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utterlyotterlyx · 1 month

Note

4 and/or 25 with Eris, please!

Lost In The Fire

Eris x Fem!Reader

Warnings - mentions of arranged marriage, suggestive comments, lots of fluff

(not spell checked sorry x)

What if you - If you're really about to suggest that I sit on your lap, I will kill you. Don't leave me here alone.

Balls had never been, nor ever would be, your thing.

The opulence that came with them was sickening, a waste of precious resources that could be put toward something more beneficial. The gold on display, the mountains of food that hardly anyone would touch that sat as a putrid reminder of power and wealth, and the stench of ale made your stomach churn with distaste.

You would forever curse your brother, Thesan, for giving you over to the Autumn Court, you understood that you had a duty to fulfil, and since you were the sister of one of the more liberal courts, with unmatched spiritual abilities, it meant that you were a high prize indeed.

You had long lost your usual clothing, red and gold loose fitting robes that still had the power to accentuate every feature you held lay dormant in your wardrobe and had been swapped out for tighter fitting garments in an arrangement of greens and browns and oranges. By order of Lady Autumn, of course.

There would be a day when her title would belong to you, and you always had to look the part.

It was a part you played well.

Marriage to Eris, the Heir of the Autumn Court, wasn't nearly as bad as you had expected it to be. It was lucky that your talents in spirituality were so advanced, and you were also lucky that his knowledge of your gifts was so little when you had first met.

Despite his cold exterior, you saw a small boy within him wanting more than anything to break free from the chains that bound him to his position. It was his only defence against his father. But, he knew that you could see through it, see through him in a way that no one else could and part of him was relieved to finally have someone who could understand him.

Things were still rocky, you struggled with their way of life, something Beron despised and spoke of frequently, saying he did not want you leading his court if you couldn't bend your morals and do what was needed. If turning your back on the people who needed you was too stiff, then you didn't want to be leading his court anyway.

But everything with Eris was good, more than good actually, you had actually come to care for him beyond the requirements of your marriage. Eris had moved your rooms opposite his own to have you closer to him, to have you speak him into newfound calm when his duties became too much; to have you closer to him so that he could soothe your clairvoyant episodes that pounced on you from nowhere.

It was meant to be a marriage of convenience, a marriage to forge new power and bonds and produce a litter of children who possessed both of your abilities. A new path for Autumn, a stronger path.

The clouds darkened on the horizon, the moon poked through their curls and illuminated them with a faint pale blue glow. Lanterns lined the garden paths below your window, Eris had made sure to give you the room with the best view, and you watched idly as high born nobles and invited guests to the nights festivities strolled down the cobbled stone paths arm in arm, pointing at the array of intricately carved white marble statues and fountains littered across the lawns, scattered between the hedges and lush flowerbeds.

Ladies swarmed you, tugging at your limbs and shimmying skirts up your legs before huffing and ripping them down again, tapping your calves to tell you to lift your feet so that they could try the next one. Lady Autumn ordered that racks upon racks of opulent dresses be wheeled into your chambers, it was important that you look your best in front of all of the nobles attending that evening, from Autumn and those from other courts.

Even Beron knew how powerful your opinion was to others, not like he would ever listen to it himself. You had been the one to accompany your brother to the High Lords meeting to find a path forward against Hybern. It was your grace and elegance that kept the meeting from boiling over since you were able to feel the emotions of others and force them to simmer down before they consumed the room. It was you who had been able to tell them all of Hyberns movements which no doubt gave them the edge they needed. It was you who saved dozens upon dozens of soldiers from all courts.

You had been the one to help Feyre with the complications with her pregnancy, you had been there for the birth of her son and had given a kernel of your own gift to keep her alive; it made you a very trusted ally to the Night Court, a friend. Helion wrote to you often asking for you opinions on research and inventions, even went as far as to ask for your input on some new policies he wanted to introduce to Day.

It was stupid to suggest that you wouldn't be the perfect High Lady.

Diplomatic. Gifted. Elegant. Poised.

And Eris adored every part of you that you decided to show him, he basked in it actually.

You weren't really paying attention as the ladies around you tugged at your hair and pulled another dress up your body, fitting it tightly around your breasts and hips before standing back and humming in approval. Then you looked.

An assortment of shimmering golds, burnt oranges and flecks of silver, all weaving between one another like the summer tides. It was sheer, enough to be endearing and elegant but not enough to appear indecent. There was a cut out half sphere below your breasts and the bodice flared upward like streaks of sunshine at the crack of dawn. Even you had to admit that it was a stunning piece indeed. Like a stained glass window glowing with dawns kiss.

"This is the one," your fingers brushed around your hips with a faint smile, your hair was unbound and simple, a perfect compliment to the other-worldly dress you adorned, and your makeup was a picture of dewy perfection, shimmers along your cheekbones and forehead, arched brows, glossed lip. "Thank you," you had dismissed the flock of women as soon as they strapped your shoes to your feet, taking a moment for yourself before you slipped from the room.

The quietness of the hallway was enough to tell you that Eris would already be in the ballroom, no doubt sassily quipping the other High Lords and Ladies with cold eyes and a stiff spine. An act that would melt under your presence.

You weren't wrong.

As soon as you had entered the room, it was encapsulated by you. Feyre and Mor rushed to greet you, stroking your hair and running their hands down your skirts, begging for you to tell them where had gotten it. Cassian bundled you into a boisterous embrace which earnt him a curt jab from Nesta for the inappropriateness, Azriel kissed your knuckles as did Rhys, and Helion kissed your cheek in greeting, muttering to you how beautiful you looked in a hushed tone.

No reaction compared to that of Eris however as he remained glued to his seat with lips agape as his russet orbs scoured your figure, the mere action of his eyes on you making heat rise to your cheeks.

Tables lined the room with benches on either side, all packed with goblets of wine and mugs of ale, platters of food scattered at intricately measured intervals. Only Beron and Lady Autumn sat at the head of the hall, the latter of which examined you with approval.

Everyone had floated about you, stealing your attention from the one you desired to give it to. From Rhys asking you, jokingly, to revolt against Autumn and find sanctuary in Velaris, to Thesan pulling you to the side to inquire if you were being treated well. Helion had updated you on the policies you had so gracefully aided him in implementing, and you found a moment to catch up with Kallias and Viviane.

Then you made your way over to Eris who was wrapped up in a conversation with Lucien and Elain, whose gaze jolted from cold to warm in a split second when he saw your dress glistening in the corner of his eye, "Hello, Embers," his voice was as smooth as freshly cracked open whisky as he prodded you with the nickname he had given you, he thought you glowed, not brightly, but like embers on a dying fire, low and warm.

Eris was extremely proud to call you his wife, not only were you clearly beautiful, but you had a heart of molten gold, people sought you out for comfort and aid, you were graceful and poised, and could change the world with your bare hands if you wished it. It was what he needed, a chance of a real future with the woman he was falling in love with.

He couldn't blame you for your feelings toward him, you didn't exactly have a choice in the marriage but you had tried to make the most of it, and you had let him in and spent more time with him away from the duties required of you. Eris thought that you had finally started to feel a certain way toward him as well, from the faint shine in your eyes when you looked at him to the real laughter that sliced through the fogged atmosphere when he quipped something to you. You made him melt, you made him be who he always wanted to be.

"Hello," your voice was as soft as drizzled honey and your hair fell over your shoulders as you leaned forward to place a kiss on his cheek, a necessary act to display your strength as a couple.

Eris felt your eyes trail down his chest and arms, the open collared cream shirt and chestnut brown jacket and pants; he had styled his hair the way you loved it, tamed but still with a playfulness to it, tousled slightly as if he had been stood on the balcony in the wind for a few moments. "Do you like it?" Eris motioned to his suit with that gleam in his eye that made your knees weak, it was certainly a good thing that he wasn't an empath like you, otherwise he'd know his effect on you and no doubt tease you for it.

Just because Eris couldn't feel your emotion doesn't mean that someone else couldn't read you like a book.

You're blushing, a voice infiltrated your mind and you did well to keep a stoic face against Rhys' shit-eating smirk he was no doubt wearing from his seat across the bench from your husband, with his arm loosely wrapped around Feyre's waist, sipping from his goblet with a teasing glint in his eye. Someone might say you might actually feel something for the man.

Ignoring the voice in your head, you spoke, "I love it, we're basically matching."

You'll definitely be matching when both of your clothes are on the floor tonight.

Go fuck yourself, Rhys.

I don't need to. Not when I have my lovely mate.

The walls in your mind flew up then, trapping his talons against the roof of your consciousness with such force that the High Lord visibly winced and rubbed his temple tenderly.

"You look angelic," Eris stood before you, taking your hand in his and pressing his lips against the back of your hand, dipping low and peering at you through his lashes, making no effort to mask the desire in his emotions.

"Thank you," it came out as a whisper and he placed your hand back to your side, sitting down again beside his brother, allowing you to glance along the table which housed not only Eris and Lucien, but also Elain, Rhys, Feyre, Nesta, Cassian, Azriel, Helion, and your brother, meaning there was no space for you, "I suppose I'll go and sit with Kallias and Viviane," you picked up your skirts to turn away when Eris' hand shot out and secured around your wrist.

Eris' eyes glowed in the candlelight, you could see the flames flickering in his russet orbs that had you in a constant chokehold, "What if you-"

"If you're really about to suggest that I sit on your lap, I will kill you," Azriel choked on his wine and coughed as Rhys and Cassian howled in laughter, even Eris chuckled and ran a hand through his hair at your words, standing to tower over you and cup your face in his hand.

"Perhaps later," he smirked and you visibly blushed at the words, even Eris couldn't miss it and he stroked a thumb over your rosed cheek.

In defence, you quipped, "Maybe I'll go back to my chambers then," the words flew from your mouth and you only realised how they sounded when Eris' focus darkened, the tension between you both was palpable to the point that even Azriel let out a whoosh of air he didn't realise he was holding in his lungs.

"So tempting," he took a step closer to you, wrapping an arm around your waist and speaking a low, rough tone, "Don't leave me here alone, you know I don't do well without you."

"Fine," you strained and he grinned victoriously before ordering his brother and Elain to scooch down slightly to make room for you, and you slotted beside Eris like the final piece to his puzzle, thanking him for the goblet of wine you had taken from his offering fingers and looking upward at Rhys and Feyre who both sent you a knowing glance.

Knocking on the doors of your mind, you allowed Rhys to slip in, doing your best to stay distracted against Eris' hand on your hip that sent fire coursing through your veins and heat pooling between your thighs.

I've never known him to be like this, you know.

Like what?

Rhys' eyes flickered to Eris in examination before finding you again whilst Feyre kept the heir ignorant to the conversation between you and her mate.

Soft. Caring. He loves you, Y/N.

Well, it's a good thing I love him too then.

Rhys smirked, raising his goblet to you to which you clinked against your own, sipping the spiced wine and smiling with happiness at his words.

Eris sighed and turned to you, placing a kiss to your cheek, allowing his lips to graze against your cheekbones and his breath to fan down your neck. The rest of the room had moved on, wrapped up in one another, wrapped up in the ale and music, leaving you and Eris alone and untouchable in your little bubble. His eyes scanned you, sketching every part of you onto the canvas within his mind, "Your presence has impacted me so deeply that I'm convinced that if we never met then something would feel missing," he rested his forehead against your own and his hand gripped your waist as his gaze bore into you, "Don't leave me alone, don't ever leave me," a breathless plea that stole your heart.

"I will never leave you, Eris. I will be here to watch all of your dreams come true, I promise."

Flames danced in his eyes and he became unbothered by who could be watching, "They already are," his finger stroked a line up the curve of your throat as he lifted your chin up, wasting no time in pressing his lips to yours in something you could only call ethereal, so tender but passionate that you felt your heart burst with golden light in your chest.

Eris smirked against your lips, a knowing thing, like he knew exactly what had just happened, pulling away, you gasped as your hand ghosted over the fabric of your heart, "You knew?"

"From the moment we met at that meeting in Dawn," his nose brushed against yours, "You were too busy helping Thesan and keeping Tamlin under control to notice, but I saw you, and I knew I needed you."

"You never said anything."

"How could I?" Eris pressed a kiss to your nose, "You had to fall for me on your own, I couldn't influence that."

You inhaled his scent, of crackling firewood and spiced oranges and sighed, you curled your fingers around the lapels of his jacket and kissed him again, more forcefully, and luckily for you both, the room hadn't noticed your infatuation due to Cassian's well played distraction to give you both a moment, one that you needed.

"I need to get you out of here before I take you on this table," his voice possessively growled and it made you shudder in intense delight.

Rhys watched from across the way as Eris took your hand in his own and pulled you from the room, smiling at the large grin on your face and the faint giggles passing through your lips as he saw the silhouette of Eris flinging you over his shoulder cascaded in shadow onto the white stone floor.

If anyone deserved true happiness, a life of wonder and love, it was you, and it was something Rhys believed Eris was now fully capable of providing for you.

Author's Note

Back from Paris in love with the idea of love so expect lots of fluff coming your way x

279 notes · View notes

siriusleee · 7 months

Text

shot through with gold

“I smashed the whole house to bits,” Johnny keeps going, turning to put the milk in the refrigerator. “Had to get Simon over here to help me put it back together. It was his idea by the way. To get the mug fixed. He said you’d be mad if it was gone when you came home.”

tags: coming back home, implied torture, capture, smut, riding, reader is afab, mentions of medical procedures, mentions of blood word count: 7.7k author's note: This was a commission by the best and brightest @gazs-blue-hat. If you'd like to commission a fic, visit my ko-fi for more information. Also, I refuse to disgrace the good country of Scotland by attempting to do the full Scottish accent. Readers call sign is Sparrow, but it's only used once.

The room is heavy with dust; small puffs cloud around Johnny’s boots as he pads across the plush carpet. The summer’s oppressive heat makes the walls sweat - you’d be worrying about the mold forming in the drywall if you could see it. But Johnny doesn’t think of the way his handprints smudge on the paint you spent weeks agonizing over or the way your perfume lingers in the still air even after all this time.

His singular mission - to grab a few shirts he needs and leave - is the only thought he allows himself to think about, hands combing through the dressers and eyes trained downward, away from all the pictures hanging on the wall. He avoids your side of the dresser, avoids the lace that still peaks out from your top drawer.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, Johnny ignores it as he pulls the shirts he came to look for out of the dresser drawer, tucking them beneath his arm. He follows his tracks in the dust back out, eyes cast down at the carpet. The whole trip takes less than 10 minutes; he doesn’t let himself look up until he’s slamming the passenger door of Simon’s truck shut behind him.

“Got everything?” Simon asks, shifting the truck into drive.

Johnny sits ramrod straight in the seat, eyes avoiding Simon’s as he buckles in.

“Yeah, got everything.”

Your fingers trace over the marks you’d carved into the soft stone wall. You’d tried to keep a tally mark of days, but time slipped by in odd increments within your cell. Some days you’d watch the sunrise from the cracks in the ceiling and after just a blink, the inky blackness of night would be seeping in. Sometimes the sun hung in the sky for months before finally falling to the full moon. No matter how hard you tried to decode the pattern, the moment you had it everything would reset.

The guards were in on it; they had to be. They’d bring your meals at odd times - sometimes you’d still be full from the moldy slop they shoved in between the cell bars, spilling it out onto the floor like you’re an animal in a cage, and sometimes you’d be so hungry that you could barely crawl to eat.

It was supposed to be someone else - you were pulled for guard duty after another soldier slogged off and broke his foot doing something stupid while training. You’d finally been pulled to work with Johnny, three days away from being a full transfer to the 141 when your C.O. had appeared at the door of your bunk, new orders in hand.

A simple guard duty: get the guy to where he was supposed to be going, hand him off, and fly home. Your transfer could wait an extra forty-eight hours. But your plane was shot down somewhere over the middle of nowhere - you had told your C.O. that flying that low was a risk, but the desert was empty and the plane was old. They’d been making the flight for weeks, ferrying men back and forth with no hiccups. Your flight should have been no different.

It should have been someone else.

You couldn’t remember what had hit your small passenger plane: but the ground was David, and you were Goliath. You’d hit the ground beside the pilot’s head, his mouth formed in a soundless scream, and after a quick flash of black, had woken up to a bucket of water being poured across your face.

Whatever language your captives screamed at you, you didn’t know it. And if they knew any of the ones you screamed back at them: Spanish, Arabic, German, they didn’t let you in on it. You couldn’t figure out what they wanted until they’d ripped the Union Flag from the breast of your vest, a quick picture on a Polaroid camera snapped above you before you realized what they wanted.

Blood dribbled down your chin when you laughed at them: the government didn’t even pay for soldiers who got captured at war. What would they pay for your half-broken body to get shipped back in a wooden box? A simple mistake that could be written off as a plane malfunction.

The anger had come first, feet and fists slamming into the men when they appeared at the cell doors. Nails ripped from their beds when you tried to claw at the seams in the walls. It had cost you a few teeth and a pound of flesh. And then, when you were tired of the endless beatings and anger that went nowhere, you begged them to kill you, to do something to end the torment. By the marks on the wall, it took months before you first asked to be killed, and only weeks later for that to end, each request met with silence and a sneer. Now you lay in the corner, waiting for the few moments when they’d let you out to see the sun glinting off of the mountain ranges, the clouds threatening to storm in the distance.

Those quick trips seemed to come with less frequency as time slipped by.

You trace the tattoo on your thigh; they’d cut through it once after you kicked one of them in the chest, his ribs caving beneath your feet, but even beneath the dried viscera and matted dirt that covered your skin, you could still see Johnny’s name there.

You wonder if he’s picked a gravestone for you yet.

The two of you had talked about it, once. It was the nature of your jobs - to be prepared for everything that could come your way. Your wills were done: 75% to Johnny, 15% to your sister’s kids, and the rest to a local charity. Johnny wrote in that you were to get 100% of everything he owned, and you had chided him about it.

“What about your mom? Your sisters?” You had asked across the steam from your cup of coffee. Johnny had shrugged, dropping the black pen onto the table with finality.

“Already taken care of, birdie.”

After that had come the talk of headstones and burial plots. Of missing bodies and cremation. You had told Johnny that whatever he thought you’d like, to pick out. You weren’t picky about it.

You wonder if the military let him put his last name on the stone.

A decidedly male voice shouts from around the corner, and you pull back into the stone wall. Seconds later, fetid food falls through the bars. The man shouts at you, pointing at the food on the ground. Lazily, you turn your head towards him, watching the way he sneers at you through the bars.

They must be getting angry then. No ransom came through after all these months.

You bare your teeth at him.

You’d rip his throat out if you had the strength to do so anymore.

Johnny’s fingers don’t shake like they used to when he buckles the strap of his helmet, the night vision goggles weighing him down. He’s tired - exhausted. The entire convey smells of cigarettes and sweat. Heavy men in heavy gear press around him; across from him Gaz’s eyes shine terribly bright in the darkness. They press in on Johnny, forcing him back into his seat heavily.

Price’s voice is loud in his comms, intermingling with the sounds of the Marines and the whir of the mechanics beneath his feet. Johnny can’t make out the details over the sound of the truck rumbling beneath him.

“Steady Soap?”

Gaz knows - Johnny doesn’t know how Gaz can do this kind of job with the way he fucking oozes empathy. Or sympathy. Johnny could never remember which one was which, he always had to ask you which one to use. Gaz had been the only one who’d asked him if he was alright; Simon had lingered at the edges of rooms Johnny was in to keep an eye on him, and Price tried to give him an extended leave. Johnny had refused.

But Gaz had been waiting until Johnny was sitting outside of some bar a group of Seals had taken them to - a celebration for a job well done months after you were gone, after Johnny's failed attempt to find you.

“You good?” Gaz had asked, fingers twirling a cigarette he would never light.

“O’course.”

It had made Johnny feel like shit to lie to Gaz, and the same feeling washes over him as Gaz’s eyes linger on Johnny.

The warm summer air washes over them; sweat is starting to coat his lower back, his fatigues keeping him too warm. The smell of the desert, of warmed sand keeps him grounded, reminds him of where he is - what he’s doing here.

In the glint of the moonlight, the mountaintops shine at him.

The first few missions had been difficult: he’d fought like hell to try to search for you, fuck the regulations. He’d resign if it meant finding you. The rest of the fucking government didn’t care: no one on the plane was as important as anyone else, not to the officials anyway. Johnny had done just that, his resignation had landed heavily on Price’s desk, only to land in the trashcan a moment later.

Gaz volunteered to follow Johnny, but Price had cut that off quickly. It was to be Johnny and Simon only. They had five days, a week at most before they had to be back home.

The farthest they got was the plane wreckage, a little burnt-out village miles away, and sheep that stared at them from the sides of the mountains. But he couldn’t find a trace of you or a singular person who even recognized the photo of you he kept tucked inside his gear. Even after Simon had disobeyed Price’s orders to return home now after weeks had passed. They didn’t find anything.

Johnny knew that’s why Price had volunteered the 141 for this mission - a small-time terrorist cell hiding out in a country they didn’t belong to, a small promise of the bodies of missing soldiers hidden somewhere.

It was something.

The guards are panicking; the dirt walls shake around you. You can’t guess what it could be: American pilots doing a blind bombing, Russians pretending to send help only to rain down hell on the perceived innocent. Maybe God’s here to level the land and flood it. Try again. Do something different this time.

He could start with your cell, you think, scraping at the dirt on your leg. Underneath the sun-starved skin is paler than it should be. If you ever leave, you think, the first thing you’re going to do is eat a fucking steak in the sunshine. The bones that refused to set correctly ache beneath your bruised flesh.

The sound of gunfire pierces the inescapable silence. Your captors yell, screams punctuating between the bursts of firepower. Good, maybe they’ll tear each other apart and leave you here to die in peace.

Maybe it was a poker game gone extremely wrong. Someone asked to strip when they should have been ponying up the cash.

Smoke pops in the hallway outside, you don’t run from the white creeping in on you, just pull the rags that were your shirt over your mouth to try and keep breathing. It overtakes your cell; you watch as the smoke creeps through the cracks in the ceiling.

The sounds of war flood the small cell - the taste of blood and gunpowder in the air around you. You can taste the iron when you breathe in. It coats your tongue. You run your teeth across the chipped and broken enamel, mixing the taste of other’s blood with your own.

Someone shouts so close this time you can almost make out the words - American accent thick and heavy in your ears - and it stirs something inside of you. You try to navigate the cell through the smoke, rolling painfully off of the pallets your captors had so kindly turned into a bed for you. Crawling across the excreta and mud you try to make a sound, but you haven’t spoken in months.

Your throat is raw, and the sounds that come from you are barely human. You’ll be surprised the men even hear you, let alone notice you there on the ground. You try to pull yourself up at the bars, but the fracture in your ankle that healed up wrong weeks ago keeps you on your knees.

“Hey-” you finally croak out loud enough for one of the men to cast his eyes down at you. “Please.”

He’s so familiar, the softness in his eyes tugging at something familiar inside of you, the sharpness of his shoulders calling to you. You pull yourself up, leaning heavily on the bars and the one ankle that doesn’t scream at you, hands slipping through the bars to try to reach towards him.

His gun drops, swinging loosely on its strap as he steps towards you. His fatigues are filthy, and his nose wrinkles beneath the cloth mask covering his face. You know you smell terrible, and you want to apologize for it, but you can’t make the words come. He looks so tired as he steps towards you, hands reaching out to grip the bars between the two of you.

“Sparrow?”

“Johnny?”

It takes days for you to make it home: IVs from field medics who barely know what they’re doing, anti-viral meds, shots, stitches. They don’t even let you take a real shower until you’ve landed at a base you barely recognize. It’s a painful process, a female nurse wiping at you gently, but still peeling away layers of skin with each pass of the washcloth, your sobs muffled by the shower.

Johnny waits for you on the fringes of all the people that press around you, poking you, prodding you painfully until finally, you find yourself slammed into a British hospital bed.

Johnny comes in the moment they let him, hands held behind his back in a mock parade rest. You barely recognize him, his mohawk almost completely grown out and bags under his eyes. You know you don’t look much better; you’d caught sight of yourself in a mirror before they’d forced you into bed. Ruined was the only word to describe what you saw. Too thin, too broken. Too torn apart to be stitched back together. At least not without all the types of therapy a military doctor listed out to you: hydro, occupational, physical, mental.

Neither of you know what to say, so you start with the last thing the doctor told you.

“They’re going to rebreak my ankle tomorrow,” your voice is still thin, full of isolation. You’d tested it out on everyone who’d been in to work on you, but it didn’t sound right at all. Johnny shuffles nervously where he stands, and then rushes forward to sit in the chair beside your bed. He’s moving wrong, you think, like a wind-up doll. Too slow and then all at once, too fast.

“Why?”

“I healed up wrong.”

Johnny’s hands play with the edge of the blanket that dangles off of the bed, eyes trained on the fabric. He’s not going to look at you. At the ruin you’ve become. You press yourself down harder into the thin mattress, hands tucked beneath your thighs to keep them still.

“Is it going to hurt?”

You can’t help but smile at his question, your toes twitching beneath the blanket that feels so out of place across you. How many months had they had you? A year? No one had told you yet.

“They said I’d be fucked up on medicine. But probably, yeah."

Johnny’s hands aren’t still against the blanket, instead reaching out towards you. The movement startles you, and you jerk to the opposite side, nearly pulling your IVs out. Johnny pulls his hands back, crossing them across his chest.

“When you -” his voice breaks, just a moment before he put it back together, eyes finally meeting yours, “when you come home I’ll bring the bedroom downstairs so that you don’t have to walk far.”

You have the nagging suspicion that he changed what he was going to say at the last moment.

"Are you going to sleep on the couch with me?" You try to tease, but your voice falls flat, unpracticed. But it still makes Johnny smile, sharp incisors digging into his chapped lips.

"I'll sleep wherever you tell me."

The two of you are surrounded by the sounds of the hospital: the beeps of the heart rate monitors, the sounds of the nurses' quiet conversation outside of your room. You trace your hands across the blanket, grasping Johnny’s whenever your fingers collide with each other.

For a moment, neither of you move, just languish in the feeling of each other’s skin; you’re too busy tracing Johnny’s palm to notice him pushing himself closer to you until he kisses you, softly but with a tight undercurrent of desperation, his hand tightening almost painfully on yours.

The feeling of someone touching you so gently after weeks of rage and anger nearly stops your heart. The monitor goes crazy; Johnny pulls back, just the hint of a smile on his lips.

It takes four weeks for Johnny to get the go ahead to bring you home. Each day you were in the hospital he would come for a quick chat before work, bringing you breakfast he picked up. Every day after, he would collapse in the chair beside your bed, smelling of sweat and gunpowder.

The smell made you recoil when he tried to kiss you, and he didn't try again after that, even after you tried to stutter out a why. But the day the doctor tells Johnny that you can go home, you awaken to Johnny outside of the hospital room, arms crossed as he speaks to the head doctor - Johnny looks more serious than you’ve ever seen him off the battlefield.

Everyone rotates around you as if you’re not there, packing the room up, pulling your IVs out, fingers prodding and poking you until a nurse aide wheels a wheelchair into the room for you.

”Ready?” She asks, locking the brakes. She looks at you from across the room, and you know what she wants. Starting the day after they rebroke your bones, they made you get up and start walking, and you push yourself off of the bed, walkable cast heavy against the tile floor.

Johnny’s in the room in a second, catching sight of you whenever he sees you stumbling over your cast across the room. The aide lets him push her out of the way, his hands gripping the wheelchair as you lower yourself down.

“I can walk out, you know.” You grumble at Johnny as he tosses a heavy folder into your lap.

“Hospital procedure, birdie.”

Simon’s truck is waiting for the two of you in the parking lot, Simon in the driver's seat. He throws a glance at you as Johnny helps you clamber into the backseat, crowded around by grocery bags.

“Hello, Luv.”

“Hello, Simon. Thank you for the ride.”

Simon opens his mouth to speak, black hospital mask sliding up, but he’s cut off by Johnny clambering into the passenger seat.

You watch Johnny from the backseat, foot propped up beside you. His hair has grown out too long, the Mohawk nearly disappeared and his beard has started to grow in. In all the years you’ve known him, you’ve never seen him anything other than clean-shaven; even in the field, he'll butcher himself with a knife before he lets it grow in.

He’s thinner than he should be, too. You wonder if he’d been eating like he was supposed to.

The drive home is disorientating, Simon taking turns too sharply, too quick for your still queasy stomach. By the time Johnny helps you climb down from the truck, dropping your hands quickly when both of your feet are on the ground.

The house is clean, too clean for Johnny to have been here alone. Like he can sense you'd skepticism, Johnny speaks from ahead of you.

“I’ve hired a cleaner,” Johnny says, holding the door open for you. “So don’t worry about anything.”

It’s odd to be back home; you trace your fingers across the knick-knacks you’d collected throughout the years, the furniture you’ve spent years picking out. You have memories of sitting here with Johnny, memories of Simon and Gaz laughing from the kitchen. But now all you feel is lost, a bottle floating in a foreign ocean.

You wander into the kitchen, fingers trailing against the wall - there are no dirty dishes in the sink, no food in the cabinets; Johnny wasn’t living here.

The only dish you recognize is sitting on the counter, you pick it up, feeling the unfamiliar weight in your hand.

“It’s called Kintsugi.”

The Japanese word rolls heavily off of Johnny’s tongue, your fingers pause tracing the golden lines that cut through the mug. It was your favorite, a gift from when you and Johnny had first met. The two of you met at a diner, out with mutual friends. You’d thought it was cute, the name of the diner printed across the front in vintage lettering. Johnny had swiped it for you, hiding it beneath his jacket until the two of you parted ways at your doorstep.

“What happened to it?”

“I broke it,” he admits, dropping the grocery bags onto the counter. Your fingernail can’t find any snag in the glaze, any sign that the mug has never had the golden lines cutting through it.

Johnny busies himself with unloading the bag, speaking without looking at you as he confesses.

“After you were taken, I spent weeks searching for you until Price forced me to come home. I was angry, and I smashed it.”

You can feel the frown sketched onto your face; you don’t look at Johnny as you set the mug down on the counter.

You lean against the counter and watch Johnny busy himself with the groceries.

“He was right,” you admit, feeling silly over the sadness that fills you over the broken cup, “but maybe that’s something Simon has a lot of experience with broken things ya’know.”

You and Johnny orbit each other for weeks: he’s there every day until you begin to question if he’s gotten himself fired to stay home with you. He drives you everywhere, and if he can’t, Simon waits for you just out past the front gate, no doubt on Johnny’s orders.

“I had a lot of time off,” he says one day, elbow-deep in the laundry that he dumped between the two of you, eyes cast on the television. “Never had a reason to take it before.”

Your hands smooth the wrinkles out of one of Johnny’s shirts, fingers picking at the loose string. Today had been talk therapy, recommended by the SAS doctors. They were strict about all the requirements you had to meet if you ever wanted to go back, and laying on a shrink’s couch for two hours a week was one of them.

The graying doctor had asked you if you had spoken to Johnny about the anger that still wells up in you, the dreams you have of tearing your captives to pieces with your hands, the internal self-flagellation you went through every night when you thought about the career you’d worked so hard for, and have now lost.

You had spent the rest of the day thinking about what he said, even when it meant not paying attention to the medical doctor’s order when they were cutting your cast off, but Johnny took in every word.

You almost say something then, tossing Johnny’s shirt onto his pile, but the wrong words come out.

“You need a haircut.”

“Yeah?” Johnny’s hands still around a pair of your shorts, you feel him watching you in his peripheral vision. “You want to cut it?”

Of course, you did; you spend more moments than not thinking about how his hair must feel like long if it’s still soft. But every time the two of you tried to touch each other, the other pulled away.

So when Johnny takes your hand, and pulls you up the stairs, you let him - hand heavy and warm in your own.

Johnny lowers himself onto the closed toilet seat; you feel unsteady as you approach him, clippers in hand, and you’re not sure if it’s from the closeness or the weight of your cast being removed.

“Are you sure you trust me to do this?” You ask again; since you’d come home your fingers had been a kind of clumsy they’d never been before.

“What’s the worst that can happen?” Johnny keeps his eyes trained on you, fingers tapping against the tight denim stretched across his jeans.

“I can scalp you bald,” you admit, switching the clippers on, “and then you’d look like a Q-Ball for eight weeks.”

“I’ll be the best damn Q-Ball anyone’s ever seen,” Johnny says, beard twitching as he smirks at you. If he notices the way your fingers tremble when you take his jaw in your hand, he doesn’t say anything.

His eyes close at the feeling of the clippers cutting through his hair, no doubt the feeling of the weight being removed was comfortable for him.

“You didn’t do this while I was - while I was gone?”

Your therapist says you shouldn’t shy away from calling your kidnapping what it was, but you still can’t form the words in front of Johnny.

He hums at your words, never opening his eyes as he speaks.

“I don’t let anyone else touch my hair, birdie.”

“What about your beard?”

Johnny snorts, eyes meeting yours as you maneuver his head to the side.

“You don’t like it?”

You like the way he feels against your skin, you want to tell him. But you can’t make the words form, can’t spit them out. Johnny watches you chew on them for a moment before he lets out a sigh. His hair is scattered on the floor around the two of you, more than you’d thought he’d had.

You swap the guards to shorten his mohawk, pressing yourself in between Johnny’s knees so that you can reach the nape of his neck.

His hands wrap around your thighs, light and warm against the skin that peeks out beneath the shorts you hadn’t taken off since you’d left your cast removal this morning.

Your skin is on fire at his touch, you try to ignore it as you clean up his neck; Johnny buries his face in your shirt, breath warm against your stomach. His fingers trace light patterns on your thigh and it takes every ounce of willpower to keep the clippers from straying.

His fingers trace the scar that covers his name, and you jump back like you’ve been shocked. Your back hits the wall, knocking the decorative towels you’d spent days choosing to the floor. Johnny’s hands linger in the air between the two of you as you try to catch your breath.

“Sorry,” you pant out with a heavy swallow.

Johnny pushes himself up, eyes watching you like you’re a wild animal ready to run.

He reaches out and brushes some of his fallen hair from your shoulders, electrifying your skin again. His touch is hesitant as he traces up your shoulder, fingers cupping the back of your neck.

He’s fire as he presses himself against you, lips brushing over yours just quick enough to light something up inside of you before pulling away with an apology. He loosens the clippers from your hands and shoos you out with a promise he’ll clean the hair up himself.

A storm rages outside, threatening to cut the power at any moment. You watch it throw around tree limbs and leaves through the front window. Behind you, the television casts soft shadows on the walls.

“Still pouring out there?” Johnny asks from his spot on the couch. Your answer is the curtain falling back into place. You pad back to your spot beside Johnny; he holds the blanket up for you to slip underneath.

His bare leg rubs against yours, but his hands stay firmly in his lap. He hadn’t tried to touch you since that day in the bathroom - even when he dropped you off at therapy, you’d wait for him to stretch across and kiss you, but he’d just send you off with a wave.

You knew it was partially your fault: you couldn’t get the words out to explain how much you wanted him to touch you, how sorry you were for every jerk away. Every time you tried to tell him how much you wanted him, the words curled into your throat and refused to budge. You had even asked earlier for him to take a shower with you, to no avail.

The movie - some family flick Johnny picked because it didn’t have any violence, you know - cast shadows across Johnny’s face. His stubble is starting to come in again; you reach out and trace your finger across the five o’clock shadow creeping onto his jawline.

Johnny doesn’t take his eyes away from the television screen, but he leans his face into your touch. Your fingers trace upwards, lacing through the Mohawk you’d trimmed just two weeks ago. Johnny nearly purrs when you tug on his hair, pulling him down so that he’s lying across your lap.

You have to take it slow, you know or you and Johnny both might break apart. So you just settle beneath him, fingers tracing patterns onto his scalp, eyes trained on the television, but not really watching.

“I don’t think I’m going to go back,” you whisper, voice nearly drowned out by the storm outside. Johnny rolls, doing his best not to dig painfully into your thigh to look up at you.

“To work?”

You nod, still refusing to look at him.

“I talked about it with the therapist today; I just - I think it would be best if I just cashed in my retirement. I’ve got a lot saved up: hazard pay and all that. The corporal offered me a job as a trainer. So I could still be around."

Johnny’s hand reaches up to grab your wrist, forcing you to look at him. You can’t read the expression on his face, and you don’t like that. He’s always your open book. You try to keep your heart rate steady at the feeling of him tracing patterns on your wrist.

“I’m sorry, birdie.”

And you know he’s not just apologizing for your ruined career, for the nearly year you’d spent locked away in some disgusting cell, for the still broken teeth in your mouth, or the screws that hold most of you together now. He’s still apologizing for not being able to find you earlier, to be there months earlier.

“It’s not your fault Johnny - I should have told them no. I should have been smart enough to just tell my commanding that I couldn’t do it. I should have-“

Hot tears start to fall; Johnny pushes himself up, fingers brushing them away gently. When you don’t shy away from his touch, he pulls you into his lap, tucking your head beneath his chin, and pulling you so tight you think you might break beneath his touch. And you would let yourself shatter beneath him, if it meant he could put you back together, shot through with gold.

Johnny lets you cry on his shoulder until the fabric of his shirt is soaking wet; after a while, the smell of him, the softness of the way he caresses your back,and the feeling of his jean-clad thigh between your own stirs something else inside of you. You need something else, something more desperate, something to push away the feelings of failure. Of the fear that still lingers in you of heights, and darkness, and men who smell of sweat and gunpowder.

So when you kiss him, softly, Johnny doesn’t push you away like he can feel how much you need him to touch you. Even as he lifts you up, your legs wrapping around his waist, you don’t break the kiss. It stays superficial, and soft, neither of you breaking apart or deepening it. You expect him to carry you to the spare bed he brought downstairs for you, but instead, he cradles you up the stairs, hands gripping your thighs so tight you know there will be a thumb-shaped bruise there tomorrow.

Johnny doesn’t stumble as he carries you.

In the bedroom the two of you shared before you were lost, Johnny collapses on the bed, his smell enveloping you, hands never leaving you. He buries his nose in the soft skin of your neck, breathing in the smell of you.

“Are you here with me birdie?”

Johnny’s voice is muffled on your skin, his hands pausing at the hem of your shirt.

“I’m here Johnny.”

You rest your hands on his biceps and feel the way his heart is in your own chest. His weight presses down around you, the mattress sinking down beneath the two of you. The wind rolls in through the window, gooseflesh erupting on your skin where Johnny isn’t touching.

Johnny’s hands don’t move from the hem of your shirt until you slide your own down to his wrists, a bravery you hadn’t felt in weeks taking over you.

“Please, Johnny.”

Johnny shifts, knees spreading your own apart, but he still doesn’t touch your bare skin until you tug on his wrists, trying to slide them underneath your shirt, instead, he traces your arms - the area you know he thinks is safe.

The feeling of his calloused hands on your soft skin makes you shiver; Johnny presses a kiss to your pulse point. You know he can feel the way your heartbeat picks up quickly, and he bites down on the sensitive skin lightly. You can’t help the gasp that escapes you, the way you buck your hips upward into his.

“Birdie.” It’s a warning and a promise rolled into one, and it makes you press your knees together, trying to slow yourself down.

You let your own hands start exploring Johnny. Once, you’d had his skin memorized - every scar and freckle committed to your own memory. But there are new scars there you’ve never seen before, new wrinkles at the corner of his eyes he didn’t have before.

It’s like the first time again, both of you exploring each other slowly. Johnny pauses every time you make a noise, eyes searching your face to make sure you’re alright. You push him away just long enough to pull his shirt off of him, hands instantly reaching out to pull him back down. His own hands slide your shorts down until you can kick them across the room.

Johnny kisses you, full of the same desperation he’d had that day at the hospital. Your teeth click together as the two of you suddenly move frantically, hands grasping at each other. Johnny shakes as you run your nails down his back, pushing until he realizes what you want.

Johnny rolls, hands still wrapped around your waist until you’re on top of him. The thin material of your panties is already wet; you can feel it when you grind down on him. The rough material of his blue jeans has enough friction to send lighting bolts through you.

“Is that what you want birdie?” Johnny’s voice is low and rough in his throat; his hands rest lightly on your hips as you grind down. Your hands reach back to rest on his thighs, more leverage for you to move.

You can’t answer him, already biting down on the moans that start to build in the back of your throat. Johnny’s grip tights as you speed up; you can feel his erection pressing tightly against his zipper as you grind faster.

You feel yourself start to tremble, hands moving to brace yourself against Johnny’s chest. He wraps one hand around your wrist, the other still at your waist; you can’t look away from the hungry glint in his eye.

Outside the storm lashes, the cool air rolling in across you and Johnny.

“Let it out,” he whispers, voice ragged and panting. He’s bucking his own hips in time with your grinding; he’s holding back - you know he doesn’t want to scare you, so you loosen the knot inside of you, moaning loud enough that a blush starts to creep up your chest. At the sound, Johnny bucks up harder.

You can’t help the way you come undone, nails digging into Johnny’s chest, leaving half moons on the sensitive skin. Johnny lets you ride him until the waves of your orgasm finish rolling over you, his hands not leaving you until you finally still, thighs shaking on each side of him. You can feel your drenched underwear, feel yourself soaking into his blue jeans.

Johnny is so hard beneath you, a red flush across his chest. Outside the storm rages harder, and the lights flicker momentarily. Johnny pushes himself up onto one elbow, the hand that has refused to move up your shirt sliding up just an inch. His fingers play with the edge of your underwear, the lace snagging on his callouses.

“Why don’t you want to touch me?” You can barely hear yourself over the rain lashing against the window; Johnny’s eyebrows knit together, and he pushes himself up until he’s sitting up, your legs wrapping around his waist to keep from falling backward.

“I want to touch you,” he tries to reassure you, hands tracing patterns across the back of your shirt. But you shrug his hands off, catching his wrists in your hands before he can fully withdraw away.

“You won’t touch me beneath my shirt,” you slide his hands down to the bare skin of your thighs, moving them until the hem of your shirt falls over his fingertips. “You wouldn’t take a shower with me.”

Johnny chews on his lips, they’re too chapped, you think. The silence stretches in the sound of the storm, and the flickering lights. Before Johnny can speak lightning and thunder crash outside, and the house goes dark - the sound of the electricity powering down cutting him off. Neither of you moves in the sudden blackness.

“I’m not broken, Johnny.” You don’t want to sound so pathetic, but you do.

“I know you’re not, hen.”

“Then why am I having to beg, Johnny?”

Johnny’s hand slips up so that he’s holding your hips beneath your shirt.

“I’m not going to hurt you too.”

It’s a tough confession for him to make, you know. He’d done his best not to talk about the whole ordeal, he never asked what you went through. This was his way of keeping you away from it.

You roll your hips across his again, and his breath catches in his throat.

“Please Johnny; you’re not going to hurt me.”

You don’t know if it’s the whine in your voice or the way you trace your fingers across the hard plane of his chest, or if Johnny is just as tired of holding back as you - but he rolls you over, gentle and quick until his chest his pressed against yours, his mouth finding the sensitive skin at the base of your neck.

You’re horribly out of practice, fumbling with the buttons on his jeans, getting stuck when Johnny pulls your shirt over your head, but he doesn’t let his lips leave you; your teeth clip together as Johnny deepens the kiss he refuses to let end until your gasping for breath beneath him.

It’s electric in the best and worst ways - Johnny’s calloused fingers tracing patterns on your stomach, kneading the soft flesh of your breasts, fingers teasing the edge of your underwear, pushing them further down each time.

The current running through you makes it difficult to breathe; you can’t even warn Johnny, can’t beg him to slow down what you were just begging him to speed up. But there has never been anyone who’s known you the same way Johnny has, and when his hands slow you know he can feel that it’s too much. Just for a moment.

“Still with me?”

“Still here.”

Johnny’s hands don’t speed up, but he doesn’t slow either - pressing open-mouth kisses down your neck, between your breasts, across the planes of your stomach until he finally stops at the edge of your underwear. He darts his tongue out to lick the sensitive skin peeking out above the hem, and the feeling makes you gasp out, hips pressing harder into the mattress. His fingertips brush just over the wetness you’ve soaked through and you grind your teeth together, painfully.

“Too much?”

Yes.

Too much for you at this moment; you’re not sure if your body will hold together if Johnny even tries to eat you out, tries to stretch you with his fingers, you can hardly keep together at the feeling of him touching you anywhere after so many months of nothing but dirt, and maggots, and feverish longing for-

You didn’t notice Johnny crawling back up your body until he presses a soft kiss on your temple, fingers wiping away your hair that’s plastered with sweat there.

Johnny’s whispering in your ear: how much he missed you, how he had thought about you every day, how he’d tried to scorch the earth to look for you; he pulls you until you’re back on top of him. You can feel how hard he is, how wet you are as you grind down against the hard planes of his lower stomach, searching for him.

Johnny’s hands squeeze at your hips, shifting the both of you until you feel the tip of him catch against you; a shudder rolls through you both, but Johnny doesn’t move. Every muscle in his body is pulled taunt, pulled against fucking into you at a frenetic pace. You recognize the set of his jaw, the way his hands wrap around your forearms. He’s letting you set the pace, letting you control him.

You wait for just a heartbeat before pressing down onto him; your vision whites out from the almost uncomfortable stretch of him as you sink down slowly. You can’t remember the last time the two of you were here, the last time the two of you fucked. Johnny’s nails dig into the underside of your forearm, yours into his chest until you finally reach the hilt.

You hold there for a moment, feeling the way he fills you up - so much so that you don’t think there’s room for anything else besides Johnny - there never has been. You can’t even think between the feeling of Johnny filling you up and the feeling of not trying to cum so fast. Finally, when your heartbeat slows incrementally, you rock yourself against him, slowly, using his chest as leverage.

Beneath you Johnny is coming undone; he’s biting his lip so hard you think he might draw blood, so you trace your fingertips across his bottom lip. His lips part beneath your touch, and he takes your pointer finger into his mouth, tongue swirling around it.

The feeling makes your hips move faster, stuttering against him. Johnny moans, muffled around your finger. The sound is horribly erotic in the darkness, and it spurs something inside of you to move your hips faster, rougher against Johnny. But he doesn’t move beneath you, still holding himself back. The sound of skin on skin, of how wet you are for him drown out the storm.

Johnny’s hands are everywhere: in your hair, cupping the supple flesh of your ass, pinching and rolling your nipples between his thick fingers; one hand sneaks across the flesh of your hip, dipping between the two of you to circle your clit. The feeling makes you crumple against him; Johnny takes the opportunity to roll you over, pressing you into the mattress.

Johnny presses one of your knees up, hooking it over his elbow so that he can fuck into you, still gentle even when he’s deeper than you think he’s ever been before, his other hand still circling your clit, slowly enough to keep you from falling apart, but fast enough to bring you to the edge.

His pace grows rougher; you claw at him, drawing red welts across his skin, but Johnny doesn’t slow down. You keep your eyes closed tightly, back arched to try and get him in deeper, to get more.

“Look at me.”

Johnny’s voice is rough, a gentle command you have to follow. His eyes never leave yours, even when his pace increases, the finger on your clit still rubbing tight circles until-

Until you’re breaking apart, shattering beneath him. Your orgasm makes you arch, back nearly leaving the mattress. Johnny’s hands move to cup your face, pulling himself down until he can kiss you as you ride through your orgasm, gasping in his own mouth. Your nails draw thick red welts across his back, but Johnny doesn’t stop pounding into you, your moans drowned out by the way he kisses you.

Not long after, Johnny’s pace starts to stutter, his lips never leaving yours until he plunges in deeper than he had before, and you can feel his warm release spill out inside of you.

Even when he’s completely spent, Johnny doesn’t pull out of you, instead fucking into you once, twice, three more times until you know you can’t take anymore, hands pressing on his chest to push him away.

Johnny’s fingers smooth your twitching thighs as he pulls away. In the darkness, you can just see his outline as he shifts between your legs, but he doesn’t move from there.

He caresses you until you are finally still and your panting finally slows. His fingers trace across the cracks you can still feel, stitching you back together, shot through with gold.

“Still here?”

“Still here.”

#my fics #john soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x reader #soap mactavish x reader #john mactavish #cod soap x reader #cod imagines #cod smut #soap mw2 #soap mactavish #cod x reader #johnny mactavish

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britany1997 · 26 days

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A Dragon’s Tail

David x male dragon reader

I hope y’all love this!! I love David with masc readers, he is so gay to me lmao, and I love being able to write some toxic, manipulative David stuff, but I also enjoying writing sweet vulnerable moments for him like this🥹

Comment to be added to my TLB Taglist!

You breathed deeply, letting your leathery wings stretch out behind you. You loved the way the sea air swept through them.

You laughed to yourself as you thought of the irony. A dragon man who lived on the beach of all places.

You’d traded the fiery pits of your home in a volcano for the sand and surf. What would your father think?

You settled down on the ledge above your shared cave, your wings still fluttering behind you.

Sighing, you looked up at the bright moon above you, shining down on the beach, the cave, and everything else it touched with its eerie glow.

Your eyes fluttered closed as you relished the comfortable silence and the breeze. You always felt so at peace in the quiet embrace of the night.

“Want some company?” A familiar voice asked from behind you.

The corner of your lip tugged up in excitement. “Always,” you turned to extend a clawed hand to your perfect mate. Your David.

The bleach blond vampire flashed you a rare smile and came to sit by your side. You draped a wing around him, pulling him closer until your hips touched.

You could have sworn a blush ghosted over his cheeks, but it was too brief to tell. Your smile widened as you threaded your claws with his fingers.

“I’m not interrupting your alone time?” he asked.

“Not at all,” you ran your hand through his hair affectionately. “Most dragons spend their lives alone, your company’s a treasure.”

David seemed to relax into your wing. You let it hold him closer.

“I know how you dragons love treasure,” he teased.

You chuckled, your tail coming around to flick him on the ear. “I wouldn’t make so many treasure jokes, I’ve got a million blood jokes locked and loaded.”

David snorted. “Guess it’s true what they say about people in glass houses huh?”

You smiled, your golden eyes taking in his bright blue ones. Your gaze traveled along the slope of his stubbly jaw, his handsome face.

“Guess so,” you whispered, leaning in just a little closer to the blond man.

David figured out pretty quickly where your thoughts were headed as he leaned in too. One of his gloved hands reached out to caress your cheek. The other found it’s way into your hair.

You tilted your head, careful not to bump his forehead with your horns, and allowed your eyes to flutter closed.

Your ancient heart leapt in your chest as his cold lips pressed against your warm ones.

You sighed into the kiss, allowing your forked tongue to slide into his soft mouth, exploring and running over his sharp fangs.

After a while, he pulled away to stare into your eyes.

You loved him like this. His big, tough guy facade melting away.

To the boys he was a fearsome leader, barking orders and commanding obedience. To the humans he was a terrifying Spector of death, tearing through the population until there was nothing left.

To you, he was home.

When he looked at you with those baby blues, when he smiled at you like you’d hung the moon, you felt alive, you felt young again.

You reached out, your claws raking affectionately down his cheek.

He leaned into your touch. His hand slid over yours and he turned to plant a kiss on your palm.

“You’re awfully affectionate tonight,” you whispered, a smile pulling at the corner of your mouth

“Too much?” he asked.

“Never too much,” you reassured him, your wing cradling him closer to you once more.

“Didn’t think you’d wanna kiss an old guy like me though,” you teased.

David smirked, “I forgot you’re ancient,” he admitted, “it’s usually me that’s robbing the cradle.”

You laughed, “well you don’t have to worry about that.”

“No kidding,” his eyebrow raised, “how was the renaissance?”

You snorted, “yeah yeah you joke, but I had a lot more gold back then. People just don’t sacrifice like they used to anymore ya know?”

“I blame smart phones,” David shrugged.

You smiled, “damn technology.”

“Calm down grandpa,” David snickered, “you’re startin’ to sound like old Mr. Emerson.”

You glared, “not. funny.”

His head found it’s way onto your shoulder, “yes it is,” he hummed.

You shook your head, laughing softly to yourself, your claws stroking over his scalp. “It’s a good thing you’re cute.”

“You’re not bad yourself,” he flirted, “how’d you getta look so handsome anyway, shouldn’t you be full lizard.”

“Mom was a human, dad was a dragon,” you said simply, “that’s how I got the horns, the tail, the wings, the eternal life…all that good stuff, and these rugged humanlike good looks too.”

David tensed, lifting his head off your shoulder and shooting you a confused look.

“Your father was a dragon and your mother was…human?”

Your teeth clenched, “listen babe, I try not to dwell on the mechanics of it all.”

David laughed deep in his throat, more amused then you’d ever heard him.

“Fair enough,” David said through a fit of laughter.

You rolled your eyes, “can you just put your head back on my shoulder?”

His fanged smile filled you with warmth as he returned to resting against you.

“Tell me another story about the time you spent with your kind?” he asked, letting his eyes fall shut as you blanketed him with your wing.

“Anything for you,” you uttered as you began to recall yet another tale for him.

You were glad your father had blessed you with an eternal life. You were grateful to spend it just like this.

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ladybirdswritings · 4 months

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Bound - Miguel O’Hara x Reader

Summary: The crimson phantom steals you to keep for himself… dark!miguel x reader fic. very steamy as always <3

TW: mentions of kidnapping, abuse, and other dark subjects.

two

The scream, it was an awful and otherworldly sound. A thing meant to only exist in the skin glistening terrors that greet you at nightfall. Yet you were very much awake.

Mother…

Your flame dances by the wind of your hasty departure, it had been serving you well as a gold star lighting the ridiculous letter from lord Wickham of Newbury, a town away. You’d met him once, and a handsome thing he was, undeniably. Yet he was also most successfully a bore. A great one at that.

Perhaps you’re just picky with your men. His sapphire eyes and blonde locks tied back by onyx colored ribbons just weren’t enough to catch your steady eye— much to mama’s dismay. He was far from a poor man, quite the opposite. Yet you swore this to yourself, you wouldn’t marry for anything other than true love. The purest, truest love and adoration like that of storybooks. Like that of Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy or Mr. Rochester and Jane Eyre.

So you wouldn’t marry at all, you’d decided. For that kind of longing was far too grand for this simple world with its simple people. This you knew well.

The ink stained paper was waxed and perfected. No stroke faltered or bled from its place. An invite to a ball, as if you had anything other than wool tresses and scratchy cloth to don. You’d prepared to have a laughing fit in your tiny cot at the thought of it all, of a man’s stupidity and their clueless nature but— the scream.

You took the steps two at a time, ignoring their complaints by noisy creaks. Shadows of your siblings circling mama in panic greeted you round the corner. All but the moon and her stars lit the wooden home— besides a single wick candle that dripped on to mama’s wrinkled palm.

She’s a mess of sobs and panic when you reach her, immediately snatching the candle from her palm and placing it in its rightful russet holder. You turn your eyes to your sister, nearly the eldest had you not beat her by a month.

“What’s happened?”

The poor thing, her eyes are wide as the moon herself. Perfect, round circles they are— adorned with cyan and onyx to craft the most delightful gaze. Men throw themselves at her, and for good reason.

“S-she claims to have seen a phantom…”

“I did see a phantom you foolish girl! Right there in the window, clear as morning hour. Can’t you see how my nerves have betrayed me you rodents!? I am being truthful!” She sobs again, face scrunched up into an unpleasant expression.

You swallow, knowing full well what this means. Your eyes shift to little Thomas, adorned in a frayed night shirt and a flimsy cap. His bright blue eyes are worrisome, looking upon you for aid. He’s only six.

You place a cool hand upon his reddened cheek before ordering your sister to help him find slumber in his cot.

You know familiarly what this is and how insignificant it is for him to see it. For you’ve dealt with it in all your time here and it has done nothing more than cause you worry and heartache.

Your palms halt themselves, then find courage in the moment to cautiously rest upon the shoulders of a madwoman.

“Mama, have you taken your medication this evening?” It’s a weak, gentle whisper.

First, you believe yourself to be in the clear. She snaps her head up in panic, and the itch of realization that bites at her gaze relaxes your shoulders for a quick moment; but then, she squints. Before you can straighten your back or step apart from her, she slams her hand hard against your flushed cheek— turning it the color of the mysterious bloom you’d seen in the bend.

Your siblings gasp, falling quiet. Particularly your brother is dismayed, for he averts his eyes and clenches an angry fist. You stumble backward, fingertips grazing the heat of the slap with a certain shakiness. It is your nerves that have fallen sickly now.

It is far from the first time, and it most certainly won’t be the last. You breathe out your frustrations and pain through petal-pink lips— allowing the night itself to have them. Reminding yourself that she is unwell in mindful matters.

She is overtaken with sobs again, murmurs of the phantom and a disappearing flower being planted throughout her words. You swipe away at the warm water rolling singular down your cheek before straightening your back and snatching at the candlestick. You’ll remain strong as the eldest should for your siblings, and for your mother.

“I’ll go search for the phantom, mama. You may watch me from the window if you’d like.”

Worry embroiders itself in her wrinkles, and she reaches a weak hand out for you. You ignore it before making your way past your siblings and out into the icy night.

The creak of the window follows not long after, and your candlestick flame dances wildly with the wind, as though they are in a quarrel. As though they are cross.

You squint, midnight surrounding you. Blackness, nothingness.

Yet even so, you make a show of searching the grassy plain for this phantom she speaks of. You don’t seem to find him.

“Oh sweet girl, have you found the creature yet!?”

Your mother cries. You ignore it, inhaling a shaky breath as the wind lashes its anger upon your skin. The grass is dampened and soft, you’ll have to find new socks for they are browned now by dirt.

A bite of breeze steals the flame from you, and your siblings gasp as your glowing features are taken by the night.

“Be calm! It is just the wind! It is creating faces in midnight, mama. That is all!”

A softer sob now, one of realization and perhaps shame. It renders you content, you can rest now. For the hunger of her paranoia and fantasies are fulfilled.

“Follow the sound of my voice!” Your youngest sister Charlotte calls. It is a faint thing beyond the wind. A faint call.

It is as if onyx curtains have been veiled around your eyes. You search the night for a glisten of light and yet there is none.

Your sister calls again, and you stumble over a vine as you walk further toward her humming.

Your eyes shift to the earth’s core to find that odd blossom from earlier on. A strong color of red and blue— and it seems as though it has the power to shine brightly even at the devil’s hour.

You gape at it, grazing your fingertips cautiously against the petals. You must pluck it and use it to lead your way. Yet soon as your touch greets it, it disappears into darkness— into the night.

You gasp, falling onto your bum at its little trick.

It is you know that has fallen ill with ailments of the mind, it seems. The thought frightens you, enough so that the darkness seems to create more faces now. Enough so that you feel far from alone in the dead of nightfall.

Panic constricts you.

“Call for me again, Charlotte!”

A soft hum, but it sounds so far away now. You take a steeling breath and focus, taking only a selfish moment to hesitate before chasing after the sound. Closer and closer, your arched feet press against soft soil as you near the moonlit window.

Your brother holds a match flame so to find you, and you breathe in relief once you near it. Your nightgown is now stained with mud and the earth, you’ll have to sew another one.

The greeting of panicked eyes settle to relief once you near the window— and yet it is not so far after that they widen to saucers again. Another scream from your mother, then from small Charlotte with glossy eyes.

You gasp, turning against the hold of the night to find two crimson orbs staring right through you.

The phantom.

You know those orbs well.

The mysterious townsman who snatched you from immediate death.

Your body finds itself still, but your mind cannot be. It overtakes you, stumbling you backward till your eldest sister’s palm grazes the muddied gown you wear through the window. Reaching for you through the cries.

She cannot snatch you so soon- for the phantom beats her to it.

The sky itself cracks open in a flash of all the colors your mind can create, and a shadowed creature you’re confined to by the night itself snatches you by waist into the painful sight. It is far too bright for gentle eyes.

The sounds of fading screams and panic pools at the bottom of your pounding chest as you’re rushed through a space only meant to make your head ache. You’re certain you’re stuck in a terror now; but your mind is far too weak to bare it. So? You faint.

In the arms of mother’s phantom and his crimson gaze…

🏷️’s: @reirain @needybitez @migueloharastruelove @laysmt @maomaimao @daisy-artfield @poutysprouty @chorizobeets @tabalittlelong @iitangerine @queenb27sblog-blog @dprmooni @neptunieesworld @cyd2301 @amelialysm @justanothers-things @heartfeltlonging @coralreefses @knightowl019

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short-honey-badger · 4 months

Text

Peppermint Tea 15

Figured I would go ahead and get this part out since it was already halfway written. Just some super fluffy and domestic stuff since I've been in my feels lately.

Also. JJk fandom. The name is for you. It's pretty obvious.

btw. I'm running out of OPLA Gifs of Mihawk, so you might start seeing some anime gifs.

Warnings! kissing is all.

Song reader is singing! Here!

Masterlist

Time passes as time does. Weeks turn into months since the day Dracule stumbled upon your island. He visits when he can, usually staying three or four days at a time, every couple of weeks. During that time, you and Mihawk have grown closer, to the point that the two of you were in each other's thoughts at every waking moment. There was nothing in this world that would keep Dracule away from his Snow Angel.

Today Dracule had a rather unusual gift, so his ship was packed with the things necessary to take care of it. Dracule dearly hoped that you would like this one. He surely did not. Or maybe it didn't like him.

As the months passed by, Dracule gifted you many things, some for you and some for your home. The three chickens, one rooster, and two hens had arrived not long after Mihawk had figured out your true heritage. Your garden expanded another four plots to accommodate all of the new seeds and saplings the warlord brought you. He had even gone so far as to help you build a pen for the goat Dracule had brought along on one memorable trip. The poor man had not been happy and made you help him clean his ship.

The best gift of all was being able to finally meet Perona after weeks of speaking over the phone. The pink girl had quickly become your closest female friend, and it felt incredible to have someone to speak to about the girlier things in your life. There were some subjects that Mihawk just didn't get.

Thankfully, Mihawk arrives at your island before he decides to toss your gift overboard. He gathers his things and then flashes off the ship, making sure the ocean doesn't touch the wiggling body in his arms. Golden eyes glare up at him and he glares right back down, and the warlord swears this thing is worse than the goat. Dracule can hear music pouring out of the cottage when he gets close enough.

And then there suddenly appears before me

The only one my arms will ever hold

I heard somebody whisper “Please adore me”

And when I looked, the moon had turned to gold

Mihawk huffs at the lyrics. His timing was far too good. The closer he gets, he begins to hear your voice as well, and Dracule would much rather hear you sing to him than some man who is long dead. He would stand and listen if his gift wasn't threatening to claw his eyes out.

The warlord steps through the open door of the cottage, and his shoulder slumps as soon as he enters the humble abode. This place is his home away from home, and it never fails to bring him peace.

Dracule finds you in the back storage room, a crate full of the older and unneeded stuff you had lying around. After not having anything but the couch for Perona to sleep over on, you had decided that it was about time to clean out the back room for her. Or anyone else that didn’t want to kill you first thing when they washed up on your island.

Blue moon

Now I’m no longer alone

Without a dream in my heart

Without a love of my own

He leans in the doorway, watching you finish up dumping a broken oar into the crake. Mhawk knows that you see him when you jump and turn to look at him with narrowed eyes and a cute little sneer.

“Bastard. You scared me,” you grumble and then you cross the floor to carefully slide his hat off, holding it to the side as your free hand slides into his hair and brings him down for a sweet kiss, “Welcome home, dear.”

Mihawk hums into the kiss, gently nipping your bottom lip, and then sliding his tongue inside your mouth when you open up for him. You taste like sweet chamomile, and it leaves a soft smile on his face when he pulls away to gaze down at you, “It is good to be back, Angel.”

The two of you share several more sweet kisses before the wriggling bundle in his arms finally gets your attention. You pull away and look down to see a very angry feline staring up at you. You break immediately at the sight of its pitiful gold gaze and hand Mihawk his hat back so that you can scoop the kitten up.

“Where did you find him?” You ask and have already abandoned Mihawk in favor of giving the orange tabby in your arms all of your attention. The kitten purrs happily when you scratch behind his ears.

Dracule glares at the creature, and the kitten glares right back from where it is happily curled up against your breasts. Mihawk doesn’t know how much he likes this idea anymore.

“I stopped for a resupply before I came here. There was a fishmonger that had chased it off, and I knew that you would give it a good home,” Mihawk explains. He sighs when you baby talk at the kitten, not giving half the attention he deserves for bringing the little demon to you, but your happiness was definitely worth it, “I have what you’ll need to care for it in my ship.”

The grin you grant him is worth it too, and Dracule can’t help himself when he crosses the room to press you against the wall, lips connecting with yours in a kiss a little more fierce than the ones earlier. Mihawk has missed you, far more than usual for some reason. You moan into his mouth, eyes sliding shut when Dracule slides a hand around your jaw, angling you just how he likes.

A loud yowl interrupts the two of you, and Mihawk pulls away to sneer down at the kitten who proceeds to hiss at him. You laugh, seeing his jealousy clear as day, and over a cat of all things!

“I guess we should name him, huh?” You say and it’s your turn to be on the receiving end of that sneer. You scoff at him and lift the kitten, dangling him in front of Dracule, “You found him, so you get to name him.”

Dracule scoffs and turns on his heel, stripping off his coat to hang on the mantlepiece, quickly followed by his hat, “He is your cat, so you are the one naming the demon,” He dismisses and stalks to the kitchen, but you only pout and follow after him.

“Nu-uh. That’s not how this works. You saved him, you name him.” You weren’t about to back down on this. The kitten mewls and you snuggle it back to your front, tucking the fuzz ball under your chin.

Mihawk ignores you in favor of pouring himself a glass of wine and snacking on the green grapes you must have harvested earlier today. He feels you slide up beside him, and chances a glance down to see his darling staring up at him with wide, pleading eyes, “Ugh. Fine. Give me a moment to think.”

You cheer at your victory and patiently wait for Dracule to decide on a name. He does you the courtesy of actually thinking of a name and smirks when he settles on a proper name for the hellspawn.

“Sukuna,” Mihawk decides and you repeat the name, getting a feel for it. You don’t know the story behind the name, but it must be an interesting one with the way Mihawk is smirking at the kitten.

“I think that’s a good name,” You agree and scratch Sukuna’s little ears again, melting when the kitten only purrs louder and snuggles close. You giggle when you catch Mihawk glaring at the kitten again, “Let’s find Hank. I think he’ll like his new friend.”

Hank turned out to not like his new housemate very much. Sukuna had taken one look at the big hound and had puffed up, long fur bristling so much that he resembled nothing but a cotton ball. Hank had run from the tiny ball of anger straight to Mihawk, cowering behind the man, and whining whenever Sukuna got too close.

“Nothing but a coward,” Dracule says, but he is already kneeling to give into Hank’s puppy dog eyes and give him some pets. Sukuna stalks from one end of the room to the other, fluffy tail straight up in the air as he surveys his new home.

Mihawk straightens up when he sees you approaching. You settle in his lap, hands cradling his handsome face as you lean in to press your lips to his brow. Mihawk grasps you by the hips, tugging you flush against his front and holding you close. He noses along your jaw, “Are you happy with your gift, sweet thing?” He rumbles quietly.

You nod, “Very happy, Mihawk,” you assure him and settle more fully in his lap, letting the man under you take your weight. He massages your hips, causing a soft sigh to slip from between your lips, “I missed you.”

“Did you, Darling?” Mihawk breathes and pulls you down to press his lips to yours for half a second, “What all did you do while I was gone? I see that you already started to clean up, even though I told you to wait for me.”

You shrug helplessly, “I couldn’t help it. I was really bored, and we already decided what needed to be thrown out, so,” You trail off and lean forward to snuggle against his chest, “You can help in the garden later?”

Mihawk huffs and presses a kiss to your hair. He watches as Sukuna chases after Hank’s tail, lips twisting in satisfaction to see the two animals getting along better. His arms tighten around you, and you have relaxed completely in his grasp.

“Whatever you wish, dear one.” Dracule agrees and says nothing when he feels you grin against his neck.

@writingmysanity @kenkenmaaa @foggyturtleknightangel @browneyedhufflepuff @goth-mami-writer @myradiaz @fluffybunnyu @bookandstar

#fanfic #one piece #reader insert #fluff #dracule mihawk #hawkeye mihawk #mihawk x reader #opla mihawk #mihawk x you #mihawk x y/n #one piece mihawk #dracule mihawk x reader #opla mihawk x reader #opla #cute #Peppermint tea #cats

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thebadgerclan · 1 year

Text

Coronation

Pairing: Nikolai Lantsov x reader

Summary: The Coronation of His Most Royal Majesty, King Nikolai Lantsov...

A/N: I wanted to write something for Aleksander, but Nikolai’s had me in a chokehold lately, so here we are 😂

Also the reader can be either a Heartrender or a Healer, doesn’t really matter

“You look absolutely stunning, my love.” You stood before the mirror, adjusting the sapphire encrusted crown perched atop your head. Nikolai Lantsov, soon to be King of Ravka, was mooning over you, like he didn’t moon over you every other day, and you felt yourself blush. “You look quite dashing yourself,” you replied, turning to face him. Your husband wore fitted black trousers paired with a matching jacket, embroidered with the double eagle in striking gold.

Your own ensemble was equally as regal: a gown of midnight blue silk, the double-eagle embroidered in glittering golden thread on the billowing train. A pair of white silk gloves adorned your hands, your wedding and engagement rings atop them. “Have you been to see Alina?” you asked, and your husband nodded. “I have. I think she’s equally as nervous as I am.” The Sun Summoner would be standing alongside you and Nikolai, being given a position of honor in his court as Ravka’s savior. She would serve as a bridge between the Second Army and the Crown, hopefully to smooth over a rocky past.

“You will be just fine, my love,” you said, moving to stand before him, taking his hands. “This is what you’ve worked for your entire life, and I am so immeasurably proud of you.” Nikolai smiled, bending to kiss you. “Thank you, Y/N. I would be the loneliest King in the world were it not for you.” “Well, you’ll never be without me.” He kissed you again, lingering for several minutes, until the guards informed you it was time.

***

Nikolai stood at the altar of the Royal Chapel, Alina to his left, you to his right. Sankt Grigori’s bearskin was draped over his shoulders, as was the ceremonial cloak; dark blue velvet bearing the double-eagle, and the King knelt, allowing the Apparat to place the crown atop his head. Your husband winced when the scepter fell on his right shoulder, the wound from the Darkling’s monsters not quite healed yet. But when he rose, scepter in one hand, orb in the other, the chapel burst into applause.

Pride swelled in your heart, seeing your husband crowned, to see your people’s love for him. But your joy was short-lived. A woman stumbled into the aisle, her eyes glassy, gaze fixed on Nikolai. At first, no one noticed her, too focused on the newly anointed King, but then, she spoke. “Strymakt Fjerdan!” she cried, raising her hands and making fists. At once, everyone in the chapel doubled over, hearts constricting, airways closing, lungs collapsing.

You clutched your chest, feeling as if your heart was trying to force itself from your body, watching as this woman, this monster, advanced down the aisle. She was focused on the King, yet the King was focused on you. He, like most everyone in the church, was clutching his chest, face contorted in pain, but as he fell to his knees, he was reaching out to you. “Y/N,” he groaned, and when you toppled to the ground, you reached for his hand.

How could this be how you died? You had survived the war, survived the Darkling, but this would be your death? At the hands of an assassin at your own coronation? If this was to be your end, at least you were with Nikolai. At least he would be the last thing you saw before you died. You retched, and blood burbled from between your lips. Nikolai, pain radiating to every inch of his body, somehow gathered enough strength to crawl to you, to throw himself into your embrace.

“Love…you…” he gasped, voice wheezing, face red. Whoever this assassin was, she was focusing her attack on Nikolai; the King clearly her target. But she also wasn’t afraid of collateral damage. Blood was trickling from his nose, his mouth, yet he smiled. He was in absolute agony, but you were here, and he supposed that was all that mattered in the end. Unseen to you or Nikolai, Alina was pushing to her feet.

She had saved Ravka, she had killed the Darkling, she had reunified her nation; she would not let it all fall so quickly. The Sun Summoner threw out her hand, calling every ounce of her strength and rage, and lashed out. But it was not sunlight that struck the assassin down, it was shadow. With the assassin dead, you were able to breathe freely, your heart resuming its normal rhythm, and, weak as you were, you managed to rise to your knees and get to your husband.

“Nikolai!” you cried, turning him onto his back. “Nikolai!” “Y/N,” he breathed, weak and aching, but alive. Alina was on her feet, staring at her hand, which was emitting wisps of shadow, and those at the front of the chapel were slowly rising. “Y/N, I-” “Don’t,” you said, folding your hands and beginning to heal him. “Just be quiet. I’ve got you.” It was instinct to heal him, impulse. He was your King, but he was your husband, and you would not let him die.

Several of his arteries had ruptured, his left lung had collapsed, and his intestine had perforated. But you had ample combat and field training to heal his injuries with little issue. Nikolai would need to be looked over by a more experienced Healer, but you knew he was no longer at risk of bleeding out. You pushed yourself to sit, and Nikolai flopped into your lap, his head resting on your shoulder.

“It’s ok,” he whispered. “I’m ok.” You nodded, holding back tears, and kissed his brow. Guards had flooded the chapel, along with Grisha and otkazat’sya Healers to tend to the wounded. But Alina was staring blankly at the corpse of the assassin, her shoulders separate from her head. Inky tendrils emanated from the wounds, a few wisps still hovering in the air around the Sun Summoner’s hand. You’d seen the Darkling’s power enough times to know what that meant…

“Alina,” you called, voice trembling and weak. “What… how did you…? That wasn’t your Cut.” The last part wasn’t a question, but a statement, and she nodded. “How?” Alina could feign innocence, pretend to be frightened of the power that now resided within her, but she couldn’t fight the smirk crawling onto her face. It felt good, and she knew exactly how it had come to pass. “Merzost always has a price,” she said, and through the lingering haze of pain, for the first time, you feared for the Sun Summoner.

***

The King was weak, but he was alive. 25 people had died at the coronation, but your friends had not been among them. Nikolai had been checked over by an experienced team of Healers before being released, prescribed bed rest for a week to be on the safe side. He sat in bed, propped up on several pillows, his War Council gathered around him. “They call it jurda parem,” Councilwoman Alexi said. “A variant of normal jurda. It amplifies a Grisha’s power a thousand times. Highly addictive and lethal. What we saw, what we experienced, was what a Heartrender can do on the drug.”

You looked at your hands, horrified at the thought of causing such death and destruction. Your husband noticed and took them in his, kissing the backs of your hands. “What do we know about it?” “Very little at this time. Apparently the scientist who created it was Shu, set to seek asylum in Kerch. But the Fjerdans intercepted him and are now setting him for trial.” Nikolai nodded, though he wasn’t retaining anything. He’d nearly died, he’d nearly watched you die, and though he was healed, he still wasn’t quite right.

“Is this an immediate threat to Ravka?” you asked, sensing Nikolai’s fatigue, and Councilwoman Alexi shook her head. “No, moya tsaritsa. This appears to be an isolated incident, possibly in retaliation for staging the coronation on Hringkälla.” You nodded, rising from your perch at Nikolai’s side. “Then I must insist we reconvene at a later time. The King is exhausted and needs to rest.” The Council apologized and fled, leaving you and your husband in peace.

You shrugged your dressing gown off and climbed into bed, Nikolai eagerly snuggling into your embrace. You held him tightly; both of you having come far too close to death for either of your liking. “I love you,” you said, smoothing his beautiful blond hair down and kissing his head, his forehead, his nose, his cheeks, and finally, his lips. “I love you too, Y/N. Saints, will this country ever give us a moment’s peace?”

That was your Nikolai: somehow making you laugh after the hellish day you’d had. “I don’t think so,” you replied, cupping his cheek tenderly. “But luckily, she has a King who can lead her through anything.” Your husband hummed, coaxing your head closer to kiss you. “And a Queen to hold her King when he’s weak.” “Of course, my love.” This new drug posed an unimaginable danger to your people, but Nikolai would fight with everything in him to protect him; and you would be right by his side through it all.

#nikolai lantsov x reader #shadow and bone fanfiction #nikolai lantsov x you #shadow and bone reader insert

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nanaminokanojo · 9 months

Text

THAWING ICE QUEEN (bonus chapter #1)

–one night of fooling around with the annoying campus king gojo satoru (he thinks so), turns into...well, something else more long term

WORD COUNT: 5.5k of pure filth

MASTERLIST | CHAPTER INDEX

<<back to part 14 - bonus chapter

~*~

You’ve all but gone through half the bottle of the wine you have been drinking when you heard the sound of the shower from the adjoining bathroom stop. All the while, you sat by the nightstand, your senses heightened as you listened to every nuance of sounds around you. Somehow, you felt jittery, which you’ve chalked up to the anticipation of literally consummating the deal you’ve struck with the menace that was Gojo Satoru. It wasn’t as if you were doing it with him for the first time. Still, one way or another, this time felt different.

But you soon forgot about your apprehension, replaced by amusement when you heard him listening to music, his choice in it in particular, and how he would try to sing along some of the lines. It was silly, and while you knew just what a shallow goofball he could be, the image seemed out of place somehow.

Satoru was the campus king, and for all the right reasons, according to the supposed norms society ran on. One thing everyone knows and immediately thinks of when his name is mentioned is that he is rich. And it wasn’t as if he was the typical kind of rich with just money. His ancestry consisted of historically significant people dating back to the first century AD, and his family still held that high status. Talk about preserving their legacy.

And as if that wasn’t enough, Satoru was painfully gorgeous and much too aware of it, aggravated by the fact that everyone else fawned over him and thought he was the most extraordinary person on the planet, thus further inflating his head and ego.

“Can I kiss you?”

Those were the first words Satoru ever uttered to you when Suguru introduced him to you two years ago, his voice crisp in the harsh winter air. He had no sense of decorum regardless of his so-called pedigree, and he thought he could bend people to his will just by looking at them with those deceptive, blue eyes which were like treacherous vortices than tranquil seas under a perfectly clear sky.

You didn’t know much about him then, merely hearing about him through Sukuna. You did not exactly get what people saw in him apart from his face. Sure, he was blessed with looks that precisely fit the lyrics of that one Carpenters song, speaking about angels sprinkling moon dust in his hair of platinum, not gold, and starlight in his eyes of blue. He seemed to have everything underneath all that borderline idiotic façade and penchant for debauchery.

But regardless of the great things people had to say about him – one of them being the fact that he was extremely intelligent, which turned out to be true much to your dismay as it would be easier to hate on him if he was otherwise – somehow, he was just another person to you.

“Sure, I’ve seen him,” you remembered telling Suguru, whom you shared an advanced class with, when he asked if you knew Satoru.

“And?”

“And what?”

Suguru had merely blinked at you while Ieiri, who was also listening to your conversation, said, “Are you sure you’ve seen him?”

“Hard to miss with that head of white hair,” you stated, making the two of them exchange glances, the gesture injected with meaning as they high-fived. “You’re immune to him. That’s great!”

That seemed to have become the basis of your friendship with them, your seeming lack of susceptibility to their unusual friend. Among other things anyway, but that’s where it started. Still, their perception of you wasn’t entirely true. Satoru was very attractive, and his charms do work on you. You were just able to keep him at bay better than anyone else until that one drunken night a month ago when you finally caved. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe his lips just looked too kissable that night. You couldn’t be sure, but giving him the opportunity brought you to your current circumstances.

The door to the shower opened, pulling you out of your reverie, your head slowly turning in that direction. The view didn’t disappoint, and you shamelessly watched as Satoru padded barefoot into the bedroom clad in nothing but a pair of black Calvin Klein boxers. You let your eyes roam his solid form, taking in every sinew of his musculature, your tongue unconsciously darting across your lips as you lingered a little longer over his iliac furrows.

Satoru met your gaze from the reflection in the wall mirror after he was done toweling his hair, winking at you as he continued his after-shower rituals. “Like what you see, sweet cheeks?”

Taking your time to respond, you took a sip from your half-empty glass, leaning back to leisurely feast your eyes on him. “I never not like what I see when it’s you, Gojo.”

He looked surprised, but it soon turned into open amusement. “That’s quite the admission, Y/N.”

“That’s a given, don’t you think?”

“Not with you, sweetheart.” He glanced at you from over his shoulder. “I’m glad to know that, although you never failed to make me feel unwanted for as long as we’ve known each other.”

A scoff escaped your lips at his feigned offense. “What’s my opinion against that of the multitude of your adoring fans anyway?”

Satoru didn’t answer your question, his expression changing into something less playful as he tossed his towel to a nearby ottoman and turned to face you, sounding commanding as he said, “Come here.”

With a smirk swathed on your face, you strutted towards him, nursing your drink against your chest. When you were just a foot away from him, you tilted your head to the side, meeting his gaze squarely, making it very clear to him that he doesn’t necessarily have the upper hand, and your physical submission didn’t indicate anything remotely close to that. “Well?”

He took your glass away from you, gently pulled you closer, turned you towards the mirror, and stood behind you. His hands moved towards your front, fingers gingerly fiddling with the sash of your robe. Those blue eyes seemed to be luminous in the ambient lighting of his bedroom even through the mirror, and they never left your form even as he chastely kissed you on the temple.

“May I unwrap my treat now?” he softly spoke near your ear.

“Of course.”

Satoru didn’t waste any time, tugging at the sash before letting the robe slide off your shoulders, falling on the floor just behind your feet with the softest rustles and without any resistance.

“Damn…” He pinched the bridge of his nose, groaning as he looked at you appreciatively through your reflection. “Happy birthday to me, I guess? Holy fucking shit, Y/N.”

“Indeed,” you agreed in jest but kept a straight face. “I was equally surprised.”

“It’s illegal for you to wear anything else, baby.” He chuckled, sounding breathless as he raked his eyes all over your figure, making your face grow a bit hot, as was evident in how your cheeks pinked, something you could blame the wine for if he noticed. “Second to you being naked anyway. But I made the right choice going ham with buying you lingerie. No doubt about that.”

You were about to give him a clever retort, but you noticed how his hands were just hovering over you, close enough for you to be aware of them but not really touching. “Are we just gonna admire the lingerie or what?” At your question, he visibly stiffened, meeting your gaze as you looked away from the mirror and directly at him instead. You reached up, placing a hand on the side of his face. “Touch me.”

Satoru’s lips crashed onto yours before you could even blink, the kiss starting intense and just incrementally becoming so as you pulled him close by the nape and let your head fall back on him. He held you tight by the hips like the last time he kissed you, pressing your back onto his body, your flesh pliant where his muscles were firm. As much as you hate to admit it, Satoru can kiss, and he does it so well. He was literally kissing you stupid, keeping all your attention to the taste and sensation of his probing tongue, skilled in his movements and pulling out the most delicious little notes out of you.

You’ve heard many things about Satoru as a bed partner, and you wondered how your experience differed so much from everyone else’s. You’ve always thought he was one of those men who didn’t give a damn about their partner as long as they got what they wanted, zero technique, just hard fucking. Those who have slept with him prior to you would always say he was good – something you chalked up to them not wanting to get on his bad side – but he wasn’t one to indulge anyone apart from himself.

However, he had been one of the best for you, taking his time to explore your body and getting himself acquainted to what made you feel good. He was gentle as if he was afraid he would break you, remembering how you had to prompt him to go harder, faster. You couldn’t help but agree with what he said regarding your sexual compatibility with one another, not that he had to know. That was the first time, and maybe it was just a courtesy he extended to you as someone he considers his friend, but you want to know just how he really is now that you’ve given him free rein.

You tilted your neck, sucking in a deep breath when he started leaving open-mouthed kisses on the spot just below your ear. His mouth was such a sensual part of him, the plush softness of his lips and the hungry way his tongue licked at your skin, causing you to shiver from the bottom of your spine. That, coupled with the way his fingers started creating a titillating trail from your waist to your midsection and up your chest, stirred you alive.

He started moving his mouth down to your shoulder, leaving a lingering kiss on the slope going down your arm. He opened his eyes and looked at you through the mirror, also gently making you face your reflection. “Look at you,” he whispered, nipping at the shell of your ear.

You did as you were told, taking in the person before you, flushed wherever he had touched you. The glazed look in your hazy eyes spoke volumes of just how he was making you feel if your heaving chest wasn’t enough of a testament of how much he was taking your breath away without doing that much yet.

“You’re so damn pretty for me.” Satoru kissed you on the cheek before pressing his against it as he props his chin on your shoulder, his eyes appearing like blue flames with how heated he was observing you through the mirror. “Sweetheart, I want you to watch what exactly I’m doing to you.”

His hands moved to cup your breasts over the crimson bra you were wearing, giving them a tentative squeeze and then a more deliberate one after. “They’re perfect,” he murmured absently before tugging the lacey material of the bra upwards and releasing your succulent mounds out of their confinement, replacing the garment with his large hands. He began to knead, rolling your nipples between his fingers, making your breath hitch in your throat.

Heat pooled in your nether region as he started kissing your neck again. You kept your eyes open despite wanting to close them every single time he would circle his index fingers over your hardening nubs, pressing and swirling, or when he would lick and bite down the side of your neck, all while watching you unravel.

“G-gojo –” you whined, abruptly cutting yourself short when he bit on the junction of your neck and shoulder a tad harder. And as he was doing that, he started moving one hand downwards, making the anticipation in your chest grow with the deliberate slowness of his fingers, which traced their way down your belly. He played with the elastic of your underwear, lightly dipping the tip of his fingers through it but only to tease you.

Suddenly, he brought both hands down to your hips, pulling your ass flush against the growing predicament between his legs. You felt the outline of his shaft nestling between your butt, warm and stiff through the fabric of his boxers. He moved slowly, rubbing his length against you. “See how you make me feel?”

“Should I be flattered?” You smirked at him through the mirror, but that was short-lived as he cupped your sex with one hand, his fingers deftly rubbing your clit over the flimsy lingerie. “Nnggh...”

“What a shame, sweetheart. You’ve soiled this pretty little thing. I haven’t even touched you here, and yet you’re this wet?” he cooed into your ear as he dry-humped you from the back and moved to insert his whole hand into your panties, tracing the length of your slit before continuing to stimulate your clit with more vigor this time.

“Ah!”

You couldn’t figure out whether it was the act itself or seeing it from the mirror that was making you sensitive and very reactive to Satoru’s ministrations.

“You like that?” He moved his other hand from your hips to the side of your underwear, also inserting it from there and seeking your quivering hole, immediately inserting two of his fingers.

“Fuck! Gojo...ah...”

He started pumping into your pussy with just the tips at first, going deeper every time he thrusts in until they were knuckles-deep. Your panties constricted his movements, but when you tried to push them down, he stopped you.

“No, sweetheart. I want to fuck you later while wearing this,” he said, his words punctuated by the wet squelching over his fingers in your pussy. “You’re squeezing my fingers so tight.”

He continued to probe even as your legs started to shake, looking for that sensitive spot he knew would drive you to the edge. And when he did, you let out such a wanton moan that had him grinding against you harder, his quiet pants audible to your ears alone.

“There you are.” He continuously rubbed the pads of his fingers against that same spot, making you cry out, “I-I’m close.” You panted, eyes focused on his hand moving under the lace.

He chuckled shakily. “Cum for me then.”

And as if with a push of a button, you did his bidding and came around his finger, but he didn’t stop, moving your legs further apart as he continued to finger-fuck you.

"Gojo, I just – ah, ah!" He thrust his fingers even faster, this time slightly pulling down your underwear so he could rub your clit. They easily slid in and out of you with your cum dripping from your pussy to his knuckles while your clit throbbed from his ministrations. Again, that familiar feeling of coming undone settled at the pit of your stomach, trickling down to where he was touching you.

“You’re gonna cum for me as many times as I can make you tonight,” he rasped, forcing you to look at yourself in the mirror. “You’re so fucking pretty when you’re cumming.”

And just like that, he brought you to your second high, making a panting, moaning mess out of you. He had to hold you up since your knees buckled, but even as you were already unraveling, he still moved his fingers, albeit slowly.

“Gojo...p-please stop for a sec.”

“Satoru.”

You looked at him from behind you. “Huh?”

“Call me by my name, sweetheart.” He started tracing figure eights on your clit again, making you tremble and almost fall to your knees again. “Come on, say it.”

“S-sa–Satoru!” You came again before the feeling could even register in your head. “Fuck,” you breathed out, holding onto his arm to keep yourself upright. He helped you up, quiet laughter registering in your ears as he hoisted you in his arms, carrying you bridal style.

You were still shaking from the three orgasms he managed to pull out of you, but you smacked him on the chest, making him giggle all the more. “Ow?”

“I told you to hold on for a moment, you nut!”

He laid you on the bed, propping you up on the multitude of pillows set up against the headboard. “No can do, Y/N. You signed up for this. You’re mine tonight.” He kissed you on the forehead, poking your cheek despite the glare you threw his way. “As much as I want to just shove my cock inside you, I want you to feel so good you won’t think of anything else the whole week.”

You covered your face. “Oh my god, Gojo, shut up.”

He clucked his tongue. “I told you to call me Satoru. It’s weird when you call on my whole clan when I’m the only one here.”

At that, you finally let out a quiet laugh.

“Specifics, right?”

“Now you’re speaking my language?”

He slotted himself between your legs, peppering your face with kisses. “Yes.” He pecked you on the nose. “I want you to scream my name and no one else’s. Now let’s try that.”

“Satoru,” you said in all but a whisper, and then a bit louder and sounding needier. “Satoru.”

As if you’ve bewitched him, his usually bright eyes turned dark, and he was stealing the air out of your lungs again by kissing you, his tongue sliding past your lips. This was what you meant when you said his kisses could be so all-consuming it muddles any coherent thought in your brain.

He then moved to your chest, his mouth latching onto your right nipple and sucking and licking. At the same time, he busied his hands roaming the topography of your body, momentarily making their way to your ass to squeeze possessively before moving downward.

“Change of plans,” he muttered, his voice followed by ripping sounds as he yanked at your panties.

“What the hell?”

He let go of your nipple with a lewd pop. “What? You’ve got more in your closet.”

You grew quiet when he mentioned your ownership of that part of his place. It’s still his closet with things he bought for you. It made sense if he wanted to destroy all of them. “It’s your closet, Satoru.”

“It’s all yours if you want it.” He tossed the ruined lace somewhere behind him before taking possession of your thighs and spreading them apart. “Looking absolutely mouth-watering.”

You rolled your eyes but bit your lip when he slumped down on the bed, face mere centimeters from your slick-laden cunt. “Don’t stare at it –”

Satoru pecked your clit before nudging it with the tip of his nose. “Mine,” he growled, running his tongue through the length of your opening. You bucked your hips, still sensitive from earlier. “I want you to sit on my face next time. But for now…”

Anchoring your legs on the bed with his arms to keep them open for him, Satoru licked another stripe over your cunt, assaulting your clit with licks in quick successions before putting his lips to work, sucking on your sensitive bundle of nerves while he pushed his tongue into you. A needy moan ripped out of your throat, a combination of incoherent syllables of his name and senseless babbling. You gripped onto the sheets and whatever you could get your hands on, unable to process all the sensations wreaking havoc in your system, making every cell in your body sing.

Your legs threatened to close as you thrashed on the bed, entirely under Satoru’s mercy, unable to figure out whether you were feeling too much or nothing at all as you melted underneath him, spasms assailing your whole body.

“T-too much,” you babbled as your fingers raked through his silvery locks. You didn’t know if you wanted to pull him closer or push him away, but all the same, you earned an approving hum, choking out a high-pitched scream from the way his voice thrummed against you, catapulting you to a whole new different kind of high.

Satoru groaned, hearing your pleasured delectations when you climaxed, your juices spilling past his mouth, which he tasted and licked despite your overwhelmed state. His name spilled out of your lips like a broken mantra, each complete utterance of it a stroke to his growing pride at the fact that he was the one winding you up to your current state, that he was the one who was bringing you to heights you’ve never experienced with anyone else.

It was worth it, the wait. You were worth it. The way you looked – all messed up and sobbing, tears spangling your eyelashes, your skin tickled pink, lips parted in quiet sighs, and your chest rising and falling, your breath hitching all at the same time – was something he saw as a reward after all those times you turned him down. Good things happen to those who wait; this was beyond good, even better than what he had imagined.

He couldn’t really put a finger as to what it was about you that drew him in since the first time he Suguru introduced you to him. It was a challenge, the way you seemed to be impermeable to his charms that no matter what he did to catch your attention, you didn’t give him the time of day. You’d scoff at him, treat him as if he wasn’t of any consequence, laugh it off or threaten him when he thinks he had gotten a step closer. The best fruits sure hung at the highest branches of a tree, but he had a ladder and wasn’t hesitant to use it.

And the moment you gave him an opening, he knew he couldn’t bear the thought of you being with anyone else apart from him. His attraction for you which he thought was something that would stop the moment he had a taste of you, grew into covetousness instead. When he said you ruined him for anyone else, there wasn’t a better permutation of words that would describe what you did to him. He wanted to own you, make sure that no one else gets to you, monopolize you in every which way he could think of, and keep you all to himself.

Fuck consequences. He would take what he could. He didn’t like the feeling of being denied. What Gojo Satoru wants, he gets. That was the case for everyone else he had been with, but he knew he could never play by the same rules, not with you. You’re one of those rare things he knew he would never wholly own, but that didn’t mean he would let it go without a fight, nor did that imply that he wasn’t ever going to try. He wanted you, and though you will never ever level the playing ground with him, enjoying your advantage over him, his desperation for you, and the fact that he needed you more than you needed him, he still wanted any part of you that he could concretely say was his.

Your agreement with him was just a step towards that goal.

You were made for him; no one can convince him otherwise. He had never felt the way he did for anyone else, and he didn’t think he ever will again. Looking at you now, all fucked out and laid out for him to feast on, he couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up his throat. He meant it when he said he would make it worth your while. This night was about you. He intended it to be that way, but what he didn’t anticipate was the immense pleasure he felt while giving you what you wanted.

With his lips and chin shining with your arousal, he rose to his knees as if surveying his dominion, you being the conquered land and him the ruler of it all, beauty and ruin all wrapped up into one to create a masterpiece in his will and liking. He swiped at the edge of his mouth with his fingers before licking it off. His eyes caught yours, clear and sparkling with open lust, while yours reflected them in the haze of your blown-out pupils.

Satoru playfully crawled on top of you, randomly planting kisses on your body before he pressed his lips onto your pliant yet unresponsive ones, making you taste yourself. You slowly blinked up at him, a dazed smile drawing itself across your mouth as you tried to even out your breathing. He kissed your cheek, propping himself up on his elbow while his other hand brushed away stray strands of hair from your face.

“Hey, sweet cheeks,” he whispered as he nuzzled your nose with his.

“Just give me a moment,” you responded, voice breathy.

“Okay.” He got off you, comically rolling onto the mattress to reach for the drawer, rummaging through stuff in there, rubbers, you surmised. “Want anything?”

You shook your head, snickering weakly as you covered your eyes with your arm. You didn’t know what was funnier: him being all long-limbed and pure muscle moving the way he did just then, or if it’s just the whole situation.

“What’s so amusing, sweetheart?” he asked as he moved closer to you, sitting up against the plush headboard beside you. You shook your head, but you were still unable to wipe the smile on your lips. “Okay…Think you can sit up?”

You rolled your eyes at him as you did just that, pausing when you noticed that he had forgone his boxers from earlier. Once again, you found yourself staring at him. It wasn’t a luxury you had the first time you had sex with him, given that it was at a party held at a frat house. You didn’t even know whose room you messed up that night, and you didn’t really stop and actually observe him that night, both of you caught up in a rush.

Everything about Gojo Satoru was pretty, that much you could say, and if it was a matter of being endowed, he wasn’t lacking in that either. You knew precisely just how his cock felt like inside of you, and you already knew you wouldn’t be disappointed. No. That had been the least of your worries, but it was somehow like finally putting a face to something responsible for a mysterious encounter.

Daring to be bold despite how he made you surrender earlier, you crawled towards him like a feline, flashing him a sultry look as you came closer. He smirked as you kneeled astride him, running your fingers through your hair to push it back before sitting your plush ass on his lap. You leveled your expression with his when you saw how his jaw went slack, his dick twitching against his abs even without being touched. You slid closer, rubbing your pussy on one of his muscular thighs. He gulped audibly, seeing as how your eyes had taken a different look from earlier, but he didn’t dislike it one bit.

“Close your mouth, sweet thing,” you said, referring to him with one of the nicknames he gave you. His teeth clacked as he did your bidding without even realizing it. You rewarded him with a peck on the cheek, tapping the other with your manicured fingers. “Good.”

You turned your attention to his throbbing cock, prolonging his agony as you ran one hand down his body before finally touching it. You felt his breath picking up pace when you traced one prominent vein that ended just by the pink tip, which was leaking with his own impending arousal. The tables seemed to have turned when you ran your thumb over his slit, smearing his precum. He was becoming harder, hotter in your hand, and you couldn’t help but feel excited as well, seeing your effect on him.

You took the condom packet from him, tearing it open and tossing the wrapper aside. He watched with bated breath as you slid over his length, deliberately tightening your fingers around him, making him hiss. You interrupted his preoccupation with your hand by claiming his lips as you slid the condom the rest of the way, drawing out a salacious moan from him.

“I like how you sound like this,” you murmured against his mouth, chuckling when he let out an exaggerated keen, distracting you enough not to notice when he unclasped your bra. You let the garment slide off of your arm while he pulled on it, getting rid of it like he did with its pair. You couldn’t care less as you wrapped your arms around his shoulder for support, your mouth remaining connected as he lifted you by the back of your thighs, aligning himself to your entrance.

You both gasped when the tip of his cock nudged through your folds, your breaths mingling in the sparse space between your lips. Ever so slowly, you sank down onto him, feeling yourself being stretched further open until he bottomed out.

Overwhelmed by his size and how he made you feel, you placed your forehead against his shoulder, neither of you moving except for the seemingly in-sync rise and fall of your chests. He was in so deep that you felt so full, even breathing seems difficult to do.

“Fuck, Y/N, sweetheart, you feel so good.”

You didn’t trust yourself to speak. Your senses were on overdrive that even the slightest movements of Satoru’s fingers against your skin made you squirm and lose your breath.

“So, so good...” he said softly, utterly out of it, but his words spurred you on. Bracing your hands on his shoulders, you moved your hips, raising halfway through his length before taking the entirety of his shaft again. “Yes, baby, that’s it.”

You repeated the same thing over and over again, going closer towards his tip with each time until you found your rhythm. Starting off slow, you picked up your pace, bouncing on Satoru’s cock, your head slightly thrown back as you maneuvered the angles that best suited your desires.

“You’re s-so damn hot, sweet cheeks. Come on. Give me more,” he egged you on, hands finding their way to your breasts and squeezing possessively.

You were close again, feeling the continuous drag of his dick inside your walls, obscene moans coming from your mouth as you moved your hips to your liking. Seeing the same degree of desire overflowing from Satoru’s eyes made you clench tightly around him as the coil in the pit of your guts tightened. Your movements became sloppy as you burned out all your energy, all worth it hearing the way Satoru groaned and lost his mind because of you.

You rode him like no one’s business, feeling him becoming more engorged inside you. He started meeting you halfway with his own thrusts, seeing as how you’re growing more tired.

“Ah...Satoru, right there,” you said when he shifted and thrust up into you a particular way, keeping that same bruising pace until you were a shaking mess, going limp in his arms as you reached your nth high.

But he wasn’t done with you just yet. Carrying you, he easily rolled the two of you on the sheets. He pulled out of you, propping you on your side, the sudden emptiness making you whimper. But that was short-lived as he pulled you close, your back against his chest. Satoru slid a hand between your thighs, propping your right leg over his. From behind you, he shoved his cock into you, making you scream.

The sound of skin slapping on skin as he fucked you hard and fast filled the room along with his own moans mingling with your pants as your mouth went slack.

“Y/N, I’m c-close. Cum with me, hmm? Give me one more,” he told you in frenzied tones.

Your brain was way too fried for you to respond to his words, merely sobbing when you felt him reaching down to where your clit was, abusing it at the same unforgiving pace at which he pumped his dick inside you.

Right when you came undone, he pulled out up to the tip before ramming back all the way in, staying there as he emptied his load into the condom, his semen coming out in hot spurts that had him seeing stars.

For a while, the pair of you lay there in silence with nothing but your heavy breaths filling up the room, blissfully spent as he held you in his arms.

When he was calm enough, he carefully pulled out of you, discarding the condom and coming back to find you dead to the world. He smiled to himself as he leaned down on your still form, kissing you on the cheek, his head filled with nothing but the thought of how amazing you were.

~*~

My sister be like: え、本当に1つのエロいシーンで5000語以上も？マジで？ And I'm like: わかんないな、なんかおかしくなってるんだよ。 It was Patricia.

TAGS LIST: @arxliana @neeneee @charlie-xo @aelynaneedsalottathing @arizzu @cloudxp @justpuddinglol

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alohastyles-x · 11 months

Note

Hi! I had a request for your cruel summer event if you don’t mind :)

Kate Bishop x fem!Reader, Wildest Dreams (like, all of it?), fluff/smut

Totally fine if you don’t want to!

“She said “let’s get out of this town, drive out from the city, away from the crowds” | “She’s so tall and handsome as hell, she’s so bad but she does it so well” | “You'll see me in hindsight Tangled up with you all night Burning it down Someday when you leave me I bet these memorie Follow you around | “Say you'll remember me Standing in a nice dress Staring at the sunset, babe Red lips and rosy cheeks Say you'll see me again Even if it's just pretend”

note: this is a part of my Cruel Summer (Marvel's Version) Project, running all summer long. "totally fine if you don't want to", nonnie how could i NOT?! I also was unaware how popular kate is for fics on here rn, so I will be hyperfixating hard thank youuuuu. Clearly I am using your ask nonnie to manifest tf out of some romance in my life that I am so lacking hahahah. anyways, I hope you enjoy bby! <3

wordcount: 1.7k

trope / pairing: kate bishop x Fem Reader , fluff&smut

warnings: smutty smut smut at the end, but like a sweet smut (still 18+ tho)

Materslist | Marvel Masterlist | Cruel Summer (Marvel's Version) Masterlist |

The full moon hung low in the sky, cascading the entire highway in a bath of moonlight. The sight was breathtaking, and Kate couldn’t decide which view she liked more- you sitting in the passenger seat, or the illuminated landscape before you two.

It had been her idea to leave the city in the dead of night and take a drive until you found a secluded spot for just the two of you. It had come to her when she saw you leaning on the balcony talking to Clint, overlooking the city. The sun was setting, casting a glow around you. You were so pretty, she knew she had to get you by yourself.

You were still in your attire from the charity event earlier, Kate in her sleek black suit, and you in your matching black dress. It was Kate’s favorite dress on you, as it hugged your curves in all her favorite ways. The two of you were still thriving off the energy of the charity event, unable to sleep, which is how the two of you ended up in Kate's car.

You instantly agreed, knowing damn well you’d follow her anywhere she wanted to go- especially in that suit. The way the dark material softened her pale skin made her look incredible. A sight before your eyes.

“Where are we even going?” You asked, a giggle following. If you knew Kate at all, you knew she had a plan. It may have been a loose one, but a plan none-the-less.

“Okay, so I remember seeing this cute little dinner a few towns over on my way back from the last mission, and I just knew I had to take you. So that’s what we're doing, were finding the diner.” Kate responded, looking to you hopeful. You stared at her, before busting out in laughter.

“Kate! It is the middle of the night!”

“It’s open 24 hours!” Kate defended herself, laughing with you.

“Do you remember anything else besides it being a ‘couple towns over’?”

“I remember it was pink and blue, like a ‘50’s themed diner, and that its open 24 hours. That is about it,” Kate responded.

“Alright, mission received, Hawkeye.” You saluted her, and turned your attention to the deserted highway.

There was nothing but trees in either direction, making it difficult to see far off in the distance. That didn’t stop you from trying though. The nearest exit was still five miles away, so you waited patiently for the signs showing local food spots off the exit, while trying to peer through the dark woods blanketing the highway.

Finally, a sign appeared, illuminated under some lights.

MCDONALDS 0.2 mi

DANS DINER o.3 mi

“Oh, look! There’s a dinner off this exit, should we try it?” You said, hopeful.

“Yeah, yeah lets do it!”

As the exit approached, Kate veered off, following the sign until the Diner appeared. It was decorated in browns and gold- clearly decorated by a man without a single interior design bone in his body. Kate grimaced as she looked it over. The parking lot was dark, with only a single, flickering street light on the property. The diner was empty, save for the cook who stared menacingly out the windows. You swallowed a gulp, afraid he’d hear it even through the glass.

“Definitely not this one,” she said, turning the car around.

“Oh, thank god,” you whispered. The diner did not look the friendliest, or the cleanest for that matter.

“There’s definitely at least one family of roaches in there,” you said, earning a laugh from Kate.

“Oh at least, but definitely more.”

The two of you drove for another hour, pulling off at any diner you spotted. None of them were even remotely close, all decorated horribly and didn’t look the least bit appealing. The search was becoming exhausting, and you were starving by this point. You were just about to ask Kate if you could turn back, maybe stop somewhere else, but she suddenly slammed on the breaks.

“Kate! What are you doing, you’re in the middle of the road, you can’t just stop like this!” You yelled, frantically looking behind you to make sure no cars were coming.

“I found it!” She squealed, pointing. Just ahead stood a tall sign, lit with neon that read “Callie’s Diner”. Below, sat a quaint little dinner, brightly lit with multiple guests eating there.

“Oh my god we found it!” You smiled. Your stomach rumbled just then, as if echoing your statement. With that, Kate began driving again, veering off at the exit.

She parked the car in the lot, and the two of you got out. It was just how Kate described it, like a time capsule from the 50’s. The booths were light blue and pink, matching the painted walls. Bright green plants sat in the corners, giving the place a lively feel to it. There was one waitress, who moved around on roller skates between the kitchen and the booths.

“Woah, this is so cool!” You said, as the two of you settled into an empty booth.

“Isn’t it? I knew you’d love it.” Seeing Kate enthusiastic about something she wanted to show you warmed your heart. The simple fact that she saw a place and instantly thought of you was enough to reassure any fears you may have had.

Kate was definitely the greatest thing to ever happen to you, and the feeling was mutual. She loved the way you could light up a room with just your smile, how contagious your laugh was. The way you drummed your fingers against any surface near you when you were bored. She loved every little thing about you, and couldn’t wait to spend the rest of her life with you.

The two of you ordered food and some milkshakes, and scarfed everything down in what should have been a record time. Driving and searching really exasperated the two of you. But no matter how tired or starving the two of you were, you couldn’t help but have fun, just enjoying being in each others company. Kate had stuck her finger in the whip cream of the milkshake, before bopping you on the nose, leaving remnants of whip cream on it. You scoffed, mocking offense, before attempting to do the same thing back. It just ended with Kate getting whip cream in her hair and on her suit- which just led to her laughing even harder.

Kate paid, and tipped the waitress, and the two of you walked back out to the car. It was still dark out, the kind of dark that is seemingly the darkest, just before the sun begins to rise. The parking lot was flooded in light from the street lamp, creating a perfect little haven out in the car. By now, the rest of the lot was empty, save for the employee cars on the side.

“What now?” You asked Kate.

“I have an idea,” Kate smiled sheepishly, before jumping in the backseat. You giggled, knowing exactly where her mind went. The two of you hadn’t had alone time in weeks, since Kate got sent on an extended mission across the country,

Kate folded the seats down with some effort, as the left one always loves to get stuck, and brought you close in her arms. Her soft lips found yours with urgency as she let her hands run all over your body. Your hands made your way into her hair, tugging ever so slightly as she deepened the kiss. A moan reverberated through your body as her tongue danced with yours.

Her hand slipped the straps of your dress off, moving to take it all the way off. A breath hitched in her throat at the lacy garments you wore underneath, anticipating this moment from the moment you got dressed earlier.

“So beautiful,” she whispered, moving to kiss down your neck, and then your chest. Another moan escaped you as you rolled your head back, her teeth nipping gently at your skin. You moved to straddle her lap, while taking her jacket off.

The two of you undressed each other fairly quickly, not wanting to waste a single second. As she tugged your lacy silk underwear to the side, she slipped a finger in between the folds of you, your wet slick coating your fingers.

“You’re so wet for me, baby,” Kate praised, as she began to rub you gently. The feeling was euphoric as she worked around your clit, her fingers finding their way inside you. You shuddered out a gasp as she pushed another finger inside.

“Oh god,” you moaned.

“You feel so good,” Kate moaned back, her breath hot against your own. She pushed you down gently, moving slowly as she made her way down your chest, leaving a trail of soft kisses. Her mouth was soft against your skin, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. A blush crept up on your cheeks. No matter how many times she had seen you like this, you were always nervous.

Sensing your nervousness, she gave your hand a squeeze, before dipping her head between your thighs. The sight itself was almost enough to send you over the edge, as she looked up at you. Her tongue worked its way around your heat, as she lapped you up- the taste of you exquisite against her tongue.

“Oh, god Kate, that feels amazing,” you whispered, reaching out to try and grab anything to cling to. Of course, there was nothing in her car aside from supplies from past missions, so you reached down to grab her hair instead, pulling her even closer to you. She moaned against you, glancing up to see your reaction.

“Fuck, Kate, I’m going to -” You couldn’t finish, as the familiar euphoric feeling rushed over you, your body spasming underneath the grip Ktae had on your waist. She held you down firmly, determined to let you ride your high all the way, until you were left panting and numb on her face.

She grinned as she moved to be above you, kissing you passionately.

“Come back to me, baby,” she whispered, her palm resting softly on your cheek. You leaned into her touch, trying your hardest to smile. Exhaustion overcame you as you laid helplessly beneath her. She grinned, leaning down to kiss your lips once more before putting her shirt back on.

“We will definitely be finishing this in the morning after a good night's sleep,” she said, finding your dress. She helped slip it over your shoulders, and down your body, the ghost of her fingertips sending shivers down your spine.

#kate bishop smut #kate bishop x reader #kate bishop fuff #kate bishop #kate bishop fic #cruel summer project #<33333 #alohastylesx #alohastylesx works #kate bishop fluff #kate bishop imagine #kate bishop fic rec #kate bishop x female reader #kate bishop x fem!reader #marvel fic #marvel x taylor swift #kate bishop x taylor swift #taylor swift inspired #nonnie baby🦋

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sacredjake · 6 months

Text

Carpe Noctem

pairing: Jake Kiszka x Siren!Reader

warnings: MDNI 18+!!! blood, death, killing, angst, cursing, supernatural elements, brief mention of weapons and minor assault, guilt, talk of dying, smut, fluff, soulmate au

word count: 13.8k

This fic will display themes of death and killing, and i will do my best to tag every warning, but if i miss one please, please, please bring it to my attention.

As Nympha Legatus of your pod you must do what it takes to complete the duty bestowed upon you and your sisters. Even if it means killing the man you love. Will fate continue to haunt you or will you give in to what you truly desire?

a/n: this fic has been almost a month in the making and even longer in the brainstorming stage and i am so excited to share it with everyone! thank you @malany-gvf for always helping me talk out the ideas i have. huge, massive thank you to @gold-mines-melting for giving endless feedback, support and suggestions and taking time to read this and edit it. i appreciate and love you both so much, thank you from the bottom of my heart <33333

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Light from the full moon overhead illuminated your already glistening skin every so often as clouds passed by. The silver rays that shone upon you reflected a scene like the ocean you had emerged from, like moonlight glittering off the waves. The night was misty, rain falling lightly as your pod walked through the streets towards the closest club or bar. Forgoing the need for a coat, raindrops dotted the exposed areas and rolled off seamlessly disguising the naturally dewy texture of your skin.

The rain was purposeful, a product of your magic to blend in better with the humans. If not for that you would look even more out of place with the way your skin looked wet even when dry. It was also a way to ensure everyone was hydrated and avoided drying out. While a quarter of you would not return tonight, at least it would not be from lack of water.

Scuffing from shoes on gravel and rocks being kicked were the only sounds echoing through the dark streets. Some of your sisters were still getting their bearings, it being their first night on legs and all, stumbles were to be expected. Wearing shoes was a major adjustment, but to fit in, shoes were a necessity.

Oh how you missed the days when the humans walked around barefoot. Things were so much simpler then. Before him.

You shook the memory out of your head before it snowballed any further. Now was not the time for that. Focus.

Red light caught your eye as it reflected off puddles and the shiny black gravel. Your eyes followed the trail, landing on multiple different neon signs lighting up the club your pod approached. Like you had expected there to be, a long line formed outside the bar of humans waiting to get inside. At the front stood a tall, large man wearing a tight black shirt and jeans with his arms crossed looking over the line.

Sarenya stopped beside you, and your sisters who followed closely behind mirrored both your actions. She turned to face the pod as you eyed the bouncer a bit longer, sizing him up. When she began to speak you turned around and met the faintly glowing eyes of your younger sisters.

Another distinguishing trait that showed you were not human.

Nymph’s eyes were usually different from the humans’. The color of one’s eyes determined their age and their status. While a siren’s eyes were green in the early stages of their life, red during their middle age and silver in their later years, a mermaid’s eyes were blue, purple and then gold in their respective life stages. The commonality between the two? Every nymph’s iris sparkled. No, not like that disgusting glitter humans loved so much that stuck to everything. Within each iris lay a million tiny flecks of their color in a lighter shade, reflective and bright. And definitely not human.

And yes, mermaids and sirens were both sea nymphs. Humans always tried to make different categories for everything they knew little about, but it was not that complex. Although the technical terms back home were oceanids and naiads, you had learned long ago that people on land had left their original names behind. It didn’t matter much to you honestly, you were all children of the sea, and there wasn’t much difference between a mermaid and a siren anyways beside your eye color and abilities.

Everyone knew sirens had beautiful voices, but this was merely an amplification of their compulsion. While sirens couldn’t compel any other sea nymph, it worked on every other living being. But that’s just the most well known ability. Sirens can also manipulate water, and alter the way something may appear to others. Illusion was the most useful ability a siren could use on a night like tonight.

A mermaid’s abilities were different of course. While sirens could manipulate water, mermaids could control the state of water turning it from liquid to gas to solid. Hence the rain, a combination of both your powers working together. Their most useful power for tonight, however, was their ability to control the emotions of others.

“Alright, we have a few fleshlings with us tonight so we’re going to go over how this works.” Sarenya addressed the pod since she was tonight’s leader. “Use your abilities, rule number one. We are here for one purpose and we must do whatever it takes to achieve that goal. Rule number two, do not leave any damning evidence behind. We do not need a repeat of 1986 where a scale was left behind for a human to find and cause a frenzy. Rule number three, the humans can be quite attractive, but do not forget that they are not one of us. They are food, not mates. Kill them and move on. Fail and you will die. We can not survive on land.”

At the end of her rules she caught your eye, speaking the last one almost directly to you. Like a reminder. As if you needed one. It made your chest hurt, your heart being squeezed torturously by an invisible vice.

She was right though. You only got one night on land, one night to quench the insatiable thirst and gather enough blood for the members of your pod who were not allowed to join the hunt.

Sea nymphs didn’t rely on blood to survive, it’s not the main source of food. Proteins and sea veggies like kelp and seaweed were a big part of an everyday diet. But human blood was a delicacy, and the key to immortality for a nymph. Just a drop of their blood, and a few ingredients, and you had the key to another ten years of youth.

“We only have nine hours until sunrise. I do not care what you do in that time as long as all of your vials are full when you return and you follow those rules. Remember, when the sun comes up this is finished. If you do not make it back to the ocean by then… Well you get it by now.” For a mermaid Sarenya was quite blunt and cold, but when so many of your sisters fail to return over the years you kind of have to be.

“Fleshlings stick by me until I say otherwise, everyone else, you know what to do.” Her golden eyes landed on yours once more with a reassuring glint to them before she strode off towards the bouncer, fleshlings in tow.

The two of you had been overseeing your pod’s hunt since 1693 when you were both promoted to Nympha Legatus, or Nymph Lieutenant. Rising in rank isn’t an easy thing to do, and it was rarely heard of especially since they usually lived forever, but that was an unusual circumstance. The hunt had started out as it usually did with the Nympha Legatus, Nymerian and Tessaya, leading your pod on the shore before breaking off for the night. As the night progressed things went horribly wrong. It had been a year since anyone had been on land and no one was aware of the witch mania that had overtaken the town of Salem. Along with a few others, Nymerian and Tessaya were captured, accused of being witches and thrown in jail to which they never made it back to the sea. Upon returning to the Nympha Ducem, Nymph Commander, you and Sarenya were the only two old enough within the pod to assume the position which required one mermaid and one siren. Since then she has been by your side through everything. You looked out for one another and always made sure the other made it back to the sea even if they had wavering thoughts.

“Alright everyone, you heard Sarenya, you do what you need to and get back to the beach before sunrise. This isn’t your first Hunt. You know what to expect and how to handle it and we expect you to do just that. Enjoy yourselves, but don’t return home empty handed. Good luck…” Your silver eyes flitted to each of theirs briefly before continuing on the last note before separating.

“Carpe Noctem.” Their voices mingled with your own as they recited the phrase with you. Sharing smiles, you and the pod turned towards the bar and made your way to the big guy in front of the door.

Convincing him to let you in was easy. There was no need to use compulsion on him, your beauty taking care of that all on its own. When he asked for an I.D. however, you knew you had to turn it on. Pretending to look for the nonexistent item you pat down your pockets before giving him a sad, doe-eyed look.

“Oh no… It seems like I left it at home. If I tell you a secret will you let me in?” You could feel the power roll off your tongue, sweet and thick like honey coating each word. The bouncer’s eyes glazed over and he leaned forwards at your request.

“You don’t need to see my I.D. or any of the girls behind me. You know us.” He straightened back up, his eyes still in a haze.

“Oh I didn’t realize that was you! Go on in ladies, I don’t need an I.D. for my best girls.”

There was muttering from the line of humans behind you. Most of them were women expressing their displeasure and jealousy and some were men who were fawning over you and your sisters. Human men were so simple, each one of them the same as the last, year after year. All but one had ever shown you any difference.

The bouncer opened the door and stepped aside letting you walk past him into the crowded bar. Cigarette smoke lingered in the air and blurred your vision slightly as you push through people to find an empty spot to sit. In your experience the hunt always worked better when you let the humans come to you. It was nice to sit and enjoy your time on land, appreciating the music, observing the humans and their strange behaviors, and savoring the cocktails they made. There was work to be done, sure, but you had the time.

After an hour had come and gone of observing and accepting drinks from different men you had found yourself in conversation with one. And by Zeus was he the most obnoxious human you had ever met. Ethan, or so you think you heard right, went on and on and on about how much money his family had and how nice his house was and how he just got back from Italy- blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. Pfft. Italy, big freaking whoop you had been there more times than you could count, and you really could not give less of a fuck about his money either. So trivial.

Ethan, or was it Evan, who cares honestly he was about to be dead, kept talking even though you had zoned out long ago. For the last few minutes while what’s his face rambled on you were thinking how exactly you wanted to end his life. Would you promise him sex if he walked out of the club with you only to die in the alley? Or would you use your illusion and kill him right here without anyone noticing? You could also ask him to show you his ‘sick new lambo’ and bleed him dry all over the white leather seats he was raving about. New ideas kept popping into your head, each one better than the last, but your train of thought came to a screeching halt when you caught his eyes.

He looked the same as he did every damn time. Long, slightly wavy chestnut brown hair, a soft yet strong jawline, plush soft lips, and gentle brown eyes lined with subtle dark circles underneath. No matter how many times you saw him he always seemed to steal the air from your lungs.

Once his eyes were set on you they didn’t move. It was like he was trying to piece together where he recognized you from although you knew he never would. Your eyes bore into his own taking you back to when you first met.

June 1713

Dover, England

Twenty years. It had only been twenty years since you were appointed Nympha Legatus which seems like a long time, but in the life of an immortal that’s nothing. Barely scratching the surface.

The first ten years were rough. You and Sarenya had lost every single fleshling each year, none of them returning to the sea. Some were killed in random accidents, and the others just never made it back. On the eleventh year the first fleshling from your pod survived, finally giving you both hope that maybe you could do this. Maybe everything would be okay. Each year after more and more survived until only one or two didn’t return. That in itself was a success.

Sarenya led the speech this year warning your sisters about pirates in the area, and human officers in the streets. Men were not so kind to women, especially pirates, and on land nymphs were at their most vulnerable, the Nympha Ducem deeming it illegal to use your abilities during the hunt in fear of causing suspicion amongst the humans. Deciding to hunt in a well populated port was dangerous, but it also offered a safety that desolate towns could not. More people meant you were less likely to be looked upon for being strangers, the sea was close by and there was safety in large crowds.

“Carpe Noctem.” Everyone spoke the phrase in unison just as they had for centuries before, beginning the hunt.

You wandered the streets for some time before finding a small pub to begin your night. Drunk men were always easy prey. But they were also unpredictable. A man who went by Billy had approached you shortly after entering the rickety establishment and offered his rum to you. The rum should have been the first indicator of who you were dealing with. The cutlass at his hip should’ve been the second.

Between sips of the dark liquor and hollow flirting you had ended up in a back alley with Billy trying to execute your plan for killing him. You had sorely underestimated how aware, sober and strong he was. When he caught on that you were not going to do him any sexual favors the cutlass at his hip had been drawn to your neck with his other forearm laid across your chest, pressing your back into the rough brick. You squeezed your eyes shut and waited for whatever Billy was about to do, but nothing happened.

The pressure against your chest lifted, and the cold metal of the blade at your throat was gone. When you opened your eyes Billy stood in front of you, his hands up in defense, shock and terror written all over his face, dagger pressed to his jugular.

“Drop the cutlass. Now.” A male voice spoke from behind him, commanding but smooth. Billy did as the disembodied voice said, the sword clattering loudly, the metal banging and scraping against gravel.

“Apologize to the lady.”

“I- I‘m sorry miss. Won’t ha- happen again.” Billy stuttered, his legs shaking and hands trembling in the air.

“Leave and don’t come back. If I see your face in Dover again I can’t promise I’ll be as kind a second time.”

The man behind your attacker lifted the blade off his throat, nicking the skin ever so slightly drawing the smallest amount of blood. Finally free, Billy bolted down the street not staying to try and fight. You swore you saw his brown trousers darken as he ran away, streams of piss flowing down his legs. Coward.

When the man straightened up from retrieving the cutlass off the ground you were able to see his face. His brown wavy hair was illuminated by moonlight, plush lips upturned at the corners into a gentle smile, and brown eyes twinkling in the silver beams from above. He was the most gorgeous human you had ever seen.

His smile dropped a fraction when you made no movement, continuing to stare at him with wide eyes. He took a step back thinking he must have frightened you even more and mentally cursed himself. Instead you took a step forward wanting to not be any further from him than you already were.

“It was not my intention to frighten you, my lady.” He hung his head in disappointment and shame, unable to meet your eyes again.

“You did not frighten me, sir. I am just in awe of your beauty.”

You wanted nothing more than to reach out for him. To touch him, and feel his smooth skin under your fingers. You kept your hands to yourself begrudgingly.

The man’s head snapped up so quickly it looked like it hurt. Brown eyes were back on your own, a pink tint flushed onto his cheeks.

“My beauty?” It was incredulous to him that a woman so fair, so breathtaking, was in awe of his beauty.

“Yes.” You took another step closer to him as you spoke.

“The most devine creature I have ever seen is calling me beautiful.”

Your entire body froze. Every muscle and ligament locked in place and rigid. Creature. Did he know what you were?

“Creature?” The word rolled off your tongue with disgust. A word you had always despised.

“Well you certainly can not be human and possess the features of a goddess.”

Just as your body had locked up in mere seconds, it relaxed hearing that what he had called you was a compliment. This was the first time you had actually liked the word creature. It was filled with endearment not disgust.

“What is your name?”

“Jacob.”

“Thank you for stepping in, Jacob. I can only imagine what could have occurred had you not. Would you allow me to buy you a pint as a show of my appreciation and gratitude?”

“Only if you’ll stay and enjoy one with me.” He beamed brighter than the moon overhead, eyes and smile wide.

“I shall join you then.”

The two of you walked down the cobblestone street back towards the small ale house you had come from with Billy. He had asked your name in which you told him earning yet another compliment.

“A name just as beautiful as the woman who bears it.”

You couldn’t describe what he was making you feel. There was never another time during your long life that you had ever felt so giddy and nervous around a human. Jacob was something special indeed.

Time was lost on you once the two of you entered the pub and sat to enjoy a drink. Various conversations about either of you followed naturally, careful to think about your answers. You were not like him after all and one wrong thing could raise questions.

“That’s a pretty blade.” You pointed to the dagger Jacob had set on the table, it had been the same one held to Billy’s neck. The weapon was fairly simple, a straight cross-guard that downturned slightly at the end and thinned out, the grip looked to be wrapped in leather leading to a round pommel with an atocha coin in the middle.

“Thank you, I actually made it. I’m a silversmith.”

Jacob was quite talented. Every piece of weaponry aside from Billy’s he had made himself. A few of the patrons in the tavern had also been carrying around his creations, all of them beautiful. He had taught himself how to fight with a sword, and how to play the guitar. He was the most intriguing human you had ever met.

And yet he would die that night by your hand.

Things had finally been going right for your pod in the last nine years, and you had almost thrown all of it down a trench because of some human. Wasting the night away talking to a human because he saved your life? Because he was a wonder to look at? No, that was not important. What was important was gathering the blood you needed and getting home. You had a mission.

At least that’s what you told yourself when you drained the blood from Jacob, unable to stop. What you had to remind yourself when you saw his body limp and lifeless at your hands. It was what played in a loop in your head any time you thought of how you would never see his beauty again, how you would never admire another human in that way again.

But you were wrong. Fate was cruel and twisted.

You finally tore your eyes away from his and turned back to whatever his name was. He will come just as he always did, but this time you will be prepared. Finally taking a breath from speaking, Erik allowed for a lull in the conversation giving the opportunity for you to suggest the two of you find somewhere more private. Of course he was more than happy to oblige. Naïve human.

Once Edwin was taken care of and you had your vile of blood, you cleaned the mess in the dirty alleyway as best as you could. The door you walked out of had been propped open from the cardboard box you wedged in the doorframe and you slipped back inside easily. Women filled the tiny bathroom, drunk and stumbling as you cleaned yourself up making sure there was no evidence left behind. Satisfied, you left the bathroom and made your way back to where you had been originally sitting.

You sat there for some time watching the humans dance, talk and laugh trying to keep your eyes off of him. A truly fruitless distraction, your eyes trained on his form unable to look away. A part of you knew that you had to cherish this before it was too late. Not knowing how much time would pass before you did see him again.

After what seemed like hours, although you’re sure it could’ve only been thirty minutes, he pushed off the table he was leaning against and made his way over to you. Trying to seem like you had not been staring at him all night, your eyes wandered elsewhere looking for anything remotely interesting. It wasn’t until he was basically right in front of you that you allowed your eyes to shift onto him. He stared down at you, the corners of his lips pulled into the smallest smile.

“Alright if I join you?” His hand was outstretched, palm facing upwards and motioning to the empty seat next to you.

“Not at all.” You smiled back at him and scooted over slightly on the small cushioned bench to make more room.

“I wasn’t going to come over here since you were with someone earlier, but it appears that he left.”

“Yeah,” You chuckled, “Honestly I’m glad I was able to ditch him. He was a bore. Had I known you’d come over sooner I would’ve gotten rid of him a long time ago.”

“Is that so?” His eyebrows raised, the smile on his face only growing in size. You hummed a short “Mmm,” your eyes meeting his for the first time since he sat down.

“I’m Jake by the way.”

Jake extended his hand out to you and you took it, shaking his hand with a firm, but still soft grip. Neither of you could keep your eyes off the other.

“Y/n.”

“Fitting. A name just as beautiful as the woman bearing it.” You could feel your heart skip before it sank. You knew he would say it, but that didn’t make the pain any easier. He dropped your hand and lifted his glass up to his lips taking a sip.

“Not much of a dancer I presume?”

April 1865

Boston, Massachusetts

People were everywhere. In the streets, in the bars, cheering, drinking, celebrating. The perfect time to begin the hunt.

After separating from the pod you found yourself observing the humans while they celebrated victory. The civil war had just ended and their side won. It was fascinating to watch them dance and sing and drink to their hearts desire without any care in the world.

So caught up in watching the humans, you hadn’t even noticed him in the crowd. But he had noticed you, of course he had. Not only were you the only person in all of Boston to not be celebrating in some way, but you were also stunning.

“Not much of a dancer I presume?”

The accent was much different, but the voice was the same. Your head snapped to where he was standing just left of you, shock wracking your entire body. How was it possible? He was dead. You had killed him over a hundred years ago.

“Um… Uh- n-no. Not really.” You stumbled through the shock that had taken hold of you, mind racing.

“I see… C’mon,” He held his hand out to you as an offering. When you didn’t take it he whispered, “If you don’t celebrate in some way they might think you’re a sympathizer. Take my hand.”

You did as he asked and slid your hand into his. He pulled you up from the stoop you were occupying and led you into the street with all the other humans. Musicians were playing loudly out in the open, the songs always fast and upbeat keeping everyone moving. He dropped your hand once comfortable with where you were standing and began a dance you had never seen before. When you didn’t move an inch he stopped.

“Do you not know how it goes?”

“No.” Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip as you shook your head.

“I’ll teach you. Follow my lead.”

“Okay…”

“Jacob. You can call me Jacob.”

Song after song, dance after dance, Jacob leads you into each one. He taught you all the steps, keeping patience the entire time which would not have been an easy thing to do. While you were no fleshling, you definitely looked like it was your first time on legs with how uncoordinated you were.

You talked as you danced the night away. Jacob was just as intriguing the second time you met him as he was the first. He was the same man you had met in 1713, but more modernized. Everything about him drew you in.

Eventually the music died, the streets cleared and it was just you and Jacob left out in the night. The two of you were sitting on the steps of his porch talking under the stars and enjoying each other's company. At some point you were no longer looking at the empty street or the starry night sky, but looking at one another instead. Jacob’s eyes traversed every part of your face like he was trying to memorize even the smallest details. After a few moments of this he sighed dreamily.

“May I kiss you?”

“You want to kiss me?”

“More than anything.”

“Then yes, Jacob, you may.”

You had kissed plenty of humans in your lifetime, none of them ever meaning anything significant. But when Jacob’s lips touched yours for the first time you had finally realized why humans liked to do this. Your entire body felt… alive. The feeling was the strangest, yet most blissful experience that you wished would never end. When he pulled away from you sadness ran through every fiber of your being, instantly missing the warmth of his soft lips.

You would never forget the way Jacob looked at you after the kiss. His eyes were soft, a gentle smile gracing his pretty face, every bit of him glowing with something other than the light from the moon. You would’ve done anything to see him like this for the rest of your life. To feel like he had just made you feel for eternity.

When the blissful haze cleared however, the longing vanished and panic quickly set in. What was he doing to you? This wasn’t right. You have a purpose and it is not to fall in love with a human. Get it together. Do your duty.

Every other thought bounced back and forth, your heart and brain fighting for dominance. Your heart told you to let him live, you didn’t need to kill him, but your brain knew better. You needed to do it or you would come back year after year just to see him. Risk the safety of you and the pod for a human you could never be with.

You had to kill him.

“Thank you for tonight Jacob.”

“The pleasure was all mine.”

He had insisted on walking you home to which you didn’t fight. If he walked you home you could lead him to a quiet place to take his life. Maybe even somewhere beautiful. Jacob deserved more than to just be drained and dumped in some filthy alley.

When he took you through the public garden you knew that was the place. So you led him down close to the pond underneath a willow tree, rays of light breaking through the wispy leaves that lay in drooping branches.

“Jacob?” You turned to him and gently grabbed both his hands.

“Hmm?”

“Kiss me again… Please?” There was the possibility that he would not come back like he had this time. A possibility that you would never feel his lips on yours again and you needed to experience it one last time.

“Okay.” It was soft and breathy, and had the night been any more lively you weren’t sure you would’ve heard it.

Jacob did as you asked, his lips pressed to yours like they had the first time. Tingles rolled through your body from head to toe crashing over you like waves. When you thought he would pull away and end the kiss he did something that surprised you. His tongue swept across your lower lip sending new vibrations along your spine, your body shivering slightly. Your own mouth acted without volition and opened against his lips.

The feeling of his tongue gliding along yours like velvet was euphoric. Noises bubbled from your throat in sighs of pleasure to be swallowed by Jacob. His hands gripped your waist, fingertips pressing into the meat with desperate longing. You liked the way his hands felt on you, almost as intoxicating as his mouth.

The kiss calmed and turned into short, slow kisses until your foreheads were resting against one another. You watched both of your chests rise and fall rapidly as you tried to regain your breath and slow your racing hearts. Neither of you said a word, just simply enjoying the moment.

Do it now. Get it over with, the longer you delay the worse it’ll be. Do it.

“May the flames of our souls dance together endlessly, Jacob.” You didn’t dare look at his face when you spoke your last words to him knowing you wouldn’t have it in you to do what needed to be done.

As your teeth sank into the delicate skin of his neck you prayed for it to be over quickly. Each desperate gasp of breath was a stab to your already fragile heart, and you were thankful you couldn’t see his face.

When he finally fell unconscious you filled the vile with his blood quickly before returning to finish what you started. Each pull of your mouth was a physical battle within yourself knowing that if you left now, before it was too late, he’d live. You could save him if you stopped. But that wasn’t an option anymore. You had to see it through.

You laid him down gently beneath the willow, teardrops dotting his skin, and cried harder at the sight of them. Had you been crying the whole time, you weren’t sure, but deep down you knew you had been. Brushing his hair from his face you looked at him one last time and pressed a shaky kiss to his forehead.

You had never run faster or sobbed harder in your life than you had that night.

“Something like that. I’m not one for this type of dancing or music if I’m honest.” You shrugged looking out at the people jumping and grinding to the music the DJ played.

“I’m not either, but my younger brothers wanted to check it out so I appeased them,” His eyes were trained on the crowd as he spoke, “I was starting to regret coming, and was just telling my brother I was going to leave.”

You peeled your eyes away from the people dancing on the floor and looked at Jake. He did the same, turning his focus back to you.

“Oh really? What made you change your mind?”

“Well I saw the most gorgeous woman looking like she’d rather be anywhere but here.” A cheeky smile formed on his lips. You’d forgotten how smooth he always was, your own lips breaking into a small smile.

“Would you wanna get out of here?”

“And go where?”

“I know a place.” Jake stood from his spot on the bench and set his drink on the table. When he turned to you he had his arm extended for you to take. His face gave a look of ‘what do you say?’

“Better be a good place.” You smiled and took his hand letting him lead you out of the noisy club. When the two of you stepped outside onto the street his hand dropped yours, the warmth he brought quickly dissipating. The action made you sad, wanting nothing more than to touch him again.

You weren’t sure where he was taking you, but you trusted him and let him lead you down the wet streets. The two of you talked, and just as you had expected he was the same as each time before just with slight differences. He was a musician now, self made of course, and in a band with his brothers. It was almost relieving to hear that there was finally a version of him in which he played music. You knew he was destined for this profession, his love and devotion for the art always remaining throughout the decades.

Eventually you came to the entrance of a park shrouded with hundreds of trees and flowers. He continued to walk down the pathway, a destination clear in mind. You couldn’t help but look in awe at the breathtaking scenery around you, all the trees and flowers, the moonlight bouncing off the large pond that sat in the middle of the park. You wondered what it might look like in the daytime.

Since you had left the club there had not been a moment of silence. Comfortable, casual conversation flowed easily between you, talking about anything and everything you could think of. Jake was well read in human history and literature, things you knew much about having lived through most of them. While you only came upon the shore for one night each year you liked to keep tabs on what was happening with the humans as it usually impacted the lives of the nymphs greatly. Especially as technology advanced.

The two of you came to a bench surrounded by large drooping trees that overlooked the pond, and your chest tightened. The scene before you looked strikingly similar to the public garden in Boston where you had taken Jake’s life almost two hundred years ago. Images of his lifeless state came flooding back to you, tears pricking your eyes. You took a deep breath and closed your eyes, willing the tears back down. When you opened your eyes again and looked at the trees more closely you breathed a small sigh of relief. They were not willows, but instead oak trees covered in spanish moss that were still living. And they were hauntingly beautiful.

“I like to come here at night when I’m stuck on a melody or riff I can’t quite work out. There’s something about this place that’s so peaceful and reminiscent. Which sounds ridiculous since I don't even know what I could possibly reminisce about in a place like this.” He sat on the bench and looked out over the water as he spoke, like he truly was thinking back to something. You tried to deny that maybe in some way he remembered that night in Boston as you sat beside him. It was easier to lie to yourself than accept that old pieces of his lives that involved you lingered.

The night had grown somewhat cold and a chill ran through your body as wind swept through the trees. Jake noticed the way your arms wrapped tightly around your body and wordlessly took off his light jacket, placing it around your shoulders.

“Thank you, but you didn’t-“

“I wanted to.”

The skin of your cheeks burned, heat creeping along your face and down your neck. You were thankful for the thickly coated trees overhead as they blocked out most of the moonlight and hid your growing blush. With the wind dying, you could smell his natural musk that wafted from the jacket, woodsy and clean like driftwood that sat on the beach. The smell flooded your senses, reminding you of the last time you had seen him.

September 1923

Charleston, South Carolina

Prohibition made hunting harder. Without the effect of alcohol humans tended not to hang around in large groups and were more difficult to subdue, but thankfully speakeasies existed. Sure finding a human who knew where one was could be a challenge, but once you did find one who could point you in the right direction they would do so of their own free will.

Bourbon and Branch was where you had found yourself this night for the hunt. The darkly lit underground club was congested with smoke from cigarettes and cigars, the sound of jazz filled the space. There couldn't have been a better place to prey on humans and you certainly took advantage of it, your body count for the evening rising higher and higher. Were you out of control? No, not yet, but hey it was the roaring twenties, everyone was on the verge of losing what little grip they had on self control. It didn’t help that you had been nursing your self loathing and pain since 1865.

Every waking moment that fateful night played on a loop in your mind. Over and over. You would do anything to get through the day without thinking about him, and human blood helped take your mind off of everything. The more you drank, the better you felt, the less you thought of him, but the more you drank, the more you pushed yourself further to the edge. You were quickly becoming a liability to the pod with each hunt that took place. It’s not that you didn’t care that you were endangering the pod, you just couldn’t see past your own misery to realize that what you were doing was dangerous.

You had lost track of just how many bodies you had left in the alley behind the speakeasy that night. It was nearing double digits, but you didn’t care and instead headed back inside the small club to find your next meal. When you slipped back inside though the image of the next human you had intended on targeting vanished instantly.

Sitting in a booth with a drink in hand looking at home was the man who haunted you. His eyes seemed to be scanning the room, like he was looking for something in particular when they landed on you. You didn’t dare take your eyes off of him, fearing that maybe the blood had gotten to your head. You watched as he said something to one of the men who sat by his side, identical to him in some ways, before sliding out of the booth and walking towards you. Not once did his eyes leave yours.

It felt like catching up with an old friend in some weird way. You know the person down to their core, but aspects of their life have changed, and small parts of them have too. Most of the night was spent in the Bourbon and Branch just talking with Jacob and getting to know what he was like in this life. There were plenty of smiles, laughs and flirting, and you were floating on air. And when he kissed you that night it was as if no time had passed, like you were back in 1865 sitting on his porch steps under the stars.

When the bar had finally closed for the night, neither of you could bring yourselves to say goodbye. Jacob invited you back to his house with his brothers and their partners as a proper way to wind down after a night out. More secret booze and music. The lot of you danced and drank for what seemed like hours before everyone either left or went to bed leaving you and Jacob out to enjoy the night alone. The two of you talked and talked until talking led to gentle touches, those touches turned to kissing, and the kissing led to something you had never done.

While painful at first, the feeling that came after was truly unlike anything you had ever experienced. Nothing would compare to the overwhelming euphoria you and Jacob had shared that night. Images of him above you, bare and glistening with sweat while his light brown eyes bore into your own were seared in your brain. The scent of driftwood and sea salt was all around you, enveloping you wholly. His whispers of praise, encouragement, and adoration echoed forever in your head. How beautiful you were and how good you felt. How utterly perfect you were. If you thought you liked the way his hands felt on you once long ago, you loved how they felt on you tonight. You loved the pleasure he could bring you with just a drag of his finger, and how gentle he was. So gentle like he was afraid he would break you. When you reached your peak you felt nothing but pure pleasure, every thought and memory erased from your mind that wasn’t him. He invaded every part of your being.

Afterwards the two of you laid in his bed, bare and pressed against one another. No words were spoken, but none needed to be. You were both content to exist in the moment listening to each breath the other took while his fingers traced mindless shapes and paths across your skin. The only noise that could be heard was Jacob humming softly, a tune that had no real body like it was something he made up as it came to him.

When he finally fell asleep you slipped out from underneath his arm carefully to not wake him and redressed. You had decided you would not repeat history this time. You wouldn’t be the cause of his death, you couldn’t do it again. You knew had you taken his life a third time you would come apart at the seams completely. While you were unsure if he would ever come back to you since you had let him live, it was a chance you were willing to take. For one last time you admired him in the faint glow of the candles by his bed, and this time as you looked upon him you didn’t have to tell yourself he was sleeping.

“May the flames of our souls dance together endlessly, my love.” Your hand caressed his cheek and you bent down to place a gentle kiss to his forehead before you made your exit. You had barely made it to the ocean when the sun rose that morning, your first true close call. To you though it was well worth it.

“So you’re in a band? Do you enjoy it?” You pulled his jacket tighter around your frame hoping to trap in more heat and cocoon yourself in his smell.

“I love it. It’s been my dream for so long to be a musician and I don’t think I would trade anything in the world for it.” When he spoke you could feel the excitement pour off of him. He truly loved what he was doing and that made you happy- knowing that he was happy.

“I’m sure it's not easy though being in a band with your brothers.”

“Everyone thinks that, but it’s not always difficult. Sure tempers fly, and things get smashed or broken, but nothing will ever come between us that we can’t overcome. We’re family, we’ll always have each other’s backs.”

You could understand where he was coming from. Your pod was your family, each member was a sister to you biological or not, and the hunt was your job. Things get dicey every now and then, but for the most part you just tried to do what was best for your family and looked out for one another.

Another hour had passed just sitting under the trees talking about everything and nothing at all. It had taken all the strength you had to not shiver uncontrollably from head to toe till now, Jake’s jacket not doing much anymore. You were positively freezing. The cold finally won, and violent shakes wracked your body.

“I have this beautiful hand-made dagger from the 1700s, absolutely exquis-“ His sentence stopped abruptly on the count of way your body jolted continuously and he began to rub his hands up and down the length of your biceps, “C’mon let’s get you somewhere warm, you’re shaking like a leaf.”

Jake stood from the bench, his hands falling away from your arms for a moment to help you stand. When the two of you began to walk he was next to you, his arm wrapped around the back of your body so both of his hands were back on your upper arms. The friction from his hands did heat your body slightly, but not enough to subdue the intense shivering.

“My place isn’t far from here, is that alright?” When you turned to answer him you came practically nose to nose with him. He was so close that the only thing you could see in front of you were his honey brown irises.

“Um, yeah that’s fine. How far away are we?”

“About seven minutes, think you’ll make it that far?” The smallest hint of a smile drew the corner of his mouth upwards, his top lip curling the tiniest bit.

While you didn’t spend most of your time around humans you knew when one was making a joke. Or in this case, poking fun at you. Instead of finding it offensive the jest was rather endearing. Nonetheless you rolled your eyes playfully.

“Yes I can make it that far.” You finally willed yourself to look away from his mesmerizing face and stare out ahead of you. A part of you feared that if you didn’t look away now, you never would.

Shortly after leaving the park you had stopped shivering and Jake’s hands stopped their vigorous movements on your arms to rest at his sides. It seemed silly, but you mourned his touch as soon as it left your body and you decided to ask him about the dagger from earlier to distract yourself.

“You were telling me earlier about a dagger that you have?”

“Oh yeah, I forgot I was nerding out a little.” A breathy laugh escaped from between his lips. It was more of a huff of air than an actual laugh. His focus was on his boots as he walked beside you on the concrete sidewalk.

“Tell me about it? I would love to know more.”

“Yeah, uh,” He looked up to you with an expression that looked something similar to disbelief mixed with excitement. “It’s a beautiful handcrafted dagger from the early 18th century I believe. It’s a family heirloom, been passed down to the Kiszka men when they turn twenty-five. That’s how old my ancestor was when he made it.”

His hands waved about and fidgeted as he spoke like it was something he did out of nervous habit, but you think he just liked to keep his hands busy. You knew exactly which blade he had been referring to, there was no doubt in your mind. The weapon had to be the same blade used to strike fear into the heart of Billy back in Dover, England. The same blade which you complimented later on in the night.

“This is me.” Jake stopped in front of a large house, very modern and elegant looking, but simple, and dug his keys out from the depths of his pockets. While he fidgeted with the keys you took the opportunity to slide the vial of blood you had collected from earlied out of your pocket and drop it gently in one of his bushes by door to grab in the morning.

He opened the door and walked inside, holding the door open for you to follow behind him. As soon as you stepped through the threshold of his home, warmth flooded over your entire body.

Jake’s home on the inside reflected the outside, modern and sleek, but it still had a cozy and comfortable element to it. In a way it somewhat reminded you of his home in the 1920’s.

You followed him deeper into the house through a hallway that led into a living room and kitchen. The areas were separated by a black granite bar top that had bar stools lined along the wall facing into the kitchen. Jake walked around the bar into the kitchen and you decided to stay on the other side, standing next to a stool. He looked at you from the other side, his hands on top of the black surface and his upper body leaning towards you.

“Would you like anything to drink? Water, tea, booze?”

“Hmm, tea sounds quite nice. Would you by any chance happen to have any peppermint tea?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.” He smiled at you fondly before turning around and walking to a cabinet on the wall behind him. He opened the cabinet and pulled two mugs off the shelf before closing it and opening another one to rummage through it. When he found the proper tea he filled the kettle up with water and set it on the stove to bring to a boil.

“You can sit, you know, make yourself comfortable.” He was facing you now, back pressed against the island in the center of the kitchen, his hands resting on the countertop behind him and his legs cross at the ankle. You knew with the tone of his voice and the soft smile on his face that he was just trying to make you feel more welcome.

“Thank you, although I’m content standing for now.” You smiled back at him gently with your upper body leaned into the cool black stone. Jake only offered an amused hum in response, continuing to stare at you with fond eyes.

“What?”

“Nothing… You’re just so beautiful,” His focus shifted to the ground and he shook his head, a giddy smile still splayed across his lips. “When I saw you at the club tonight I almost couldn’t muster up the courage to speak to you, and now you’re in my house and I’m making tea for you, and…” He looked up from the ground and met your eyes again. “You’re just so beautiful.”

You pushed off of the counter and made your way into the kitchen where he was standing. Neither of you looked away from the other the closer you got.

“I think,” You stopped in front of him and lightly draped your arms around his shoulders. His hands lifted from the countertop behind him and rested on your hips. “That you are quite beautiful.”

He was quiet for a moment, your compliment stunning him. He continued to stare at you in wonder and your eyes stayed locked on his.

“Me? Beautiful?”

“Breathtaking.”

His hand left your waist, his palm coming to rest on your jaw with his thumb splayed across your cheek, and his fingers laid against your neck just under your ear.

“C’mere.”

Jake pulled you closer to him, his fingers curling gently around the back of your neck, his lips pressing to yours. Just like each time before your skin felt tingly, spreading from your head all the way down your toes. You could feel his lips still curled upwards into the smile he was wearing as he kissed you. After a beat or two he pulled away from you.

The second his lips lifted from your own you felt the immediate longing of wanting to feel their warmth and softness again. It felt like sand slipping through your fingers.

However, his mouth was back on yours continuously pressing quick, tender kisses upon your lips over and over. With each time he pulled away, the amount of time between the kisses grew shorter like he couldn’t bring himself to pull away from you entirely. Not only did they become shorter, but they quickly became more heated and needy. Jake’s tongue ran the length of your bottom lip and you welcomed it happily, parting your lips with a low hum. You didn’t fight him for dominance and instead let his tongue explore your mouth as he pleased. The tip of his tongue teased the roof of your mouth slowly from the back to the front before he met your lips again and his tongue brushed against your own.

He walked forward a few steps and used the hand placed on your hip to turn the two of you in an one-eighty, and then walked you backwards. Your back pressed into the edge of the island countertop, Jake’s chest and hips pressed flush against your own, his hand moving to tangle into the soft tresses of your hair. Everything he did was gentle, careful not to push too far. Even with his body pressed into yours there was no overwhelming force.

Your hands wound into his hair, pulling him impossibly closer to you and earning a groan from Jake in return. He grabbed both your hips in his hands and grinded his growing erection into your core. You couldn’t help the way your head lulled back, breaking the kiss. Taking advantage of your exposed neck, he trailed kisses down the column of the soft skin. His mouth worked slowly, dragging out each open mouthed, hot kiss with his tongue licking over the area before moving to place the next one.

“Jake.” His name rolled off your tongue in a whisper, broken and whiny. You hadn’t meant to say his name out loud, but the reaction you pulled from him was worth it. The tips of his fingers dug into your hips harder and vibrations rumbled from his mouth through your neck with the low moan he released.

“Sounds so pretty when you say it like that, darling.” His teeth scraped across your skin with the next kiss just barely applying any pressure.

“Fuck, Jake.”

His teeth grazed the delicate skin once again, adding in another roll of his hips into yours. He was much harder now and the friction he supplied was making your head dizzy. You wanted more of him, so much more of him. In the background you could hear the kettle whistle loudly on the stove signifying it was ready.

“Water’s ready for tea.” Jake’s voice was low and husky while still moving his mouth down your throat.

“Forget the tea. I need you, please.” Your hand traveled between your bodies to palm his clothed length. His lips finally ceased their assault, his forehead resting on your clavicle with a sharp breath pulled into his lungs.

“Oh darling,” He lifted his head from your chest to look into your eyes. There was a fire in his eyes this time that you had never seen before, dark and swirling beneath the surface. “Have me you shall.”

He stepped away from you and grabbed your hand, pulling you behind him. He walked over to the stove quickly turning off the burner and setting the kettle aside. Once the fire hazard was taken care of he pulled you into him again and reconnected your lips. You were walking backwards, unsure of where exactly he was directing the two of you, but you couldn’t care less. Your fingers fumbled with the buttons on his shirt popping them open one by one. In return, Jake was working to unbutton your pants. When the last button was undone on his shirt you pushed the light material away from his shoulders and let your hands roam his warm skin. He was solid under your hands, yet still delicate. You loved the way his chest and stomach felt, obsessed with how sturdy and soft he was at the same time.

He moved on to your shirt once the button on your pants was undone and the zipper had been pulled down. You could feel the material slipping lower on your hips ever so slightly with each step you took. Jake pulled your shirt up over your head by the hem and dropped it to the floor, and you took one more step backwards before your back hit what you assumed was a door. His hand flew out and twisted the knob opening the door. He continued to walk you backwards into his room until the back of your knees came into contact with his bed.

You let out a shocked gasp, your knees buckling underneath you and falling rather ungracefully onto the bed while pulling Jake with you. He was able to stop himself from crushing you fully, his arms on either side of your head. When the initial surprise subsided the two of you broke into a fit of giggles unable to contain them.

“Sorry, I should’ve stopped.” He pushed himself up from the bed to stand still chuckling slightly.

“It’s okay.” One last giggle escaped from your lips as he made to stand. He was wedged between your legs while he looked down at you.

The look in his eyes from before had returned, quickly stirring the heat in your core again. While you were still wearing your bottoms, the top you had been wearing was long gone revealing your bare chest to him for the first time. He leaned forward and placed his hands on both sides of your hips. His fingers gripped the tops of the waistbands on your pants and underwear.

“Can I?” There was a gruff tone to his voice now when he spoke.

“Please.”

Jake didn’t waste anymore time and tugged the clothing from your body. There was no rush, taking his time undressing your lower half, and you propped yourself up on your elbows to have a better view of him. He dropped your bottoms to the ground and stood up straight to have a better view of your naked body.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone more stunning.” His eyes trailed along your body, drinking in every inch. You sat up fully, your face level with his toned abdomen and your hands toying with the waistband of his trousers.

“I have.”

The sight of you below him made his dick twitch. You were looking up at him almost innocently with your hands and mouth mere inches away from his aching cock. The very thought of having your mouth so close to him made him almost cum right there.

You started to undo the button and fly on his pants while placing sweet kisses to his stomach just above his navel, never breaking eye contact. Once the button was taken care of and you moved onto the zipper you trailed the light kisses lower and lower until your bottom lip brushed the top of his underwear. You drew your lips from the heated skin of his torso and hooked your fingers into his pants like he had just done to you.

“May I?” You were still so close to him that your breath fanned over his skin and sent shivers through his body.

“Oh god, yes.” The words were filled with air and flew out in a hushed whisper.

You pulled the fabric down his legs taking the boxers down with his pants. His hardened length sprang free, the tip slapping his lower belly gently. You were mesmerized with how gorgeous every part of him was, and while it had been over a hundred years since you had seen him bare, he was the same as before. When you got the top of his pants past his sturdy thighs they dropped freely the rest of the way down his legs.

Jake stepped out of the trousers carefully before bending down to cup your cheek and bring his lips back to yours. He laid you back slowly as he kissed you, kneeling on the bed with one knee between your legs. His other hand rested on your hip and pressed into you guiding you to move further up the bed.

Satisfied with where you were, Jake laid into you more fully. His forearm was braced into the mattress next to your head, his chest brushing yours with each heaving breath, and his heavy cock nestled in the crevice where your thigh met your groin.

His fingers skirted from your hip down the outside of your thigh just barely touching the heated skin. With the same pressure his hand crossed over the top of your thigh and slowly inched its way up to your core. Every touch his fingers made on your skin left behind a trail of raised skin in their wake. A breathy moan was pulled from your lips as he ran his middle and index fingers up your slit slowly.

“Fuck, you’re so wet.” Jake groaned against your lips.

Your hips bucked into his hand involuntarily as his fingers swept over your clit for the first time. You writhed under his touch earning a smile from his lips that you could feel against your own before he began kissing his way down your neck towards your chest. Even as he moved down your body you could still feel the smile he wore. His fingers swirled your clit in tight, slow, figure eights while his tongue gave an experimental flick to your perked nipple. Your back arched from the bed, pushing your chest into him silently begging for more. He loved how responsive you were, and you could tell. Each time you reacted to his touches, you felt his hard length twitch and pulse against your hip.

His lips wrapped around your nipple fully, sucking and licking the bud, earning the sweetest sounds from your open mouth. Not once did his fingers stop moving against your clit and you were quickly being brought to the edge of ecstasy. He pulled his mouth from your breast with a soft pop and kissed lower down your belly. A soft giggle bubbled in your throat as his lips passed over a sensitive area of your stomach, his lips tickling you. He huffed a laugh at the way your muscles contracted and you squirmed under his touch only making the tickling sensation worse.

“Sorry.” He laughed with you, his eyes catching yours.

“S’okay.”

You reach a hand down into his hair encouraging him to continue where he left off. Jake did as you implied and kissed further down your abdomen to your core, looping his arms around your hips and thighs. He kept eye contact as he placed one last kiss to your center right on your clit. When his tongue licked a stripe through your folds his eyes fluttered shut. He hummed against your soaked heat, the vibrations flowing through your entire body. Your fingers wound tighter into his hair and your hips begged for him to be closer.

He slid his tongue back up your slit, collecting your arousal and wrapped his lips around your clit once at the top. He sucked the sensitive bundle into his mouth, flicking his tongue against it rapidly. Your entire body felt like it was on fire and your head was becoming more fuzzy with each roll of the wet, velvet muscle. Whines and moans of pleasure rolled out from your throat, his name mixed in along with them sweetly. Just when you were about to be sent over the edge you pulled his mouth from your core and back up to your own. His chest and torso were pressed to yours, now propped up on his knees between your spread legs.

You could taste yourself on his lips and tongue. Sweet with a hint of saltiness. Like watermelon lightly sprinkled with salt on a summer’s day. You wanted more.

“Jake, please,” You whispered against his lips between feverish kisses trying desperately to get the words out. “I need you. I need all of you. Please, please.”

“Say it again.” His hand pressed down between your sticky bodies, gripping his length.

“I need all of you.”

“Say my name again.” He ran his swollen head through your wet lips, and coated himself in your slick.

“Please Jake.” He pressed into you slowly, the tip just inside as you spoke his name causing it to hitch in your throat. Your walls fluttered around him trying desperately to adjust to his size while he continued to push the rest of the way inside you. Your arms wrapped around the underside of his arms holding him close to you with your hands resting on the tops of his shoulders. The sound of his heavy breaths cascaded into your ear, his head dropped with his chin resting on your shoulder between your cheek and his hand.

“Oh fuck, you’re so tight.” He took a few ragged breaths. “Are you alright if I move?”

“Yeah, I-I’m okay.” Your voice cracked in a whisper already sounding fucked out.

Jake withdrew his hips from yours slowly, his thick length gliding out easily until just the tip of his head remained inside at your entrance. He pushed back in faster than before, but still at a steady pace. His other hand that was placed next to your head shifted so that he was cradling your head in his hand and gently pushing your opposite cheek into his.

With each push and pull of his hips to yours, both of your breathing became heavier, filled with moans and whispers of praise. He brushed your cervix upon every re-entry and grazed a spot that made your entire body explode in pleasure.

There was no doubt how good he was making you feel, and while you knew you were making him feel the same pleasures, you wanted to physically be responsible.

“Jake.” You tapped his shoulder lightly to get his attention. He quickly stopped all movement and lifted his face, looking at you with worry etched onto his features.

“Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?”

Your heart practically melted at his sincerity, and you couldn’t help but smile up at him. Worry changed to confusion at the sight of you smiling.

“Yes, I’m okay. I just, um,” You weren’t sure how to tell him exactly what you wanted. Mainly because you didn’t know what exactly it was that you wanted. “I want to… You’re just making me feel so good, and I… I want to make you feel good.”

“Baby,” A breathy chuckle left his lips, and his head fell, shaking lightly, “You’re already making me feel good. So unbelievably good.” He looked back up at you, the corner of his mouth pulled upwards showing off the smallest portion of his top teeth.

“I just want to… actively make you feel good.” You tried to reiterate to him what you meant.

“Are you trying to tell me that you want to be on top?”

You nodded your head slowly and watched the adoring smile on his face grow. Without much warning, his arm hooked around the back of your knee securing it closer to his body as he started to roll onto his back. He was seated fully inside you as he changed your positions, making you feel much more full once you were sat on him completely.

You wiggled your arms out from under his shoulders and sat up using his chest to stabilize yourself. He looked even more gorgeous below you than above with his skin shiny from sweat and his hair falling in waves around where his head rested. You stared at him for a moment longer taking in the way he looked and feeling how firm his chest and tummy felt.

You also weren’t sure what you were supposed to do, so you were sort of stalling.

“I, um, I’ve never really done this before…” Your gaze fell to watch your fingers dance along his tanned, smooth skin.

Jake didn’t respond. Instead his hands found your waist and gave you a reassuring squeeze making you look back to his face.

“I’ll show you.”

His hands lifted your hips ever so slightly before angling them forward gently. He continued to guide you upwards at this angle until you reached the end of his length. Just before he slipped out completely, you rolled your hips backwards again with the guidance of his hands and took him down to his base. He repeated the motion a few times to help you get a feel for it, each time speeding up just a little.

“If something feels good, follow it. Don’t think too much about what you want to do. Just let your body be the guide.” Not once did his hands stop guiding you while he spoke.

You started to take more control by lifting your hips on your own and changing the angle to take him down deeper. His hands stayed on your hips with his fingers extending to your ass. The more comfortable you got, the more you rolled your hips and sped up causing Jake’s fingertips to dig into the meat of your backside.

“That’s it. Doing so good.”

You did what he told you and just let your body do what it wanted to naturally. Carefully, you leaned back placing your hands on the outsides of his shins and kept moving your hips forward. With the new angle you could feel a searing hot tightness form in your lower belly with each thrust. You could see his cock, glistening in your juices, disappear in and out of you which only spurred you on more. You looked up to Jake to see him watching you slide along his length, his lips parted and his chest heaving. He caught your eyes and his hands traveled up your back.

“C’mere.”

He pulled you back to him, his lips crashing into yours and his hips bucking up into you. A loud moan ripped from your throat and was sent straight into his mouth. You could do nothing for a moment, but lay on top of him and let his hips do all the work, his thrusts disabling your mind and body. When you did finally push back onto him, his breath hitched before a deep groan tore from his chest and his hands gripped you harder. It took you a few tries to find the right rhythm, but after a few moments his hips were thrusting up to meet your own on their descent. Curses and praises tumbled freely from him, air filled and raspy. The movements were perfectly timed and you could feel yourself on the edge of the cliff once again. His kisses became sloppy, filled mostly with grunts and breathy moans against your lips.

“I’m close. A-are you, shit, are you almost there?” He sighed, his breath fanning over your face.

“Yeah, I’m- I’m about to- Oh fuck, Jake.” Your orgasm hit you before you could even finish your sentence. Intense pleasure ignited every inch of your body as your muscles contracted, squeezing his cock like a vice. His name slipped off your tongue over and over as he helped you ride out the high while chasing his own.

It was his name falling from your lips continuously like a mantra while you came that had him reaching his own climax. Soft whimpers, moans and gasps spilling from his lips and swirled around your head. He pulled you into his chest further, hugging you tight to his chest and kissed you harder until his hips slowed to a stop inside you.

Neither of you made to move for a few minutes, both of you entirely spent. Your entire body weight was being supported by him as you laid on top of his chest and stomach trying to come down. Jake was the first to move. He helped you up and gently guided you to lay on your back before making his way off the bed with a promise to return. When he came back he was holding a wet cloth and a glass of water. He cleaned your mixed release up from between your legs tenderly, and then disposed of the cloth in his dirty laundry basket. You gulped down the water while you waited for him to return again. A few moments later he came back and crawled back into his bed laying next to you. As soon as Jake laid down you started to get out of his bed to leave for the night needing to return back to the sea.

“Hey, you don’t have to go. You can stay- If you want to, I mean-” He fumbled over his words trying to get across what he wanted to say properly. You couldn’t get over how cute he looked, his cheeks getting pink from being flustered. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I would like for you to stay.”

“I can stay for a little bit longer.”

You smiled at him softly and eased back into the bed beside him. He pulled you closer to him and wrapped his arm around your shoulder. You rested your head on his chest, his skin warming your cheek, and laid your arm across his stomach. The two of you stayed wrapped up in each other’s arms until you drifted off to sleep, the slow rise and fall of his chest soothing you. Just before sleep took you under you heard him mutter something in his sleepy haze.

“I’ve waited for you.” You could barely register what he said, already half asleep and in a dreamy haze yourself.

A faint yellow glow woke you from your dreamless sleep. Sunlight beamed into your eyes when you finally got up the courage to pry them open, and your heart sank to your stomach. It was daytime and you hadn’t made it back to the ocean. You frantically threw the covers off of your still naked body, jolting Jake awake in the process. You began searching all around the room for your clothes having no luck in locating a single item of clothing. Jake’s hand around your wrist finally stopped you. You hadn’t realized that he had been talking to you the entire time.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” His eyes searched your face, his soft voice trying to calm you down while his thumb rubbed circles on your wrist.

“I can’t find any of my clothes, and I have to leave. I can’t believe I missed sunrise, I-” You stopped talking immediately, the words dying in your throat. You had missed sunrise, by hours, and yet you were still alive. How the hell were you still alive?

You felt disoriented and nauseous, the edges of your vision blurring and your hearing starting to muffle. The pounding of your heartbeat thundered in your ears completely blocked out whatever Jake had said to you. Your mind raced trying to make sense of what was happening. There was only one possibility that could explain it.

“It was all a lie…” You muttered to yourself still in shock, forgetting that Jake was still there.

“What was a lie?”

“Um,” You shook your head, trying desperately to clear the fog from your mind. When you shifted your focus back onto his face, you instantly felt at ease. The nausea subsided, and your hearing came back in full. The black edges around your vision faded away allowing you to focus on his face, seeing clearly the lines of worry between his furrowed brows.

“Nothing. I- I think I was having a bad dream… I’m okay now.”

“Are you sure? You had me stressed out there for a second.” His thumb was still rubbing against your skin in soothing motions.

“Yeah, I’m good now.” You gave him a reassuring smile and tried your best to make him believe it.

It was the truth though. You felt better and it was because of him. With just a look of his face you knew this was your destiny all along. For centuries you pondered over why the universe had always brought him back to you, and now you knew. You were always meant to be with Jake.

“Okay, good… So you don’t have any plans for today?”

“No, I have nothing planned.” He smiled at you then, and you had never felt better in your entire life.

“Would you wanna grab some breakfast then? I’d like to spend more time with you.”

“I would absolutely love that.”

———————————————————————

Your bare feet sunk into the warm, white sand with each step you took along the beach. Carrying your shoes in one hand and the other intertwined with Jake’s you looked out to the open water of the sea. The sun was setting over the water creating beautiful orange glitters across the top of the small waves. While the blinding light burned your eyes you couldn’t turn away. Sunset was your favorite time of day and the scenic view of your old home had you somewhat reminiscent.

Roughly eight months had passed since the night of the hunt. In that time you’ve been adjusting to living life as a human which was quite different than living as a nymph. The biggest adjustment was probably the loss of your powers. Or getting a job, that was pretty difficult. Throughout the whole process Jake was there though. The two of you had started dating and eventually you had to come clean about your true nature, especially when you didn’t understand the simple things that came with human life. Cell phones, bills, cars, rent, social media. It was all very foreign to you and Jake never understood.

When you did finally tell him about being a nymph and coming from the sea he truly didn’t believe you. He thought you had made the whole thing up which you understood. After a while and some very confusing conversations about the aforementioned topics, he finally believed that you were not originally human. The most convincing aspect for him were your eyes. You were able to hide them for a few months before your powers faded completely, but when your abilities were gone he finally was able to see your glittery silver irises. Now though, your eyes too have since faded and changed color allowing you to look fully human.

He asked a lot of questions, all of which you welcomed and answered freely. You decided to omit the whole truth from him when it came to your previous meetings in his previous lives. How were you supposed to admit to the man you love that you had killed him not once, but twice centuries ago? He knew your paths had crossed before and in a few instances the two of you had become close in a sense, but you mostly told him how and where you met unless he asked for specific details. When he learned that the two of you had had sex before in the 1920s his only response was, ‘I was better this time.’ Mostly he would ask which version of him you liked better.

As you continued to look out at the sea you thought of Sarenya and your sisters. You wondered who would’ve taken your place as Nympha Legatus and where they would be this time around. Ciree would make a great siren leader if she could focus on-

“You’re doing it again.” Your thoughts faded away as Jake spoke beside you, squeezing your hand gently. Instantly you knew what he was referring to, you gazed down at your feet that we’re almost touching the water now. Every time the two of you walked along the beach you would absentmindedly walk towards the water until the salty liquid lapped at your toes or Jake made you aware. Usually he would say nothing and just watch in amusement while you led him closer.

“Sorry.” You laughed under your breath and turned to face him. He was smiling warmly at you, his honey brown eyes sparkling in the orange hue of the sun.

“Nothing to be sorry about…” You both started walking down the shore again still hand in hand letting comfortable silence take over. Your thoughts continued to wander, thinking about what life would be like for your pod now.

“Do you miss it? Your old life and your sisters?”

This was the first time he had asked you if you missed any part of what you used to be. You were sure he never asked because he didn’t want to make you upset. While it didn’t make you upset, you did think about it for a moment before responding.

“Sometimes... I miss Sarenya mostly. I mean she was my best friend and sister and she probably thinks I’m dead, so it makes me sad to think she’s grieving me and that I probably won’t see her again.” He nodded in response, showing that he could understand what you meant, your arms swaying between your bodies while you walked.

“But I’m happy here. I think this was always supposed to be my destiny… to be human and be with you. Live our lives with one another and grow old together. Even if I could go back somehow I wouldn’t because this feels right. This is right, and I don’t ever want to not be with you. I’d rather have this lifetime and the afterlife with you and remain human than have only fleeting moments together and be a nymph.”

He was beaming at you now with a smile that could only be described as soft, warm and giddy. The amount of love in his eyes as he looked at you was unmistakable and you were happily drowning in it, letting it lay like a heavy blanket over your entire body. Jake used the hold he had on your hand to swing you forward in front of him and maneuver your body to where he twirled you around a few times before bringing you into his chest tightly and pressed his lips to yours sweetly. He shifted his weight from foot to foot creating a small swaying motion as he held and kissed you.

“May the flames of our souls dance endlessly together, my love.” He repeated the phrase you had spoken to him years and years ago against your lips, smiling the whole way through it against your own smiling lips.

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