know he uses his wings to cover the both of you when you drift off to sleep together.

#hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar #hazbin lucifer #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer smut #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel smut #enjoy some midnight smut~

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brain-rot-central · 4 months

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The Cellar

A/N: I feel like I hit my quota in the smut mines, for this weekend. I left this open so I could eventually make a part two, if it so suits me, heh.

Words: 3.1k CW: 18+, dry humping, Virgin!Tav, masturbation, fingering, dubcon (?? not really sure but I'm gonna put it), sexual themes, pining, Astarion being a little shit Pairing: Astarion x Female!Tav (the reader is Tav) Summary: You and Astarion were looting a particular cellar within the Blighted Village when you happened to brush hands. As brief as the exchange was, it quickly escalated to something more. You can't stop thinking about it, and neither can Astarion. What portal into the Hells have you opened for yourself?

“Hello, my sweet.”

Astarion sought you out from the opposite side of camp, the flap of your tent closing behind him as he entered.

“Oh, Astarion! Hello,” you greet him. You're sitting on the floor of your abode, wiping various kinds of blood and grime from your armor. Thank the Gods you wear a metal breastplate; you couldn't imagine how tough it must be to remove blood once it's soaked into leather.

“You do know that Gale called everyone for dinner not long ago, right?” He tilts his head slightly back toward the direction of the campfire, a clenched fist raising above his shoulders. The thumb of his hand echoes his head, also pointed toward the middle of camp.

You place the armor and handkerchief off to your side, standing up. “Oh, yes, I did happen to hear him.” You cast your eyes to the floor and let out a brief chuckle, patting your hands over your lap to brush off some dirt. “I guess I just got carried away!” Your eyes move from the floor and up to Astarion's face, and you can see it immediately spelled out on his expression.

You're bullshiting him, and he knows it.

With his head still tilted to the side, he furrows his brows together. His eyes draw into narrow slits, and the corner of his mouth turns upward into a smile.

Truth be told, you were thinking about him.

You'd removed most of the blood on your breastplate hours ago. Though, your mind drifted to thoughts about your vampiric companion.

His fingers have brushed up against yours a few times on your adventure, mostly when you were both looting an old residence you'd come upon. You'd place your hand on a particular item, only to feel Astarion's hand covering your own from the opposite side of the shelf. You mindlessly began scrubbing every nook and cranny on your armor as you imagined his long, lithe fingers ghosting over your own.

~~~

A chill shoots down your spine at the sensation and you instinctively pull your hand back, a small startled yelp leaving your mouth.

“My apologies, darling. Didn't see you there!” Astarion calls from behind the shelf. He steps around the corner of the shelf, quickly enough to see you shaking off your hand.

“I-It’s quite alright, Astarion,” you stammer. An unsettling warmth radiates over your body, and you realize that his eyes are fixated on you.

But, something is different about this look.

He looks… hungry.

His eyelids have dropped and he's stepping closer, closer, until his cologne tickles the underside of your nose.

“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice dripping with honey. “You look rather distressed.”

You briefly scan the room around you, only to realize that yourself and Astarion are the only occupants. Your breath catches in your throat as he clasps a hand over one of yours, bringing your hand to his mouth.

His eyes drift closed and he kisses the inside of your hand, interlocking his fingers between your own. He begins trailing kisses down your palm and to the inside of your wrist.

“Astarion, wha-” you manage to choke out before he cuts you off.

“I know you think of me, Tavaria.” Astarion's voice is a growl, low and throaty. He steps before you, his chest mere centimeters from yours.

“I see it in the way you stare.” He takes both of your arms, fingers skating gently over your forearms before sinking into the skin, and guides them to wrap around his neck. “Oh, so eagerly.”

~~~

“Of course, I'm sure you did,” Astarion says, his voice cutting you free from your thoughts. He's still smiling, as if he knew exactly where your mind had just been.

“Anyhow,” he continues, “I'll be out there mingling amongst the others. Do be sure to eat while it's still warm, hmm?”

With a wave of a hand, Astarion turns on his heels and walks out of your tent.

You release a sigh you didn't know you were holding as the flap to your dwelling draws closed again.

You haven’t yet told him you were a virgin. The chance hasn't come up naturally yet, though it almost did that night in the cellar.

Again, your mind drifts.

~~~

You gasp as his hands come to hold each side of your waist. He grinds his pelvis into yours, and you feel it through the layers of your clothing, nudging against your mound.

That's him.

The pressure of the lewd contact against your front sends a delicious wave of electricity down to your core. Your cunt throbs with each rut of his hips into yours and your mouth falls open in a silent cry. Your hands fall to grasp his biceps, needing something, anything, to help ground you in this moment.

Astarion drops his head to your ear, nipping softly at your earlobe. “Does our ‘illustrious leader’ touch herself while alone in her tent, as she thinks of me?”

You groan and collapse slightly into his grasp, wetness gathering at the apex of your thighs. This fucking bastard. How did he know? Did he overhear you at night?

…Did he stay up just to listen?

~~~

The thought sends your mind reeling all over again. You shake your head vigorously, hoping to rid yourself of the memory and the newly-formed blush across your cheeks.

He would have fucked you, right then and there. Would have happily taken you on the dirt floor of some musty old cellar. Probably would have shoved your face down into the dirt as he mercilessly plowed into you from behind, stuffing your cunt to the brim with his seed as he roared through his climax.

He would have never known that was your first time.

The thought excites you more than you'd ever care to admit.

Whatever you lacked in experience, you made up for in knowledge. You knew what you liked, and what lines you were hard pressed to cross. You were learned in the topic sex, knew of erogenous zones for humans and elves alike. You weren't quite sure if your hand felt as good as Astarion's cock would, but you made due. It was a worthy substitute, for now.

Your mind did indeed travel often to visions of the pale elf. You dreamed of your lips interlocked in a slow, tender kiss. You envisioned his hands traveling up and down the expanse of your back, coming to settle on the swell of your ass.

But mostly… you think of the cellar.

~~~

You groan through clenched teeth as his fingers pump languidly into your core. You can hear how wet you are, how much of a mess he has made of your body. You've never been touched like this before; it's better than anything you could have imagined.

Astarion's fingers curl into a “come hither” motion within you and you careen, back arching and your mouth falling open in a ragged scream. The palm of his hand grinds against your clit, and you swear you're going to die.

You swear he's trying to kill you, swear he's doing this so he can drink every last drop of your blood without consequence.

He begins to move his fingers in earnest and it's too much, too much too soon, your body has never known pleasure like this.

“Astarion-!” you call his name, your voice a panicked whisper. Suddenly, you shatter. Your vision bleeds into solid white as tremors overtake your body. Your hands seek purchase on his forearms, your nails digging deep enough to pierce his skin.

“That's it, little girl,” he coos into your ear. “You’re doing so well for me.” His fingers continue their assault against that particular spot inside you and you whine, dropping your head onto his shoulder. It's too much, you're too sensitive.

Your chest heaves, sucking in deep breaths as Astarion finally removes his fingers from your aching hole. A pitiful sob escapes you at the lost sensation of being filled. He chuckles darkly and takes his hand, the one that had just brought you to the peak of pleasure, and shoves it down the front of his trousers to adjust and squeeze his straining cock into a better position. Astarion lets out a soft groan as his length rests up against his abdomen, pulling his hand free from his leathers.

You finally find strength enough to lift yourself straight into a standing position, bracing your hands on his shoulders for leverage. You look up and do your best to focus on his face, watching as he sucks the two fingers he just had in your cunt, and on his cock, into his mouth. They're sure to have tasted of you and him, at this point.

“Absolutely exquisite, my darling. Truly the nectar of the most forbidden fruit,” he states with a sultry tone.

Half-lidded eyes were transfixed on yours and you suck in a shaky breath. You follow his tongue as it weaves around and between each of his digits, cleaning them diligently.

~~~

You raise both hands to your face, digging the heels of your palms into your eyeballs.

This fucking bastard.

He knew what he was doing. And by the Gods, did he do it well.

“It's all a bit of fun, my dear,” he told you after your encounter. Just two, beautiful people staring down the end of their lives together. Why not go out with a bang?

Your nose catches a faint waft of Astarion’s signature cologne, reminding you he had been in your tent mere moments ago.

“Probably best I go and grab supper,” you say to yourself. Not that you'd mind Astarion returning to your tent again, but you weren't necessarily prepared for the possibility of things… escalating.

You draw in a deep breath and cross the threshold of your tent. You're greeted by sounds of laughter coming from around the campfire. Wyll seems to be telling an entertaining story, based on Karlach wiping tears of joy from her eyes. Shadowheart watches as she sips from her goblet, Gale looking attentively at Wyll as he speaks.

Lae’zel has taken her dinner back to her tent, taking small bites in between the sharpening of her blade on the grindstone. Some might call it unsettling, but you feel a sense of calm and safety knowing she is always prepared to strike within a moment's notice.

Astarion is seated on the end of the wooden bench, a tome in hand as he laughs in response to Wyll’s story. You see a purple aura emanating from Astarion's lap, and you recognize the book he's holding to be the very one you found that same day in the cellar.

The Necromancy of Thay.

You'd taken down a Spider Queen and her clutch in order to obtain the purple oval gemstone placed in mouth on the book’s cover. It pulsed a brilliant violet light in Astarion's lap, his fingers slowly tracing each line of text within the pages of the tome.

You weren't quite sure why Astarion was interested in this book, but you let him have it. “That looks awfully heavy,” he had told you. “Why don't you let me carry it for you?”

You didn't know much about Astarion yet, but you knew that he was never quite pleased with the hand life had dealt him. Perhaps he was seeking answers to cure his vampirism, or hoping to find a weakness to exploit against his old master, Cazador. Whatever his motivation was, his eyes were glued to each page of the book, making sure to absorb each shred of information it had to offer.

“Good evening, everyone,” you say, picking up a bowl from around the edge of the campfire. You ladle some stew into your bowl, pleased to see that it's boar meat this time as opposed to rabbit.

Your companions nod and wave in your direction in acknowledgement of your presence. You hear slight murmurs as they resume their prior conversation.

“I figured I'd bring back a fresh kill for you all to enjoy,” Astarion spoke up, lifting his eyes momentarily from his book. “Why waste perfectly good meat?”

Gale clears his throat. “An excellent contribution to our feast, Astarion. We're most pleased by your generosity,” Gale says as he shovels his last spoonful of stew into his mouth.

“I’ll admit, it was the most flavorful boar I've had in a while,” Shadowheart adds, taking another small sip of wine, “though I'm unsure if it's due to hunger, or the meat being fully exsanguinated prior to butchering.”

Astarion rolls his eyes in response, settling them back onto the pages in his lap. “Remind me never to be nice again,” he retorts.

Wyll chuckles. “Oh come now, Astarion. We truly appreciate you sharing with us. You could have left the carcass to rot, but no! You were thoughtful enough to consider your fellow companions.” Wyll clenches a fist and brings it over his heart, dipping his head to the floor. “We thank you for your generosity.”

Astarion scoffs audibly as he turns a page, his face scrunching up in disgust.

“It was merely a matter of convenience that Astarion brought the boar back to camp,” Lae’zel suggests, coming to drop her bowl in the wash bin next to the fire. “Had Astarion not required blood, we'd be feasting once more on the lean, pathetic meat of a field rabbit.”

Astarion’s head lifts up from the book in his lap, his arm extending toward Lae’zel’s direction. “Finally, someone who truly understands!” he exclaims, voice jovial. “Thank you, Lae’zel. I always knew you were smarter than you looked.”

Lae’zel groans in response and returns to her tent, grabbing a cloth to polish her armor. A brief moment of silence spreads over the camp, the firewood crackling and hissing into the night air.

Karlach places her bowl on the floor between her feet and looks toward Astarion. “Hey, Fangs,” she says, “what's the book you got there?”

Astarion softly closes the book on his lap and holds it up with both hands, as if displaying it for the others to view. “Oh, this old thing? Just something Tav and I found while looting a residence in the Blighted Village.”

You watch as his eyes dip low, settling on you. “It was located in a cellar, along with some other most delightful trinkets.”

You swallow thickly around the innuendo, somewhat startled, nearly choking on a chunk of boar. You audibly clear your throat, casting your eyes downward at the bowl resting on your thighs. You feel your cheeks begin to burn and you dare not return Astarion's gaze. You mindlessly begin spooning your stew.

You'd read of vampires having the ability to charm their victims, particularly those who are of the young, innocent, female variety. Astarion had told you he was simply a spawn, lacking the powers and abilities of a vampire lord. Though, you didn't believe it. How else could he have lured so many people back to Cazador? They'd surely fallen under his thrall… to some degree.

Astarion is a portrait frozen in time, turned at the peak of his physical maturity. He has hard, chiseled muscle covering the entire expanse of his body. His face is cut sharply, as if carved out of diamonds. His cheekbones sit high and his nose is strong and prominent, the slightest bump seen right below the bridge. His jawline is well defined, drawing together into the soft cleft of his chin. Soft silver curls envelope his face in a halo, and he truly looks god-like when the evening sun shines over him just right.

A forever young, devastatingly handsome vampire, destined to walk Faerûn for all of eternity.

“Huh,” Karlach spoke up, breaking your mind free from the confines of your latest rabbit hole. “Well, what's it about?” Her questions were innocent enough, bless her Hellfire engine of a heart.

“It's a book of the dead,” Astarion explains. “I'm hoping to gain some particular knowledge from it.”

Both Gale and Wyll chime in together, almost in unison. “I don't think that's a good idea,” they say in near synchronicity.

Astarion's face scrunches into a scowl as he rises from his seat on the log. “Well, good thing it isn't either of you reading this tome.” He gestures toward you as you spoon another mouthful of stew past your lips. “Tav was gracious enough to share it with me. I think you all should have a bit more faith in our exalted leader.” His voice is positively saturated in sarcasm.

Shadowheart scoffs, crossing her legs. “You always somehow manage to deflect everything onto another, don't you, Astarion?”

With a wave of his hand, Astarion begins to turn on his heels and walk back toward the direction of his tent. “This conversation has outgrown its purpose,” he replies. “And for that reason, I shall retire for the evening.”

He suddenly turns back around, eyes again meeting your own. “But before I go,” he states, raising his free arm above his side. He dips his head in a gentle bow, crossing that same arm over his chest. “Please, let me know if you'd care for a detailed report of all I've learned, thus far.”

Your eyes widen and heat creeps up your neck once more. The bastard is really doing this in the middle of camp? In front of everyone?

“Goodnight, my dear,” he says in a hushed tone. You catch his mouth turning upward into a devious smile, and he once again turns his back to you and continues his path toward his tent.

“Go-goodnight, Astarion,” you manage to choke out. “Thank you a-again for the boar.” He waves a hand in acknowledgement before retreating into the safety of his tent.

“So, Astarion is trying to teach himself the secrets of Necromancy, is he?” Gale says, hand rubbing over the tip of his chin. “Out of all the magicks of the Weave, Necromancy is one that is strictly forbidden.”

The conversation drifts into Gale giving an explanation of Mystra rejecting the practice of Necromancy for her followers. The rest of camp seems drawn to his story, though your eyes are fixated on the red fabric of Astarion's tent across camp.

Was he giving you an invitation to join him later tonight?

A shiver passes over you at the thought, and you deposit your bowl into the wash bin near the edge of the campfire. You stand and nod gently toward your companions, ushering well wishes of good sleep and pleasant dreams to each. They return the favor, and you begin to walk back toward the direction of your own tent.

Perhaps you'd pay Astarion a visit later, after everyone has settled in for the night. It seems as though he’s awfully eager to show you something.

Yes, you think you will pay him a visit. You just have to wait until the camp quells for the night… which you hope doesn't take much longer.

#astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion smut #astarion ancunin #astarion x female reader #astarion x reader #fanfiction #bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x female tav #astarion x you #astarion fanfic

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sanemi-whore · 9 months

Text

Cruel World (1)

You had two choices - allow your father to marry you off to the highest bidder or run away and decide your own fate. What you weren't expecting was to encounter a demon along the way. Sanemi x Reader (afab) warning: arrange (forced) marriage, readers father is abusive (not physically), mentions of death/blood, cursing, alcohol intake, sanemi being in denial of his feelings lol, unsolicited touching/groping/humping, masturbating (m), word count: 12.838 masterlist | Part 2 | Final

“Fix your face.” your fathers words were harsh as he spoke to you. He sits across from you, legs crossed and hands in his lap. “You should be honored that a man has offered so much to marry you.”

Honored.

You wanted to laugh.

There was nothing for you to be honored about. There was nothing honorable about being married off to a man you’ve just met - a man twice your age at that. You never imagined being in a loveless marriage with nothing to live for but to be a trophy wife.

“Yes, Oto-san.” you murmur, head low.

It wasn’t long ago when your father was requested by a man - an older man who appears just as old as your father, if not older - for a meeting. They spoke in hushed tones while you were ordered to cook and serve tea for your guest.

Your hand shook as you served the tea when your ears picked up on the conversation.

You were the topic - your hand in marriage. Your head screamed for your father to deny it - to say that no money in the world could even buy you. However, he hadn’t. He agreed without little resistance and you felt sick to your stomach. You couldn’t hear anymore of the conversation and you sprinted to the bathroom. You fell to your knees and released the sobs you weren’t aware you were holding.

“Sleep.” your father ordered. “He will be here tomorrow morning to speak of the arrangements.”

You nod your head. You stand from the cushion you sat upon and bow your head. Your father’s eyes caught the way your throat tightens, but he chooses to ignore it.

You do not say a word to your father before turning away from him and making your way down the dim lit hall to your bedroom. The hardwood floors were cold against your feet as you made your way to your bedroom. You slide the doors closed behind you and lean against it.

You missed your mother. You were certain she wouldn’t allow your father to do this if she was alive.

Your father himself wouldn’t have done this if life wasn’t cruel to the both of you. He wasn’t always a harsh man that drowned himself in alcohol to escape reality. He was once a kindhearted man who adored his family - until said family was ripped away from him. From the both of you.

You’re unsure how long you were leaning against the door lost in your thoughts. Your eyes began to burn and you blinked rapidly to retain the moisture in your eyes. Your eyes darted to the window - the moon shined through it, casting a glow through the dark room.

Your feet walk before your mind can register it. Before you know it, you’re outside of your home in general and sprinting through the grassy field. You nearly trip over your kimono, but you manage.

You had nowhere to go. You were out of your mind. But you would rather be nowhere than be sold to that old man.

The area is dark and the only light guiding you is the moon above. Your chest heaves as your legs continue to run and you’re positive they would give out soon. You cursed your lack of stamina.

Your eyes swell with tears when you feel a sharp pain in your side.. Your feet lift from the ground and you’re being flung into the nearest tree. Your breath escapes from you and you’re now groaning in pain.

“Well…”

Your vision is blurry, the tears streaming harshly down your cheeks. Your attempt to regain your composure, but you’re badly wounded.

“...you shouldn't be out at night.” a sinister voice booms through your ears. “You never know who lurks in the dark.”

You can hear footsteps coming closer to you. Your fingernails dug into the dirt, arms trembling.

You scream when your hair is yanked backwards and you’re lifted to your knees, an excruciating pain running through your veins. Your kimono and hadajuban is pushed down to reveal your bare breast and you feel what you assume are teeth sinking into you.

You were going to die - no doubt by a demon.

To think you survived this long - survived the massacre your mother and brother endured - just to die now on your own.

A gust of wind surrounds you, so rough that you fall forward once more. The demon's teeth are no longer on you and you take note that the demon itself isn’t either. Your hand immediately goes to the wound onto your chest, blood seeping through.

You blink your eyes hastily to see your surroundings.

The demon was horrendous - eyes dark as the night and skin appearing as if it was burned off. He had horns coming from his forehead and on his lips was your blood. He licks them, eyebrows furrowing to the man in front of you.

You take note that the man is tall with white spiky hair that glows underneath the moonlight. His back is facing you and you cannot see his face, but he holds a large sword in his hands. His haori is white and appears to glow along with his hair.

“A Hashira, huh?” the Demon cackles.

Your eyes widen at the demon's words.

“H-Hashira…” you murmur, eyes glued to the tall man before you. You head of the demon slayers and the Hashira, but never would you have imagined being in the presence of one.

“Don’t just fucking stand there!” the Hashira barks, head turning slightly to the side. You follow his gaze to see a group of boys, all sporting black uniforms and holding their own swords. They are frozen behind a bush and all jump at the Hashira’s sudden bark. “Take the girl to Kocho!”

“Y-Yes, Shinazugawa-sama!” the group - 4 - of demon slayers say in unison. You witness them scurry off to you while the Hashira begins his battle with the Demon.

“You’re losing a lot of blood, miss.” one demon slayers moans sadly as he attempts to touch your wound. “C-Can you apply pressure to it while we get you to Shinobu-sama?”

You nod your head, but you feel dizzy suddenly. Maybe you had lost a decent amount of blood.

“Oh no.” another demon slayer quips. “She’s passing out. We have to leave now.”

Your eyes shot open, your shoulder being roughly shoved. You looked around your surroundings.

“Y/N.”

Your head snaps to the side, eyes widening.

“Onii-san…” your voice is high pitched and childlike. Your eyes drift to your lower appearance and child-like hands.

You then roam your eyes around the bedroom - the one you shared with your elder brother. It’s bright - the morning sun shining through the windows.

“W-what-”

“You overslept.” your brother flicks your forehead, an act you always hated but you could do nothing savor his touch.

Was this a dream?

Was this heaven? Had you succumbed to your wounds and died?

“Y/N…why are you crying?” your brother's voice is startled, wondering if he had flicked you too hard this time. He yelps when you crush your face into his yukata and continue to cry, tiny hands clutching onto him for dear life. “What’s wrong?”

“I…had a bad dream, Onii-san.” you sniffled after a few moments of your crying.

Your brother’s eyes soften and he places a hand on the top of your head. “Baby.” he murmurs softly to you. “Go wash up and then meet me outside. I have something I want to show you.”

You do as you’re told, far too excited to see your brother again.

As your feet slap against the cold hardwood floor, your heart is pumping again to be reunited with your family.

Your hands reach the shoji doors, ready to open it, the shining sun from inside your bedroom suddenly disappears and all that you are left with is the familiar shining moon light.

“Y/N, don’t-” your brother screams - he appears to be far away, so distant that you ponder if he’s in the same room as you.

What’s going on? The door slams open and your eyes widen. The tall monster - you remember now. Tentacles sway around him. His skin was a disgusting green and his claws clenched onto your mother’s kimono. She’s lifeless, covered in blood.

A tentacle reaches out to swipe at you, but your brother flings himself in front of you - but he’s nothing but a child such as you. He slams into the nearest wall, body just as lifeless as your mothers. Blood pools from his wounds and you can do nothing but scream at the sight.

You release a sudden scream, thrashing at the hands gripping onto you. “No!” you choke out a whimper.

“Calm down.” the voice says - stern but sweet. “You’re alright.”

You’re alright.

Your eyes manage to blink until they focus on where you were at. You’re on a bed foreign to you surrounded by several other beds that are vacant. The room is quiet except for a few people surrounding you, your eyes recognizing a few of the demon slayers you encountered.

That was not a dream - you being attacked by a demon was indeed real.

Seated beside you was a young girl with blue eyes with black pigtails. She has a stern look in her eyes as she stares at you.

“My name’s Aoi.” she tells you. “You were having a nightmare.”

You nod your head slowly. That part was also correct. You cannot remember the last time you dreamt of the night your brother and mother had died - until now.

“Where am I?” you whisper out before coughing. Your throat was dry and raspy.

“Here,” Aoi leans beside you to grasp a glass of water from the bedside table. “drink this.”

You do as you’re told, mentally thanking her when the cool water hits your throat.

“Are you alright?”

You notice it's a demon slayer - a young man who’s eyes appeared to be glossy. “You passed out on the way here.”

You nod your head once more. “Thank you for bringing me.” you tell them and they each nod back, faces red. “If I may ask…where is the Hashira that saved me?”

Aoi sits straighter onto your bed, but the way her eyes roll does not go unnoticed. “Go get Shinazugawa.” she tells the slayers who all freeze at her command. “Now.”

The three slayers scurry off but appeared to be in no rush. Aoi turns back to you. “Just a warning.” she begins. “Shinazugawa isn’t…the nicest.”

You tilt your head.

“He can be a little…rash.” Aoi shrugs her shoulders. “Are you in any pain? I managed to stitch up your wounds.”

You shake your head. “No. Thank you.” you bow your head. “You are a nurse? You look so young.”

Aoi’s face reddens.

“I’m sorry. I meant no harm.” you attempted to apologize, unsure if you offended her or not.

“It’s alright.” Aoi stands. “I do help around the butterfly estate more often while Shinobu-san is busy.” she explains.

The door slams open and frightens the both of you. Aoi’s eyes darted to the noise and her eyes turned to slits. “You don’t have to be so abrasive, Shinazugawa-san.” she hisses. “I’m going to get you something to eat.” she says without as much of a look your way.

Shinazugawa only scoffs as the young girl pushes past him, closing the door behind her slightly. You noticed by his demeanor as to why the slayers were reluctant in calling for him - you guessed people walked on eggshells around the man.

Your heart flutters when his eyes meet yours.

The man is covered in scars, you note, and the amount is alarming. You assume it was due to him being a Hashira and his time in battle with demons.

“You look scared shitless.” Shinazugawa’s voice startles you.

Your body heats at the fact that you were staring. Your eyes dart away and you bow your head. “I’m sorry!” you quip. “I-I just wanted to thank you. For saving me.”

You note that he doesn’t say anything. Your eyes darted forward to see that he was now directly in front of you. Your heart skips a beat - Hashira’s were stealthy.

“Why were you outside alone?” Shinazugawa questions. “Surely you know that demons exist.”

You gulp. He was correct. You did know and yet, you still left without a care in the world of your fate. “I…”

The Hashira waits for your response.

“I didn’t want to be home.”

The Hashira doesn’t make a sound for a moment. He studies your face before responding. “You left in the middle of the night in nothing but a kimono…because you didn’t want to be home?” his voice is deep and condescending. “You could have encountered far more harm besides a demon.” he spats.

Your hands clench onto the bed sheets you were under.

“Why didn’t you want to be home? Your husband refused to buy you something?”

Your eyes widen. He was mocking you, surely.

“That kimono is expensive no doubt. You must come from money.”The Hashira spats before shaking his head. “Just tell me where I need to bring you-”

“I’m not going back.”

Shinazugawa’s eyes widened at your interruption.

“I do not come from money, either. The Kimono is a gift from the man my father sold me off to marry.” your tone matches his now. You wanted nothing more than to thank the man, not be judged about your decision to leave your home.

Sanemi is quiet, unsure of what to say. You shut him up, surely. He could only judge you by what you looked like - your hair wasn’t a mess when he found you and you wore a kimono crafted from the best materials. It wasn’t his fault and he wasn’t going to apologize for it, either.

“So your father is broke.” Sanemi states.

“No.” you scoff. “He just doesn’t want me around him anymore. I should be honored to be married off to someone his age.” You say sarcastically. You do not realize you’re clenching the bed sheets until you release them, witnessing how wrinkled they become. “Sometimes I even think he wishes it was me that died by that demon instead of my brother.”

Sanemi’s ears perk, but he doesn’t say anything in response.

“He was sure to tell me each time he was drunk that he only wanted a son. It was my mother that wanted to have another child in hopes of a daughter.” you laugh low to yourself. You’re talking to yourself more than you are to the Hashira. “To think he lost his prized child and wife.”

Now Sanemi was feeling guilty, even if he wasn’t going to show it or apologize. It appears you had a shitty life with your father and he can only think of back many moons ago of his own disappointment of a father.

“Sorry.” you murmur to the Hashira. “Got carried away.” you straightened yourself to look at him once more. “Thank you again. I know slaying demons is your job, but you could have left me there. I am forever grateful.”

Sanemi doesn’t realize it until it’s too late. His neck is hot and so are his ears. If he would look at his reflection, he’d see that his face is red. “Don’t thank me.” he murmurs with a gulp. “Where are you planning to go?”

You’re unsure of the answer yourself. There was nowhere for you to go. You had no relatives and going back to your father now was possibly the worst decision to do - you’re positive his wrath would be hellish.

“A few years ago at the age of 15,” you began. “My father said that I could always be a prostitute and maybe work my way up to be an Oiran.” you begin to laugh and Sanemi couldn’t believe his ears. Were you seriously laughing at the harsh words spewed at you by your father? “He was drunk and upset.”

“Sounds like an asshole.” Sanemi states.

You sigh, smile from your laughter still on your lips. “He was.” you agree. “I cannot hate him for it. To answer your question, Shinazugawa-san-”

“Sanemi.”

You furrow a brow at the Hashira.

“I’m not one for honorifics.”

You nod your head. “Sanemi.” you hum. “I’m not sure where I am planning on going. However, I’m sure wherever that is it will be better than my fate chosen by my father.”

Sanemi grunts. You appear to be courageous in a way, not caring what the world dropped at your feet as long as it wasn’t anything worse than your chosen fate.

“Why not become a demon slayer?”

You giggle. “I don’t even know how to throw a punch, Sanemi.” your eyelashes bash at him and again, he feels hot. “I would be useless.”

“You can always train.” Sanemi suggests.

You hum. “I suppose you’re correct. But I don’t know anyone willing to train me.”

A knock sounds on the door before it slides open. Aoi walks through with a tray, a plate of soup placed on it.

“This should be light on your stomach.” Aoi tells you once she places the tray on the bedside table. “Shinazugawa-san, would you like anything?” she says to him through gritted teeth. She was only being polite and didn’t wish to hand him anything.

“No.” is all Sanemi responds with and Aoi only shrugs.

“I’ll be back in a half an hour to check in on you.” Aoi says and retreats once more.

Your stomach churns at the aroma of the soup. You’re unsure how long it’s been since you ate and you were starving. You grasp the tray and do not hesitate to dig in.

“I can train you.”

Sanemi only stands and watches the first ten minutes of you eating silently before he does speak. It catches you by surprise.

“Oh?”

“Would you rather be a prostitute?” Sanemi spats harshly. “Having different types of men on top of you at that. For that you could’ve married the man who paid your father.”

You aren’t fazed by his tone nor his words, your father has trained you for this since you were a child - bellowing insults after insults.

Your lips twitch.

“I wouldn’t mind it if they were as handsome as you.” you tease the Hashira and now he’s taken aback, face fully flushed and his fists clenched. You giggle to yourself. “Just kidding, Sanemi. I wouldn’t be a good prostitute, either. I have no experience.” you take another sip of your soup and all Sanemi could think of was your last words.. “I would be honored to train with you.”

Sanemi gives you one last look before turning away. “I’ll talk to Kocho about you being released.. Until then, rest up.”

Sanemi slides the shoji doors open and walks out, not turning to look back at you.

“Well,” Sanemi speaks. “come at me.”

You do, hands raising the wooden sword in your hand. You’re trembling as you run towards him and Sanemi wants to laugh at the way you look. He does nothing but step to the side and watch as you fall onto your face.

“That was pathetic.”

You gulp. “I know.”

“Get up.” Sanemi demands. “You’re entirely too slow.”

You were released the following day and like promised, Sanemi had returned. He doesn’t say anything but motions you to follow him to his home - a large estate not far from the one you just came from. You were given a change of clothes - a black uniform-like bodysuit that fit you slightly loose. You were surprised to receive the haori that matched the one Sanemi wore, you even beamed and stated that you fit the aesthetic to be trained under him - he only grunted a response.

Sanemi wasted no time in jumping into training. He gave you a wooden sword and gave you little instructions on what to do.

“For fucks sake!” Sanemi hissed after he watched you run - if you can call it that - towards one end of his training compound to the other. “Have you ever run a day in your life?!”

You pout. “Not since my brother died. That was nearly a decade ago.”

Sanemi groans. He wasn’t sure what he expected training you. This is why he never had the desire to train anyone and why he doesn’t have a tsuguko.

“You’ll need to gain stamina.” Sanemi groans. He was sure you would need that before he even teaches you about total concentration.

You groan along with Sanemi.

“I know just the person.”

You follow Sanemi as he leaves his estate, but he doesn’t bother to wait for you. He’s a few feet ahead of you now and you’re trying with all your will to not be left behind.

You reach another estate, your legs burned with the amount of walking. Sanemi reaches the shoji doors and knocks a few times, impatiently tapping his foot against the wooden floors.

“Shinazugawa!” the door slams open, startling you. A large man makes his way out from behind the door and your eyes widen at the height.

“Uzui.”

Uzui is tall, you note, and beautiful. His eyes are a beautiful color of fuchsia and his hair is just as white as Sanemi’s. He offers a dazzling smile before turning to you.

“My,” Uzui hums. “Who is this woman with you?” The man's eyes inspect you for a moment. He even goes as far as to walk around to give you a once over. His arm reaches out quickly and before you can react, the palm of his hand - rather large - slaps your butt. “She has child bearing hips. Very breedable.”

You yelp, completely taken aback by his bold statement plus the rough slap upon your ass. All Sanemi could do was hiss at the older man.

“Stop being a fucking creep!” Sanemi roars, hands clenched into fists.

Uzui only chuckles, painted nails pointing at Sanemi’s angered expression. “Do you want me to slap yours too?”

Sanemi isn’t amused in the slightest with Uzui’s humor and takes a step forward. The tall man erupts in laughter, raising his hands.

“It’s about time you found yourself a wife, Shinazugawa.” Uzui’s eyes flashes to you for a moment before darting back to Sanemi. “Someone that can calm you down when needed.” Uzui wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, a knowing smirk forming onto his lips.

Sanemi scowls deeper, tips of his ears red. Tengen, being older than him, always had an immature side to him, always joking around at the wrong time - especially with his sexual humor. Surprisingly, it was tame.

“I’m training her.” Sanemi hisses through gritted teeth. “She needs to work on her stamina.”

Tengen raises a brow. “So this is not your wife?”

Sanemi wants to reply with a snide remark, but refrains.

“You always said you never wanted a tsuguko. What changed?” Tengen asks. Sanemi is a stubborn person. A few slayers - those who weren’t as cowardly - asked to be his tsuguko and he had rejected them harshly, what made you different?

Sanemi doesn’t respond, but Tengen believes he doesn’t have to. You appeared weak, not an insult in the slightest. A regular civilian and not a fighter at all. You could have dodged his slap onto your ass if you were at least a slayer.

Maybe Sanemi was but a man. You weren’t bad to look at - cute face, nice body and even nicer assets. Your breast could surely feed to satiate any child Sanemi could put into you no doubt.

“Stamina assistance, huh?” Tengen hums. “Have you tried sex?”

Your body feels hot once more. Uzui was the obvious joker of the two.

“Uzui-”

“So unflashy.” Tengen rolls his eyes. Sanemi was never any fun. “By the looks of it, she doesn’t run a lot.”

Did he call you fat? Unhealthy?

“I can change that in a week.” Uzui smirks at Sanemi. “Imagine going from a regular civilian to training with Hashira without even passing final selection first? You’ve been blessed by a God - me.”

You find Uzui’s personality funny - when he wasn’t spewing sexual nonsense for shock value.

“You are a Hashira, as well?” you ask Uzui and he nods.

“Sound Hashira, Uzui Tengen.” the smirk that forms onto his lips is one of vain. “Leave her to me, Shinazugawa.”

Sanemi scoffs. “I’ll stay.” he insists. You didn’t know Uzui. Though he had three wives of his own, Uzui was not one to not flirt. He was a touchy person and to the wrong people, it could come off as harassment.

Uzui pushes past the two of you and back into his home. He slides the shoji door open wider for the two of you to enter. “I'm not going to steal your girl.” he snickers. “Though I’m not opposed to having a fourth wife. You would fit right in-”

Sanemi shoves Tengen who then chuckles at the wind Hashira’s reaction.

There were only a few instances in your life where you’d thought you’d die. When you were a child and witnessed the monster - you soon learned was a demon - was the first. Again when you meet the wind Hashira facing another demon, you were certain you’d die.

Now, as you run until the point of your legs aching, you’re sure that you can see your life flashing before your eyes. Tengen was serious when he stated he’d whip you into shape to improve your stamina. It took everything in you to not cry due to stress - Uzui was a tough one. He’d scream and yell at you to keep going, that it was unflashy for you to be heavily breathing and sweaty only after running around his estate 3 times.

You were utterly defeated when Uzui finally gave you a break. Your knees fall to the ground and you wish nothing more than to curl up and die. Every morning the past 2 weeks you’d wake, have a quick breakfast with Sanemi where both of you are in a comfortable silence and then you'd go out for the hellish stamina training.

“You must be exhausted.”

You’re unsure how long you managed to lay onto the ground, but when your eyes flutter open you note that the sun is beginning to set.

“Here, have some water.” the voice belongs to Suma, a wife of Tengen. She kneels down beside you with a warm smile and hands you a glass filled with water. “Lord Tengen sure has been determined lately.”

You gulp down the glass of water effortlessly in three large gulps. “Thank you!” you wheeze.

Suma giggles.

“How determined is Lord Tengen?” you ask her.

Suma tilts her head slightly. “He believes you are done with the first half of your training!”

Your eyes widen and now your energy - though tired - matches Suma’s. You clap your hands together and laugh.

“You can move on to combat now!” Suma exclaims.

Your head tilts. “Combat…?”

“You didn’t think all you’d be doing is running?”

You yelp at the sound of Uzui’s voice. You never got accustomed to his sudden arrivals - but he assured you many times that not only was he a Hashira or a God - but was also a former shinobi. You never questioned him or his over dramatic self-proclamations.

“No…?”

Uzui doesn’t say anything behind you. You take note that he was dressed down in a nemaki, a bright blue one with black stripes and his hair surrounds his shoulders. Your eyes widen slightly in awe - he was so majestically beautiful.

Uzui kneels down to where you sat just as Suma rises. His lips form a small grin.

“You are doing good.” Uzui compliments with a slight pat of your head. “You’ll be done with your training in due time.”

Your eyes widen, face feeling warm. You nod your head curtly. “Thank you, Lord Uzui!” you’re unsure why your cheeks feel wet until you feel a calloused finger wipe at your cheek. You were crying - in joy, of course. You’re unsure why; maybe because you’re not in the same place you were at when you came with Sanemi. You were (slowly) growing into a better person and the feelings are overwhelming.

“Ahh, don’t cry!” Suma sniffles with a shake of her head. “You’re going to make me cry!”

Suma drops and wraps you in a tight hug. “Please join us at the Onsen! You’ve been working so hard you should relax!”

Uzui watches as you and Suma scurry off - you with a slight limp - off towards his home. He shakes his head and ponders just how you managed to get caught up with someone such as Sanemi - yet it wasn’t his place to ask questions.

Your back hits the stone rock at the onsen, head tilted to the side as you sigh deeply. Your body now felt relaxed due to the hot water of the onsen. Suma had brought you into the home for dinner and before the hot springs, you were allowed to shower off the day's work and even borrowed a nemaki from Suma.

You can hear Uzui’s loud voice followed by the soft ones of Makio and Hinatsuru. You had to admit that once you found out about his three wives, you were shocked. Yet, it made sense. There was no doubt Uzui was an extremely attractive man with an insane sex appeal - not only that but also a Hashira. His wives were kind women who matched Uzui’s attractiveness and sex appeal - flashy, as he would say. They often ask you to stay for dinner once training was done or offer you water while Uzui insisted you run “one more lap” which turned to 10 more laps.

“How does your body feel, Y/N?”

You flinched, eyes snapping open. You were dozing off.

“Ah,” you smile at Suma. “alright. So much better than before.”

Suma nods her head. “I’m glad. You’ve been working so hard!”

Your face feels hot.

“Y/N!” Uzui’s boisterous voice booms through your ears. “You’re looking as flashy as ever! A different look from the sweat that you’re usually covered in.”

Uzui was teasing you.

“Lord Tengen says you’ll be training with us tomorrow.” Makio says. She’s leaning against Uzui’s right while Hinatsuru occupies his left.

“Ah, yes.” you nod. “Combat training, right?”

Hinatsuru nods.

“I’m not much of a fighter.” your face grows hot once more. You’re embarrassed to be in the presence of kunoichi and a Hashira - three good fighters and a swordsman.

“Neither am I!” Suma wraps you into a hug once more, bare breast against your own. You yelp, flushing deeply, but you know Suma means no harm.

Uzui watches Suma and you closely, both of you giggling amongst one another. Soon Makio and Hinatsuru enter the conversation and leave his side.Uzui finds himself watching fondly on just how welcomed you became with his wives. How in the world did someone like Shinazugawa enter your life - Uzui was unsure. However, whatever the man's intentions were (outside of training you) he hoped they were pure.

A month had passed and Sanemi was beginning to think you lived at Uzui’s home. You’d usually come at the end of each day to bathe, eat dinner with him and then head to bed. Now, he found himself eating alone and your bedroom being empty.

Of course, Sanemi was not fazed by this. You were doing what you were told, after all. By what Uzui has told him about your progress, you were doing good. His wives enjoyed your company as you did theirs.

However, what Sanemi was not expecting was your change in attire. He accepted the invitation for Uzui to watch you train with low ranking demon slayers. You were dressed similar to his wives, short, sleeveless dress with white bandages wrapping around your thighs. His eyes find themselves landing on your breast and he coughs.

“She looks different.” Sanemi says aloud besides Tengen, who snorts at the man's observation.

“She looks flashy now.” Tengen declares.”Truly a work of art.”

The necklace you wore around your neck also didn’t go unnoticed. It was large and gold and also covered in shining diamonds and other unnamed stones he couldn’t bother to mesmerize. If Sanemi didn’t know who you were, he would assume you were also a part of Uzui’s haram.

“You were instructed to train her in stamina. Not play dress up.”

Tengen rolls his eyes at the sound of Sanemi’s voice.

“Look at her now.” Tengen points a manicured finger at you, but Sanemi is already watching.

Sanemi supposed you were better now. You ran without appearing to be seconds away from dying, nor were you as slow as you were nearly two months ago. He had watched slightly impressed that you managed to keep your own up against the low ranks - impressive seeing as you were not yet a slayer.

“What are your intentions with her?”

Sanemi’s eyes don't leave you as he ponders on Uzui’s question.

“Surely she’s more than a tsuguko.”

Sanemi makes an annoyed grunt.

“She lives in your home when you wouldn’t even allow others.” Uzui doesn’t want to mention Genya to not upset the younger man. But, it’s obvious that is who he is speaking of. It causes Sanemi’s fist to instantly clench.

“She had nowhere else to go.” Sanemi began.

Uzui furrows a brow.

“She joked about becoming a prostitute.”

Uzui chuckles. “Virgin’s can be sold for high.”

Sanemi’s head snapped to eye the white haired man. Just how did he know that you were a virgin?

“She speaks of you fondly.” Uzui says after another few moments of silence. “Hina swears she has a crush. How unflashy of her to have one on someone like you.”

“What the fuck is that suppose to mean?!” Sanemi roars.

Your attack at the slayer stops upon hearing the scream. Your body turns behind you, witnessing a laughing Uzui and a fuming Sanemi. Your eyes widen, not expecting to see him. You had focused all of your time on training that you would often stay at Uzui’s estate.

“Shinazugawa-sama is here.” one slayer moans in despair. “I should hide.”

“What for?” asks another slayer.

“I accidentally bumped into him yesterday and he threatened to castrate me!” the slayers voice drops a few octovals.

“Sanemi!” you begin to wave, dropping your kunai and begin to sprint towards the man.

“Did she just call Shinazugawa-sama by his name?” one slayer gasps, fearing for your life.

“Is that his girlfriend?”

“No way, no way no way!” another slayer falls to the ground. “There’s no way someone cute and sweet like Y/N-chan is dating that psycho!” he shakes his head.

You reach Sanemi and Uzui in a matter of seconds - it causes Sanemi to take a step back, but he keeps his face cool and unbothered. Your hands take his calloused ones and you’re excited for him to see the progress you made. Gasps could be heard from the slayers behind you, and besides Sanemi, Uzui is humming with a shit eating grin.

“They do say opposites attract.” a female slayer murmurs.

“Is…Shinazugawa-sama blushing?”

Sanemi’s ear twitched. His head snaps behind you, hands still in your smaller (and softer) hands. “What the fuck are you waste of space doing?!” he barks at the slayers who all cower. The veins on his neck are pulsing as he screams. “Get out of my sight!” the slayers bow, sending Uzui their farewell before running out of the estate, not looking back now fearing their own safety and well-being.

“How long have you been here?” you ask. “Did you see me sparring with one of the slayers? Do you think I got better? Faster? Stronger?” you’re overly excited, so much so that you’re slightly bouncing with excitement. Sanemi’s eyes couldn’t help but flicker to your breast to the hopeful look of your eyes.

Uzui watches with a look of amusement. The tips of Sanemi’s ears are red and he wants to tell a perverted joke, but he understands now is not the time.

You reminded him of Suma often. You wanted to be praised - to be told you did a good job and that he was proud of you. But, Sanemi didn’t believe in praise. He was an abrasive person and reveled in such abrasiveness. He’s watched countless times as Sanemi verbally (and physically) abused slayers - even the Hashira wasn’t safe from his wrath.

“Y-Yeah.” is all Sanemi said and now Uzui’s head is spinning.

Did Shinazugawa Sanemi stutter?

Was the Shinazuawa Sanemi flustered?

A knowing smirk forms on the older man's lips and now he’s pondering on all the ways he could bring up this moment to never let the wind Hashira live this down.

“Don’t say shit to me.” Sanemi hisses to Uzui when you sprint away, declaring that you were going to gather your belongings before leaving Uzui’s estate with him.

Tengen cackles loudly.

“I haven’t been to Asakusa in years.” you say to Sanemi. “Do you frequent here on your missions?” Sanemi nods, tying his yukata to hide his sword. “Similar to today. A few of us are patrolling the grounds to assure there aren't any demon attacks tonight.”

There was a festival today, after all. Sumidagawa firework festivals were one of your favorites to witness. You recall being on your fathers shoulders as you watch the colorful firework display. That was many moons ago, and now as Sanemi and you stroll through the streets of Asakusa, you are feeling nostalgic.

“Do you think a demon will attack tonight?” you asked Sanemi. You hoped they didn’t - the sight of innocent families and couples litter the streets of Asakusa and that would ultimately be ruined by such demonic attacks.

“Possibly not out in the open, no.” Sanemi responds. “But we can’t be off our guard, either. We have slayers to assure no one wanders away from the main road.” Sanemi recalls the story of Tanjiro coming face to face with Muzan right in Asakusa - he’s certain that Muzan would allow himself not to be shown again.

Your head lowers slightly.

“The fireworks should be starting soon.” Sanemi notes. “I’m going to patrol the south of Asakusa. Stay here, I’ll be back shortly.” he stops walking to face you and you slowly nod your head. “Something on your mind?”

You shake your head, not wanting to bother Sanemi with your useless thoughts.

Sanemi doesn’t say another word before turning away. Your eyes follow his figure until he fades into the crowd and only then did you bother to look up into the dark sky at the fireworks beginning. All you could think about was watching the fireworks with him.

“Where’s your girl?” asked Uzui as Sanemi strolls past. “I got eyes on the south of Asakusa.”

Sanemi scowls. “I’ll go east.”

“East is taken by Iguro and Kanroji.” Uzui furrows a brow. “I spotted Tomioka and Kocho going west not too long ago.”

Sanemi stops in his tracks.

“There won’t be any attacks tonight.” Uzui is certain. “Not with this many hashira present.”

Uzui scours the crowd around him. “Don’t tell me you left your girl all alone?”

Sanemi’s eyes glare at Uzui, but the taller man isn’t fazed.

Uzui crosses his arms. “To think she got all dressed up….” he shakes his head. “I wouldn’t have left such a flashy beauty-”

“Shut up!” Sanemi hisses and now he’s heading back north where he told you to remain.

Uzui hums. He enjoys teasing Shinazugawa until his eyes are even more crazed and his cheeks are a dusty crimson color. It only affects him when he mentions you - so much so now that Sanemi would rather flee the scene than to fight him like he’d usually do.

Sanemi slows his pace when he reaches closer to you. He takes in the sight of you - kimono wrapped tightly around your frame.It was black and silk and he notes the stitching of pink sakura leaves.

The light of the fireworks are illuminating upon your skin, casting down a colorful hue. There’s a faint grin upon your lips - covered in gloss, it does not go unnoticed by him.

You do not notice Sanemi until he’s right next to you. You turn to smile at him but don’t manage to. “Is…everything okay?”

Sanemi doesn’t respond and now you’re worried. “Sanemi-”

“Are you having fun?”

You’re taken aback by his question. “Yes.” you tell him. “It’s so beautiful!”

Your eyes turn back to the firework display in the sky, but Sanemi’s eyes remain on you. Beautiful.

You were beautiful.

Sanemi’s heart jumps at the sight of you - was he sick? He was sure he was starting to feel ill. Maybe he’d have to visit Kocho when they met up later and see if she had any medication on hand.

The firework display goes on for another half an hour until it’s done. The night sky is filled with smoke and the surrounding people are all chatting amongst themselves. Those with families are scurrying off with their fussy children. You recall when you were once a fussy child begging your parents to stay longer.

Meeting the rest of the Hashira wasn’t something you’d thought you’d do. Meeting two was an honor - but all? Your heart jumps at the sight before you. You had accompanied Sanemi to a dinner the Hashira were having to celebrate a successful night free of demons.

Mitsuri was the first Hashira you were introduced to. She introduced herself mostly and then the rest of the Hashira to you in order in which they were seated - Iguro, Rengoku, Kocho, Tomioka, Himejima and Tokito. The sight of a young boy catches you off guard, but he doesn’t appear to be bothered with anything around him besides staring off into space.

Since you weren’t much of a drinker, you opted in eating more food with Mitsuri while those who did drink mingled with one another.

“Why aren’t you drinking?” Uzui asks, lifting his own shot glass and takes a swig.

Sanemi wasn’t a drinker.

“Can’t handle it?” Tengen chuckles mockingly. “Fight all those demons just to be scared of a little alcohol?”

Sanemi’s hands grasp the glass from Uzui’s hand after he fills it with another shot. He down said alcohol effortlessly.

“Well well,” Uzui cackles aloud. “Look at the big shot.”

As the night dragged further on, you noticed that most of the Hashira were beginning to bid their farewell. Shinobu and Giyu were the first to leave, Giyu suddenly standing and an annoyed Shinobu trailing after him. Gyomei and Muichiro followed soon after, the younger boy not saying a word while Gyomei wished everyone a good night. Obanai stood only when he noticed Mitsuri did so, bidding you a goodbye and claiming that she wished to see you soon. Kyojuro watches with amusement as Tengan and Sanemi appear to be in a fierce drinking battle, both men refusing to back down.

“Excuse me.” you announce lowly, standing from your cushioned spot.

Uzui’s eyes follow you to the restroom before turning back to a fuming Sanemi. A knowing smirk forms onto his lips and Kyojuro is sure that he was going to have to break up whatever fight would break out.

“Y/N-chan is beautiful.” Tengen says, downing another shot. “Such a flashy kimono she’s wearing. Right, Kyo?”

Kyojuro’s head stirred with the question, but he nodded his head nonetheless. “Yes. Y/N-chan does look beautiful tonight!”

“I-”

“Shut up!” Sanemi doesn’t want to hear anything else Tengen has to say.

“Such an un-flamboyant response.” Tengen shrugs. “I believe she smells nice, too. Like…lavender. Maybe Jasmine.”

Kyojuro watches the way Sanemi’s hands clench the shot glass as he chugs it down.

“Why you smellin’ her?!” Sanemi hisses, eyes glaring daggers at the Sound Hashira. “Fucking pervert.” he murmurs to himself.

Tengan enjoyed being an agent of chaos, so much so that he thought ahead of time. Just as you were returning to the table, Uzui stood. “We have an early start back to headquarters tomorrow,” he announces. “We should be going to bed.”

Kyojuro also stands and wraps an arm around Tengan.

“Oyakata-sama covered the rooms for us tonight.” Kyojuro says back to you and Sanemi. “Tomorrow we’ll be heading out, so please get enough rest!”

Sanemi doesn’t say a word, just stands. His body sways a little and you’re surprised to see him stumbling. “Are you alright, Sanemi?” you asked with caution. “You’re-”

“I’m fine.”

But Sanemi doesn’t appear fine. It takes another 20 minutes to get back to the inn that was provided for the Hashira and yourself.

“Shinazugawa.” Sanemi grumbles to the owner.

“That room was taken about 10 minutes ago.” the worker hums. “The only room we have left is for…Uzui Tengen.”

Sanemi’s fist clench and he bangs it against the counter. The owner yelps, eyes widening and he’s flinching away from the man. “That fucker took my room!”

“S-Sanemi!” you place your hands onto his bicep, attempting to stop his assault on the counter. “Let’s just takes Uzui’s room. It can’t be that bad.”

Sanemi’s skin is burning under your touch, but he doesn’t push your hands away.

It was bad, Sanemi knows it. Oyakata-sama knows of you and your situation and before Sanemi heads out for Asakusa with you, Oyakata assured that there will be two beds for you and Sanemi.

However, Tengen had planned this. He left in a hurry so he could get Sanemi’s room where one bed would be free while you and he took Uzui’s room - one king size bed sitting right in the middle of the room.

“I should bang that door down.” Sanemi grumbles lowly to himself, slamming the door shut behind him. “Drag his ass out of my room…castrate him while I got the chance and-”

“You can have the bed, Sanemi.”

Sanemi’s grumblings halt once he hears your voice.

“You’re a Hashira, after all.” your voice is soft and sweet, it does something to his heart once more. Sanemi has to see Kocho tomorrow morning for sure now.

Sanemi shakes his head, but soon regrets it. He was becoming dizzy and now he sits upon said bed. “I…you can take the bed.”

“Hm,” you hum. “We can share the bed. You can take the right and me the left.” you suggest and now Sanemi feels claustrophobic. He’s never shared a bed with a woman - not even the ones he was intimate with. They were nothing but stress relievers, after all.

But, Sanemi doesn’t deny. He loosens his yukata and falls onto the mountain of pillows. His eyes close and now you’re giggling to yourself. He was asleep already, the drinking fest (or competition) with Uzui took a toll on him.

You dim the lights and make your way around to your side of the bed. You, too, loosen your kimono and allow yourself underneath the covers. You cover Sanemi, who stirs slightly but doesn’t say anything.

Just as you feel yourself dozing off of consciousness, Sanemi’s voice catches your ear.

“Y/N.”

“Huh?” you turn your body around to face him. The window sat open across from the bed and the moon shines right through the window and onto Sanemi’s face.

“You smell nice.” Sanemi murmurs, swallowing thickly. His mind is swirling with the amount of alcohol in his system. “Like…lavender…and jasmine…” he inhales, nostrils blaring to catch your scent.

Your cheeks are hot at his compliment. Unknowingly, you scoot closer to him.

Sanemi allows his eyes to close for a mere second before opening them once more.

“Y/N.” he calls you again and now he’s slowly rising.

“Yes, San-”

Sanemi erupts in a fit of coughs. You rise from your position from the bed and come closer to help. “Do you need to throw up?” you asked with wide eyes.

Sanemi shakes his head. His coughing stopped but he can feel your hand upon his back, gently rubbing,

“You’re beautiful.” Sanemi murmurs so low that it’s inaudible to you.

“What, Sanemi?” you come closer attempting to hear his words and Sanemi feels even more intoxicated with your scent.

Sanemi is strong. Within a few seconds you’re beneath him in a tight embrace.His actions catch you off guard, but yet you do not feel frightened by his sudden action. Lilac eyes stared into your wide ones.

“Are you afraid of me?” Sanemi’s words are slurred.

You should be scared of him, he tells himself. He was a man that could hurt you - take advantage of you. How easily it was for him to do so even intoxicated proves that you would be frightened-

“No.”

Sanemi freezes. No?

“I don’t believe you’ll hurt me intentionally.” you continue.

Sanemi is stiff, your words replaying in his mind. You weren’t frightened of him - not of his appearance, not of his personality or demeanor.

Sanemi again feels the jump in his heart, reaching all the way down to his stomach to his abdomen. If he didn’t find a cure to whatever upcoming sickness he had, he’d surely fall out.

Sanemi buries his face into your breast - that had slightly spilled out when he embraced you suddenly. You do not move, unsure of what to do. Sanemi slowly rubs his face against your breast and when he’s done, he lays his head against them and releases a sigh.

“You’re beautiful, Y/N.” he murmurs just when his eyes feel heavy. “I think I’m sick.”

Sanemi felt warm all over, but he didn’t appear to be sick. His face is flushed and you’ve already concluded that it was the alcohol taking over.

“My heart…jumps when I’m with you. I think I’m dying.” he murmurs again. Your breathing hitches. “I can’t die…can’t leave Genya…” Sanemi’s babbling now and he doesn’t stop, not until his words become low gibberish and you note that his breathing evens out.

Your eyes snap open, body jolting awake. The sun was rising, the reddish hue shining through your window. Your body was now feeling as though you were being squeezed to death.

You were - being squeezed that was - by Sanemi. His eyes are snapped shut but you can hear the faint sounds of whimpering coming from his lips.

“Sanemi…?” you murmur, managing to get your arm out from his embrace. He was still asleep, you took note that he must be having a nightmare.

Your hand gently touches his hair, the white tresses feeling oddly soft at the touch. You recall the many times your older brother had comforted you from your own nightmares - gently rubbing your head and offering a soft hum.

The sight was truly something else. You would often accompany Sanemi when he was training other slayers (whenever he had the time) and harsh was an understatement. He was verbally abusive towards them, hurling out insults after insults. He’d beat them until they were a sobbing, puking mess - and that was just the light work.

His job as a Hashira left him oftentimes returning to his estate with new scars that you’d tend to - even if you insisted Aoi or anyone else at the butterfly mansion would be better suited.

A nightmare didn’t appear to be something someone like Sanemi dealt with - but having to risk your life fighting demons on the daily possibly took a toll on him. You never spoke with Sanemi about his own past or family - who was Genya? How and why did he become a part of the Corps? You felt like he knew so much of you and you didn’t know him at all.

You begin to hum softly while stroking Sanemi’s hair. Through time, Sanemi’s whimpering halted and his embrace became looser - yet you couldn’t leave it fully for he would just tighten it again. You remained stroking his hair until you yourself was dozing off, moments from losing consciousness.

Sanemi’s hums, his closed eyes twitching when an annoying light hit him. The sun was rising and the pounding in his head annoyed him to no end. He snuggles himself deeper into the pillows, inhaling the sweet scent…

Of lavender…and jasmine…maybe even vanilla?

Sanemi’s body stirs away before his eyes can open. He feels a movement below him.and only then did his head remove themselves from the soft pillows.

Just for them to not be pillows - but your breast.

The silk kimono you wore is clenched tightly into his hands - that had you locked in a tight embrace.

“Sanemi…” your voice is softer when you’re just waking. “...are you alright?”

Was he alright? How could you be thinking of him when you were being suffocated beneath him.

Sanemi lungs himself away from you as if you burned him. The loss of his warmth causes a shiver to run up your exposed skin.

“Did I hurt you?” Sanemi’s voice is deep and raspy - dry. His eyes are wide with shock.

Your face is warm by his words. “No. You just…passed out.” you giggle, unsure of what the man remembers or not. “...I couldn’t really move you myself.”

Sanemi inhales. “Why didn’t you…pull my hair or punch me?” he questions and now it’s your turn to give him wide eyes.

“Why would I do that?” you respond. “You were drunk and tired. I don’t mind it.”

Sanemi scratches his hair and swallows. He shakes his head. He didn’t have time for this - not now. He was a normal man with normal needs, but the last thing he needed was his pants to tighten, especially at the sight of your exposed skin.

“You were having a nightmare.” you sit up against the large bed. “I hope you are feeling well now.”

The soft touches of his hair and the sweet humming wasn’t a part of his dreams then.

Sanemi inhales once more.

“Maybe some tea would be good for you. Does your head hurt?”

Sanemi doesn’t get to respond before you’re getting up from the bed.

“I’ll go get you some.” you murmur, making your way into the bathroom to freshen up before leaving out of the bedroom all together.

Sanemi makes it his mission to take a cold shower while you’re out - anything to get the release of his swelling cock to go down. The water shocks him, but it doesn’t do anything. He curses at himself for allowing Uzui - that fucking Uzui - to get him drunk. He was even more pissed at himself for falling for the bait - but not only that, but to get so out of his mind that he woke up…

Sanemi decides to grip his cock tightly. His boner was never going to go down unless he did something about it. He closes his eyes, trying to think of anything but you. His arms begin to jerk and now he’s erratically pumping his cock. His closed eyes begin to think of the many women he’s been with in the past, but his mind keeps drifting back to you. He swears he can smell your scent surrounding him at this moment. He thinks of how soft your skin is - especially your breast. It causes his breath to hitch at the thought of his hands being able to-

Sanemi cums hard - so hard he’s twitching. “Fuck.” he hisses to himself. He was utterly fucked.

“We’ll be heading out soon!” Kyojuro says loudly to the surrounding demon slayers. “Please be prepared!”

The demon slayers all agree in unison.

“Ah, Y/N!” Kyojuro’s boisterous voice echoes off of the wall as you enter the main room of the inn. “Good morning!”

“Ah, good morning, Rengoku-san.” you offer a small smile. “Did you sleep well?”

“I slept great!” Kyojuro chuckles.

“How about you, Y/N? Did you and Shinazugawa sleep well?” Uzui asks, a knowing smirk on his lips.

“Her and Shinazugawa?” one slayer murmurs.

“The rumors are true?”

“Wait, what rumors?” “That Shinazugawa-sama has a girlfriend!”

“No way, that’s her?!” one slayer falls to his knees. “She’s so hot!”

“Yes, Uzui-san. We did.” you beam at him. “Your bed was quite large.”

“They slept in the same bed?!”

“How can she not be scared of that maniac?”

“I’m glad.” Uzui beams back. “Where is Shinazugawa?”

“Back in the room. I’ve come to make him some tea.” you respond. The inn provided breakfast, lunch and dinner that was complimentary. In the main room, various tea bags are displayed alongside a large tea kettle set on a low boiling temperature.

“Did you wake with a headache, Uzui-san? I can get you some tea, as well.”

Uzui follows you to the tea kettle where you make Sanemi’s tea. “I woke up just fine.” Uzui says. “You do look like you got just the right amount of sleep. Your face looks so hydrated.” Tengen was hoping he’d walk into you and Sanemi was sweaty with bed hair and maybe even bruises - but he’s glad nonetheless that you still looked flashy.

“No way Shinazugawa-san deserves her!” a slayer hisses. “That white hair maniac-”

The slayer feels the wind being knocked out of him. He falls to the ground before he can even finish his sentence.

Sanemi, eyes glaring deadly, pushes past the boy without a care. The room gets quiet and the slayers are far too frightened to even speak in front of the wind Hashira.

“Shinazugawa.” Uzui waves, but Sanemi’s looks can kill. “It looks like you woke up on the wrong side of the bed.” he jokes.

Sanemi wants to hurl insults - and punches - at the sound Hashira. He’s sporting a knowing smirk, eyes shining with mischief. Tengen knows what he’s done and he wants to rub it in the younger man's face. Sanemi was going to give him the reaction he was looking for.

“Sanemi!”

Then Sanemi hears your voice from behind Tengan. His eyes lower to you holding a cup of tea in your hands. You inch closer to him with a warm smile that has his shoulder faltering from their once tense state.

Kyojuro furrows his brows and grins.

Mitsuri watches from around the corner, her eyes widening and low to herself she’s giggling. “How cute!” she squeals and besides her, Obanai is leaning against the wall.

“I made you some tea for your headache.” you say to him, offering the tea to him.

Sanemi takes it in his hands, nodding. “Thanks.” he murmurs to you, ear tips red. He was going to give Uzui the shit talking he deserved - after he drank the tea you prepared for him.

You nod your head, content in watching him sip his tea.

“No way, how did she manage to relax him with tea?”

“Where did Shinazugawa-san find such a lovely girlfriend?”

Sanemi’s head slowly turned to the slayers behind him. He doesn’t have to say anything for them to scurry off.

“I hope it tastes good.”

Sanemi’s head snaps back in your direction. “It does.” he murmurs.

“I’m glad.” you give him a smile and he nearly chokes on his tea.

Tengen snickers.

“First!”

You lift your sword - an extra one given to you by Sanemi - and dash your body forward as fast as you could and slash your sword in a round, cyclone pattern. You do so until Sanemi speaks again.

“Third!”

Sanemi never did the forms in order. He stated that it was to keep you on your toes.

You swing your sword around just as Sanemi instructed you to once before. He stated this form was to protect yourself from incoming attacks.

“Second!”

You inhale, attempting to keep your breathing intact. You lift your sword upwards to the right and above your head. You release several vertical slashes at once.

“Stand down.”

You fall to your knees, breathing heavily. You were using pure will to keep going and to not disappoint Sanemi.Your head lifts to the sky, finding it to be late into the evening and soon the sun will be setting.

“That’s all for today.”

You’re covered in sweat. You wanted nothing more than a bath to release yourself from all the sweat and grime from training all day.

“I’ll bathe then begin dinner.” you say to Sanemi and stand on your feet.

“No need.” Sanemi says. “I’ll have the servants-”

“I insist!” you declare. You enjoyed cooking for Sanemi - it was a way for you to show your thanks and gratitude for allowing you to stay with him for a year now. You’d watch what the servants of the corps would make for the two of you and learn from there of his likes and dislikes.

Sanemi doesn’t respond and you take your leave. Your bath isn’t long but it leaves you refreshed. You tie your kimono around you loosely and prepare yourself to cook. You’ve gathered a few vegetables the day prior and left them outside in the basket. You hum to yourself as you go and achieve them towards the back.

You face crashes into something hard and you’re falling backwards just as you open the shoji doors. You fall flat on your ass, your kimono slightly unraveling. “Ow…” you huff, going to tie the kimono back into place.

Your eyes catch dark olive green trousers from where you stand, different from what Sanemi usually wears. Your eyes lift to the person - a tall one at that - until they noticed a purple yukata. It indeed was not Sanemi.

You stand to your feet and huff. You had to lift your head to face the person - a boy with a scar on his face. Your eyes widen slightly - he appeared to look like Sanemi (the scars and eyes gave it away).

“You…” you begin, coming closer to the boy. “...are so cute.” you beam at him - it causes his face to fully turn red. “You look so much like Sanemi. You must be Genya!”

Genya’s face and overall body is hot at your words. He’s embarrassed. He wasn’t expecting to find a woman at his brother's home, yet he recalls the rumors around the corps of his brother having a girlfriend.

“I-I…” Genya takes a step back.

“You must be hungry.” you say and grasp his hands into your own. Genya now stands straighter when he feels your hands. “Come, please!”

Even if Asakusa was nearly a year ago, you recall Sanemi’s drunken words of not wishing to die because of a Genya - you never asked around about such a person. You wished to wait for Sanemi to bring up this person when he was ready, but he never did.

You instructed Genya to sit at the table while you prepared the meal. He didn’t speak much while you cooked, but it was alright because you did most of the talking.

“Sanemi must still be bathing. He sure does enjoy that.” you ramble off as Genya sits completely still. “You sure are a big boy, Genya! So young and tall.” You ponder how tall your brother would be at his age in an alternate world where he didn’t die.

Once dinner is done - beef sukiyaki - you place a bowl down for Genya, Sanemi and yourself. You smile at him. “Go on. Eat.”

“T-Thank you.” Genya’s voice is a mere whisper. He does as he’s told, enjoying the wonderful taste. He’s unsure if he should be here without Sanemi knowing first, but he doesn’t want to disrespect you as his girlfriend.

Footsteps could be heard against the wooden floors and Sanemi entered. He’s dressed casually outside of his regular uniform and his hair is wet. His eyes are soft when he enters and smells the food, but they harden once his eyes catch sight of Genya.

“Sanemi, dinner is-”

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

You’re taken aback by Sanemi’s tone. You can feel the tension radiating from both males - brothers.

“Aniki, I-”

“Get out.”

“Sanemi…” you stand to your feet as does Genya. You’re shocked by his harsh tone towards the younger boy.

“You are not a brother of mine.” Sanemi spits.

“Aniki. I only came to apologize-”

“Take your apology and leave.” Sanemi turns away, his appetite ruined. “You should leave the corps all together. You’re a weakling who cannot even use breaths. You’re going to die..”

Sanemi goes to walk away and your heart breaks at the harshness of his tone.

“Aniki-”

Sanemi strikes - you note - but you’re already interfering in his attack. You place yourself in front of Genya and push him away, your body shielding him from whatever attack Sanemi was attempting to do.

You do, however, feel hands on your back which you assume was supposed to be meant for Genya.

“Y/N!”

You fall in front of a stunned Genya. “Are you alright?” you ask the young boy who only nods. He’s convinced you were crazy to get in front of an attack from Sanemi - a Hashira at that.

Your head turns back to Sanemi. His eyes are wide with shock.

“I can sense your intent was to truly hurt him.” you murmur to Sanemi, voice low and lace with…disappointment? The jump is happening in his heart again, Sanemi notes. It’s different now - it causes his muscles to tighten and his heart to ache. “I won’t allow you to do that.”

Genya gasps at your words.

“What he and I have is none of your concern.” Sanemi mumbles. The look you’re giving him is a look he’s never witnessed from you before. You never looked at him with such disdain - such disgust.

“It may not be.” you say. You stand to your feet, offering Genya a hand that he hesitantly takes. “But I won’t allow you to attack your brother in my presence.”

You turn back to Genya and give a sad smile. You were at fault for inviting him into Sanemi’s home and later, you would apologize. You do not know what both brothers are dealing with and in due time, you wish to understand. As of now, you need to get Genya away.

“I can walk you back to your home.” you say to Genya.

Sanemi’s eyes follow you and Genya until you’re completely out of sight.

The walk was quiet and peaceful. The sun is setting and the cicadas are buzzing louder.

“I’m sorry for causing trouble.”

Genya is the first to speak.

“No trouble at all.” you smile his way. “I’m the one that should have not interfered.”

Genya gulps. Another ten minutes of silence falls before he stops in his tracks.

“I don’t want you to see Aniki in a different light.”

Your head tilts at Genya. His cheeks are a dusty red as he speaks.

“I know he tried to hurt me and all but it’s not his fault! He…I’m the one who blamed him for killing our mother. He did it to protect me.”

Your blood runs cold at Genya’s words.

“If I would’ve known she was a demon then I…I wouldn’t have said those things to him…”

Genya falls to his knees, pain erupting through his chest. He hates to appear vulnerable in front of others, but he cannot bear his brother for hating him more if he lost you as a partner.

Genya feels hands in his hair and his body stiffens.

“It’s not your fault.” you say to him, gently rubbing his hair. “Sanemi doesn’t hate you, Genya.”

Genya’s head snaps up to look at you, eyes blurry.

“I sense no hatred from Sanemi.” you say to him, kneeling down to his level. “Can I tell you a secret?”

Genya nods hesitantly.

“He told me he wants to stay alive to protect you.” your voice is so low that it barely registers in Genya’s ear. “I know Sanemi loves you. He just…” your mind flashes to Sanemi’s attempt to attack Genya. “...has a hard time showing it.” you say. Sanemi will still be the same who held you so tight while he was drunk, claiming that you were beautiful and he needed to be alive for Genya.

Genya’s head hung. “Thank you, Y/N.” he says. “I can walk the rest of the way. Please talk to Aniki.”

You watch fondly as Genya stands and bows to you. He looked so much like Sanemi in his own way that it makes you simper at him.

You do as you’re told, following the path back to the Wind Hashira’s mansion. You find it silent, everything where you left it.

Maybe he doesn’t wish to talk, you say to yourself. You decided to eat alone and head to bed, leaving Sanemi’s food on the table in case he’d want to eat it later.

Sanemi wasn’t a drinker.

Whenever Sanemi drank, it reminded him of his father. The man was nothing but a drunk who’d come home and often beat his children and wife - even if he didn’t need to be drunk to do so.

Sanemi recalls the many times in which he had fought his own father to ensure that his rampage didn’t go too far. He didn’t care what bruises, black eyes or cut lips were left behind as long as his siblings and mother were safe.

But Sanemi failed, he thinks. He couldn’t save his mother from turning into a demon.Hiroshi, Teiko, Sumi, Shuya, Koto…he couldn’t save any of them. Not even Genya, as pathetic as it was. Genya remains a part of the Corps and his life is threatened when he goes on missions - no matter how many times Sanemi tries to get him to leave, he doesn’t.

The sky is dark and starless when Sanemi returns home. His vision is hazy and his head is spinning. He can hear it, the sword hitting against the tatami mats. You were still awake instead of being asleep like you should be.

You slice against the tatami mats roughly and with ease, eyes focusing on them.

You gave up on trying to sleep. The first hour consisted of you tossing and turning. You got up to check and see if Sanemi had arrived yet, and once finding his food cold and untouched, you decided to wait for him. You gave up on the third hour mark and decided that if you weren’t going to sleep that you’d mind as well be training.

“Why are you awake?”

You’re startled by the sudden voice joining you. “S-Sanemi.”

Sanemi’s swaying slightly and his eyes are low. “Have you been drinking?” you ask, but you’re aware of the answer.

“Why…are you awake?”

Sanemi’s words slur slightly.

“Couldn’t sleep.” you respond. “Are you hungry? I-”

Sanemi unsheathes his sword and points it at you.

You stop in your tracks.

“Come at me.” Sanemi commands.

You gulp. “No.”

“Come…at…me…” Sanemi says through gritted teeth. “I won’t ask you again, tsuguko.”

Your heart is pumping outside your chest. You’re trembling but you do as you’re told.

Sanemi pushed himself to the side before you had the chance to connect your hit - even if that wasn’t what you wanted. “Weak. Try again.”

You inhale deeply. You swing your sword once more and again and again and again. With each swing of your sword, the Hashira easily dodged or parried your attack.

“You think you’re going to go to Final Selection with skills like this?” Sanemi spats. His words are harsh and your mind is unsure why he’s like this. Was it the alcohol?

You swing your sword and just when you’re sure it would connect with his own sword, Sanemi dodges and the opposite side of his sword hits your side. It doesn’t slice you, of course, but it sends you tumbling.

“Stand up.” Sanemi demands, inches away from you.

“I don’t want-”

“Stand up!” Sanemi suddenly roars. It echoes off of the trees of the night. “No demon will allow you grace!”

You drop your sword at his feet. You weren’t sparring with him any longer. He wasn’t in his right mind now.

“I’m leaving-”

Sanemi’s hand, rough and calloused, cups your jaw tightly. It causes you to yelp and you’re caught off guard. He’s kneeling down in front of you with wild eyes. “No demon is going to allow you to walk away.” he spits. “Do you think that husband of yours would’ve allowed you to run away if you were with him?”

Your hands push at his chest, but he doesn’t move.

“Do you think he would’ve stopped fucking you because you told him no?”

Sanemi only comes closer. His breath is thick with alcohol and for the first time, you question if he’d cause you any harm.

“Pick up your sword and fight me as if I’m a demon.” Sanemi’s grip on your jaw tightens. The sane part of him screams at him to stop - that he’s hurting you. “Fight me as if I’m the husband your father sold you to.”

You’re now punching at his chest to get him away from you, but Sanemi’s stronger. He’s solid.

“If I allow you to go to Final Selection, you’re going to die.” Sanemi’s sane mind hates himself now for how he’s speaking to you, but the alcohol in his system is angered; at himself more than anything.

Sanemi couldn’t save his mother or his siblings.

Sanemi couldn’t save Genya from joining the Demon Slayer Corps.

Sanemi couldn’t even save his friend - Masachika died alongside the demon they slain.

Sanemi’s certain how his heart would crumble if you didn’t make it through Final Selection - that you would be another person he couldn’t save.

Sanemi’s words hurt to hear. Had he no faith in you? You’ve trained hard everyday. Uzui’s training left you sore for weeks on end, but you never stopped. You even decided to ask Mitsuri for help whenever she was free. How you managed to spar with Muichiro, you were unsure yourself. His crow berated you for even attempting to go near him, but you did so regardless because you wanted to become stronger.

You wanted to make Sanemi proud; that his time in saving you wasn’t a complete waste.

Sane Sanemi is going to hate himself when he regains complete control once more. He doesn’t like to look of disdain in your eyes when both of his hands yank your hair.

You’re beautiful, Sanemi notes, even when there's tears blurring your vision.

“I won’t fight you…like you’re a demon or that man…” you gritted out, shoulders faltering and now you’re sobbing. “You’re not like them.”

Sanemi’s eyes widened. He pushes you onto your back roughly and his hands grip your kimono stash.

You don’t question him but your body trembles when he yanks your kimono apart. You’re not naked beneath it, but you were expecting to go to bed before training so what you do have is limited.

“Make me stop.” Sanemi hisses. He leans closer to you, eyes not leaving yours. “A demon is going to kill you as they please. That husband of yours,” Sanemi leans closer so that his body fully traps yours beneath his. “would take you as he pleases.”

“Then take me.”

Then take me.

Then take you?

Sanemi’s head spins.

“You are no demon nor are you the man I was sold to.” you speak, voice weak and low. “I’m not afraid of you, Sanemi. I sense even now that you won’t hurt me.”

Sanemi pushes himself away from you as if you burned him. He turns his head away as you fix your kimono.

“You…” Sanemi speaks after a moment. You both sat upon the ground and neither of you moved from your spot. “...remind me of my mother.”

You don’t say anything. This was the first time Sanemi was speaking of his past.

“She would protect us from our fathers wrath.” Sanemi scoffs. “When you jumped in front of my attack on Genya…you reminded me of my mother. In that moment, I knew in his eyes that I resembled our father.”

You flinch upon hearing Sanemi crash upon the ground. His eyes are closed and you pondered if he passed out.

“You’re so kind, Y/N. Kind and beautiful.” Sanemi rambles, repeating the same words over and over again. “I feel it again. The jolt in my heart.” Sanemi holds his chest and sucks his teeth. “Aoi said that there’s nothing wrong with my heart. Little brat was laughing at me when I told her my symptoms.”

You find yourself smiling at the wind Hashira. Were men always this dumb?

“We should get you to bed.” you tell him.

“No.” Sanemi responds far too fast.

“Why not?” Sanemi doesn’t want to tell you it’s because you won’t be coming with him. Instead he releases a grumble. “Don’t feel like it.”

You decide to lay beside him, back against the hard ground and eyes up at the starless sky.

“Final selection is in a few weeks.” you say.

“I know.”

You lick your lips. “I’m going to come back alive.”

I hope so, Sanemi thinks, but he says, “I know.”

Your head turns to look at him. His eyes are closed and now his breathing is slowed.

Sanemi’s eyes stirred awake when he felt his face being touched. You’re tracing the scar that stretches from his cheek to his nose. He feels it again, the jolt in his heart.

Part 2 | Final

#sanemi smut #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #sanemi x reader #sanemi-whore #shinazugawa x reader #demon slayer smut #kimetsu no yaiba smut #kny sanemi #afab reader #cruel world #arranged marriage #sanemi shinazugawa #Taisho era #taisho era secrets

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from-the-clouds · 1 year

Text

savior complex - joel miller x f!reader

masterlist | song inspo | gif: @joelmjller

All the skeletons that you hide Show me yours, I'll show you mine

summary: Joel shows up at your doorstep, battered and bruised. Despite the bad blood between you, do you have the heart to turn him away? Enemies to lovers. Takes place pre-television series/game. Was written as a companion piece/prequel to my other joel fic, but can be read on it's own. pairing: joel miller x f!reader words: 7k warnings: SMUT - 18+ ONLY, minors DNI. porn w/ plot, unprotected sex, dirty talk, implied age gap. Enemies to lovers. Heavy angst, multiple POVs, implied drug abuse, alcohol use, implied death of a family member, canon-typical suffering! Descriptions of injuries, blood, stitches (please dm for specifics if you have any questions). a/n: I haven't seen the enemies to lovers trope written for joel yet, and I'm also obsessed with the trope of a character showing up at their enemies house because they don't have any place to go. So maybe this is a little self-indulgent. Special shoutout to @ay0nha for letting me talk to you about this fic! Please enjoy, I'm really proud of/excited about this one. ♥

“What do you want?”

The ice in your own voice comes as a surprise. You weren’t sure you were even capable of sounding so cold, but it’s probably a good skill to have nowadays. Plus, he’s probably the last person you expect to see, and certainly the last person you want to see standing in your doorway.

“I need your help,” he says.

You snort, lips pressing together in a bitter smile. “Uh-huh.”

It’s so dark in the hallway, you can barely see his face, but you can imagine what Joel might look like, lines etched in his face from the permanent frown he’s always wearing, particularly when dealing with you. You’ve known him a handful of years, here and there, and you’re pretty sure you’ve never seen him smile….or laugh…or display any emotion other than irritation, or indifference.

The breeze from your open window shifts your curtains to the side, lets a sliver of light from the full moon pan over him, and you can see him clearly, just for a second.

He’s covered in blood.

It’s hard to see exactly how much, but it’s all over his face, his shirt, and accompanied by dirt and grime. One of his hands hangs limp at his side, his opposite clenched into a tight fist. The breeze dies down, the curtain falls back into place, and he’s cast once more in shadow.

Crossing your arms, you lean against the doorframe. Anyone else, you’d help without question. At one point, you would’ve let him in willingly. But it had been months since you’d last spoken, and you had no intentions of ever seeing him again.

“Why should I help you?”

He lowers his eyes, looks at the floor. When he answers, his voice is strained.

“Because I have nowhere else to go.”

The more your eyes adjust in the dim light, the more you can see. Tattered clothes, rain dripping from the tips of his salt-and-pepper curls, his eyes dull. You wonder if he’s trying to make himself look like a kicked puppy, petulant and pathetic, but it doesn’t really seem like something Joel would do.

“Please?”

He’s in pain, you can read it on his face, and you wonder if it’s because of his injuries, or because of how horrible it must be for him to beg you for help. Historically, it’s always been you in his place, needing something – and if it didn’t serve his interests, he’d leave you in the dust. Joel never made exceptions, no matter the circumstances, despite how long you’d known one another. With that to consider, you have every right to turn him away. You should feel satisfied, seeing him so desperate. You wished you could feel satisfied, but you didn’t.

“Fine.” You let him in. What is it about him that always makes you cave?

Pulling a chair away from your small kitchen table, he staggers behind you, favoring his right foot, bracing himself on any surface he walks past – the doorframe, the countertop, the table, until he finally lowers himself into the chair.

You cross the room. It takes most of your bodyweight to shift the couch in the corner of the room away from the vent behind it, and you kneel down. Air conditioning and heat are a thing of the past, but it’s got other purposes now. Using a blade of the knife you always keep handy, you’rable to pry the metal grate away from the wall, to pull out a tin tackle box that you haven’t had to touch in awhile.

Joel’s still at the table when you return to him, breathing labored, and you flick on the lights. He blinks, his eyes are on you, you can feel the way his body is pinched with nervous energy – like a starving feral cat that’s been trapped in a cage, and still can’t decide if it trusts you yet. As if you’d ever done anything to hurt him. If anything, you should be scared.

“Alright,” you say. “Let me take a look at you.”

His eyes have shifted away from your face, but, too proud to cast them down, he’s glaring at some fixed point behind you, glazing over. He doesn’t want to register what is actually going on. It doesn’t stop you from the task at hand, and you begin to take inventory of his injuries.

“So what happened?” you ask. He’s got a black eye forming, several small cuts all over his face, one of which is slicing through his bottom lip, causing it to swell.

“It’s none of your business,” he quips.

“It’s precisely my business, if you want me to be able to actually help you.”

“A deal went wrong,” he said. “I was in someone else’s territory. They said rather than turning me into FEDRA, they’d let me off easy.”

“This is being let off easy?” you ask, then cluck your tongue.

Joel doesn’t answer.

“And that?” you eye the bump forming on his opposite temple.

“It’s nothing,” he says, even though, when you graze a thumb over it, he swallows hard.

“You’re gonna need to be more specific.”

“Got uh, shoved into a brick wall.”

You slide two fingers underneath his chin, using light pressure to tilt his face towards you. “Look at me.” When you’re staring at him like this, studying him closely, you’re forced to acknowledge how handsome he is. Even battered and bruised, it’s the dark, sad eyes, sharp jawline, long lashes that draw you in. He’s hardened by the world he’s been surviving in for twenty years, like everyone is, but he wears it well. You’d never tell him that.

“Any blurry vision, dizziness?” You aim your flashlight in his eyes, and his pupils constrict.

“No,” he says. You study him a moment more, and know what to look for. But you don’t find anything of concern.

“Well, I don’t think you have a concussion,” you say. “But I’ll keep an eye on it…..What else happened?”

“Got me with a knife.” That is what you’ve been the most concerned with since he’s stepped inside. There’s a dark stain blooming on his shirt, just below his left ribcage

“I see,” you say, stepping back. “Take your shirt off.” You open the tin that you left on the table.

It’s full of medical supplies, ones you’d pocketed from the QZ hospital the last few years working there. It’s not easy to sneak them out, nor is it entirely ethical, but you’ve gotten pretty good at it, and now have a decent sized stash built up in case of any emergencies. You’re still deciding if Joel Miller’s well-being is worth the waste of supplies it’s going to be.

When you turn back to him, he has unbuttoned his shirt, but is struggling to shrug it off his right shoulder, where his arm hangs limp at his side.

“I….” he manages….”I can’t move my arm.”

“Sit up,” you instruct, and he does, which gives you room to slide the rest of his shirt off his shoulder. You immediately notice the obvious deformity. “Looks dislocated.”

He nods, looking at the floor. “I was trying to defend myself.”

The idea of him, outnumbered and outmaneuvered, a position he’s so rarely in, is unpleasant. He might be an asshole, but because of it, he always comes out on top. There’s something almost comforting about that kind of consistency these days, and it’s tough to stomach the idea that he doesn’t have superpowers, he’s just another person. You’re not sure why you still hold him in such high regard.

You can’t dwell on it. Especially because what’s more pressing is the cut below his ribs, a few inches in length. It’s still bleeding, but not severely. It’s not a stab wound either, even though it’s deeper than you’d expected, but there’s no internal organ damage.

You take a clean cloth and place it over the wound, guiding his left hand overtop it. “You’ll need stitches.” You slide your hand from underneath his, ignoring the warm weight of his touch. “But we need to stop the bleeding. Apply pressure.” He does, and winces.

“You don’t have anything for the pain?” you ask, raising your eyebrow.

“Front pocket of my shirt,” he says. You fish out a pill. Oxys. You’re not sure how strong they are, and you don’t want to encourage the habit, but this might be a case where he actually needs one.

There’s a glass of water already sitting on the table, and you grab it, standing over him. Neither of his arms are free to accept the offering.

“Open up.”

He glowers at you like a defiant child.

“Are you serious?” you tilt your head. “Come on.”

Reluctantly, he opens his mouth, and you tilt your hand to drop the pill in and lift the glass of water to his lips.

When you’re done with that, it’s time to work on his shoulder. You had done this a few times before, even once to your mother, who had also been a doctor. Med schools didn’t exist anymore, but you didn’t need a degree now to provide care, at least not in this QZ…just experience. And your mother had taught you everything she knew. Before your part of town fell to the virus, she’d even had you reading her old textbooks. So you felt like you were only missing the degree.

You pull up a chair to face him, so close it’s touching the corner of his own, and sit, carefully taking his injured arm and bending it upwards with one of your thumbs in the crease of his elbow, your opposite hand wrapped around his wrist until his forearm is resting against your chest.

It’s way more intimate than you want it to be, but you don’t have much of a choice. His jaw is set so hard you think he might crack a tooth. “So sometimes, if you relax your muscles enough, you can actually get the shoulder back into place that way.”

You release his wrist and reach out to knead the muscles around the problem area - his chest, his shoulder, in between his shoulder blades. He tilts his head back in the chair, his face pinched.

“It’s okay,” you say softly. “Just don’t hold your breath, that makes it worse.”

Joel hates this, you can tell. How often does he have to rely on someone so much to help him, that he lets them touch you like you are, lets them see him vulnerable?

As much as you can, you avoid eye contact, looking down. You didn’t need to see him shirtless before to know that he’s muscular – not perfectly cut, but that isn’t really your thing, anyways. He looks good enough that your eyes are being drawn to places they shouldn’t be, down his torso to the v-lines dipping into the waistband of his jeans. He clears his throat, and you turn to find him watching you. You hope he can’t feel the way your heart is hammering against the back of his hand.

It’s been a few minutes that you’re trying to get him to relax, but he can’t seem to. You should’ve known that this method wasn’t going to work for him of all people.

“Okay, I’m just going to try to move your arm a bit, see if that’ll work instead.”

He nods.

“Just keep breathing,” you instruct. “In through your nose, out through your mouth.” you slowly guide his elbow forward, still keeping traction.

He hisses. “Relax,” you soothe. It’s hard, despite the bad blood between you, to resist the urge to be warm, gentle. To reassure. It’s in your nature, it’s part of your job.

Eventually, and with a little patience, you’re able to get the joint to move back into place, and you check to be sure Joel is able to move it on his own. He can, even though it’s sore. You fashion him a sling made out of an ace bandage.

“You’re probably gonna be a little sore for a while, so take it easy.” It’s probably a useless instruction to give because you know he won’t take it easy.

He has a sprained ankle, and you wrap it up, elevate it. There’s a near-perfect footprint left behind in dirt on the skin there. Like someone had stomped on his leg hoping to break it. You’re glad they failed.

Next is the stitches. There’s a few cuts on his body that need one or two, but you start with the big one. The wound has stopped bleeding, so you disinfect it, pull out your tools, and begin working, bent over him. Every time the needle pierces his skin, he tenses. You wonder if the one oxy was enough, or if it hardly touched the pain because he’s using them so often.

The entire time you’re treating him, you’re trying to be as clinical as possible. You’ve got to focus because if you think too much about him, you think about the last interaction you shared, and how pathetic you’d been. And the fact that he’d thought to come to you of all people for this makes your head spin. It’s not supposed to. You aren’t supposed to feel these things for him. You aren’t supposed to owe him anything.

Joel’s fist curls so tightly into itself that his knuckles turn white, fingernails leaving crescents in the skin of his palms. “Kind of feels like you’re making this as painful as possible.”

You smirk slightly. “Don’t give me any ideas.”

He sniffs, and you glance up to see him looking down at you, the ice that had been in his gaze before has thawed.

You squint at him, try to act indifferent, and turn your attention back to the stitches. “Don’t worry, I’m almost done.”

“Thank fucking-”

“Shhh, you’re distracting me.”

His hand relaxes slightly as you keep working, slow and methodical, silence casting like a spell.

“Why me?” you ask, finally.

“What?”

“Why did you come here? To me?” you pause. “It’s been forever. You’ve got Tess, right? Couldn’t she help you?”

Joel rubs his aching shoulder. “I didn’t want to scare her,” he answers. “And…I know you’re used to handling this kind of thing.”

“Uh-huh,” you say. “I am.”

One of you should probably acknowledge what had happened. But it won’t be me, you think.

“There,” you tie off the last stitch, and cover the wound with some gauze and a waterproof bandage. “You’ll probably need antibiotics. I’ll try to snag some from the hospital tomorrow.”

Once you’ve fixed the most pressing issues, you focus on cleaning all the cuts and bruises on his face, his torso, cleaning and wrapping his bloodied knuckles. It’s probably been at least two hours since he arrived when you finally draw away from him, your surgical gloves snapping as you pull them inside-out, and off your hands, discarding them on the table, which is now littered with bloodied gauze, bandage wrappers, and medical supplies. You wish you had more ice packs than just the one for his shoulder and ankle, since he could use them just about everywhere, but it’ll have to do.

“Could use a drink after all that,” Joel says, looking at his hands, flexing his fingers.

“Don’t push it,” you answer, scraping the mess off your kitchen table into a bin. It dawns on you that you do have a half-empty bottle of bourbon sitting in your cabinet that’s surprisingly good. “But now that you mention it….”

He snorts, the closest thing to a laugh you’ve ever heard.

You pour a few fingers of whiskey into two glasses, sliding one across the table to him. Neither of you clink glasses, but you do eye each other over the rims of your cups as you take the drink in one go.

Joel places his empty on the table. “I should get out of here.”

“In your shape, it might be better to wait for light.” As much as he won’t admit it, you know he’s still weak, not in his right mind, and vulnerable to any FEDRA agents working the streets. “But I have to sleep, I’ve got work in the morning.”

Surprisingly, he doesn’t fight you.

You curl yourself up on the couch, that is old and worn but still surprisingly comfortable. Joel sits at the table awhile more, and has one more drink. After all the activity of the night, you’re out within minutes.

Joel drags himself over to the bed, which you’d never offered him directly, but he assumed to take since you were on the couch. He doesn’t think he’ll sleep, but he can’t sit upright in your uncomfortable kitchen chair anymore. Every part of his body aches. Your bed is in the corner, neatly made, even though it’s just threadbare sheets and a blanket. His never is, and he finds it ridiculous you must waste the time at the beginning of your day for something like that.

He sprawls across it, surprised at its comfort. A breeze coming through the open window drifts your curtains to the side, and he catches a glimpse of the full moon. Between the liquor, and the pills, the pain has subsided enough that he’s able to relax a little. The sun will be up soon. He just has to wait…

— — — — — —

The next thing Joel hears is your voice, muffled by the buffer of your front door. He looks at the clock next to your bed, it’s early in the evening. The sunlight trickling through the gaps of your curtains is golden, a slanting orange glow in the corner of the room. The window is closed. Fuck. Did he really sleep all day? He uses his good arm to shield his eyes from the offending light before stretching.

Sheets on top of him rustle, he must have climbed under them at some point the night before.

It feels like he’s been hit by a freight train, and he groans. Pain drips through him, settles in his shoulder, his side, his head. His mouth is dry, and he sees a full glass of water next to him, two white pills. He couldn’t remember you leaving that morning, but it had to have been you who left them there. Who else would it have been? Without thinking, he indulges.

There’s a note scrawled on a scrap of paper underneath the pills. He picks it up with his free arm, the other one still wrapped in a sling.

– Take pain meds

– Ice shoulder, eye, temple, ankle

– Change dressing

– LEAVE

The last word is underlined twice. He exhales, letting his head drop back against the pillows, until it snaps to attention….you’re still outside, but your voice has gotten louder, more animated. You’re talking to someone….no…..you’re raising your voice at someone. He can’t make it out through the door, and for all the bad things he could say based on the nature of your relationship, he knows that you don’t often lose your temper.

‘I think you should leave,’ he catches the end of what you’re saying and is immediately jolted out of the fog of discomfort, leaving your note on the bedside table.

He’s crosses the room, ignoring the protest of pain from his ankle, hears a man’s voice respond, but just a snippet – ‘stupid fucking bitch’ – and he’s throwing open the door, nearly trampling you, since you’re pressed against the threshold with your arms around your backpack, eyes wide.

When Joel follows your gaze, he spots a man about your age standing a few feet away, chest puffed out and chin up.

“Joel,” you say, and he’s taken aback by your tone – relief. He’s never heard you say his name like that. Somewhere, in a small part of his brain he doesn’t want to acknowledge, he thinks he might like to hear you say it again.

“You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend,” the guy tilts his head back to look up at Joel, giving him a once over, and steps backward in consideration.

Instead of correcting him, you say nothing.

“What’s going on here?” Joel asks, and you lower your arms, move your shoulders back, standing up straighter as you turn to look at him.

“Ben was just leaving,” you say.

“Sounds like a good idea,” Joel answers. His hand instinctively comes to rest on your shoulder – reverent, protective. He knows he’s in no shape to get into a fight right now, but he’s significantly larger than the other man, and figures that alone will be enough of a deterrent.

Ben notices, and nose curls into a snarl, rolling his eyes. “Fine, whatever. He’s like…old enough to be your dad,” he mumbles under his breath.

You don’t answer, just stare with contempt as he retreats down the hallway. Once Ben has turned the corner, you step into your place, Joel’s hand falling from your shoulder.

“Who was that?”

“Just some guy from work,” you say, sounding uninterested, dropping your backpack onto your kitchen table.

“How often does he–?”

“Let’s not get into it,” you shake your head as you pull open the curtains, sunlight casting warmth all over the room, specks of dust glittering in the air. But he wants to know more. He’s tried to ignore all the suffering that isn’t his own since the world went to shit, but he’s at least aware of how dangerous it is to be a woman, living on her own.

“I didn’t think you’d still be here, did you sleep all day?”

Joel doesn’t answer.

“You probably needed it.”

You disappear into the bathroom, and Joel sees a rush of light through that door, the creak of a window opening. “I brought the antibiotics, they’re in my bag,” you say when you exit, hands on your hips. “You’re not feeling feverish, are you?”

Joel shakes his head no, and sits back down on the bed.

“Well that’s good,” you go to the counter. “Hey, if you need to shower here, it’s probably better because I can dress your wound before you go. I was actually thinking today about how you would definitely fuck it up if you tried to do it youself.”

He rolls his eyes at the insult, but answers. “That’s fine.”

You’re making yourself something to eat. He notices a polaroid on your bedside table. It’s two kids – a girl and a younger boy, her arms around him – their lips curled into identical smiles. When he looks closer, he realizes the girl is you.

Please? My brother is sick, he’s in a lot of pain, you had said, on your knees in front of him, swallowing hard. Your fingers were curled in his belt loops, the cold steel button of his jeans pressed into your chin, so close he thought it might leave a permanent mark. In one of your hands was a wad of credits, only a couple short of what he’d asked you for in exchange for the pills. I’ll do anything you want me to.

Of course he wanted you, how could he not? He wondered if you knew that already, and were just trying to take advantage of his weakness. Or maybe you were just that desperate. It didn’t matter either way. He can’t do it. Not like this, he thought.

No, is his answer.

He stepped backwards, away and you still tried to cling to him. Sensing his reluctance, you continued to talk. Joel, whatever you want. I’ll do whatever, please…it’s nothing. Eventually, he slipped from your grasp, and you fell back to your heels. He left you there, and he didn’t look back.

The memory is burned into his brain, and has followed him to sleep more times than he’d be willing to admit. He swallows hard, and you’re standing in front of him with an opened jar of applesauce and a spoon against your lips. “Are you looking through my shit?” you ask.

“It was sitting out.”

You snatch the photo from his hand so quickly that one of your nails knicks his thumb, shoving it in your back pocket and jerking your head towards the bathroom. “Hurry, I can’t be up late like last night.”

The shower feels nice, even if the pressure is shit and the water is cold. He still has blood caked under his fingernails that he can’t seem to fully eradicate even after scrubbing them against his palms. He slips back into his jeans when he’s done, and he notices a clean shirt has been left on the bed when he exits.

“You done?” your voice calls. There’s the sound of a book snapping shut, your weight shifting on the couch. “I want my bed back.”

Joel grunts an affirmation, and you round the corner with the tin of medical supplies from the night before, discarding what you were reading on the foot of the bed. “This’ll take two minutes. Let me see.” Pausing in front of him, you press your fingers, a little experimentally, along his ribs, peering closer to examine your work. “Oh, this looks good. It should heal nicely.”

“It doesn’t feel good.”

“Uh-huh, but it’ll get better. Give it time.”

He sits down while you shimmy out of your flannel shirt. You begin to work, quietly, quickly, and at first, he tries to look away, at the top of the bedside table where you’ve placed a bag of antibiotics and a fresh glass of water. The note that was there earlier, with instructions on how to take care of himself in your absence, that also told him to LEAVE, is gone. He gives in and turns back to you, knelt between his legs like it’s nothing, pressing an adhesive bandage across the wound.

He’s not sure why he had expected you to be cruel. You should be cruel, he knows that, but you aren’t. Your touch is confident, firm, and surprisingly tender. It must be muscle memory, he thinks, because he’s never known you to be sweet. Maybe he hadn’t been paying close enough attention.

“There,” you say, pulling away. “Now, I’d recommend changing that once a day at least, if you can. Take an antibiotic once a day, and make sure you do the full course. Ice your elbow, eye, ankle, all that every couple hours. Also, you should really use a sling for at least a month-”

“No.” He knows he won’t do any of those things, can’t really afford to between work, life, and resources.

“Suit yourself.”

“I will.”

You don’t scoff or roll your eyes at him or try to convince him why he should, and it’s like a peace offering. I could fight you on this, because I’m smart, but I won’t. It’s everything you’re saying, but you’re silent, and you sit on the edge of your bed a foot or two away, poking your fingers into the laces of your boots, untying them.

“I’m sorry.”

Joel says it before he can stop himself. He can’t remember the last time he’s said those two words.

You balk at him. “For what?”

Everything. “Your brother.”

“Oh,” you say, focusing back on your feet, pulling them out of your boots and pressing your thumbs into each arch. You shrug, shake your head. “Yeah, well….I’m just glad he’s not in pain anymore.”

“Yeah.”

“...And at least it wasn’t….you know…” The infection.

He nods, takes a beat.

“I should get going,” Joel says, his hands on his knees. “The next time you need something-”

“Uh-huh,” you cut him off tersely. “Right.”

“All I’m saying is that I owe you one.”

“You really think I believe that, coming from you?” You snort, shake your head, and reach to pat his leg in a patronizing way, until his hand lands atop your own. He thinks it might make him feel better, to see if your reaction to his touch gives anything away. But it doesn’t. Everything about you is rigid, cool.

“I’m sorry….about that night,” he decides, purposely changing the subject. “But I don’t make exceptions.”

“Right. Then, I guess I’m a fool for doing this,” you gesture towards him, with your free hand - all the work you’d done.

Joel shakes his head no, fingers tightening around your hand, clasping it hard. He’s sure, or at least he hopes, somehow, you can see it. That this isn’t a jab, that he means it.

I’m sorry.

You look down at where his hand is squeezing yours, and he watches your throat work once.

“No,” he begins. “You just have every reason to hate me.”

A wistful smile crosses your face, but it’s hard to decipher what it means. To him, you’re still unreadable, even staring right at him. Most people avoid Joel’s eyes at all costs, but not you. You slide your hand out from underneath his, and he thinks for a second you’re going to retaliate. His body is facing yours, his hair is still damp, dripping onto his bare skin. It doesn’t stop you from placing your hands on either one of his shoulders, and learning forward.

The white tank top you’re wearing clings to every curve of your body, except where it’s shifted off your shoulder, revealing a black bra strap. It’s intoxicating to have you this close. You must be able to hear the way his heart picks up, thuds heavy against his ribs, being so close to him.

“You think I hate you…” you say quietly, voice a low murmur, tilting your head, studying him. “That’s why you want me, isn’t it?”

This is why he’s never liked you. That uncanny ability to stare right through him, crack open the camera, spool out the film.

“Isn’t it?” you prompt, when all he can offer is silence.

Of course it is. It is always easier when hate is involved. Hate bolds the blurry lines, boils everything down to its simplest point – that’s all that this would be, just two people trying to escape, if only for a little bit. And you, he’s sure, would make it so easy.

“Yes,” he answers, though he’s not sure if he believes it. In this case, hate is just another medium to channel energy through. Passionate energy. True hate, maybe, would be your indifference. And neither of you are indifferent.

“Well….” you lean forward, your lips are nearly touching. He’s still frozen. “Maybe I do hate you.”

It’s a beat before anything happens, a few seconds of uninterrupted eye contact, your eyes have darkened, pupils wide.

He pounces on you, ignoring the scream of soreness through his body as he cups both sides of your face, his tongue already scraping on your teeth, swallowing the surprised noise you make, which he finds ridiculous because what did you think was going to happen, talking to him like that?

But you can’t be that shocked, because your arms have tightened around his shoulders, you’re pulling him closer, he’s pulling you closer. A tightrope, about to snap.

He wraps himself around you protectively, you feel so small there, he’s aware how easily he could break you, but he won’t. Or at least…he’ll try not to.

You break away first. “Fuck.”

Your lips are full, wet, flush, parted, and you’re panting. He pulls you back against him, and you oblige, much more pliant this time, letting him claim you. Two sets of hands fumbling for purchase.

“I do want you.”

“Then have me.”

He pulls you onto his lap, still sitting on the edge of the bed, and it’s shameful how easily you move there, settle your weight across his hips. You’re warm, so warm…too warm. His skin pricks.

Your hands thread into his hair and tug, it’s heavenly. He’s not used to being touched like this.. Grinding down, you find him already already rock hard – he has been since you were knelt in front of him cleaning his stitches, but he’d been trying to ignore it – and he moans. “You like that?”

He hums into your mouth, agreeable. Yes.

Joel wants to touch you, won’t be satisfied if he can’t, and he tugs at the hem of your shirt. You pull back, just for a split second to pull it over your head. It takes him a moment, but he still remembers how to unclasp a bra with one hand, and you’re bare before him. All he has to do is run a calloused palm up your spine and you’re arching your body closer, until he can mouth at your breasts.

You sigh as he cups, squeezes, pinches. Latches onto one of your nipples and grazes his teeth over it, watching you closely….your eyes closed, head falling back, murmuring. Yes.

What he wants to do is to lift you up, spin you around, and press your back against the mattress. He wants to spread you open across the bed, put his head between your thighs and lave at you like a man starved. He wants to hear every way you can cry, moan, whimper his name as his tongue works your clit, fingers in your cunt, washing over him. Of course, he’d go gentle at first – not too gentle – but gentle enough, work you up. He wants to dangle you over the ledge, hold you there until you’re begging to be let go. And after you finally come, pulsing around his fingers, he’d wrap your legs around his hips and fuck you into the mattress until you do it again. After the first time, he thinks, it’d be even easier to get you to do it again. And again. Would you face his steely gaze head on, eyes fluttering? Would your nails scrape track marks down his back? Would you stifle a moan by sinking your teeth into the pulse point on his neck? He wants to- no, needs to know.

But he’s weak right now, and can’t do any of that. He’ll settle for what he can get.

Your fingers are twisting the button on his pants. “Come on,” you murmur.

“You shouldn’t want me,” he warns.

“I know.” But I still do.

Your hand is down his pants, and he shifts his weight backwards to wiggle further out of them. It’s far more hurried than either of you deserve. You don’t even attempt to tease him through his boxers first, your hand wrapping around him in one swift and confident movement.

Hissing, Joel sees you duck your head, feels the press your lips against his neck, his cock jumping in your grip as you run your thumb over the head, pump him once.

“You’re so big,” your voice is all breathy and soft, the sound of it has him growing even more frantic. He tugs at the loops on the side of your jeans.

“Take these off.”

Yes. There’s no protest.

It’s torture when you leave his lap, for the brief time you do, his gaze tracing the curve of your ass as you wriggle out of your pants, then your panties, and when your return to him, he holds you closer.

“I knew you’d be so fucking good for me.”

“Did you?” It's playful, breathless, your arms around his neck. The lightest he’s ever heard you.

You’re wet, already dripping onto him, and he dips a finger between your thighs, sliding it through your slickness, dipping into you just so, enjoying the noises you make before withdrawing. It’s a shame he can’t take his time. He’s too impatient. One of his hands he uses to guide his cock to your cunt, and the other he uses to steady your hips. His head drops to watch himself sink into you.

The stretch of him inside you makes your toes curl, you’re already pulsing around him and he hasn’t even given you everything.

“Fuck,” Joel whispers your name when he feels you around him, all-encompassing and overwhelming. “So fucking good.”

You’re whining, but it’s unintelligible, your head bobbing into an enthusiastic nod, teeth snagging your lower lip. When he’s reached the hilt, you pause only for a moment before you begin to move on your own accord. Experimental rolls of your hips, not drawing back far at all, keeping him deep inside you, rutting and writhing with no reprieve. He thinks he might come right then and there, it’s been so long, and it’s you. This young, pretty thing who – if this whole fucking world hadn’t gone to shit – wouldn’t have looked twice at him before. It’s just another injustice – that you’re going to let someone like him ruin you.

You begin to bounce on him, dragging yourself along his length. “That’s a good fucking girl,” he groans. “Just like that.”

“It’s so…fuck, Joel, you feel-”

“I know.” He answers, partially in agreement, and partially to shut you up. If you keep saying his name like that, it’s not going to end well.

He tries as best as he can to answer your hips with ruts of his own, but it’s sloppy, erratic. The whole thing is, and he wants to curse himself because it really shouldn’t be, just like he shouldn’t be thinking about what he’ll do differently next time.

It’s the first time he’s been with you, so he doesn’t know what it feels like when you’re getting close, but you’re throbbing and pulsing around him, your breathy pants and soft sighs start sounding more desperate.

You’re so fucking wet he can hear it, can feel it seeping out, dripping down his balls onto the mattress. He realizes one of his hands is just clenched into a fist, nails digging into his palm, trying his hardest not to come before you do. All he wants is to give you something, a chance to make up for everything that he’s taken.

“More,” you murmur, you don’t even seem to remember, or care, that he’s hurt. That you’d spent hours the night before after he’d been torn apart, putting him back together. “More, please.”

His lips quirk into a boyish smile, something you’ve never seen before. He likes you like this, begging, desperate, sweet. “Don’t laugh,” but your lips are quirking, too, and you fucking nuzzle against his beard to hide it.

“I’m not - fuck.”

The shower was useless, he’s already sweating again, but so are you, and he trails his tongue across your neck to taste it, then unclenches his fist, moving it between your legs. He takes your clit between his knuckles, circling it carefully, steadily, while his cock keeps hitting the same, soft spot over and over again.

You can’t get enough. “Harder, Joel…please.”

Of course, he obliges. And he’s lucky, because he doesn’t have to do much more. You slow, legs shaking, and you’re suddenly so tight around him he can’t move. “That’s it, baby, come on, so fucking good…” he would, is, saying anything to feel you. His name is a mewl on your lips, the rubber-band snaps, and you come around him, pressing every part of yourself against the hard line of his torso. He aches, it’s the sweetest torture he’s ever known.

He knows, because he’s going to fuck you through it, has to, that he will not last any longer.

“Where?” he pants, and you’re still peaking, gasping, grabbing.

“Inside me,” you answer. “Please, inside me.”

He’s too lost in the moment to consider the consequences. Doesn’t care about them at all. When he comes, you groan at the feeling of him fucking you full, cunt still squeezing him, not as tightly as before, but still apparent.

The last bit of arousal is still waning, and he leans back to lie on the bed, pulling you with him. You fall to his chest, hands pressing lightly to adjust your position, suddenly aware again of the wound beneath his ribs, the bruises on his shoulder, settling so you’re pressed against his side, his arm still loose around your waist.

Neither of you say anything for a long time, and he notices your legs are trembling.

We shouldn’t have done that, he wants you to say, as you should. But you show no signs of remorse.

Before all this, when he was a different man, he would’ve helped clean you up after. He would have soothed you in the aftermath; stroked your hair, peppered kisses along your neck, your cheeks, pulled you close so you could fall asleep in his arms. He can’t now, because you’re smart and you’d know what it means, but the guilt gnaws at him.

When you sit up, pulling your shirt back over your head, sliding on your panties, and walking towards the bathroom, he imagines you think you’re doing him a favor. You are, in a way. Or maybe, you’re resisting the same impulse that he is.

You return a few minutes later, wrapped in a tattered robe, and climb next to him on the bed, propping yourself up on your elbows, then looking down at him. Between the combination of being tired, stiff, and fucked-out, he still hasn’t moved.

“Don’t you think Tess is worried about where you are?” You bend your knees back and cross your ankles.

“She knows I can take care of myself.”

Your eyebrow quirks. Can you? Joel turns away and stares up at the water-damaged ceiling panels.

“You should probably go.”

His head snaps back towards you. He thinks of every person over the last twenty years he’d said the equivalent to after sex, and wonders if it made them feel as nauseous as he does hearing those words from your mouth.

The feeling fades – only a little – when you reach over to press your palm to the side of his face, cupping his cheek, before tenderly moving a piece of damp hair off his forehead, nails scraping against his scalp.

He lets his eyes close just for a beat, before nodding and sitting up. “Thank you,” he says, and he’s not sure what for. All of it, he supposes.

“Uh-huh,” you roll over, reaching to grab your book that had fallen to the floor at some point during your coupling, while he pulls on his clothes, laces up his boots, and takes the antibiotics from your bedside table.

Joel takes one last look at you, already engrossed in your reading, and then walks to the door.

“You know where to find me, if you need anything.”

You look up, nod, and he’s gone.

— — — — — —

part ii

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller imagine #joel miller fanfic #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #enemies to lovers #tlou #tlou hbo #pedro pascal #tlou fanfiction #tlou imagine

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ellieslittlewh0re · 9 months

Text

𝐋𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐢𝐧 (𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐)

* ೃ⁀➷ part 1 - part 2 - part 3

pairing - farmers daughter! reader x farmhand! ellie

summary - ellies willpower gets tested

additional tags - shy/loser! ellie, promiscuous! but inexperienced reader, masturbation/wet dream mention, cowboy boot wearing els, eventual smut, sexual tension, mutual pinning blah blah blah

───── ☾•┈୨♡୧┈•☽ ─────

You stirred in your sleep, darkness still cast over the sky. You tossed and turned, trying to get a couple more hours of sleep in before the day started, but you couldn't- the aching in your tummy growing harder to ignore.

You push your hips further down into the pillow that sat between your thighs, grinding down on it. A soft whimper seeps through your lips, growing more desperate.

Imagines of Ellie that last time you saw her clouded your unaware mind, sweat gleamed her cheeks, slightly red from the sunburn, and how she ditched the button-up, leaving her in a white tank top stained with dirt and rust.

In your sleepy fog, you turn over on your tummy, holding the pillow in place beneath you. Your nightgown bunched up from your rustling, settling around your waist, leaving your white cotton panties exposed to the moon.

"Mm-fhm e-ellie." You whimper, drool pooling onto your floral pattern sheets beneath you.

You looked pathetic, humping your pillow, eyes still shut, and a cease between your eyebrows. It was lazy and sloppy, but it's not your fault since you were still technically sleeping, having a wet dream about your daddy's little helper.

It was deprived and sick. I mean, you've only just met her, and you've never even had sex before, so what's so special about some girl you barely knew?

Your head didn't know, but your body did. You craved her- in a fucked up sort of primal way, the same way animal instincts work during the spring, eager to find a mate and reproduce.

You felt empty, and only she could fix that.

The morning greeted you how it always did, sunshine flooding your window and the songs of birds ringing loudly outside.

You rub your eye with the back of your hand, looking around slightly confused. You don't remember what you did, the sheets in disarray more than usual, and the damp patch in your panties seemed to help you remember.

"Shit." You mumble, stumbling out of bed and tugging your panties down and over your legs. You dig through your drawer, pulling out a clean pair as your fathers voice called to you from the bottom of the stair.

"Y/n, I need to run into town, I'll be back in a few hours. Ellie's here in case anything happens."

Even though you were technically an adult- your father never liked to leave you home alone for too long- too scared of something happening to his precious daughter.

"Okay~" you yell back in a sing-songy tone- basically, it was your best attempt to sound like you weren't as panicked as you were.

You change your clothes, throwing on some denim shorts and a cropped baby tee since you were too tired for "first impressions" bullshit.

You make your way down the stairs, the soft pattering of your socks went unnoticed to the unaware Ellie who was standing in the living room, observing the collage of pictures that decorated the walls.

"Good morning, Ellie."

Your soft, slightly groggy voice made her turn around. Her eyes immediately take notice of the lack of a bra under your thin shirt and the strip of skin showing between the bottom hem of your top and the waistband of your shorts.

"M-mornin', doll." She clears her throat, looking back to the pictures to hide the fact she was absolutely falling apart in your presence.

You however, we're better at hiding it than she was. It was painfully obvious that Ellie was worked up about something, and you knew it was you.

You were kind of used to it- the admiration, that is, being in such a small town, the pickings were slim, and it just so happens that everyone in town agreed that you were by far the prettiest thing on this side of the Mississippi River.

"Have you eaten?" You asked, already passing under the archway into the kitchen and pouring yourself a cup of coffee.

"Uh- no, not yet."

Ellie follows your lead like a dog, making her way into the kitchen to sit in a barstool that over saw the kitchen, giving her a first row view of all your movements.

"Good- let me make you breakfast, I can make a mean pancake."

Ellie stutters to interfere, not wanting to bother you to do such a thing for her, but you insist- claiming she needed some meat on her bones.

You even poured her a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice since she refused the coffee.

Ellie's face was bright red upon seeing you all done up, "real housewife type," she thought. Your little apron hanging loosely around your neck, the strings wrapping around your waist, accentuating the curve of your hips just right, and how your hair danced over your back as you mixed the batter.

She could get used to this- seeing you every day and the little outfits you wore that made her head spin. She ached for you the same way you ached for her, but she'd never let herself give into her desires, not unless- you gave in first.

"What did daddy need to go into town fr'?" You asked, placing the plate in front of Ellie before sitting down beside her on the empty barstool.

Ellie observes the plate, feeling slightly overwhelmed by the amount of food- a stack of pancakes, scrambled eggs, and not forgetting the bacon, of course.

She thought, for a second, you were trying to kill her or give her a heart attack at the very least.

"Uh- said something about needing some parts for the tractor-" She picks up the fork and knife and begins to cut into the food.

"Thank you, doll, you didn't have to do all this for me."

"Hush- don't you start, I did it because I wanted too." You smile at her, taking a bite of your pancake, licking the syrup clean off the fork.

Ellie almost choked on her own food. Surely, you were doing this on purpose; to make her life a living hell- or maybe, some sort of sex fantasy that only her dreams could muster.

She awkwardly laughs out of discomfort, directing her eyes to the food in front of her incase you actually do give her a heart attack with your little antics.

You two chatted while you ate- well, mostly you chatted- Ellie being too scared to make a sound to direct attention on her- just silently agreeing with whatever words came out of your mouth.

She watched you though- in between bites. You had her wrapped around your little finger, even if she didn't know it.

You had her exactly where you wanted her.

You knew she'd notice how your tongue wetted your lips or how the syrup started to drip down you chin.

"Oh.. you got a little- here." She dropped the silverware, her hand coming up to your face as she took her thumb and wiped the sticky substance away before putting it in her mouth, tasting the sweet molasses on her taste buds.

Your eyes linger on her lips, darkening with your growing insatiable hanger. Ellie's face immediately lit up in embarrassment, regretting the gesture altogether. She was painfully unaware of what she just did- just trying to help you is all.

"Sorry.., sorry- I dunno why I did that." She awkwardly chuckled, rubbing the nape of neck with her hand.

"Don't be sorry, els- I really appreciate havin' you around- don't know what I'd do without you." You found your voice to be; sickeningly sweet when Ellie was around, but you couldn't help it when you could tell how much of an effect it had on her.

You pat her thigh before dragging it away, making sure she can really feel your touch through her jeans as you grab both of the plates and take them to the sink.

Ellie swallowed the rest of her juice in one gulp, her mind at war if she should make an excuse that she had to leave because if she didn't? She didn't know what she might end up doing to you.

But it was already too late, you were quickly grabbing her hand and dragging her out of the kitchen.

"Come upstairs- wanna show you my room."

Ellie was fucked.

You open the door, holding your arm out as a soft "ta-da" leaves your lips. You fall into your bed, flipping onto your stomach with your ankles crossed, slightly swaying in the air.

Ellie hesitantly; takes a step into the room, still holding onto the door handle in case she needed an escape plan.

"Uh.. why are we up here?" She cracks a nervous smirk, looking around at the new environment.

"I wanted to show you my room-" you slightly pout, your hands tucking under your chin.

"Whaddya think?"

Ellie takes a second- looking around at the room and down to you, her eyes pausing at the curve of your back that dips into your ass.

Fuck- daisy duke shorts might be her kryptonite.

"It's- uh... it's very girly." Her hand leaves the handle as she takes a few more steps into the room, looking more closely at the pictures and paintings that decorated your walls.

"Do you not like it?" You pout some more, flipping onto your back with your knees propped up, making it even harder for Ellie as your cropped shirt rises more on your torso, dangerously close to exposing the undercurve of your breasts.

Ellie takes a seat at the edge of the bed, her head turning to look at your horizontal position over her shoulder.

"It suits you, doll."

Your hand comes up to play with the fabric of her sleeve. In Ellie's eyes- it seemed absentmindedly- like it didn't mean anything on your behalf, and she was getting worked up for nothing, but you knew exactly what you were doing- carefully calculating every little thing you did when Ellie was around.

"Why do you always call me that?" You softly chuckle, fixating your eyes on your hand that slipped to the exposed skin of her forearm- just lightly traces shapes over the faded ink.

Ellie tenses under your touch- her boxers tightening under her jeans.

"Because you look like one." She said barely above a whisper, her voice; coarse, and it dug into your chest.

Silence filled the space between you two besides the soft rustling of the trees outside your window. Your hand moves to her back as you drag your nails lightly across it.

You were testing her limits, wanting to see how much it would take until she finally gave in to what she's been wanting since the day she met you.

Her head turns away from you, letting it hang between her shoulders as she mumbles an inaudible fuck under her breath.

"You scare me."

Your eyebrows slightly scrunch at this, momentarily confused by the statement, but it was all an act. You were playing a game with Ellie- whether she knew it or not, and you were winning.

"Scare you? How?"

Her head comes up, looking back over her shoulder at you. Her eyes were piercing this time, darker than you remembered them being.

She leans down, getting dangerously close to your face- close enough you could feel her breath against your lips.

"You make me feel like-" she pauses, her voice firming under her clenched jaw.

"- like I can't control myself around you."

*sorry idk if I like how this turned out but oh wellll

❥ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 @tfuuka @mattm1964 @tlouadditc @bugaboodarling @robinismywifee @omgidksblog @bf4iy4z @ellieswifee @endureher @asteroidzzzn @machetegirl109 @thatgiraffefromtlou @locaforellie @bellaramseysgirlfriend @wannabwanted @iconsoft @abbbyslefttitty @fireflyelllie

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ambermotta · 6 months

Text

Protection Magic: Some Important Concepts

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Long post based on my experience and research. Meant to be informative. I don't claim to know the absolute truth.

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Protection magic is any type of work meant to protect A from B, and there are many ways that this can be done: prayers, charms, talismans, tokens, casting circles, setting up wards, visualization. The list can go on and on because it can be done in many different ways and combining many different methods.

But methods are not the topic of this post today. No, today I would like to talk about some key concepts to keep in mind before getting started on making protections and keeping them effective.

The Importance of Cleansing

Before doing any protection work I like to do a cleansing. Imagine you have an open water bottle, and because it was open, a lot of dirt has found its way into it over time. You decide to seal the bottle so no dirt comes in, but you don't pour out the old water, so you end up sealing it in. Yes, you'll keep more dirt from coming in, but the muck is still there.

It is easier to see this being applied to a physical location, but I personally also apply this to personal protective tokens. I feel they work better when you are taking care of your energies by doing regular cleanses and managing internal negativity.

Important Definitions

Protection ≠ Banishing ≠ Cleansing

I feel a lot of people are under the impression that these are all the same. I think they all work together towards a similar goal, but their jobs are different.

Protection: protecting something from something

Banishing: driving out entities

Cleansing: clearing out energy

You can do cleansing, banishing, and protection at the same time, but that doesn't mean they are the same. You can do a ritual including all of them, but you can also just do a cleansing or just do warding (which is a form of protection).

Note: cleansing is not restricted to “negative energy”. You can cleanse any kind of energy. Exemple: a friend of yours decides tarot is not for them and hands down their deck to you. If you wanna work with that deck it is highly advisable that you do a thorough cleansing of it and then infuse it/consecrate it with the energies you want. It's not that your friend has “bad” energy, it's just that you might not want to work with the same energies they have, or use a tool that has someone else's energy in it.

Not Necessarily a Lazy Job

One important thing with protection magic is that no matter how strong or how successful are at doing it is that it is not failproof. I have yet to see protection work that lasts forever, and there may be a few reasons for it.

Negativity also comes from within

Imagine you have a fish inside an open fish tank. Just like the bottle example earlier, you decide to put a lid on so you prevent leaves from falling into the tank and polluting the water. However, there's a fish, a living being in there, and it produces waste. It is impossible for the fish to live without producing waste. If you don’t regularly clean the water, ammonia and fecal matter will build up.

In this analogy, you are the fish. I am the fish. Humans literally cannot live without ever having a negative thought or feeling, it is part of our existence and we have to live with it. No one lives in constant bliss.

That doesn't mean we have to live in the muck though. That's why cleansing yourself is important.

No one is immune to the environment

Here I have another analogy for you. Imagine you're facing a harsh winter, but you are safe in the security and warmth of your house. Your house is protected from the cold so you don't even mind it. However, you have to go outside. You dress up, go out and you feel very, very cold. You could perhaps wear something warmer, but it will never feel the same as home. Yet it is better than going outside naked, no?

Same thing for energies. You can have protection, but depending on how strong the energy in the environment is you are sure to feel it to at least some degree. However it's best to have some protection than no protection at all.

And there is a difference between Feeling an energy and dwelling in it vs Feeling an energy and not letting it latch onto you.

Energy can wear off, and new energy can build up

Energy is ever changing, ever moving. If you do a strong protection spell once, it can last for a long while, but if you forget about it it will likely lose a lot of its strength over time. Some of what you put out there might wear off and be substituted by something else. The energy can also grow stale, which means it becomes less effective.

But if you do a strong spell every month you will not only make your protections stronger, but also constantly renew the energies and not let them stagnate.

So keep doing cleanses and every now and then give a boost to your protections so they are refreshed and recharged.

Note on "Negative Energy"

One of the main reasons someone might choose to do a protection ritual and a cleansing is to ward off negative energy. But is that really needed? What is "negative energy"?

Negative energy might feel like a sense of heaviness, dread, pain, sadness, feeling ill, angry, sad or anxious. Emotions produce and attract what we can call "negative energy", the same way it can make us feel those things.

And while I personally think nobody wants to feel them, we must understand they are not always bad at their core.

The uncomfortable feelings they can cause may also be a gateway for healing and transformation. Pain tells us there is something that needs to be worked on, that needs change.

If you are feeling negative, ask yourself why. Why does this bother me? What makes me feel this way? What can I learn from this pain?

If you happen to feel negative energy, it is good to cleanse and protect. But I advise you to always look for the source to see what can be done about it or what you can learn from it. Don't just try to use spellcasting to run away from your shit. Own your shit. Deal with it.

Otherwise, it will keep coming back no matter how much protection you have.

Conclusion

It is impossible to always be free from “negative energy” all the time, no matter how strong your protections are. But protections can absorb some of the blows that you would otherwise take and ease the ones you were going to take no matter what.

Protection magic alone will not solve all your problems. It is a great tool to help you keep your center and remain grounded, but it is not usually something you do once and forget. It is a continuous, ever evolving work, meant to be used in conjunction with other types of spellwork.

And most importantly, it can give you some comfort through the many trials of life.

Thank you for reading, and good luck on your path! ♡

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scuderiahoney · 3 months

Note

congrats on 1k!! u deserve it so so so much<3 could i ask for danny + "you drew stars around my scars" (cardigan by taylor swift) please:)

1k celebration! 💛 thank you so much! this one was so so sweet I love soft danny

You're laying in bed with Danny early one morning. Sunshine streams in through the curtains, cast over your bare skin and his, too. He stirs slightly, opens his eyes and smiles at you, blinking long lashes over his cheeks.

He runs his hand down your bare arm and over your side. His fingers dance along your ribs, brush over your hip. Your leg is tucked over his, and he follows the line of it with his hands and his eyes. You run your own fingers against his cheek, scraping on the stubble.

His breath catches in his chest, and his fingers stop their journey. You look where he’s looking, watch him press his thumb into the mark on your knee. His brows are furrowed. It’s a long line, spanning halfway across your kneecap. His finger traces back and forth over it, and he frowns.

“I fell when I was a teenager,” you explain. “Scraped it really bad.”

He pouts, like it’s still causing you pain. Then he holds his elbow up and out so you can see the soft, smooth skin of his inner arm. There’s a line running there, too, jagged and silvery pale against the rest of his skin.

“Crashed a dirt bike when I was 11,” he says. “Didn’t tell my mum for an hour cause I was scared she’d take the bike away.”

You laugh, reaching out to trace the scar. “Did she?”

“Yeah, of course,” he laughs. “But dad gave it back eventually.”

You grin. You can just imagine little Danny, begging for the bike back, arm still bandaged up. There’s something strange about it, about the scars. About physical reminders of the lives you’d led before you even knew the other existed. Nostalgia that runs deep in your bones, days where you’d dreamt of a person like him to share your life with.

You feel his fingers moving on your knee. He’s drawing shapes, patterns- you look down, watch him trace stars against your skin. Suddenly, your throat is tight. It’s utterly ridiculous. You shouldn’t feel this way over something like this. Over your boyfriend drawing stars around childhood scars. You reach out and do the same to his. A whole constellation around a long healed wound. Maybe that’s what the two of you have been doing for each other this whole time- not just the physical scars.

When Danny leans in and kisses you, morning breath and all, you can’t help but think maybe he’s feeling it, too.

#daniel ricciardo x you #daniel ricciardo blurb #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel Ricciardo fluff #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 fluff #formula 1 blurb #formula 1 x you #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 blurb #scuderiahoney 1k blurbs #scuderiahoney 1k!#dr3 #honeywrites #x reader

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fandom-imagines-stories · 9 months

Text

Going Down Swingin

Kayce Dutton x Reader

Words: 4271

Summary: Tired of being holed up on the ranch, the reader begs her husband to calm his paranoid mind for one night so she can go out to the bar with some of the ranch hands. Turns out, his concerns were founded.

Notes: God I love this man. I honestly have had ideas for Kayce imagines for like a year and now I’m finally finishing them (well, at least this one). I hope to do more with him soon, so fingers crossed for my blonde cowboy husband!

Warnings: Harassment, assault, fighting, wounds-

The cage of his arms was a welcome one. It kept you safe while also reminding you of every moment that led to this one.

In this case, you were reminded of how you got into this position.

Kayce’s beard tickled the back of your neck as his lips trailed down to your shoulder and back up again. You sighed contently and nestled back into his embrace.

“Time to get up,” He mumbled.

You screwed your eyes shut and shook your head.

“Noooo,” You whined. “I’m still asleep.”

His chuckle rumbled against your back. “C’mon.”

Your husband’s hands made their way to your waist and squeezed gently. He flipped you around so you were facing him. You tangled your fingers in his long blonde hair and crashed your lips into his in hopes of dissuading him from leaving the bed. Before you could deepen the kiss anymore, he grabbed your hips tighter and pulled you back.

“Nice try, baby, but we’ve got work to do.”

“Or,” you walked your fingers up his chest. “We could lock the doors and spend the whole day-”

He cut you off with another kiss. Just when you thought you’d won, he sat up, giving you a devilish smirk. His hands latched onto the blankets.

You glowered. “Don’t you dare.”

“Hey, I gave you a chance,” he said, yanking the covers back and subjecting your bare skin to the cold morning air.

“Kayce!” You shrieked, clawing to regain the warmth, but he held them just out of reach, laughing at your demise. “Kayce John Dutton, I’m gonna kill you!”

“You’ve got to catch me first, darlin’.” He took off, taking the blankets and sheets with him.

“Navy SEAL or not, I’m still going to get you!” You shouted after him, grabbing his henley off the floor so you weren’t completely naked as you chased your childish husband around the room. Of course, he wasn’t wearing anything either which made the whole ordeal even more ridiculous.

When you did finally catch him, he’d stopped so suddenly and you were running so fast it knocked both of you to the floor, practically rolling with laughter.

“I… win…” You wheezed in between giggles, laying on top of him.

“Alright, alright.” He brushed your hair out of your face so he could kiss you, but just for a moment. “But we’ve still got to get to work.”

You bit your lip.

“What if I promise to make some time for us tonight, hmm?” He offered. “Dinner, movie, whatever you want.”

You sighed dramatically. “I suppose I can live with that.”

Kayce rolled his eyes, locked his arms around you, and stood. You squealed as he threw you over his shoulder, smacking your backside with a victorious chuckle.

Needless to say, you were definitely awake after that.

It was a long day. In a good way. One that felt like you were actually doing something. But still, every move you made ached from the day’s work. You helped out at the ranch because of your past in veterinary school. Sure, you hadn’t been in a clinic in years, but you knew your way around an injured horse enough that John liked having you around. He said it was because you didn’t cost as much. You were pretty sure he liked you more than he let on.

When you saw your husband riding up over the horizon, he didn’t look like he’d fared much better. Dirt caked his forehead, mixed with the sweat on his brow. Not that you minded.

“Hey baby,” he greeted gruffly. Kayce jumped down off his horse and gave you a quick kiss on the cheek. When he pulled away, you notice the downward cast of his gaze and the look of guilt in his eyes.

“Alright,” you sighed. “You’ve got that kicked puppy look now. What is it?”

A smile cracks on his face. “I do not look like a kicked puppy.”

“Sure you do.” You tucked a lock of blonde behind his ear. “With your big eyes and your pouty face.” You hooked your arms behind his neck and pulled him closer. “Are you ready for that date night we talked about?”

The puppy look returned.

“About that, baby,” He blew out a breath and ran his fingers through his hair.

Uh oh.

“You’ve gotta work,” you concluded.

“My dad’s asking me to run to Billing’s to take care of some things-”

You held up a hand to stop him. When it came to John Dutton, you didn’t want any details.

“It’s okay. We can make plans for a different night.” You pulled him into a kiss, smirking against his lips. “But you’ll definitely have to come up with something big and romantic and groveling.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, wrapping his arms around you. “You know I’d pick a night with you over anything, but I don’t think fighting him on this would be a good idea. It’s business and you know how he gets.”

“It’s fine, Kayce, really. I’m sure I’ll find something else to do.”

As if summoned, Ryan and Colby mosied over to the two of you. While Kayce wasn’t close with any of the boys from the bunkhouse, you’d gotten to know them from working on the horses. So even though Kayce tensed protectively, you gave them a bright grin.

“What do you two fuckers want?” You asked.

“We’re going out,” Colby said. “Celebrating Ryan’s birthday if you want to come.” He eyed your husband nervously. “Both of you.”

“We just saw you over here and thought, maybe you’d want to join, but it’s totally fine-” Ryan started to ramble.

You weren’t sure if it was their usual awkwardness or if the boss’s son just made them nervous, but you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Kace can’t, but I could use a night out,” you beamed.

Kayce’s arms tightened around you and his puppy-dog eyes turned intense.

Sensing the change, Ryan and Colby took a step back.

“Cool,” Ryan said. “Meet up in ten.”

The two hurried off and you turned to fierce brown eyes.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Kayce said.

“I wasn’t exactly asking for your permission, honey,” you scoffed. “Besides, like I said, I could use a night out. I can’t even remember the last time I really got away from the ranch for some fun.”

He turned away, jaw tensed, and eyes following the group of men heading back toward the bunkhouse.

“I don’t think any of the ranch hands are stupid enough to hit on me if that’s what you’re worried about,” you teased, trying to lighten his mood.

“It’s not that.” He shook his head, gaze returning to yours. “And it’s not that I don’t trust you, so don’t start thinking that. It’s just… the places these guys go to. Nothing good ever happens.”

“Baby, I think you’re the last person to worry about me getting into trouble. Or anybody, for that matter.”

It was true. You’d married a trouble magnet. Hell, maybe it’s even safer to go to the bar without him, but he definitely did not look in the mood for you to point that out.

“I won’t go if you really don’t want me to,” you said. “I’ll just sit at home…. All alone…. Bored.” You sighed dramatically.

Kayce huffed and kissed your forehead. “Just keep your phone on, okay?”

“Don’t worry. You will always be my phone call if I get arrested.” You gave him a mischievous grin and started off to join the others.

“That’s not funny!” He called after you, chuckling at your excitement and hoping that he wouldn’t regret this.

The neon lights bathed your skin in a blue and pink glow. Music blared from the band on the stage and your throat burned pleasantly from the liquor at your lips. You could feel the tension melting off of you from the long, hard day, realizing how much you needed this. It wasn’t that you didn’t like being at the ranch, but sometimes the vastness somehow felt so small. And knowing how much it hurt Kayce to be there, the nightmares you knew he’d had, made you wonder if it was worth it.

“You look like you could use another,” a voice said over the music.

“Hey, Rip.” You turned to face the dark-haired cowboy with a small smile. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Yeah, well,” he shrugged, “every once in a while I let them drag me out to these things.” He ordered himself another beer and you another whiskey. “Not used to seeing you without tall blonde trouble on your arm.”

“Looks like I’m causing enough trouble on my own tonight,” you smirked back. “He’s working.”

Rip nodded, running a hand over his chin. “And he let you come here?”

“He didn’t let me do anything.” You took a drink. “He wasn’t particularly happy about it, but he knows better than to try and tell me what to do.”

“If it were me,” Rip chuckled, “I would have locked you up at home. You’re too nice for a place like this.”

“You rough and tumble cowboys don’t scare me,” you smiled. “I married one, remember?”

“You married one of the good ones.”

“Cheers to that.” You clinked your glass against his and he smiled, still shaking his head as he walked to the other end of the bar to keep an eye on things.

His seat was not empty for long.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you ‘round here before.” A muscular arm dressed in a ratty old t-shirt blocked your view of the dance floor and the body attached to it loomed over you like you were a meal. It was a feeling that you were unfortunately familiar with, having grown up around bars like these and, more specifically, their patrons.

“That’s because I haven’t been here,” you said, keeping your voice calm, but cold. The red-haired man beside you did not get the hint. He leaned even closer and you could smell the mix of tobacco and too much beer on his breath as he swayed drunkenly in the seat.

“Well isn’t it my lucky day then?”

You held up your hand, flashing him the wedding ring on your finger.

“Not so much, buddy.” You downed the rest of your drink. “But I’m sure there’s plenty of single women dying to give you a handjob in the bathroom,” you snarked, signaling for the bartender to get you another.

“What if I want you?” He leered.

What started out as annoyance was turning into anger.

“Do I have to spell it out for you?” You stood up in order to get away from his ever-leaning frame. “I’m married, dipshit.”

The drunkard shrugged. “I don’t see anybody here?”

Oh but if Kayce were here…

You could handle yourself without him.

“Why don’t you just back off before that tiny dick of yours gets you into something your tinier brain can’t deal with.”

You turned to walk away.

He grabbed your wrist, twisting it back until it stung.

“What did you say to me you fucking bitch?”

When your fist collided with his chin, it was just the beginning.

Hands grabbed your arms, giving him a clear hit to your stomach which you took with a grunt. You yanked yourself free and found two more men encircling you. Apparently, this shitstain wasn’t alone and all of them were drunk enough to not care that you were half their size and a woman. So much for chivalry.

“Three men versus little old me,” you scoffed. “That hardly seems fair.”

But you weren’t alone either.

Ryan broke through the crowd first, punching the man to your right square between the eyes. Colby was next, fighting some others who’d joined in for the hell of it. You stayed focused on your original creep.

“By the time we’re done, you’re going to be begging me to fuck you into tomorrow,” he sneered.

You responded with another hit to his mouth, feeling a couple of teeth crack against your knuckles.

He swung. You dodged. He picked up a bottle and crashed it against your shoulder, still too drunk to actually aim. You stomped on his foot. He grabbed you by the hair.

Somewhere, a gun went off and everybody screamed.

Red-haired Romeo, however, didn’t seem to care.

By the time Rip had made it over to you, you were being thrown across the bar. You felt the sticky, slick surface slide past your leg before you collided with the back shelves, and dozens of bottles shattered into your back. Your head slammed into the counter as you fell to the whiskey-soaked floor.

Everything was black after that.

You got little bits, here and there, trying to force yourself awake, but never able to fight back the darkness.

Rip and Ryan carrying you with your arms over their shoulders, Rip cursing the whole way to the house.

“Her husband is going to have somebody’s hide and it sure as hell isn’t going to be mine.”

A flash of strawberry blonde and the smell of cigarette smoke.

Ryan’s worried eyes as Rip dragged him away.

It was until the alcohol-dipped rag touched your cuts that you were fully awake. You grimaced, the sharp sting shooting up your back. You gripped the arm of the couch, face down in a pillow.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” Beth snarked. “It’d be a shame to miss this fun.” She pulled a piece of glass out of your side and you clenched your jaw. “That looks like it hurts.”

“Is there still bourbon down here?” You asked.

She laughed, shaking her head. “That’s what got you into this mess, sweetheart. And when my brother makes a list tonight, I’m not putting myself on it.”

She plucked another shard. It seemed every muscle in your back spasmed with every move she made, taking out class and swiping at the blood pooling on your skin. Not to mention the pounding in your head, hair matted with gore. You were grateful it was her, though. At least she’d get it done quick, without any pitying or panic.

Meanwhile, outside was an almost as pitiful sight. Rip leaned against the barn, glaring down the other men who nursed their injuries. Ryan’s eye was already starting to swell and Colby rubbed his aching jaw. Even Lloyd looked worse for wear.

“You’re lucky I don’t fire every one of you,” Rip glowered.

“In our defense, we were trying to stop the fight,” Ryan said, but quickly regretted it.

Rip stepped toward him. “You want another black eye?”

All eyes, however, glanced behind Rip, a pair of headlights growing nearer and nearer.

“Oh shit,” Colby muttered. “I thought he was going to Billings.”

Rip ran a hand down his face, trying to contain his frustration. Could anything else go wrong?

“Apparently not.”

Kayce got out of the truck.

At first, he thought they’d cut the party short and came back to the ranch, but as he got closer, he saw the specks of blood on their shirts and the color of forming bruises.

“What the hell happened?”

Rip sighed. “What does it look like?”

Kayce’s burning gaze turned to him, the question going unsaid, but very much present in his eyes. Rip held up a hand, keeping his voice level to not poke the bear any further.

“She’s inside. Beth’s with her.”

Kayce didn’t waste any more time, dark eyes flashing as he whipped around, sprinting up to the house.

“Y/N!” He screamed. “Y/N!”

Beth rolled her eyes. “Do you want to wake up all of Montana? We’re in here.”

A door opened upstairs. John was awake.

“What’s going on?”

You buried your face in the pillow.

Oh. God.

Kayce stormed into the living room at the same time his father appeared in the loft.

“I’m sorry for getting blood on your couch,” you said, gritting your teeth as Beth cleaned another gaping cut. Your bare chest stuck to the leather uncomfortably as you shifted to get a look at your father-in-law, avoiding your husband in the doorway.

“Is she going to be okay?” John called down.

“She won’t be able to lie on her back for a while.” Beth looked up at your panicked husband with a smirk. “But hey, save a horse, ride a cowboy, right?”

“Beth,” you groaned.

Kayce’s expression darkened.

Beth placed the rag back in the bowl and stood. “That’s my cue.” She waved up at John. “Just another day in the Dutton house, daddy.”

John sighed, muttering as he went back down the hall. “I don’t want to know.”

Kayce was at your side in seconds, dark eyes widening at the sight of your bloodied back and bruised face. Guilt and worry took over his features. It was worse than he thought. There were still a few shards of glass stuck in your flesh and some of the cuts looked like they went pretty deep. Your shoulder was a web of scratches with a bloody point of impact in the middle. The back and side of your head were covered with that dreaded red, more glass stuck in your hair.

You tried to crack a smile.

“You should see the other guy.”

“Baby…” he breathed shakily, a trembling hand against your cheek. “What happened?” Before you could answer, another, angrier question boiled in his chest. “Who did this to you?”

“I don’t know.”

He opened his mouth, but you stopped him.

“I’m serious. I didn’t exactly ask for contact information when I was swinging at him.”

Kayce nodded, body rigid with rage as he picked up the rag and started tending to your wounds with a much gentler hand than his sister’s.

“So a man attacked you?” His voice was calm which made you even more nervous. He only sounded like that when he wanted to kill something. Or someone.

“Well, I wasn’t tossed over a bar by Montana Barbie,” you snarked.

Your humor hid your humiliation but only made his frustration worse. His hand tensed roughly against your skin. You bit your lip to keep from wincing.

“Sorry,” he muttered. Keeping his movements slow and soft, he got the rest of the glass out and cleaned up most of the blood, though some of the cuts would definitely need stitches.

“And technically, no,” you said. “I started the fight. He was just annoying.”

You tried to push yourself up, crying out at the pain in your shoulder. Kayce gently urged you back down, repositioning the pillow so you could look at him more comfortably.

“It doesn’t matter,” he growled. “Anybody who does this to you-”

“Have probably already been punished by Rip.” You used your strength to reach a hand to tuck his blonde hair behind his ear. “I’m okay, Kace.”

He motioned to the liquor store sliced into your back. “Not from where I’m sitting, sweetheart. You know, one of those bottles could have paralyzed you, or-or severed an artery. You would have bled out on a dirty bar floor and I wouldn’t have been able to do anything about it.”

His voice cracked and you finally let your cocky facade fall.

“I’m sorry, baby,” you cried. “But you can’t protect me forever. I can handle myself.”

“Tonight’s not real good proof of that,” he said, a small smile teasing his lips. “Only you could get into this much trouble going out for drinks.”

“Hypocrite.”

He started bandaging you up as best he could to get you ready to go to the hospital.

“I don’t need to go anywhere,” you protested as he helped you up.

“You just had your head smashed against I don’t want to know how many surfaces. Rip said you were out for a couple of hours, now we should have had you at the hospital sooner,” Kayce said. “I’m not messin’ around.”

Sure enough, when you did see the doctor, they confirmed that you had a concussion. A bad one. Enough to make them want to keep you overnight to observe, as well as stitch up your back. When they asked what happened, you told them you fell.

“You… fell…” The doctor eyed you, then looked at Kayce.

You grabbed the woman’s arm, directing her suspicious gaze back at you. The last thing Kayce needed was somebody getting the wrong idea and thinking this was his fault.

“Through a glass table, from which I might have died if my husband hadn’t come home early so you keep your focus on me, okay?” You snapped.

Kayce chuckled. “Easy, baby. We’re not being interrogated.”

“I’m responsible for what happened. I don’t want her thinking anything different,” you said. “Tonight was my fault.”

“No,” he sighed. “It wasn’t.”

He should have been there. He didn’t drink, so he would have been able to see those creeps coming a mile off. Better yet, he should have stayed home, stayed with you like he said he was going to. Then none of this wouldn’t have happened.

“Hey,” you said, taking his hand. “Don’t start.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

You gave him a knowing smile. “You don’t have to.”

He brought your hand up to his lips and held it for the rest of the night.

Three Weeks Later

The wind whistled around you and for the first time in almost a month, you felt like you could really breathe. Adjusting the reins in your hand, your golden-brown quarter horse turned, facing you back toward the ranch, miles, and miles of beautiful country all around you. In the distance, you saw a dark hat appear out of the stables and heard your name echo across the field.

You pet your horse's neck, laughing. “I think we’re in trouble.”

With the sunset overhead, you rode back, your husband’s disapproving frown becoming clearer and clearer.

“What the hell are you doing?” He asked. You dismounted and led your horse to the barn. “You just got cleared by the doctor. Are you trying to get another concussion?”

“I know how to ride a horse without falling off, baby.” You kissed him as you went by. “Besides, it’s therapeutic. See, I feel better already.”

Kayce watched you go by, eyes lingering on your back, imagining the angry red scabs and scratches that crisscrossed your skin. He thought about how you tried not to wince when he touched you or that you’d have to lean on him after standing, too dizzy to see straight.

He should have been there.

“Morning, Rip,” you said, seeing the mountain of a man in the other doorway. He tilted his hat at you in greeting, glancing over at your husband for a moment before carrying on by. Something you’d watched that morning clicked in your mind. “I actually wanted to talk to the two of you about something.”

Rip halted and turned around.

“I saw on the news this morning that they found the remains of three hikers in the park last night,” you said, suspicious eyes switching between the two of them. “Three men. You two wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

Kayce’s brows furrowed. Rip’s expression didn’t change. You put your hands on your hips and narrowed your eyes.

“Because I can fight my own fights. I don’t need either of you getting yourselves into trouble.” You shot your husband a look that said ‘especially you.’ It seemed like trouble was both of your middle names sometimes.

But he just shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, baby.” Kayce turned to the other cowboy. “Rip?”

A silence fell over the barn, heavy with tension and an unspoken truth.

“It’s the first I’m hearing of it,” Rip said, cool blue eyes watching you. “They probably poked a bear they shouldn’t have.” With that, he left the two of you, and Kayce couldn’t help but feel grateful. As much as he would have wanted to deal with them himself, he was glad those bastards got what they deserved.

You unstrapped the saddle and started to lift it off.

“I got it,” Kayce said, grabbing the heavy leather for you and the two of you finished putting everything away. But that heavy silence was still there.

Your hand slipped into his, tugging slightly to make him look at you.

“Kayce,” you started softly, those big brown eyes making you melt just like they always did, but in them, you could see the guilt he’d been carrying for the past three weeks. “What happened was not your fault. It just… happened.” You laid a hand on his cheek. “Even you can’t stop the world from happening. And you can’t stop some men from being drunk bastards who can’t throw a decent punch.”

His fingers traced the forming scars on your shoulder. “I can try,” he whispered.

You brought his gaze back to yours and pulled him in for a kiss that said everything you both needed it to. When you pulled away, you smiled teasingly.

“So enough of the puppy look.”

Kayce rolled his eyes. “Not this again.”

“I’m serious!” You giggled. “It’s time to, I don’t know, have a little fun again. I’m not going to break.”

Ever the fighter, he thought, bringing you in for another kiss.

You tugged on his hand again, leading him out of the barn. The first stars were making their appearance over the incredible landscape you called home.

“Besides,” you said, leading him back toward the house. “You still owe me a date night.”

Kayce chuckled, wrapping an arm around your waist with a smirk that matched your own.

“Yes ma’am.”

#kayce dutton x reader #yellowstone #kayce dutton #rip wheeler #yellowstone imagines #luke grimes #my blonde cowboy husband

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thegoatsongs · 9 months

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It's really horror inducing how neither the Captain or the reader see, or have evidence of, the way that the men's disappearances happen.

The crew is in the dark completely, their imagination running wild. The reader though can infer what is going on. We know that Dracula is hidden on the ship, and we saw last month that he had drank man's blood at night before retiring in his dirt casket at dawn before his departure. We also know that he loves isolating and casting doubt. Throwing people into the sea after "being done with" them isn't out of the question, he hasn't promised his leftovers to anyone, after all.

But we still have no actual clear view. No blood stains, no bite marks, no witnesses, no evidence left behind. Just men disappearing into the sea without warning. That's all we read about.

We are left to fill in the blanks ourselves, using what we already know. And that's really effective horror.

#dracula #dracula daily #the demeter #count dracula #jonathan harker (implied)#re: dracula

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cosmetichorror · 1 year

Text

Okay so I’ve hit a mini writers block, so I was scrolling through my drafts for inspo and found this masterpiece.

I’ve never seen the post this oneshot was inspired off of in person, but I’ve seen screenshots, so it’s based off of this

Hope you know I was laughing the whole time I was writing this

—

"THIS IS THE WORST HYRULE WE'VE BEEN IN!" Wind exclaims, startling everyone out of their thoughts.

They're in a new hyrule, and they know there's a Link somewhere. It's like a fucked up game of hide and seek, or where's Waldo. But the longer you take to seek out Waldo the longer all of your Hyrules are in danger. And the worst part? There isn't a village ANYWHERE!

"Don't be rude, Wind." Time scolds, glaring at the teen.

Legend shakes his head "No, no. He has a point." He looks around "While this place is pretty, we're low on supplies and there's not a village in sight." He points out. Wars nods along to this.

"We're on a path, there's got to be one near." Four speaks up, arms crossed.

Despite this, they continued to walk for hours.

The orange sun has begin to set, casting a shadow on hyrule as the moon begins to rise, but Hylia has apparently taken mercy upon them, because distantly they see what appears to be a village. Many sighs of relief and mummers of thanks to the gods are sent, and the chain has a new pep in their step.

It’s a quaint village, with a nice dirt road and cute little houses, alongside what appears to be some statues in the center of all of it. They agree to start at the center where the statues are, and make their way around gathering supplies and finding an inn- if there even is one, that is.

But as they walk closer to the statues, they begin to take a familiar shape. But soon enough, they see exactly why that is.

"Is that.." Time stares in awe. Jaws are dropped, eyes are bulging, and all sense of frustration from the long journey is swept away by pure bewilderment.

There in the middle of the town stood several statues, nine of them to be exact. Eight of them were shockingly familiar, though the tallest one was a stranger to them, we'll focus on that one after.

There was a statue of each of them. Time, Twilight, Legend, Warriors, Hyrule, Four, and Sky. The details aren't exactly accurate, their faces don't match very well but the clothes are very accurate much to their surprise. They know they've been reduced to fairytales across many time periods, but never have they had statues built for them.

"What. The fuck?" Legend manages to make out.

Time doesn't even censor him. He's far too flabbergasted to even bother.

"That can't be us, can it?" Sky mumbles out, walking up and running a hand along his statue. It's high quality metal, but despite that it shows age. These must have been here for ages.

An elderly lady that sits in a chair not far from the statues watches them, her aged eyes never leaving them. They can understand why, not every day you see a group of such well versed warriors after all.

She watches them carefully, and the group notices. They exchange strange glances but other then that stay relatively in their conversation about what these statues could mean, although they've quieted down.

Then, the old lady gasps, and she shakily runs as quickly as she can up to the chain.

"You are the hero's of old!" She cries out, and Sky sputters. "I- well, uh- maybe??” He knows there's no point in trying to hide it when there are literals statues built of them, albeit not completely accurate.

"They have returned to us! What foe have you come to defeat, old great ones!" The elderly lady cries out, tears beginning to form in her eyes. "I have heard tales of you from my mother and grandmother! I never imagined I would have the honors of meeting you, oh great heros!" She exclaims, falling to her knees in front of them.

People begin to gather around, walking out of their houses to see if it really was true. Kids hide behind their parents legs, mothers and fathers weep in joy, people bow their head in respect to them. Meanwhile, most of the chain had never been so uncomfortable in their entire lives.

"Uhm, hi?" Time greets, waving a hand. "You uh, you don't need to bow to us, ma'am." He speaks, helping the elderly lady up off the ground.

"You built STATUES for us?!" Wind exclaims, practically bouncing on his heels. "Hah, wait till I tell Tetra about this!" He smiles, nudging Wars.

News has quickly spread through the village, and people have started running out of their houses offering food and gifts. Apples upon apples, pots upon pots- how did they know they like pots??

"Of course we built statues! How else would we send our thanks to you for your heroism!" A women in the crowd calls out, and several mummers of agreement are heard.

"They must be here to bless us and this land!"

"No, they're here to take our offerings and answer our prayers!"

"They're here to gift us with their wisdom and courage!"

"Perhaps they're here to bless our dearest hero and savior?"

They chain pause at that last bit.

"Dearest hero and savior you say?" Wars hums, before nodding. "Yes, we're here for... the last one. We must meet with the hero of this time." He speaks, looking around at the chain, who nod along to him.

"Yes. That is correct, where is he?" Four asks.

The crowd laughs a little bit, nudging each other and mummering.

"Oh, great old ones! Locating the hero is nearly impossible! He never stays in one place for too long, such is the ways of the hero!" A father calls out, cradling his newborn in his arms.

"I'm sure if you just wait, he will stop by. Our dearest hero is always so smart, he always seems to know exactly when people need his aid!" The elderly women speaks, patting Fours head, who sends the elderly women the harshest glare he can muster.

The father that was speaking just a second ago walks up, and holds his baby out to Sky. "Would you please bless my daughter, oh great and wise hero of Skies? I wish her to prosper in life!" He begs. And just like that, the crowd stirs wildly.

"Wait, please, bless my mother for good health, oh hero of Hyrule!"

"Hero of the Four sword, would you bless my weapons for strength!"

"Oh great hero of Time, please, bless my grandfather with more time on this earth!"

"Hero of the Wind, please come bless my boat!"

"Bless our fighters, strong hero of Wars!"

"Hey! Listen! Please bless my farm for good crops and livestock, hero of Twilight!"

"Hero of Legends! Please bless my son for safe travels, won't you?"

As if things couldn't get and weirder, they just did.

"You want us to... bless you?" Wind mumbles, thoroughly confused.

The chain look between themselves, no one quite sure what to say. What does one say when they're quite literally being worshiped? No amount of monster fighting, god slaying, hyrule saving experience prepared them for this.

"Of course! Why else would you be here?" A young teen calls out.

Time takes this opportunity to get a little closer to their goal. "Well, we're hunting strangely strong monsters that bleed black. You wouldn't happen to know of any of these, would you?"

A man in the crowd calls out "Some monsters have been more bold lately!" And several mummers of agreement are heard.

A women wielding a pitchfork lazily in one hand speaks up next. “I fought one of them monsters just a few days ago, and it bled black! Just like you said!”

“Please, this is why we need your blessings!” A young women cries, and the entire crowd seems to agree.

Sky looks to Time, who looks to Wars who in turn looks to Legend, who turns to Hyrule who nudges Four, who looks at Wind who then turns to Twilight, who shrugs.

“Uhm… I, uh… Guess we have some time to kill? Might as well?” Sky says, more of a question then a statement. Time looks around, and nods.

“Okay.. Uh, we’ll bless you.” He decides. The crowd cheers, and people run up with babies in hand, shoving them out for the hero’s to take. Wind happily took the strangers babies, he was used to holding little ones after all. He somehow had three babies at once. Time had two. Legend held the infant he had in front of him, not quite sure what to do with it. Four had a toddler, Twilight had… four babies? Are they not concerned about him dropping them? Erm, anyways… Hyrule held one baby, and stared at it all wide eyed as if it was a bomb that would go off at any moment. I mean, that is sort of how babies work. Wars had two toddlers propped up on his shoulders, and one of which had his scarf in its mouth. Wars could do nothing about this. Sky held a six year olds hand, and the six year old stared up at him all wide eyed.

But now came the real question. How exactly do they bless these kids? Wind decided he would be the one to set up how to bless people. He stood out in front of everyone else and made sure they were watching. He simply kissed the babies foreheads, mumbled something under his breath and then walked back up to the babies mother. “Consider your kids blessed!” The mother gratefully takes back the kids with tears in her eyes. “Oh thank you, wise hero of the Winds!”

The rest of the chain looks at each other, and shrugs, deciding to follow in Winds footsteps. Baby forehead after baby forehead was kissed, then they had to move onto the teens, which was pretty awkward considering half of them are teenagers as well. After that, they had to bless weapons, and houses and boats and even animals. In short, a lot of things were kissed that day. And yet, still no sign of the hero of this land.

Thankfully, they were offered a free stay at the inn, but they were still frustrated.

Morning came early the next day. Children played about in the streets, farmers tended to their crops, but most importantly someone stood beside their bedsides. He was a blond teen with nasty scaring on half of his face, he was missing an ear and had long blond hair, he bore a vibrant blue tunic and a cape with a hood. He looks at the chain, then peers out the window to the statues, then back at the chain. And the chain immediately realizes this is the hero they’re looking for. Mainly because the tallest statue look exactly like him.

“You’re Link, right?” Sky sits up. The new hero nods, looking back at the statues again in pure bewilderment.

“And you’re… the hero’s of old?” He clarifies. Wind nods.

“That’s us!” The teen responds.

“Soo…” the new hero starts. “They gave you the worshipping treatment too?”

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storiesoflilies · 4 months

Text

Of Angels and Curses

Synopsis - In a world where Angels and Curses are locked in a never ending war, an unsuspecting seraph becomes entangled with the very thing she is fated to eradicate.

Pairing - Curse!Toji Fushiguro x f!Angel!Reader. Curse!Ryomen Sukuna x Reader. Angel!Satoru Gojo x Reader.

Warnings - General descriptions of violence and injuries, eventual smut.

A/N: Aaaaand here we go!! I’m posting this earlier than I was supposed to in honor of Toji’s birthday. Fun fact - Toji and I share the same birthday :) Ko-Fi.

Next part — Chapter 2

-•-

Chapter 1

The sky was falling ever so softly.

She’d spent so long staring upwards at it, utterly astounded, because it never occurred that way when she imagined it in her head. There was supposed to be an all-consuming deafening rumbling, chunks of blue tumbling down from above, and fiery meteors the size of moons hurling themselves into the chaos of a dying Earth.

But no, it was more like a hundred million and one glowing embers fluttering down like beautiful dying butterflies.

Is this what it’s like when Angels fall?

Y/N thought it was a more peaceful way to go; instead of a violent plummet into the dirt to trade their lives for another one as a Curse. It was a nice thought, naive even, because seraphim were not kind nor merciful to those who they deemed had turned against them. Stupid, wishful thinking, a selfish desire for the world to be anything but exactly what it is; sin was as inevitable as the sun, rising and falling with time in a terrible terrible cycle. She’d seen the streets run crimson like glimmering rubies as Angel’s wings were torn from their bones and flesh, heard their screams from afar as they begged and pleaded not to be cast out. It was always the same; Heaven is, and always would remain, divinely perfect, and it would forever be ruthless in its pursuit of maintaining it. Free will is a beautiful thing, certainly, so long as one made only the right choices.

She shook her head, cool ash flaking off her hair, and picked up her katana from where it lay beside a Curse’s corpse. Satoru Gojo had trusted her with hunting down this particularly erratic Second Layer Curse that had been capturing and torturing wounded Angels. Indeed, she could see the remnants of its latest mangled victim underneath its grotesque blubbery body; a once living soul now just an unrecognizable face beaten into a bloody feathery mess. Maybe they had once sinned, perhaps not, but what did it matter? They were just another tally to be scratched on a plaque, a life reduced to a single scratch on a stone already marred by millions of markings.

Y/N briefly considered attempting to retrieve the body for a proper burial, but it was already far too late in the day. The last rays of the sun threw a brilliant shade of red across the sky, a low hum of anticipation in the air that whispered of all the fury and violence of thunder and lightening; night would soon fall to unleash the lethal Curses that dwelled in the deepest layers of Hell. If she didn’t hurry and ascend to Heaven, then she would bear witness to the unholiest of rituals, as the Earth would crack open beneath her and the molten fire of Sukuna’s wrath would burst forth and consume her body and soul.

She kneeled in front of the Curse; its forked tongue rolling out of a toothless mouth, lidless eyes tipped backwards into its head, and blackened blood dripping from the fatal wound right through its brain. Y/N’s thumb squelched uncomfortably as she pressed it firmly into the rubbery skin of its forehead, and murmured a quick prayer for the deceased seraph, and a blaze of golden light engulfed both corpses. Gojo had taught her how to use her divine energy to smite dead Curses, just to make sure they won’t try again in his own words, and this power could also be extended to cremate their own.

The ground groaned and rumbled, as if protesting against its part to play in the cycle of violence, serving as a sinister warning for her to hurry. A wave of panic washed over her, and Y/N closed her eyes; grasping to control her lackluster wisps of divine energy, and cried out into the seemingly empty plane of the Unlimited Void.

But empty it was not, for Satoru Gojo sees and hears all within his domain.

Within an instant, she felt herself floating into and across the Void as Gojo’s essence consumed and caressed her soul; still as exhilarating and frightening as the first time she had tepidly stepped through this plane of existence. And Y/N could feel all of him, but could do nothing but helplessly travel through the cosmos of his own making. Gojo was like a turbulent ocean, ever-changing and impatient, but perplexingly beautiful; a ticking clock waiting to chime a tune of misery to signal his arrival against his enemies. Not many Angels were privy to ascending into Heaven this way, because Gojo simply didn’t want to do it for just anybody. He was like a fussy child picking only the best things to play with; his trust the ultimate game to win, and many had tried. Y/N didn’t think it was so complex, because she understood fear in a way Gojo could never, and ordinary Angels couldn’t face the fact that their souls would be bared so openly and judged by the Six Eyes himself.

Y/N blinked, and found herself in front of him.

“Cutting it a little close, eh?”

Satoru Gojo stood with his corded forearms crossed over each other, tall and broad form leaning back against an iridescent golden pole of the Gates of Heaven; a marble statue carved directly from God’s hands that demanded complete attention, a perfect vision of beauty that Y/N could never tire of looking at it. He wore a bemused smirk on his face, clearly relishing in her reliance of his power to save her from certain doom, but Y/N liked to think he didn’t completely look down on her. Perhaps she could give him the benefit of the doubt; he had been waiting for her outside the city, and maybe expected her to ascend to Heaven normally, which required an Angel to fly upwards from the Earth and pass through each of the seven layers of Heaven. Each of these layers were well defended by legions of seraphim ready to lay their lives against imminent attacks, bolstered by colossal golden gates similar to the one guarding the main city.

“But you’ve done it, right?” He continued, his eyes completely focused on her as she approached.

Gojo often asked questions he already knew the answers to, something he did with her and his other favorites; a way of settling nerves and putting them at ease around him, as if he hadn’t rooted through every crack and crevice of their minds, pretending he didn’t know them more intimately than they probably did themselves.

“It’s done.”

He hummed appreciatively, the hundreds of eyes decorating his wings blinking intermittently to give an illusion of twinkling cerulean lights, and extended his hand for her to take. Y/N accepted, refusal simply not an option, her fingers intertwining with his as he dropped the infinite barrier coating his body, and let him lead her through the Golden Gates and into the city; their kingdom far above the Earth – where no Curse had ever managed to breach.

Heaven was a seemingly never-ending city; a labyrinth of buildings and twisting pathways built from white marble, with pearlescent towers of varying heights dotted throughout. – a perfect pristine canvas of glittering white diamonds. Many Angels would live together in each of these towers, forming extended families to be born and raised together for generations. Cool air washed through every twist and turn of the city, flowing between trees with silver leaves bearing the sweetest figs; which grew intermittently between any sliver of space between the rock, and some were even as tall as the towers themselves.

“Gojo, couldn’t you see the sky below?”

“Hmm?”

“The sky was burning before I left, it was falling.”

“Ah yes, well… that’s no surprise. Geto has become a Curse, and he is past my sight now. It makes sense the first thing he did was kill the Sky Sentries, so I suppose it’s a good thing you called for me through the Void.”

She froze, and he stopped with her.

Geto is, was, Gojo’s second in command; his most trusted confidant and closest ally. If he had fallen, then there would be many other Angels who would have willingly fallen with him. The Sky Sentries guarded the sky of the Earth, the first layer of Heaven; they stood at the frontline of the war, warriors that couldn’t afford to rest, for come nightfall it was a bloodbath of Curses attempting to breach the first barrier.

So many of us are dead. More lines on the wall.

“Gojo, I-,” Y/N paused, unsure of what to say. “I’m sorry.”

At this, he released her hand and turned to face her. “Why? He made his choice.”

Gojo turned away again, staring down at the ground beneath his feet like he was seeing right through it to the Earth and scorched skies, and scoffed loudly. It was a seething sound of a betrayal that had cut him deeply, and it was a promise of violence and vengeance. Nobody escaped punishment, especially not from the Six Eyes, and Geto was certainly not above consequences.

“You know, we were all given free will. It shouldn’t surprise you, when an Angel - any Angel - falls into darkness and becomes a Curse,” he stated with finality, a sharp edge of a steel knife in his voice.

“But, Geto was our family,” Y/N breathed out shakily, her sadness starting to bubble out uncontrollably. “I didn’t know he was changing, I never noticed anything was wrong.”

“Neither did I,” Gojo whispered defeatedly, a complete change in his tone, letting slip just a sliver of his hurt for someone else to see.

Geto and Gojo were born three centuries before Y/N, and became nigh inseparable; a perfect example of how strong the bond of comradery should be between Angels. She had first met Geto when he had started training her to fight, he’d still hadn’t risen to power back then, and they quickly became close. Of course, naturally Gojo took an interest in her as Geto’s pupil, and over the next two hundred years, Y/N had witnessed them rise through the ranks of the Angels; until they reached the pinnacle of power, their combined strength looming over them all like the omnipresent presence of God in Heaven – and yet, they still kept her within their circle. But Geto was different to Gojo, because he understood that strength wasn’t a gift distributed to everyone, and Y/N had seen him fight a fraction harder just to stand on par beside Gojo on the podium of divinity. He had become her brother; a pillar of strength in her life in a way that the Six Eyes could never be, someone who she could truly say would fight to the death for her if he thought her time had come too early.

Gojo was silent for a moment before continuing, “But the sky will heal, Shoku and her followers can do it. There’s always more of us ready to take each other’s place, you don’t need to worry about it anymore.”

He tenderly stroked her cheek smeared with dried Curse blood, watching as a stray tear escaped and ran down her face like a petulant child, and let out a great sigh as if it was the greatest inconvenience for him to witness her sadness. Y/N felt sheepish; how could she be so upset over a betrayer, a snake that had bitten the hand of someone who had thought it graceful and beautiful. Gojo’s great wings unfurled around them, his feathers tickling her exposed neck softly like a lover would, and his arms pulled her into an embrace.

“Im alright Satoru,” she sniffled after some time. “I just need to be alone, to clean myself and pray for him.”

“His soul is gone, you know that Y/N,” Gojo said softly, like she was a precious crystal he held in his palms, threatening to shatter at any moment.

“I don’t care, I need to put him to rest in some way, for my own peace.”

“Let me come with you then, when I return in the morning. You’re too exhausted to go and pray now.”

“Gojo, please. I need this.”

At this he let her go, his wings snapping back in place like they had been stung, and placed his hand on her head in a blessing. A soothing cool sensation spread all the way down from his palms, healing her weary bones and muscles; bathing her in the rarely tranquil ocean of his divine power, and she shuddered in both fear and relief. Some of his followers had gathered around them, eagerly awaiting their commander to follow into the ensuing battle at the First Gate; curiously glancing at the sight of the two of them, like they were forbidden art that nobody could look at for too long. She knew that he had to go; Gojo always went to battle when the last light left the Earth, even if he had already been fighting during the day. But such was the duty of the Six Eyes — always in the heat of battle, never tiring and never resting.

“Go and sleep,” he said, an order; daring her to refuse again. “I’ll see you in the morning. We can pray together then.”

“Be safe,” she whispered.

He nodded, and then vanished instantaneously, leaving Y/N alone surrounded by the watchful eyes of the other seraphim.

-•-

From light we are born, and to ashes we return.

The beginning of a prayer uttered for those who had passed.

Who once was mighty and now fallen.

Y/N had recited these words many times over, but never once had she done so for a Curse.

Heavenly Father, may you guide our souls to peace in Paradise.

She bathed in starlight and galaxies, and sank backwards into the bathing pool; sending her further into space, to a time and place where her brother hadn’t left her. Caked Curse blood swirled away in the holy water as she sank deeper, her eyes never closing as she stared up at the stars in the night sky.

Where we may all meet again.

Y/N whimpered pitifully as she thought again of Geto in the depths of Hell, wondering if he was suffering as his once holy power was warped into something wicked and corrupt. Would he even look the same, would she recognize him if he materialized in front of her at this very moment; a snarling animalistic Curse like the one she had killed today. Or would he remain as he was like a blip in time, a frozen facade of happiness, but with only malice and sin left underneath it all?

To remain in your eternal light forever.

She emerged, water running down her face as her heart constricted painfully, and clasped her hands together and whispered, “Forgive him, oh please forgive him.”

What was else she supposed to do? Oh how she wished she could go back; maybe then she might have noticed if his eyes had tears of darkness in them, if he had laid there alone as the night full of terrors ushered and coaxed his soul to their side. Then she could have told herself what she was meant to do, instead of grieving for Geto like he was already dead like a ghost she would forever clutch on to; stuck reliving a trail of memories she once thought she knew most of, and now none at all. But if she looked into Gojo’s blue eyes, would she find a glimpse of the brother who lifted her on to his shoulders and raised her with dignity and kindness?

Enough, enough .

Y/N climbed up the steps of the pool as droplets of stars cascaded down her hair, down between her thighs, and down to her feet. She wondered what sort of horrors were unfolding hundreds of thousands of leagues beneath her; if Gojo was striking down Curses with all the fury and might of a scorned lightning storm. She murmured silent prayers for the creatures who stood in his way, and for the seraphim whose lives would be lost as a consequence of Geto’s betrayal. Her feet tapped against the cool marble pathway leading from the pool to the back entrance of Gojo’s tower, and Y/N shook her wings free of any remaining water droplets that flung to her feathers. Her body was bare for all to see as she passed through the empty hallways, but she wasn’t concerned; all those who followed the Six Eyes had followed him into the night, into war. Gojo hadn’t deemed Y/N strong enough to fight during the night, and he never would; for his own selfish reasons, he was keeping her safe.

Her thoughts strayed to when he had openly embraced her in public, and knew that it would have added some truth to the rumor that they were more than just comrades. It was common for Angels that hadn’t found their soulmates to marry each other, as it unfortunately wasn’t always a guaranteed event during one’s lifetime; and of course new seraphim must be born to fight in the war. Since neither of them had found theirs as of yet, so many believed that they would eventually marry. Gojo had made numerous advances to court her over the past few decades, namely allowing her to stay within his tower, as well as hints during various conversations that he expected her to marry him when he finally did ask. Y/N knew that he was aware of her hope for her own soulmate, and that was the only reason he had graced her with his patience, but hope was dangerous in war – it was only a matter of time before he saved her from her own misery.

It would be the most practical thing to do, and Y/N truly did care for him, but was that really enough?

Satoru Gojo was an enigma. On the one hand, he was adored for his effortless displays of power as he could single-handedly decimate armies. On the other, what made him loved was also what made him feared; all he had to do was drag a seraph charged of sin into his Unlimited Void, and they would be helpless as he brutally tore through their minds in search of the truth. If found guilty, he would rip their wings from their backs himself, and then hurtle them towards Hell. Satoru Gojo was as revered as he was terrifying; like he had attained a status close to godliness. Why he had chosen her to be his, Y/N would never know; she could only accept him when he finally came calling for her.

Y/N shook her head, trying to banish all thoughts from her head, and slipped into her bed as her wet hair soaked through the pillow.

What if Geto shows himself tonight?

Perhaps she was right to mourn him, Gojo would strike him down for what he had done. Would Geto give reasons as to why he had sinned if he could speak properly? Y/N hoped so; whatever his answer, it could steel her resolve for the hard fight ahead. But for now, she attempted to empty her head of dark thoughts in an effort to sleep. She would have to be well rested to deal with the fallout of Geto’s betrayal; many new Curses would have been born from all the anguish he had caused.

Can I really hunt those who were my allies just this morning?

Y/N squeezed her eyes shut, hands clamped over her ears, and prayed the negativity and heartache away from her dreams.

-•-

A purple aura permeated Y/N’s room when she awakened, spilling in feverishly from outside the window, and an eerie silence from the previous night lingered and settled like dust. The battle for the sky must still be ongoing if no one was home yet, which meant it was as brutal as she dreaded it to be; for Gojo must have used his Hollow Purple for forcing the sky to change color. She felt fresh fear being thrown over her like a bucket of ice, as the possibility of more of her family dying hit her instantaneously. Y/N quickly donned a fresh set of armor; it was morning now, Gojo couldnt forbid her from descending to Earth since the moon and stars had vanished from sight – she was permitted to go and fight.

Wait.

Y/N froze.

It was Gojo’s voice in her head, his authority reverberating within her mind like a great ringing bell. A strange feeling gathered in the pit of her stomach; he never communicated telepathically with her. Was he trying to keep her from harm? Why wasn’t he allowing her to descend?

I’m coming to you.

Butterflies furiously erupted in her chest, and Y/N hurried outside the tower; the purple glow of the sky growing stronger the closer she got to the entrance of the tower, like a warning nobody could possibly ignore.

The streets outside were in chaos.

Wounded seraphim were being carried by other Angels from a large swirling blue portal at the farthest end of the street from her, and were immediately being tended to by Shoko’s followers. There was an acrid smell in the air; of anguish and death, the scent of suffering from Hell itself. Y/N spied Nanami Kento holding his blunted sword close to his chest, eyes closed as if he was deep in pain but keeping it hidden, as Shoko wrapped his bloodied arms with fresh bandages.

Before Y/N could push her way towards them, the crowd imploded with feverish excitement and shouting as the portal zapped shut, and she jumped back in fright. An unmistakable white head of hair was moving through the crowd, and the seraphim were singing with glee as they parted for their champion; a god splitting the sea, and holding back the oncoming tsunami of adoration. And then, Gojo finally came into view from where she stood, an indecipherable look upon his face as his eyes roamed over every seraphim in the crowd. His gaze inevitably locked onto her, and Y/N noted a crazed spark in his eyes that made her feel uneasy. But she was frozen in place, like prey helplessly watching a predator rushing towards it, as Gojo strode towards her; broad build dripping with Curse blood as he climbed the stairs, stopping just a step below her.

And then he kneeled in front of her, and the universe went quiet.

Y/N’s eyes widened, “Gojo, what are-”

He reached behind his back, procuring two katanas in his palms to her like they were an offering, but she knew exactly where they had come from. The blades were made of pure holy silver, diamonds and pearls encrusted on the hilt — unmistakably Geto’s weapons.

“Geto lost the right to these holy weapons when he betrayed us,” Gojo said as he turned the blades over in his hands, examining them with that same indecipherable look.

“He’s dead then?” Y/N breathed out shakily.

Gojo shook his head, “No, he escaped, but all his followers have been punished.”

She sucked in a breath.

So many more dead.

“These are yours now,” he continued. “If you’ll have them.”

The Six Eyes had never once kneeled for anyone. Y/N knew what was coming, what he was about to ask of her; but how and why had he decided so suddenly that now was the time? He stared up at her with those all knowing eyes, like he was privy to her thoughts whirling in her head, and maybe he was.

Let him go.

How could she? Her heart ached for a part of her soul she had never even met — and might never. Even if she did meet her soulmate, marrying Gojo would forever bind her to him, lest she would be cast out of Heaven for the sin of forsaking her marriage vows. Would he ever be able to make her move on and forget? Did he really know just how much he was asking her for? Her heart hammered in her chest; she wasn’t ready for this, not now, and maybe not ever.

He is Satoru Gojo. If he isn’t enough for you, then who else is?

“I promise to protect you from anything that would hurt you,” Gojo vowed, his voice low for words only meant for her. “I will uphold your virtue and strength, and I promise to stand by your side no matter what happens. I promise to end the Curse of Sukuna, and create a paradise for us and our children, even if it kills me.”

Never once had Satoru Gojo ever mentioned the possibility of his death; it was unnerving, unspeakable, unnatural. His usual saccharine tone was nowhere to be found, and it was deathly quiet all around them – every soul hanging on every word they spoke with bated breath.

“I promise to love you, but please… all I ask is for you to love me and accept me for all that I am, for who I’m going to become,” Gojo whispered, and for the first time in their centuries of friendship, Y/N could see desperation deep within his irises.

She breathed out, steeling herself from the heartache and loss settling deep inside her; her defeat was imminent, but she would rise again to take her seat on the throne beside him as his equal. The world jittered in anticipation as Y/N took both of Geto’s katanas in each of her hands, her knuckles turning white as she gripped their hilts. Gojo stared at her, pupils blown wide; from adoration for her or the heat of battle, she didn’t know.

“I accept you, Satoru Gojo.”

Nothing would ever be the same again.

-•-

#toji fushiguro #toji fushigro x reader #toji x reader #jujutsu kaisen #female reader #gojo satoru #soulmate au #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x reader #toji smut #sukuna smut #toji fushiguro x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #smut

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quinzzelx · 12 days

Text

Don't Go

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: Azriel thought he knew what pain was. But faced with the consequences of battle, he shatters.

Word Count: 4.8K

Warnings: Heart-shattering angst. I'm sorry, this does not have a happy ending. Death. I need to still proofread this!

A/N: One of my favorite Band's songs, one that I hold very dear to my heart, is called "Don't Go"... Let's just say, this song expresses the feelings of this perfectly. If you are interested in an alternate ending, one with a happy one, let me know.

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I was raised in the valley There was shadows and death Got out alive but with scars I can't forget

You never imagined that drowning could be so tranquil. Drifting, falling, floating deeper into the abyss, your once-alert eyes now glazed over with a distant emptiness. The shimmering surface of the moon above reflected in the water, casting a serene glow upon the scene. Despite the turmoil raging within you, the water remained calm, almost comforting as it enveloped you.

With each passing moment, consciousness slipped further away, your limbs heavy and unresponsive. The light above grew dimmer, more distant, as you descended into the depths. A sharp pang in your chest served as a grim reminder of impending death, your lungs screaming for air that was nowhere to be found. The burning agony of suffocation clawed at your throat, the water filling your lungs with each desperate gasp.

This was the end. At the age of 347, a mere blink in the lifespan of a Fae, you faced your demise. While humans might find such longevity unfathomable, for your kind, it was but a fraction of existence. Yet, as the final bubbles of air escaped your lips and rose toward the surface, a sense of peace washed over you. Despite the fear that once gripped your heart, in this moment, all was calm.

Your death would not be in vain. You had fought until the very end. And now, as you surrendered to the depths of the lake, you found solace in the embrace of the water, welcoming you home. Your vision blurred, the edges of your consciousness fading as you struggled to stay afloat. Every movement sent waves of agony rippling through your body, your broken bones protesting with searing pain. Despite your efforts, the darkness continued to close in, suffocating you with its crushing weight.

But then, a sensation unlike any other tore through you, a visceral reaction that seized your heart in a vice-like grip. Panic surged through your veins, amplified by the frantic beating of your heart. It was as if every fiber of your being screamed out in terror, a primal instinct that screamed for survival.

Ears ringing and throbbing with agony, you felt a sharp, stabbing pain shoot through your skull as your eardrums burst under the immense pressure. The pain was excruciating, a relentless assault on the last bit of strength you held onto.

An orphan and a brother and unseen by most eyes I don't know what it was that made a piece of him die Took a boy to the forest Slaughtered him with a scythe Stamped on his face An impression in the dirt Do you think the silence Makes a good man convert?

In the tumultuous landscape of the Illyrian Mountains, whispers of dissent had been stirring for years. Cassian's hunch had sparked a relentless pursuit of the rebels, their motives driven by a desire to reclaim power and revert to antiquated traditions. Their disdain for the new order, especially Rhysand's leadership, fueled their rebellion.

Months of meticulous investigation led Azriel to their hidden stronghold, nestled deep within the rugged terrain. The plan was in motion: pairs deployed, each with a specific mission. Cassian and Feyre, Rhysand and Mor, Nesta and Azriel, and you with Gwyn and Emerie tasked with liberating the captive females.

Amidst the chaos of battle, Azriel wielded Truthteller with lethal precision, dispatching adversaries with practiced ease. Yet, his focus fractured when Emerie and Gwyn rushed to his side, your absence glaringly apparent. Dread coiled in his gut as Gwyn's wide-eyed gaze met his. It was then that Azriel noticed your absence, a sinking feeling gnawing at his gut. "Where is she?" His voice was tight with worry, urgency lacing his words. Her response only fueled his anxiety. "There was a group of about ten. She's our best fighter, and she insisted we go for help." Azriel's instinctive reaction was to scowl at Gwyn's decision to leave you behind, but he knew you were capable. Still, the thought of you facing such odds alone churned his stomach. So many of them? Fuck, he had to find you. A glance at Nesta was enough as she immediately nodded. "Find her." With a silent nod, Azriel launched himself into the sky, his wings slicing through the air with a fierce determination. The urgency of his mission spurred him onward, each powerful beat bringing him closer to the treeline that marked the edge of the battlefield.

It was only recently, during your parting, that the bond between you had awakened with startling clarity. The sensation pulsed within him, a potent reminder of your connection. How had he overlooked it for so long? The question gnawed at him as he scanned the landscape below, every hut, every tent, every clearing scrutinized for any sign of you.

As he neared the cliffside, a gust of wind carried the pungent scent of blood, assaulting his senses with brutal force. Panic seized him, his chest constricting with a primal fear as he descended closer to the source of the chaos. Then, amidst the carnage, he felt it—a flicker of your presence, fragile yet unmistakable.

We all have our horrors And our demons to fight But how can I win when I'm paralyzed? They crawl up on my bed Wrap their fingers round my throat Is this what I get for The choices that I made?

Landing with a staggering thud, Azriel stumbled forward, his chest heaving as he fought to quell the rising panic. Ears ringing, he scanned the scene before him, desperate for any sign of you amidst the chaos of battle. The sight of severed limbs and pools of blood sent a shiver down his spine, his heart hammering with dread. The battlefield was a scene of utter devastation, a macabre tableau of violence and chaos. Bodies littered the ground, their limbs twisted at unnatural angles, pools of blood mingling with the churned earth. The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood and the acrid scent of sweat and fear.

A sudden sound to his right shattered the eerie silence, drawing Azriel's attention like a predator honing in on its prey. His eyes narrowed, scanning the landscape until they landed on a figure slumped against a tree stump. The Illyrian's battered form was a testament to the brutality of the conflict, bruises marring his face, blood staining his clothes. As Azriel approached, his shadows coiled around him like vengeful serpents, an ominous aura of danger emanating from his every movement. His broad shoulders were squared, his stare intense and unwavering, like the embodiment of death itself stalking through the battlefield.

The Illyrian male flinched as Azriel loomed over him, a towering figure of wrath and retribution. With a swift motion, Azriel snatched him by the collar, yanking him up and pressing him against the tree with a force that left no room for defiance. "Where is she?" Azriel's voice was a low, menacing growl, barely contained fury simmering beneath the surface. The Illyrian snarled in response, his bruised and bloodied face contorted with defiance. He spat into Azriel's face, a vile mixture of blood and saliva, his defiance fueling the flames of Azriel's rage. "I won't tell you a gods damn thing, Bastard," he spat, his voice dripping with venom.

Azriel's fury intensified as he tightened his grip, bones cracking and snapping under his relentless grasp, the Illyrian's defiant sneer faltering as pain seared through him. "Tell me where she is," Azriel growled, his voice a dangerous rumble that reverberated through the air like a thunderclap, echoing the storm raging within him.

The Illyrian's lips curled into a twisted grin, his defiance unyielding even in the face of Azriel's wrath. "Your whore? We took care of her," he taunted, his voice laced with malice as he sought to goad Azriel further. Azriel's gaze darkened, a storm of fury brewing behind his eyes as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against the Illyrian's face. With a swift motion, he slammed him against the tree once more, the force of the impact jarring his senses. "You will regret those words," Azriel growled, his voice dripping with icy venom. In an instant, Azriel's shadows surged forward, wrapping around the Illyrian's limbs like vengeful tendrils, constricting and squeezing with crushing force. The Illyrian's defiant grin faltered, replaced by a look of sheer terror as he struggled against the suffocating darkness. Azriel's grip tightened, his fingers digging into the Illyrian's flesh as he leaned in closer, his voice a low, menacing whisper. "You will tell me everything," he snarled, his words a promise of retribution as he unleashed the full extent of his wrath upon the helpless captive.

Azriel's gaze hardened, his patience wearing thin as he pressed the Illyrian harder against the tree. "You will tell me," he insisted, his voice a deadly whisper. "Or I will make you wish you had."

With a defiant glare, the Illyrian spat back, "You can't scare me, Shadowsinger. I'd rather die than betray my comrades."

Azriel's jaw clenched, his fury simmering just beneath the surface as he stared down at the defiant captive. "So be it," he growled, his voice cold and unforgiving. "But know this, your death will be swift compared to the torment I will unleash upon those who have harmed her."

With a final, chilling glare, Azriel released his grip, allowing the Illyrian to crumple to the ground in a heap. Azriel's heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing like thunder in his ears as he stumbled forward, the weight of the bond pressing down on him like a suffocating shroud. Desperation clawed at him as he scanned the surroundings, his senses straining to pick up any sign of your presence.

God forgive me for all my sins God forgive me for everything God forgive me for all my sins God forgive me God forgive me

As he reached the edge of the cliff, overlooking the vast expanse of the lake, a sinking feeling settled in the pit of Azriel's stomach. Where were you? His mind raced, frantically trying to piece together the puzzle of your disappearance. And then it hit him, a searing pain shooting through his head as the bond between you wavered and dimmed. Gasping for breath, he clutched at his chest, his vision swimming with panic and fear. He couldn't lose you, not like this.

Azriel's mind reeled as the realization struck him like a bolt of lightning. You were dying, and he had only just discovered that you were his mate. The weight of the revelation bore down on him, suffocating him with a sense of dread and urgency. With a fierce determination, he forced himself to focus, pushing aside the overwhelming surge of panic threatening to consume him. He cursed himself for not recognizing your distress sooner, for failing to protect you when you needed him most.

The sensation of suffocation intensified, the air growing thick and heavy around him. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't bear the thought of losing you. Then it hit him like a physical blow, his eyes widening in horror as the truth dawned on him. "No," he whispered hoarsely, his voice trembling with fear and desperation. In an instant, he was on his feet, his movements fueled by a primal instinct to save you at any cost. The chaos unfolding at the cliffside suddenly made sense, and he knew what he had to do.

With lightning speed, he leapt into the depths below, his senses on high alert as he scanned the eerie still surface of the lake. Every fiber of his being screamed for you, a silent plea echoing in the depths of his soul. No, no, no. He couldn't lose you. Not now. Not ever.

Don't go I can't do this on my own Don't go I can't do this on my own Save me from the ones That haunt me in the night I can't live with myself So stay with me tonight Don't go

Frantically, Azriel swept over the vast expanse of the lake, his heart pounding in his chest with each beat of his wings. The enormity of the task ahead overwhelmed him, but he refused to succumb to despair. With each passing moment, the silence from the other side of the bond grew louder, echoing in his mind like a haunting refrain.

"Please," he pleaded silently, his thoughts a desperate mantra as he called out your name into the void. "Hold on, just a little longer." He tugged at the fragile thread of the bond, hoping for some sign of life, some glimmer of reassurance. But there was only emptiness, a faint flicker that threatened to snuff out entirely.

Then, like a beacon in the darkness, a glimmer of light caught his attention, reflecting off the surface of the water below. It was a small ray of hope amidst the vast uncertainty, and Azriel clung to it with all his strength. Grateful for the clarity of the lake's icy waters, he scanned the depths below, searching for any sign of you.

And then he saw it—a flash of metal glinting in the moonlight, unmistakably your sword. His heart leaped with a mixture of relief and dread as he circled the area, his keen eyes scouring the surroundings for any trace of you. With a surge of determination, Azriel dove into the clear waters of the lake, his muscles straining with the effort as he propelled himself downward. Anxiety gripped him like a vice, each stroke of his wings a desperate plea for your safety.

His heart hammered in his chest as he descended deeper into the murky depths, his senses keenly attuned to every movement, every shadow that flickered in the water around him. The pressure of the water pressed in on him, threatening to crush him with its weight, but he pushed on, fueled by the urgency of the situation.

"Please," he prayed silently, the word a fervent prayer on his lips as he scanned the darkness below. The faint outline of your form came into view, a haunting specter in the gloom, and his heart clenched with fear at the sight.

His Illyrian wings strained against the resistance of the water, their powerful beats driving him ever closer to you. Every fiber of his being screamed for him to reach you, to pull you from the grasp of the icy depths and into the safety of his arms.

With each stroke of his wings, Azriel descended deeper into the darkness, his heart pounding with a mixture of dread and determination. His fingers strained, grasping for your form as he fought against the relentless pressure of the water.

When he finally reached you, his heart twisted painfully at the sight of your vacant eyes staring lifelessly into the abyss. Gently, he pulled you into his arms, cradling your limp body against his chest as he began the arduous journey back to the surface.

Tell me that you need me 'cause I love you so much Tell me that you love me 'cause I need you so much Tell me that you need me 'cause I love you so much Say you'll never leave me 'cause I need you so much

As he ascended, a sense of urgency gripped him, his movements swift and purposeful as he struggled against the weight of your lifeless form. Halfway to the surface, he summoned his power and with a flicker of shadows, he winnowed to the shore, still holding you tightly in his embrace.

Your body felt unnaturally cold against his, your skin pallid and clammy as he laid you gently on the ground. Panic surged through him as he knelt beside you, his hands shaking as he pressed against your chest, desperate for any sign of life. But there was nothing—no rise and fall of your chest, no flutter of your eyelids. Tears stung his eyes as he stared down at your motionless form, the weight of his failure crushing him with each passing moment. "No," he whispered hoarsely, his voice cracking with emotion as he fought to suppress the rising tide of despair. "No, no, no."

With tears streaming down his cheeks, Azriel bent over your motionless body, his hands trembling as he began chest compressions. Each push was an agonizing reminder of his helplessness, his fingers pressing against your chest with desperate force, willing your heart to respond.

The bond between you dimmed with each passing second, a thin thread of connection that threatened to snap at any moment. But Azriel refused to let go, his mind consumed by a singular determination to bring you back from the brink. Leaning down, he pressed his lips to yours, breathing life into your still body with every exhale. The taste of saltwater lingered on your lips, a bitter reminder of the depths from which he had pulled you.

His movements were frantic, almost desperate, as he continued to alternate between chest compressions and breaths, his own breath ragged with exertion. His wings, normally a symbol of strength and power, drooped at his sides, soaked with water and heavy with the weight of his despair. In the midst of his efforts, he failed to notice the arrival of Cassian, Nesta, Rhys, and Feyre, their shocked gazes fixed upon the scene unfolding before them. They hovered at a distance, unsure of how to intervene, their hearts heavy with the weight of your precarious situation.

But Azriel was lost in his own world, consumed by the task at hand. He refused to acknowledge the fear gnawing at his heart, the dread that threatened to consume him whole if he dared to let it in. Azriel's hands moved with a desperation born of sheer terror, his fingers trembling as they continued to press against your chest. Each compression sent a jolt of anguish through his body, his muscles straining with the effort to bring you back to life. "Please," he whispered, the word barely audible over the rush of blood in his ears. "No, please."

His vision blurred with tears, the world around him reduced to a hazy backdrop of grief and despair. He chanted your name like a prayer, a desperate plea to whatever gods might be listening to spare your life. "You can't go," he pleaded, his voice breaking with emotion. "Not like this." Beside him, Cassian's heart shattered at the sight of his brother's anguish. Stepping closer, he placed a hand on Azriel's back, a silent gesture of support in the face of overwhelming sorrow.

"Brother," he murmured, his voice thick with unshed tears. But before he could say anything more, Azriel's head snapped in his direction, rage blazing in his eyes. "No!" Azriel snarled, his shadows swirling around him in a tempest of fury. Cassian recoiled, his heart aching at the sight of his brother's pain etched so clearly on his face. Feyre's sobs echoed in the background, a haunting melody of grief that underscored the desperation of the moment. Rhys and Cassian shared a look, their expressions mirroring the anguish that weighed heavy on their hearts.

But it was Azriel who bore the brunt of the agony, his entire being consumed by the terror of losing you. As he clung to your lifeless form, he felt the weight of despair pressing down on him, threatening to crush him beneath its unbearable burden. With each passing moment, he watched helplessly as you slipped further away from him. Your lips, once full of color, now turned a lifeless shade of blue, your cheeks growing hollow with every breath you didn't take.

"Please," he begged, his voice raw with anguish. "Do something! Rhys, please!" His words were a desperate plea, a cry for salvation in the face of overwhelming despair. But as Rhys stepped closer, a defeated look on his face, Azriel's heart shattered into a million pieces.

"I... I can't," Rhys murmured, his voice heavy with sorrow. "I'm sorry, brother, but..." Azriel's rage boiled over, his pain spilling out in a torrent of emotion. "You don't understand!" he screamed, his voice cracking with anguish. "She is my Mate!"

Don't go I can't do this on my own Don't go I can't do this on my own Save me from the ones That haunt me in the night I can't live with myself So stay with me tonight

The words hung in the air like a heavy fog, their significance sinking in with a painful clarity. Rhys and Cassian exchanged shocked looks, their faces a portrait of sorrow and disbelief. And as Feyre wept silently in the background, the weight of the truth settled over them. Azriel's cries echoed across the desolate landscape, a symphony of grief that pierced the night with its raw intensity.

With each failed attempt to revive you, his soul fractured a little more, the pain tearing through him like a relentless storm. He clung to you desperately, his fingers digging into your lifeless flesh as if trying to anchor you to the world of the living. But no amount of pleading or praying could bring you back, and with each passing moment, the reality of your loss became more unbearable.

Tears streamed down his cheeks unchecked, mingling with the cold water that surrounded you both. In that moment of utter despair, he felt as if his heart had been ripped from his chest, leaving behind nothing but a gaping void where you once belonged. In the eerie silence that followed, broken only by the lapping of the lake against the shore, Azriel held you close, his heart shattered into a million irreparable pieces.

His tears mingled with the water that now cradled your lifeless form, a cruel reminder of the love that had been torn from him so suddenly. "I love you," he whispered brokenly, his voice barely a whisper against the vast emptiness of the night. "I have always loved you." Each word was a knife to his soul, carving out the depths of his grief with ruthless precision.

As his tears fell upon your face, mingling with the coolness of death, Azriel felt the weight of his loss bear down upon him with crushing force. With trembling hands, he brushed a lock of hair from your forehead, his touch gentle yet filled with unbearable sorrow.

And then, with a heart-wrenching realization, the bond between you flickered and died, snuffed out like a candle in the wind. The agony that tore through Azriel in that moment was unlike anything he had ever known, a searing pain that threatened to consume him whole.

A guttural scream tore from his throat, raw and primal, echoing across the desolate landscape. His shadows burst forth from him in a frenzy of writhing darkness, swirling around him like a tempest unleashed. Rhys acted quickly, raising a protective shield to contain the torrent of emotions that threatened to overwhelm them all. Clutching your lifeless body to his chest, Azriel's whole being shook with terror and despair.

"No, this isn't true," he cried out, his voice a desperate plea to the uncaring heavens. "Don't leave me." But there was no answer, no miracle to bring you back to him. In that moment, the reality of living without you crashed over him like a tidal wave, threatening to drag him under. How could he go on without you? How could he face a world that suddenly seemed so cold and empty?

Your laughter, your smile, the warmth of your touch—all of it was gone now, lost to him forever. And as he held your lifeless body against his, Azriel screamed, a primal cry of anguish that echoed into the night, a haunting lament for a love that had been stolen away too soon.

With his forehead pressed against yours, Azriel wept, his tears mingling with the water that surrounded you both. He pressed a gentle kiss to your cold cheek, his lips trembling with sorrow and regret. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "I failed you. I failed us."

The shadows around him finally began to still, their frantic dance slowing to a mournful sway. Rhys lowered his shield, allowing the others to approach, their faces etched with sorrow as they took in the devastating scene before them. Cassian stepped forward first, his expression a mixture of grief and disbelief. "Az," he said softly, his voice thick with unshed tears. "I don't know what to say."

Azriel looked up at his brother, his eyes red-rimmed and haunted. "Say that it's not true," he pleaded, his voice breaking. "Tell me this is just a nightmare and I'll wake up soon." But Cassian could only shake his head, his own heart heavy with grief. "I wish I could," he said quietly. "But this is real, Az. And I'm so sorry."

Azriel's voice cracked with anguish as he spoke, his words a desperate plea to the heavens. "Why you?" he cried, his voice raw with pain. "You were everything good in this world, everything bright and beautiful. Why did it have to be you?"

He clutched your lifeless form tighter to his chest, as if by sheer force of will he could bring you back to life. "It should have been me," he whispered, his voice thick with sorrow. "I'm the broken one, the one who's lived in darkness for so long. You deserved so much better than this."

Tears streamed down his face as he pressed his forehead against yours, his breath hitching in his chest. "I can't do this without you," he confessed, his voice barely more than a whisper. "You were my light, my reason for living. And now you're gone."

His heart shattered into a million pieces as he held you close, the weight of your loss crushing him beneath its unbearable burden. "Please come back," he begged, his voice choked with grief. "I can't bear to live in a world without you."

Don't go I can't do this on my own Don't go Save me from the ones That haunt me in the night I can't live with myself So stay with me tonight

Rhys approached Azriel cautiously, his expression heavy with sorrow. "Az, we need to leave soon," he said gently, his voice barely audible over the howling wind. "You'll freeze to death out here." Azriel's tear-streaked face twisted with fury as he turned to Rhys, his grief-stricken eyes burning with intensity. "I can't leave her here," he growled, his voice thick with emotion.

Rhys nodded solemnly, understanding the depth of Azriel's pain. "I know, brother," he replied softly. "But we can't stay here forever. We need to take her home."

Azriel's sobs echoed through the desolate landscape, his voice barely above a whisper as he pleaded, "Just five more minutes." His gaze remained fixed on your beautiful face, etched with pain and longing.

Rhys and Cassian exchanged a somber glance before silently stepping back, giving Azriel the space and time he needed to say goodbye. The minutes stretched into hours, the sun dipping below the horizon and rising again, painting the sky with hues of orange and pink. But still, Azriel clung to your lifeless form, his whispered pleas of "just a little more" echoing through the silent air. Each passing moment felt like an eternity as Azriel grappled with the reality of your absence. The weight of his grief was palpable, a heavy burden that threatened to consume him. But still, he couldn't bring himself to let go, as if leaving this place would make the devastating truth more real.

As the sun reached its zenith once again, casting long shadows across the landscape, Rhys approached Azriel with a heavy heart. "Az," he said gently, his voice filled with compassion, "we need to go." Azriel's voice was raw with emotion as he stood for the first time since arriving at the desolate shore, still cradling your lifeless form in his arms. His eyes, once filled with anguish, now held a haunted emptiness as he spoke to Rhys, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I can't live without her, Rhys," he confessed, the weight of his words heavy in the air. Each syllable was laden with the depths of his grief, a pain that seemed insurmountable in the wake of your absence. Rhys's heart clenched at Azriel's words, the pain evident in his brother's voice piercing through him like a blade. He could see the devastation etched into Azriel's features, the unbearable weight of loss bearing down on him.

"I know, Az," Rhys murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "I understand. But we have to take her home. She deserves that much." His own grief threatened to overwhelm him, but he pushed it aside, focusing on the task at hand. "We'll give her a proper farewell, Az. Together." Azriel cradled your lifeless form in his arms as he followed Rhys, his steps heavy with grief. He thought of all the moments they had shared together in Velaris, the quiet nights spent stargazing on the balcony, the lazy mornings talking over coffee. He thought of the way your laughter echoed through the streets of the city, a beacon of light in the darkness.

But now, all of those moments felt like distant memories, fragments of a life that was no longer his to hold. As Azriel prepared to winnow back to Velaris, your lifeless form cradled in his arms, he couldn't shake the overwhelming sense of regret that consumed him. He would never get the chance to kiss you again, to hold you close and tell you how much he loved you. He wished he had confessed his feelings before, before the bond had been revealed, before it was too late.

You had died alone, unaware of his love, unaware that you had a mate who cherished you more than anything in this world. The thought tore at his soul, leaving behind a gaping wound that he knew would never fully heal. He would carry the weight of that regret with him for the rest of his days.

But as he prepared to winnow, to leave this desolate place behind and return to Velaris, he knew that he had to find a way to live with the pain, to honor your memory in every moment of his existence. You may be gone, but your love would live on in his heart forever.

With one last lingering look at your peaceful face, Azriel whispered a silent promise to himself, to remember you, to cherish you, to love you for all eternity. And then, with a heavy heart and tear-stained cheeks, he winnowed away, back to Velaris, with you in his arms, your spirit forever intertwined with his own.

Don't go Don't go Don't go Don't go

☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆

A/N: I'm sorry. Whew. I made myself cry while writing this. Please let me know if you enjoyed this and if you'd be interested in an alternative ending. :)

#acotar #azriel x reader #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #reader insert #azriel spymaster #x reader #azriel angst #angst #tw death #death #loss #heartbreak #dealing with grief #grief #angst without a happy ending #cassian #rhysand

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