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katiexpunk · 5 months

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Sex On Fire, Part 1 | Pairing Firefighter!Joel Miller X Fem!Reader

Series Summary: You're a country girl in the big city, thanks to your generous aunt. You expected to have adventures your first year in New York, but what you didn't expect was for your hot, firefighter neighbor, Joel, to be part of them. Part 1 Summary: You move to New York, after a little coaxing from your aunt. You meet your new neighbor, Joel, and quickly learn he's a Captain with the NYFD and good with his hands. Rating: 18+ Minors DNI Word Count: ~6.7K Warnings: Sexual tension, sexual tension, sexual tension. This one is dripping in it. No age gap specified. No explicit smut (yet, there's uh...gonna be a lot in part 2), but a nice lead up to it in the end that will probably blue ball you. Groping. Alcohol. Hardcore flirting. Fleetwood Mac, The Rolling Stones, and Kings of Leon song references. Uniform kink. Joel has a hard on for seeing reader in his shirt. Reader's mom has passed. Texas/small town vibes. New York City. There are no specific descriptors for reader, except that she has hair. Ya'll, these two are just down for each other so fucking bad it's not even funny. Authors Note: This one is for my darling moot @darkheartgatita. Pia, thanks for putting Firefighter!Joel into my brain. I hope you enjoy. As always, thank you to my Slutty, Smutty, Sister @sydneyinacoma who inspires me every day and shares her filthy thoughts on the reg. And to everyone who gives my little blog love -- I fucking love you all so much. Part 2, Fall and Winter, will drop next Saturday.

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S P R I N G Spring blooms, bringing with it a new beginning for you. Of all the places you’d thought you would be, New York was not one of them.

Life back in Texas wasn't terrible, a bit dull sometimes, but not awful.

Yet, in the mundane moments, your mind often drifted to daydreams – visions of swapping your Levi's for a sleek black dress and trading quiet farmland for the lively hum of city bars. You’d think of Samantha from Sex and the City sitting on your porch at sunset, drinking Bud Light, wishing your fairy godmother would appear and magically turn it into a dry Martini.

That was until three weeks ago, when your rich aunt, visiting from New York, decided to sprinkle a bit of magic into your life.

“I’m gonna move to Italy for a while,” she casually said over family dinner as if she was just announcing that she was going to the store for milk. You should have been surprised, but she’s always been the kind to never stick around for too long. Single and child-free, she’s spent her adult life dancing to her free-spirited rhythm, bouncing around from one place to the next. Not because she had to, but because she could. You, on the other hand, were the total opposite. After your mom passed away, leaving the cocoon of the familiar felt like too much. Despite your aunt's protests and encouragement to just go, you resisted, not wanting to leave behind your dad and the comfortable life you'd known. But if there's one thing you've learned about your aunt, it's that she's relentless – and yanking you out of your comfort zone was precisely what she wanted, and she had just the plan to do it.

She handed you the keys to her Lower East Side apartment, turning your once silly little daydreams into a reality. “Sweetie, you need this – you’re meant for so much more, your dad will be fine. Please go,” she encouraged.

Despite your initial reluctance, you caved, and before you knew it, you were on a plane bound for JFK.

++++ You feel like a small fish in a big pond as you navigate the city. Trying to figure out the subway turns into a whole saga of you getting lost more than once. You eventually find the right borough, but not without a fair share of unhelpful people brushing you off along the way. Yep, you're definitely not in Texas anymore.

While walking through the city, it hits you that a new pair of shoes is in order; something made clear to you by the little blister on the back of your heel that’s screaming at you. Despite the annoyance, you’re enjoying the walk to the apartment, your new home. The city's buzzing with life, and even the faint smell of urine in the air doesn't bother you. It's a wild, trippy feeling to be in the city, to feel like the main character of your own story.

You grab your phone, itching to double-check the building your aunt texted and ensure you have the right address. Remembering her advice about the unassuming exterior but spectacular view, you get ready for the big reveal. The key affixed to a keychain with a little apple on it meets the lock, and as you turn it, the door swings open, revealing a spacious wooden staircase.

As you step inside, you notice there's a bit of mail scattered on the slightly dusty floor. You collect the envelopes and magazines with your aunt's name on them and neatly stack the other pieces for Joel Miller into a pile on the bottom step.

After climbing the – Jesus, really fucking narrow – stairs, you're faced with doors opposite each other. While a brief doubt nudges you to recheck the apartment number, your gut tells you that the door with the welcome mat showing lemons and a pot of fake flowers is the one — a stark difference from its neighbor with a simple grey mat and no decor. Trusting your instincts, you decide that the lively entrance is the one.

As you step inside, you're greeted by a cozy space that, despite its age, radiates warmth and character. The walls are adorned with paintings that seem to tell stories of bygone eras, while rays of sunlight filter through the window, revealing glimpses of the bustling cityscape below.

Though small, the apartment is meticulously decorated, each corner telling a tale of adventures and cultural escapades. Remnants of your aunt’s travels, collected with care, add a touch of global flair to the modest space. Posters from Broadway plays hang proudly on the walls, as do family pictures. It’s lived-in; the kind of lived-in that feels comfy and embraces you like a warm hug.

You look at the frames on the wall and pause when you see one of your favorites – a photo of you as a little girl, smushed between your mom and your aunt, a cake three sizes bigger than your tiny head lit up with birthday candles in front of you. You can't help but trace the edges of the frame with your fingertips, connecting with the warmth radiating from your mother's beaming smile. Miss you, mom escapes your lips as your eyes linger on the photograph for a heartbeat longer before the rest of the room demands your attention.

In the compact kitchen, a handwritten note from your aunt beckons, strategically placed beside a bottle of wine on top of a stack of takeout menus. Her words resonate with warmth and encouragement. "Welcome to your new home! I am so proud of you for taking me up on my offer. Disregard the bedroom chaos—I started painting the walls but didn't quite finish before taking off. Feel free to pick up where I left off if the mood strikes. And if you ever need a hand with anything, Joel Miller across the way is a nice guy. I've already told him that you’ll be staying for a while, or who knows, maybe forever. Love you!" The paper carries the unmistakable fragrance of her perfume, and a smile graces your face after you finish reading it.

Setting the heartfelt note aside, your attention shifts to the menu for Sang Garden, a vibrant pink post-it exclaiming, "Right down the street! Super yummy!" Hunger gnaws at your stomach; the last meal was a distant memory from this morning, and you're ravenous. Without hesitation, you dial the number on the menu, your choice a steadfast favorite: orange chicken. “10 minutes,” the older lady on the phone tells you, not bothering to say goodbye before hanging up. Huh, efficient, you think.

As the aroma of anticipation fills the air, you finish unpacking your suitcase and weave through your new space until your food is ready. Only having to go down a flight of stairs and less than a block down the street to pick it up is a new feeling for you. If you wanted something like this at home you’d have to drive at least 20 minutes to pick it up.

You finish the entirety of the meal within minutes curled up on the couch, Sex and the City on the T.V.. Your aunt was right, it’s good. Probably the best orange chicken you’ve ever had in your entire life; just the right amount of zest and sweetness. You can already tell you’ll be a regular. Everyone always talks about the pizza in New York, but nobody bothered to tell you about the Chinese. You can tell you’ll probably have a lot of moments like that, discovering new things for yourself instead of hearing about it from magazines or seeing the photos on Instagram.

With your belly now full of the sticky goodness, you settle into bed for the night. You stare at the ceiling, paying no mind to the smile that’s been plastered on your face for the past three hours. You feel giddy, like a little girl seeing the stars for the first time. You’re doing it. You’re really doing it.

The city is still thrumming to life, but the distant sound of sirens and honks eventually turns to white noise as you drift off to sleep.

++++

The next morning, you rise with purpose; new life breathed into you. You brew a cup of coffee and decide to savor it on the fire escape, enjoying the not-yet-thick spring, and still slightly chilly, spring air. As the city stirs awake beneath you, you’re determined to craft an agenda for the day. With another few days to spare before your new job starts, your thoughts drift to the bedroom, where the abandoned paint cans await.

It's been a while since you've had the chance to dive into something genuinely productive, or creative for that matter, and you decide that this is the perfect opportunity. Your aunt chose a deep, rich shade of green, one that harmonizes seamlessly with the space; not too dark, but not puke or pea green, either. It’s pretty. She always has had good taste.

And while you like the color, it’s not particularly one you’d like to see splattered all over your clothing, having only brought what you could fit into a small suitcase. Your aunt must have something, you think. The woman has more clothes than a department store and there is no way she could have brought them all to Italy, although you don’t put it past her to try.

You make your way to the guest bedroom and rummage through the dresser located there. The top drawer is full of nothing but scrapbooks, the middle drawer has only sweaters, but luck strikes in the bottom drawer, where you locate a handful of old shirts.

You pull out a dark blue, oversized “New York Fire Department” cotton t-shirt; the front of it has an emblem, and the back says “Rescue 1 FDNY” in faded blocky white letters, obviously well-loved. This will do, you tell yourself, quickly exchanging your tiny crop top for the large shirt. It hangs over your body, the bottom nearly hitting your knees. Why your aunt has such a large shirt in her collection you’ll never know, but you wager it’s probably from one of her many “friends” over the years.

++++

The sounds of Fleetwood Mac's "Rumours" fill the room, you stand in the center of the bedroom, paintbrush in hand, ready to transform the space. The nostalgic chords of Stevie Nicks' voice in Dreams infuse the air, blending with the scent of fresh paint as you dip the brush into the can, and begin. “Like a heartbeat drives you mad,” you sing, slightly off-key, but no one is around to listen and you don’t mind. “Thunder only happens when it’s rainingggggg,” you belt, using the paintbrush as a microphone.

While most of the paint makes it on the walls, you have to admit that painting isn’t your strong suit and a fair amount of it has splashed back onto your face, shirt, and even your hair. You’re having fun, more fun than you’ve had in a while, even if you make a mess while doing it. Not like you’re gonna see anyone today anyway.

“Players only love you when they’re plaaaaaying…” doing your best Stevie twirl.

More and more green covers the walls, but as you’re about to get started on the final white wall, you’re interrupted by a loud steady stream of knocks at your door.

You hit pause on the music, and make your way to the door, unsure of who would possibly be knocking. You peer through the peephole to take a look, but you can only see the back of a man in a simple white shirt, his back turned to face away from the door. You undo the chain lock and swing the door open.

As the man pivots to meet your gaze, his presence sweeps over you, an unexpected force that leaves you momentarily disarmed. He’s handsome in a way that unmoors you; a mass of a man with broad shoulders, sun-kissed skin, and sculpted biceps that redefine your sense of composure. Whoa.

“Hi,” you murmur, your eyes conveying a blend of softness and curiosity, "Can I help you?"

The man looks at you, and you feel yourself heat under the attention of his gaze. His eyes gently caress your frame; lingering a little too long on the emblem sewn into the fabric, just above your breast.

"Uh," he clears his throat, his hand rising to his face, fingers subtly grazing the beard hair on his cheek, as if grappling for words. "Yeah, well – no, uh," he stumbles, the words caught in a momentary struggle. "Hi, ‘m Joel Miller, I live across the way," he greets, angling his body to signal to the door directly across the foyer. “Oh right, my aunt told me about you you,” you say, introducing yourself, voice smooth like honey. “She mentioned you were a nice guy and to call you if I ever needed anything,” you say, taking up space in front of him by leaning into the door. “Just stopping by to say hi, then? Or do you need a cup of sugar or something like that?” you ask with a playful tone.

Suddenly, the last thing he wants to do is admit that there's something you could help him with—like turning down your music. He likes Fleetwood Mac as much as the next guy, but the last three days on shift have left him craving peace, not a soundtrack reverberating through the thin walls.

Plus, he wasn’t expecting you to be so damn attractive.

And he definitely wasn’t expecting to be wearing his shirt when you answered the door.

“Ha, no, don’t need any sugar,” he chuckles, “just thought I’d make myself known.” He pauses, eyes locked onto yours. You notice the subtle flecks of amber in his deep brown eyes and the furrow of his brow. He’s painfully handsome. Just as you’re about to say something, he breaks the silence first, “But I'll let you get back to whatever it is you’re doin’...you look busy,” he tilts his chin to the paint that’s splotched over your bare legs. You can tell he’s looking for the story behind the mess.

His left hand leaves his pocket and he places it on the doorframe. He leans into it, and your eyes catch the firmness of his bicep flexing under the strain of his lean before meeting his face once more.

“Cute shirt, by the way” he says, his voice low and even.

“Oh thanks, you like it?” you ask, pulling the fabric out in a tent from the center, noticing the little splatters of paint as you do. “It’s my aunt’s, I just borrowed it while I finish up some painting.”

“Yeah, I have the same one,” he adds, “looks a helluva lot better on you than it does me, though,” a little laugh leaves his chest and his cheeks flush, a little embarrassed that he just said that. Fuck, it’s been so long since he’s tried to flirt with a woman.

Your skin prickles with heat, and you’re suddenly very self-aware of what a wreck you must look like, but you decide to be bold anyway. “Maybe we’ll have to compare sometime,” you playfully retort.

“Yeah, maybe we will,” he responds, looking you up and down, hoping the meaning behind his words isn’t too obvious.

“Well if ya ever need anything, ‘m just across the way,” he says, dropping his hand from the doorframe, hitting his thigh with a slight sound of a pat. “Nice to meet ya, Darlin’,” he says. You don’t miss the way his eyes flicker down to your chest once more, your stiff nipples now peeking through the fabric. He turns on his heels and turns his back to walk back to his apartment.

“Nice to meet you, Joel,” you purr. His head peers over his shoulder back at you, and the corners of his lips turn up in a little smirk.

Oh god.

You’re so fucked.

++++

Later that night, you text your aunt that you just met Joel Miller. You curse her for not telling you how incredibly hot he is. You also tell her that you decided to finish the painting, sending a selfie of you in front of the freshly updated walls with the message. You also add that you borrowed one of her shirts and that you’ll do your best to get the paint out of it.

Her response causes your breath to hitch in your throat, and your stomach swirls into a tight knot.

“The walls look amazing! Oh and by the way, that’s not my shirt, it’s Joel’s. I must have forgotten to give it back to him; the shared laundry downstairs sometimes causes mix-ups. Be a doll and give it back to him, will ya? Oh and quarters for the machines are in the clay pot next to the door.”

Fuck. Of course you would answer the door to your incredibly hot neighbor, covered in paint, in his shirt. You shake your head in embarrassment.

You look down at the shirt and notice just how much paint is all over it. You strip it from your body, bring it over to the sink, and begin to scrub the paint out of it with dish soap. As you watch the paint fade into the warm water, you notice the tag on the inside of the shirt and the rank inscribed in permanent marker on it.

Your fingers prune in the water, but you eventually get all of the paint out of the fabric. Satisfied with your cleaning job, you hang it up to dry and scribble out a note.

The following morning, on your way out to explore the city, you leave it neatly folded on Joel’s doorstep. You don’t bother to knock, you’re certain you might combust from embarrassment if you did.

Shortly after, on his way to work, Joel opens the door and notices the shirt by his boot, a little envelope placed on top of it.

“You could have told me it was your shirt, Captain Miller.”

Joel smirks. The cat’s out of the bag on that little secret then. He places it inside and lets out a little sigh. The image of your perky nipples, exposed legs, and messy paint-riddled hair flashes in his brain.

God, he wishes you would have kept it.

S U M M E R

As spring transitions into summer, the city experiences a gradual warming trend. Cherry blossoms and tulips from spring slowly give way to vibrant green foliage. Parks become lively with people enjoying the pleasant weather, and outdoor events become more frequent. The temperature rises, and there's a noticeable shift towards a warmer atmosphere with longer days.

It’s a shift you also feel in yourself, having found your niche, carving out your place in the ecosystem of the city. You’ve gradually adjusted, figured out how to successfully navigate the complexities of the subway system, and are starting to rely less and less on Google Maps to get around. You frequent a bodega around the corner from you, know where to find a decent bagel, and are a recognizable regular at Sang Garden.

Your new job keeps you busy. It’s tough work being a bartender in the city, but it’s granted you more than one opportunity to meet people from all walks of life, people you’d never get the opportunity to meet back in your hometown.

People like the gregarious and charismatic trader, who’s more than happy to make it clear he works in the financial district, even when nobody asks. People like the countless young professionals unwinding after a long day with their colleagues; some with sexual tension so obvious you can taste it. Designers. Architects. Engineers. Writers. Musicians. Actors. You don’t like them all, but you don’t have to, you’ll never see most of them more than once anyway.

You quickly learn the art of making a good martini, one you think would make Samantha proud. It’s all so posh. So far from your usual. But the money is good, and without having to pay rent – a luxury you now realize; having almost fainted when your coworker told you how much he pays in rent – it allows you to pocket most of it.

Your first few months in New York have been good, although a tad lonely. Making friends was never really a strong suit of yours, and you’re finding the city to be a particularly hard place to get to know people in any real way. Most of your free time is spent curled up with a good book or watching Friends for the millionth time, wishing Central Perk was a real place.

You see Joel in passing now and then, the in-between times when he’s coming home from work, and you’re just leaving for yours. Sometimes you pass each other on the stairs, and you have to angle your bodies side-to-side just to fit on the narrow stairs as you navigate around one another. You sometimes have to collect your composure when you leave for work and notice the faint smell of his cologne still in the hallway, it smells so good it makes you dizzy.

You find excuses to talk to him every now and then – a squeaky fire detector, to hand him his mail, or even for a stupid cup of sugar. Every time you find yourself knocking on his door, the butterflies congregate in masses as if preparing to migrate. You feel like a school girl with a crush for the first time, but as far as you can tell, Joel doesn’t feel the same, and you’re okay with that. At least that’s what you try to tell yourself.

The exchanges are always short; little blips in the grand scene of time, but that doesn’t stop you from feeling like you might faint under the intensity of his scorching gaze. Which doesn’t help, considering it’s already sweltering outside.

You severely underestimated how hot summer would be. Of course, you’re used to the oppressive Texas sun, but something about the way the buildings and concrete reflect the rays makes it feel like New York is at least 10x hotter.

The temperature in your apartment isn’t much better than outside. The air hangs heavy inside as you lay on your mattress, clad in only a bra and underwear, on crisp white sheets, attempting to cool yourself with a damp towel on your forehead. You listen to the feeble hum of the wall crying out for help.

As luck would have it, the overworked unit decides to give in to the heat. Beads of sweat form on your forehead as you attempt to fix it, but it’s pointless. You stare at the lifeless unit, realizing that the city’s relentless heat has claimed it as a victim. Time for a new one.

Once the sun dips past the skyline, you venture out to your local hardware store to grab a new one. You wish you would have had some forethought to bring a cart or something, not thinking about the fact that you were going to have to carry the heavy unit eight city blocks. Coulda, shoulda, woulda, you think to yourself. Once back to your apartment, you balance the quirky box on your hip, holding it steady with one arm as you fumble to grab the key from your purse outside the entrance of the building. Your cheeks are warm, you’re drenched in sweat even at this hour, and your hair is starting to stick to the nape of your neck. You manage to grab it, but inadvertently drop it, your fingers clammy.

“Shit,” you mutter, frustrated and hot.

“Need some help there, Darlin’?” Joel asks, making his way up the stoop. You turn to face him and oh.

Of all the times you’ve seen Joel, you’ve never seen him in uniform. The sight catches you off guard. His crisp, navy blue uniform emphasizes his broad shoulders and neatly tucked shirt, the shiny FDNY badge on his chest. He flashes a charming smile, revealing a hint of dimples, as he picks up your fallen key with ease. You’re not sure how he always manages to look so put together, a stark contrast to the way you always seem to look in front of him.

"Rough day?" he asks, unlocking the door, and for a moment, you forget the oppressive heat, captivated by his charm. “Here, lemme take that for you,” he offers, and you kindly accept. You shift the box out of your arms into his, and your stomach swoops when you watch the way his biceps flex as he grabs the unit with ease.

Grateful for the assistance, you offer a sheepish smile, “Yeah, you could say that” you reply, opening the door, holding it open for him. He begins to ascend the staircase ahead of you, giving you a full view of his ass in his uniform pants; it’s toned, and his thick thighs match. You walk behind him, trying to ignore the stickiness that’s beginning to pool in your underwear. You allow yourself to perv out for a moment, at least while his back is to you. He’s just helping you out, stop being weird.

Joel waits at the top of the steps for you to open your door. Once unlocked, you enter and he follows behind you. “Oh shit, it’s hotter than hell in here,” he says once inside, the irony is not lost on you that a literal man who fights fires for a living thinks it’s hotter than hell. He bends to place the box down near the front door and rises to full height, bringing both hands to his hips. You notice the little sheen of sweat that has now collected on his thick neck, fighting the impulse to lap up the perspiration. “You’re telling me, I’m rendering lard,” you say, letting your Southern roots shine through. You cringe a little at yourself, watering your accent down to not stick out as much, but you’re reminded of the age-old saying you can take the girl out of the country…

You wipe the back of your hand on your forehead to push away the sweat that’s been collecting there all day and look at him. “Thanks for the help carrying it up,” you say, offering him a kind smile.

“No problem at all, need some help installing it? These units can be tricky,” he asks, trying his best to ignore the fact that your white shirt has gone see-through from your sweat, allowing him a perfect view of your breasts. No bra again, he notes. He shifts his stance a little, trying to prevent his cock from hardening at the sight.

“Are you sure?” you ask, a little unsure, but deep down you know you need the help. As much as you’d like to think of yourself as an independent and capable woman, you’ve never been one to be good with anything mechanical, and the heat has left your brain feeling like the static of a T.V. channel with no reception.

“Course. I’m a servant to public safety. Can’t have you accidentally pushing it out the window and crushing a person below, it’d be a lot of paperwork” he chuckles and takes out a knife from his pocket to undo the tape on the box. It’s an ordinary act, yet somehow you’re mesmerized by his dexterity and competency.

Midway through the process, Joel pauses, feeling the heat, and glances at you with a lighthearted grin. “Mind if I take this off?” he asks, tugging at the collar of the uniform shirt. You nod, suddenly feeling warmer than before. “Sure, go ahead.”

His large fingers fumble with the buttons on the shirt, eventually revealing a white tank top underneath. The fabric clings to him, highlighting his defined chest, and a little bit of belly. You practically drool at the sight, once again resisting an impulse to want to sink your flesh into the softness above his belt.

He has an awful farmer's tan, but he wears it well; his forearms are a nice shade of golden and his shoulders are pale. You see from the lack of collar on the tank that he has a bare chest. He throws the uniform shirt onto a nearby chair and goes back to work installing the unit. You watch as he works to position it in the window, stealing glances at his glistening skin as he does. You think you’re being sly about it, but Joel can tell, he can feel your eyes heavy like bowling balls on him.

“So, how long have you been a firefighter?” you ask.

“About 15 years,” he responds. “Sorta always knew I wanted to do it, I was a contractor for a while, but wasn’t my thing.”

“Oh no? You seem like you’re pretty good with your hands,” you reply, your words suggestive.

“Never said I wasn’t, Darlin,’” he replies, shooting you a wink.

He plugs the unit in, and the screen comes to life. He sets the temperature as low as it will go, and the fan on high; the unit is about to put in overtime to make the air tolerable again.

“Well, that should do it,” straightening back up from his bent-over position, clapping his hands together as if to dust the task off. “Probably gonna take a while for it to cool down in here. You’re uh, more than welcome to hang out at mine for the time being. Don’t need you overheating on me,” trying to mask his excitement at you being in his space by carding his fingers through his salt and pepper curls.

You glance at the unit, and you can tell he’s right. “Alright, why not,” you say, offering him a smile. “Just gonna use the restroom fast,” you say, looking for an excuse to make yourself at least somewhat presentable and confirm that you don’t smell like a sweaty subway car.

Inspecting yourself in the harsh, exposing light of the bathroom, you grimace at your appearance. Not that you’d been expecting to look your best, but still. You pat the extra moisture off your skin with a clean towel, when you notice that nipples are straining against the fabric of your wet t-shirt, leaving nothing to the imagination. You briefly consider changing shirts, but the cheeky side of you decides to leave it be. You give yourself a quick smile and internal encouragement in the mirror and you step out of the bathroom.

Joel waits in the foyer by the door for you, taking the opportunity to learn a little more about you, drinking in the details of your space for any glimmers of insight it might give him about your life.

He’s been in the space before, but it’s different this time – updated. It still has many of the same things your aunt had put up, but you’ve added new additions to the walls; photos of you with friends, and family, and vinyl covers in frames. His eyes gravitate to a photo of you at your college graduation; your smile ear to ear, a bottle of champagne in your hands. You always seem happy. He likes that about you. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t look for a photo of you with another guy, a hint that you might already be taken, but he’s relieved when he doesn’t find one.

The bathroom door opens with a soft creak, and you stroll out, shooting him a casual but confident smile. As you do, you casually tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, giving off an easygoing vibe. It's a simple move, but there's a certain charm to it that doesn't go unnoticed by Joel.

“Ready?” you ask, and he clears his throat, trying to hide his pleasure that you opted not to change your still slightly transparent shirt. “Let’s get outta here,” he says, yanking on the handle, the door groans and opens with a loud creak. “Don’t wanna hit traffic.” Oh god, that’s a dad joke if you’ve ever heard one. You try to hide the stupid smile that graces your face, but Joel sees it, and matches it. Your shoulder brushes against his chest as you walk through the door, and Joel straightens in response, a little tingle shooting up his spine from the brief touch. Get a fucking grip, Miller, he thinks to himself, pulling the door closed behind him.

++++

Once inside his apartment, you gasp. It’s not at all what you expected.

If his front doorstep was any indication, you expected his apartment to be full of Ikea furniture, bare walls, and maybe a fake plant in the corner somewhere. You’re pleasantly surprised when you find that it’s the exact opposite; you feel like you’ve just wanted into some swanky bar. The air smells like palo santo, but above all, it’s cool. You let out a sigh of relief.

“Can I get you a beer” he asks, and you nod your head in response. He walks into the kitchen, and you’re mesmerized by his space. It’s a similar layout to your apartment, but somehow it feels bigger, even a tad cozier, plus he has exposed brick, a detail you wish your apartment had.

“Your apartment is amazing,” you tell him, spinning around to get a full 360 view of the space. You hear him yell something like thanks from the kitchen.

You find your seat on the cognac-colored couch and run your hand up and down the texture of it. The leather is cool on your skin, and your body temperature slowly begins to return to normal.

Joel returns from the kitchen, and hands you a Bud Light. And for once, you don’t wish for it to turn into a martini. Now having spent a few months in the city, you’re starting to realize that you’re more of a bud girl than a cocktail girl, and that fairy godmothers are a tad overrated.

You’re not sure when he did it, but your ear tunes to the classic sound of Beast of Burden by the Rolling Stones playing in the background at a low volume, adding a funk you adore to the moment.

He finds a seat on the couch next to you and throws his arm behind you on the ledge. He crosses his legs over one another, and you squirm, not out of discomfort, but nerves.

“I am impressed with your apartment, it’s well decorated,” you compliment him, bringing the bottle of beer to your lips.

“Had a bit of help, ‘f I’m being honest,” he replies. Your stomach flips.

“Oh?” you say, a bit breathless, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Of course, he would have a girlfriend. You see it plain as day now, the feminine touches built into the apartment, hanging on the walls in plain sight, taunting you with the obvious. He even has like ten live plants for fucks sake. Joel Miller is taken.

“My daughter, Sarah,” he replies, bringing the beer to his mouth for another swig. You try not to make your sigh of relief too obvious. “Oh!” you squeak and turn your body to face him. You don’t know if you’ve scooted closer or if he did, but your thighs are now touching.

“She’s studying interior design. Begged me this past year to let her fix up my apartment, and well…I didn’t have the heart ta say no,” he replies. “Said my apartment resembled a frat boys bachelor pad,” he lets out a gruff little chuckle and you smile at him.

His arm drifts close to you, his hand nearly touching your shoulder. It’s not quite there, but you can feel the heat, the electricity, his fingertips shoot to your skin. So much for cooling down.

“Well, if you didn’t decorate the space, what’s your favorite part about it then?” you ask, taking another swig at the bottle. Joel stares at your lips as they latch around the glass, admiring how plush and warm they look. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t wonder what they might look like around his cock.

“Ah, good question,” he says, bringing his hand to cover his crotch with the bottle, all while subtly trying to adjust himself from his previous thought. He’s surprised he even heard your question at all. “Probably the table over there,” he says, nodding his head back to signal to the dining room.

“Made it myself,” he says, a bit of pride in his voice.

You crane your neck to look, but can’t get a good view with how plush the cushions are. You slightly angle your body upwards, coming onto your knee on the couch to look, bringing your chest closer to Joel’s face.

“Well I’ll be damned, you really must be good with your hands,” you playfully tease, letting your body sink by his side once more, feeling the warmth he exudes. Your words cause his gaze to go dark. “Mhmm,” he murmurs, taking another sip of his beer, sure if he said any more he might regret it.

You notice the music switches to Kings of Leon, a favorite tune of yours echoing through the air. “Oh shit, I love this song,” you exclaim, barely able to contain your excitement, much to Joel’s delight.

“Yeaaaaaah, your sex is on fireeeee,” you belt, and you inadvertently tilt your beer bottle a little too far down in the process of your solo, and a splash of beer pours out onto Joel’s lap. The action abruptly causes you to stop.

“Ah, I’m so sorry,” you apologize profusely, setting the nearly empty bottle on the coffee table in front of you, noticing the box of tissues as you do.

“Don’t worry about it, Darlin’,” he says, voice mellow, placing his beer on the table, too.

You frantically grab a handful of tissues and bring them over to the wet spot pooling on Joel’s crotch. “Here, let me,” you say, dabbing at the liquid, the realization not fully hitting you that your hands are literally on his crotch until – oh.

Joel’s been walking the fine line of a stiff one all night, and your simple gesture throws him over the edge, the dabbing causing blood to rush to his cock.

You continue to blot at the liquid and notice him stiffening underneath you. A heavy rush of arousal courses through you, and heats your core. Joel’s hand darts to grab your wrist, the size of it completely swallowing up your entirety of it, his fingers wrapped around it, and you’re certain he feels your pulse quicken under his touch.

You look up at him with big doe eyes, only to find his own pupils are blown open wide with lust, his jaw tense. His other hand finds the side of your face, and he holds you up to look at him. You both pause there, letting the tension of the moment swallow you whole. He looks at you like you're a juicy summer peach, ripe for the picking.

His grip on your wrist softens, and you flatten your hand to palm at his growing bulge. Joel lets out a deep groan in response to the full contact. “Shit darlin’,” he says, voice wrecked. His hand drifts to the column of your neck, and he begins to pull you up so you’re face-to-face with him.

The anticipation builds, and just as your lips are about to meet, a sudden shrill sound shatters the moment – the fire alarm.

“Fuck.” Joel groans.

TO BE CONTINUED - READ PART 2

Tagging moots and those who I think might like this: @endlessthxxghts @theoasisofthings @bastardmandennis @untamedheart81@lavema @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @dugiioh @nervoushottee @milly-louise @ghostwritesthings@josephquinnswhore @drunk-and-capable @peachmy @survivingandenduring@darkheartgatita @hotgirlbedtimescenarios @dins-riduur-anthe @ohheypedrito @joeldjarin @nerdieforpedro As always, feel free to let me know if you'd like to be added to my tag list, or removed (even if we're moots, no hard feelings). Might transition to a notifs blog soon.xx

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x you #joel miller fluff #joel miller #pedro pascal character #pedrohub #pedro pascal #new york #firefighter smut #pedro stories

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randomshyperson · 7 months

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Do I Wanna Know - Wanda Maximoff Kinktober #05

Summary: Taking advantage of the fact that the Avengers are going through a divorce, you decide to visit your (not-so-secret) girlfriend in the compound. While they fight, you entertain Wanda and present her with a third option besides staying in the tower or fighting Steve Rogers: to run away with you.

Warnings: (+18), shapeshifting reader, some talking of gender identity, implied gender neutral but use of female pronouns, established and secret (ish) relationship, canon-divergence, bottom!Wanda, making out, unprotected sex, creampie, intimate teasing, praising, general fluff. | Words: 4.131k

This work was turned into a series. Check the masterlist here.

General Masterlist | Kinktober Collection | AO3 | Wattpad

-&-

It got more dangerous every time it happened. But getting caught, and all the consequences that would come with it, were distant ideas, possibilities that didn't cross Wanda's mind, especially when she was at your place.

She didn't think about the team, the country, what anyone else might think and judge about the relationship - if she could call it that - between the two of you.

All Wanda could focus on when she was around you was undeniably you.

It became a secret routine, a hidden part of her life that she looked forward to almost all the time. Between tiring and dangerous missions, a new excitement among the gray corners of the private life of what many would call the most powerful Avenger.

Nobody knew about you, not the way she did anyway. What the others saw was the smuggler with no loyalty - the thief who stole and would steal from anyone in her path, for the best price. And could also take anything she was paid to take. From a diamond necklace to an infinity stone, from the most exclusive party of the world's elite to the secret country in the middle of the African continent.

Sometimes, Wanda would trace Wakanda's scar on your skin while you slept, and wonder if the person you were at that moment was the same person that King T'Challa wanted behind bars for a few pieces of metal.

The moral part didn't bother her much - if she was honest, Wanda understood impressions and what really mattered very well. Coming from a country exploited by the United States, which praised a man in blue who was very reminiscent of the captains who marched to the corners of the world to massacre cities, to one who wore iron armor and produced the same bombs that took the lives not only of her parents, but of the vast majority of the children she grew up with, Wanda understood hypocrisy like no one else. Despite everything that had happened to her, she shared a roof with the man indirectly responsible for her parents' deaths. No one could judge her so easily, but Wanda was sure that if your relationship went public, it would happen in the blink of an eye.

So when she was fleeing, for hours between one mission and another, one meeting and another, she tried to enjoy you as much as possible.

And sometimes, when you were apart for too long, and she worried that she was beginning to forget the features of your face, Wanda could prepare a surprise.

She could lie, taking advantage of her magic or not, to prolong everything from your time together to the sensations you shared in bed. She could haunt you - and you would use that term because, without her around, the feeling of lack was very similar to that of loss. - Wanda would invade your dreams, like a sigh in the night never to leave your mind.

But more often than not, she would simply mark you with hickeys and scratches on everything hidden beneath your uniform, and you might leave a path of purple through the valley of her breasts that would be the only proof of the hours she had spent enjoying your company.

The Avengers were on a thin line now - Accords, fights, and old friends, and neither you nor Wanda knew it, but soon, the world would see you two the same way.

Criminals on the run.

But the future hasn't arrived yet - And Wanda, unbeknownst to you, was locked away in a tower like an ancient princess, and you, against the advice of your own safety, went to visit a damsel who wasn't so much defenseless but would definitely be distress to see you there.

"You can't be here." The warning came against your lips, pressed into hers half a second after your arrival into the room - you could only kiss back, smiling at the tug on your leather jacket that fell to the floor behind your feet.

"I missed you too princess." That's what you said back, your hand wrapped around her waist as your tongue slid into hers.

Wanda sighed, her body yearning for your touch and presence just as much as her heart for the last few weeks without seeing you. Despite pushing you around the room, until you were sitting on the bed, Wanda interrupted the motions, her frown of concern and her out-of-rhythm breathing escaping through her swollen, ajar lips.

"I'm serious." She begins a hand on your shoulder to keep you in place. "They can't see you here-"

"The Avengers aren't home, I was told." You justify quickly, your gaze wandering to look her up and down. Wanda always looked so beautiful, it was almost unfair. "United Nations meeting, everyone's talking about it."

One of your hands plays with the folds of her skirt, pulling it up, but Wanda pushes them away.

"Most of them, yes, but I'm not alone." She murmurs, looking around and undeniably using magic to check the floor. "Vision is keeping me company."

"Which one is Vision anyway?" You retort casually, not caring about the last gesture, moving your hands under her clothes and biting back a smile at the way her thigh muscles quiver with your touch.

Wanda rests her other hand on your shoulder, her gaze serious. "The one with the damn magical stone you once stole from Hydra." She retorts, sighing softly as she feels your fingers playing with the laces of her panties. "Please, detka. Vision... would kill you if he found you here."

You click your tongue. “I could disguise myself…” But Wanda shakes her head.

“The stone can see beyond.” She retorts with a certainty that makes you assume this information came directly from her team's study of the Stone. But instead of answering right away, you pull her by the thighs onto your lap, smiling mischievously at the surprised yelp that you muffle on your lips. Wanda tries to listen to reason, but it's too faint compared to the pounding of her own heart.

"Don't make a sound and he'll never know." You whisper your last request before kissing her intently, your bold hands teasing inside her blouse. It doesn't take long for Wanda to be restless in your lap, panting against your tongue exploring her mouth so hungrily, sweating with the precise stimulation of her nipples as your hands pull down her dark bra. But despite a mind almost completely clouded with arousal, she bites at your lower lip and breaks the kiss.

"I missed you." Wanda likes you to know these things because sometimes, you have less than an hour together and it feels like one of those times. She hasn't seen you for weeks, and God knows when she'll get another chance now that the team seems on the verge of collapse.

You give her a teasing smile, your hands wrapped around her. "You're so sweet, Wanda. My beautiful, darling, princess." Your compliments were accompanied by chaste kisses against her jaw, and it always works to leave her a mess, melting into you and at your beck and call.

In the safety of your embrace, Wanda risked being vulnerable:

"Did you miss me too?"

You're not so good at these things - It comes from your past, so different from her happy childhood although later overshadowed by the height of a civil war as a teenager, but definitely different from growing up in Tony Stark's mansions and summer houses, or surrounded by family lunches like Bruce Banner or Thor. If anything, your childhood was closer to that of a Black Widow, with training and punishments whenever the expectations were not achieved.

Still, Wanda warmed her way into your heart, and you tried to give back as best you could.

"I don't really think about you when I'm away." Her expression drops immediately, but before she can conclude anything, you move one of your hands to grab hers, and bring it back inside your blouse. Your intense gaze is the only thing stopping her from pulling away. And when Wanda can feel a new scar near your abdomen, she swallows dryly. "Or rather, I just have to force myself not to do anymore. What you're feeling happened in Berlin. An MK2 hidden in the belt of an arms dealer who asked me... how much I was enjoying America." You narrate, and Wanda frowns, being able to visualize the memory fresh in your mind. You swallowed and looked down at your lap. "I don't know how much he knew, but he said your name, and I just... flinched. I was blinded by rage and he took advantage of it. So, no, Wanda. I can't afford to let you cross my mind when I'm away, because you become a weakness. And I wasn't trained to have weaknesses."

Despite the way her body warms to the confession, Wanda gives you a playful look.

"Should I apologize, you know, for making a romantic out of the grumpy assassin?" she teases, and you chuckle, spinning her around in a tug to drop her on her back on the bed, you on top.

With your body pressed into hers, one hand on her waist and the other adjusting her hair away from her eyes, you nuzzle your noses together. "Don't ever apologize for making me feel this way." You whisper, and Wanda closes her eyes in anticipation, her cheeks burning. "You have me in a way that no one ever could, Wanda Maximoff."

The next kiss is intense and charged with meaning. It makes Wanda shudder and gasp into your mouth. You smile, secretly proud of the effect you have on her, while your hands move down to pull her thighs up and make her wrap herself around you, ankles locked behind your knees.

The position elicits a deep moan from the girl beneath you, and when you adjust yourself to press your pelvis against her, Wanda chokes in surprise, opening her eyes.

"Is that...?"

Without losing your relaxed posture, you offer her a little smile full of the worst intentions. "I thought I'd play differently today." You reply, grinding gently against her and making Wanda bite her lips. The movement leaves you equally affected, but you let her know: "I can always change back..."

Wanda tightens the grip of her legs around you, shaking her head. Her cheeks turn pink. "N-no! I like... I like you either way." She manages to whisper, and you smile warmly, kissing her softly.

One of your hands comes down to invade her blouse, starting an intense making-out session between you, enough to mess up your hair and the bed sheets and leave you hard against her thigh.

When Wanda stops to breathe again, there's a wet spot on the thigh she's spent the last few minutes grinding against - and you take the opportunity to plant kisses on her collarbone. Your hands go down to unbutton your pants.

Between kisses, you warn her: "I have to be careful... I think it works like a real one. Speaking of biological functions, you know. "

She uses magic to force your pants down to your ankles, aroused enough that the delay was driving her to the brink of insanity. Still, she manages to gasp between kisses: "You think?"

You hum, distracted by the sensation of your cock rubbing against her covered intimacy - body shuddering with arousal. "Y-yes... I've never... used it for sex before... Just for the job, you know? While in disguise."

The information made Wanda need to ignore the liquid arousal and press trembling hands onto your shoulders, gently pushing you away and attracting your attention.

After a sigh, she asked: "Are you comfortable, darling? With this of course... I don't know the exact feel of your powers, but I don't want you to think you need to change a single thing about yourself for me. Who you are is incredible and enough."

You break into a loving sigh and attack her face with kisses that make Wanda giggle shyly. "You're too sweet on me, Maximoff." You tease, and wrap your arms around her on the bed, hugging her tightly. Wanda bites her lips, still well aware of your lust brushing her, but trying to ignore the sensation in case you change your mind. After all, just your presence after so many weeks away was what she really wanted. Sex was just a bonus.

Somehow, she ends up on top again, your foreheads touching.

"It's different because of my powers, everything they do for me, changing my body as needed, you know? But still, I feel that even without these abilities, these details wouldn't make any difference to me." You confess with a sigh, one of your hands stroking behind her back. "Whether my body resembles of a boy or a girl, I say. In my head, I'm always in the middle, or outside of it. I can't explain it very well, and I’m still trying to understand it better but… I know for a certain that I want to make you feel good. In any of the ways I’m able to."

Wanda absorbs your words for a moment, her heart pounding and her chest warm with tenderness. She doesn't know exactly when she fell for you - whether it was from the first second your eyes met, or whether it was over time, between flirtations and arguments, until finally, she had the courage to act on those feelings and was lucky that you held on to them as much as she did.

Instead of answering with words, she kisses your skin. Your cheeks, your jaw, and your lips, while her hands touch wherever they can. It takes you by surprise, the familiar sensation of her magic on your clothes until you're both skin to skin on the mattress. Wanda sighs deeply, still with her eyes closed, as she adjusts herself on your lap, but looks up at you again before shifting to fit into you.

"Are you ready, love?" You whisper against her lips, one hand on her waist, the other lining up at her warm entrance. Wanda welcomes you with breathtaking heat - you slide in easily, yet she gasps until she gets used to the sensation of being filled, her hands firmly on your shoulders. You sigh too, trying not to get lost in the sensation as you ask: "Can I move?"

"Y-yes, please." She practically meows impatiently, her forehead falling against your shoulder as your hips move upwards, gently thrusting inside her. But Wanda clenches inside, hot and eager, and you grunt, trying to hold in your own pleasure. She grinds down against your hips, the sound of her wet arousal echoing between you. Your hands tighten on her hips, and you gradually increase the speed, making Wanda gasp between moans against your ear. "Dorogoy... that feels so good..."

You manage to gasp back, nodding softly in agreement: "You have no idea how amazing you feel, baby... so fucking wonderful... God..." It takes you by surprise, the first reach of your climax. You try to hold back, but Wanda bites your skin hard as she feels the warm shot on her walls, and your grunt turns into a heavy moan as you spill inside her. Wanda wraps her arms around your shoulders, grinding gently as you throb out the last drops, which soon run down her thighs. A moment later, your voice hoarse, you whisper: "I'm sorry, babe. I didn’t... know it would be so hard to hold it..."

She giggles shyly, kissing your skin before looking at you again. A mischievous gaze. "Do you need a break, or perhaps that was the highlight of the night...?" She teases, but you snort in fake indignation, fixing your grip on her waist to flip her onto the bed. The gasp of surprise turns into a muffled whimper as you thrust inside her powerfully, hard again as if you hadn't just come. Her hands move to your waist, and her nails dig into your hips with each thrust.

"You were saying?" You challenge softly, panting against her lips. Wanda chuckles under her breath, one of her legs tucking behind yours, increasing your reach deep inside her. With each thrust in, she shuddered and gasped on the bed, closer and closer to the edge. You lowered yourself completely, pinning her to the mattress and burying yourself inside her as you felt her become impossibly tight. Wanda came in a high-pitched whimper, her nails digging into your lower back just enough to make a mark. You kissed her jaw, rocking gently as she still rode the waves of her own climax.

When you suddenly pulled out, cumming against her soaked and abused pussy, she mewed in protest, her leg trying to pull down and back inside of her. You chuckled hoarsely.

"Baby, I shouldn't have come inside the first time." You whispered, kissing her cheek. "I have to be careful, it's not replication, I transform truly. Let's get you a pill after this, all right? And we'll need some condoms for next-."

"Problems for later." Wanda cuts in good-naturedly, pulling your face back to hers and kissing you intently, effectively silencing any rational thought in your head.

It's honestly the best you've felt in a long time - as it usually is when you're around Wanda Maximoff.

It shouldn't surprise you that much when a few hours of rolling around in bed together, the moment is interrupted by knocks on the door.

Wanda, naked and panting, is sitting on your hips, and you're inside her still, ready to come again when she practically jumps away, and you have to muffle the grumble of frustration against her pillow.

"Y-yeah?" she manages to ask the visitor, sitting on shaky knees on the bed, one hand pulling the covers over her body.

It takes a moment, but the male voice answers: "Sorry to disturb you, Wanda, but I made dinner. Won't you join me?"

She pushes the fingers you threaten to drag between her legs away, a smile playing on her lips.

"I'm not hungry, Vision, thank you."

There's another pause, in which Wanda throws you warning glances to stop trying to touch her before the robot speaks again, more seriously than before.

"Wanda, can we talk? Please."

She frowns, and exchanges a look with you, who sigh, rolling your eyes and looking away, your chest burning with a strange sensation. Using magic to bring one of the robes to her after muttering "One second", Wanda stumbles to the bedroom door, which she leaves with only a small gap to the corridor.

"Vis, it's not a good time-

"She shouldn't be here, Wanda." Vis cuts in, and you tense up on the bed. But he makes no mention of entering the room, and Wanda comes out wrapped in her robe, covering the ajar door with her body as a dry laugh escapes her.

"That's none of your business."

The man shakes his head in disbelief, and his tone of voice, although restrained, can be heard by you inside the room.

"Wanda, please be rational." He insists seriously. "At such a delicate moment for the Avengers, to bring... a criminal into the tower..."

"Vision, go away."

He sighs, hesitantly. "I should report this." He mutters, and although you can't see Wanda's face, you can see the way her shoulders tense and you can imagine the hardness of her expression.

"Do as you wish, but know, I will never speak to you again if anything happens to her."

Vision shakes his head. "And where do you think their choices will lead? If it's not the Avengers, it'll be the police who capture her. Interpol, or whichever organization finds her first. What they're doing, Wanda, has no future and you know it." He says, sighing in disapproval. "Send her away now, or I'll warn the others." Vision announces at last.

"Maybe I'll just go with her." Wanda retorts, but Vision chuckles dryly.

"You have no idea what's happening outside those walls, Wanda." He retorts seriously. "The fine line we're on. Mr. Stark is trying to keep everyone out of danger, and after everything we caused in Lagos, wandering around without signing the Accords is out of the question."

Wanda chokes in surprise. "What... Am I not allowed to leave the tower?"

Vision clears his throat, nodding. "It's for the safety of the civilians." He retorts coldly. "Although I believe your intentions are good now, your record as a Hydra terrorist and recent events are not in your favor. It's best, for everyone, that you stay here until things settle down and all the signatures are counted."

Wanda is speechless at the absurdity, but in the meantime, you're already dressed and she jumps softly when your hand opens the rest of the door. Vision's eyes go wide, but you just give him a forced smile.

"Hey, microwave, long time no see." You greet sarcastically, and the man adjusts himself.

"Unfortunately not long enough." He retorts coldly.

"Jeez, someone's rusty." You grumble, but he looks at you seriously.

"Don't abuse my patience, Miss. You have fifteen minutes to leave this tower, or I'll call National Security with your location."

You rest your arm on Wanda's shoulder, a smile playing on your lips. "Wow, am I that important?"

Vision takes a hard step forward, but Wanda's magic pushes him back with a jolt. You laugh at his indignant expression.

"That's enough, Vision. She's leaving soon, and you're leaving now." Wanda warns, at last, her irises bright red. The synthesizer begrudgingly gives you one last threatening look and leaves the corridor.

You wrap your arms around Wanda again to kiss her hard as you close the door with your foot, but she doesn't match the intensity, and soon, her hands are on your shoulders, gently pushing you away and stopping the kiss.

At your confused expression, she swallows dryly. "You should go." She whispers, fear in her eyes. "I know he meant it. And I don't want to ruin this night with you getting shot by some federal agent."

You hesitate, but end up nodding, kissing her on the cheek before walking away to get your shoes.

But as you put them on, and Wanda hugs her own body, you take a chance:

"You know you don't have to stay here, right?" You begin a little upset. "You could do like that archer guy and ask for a retirement. Or have your friends forgotten that you've already saved the world once and therefore, you don’t owe any of them shit?"

Despite the childish stubbornness in your tone, Wanda smiles sadly before retorting. "I don't think they've forgotten, but things are more complicated than before. And I'm not like Clint Barton, darling." She retorts, swallowing dryly. "I don't have a family to go back to."

You frown, absorbing the words in silence as you finish tying your sneakers. And then, as if it wasn't the sweetest thoughtful thing you've ever said to her, you declare:

"I could be family, Wanda."

She looks away for a moment because she doesn't want to cry in front of you. She has the impression that you won't leave - and she needs you to go so that you can be safe - if you notice the tears.

Sniffling softly, and wiping her face before you notice, Wanda asks. "Do you really mean that?"

You stand up, moving closer to her to hold her cheeks. "Every word." You assure her with a smile. "We could travel the world, and have lunch and dinner in different places every day. We would buy all the most expensive and tacky things just because we can..."

Wanda giggles shyly at the fantasy, allowing herself to believe it for just half a second. She holds your hands cupped around her face afterward and sighs.

"It's a beautiful dream, darling."

You swallow dryly, staring at her. "Just a dream, isn't it?" You sigh sadly, and she nods just as upset.

Her tone is very low, like a secret. "They'll find you eventually. And I... God knows how much my power will grow. I can't trust myself outside of here, without the help of training. Stark's containment plans. And I know it's horrible, but I don't want to hurt anyone. Ever again. And if I went with you, with this life you lead, eventually, I would."

You swallow dry, sighing in understanding. This time, it's you who sniffles.

“I’m always one call away, Wanda Maximoff. Whenever you need me, just pick up the phone.” Wanda feels her chest warm at your words, but all she does is smile tenderly against the kiss you place on her lips.

Unknown to both of you, it won’t take long for her to call. With really unexpected big news.

Two of them precisely.

-&-

This work was turned into a series. Check the masterlist here.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #elizabeth olsen x reader #marvel imagines #kinktober 2023

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peachesofteal · 3 months

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The Acheron

An Ichor Veil (of Flower Kings) masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 10.6k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Modern retelling - Greek mythology AU. Hades and Persephone. Two Kings of the Underworld. Abuse (by reader's mother). Bad BDSM etiquette. Dom Simon Riley. Switch John MacTavish. Impact play, spanking. Ichor (blood) play. Non-con voyeurism. Kidnapping. Submissive reader. Reader is named Persephone but has no physical characteristics. Alcohol. Praise kink. Biting. Anal play. Subspace. Dubious consent. First they're sour, then they're sweet, then... they're sour. Tags are for your health, not mine. .A meeting, a trick, a meal.

Hebe’s is humming.

You nod to her through the crowd, a gaggle of mortals waiting at the counter, the line of them moving swiftly as they order their pastry-coffee duo for this dreary, rain slogged morning.

Her perpetually young face lights with exuberance once she spots you, and you can’t help the smile that fights into place at the sight of her. Hebe is a cherub. Soft, curved for ages, like she had been sculpted by her father himself. Today, she’s dolled up in tones of pink; pink lipstick, fuchsia stained cheeks, magenta streaks in her otherwise dark, tightly coiled hair that sits at her shoulders.

For a while, before you were brazenly corrected, you wondered if maybe your mother wanted Hebe as a daughter, instead of you. A perfect picture of untouched purity and power, an eternal cupbearer, worshipped as the goddess of Mercy. She was sweet, like her famous Portokalopita, orange syrup cake that drew a group of wanting mortals at the door every morning. She’s a stunner. A mountain of sunshine, a ray of positivity.

Sometimes, you hate her for it, even if she is one of your best friends.

Something about her cheerful demeanor can dig at you, scrape along the sticky matter of your brain, gnaw at the soft bits that you’re still trying to protect, tender pieces that match your heart.

You follow the hall to the back room, where bookshelves taper off and large floor to ceiling windows flank the east and west sides to allow as much light in as possible. There are others here, a few mortals curled in overstuffed armchairs, books and cappuccinos in hand, light jazz soothing the atmosphere through a few hidden speakers. Healthy clematis blooms along the stair rail, purple blossoms disappearing into the second floor, where more reading rooms wait, books and plants boundless inside Hebe’s.

A place for everyone.

You feed the clematis a little spark of magic, enough that the vine stretches, shivering and sprouting more flowers. “Aren’t you stunning this morning?” The plant curls around your fingers eagerly, imbued with the essence of power, drinking up the magic drops you encourage into its cell structure. “So healthy and strong, you’ve recovered so well.”

“Good morning.” A wraith of a voice whispers, and you catch the iridescent flicker of a cloud, of Nephele. The clematis will need pruning soon, probably next week, or maybe you can make time in the next few days, you don’t really have too much going on, just your birthday, and that delivery to Hera-

Ghostly fingers stroke the inside of your elbow, and the cloud nymph regards you with an insightful expression. “Earth to Seph.”

“Sorry.” Your apology is meek, and she shrugs.

“I asked what you’re doing tonight?” Oh.

“Dinner… with my mom.” She nods, and says nothing, jaw clenching, apologetic grimace lining her lips.

“And Friday… Aselgeia?” The club. Your muscles tighten. It’s been over a year since you’ve been to Aselgeia, the club of many vices, the ones where mortals and creatures and gods all mix interchangeably, chasing their own pleasure. The memory of last time heats your spine: A private room. A black chair. A stranger swinging a paddle towards your bare-

Nephele coughs.

“Yeah, definitely.” You put the box down that you’re carrying, twelve small pots containing strings of pearls, all crossbred to produce different colors, emboldened by their proximity to you in the Greenhouse for these past few months. They’ll sell well, you have no doubt. “I’ve got a few more boxes to bring inside. Don’t supposed you could do something about this slag weather we’re having?” You gesture, and she snorts.

“Hebe says they’re fighting. Probably looking at weeks of storms.”

“They’re always fighting.” You whisper it, even though most know the truth. Zeus and Hera were explosive. Tumultuous. Which is fine, you suppose, for a private life. A public life, however, one that belongs to the Golden King and Queen, should probably be a bit more… restrained.

After all, why should you and everyone else have to suffer because Hebe’s mom and dad can’t get along?

“I’ve got a lot of cataloging to do, so I’ll catch you around. Text me after dinner tonight, if you need to talk.” She finishes quietly, kindly, but without encroaching, and you squeeze her hand with affection.

“Thanks, Nell.”

The final two boxes stack comfortably for your dash inside. You're eager to get all the plants settled so you can get back to the Greenhouse, slink away to your personal temple, your place of refuge, somewhere quiet to prepare for your dreaded birthday dinner in peace.

“Hello.” A male voice calls, accented so strangely it’s impossible to place. He waves, trying to flag you down.

“Hello?” You turn, nearly stumbling back at the sight of him.

Who is this?

He’s stunning. Brilliant blue eyes study you from a mountaintop, taller than you by more than a head or two. His hair is short on the sides, but long in the middle, a fashion of mohawk you’re unfamiliar with except for in Hoplites, warriors who sacrifice themselves for the sanctity of the state. He’s broad, built like there’s a Herculean amount of muscle underneath his immaculately tailored midnight black suit, and his cheekbones complement the razor edge of his jaw, framing a full set of dark, plush lips.

He looks like a dream you’ve never had. A fantasy that failed fruition.

Fairer than Adonis. Brighter than Apollo.

Butterflies kick up a fluttering frenzied in your belly.

“Sorry to bother ye, I’m looking for Hebe’s?” Ah. You smile.

“You’ve found it. This is just the backside. Front door is around the walk to the left.” He steps closer, and you’re about to introduce yourself when you hear the whinny of a screech owl’s tremolo, a tinned melody that whistles past your ears.

Olympus tilts. Axis trembles. And so do you.

The stranger is keen, and glances around.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I um… it’s just that owl, I swear I saw the same one a few days ago… I didn’t think they were too common around here.”

“Dinnae think they are.” His eyes twinkle, celestial light that has you drifting, floating through time and space into starlit irises. The air turns heavy, hot- fresh fired bricks weighing down your chest, and everything spins, day turning to night, night molting black, deep hues of purple and blues streaking past your vision, spinning like moon, twisting you up until your balance is faltering, and you sway. “Whoa, hey.” Fingers fold over your arm, surprisingly cool, chilled, and it pulls you back into your body, spine uncurling, brow smoothing.

“Sorry, I…”

“Ye alright?” He’s still holding your arm, directing you to a bench, relieving you of your box in a swift motion.

“Yeah, sorry… I… I skipped breakfast.” There’s no other explanation, right? The handsome stranger tsks.

“Can I get ye somethin’? Maybe from inside?”

“No!” You blurt, horrified. Hebe would have a cow if she thought you were feeling faint or had skipped a meal. She takes caring for her loved ones far too seriously. “No, I’m almost done, and then I’ll be on my way home. I’ll eat there.” He raises an eyebrow, completely skeptical. “I swear.”

“Alright then. Let me help ye with the rest at least?” He’s standing with a hand extended, and you track the veins on the inside of his wrist until they disappear beneath his t-shirt, golden, tawny skin just barely allowing them to be seen. You wonder if it’s mortal blood that catapults through his body, or the rich, golden ichor that also spills from yours.

“Sure.” He lifts the box, gesturing for you to grab the other.

“I’m John, by the way.” John. It simmers in the front of your mind, stitching itself into the fabric of your magic.

“Persephone. My friends call me Seph.” Bold. Too bold.

“Ye’re Demeter’s daughter.” He comments, and you blink, fresh wave of regret curdling the sourness of your stomach.

“Yes.” Fool. Give your name to a stranger, and this is what will come. “Do you know-“

“Only in passing, dinnae worry.”

“Who said I was worried?”

“Ye wear yer emotions plainly.” Your cheeks burn, embarrassed at the blatancy of his statement. “It’s refreshing. So many of us, we play too many games, hide our true selves.” Us. Golden ones. Gods.

“You’re Cloaking.” You intend it to be a statement, an observation, but with a tight jaw and frowning brow, it’s an accusation.

“Aye. Wouldnae want to scare ye away, would I?” What? Your steps slow, gait pausing in concern. “Sorry, ah. Bad joke.”

“Oh, that’s alright.” He carries the boxes to the door, setting them down carefully, and then rising back to his full height. You swallow the lump in the back of your throat.

“Well, John,” you say it with a hint of sarcasm, and it conveys your doubt. That’s not your real name, is it? “It was nice to meet you.” You extend your hand, expecting a shake, but he holds it with both of his, back bowing, lips softly pressing the skin of your knuckles, tender touch making your knees weak, your heart swooping and swooning.

“The pleasure was mine, Persephone.”

“Have you given anymore thought to your role in the coming year? Your presence at harvest, or planting, would do-”

“I haven’t.” The wine is too oaky, so earthy it takes like dirt, the opus of your mother’s existence, and you swallow it down in silence.

“Persephone.” She chides, like she has a million times before. “If you just tried, a little harder-“

“I am Spring, mother. Life. Rebirth. Fertility.” You ignore her wince. “But that doesn’t mean I’m well suited for crops, and grain, and harvests.”

“It means exactly that. Otherwise, the Greenhouse would not exist.” Her knife slices into a bloody piece of meat, red dripping down the sterling to her fingertips. “Why must you fight your destiny?” Your mind wanders to your visitors the other day, the sisters. The Moirai. Does she know? Is that why she’s saying this? Did she send them? “You spend so much time actively trying to deny me, holed up with your flowers and silly little house plants-“

“It is you who denied me.” Her eyes narrow. “You who didn’t want me to become a fertility goddess, who wanted me to be some weapon of green light, to be the spitting image of you. You raised me to be a threat!”

“Is it so wrong, that I did not wish for my daughter to become a common whore? That I had hoped to prevent her becoming such a failure? That I dreamed of her becoming so much more than… what sits before me now?” The words do not shock you anymore. You’ve grown to expect them.

That does not mean they do not sting.

“It is wrong that you kept me locked in this house, away from the world, until I was too strong for you to control.” You spit, fork clattering against your plate. Rage sears white at the edge of your vision, overflowing bouquet of flowers in the center of the table blooming into massive blossoms, edges of petals beginning to curl inward.

“Control yourself.” She warns. “Or I will do it for you.” Your pulse thunders. The air in the dining room crackles.

You do not relent. Rationally, you know you should. You know this will only end one way, that this will sever another tie to your past, to your mother, one you won’t be able to repair… but you can’t stop. The magic itches under your skin, screaming.

The ivy that covers the outside brick shatters a windowpane above her head, springing through the opening like a virus seeking a host, sticking to the inside wall. Glass falls to the floor, rain pelts the roof.

“Persephone.” Shining silver spools, churning across the table, through the air until it takes form-

The Whip.

Your mother’s favorite.

It licks your skin, your fingertips, your knuckles. A different touch, from the reverent kiss you received only hours ago. It cracks through the air like the lightning.

“That’s enough.” She vows.

You will not cry. You won’t. You won’t let her get to you like this anymore. You’re a woman now. An adult. You’re not a child, you’re not, you’re not-

She sighs. Your fingers clench the stem of the wine glass so firmly you think it might shatter.

You finish your meal in stiff silence. Its heaviness droops all around you, blanketing the entire table, your fork, the distance between you and your own mother. It’s an eon. A millisecond. Never enough because you always crave more. More space. More time. More distance. Her eyes spark, anger burning hot behind them, but she says nothing.

When she’s finished, she rises from the table without another word, disappearing down the hall.

Happy Birthday, you guess.

In the middle of the night, the Greenhouse is quiet.

Even the plants slumber, most of the daylight seekers, pistils, stamens, all covered by their petals, lying in wait. In the back, you pad along the floor of moss, allowing the tiny tendrils of green to skim along your bare skin, pulling opulent, indulgent specks of power into themselves. Wisteria lines the walls, tiny blooms of purple and white falling like curtains of stars, only parting for the archway that leads to the spring, a small freshwater lagoon that spills from the crust of the earth as hot as tea, bubbling eternally, waiting for you.

Tonight, the water is ethereal. Steam rises from the pool, slicking its stone home, and you bask in it, muscle and bone turning languid, supple in the roiling spring. It’s nearly sublime, almost perfect.

Your mother’s voice still echoes. Even now, hours later, you can hear her.

A failure. A disappointment.

Your knuckles sting from the salt of the Whip, the silver crust that slices so effortlessly, just as it has since you were a child.

You cried a lot, then.

Now, it’s few and far between. You’ve grown, rebelled, retaliated. You’ve become a lost cause.

Ungovernable Persephone.

The pain still sits so heavily in the bottom of your soul, a wretched, tangible thing that sprouts blackened vine from the earth and a whole manner of other things.

You eye the marble encasement, the walls that harbor the spring. They too, are black. Born from your rage, your sorrow. Your uncontrollable, ungovernable power that grew from the depths of your despair and built you a temple.

The Greenhouse. Your home.

Everyone called it a wonder. A feat, proof of your power. Trees and vines and branches all twisted together, building a harbor, solidifying your presence, your Golden light.

You took your first offering in this place, the glass for the windows and the roof, the final piece of your shelter from the storm, the first stake of your life as a goddess, your life of freedom.

You left your mother’s house that day, only returning now on occasions. You never looked back.

Though, you can still feel the Whip, can still hear it whirl through the wind against your supine form. Can still feel the ridges of scar tissue that never fully healed.

You could have called Nell. Or Hebe. Or Melia. Anyone of them would be here for you. Would listen. Understand.

Outside the window, an owl hoots.

You sink beneath the water line, magma rushing over every inch of your body, washing you clean of her, of the Whip, of the wounds on your knuckles.

A trembling fawn. Still to this day.

A wicked daughter to have, they tell her. A vengeful soul. Rotted to the core.

Ungovernable Persephone.

Olympus is buzzing, even on its ninth day of rain. It’s a vibration that all manner of beings can feel, creatures, gods, even humans. The ground rattles like there’s a lightning bolt shoved into the center of the rail system, electrifying the wires and tracks, zinging from pole to pole between the buildings and above the streets where cars putter alongside those who walk to their destinations.

When you were a child, the name of the city was almost dirty. It made your mother’s nose turn skyward, disgust and disdain clear as the day on her delicate features. “The golden city is anything but.” She promised, on her knees before you, gentle hand at your back. “Those who live there are heathens, and naught else. They would seek to destroy you if they knew the truth.”

For many, many years, you never step foot here.

Not until University. Once you graduated, the rope around your neck, the bit in your mouth began to loosen, and you had already lost your taste for the expanse of metropolis, more interested in your own space outside city limits where you could feel your connection to the earth, where you could indulge your power in privacy.

“It’s not the city she fears.” Melia told you one night. “But Aphrodite. Demeter’s worried ‘Di will knock you right off the whole bloody planet.” She peered over your shoulder, catching the gleam of Apollo, his bright eyes tracking her from across a crowded bar. “Trust me. She’s a jealous bitch.”

Tonight, the city is waterlogged, soaked to the bone, raindrops splashing as you slide from the car to the black door tucked inside a black wall, a soft faced Harpy standing in front of the passage.

“Hebe. Persephone.” She greets, turning to your other companions. “Nephelle. Melia.” You pull your power through the earth that sits beneath cracked concrete and heavy asphalt, spinning your Cloak up and over your body, adjusting your appearance just so. Your mask slips into place, obscuring nearly all your face, both Nell and Melia pulling together something similar.

“Ocypete.” Hebe pauses. “Is there a riddle tonight?” The Harpy grins, flashing rows of too sharp teeth, fine points that can cut the flesh from bone in a clean bite.

“No riddle.” The door creaks wide, and she steps aside. “Enjoy your evening.”

You don’t notice the way her eyes linger after you’ve passed.

Aselegia is one of the safest places in the Olympus. Here, Golden ones must be Cloaked, mortals must be masked, and creatures must go to great lengths to hide their identity. All intermingle with one another, safe in the anonymity. Gods and Goddesses usually choose to mask as well, a practice, you believe, stemming from common occurrences of violent jealousy, an effort to prevent becoming the target of one’s wrath.

The club itself is big enough to get lost in. The first floor houses the lobby, and a set of elevators. The walls are covered in shiny waxed mahogany, red wine rich carpet covering the floor, and it smells different, sweet and smoky, cigars and finely spun sugar. Intoxicating.

The elevators will take you anywhere you have access, and most can visit three floors. There’s a dancefloor on the main level, with a giant bar, private rooms in the wings, bottle service, tables. Very standard. Other floors have gambling tables, quieter music, even a dimly lit pool and sauna.

It isn’t until you get above level three that things change. Endorsements or sponsors are required. Waivers need to be signed. Negotiations begin.

Pick your poison.

You start on the main level tonight. Melia insists, and you agree, grateful to the Oceanid for suggesting starting slow, the low rumble of nerves still present in your magic, your body. The music thumps, high to low song and symphony synthesized into something electronic, and it draws you into a sway, shoulders against shoulders, hips moving in time with the melody.

“Shots?” Hebe brightens, waving over a cocktail waitress, a pretty thing who eagerly does her bidding, enraptured with the way she moves in the skintight, cornflower blue dress. Her Cloak has disguised her well enough that no one would know who she is, but she does not ever manipulate her body. A cherished rule of her own, you’ve learned.

“You’re beautiful.” The girl coos, and Hebe nods, singing over the explosion of Nephelle’s laughter.

“I know, sweetheart.”

A slick sheen of sweat coats the space between Melia’s breasts. You’re both on the dancefloor, moving with the music, Melia perfectly in time, like she was born to it, and you pull her close, slinging an arm over her neck to whisper in her ear.

“He’s here.” A god’s dark eyes glint in the night, between the passages of writing bodies. He wears a white mask, stitched with the threads of glowing sun, but his obsessive gaze gives him away. He’s transfixed, focused solely on the Oceanid in the middle of the dance floor, and she giggles, turning so that her ass is pressed against your pelvis, her head tipped back on your shoulder.

Her hand extends, an invitation. A request.

He’s by her side within a second.

“Apollo.” You nod, and he barely spares you a glance, too busy cradling his Oceanid’s face.

“You have been ignoring my calls.”

“I’ve been busy.” He tenses.

“You’re still angry with me.”

“Of course, I am.” She rolls her eyes. “We’re here for Sephy’s birthday, not this.” He peeks towards you, sliver of regret flashing across his face.

“I’m sorry, Persephone.” You wave him off, not wanting to be in the middle of… this.

“It’s fine, we’re just… out. It’s not for anything special.” You look away from them, casually glancing around. You look, but you do not see. Not until…

There’s a male, wearing a pitch-black suit. A god? A mortal? He’s taller than anyone else in the room, broadest shoulders and proud posture, everything about him drawing you in, like blood in the water.

The room stands still. Silent. Empty, save for two.

Tempered water like glass, undisturbed. An undertow vicious beneath the surface, unknown to all.

“Hello.” The pitch of his voice is familiar, almost dreamlike, something that’s never been real, yet startling all the same.

“H-hi.” You stammer. His hand reaches, a magnetic force pulling yours from where it’s clawed against your thigh, and he grasps it like he’s cupping a dahlia bloom, a fragile collection of so many petals that make up an entire beautiful blossom, a universe unto itself.

Black leather caresses your skin. Clear, golden-brown eyes pin you in place, anthracite spiking around his pupils in a halo. You cannot see his face, or his skin, only what’s barely visible of his eyelids and dark spun lashes.

Still…

His beauty is terror. It’s the throat of a lamb, freshly cut. The mutilated carcass of a doe, feeding a forest. Dark. Dangerous. A wolf, circling a kill.

It drags you out into a river, where your feet no longer touch the bottom. It sings to you from the depths.

You cannot tear yourself away.

He does not let go. Even when that same voice fills your mind.

“My darling. You shall rule all that lives and moves, you shall have the greatest rights among the deathless gods: those who defraud you and do not appease your power with offerings, reverently performing rites and paying fit gifts, shall be punished for evermore.” *

Warmth slips from your hand, sand flitting through your fingers, a fleeting touch of comfort and confusion fading into the night.

My darling.

My darling…

When the light comes back to you, the male is nowhere to be found. Only Apollo and Melia stand to your side, still in their own world.

“Will you let me take you upstairs then?” He croons, and your heart dances, nerves and anticipation all spiraling together like a sailor’s knot. You know what comes next.

“Only if the girls can come.”

You try to forget the strange encounter on the main level and focus on your needs instead; you’ll know what you’re looking for when you see it, and you say the same to Hebe, too, when she disappears with a male who seemed much too large to not be the son of a giant, leaving you alone on a small, velvet couch, Nell and Melia already long gone. Your second martini sits untouched, and you keep yourself from looking at any one being too closely, lest you get caught staring.

That’s when you see him.

Light blue eyes. Handsomely styled mohawk. Even with a Cloak and mask, he’s hard to forget.

John.

His mask is a red skull, covering nearly all his face, the sculpted brow severe, almost angry.

His eyes glow behind it, locked on yours.

Oh. Shit. You vibrate like a live wire, hanging onto yourself for dear life.

“Hello.” Your mouth doesn’t work. “I’m Soap.” He extends his hand, and you blink. Oh, right. The alias. Because what is the point in all this, if you give your real name?

“K-kore.” You manage to stammer, and the corner of his eyes crease.

“Why are ye here?”

“I’m sorry?”

“What are ye looking for, little goddess?” He still has not dropped your gaze, and you can almost taste him on your tongue, feel him in your mind, your body.

Myself.

Your teeth dig downward, pressing hard before you whisper the truth.

“Pain.” His eyes flash, and then he tugs.

John- Soap, takes you to a private room. You follow, numbly, shivering with a million emotions, stumbling through the chances, the possibilities of seeing him twice, when before he was a stranger.

A coincidence, you decide, putting it out of your mind. You’re dwelling on it too much, picking it apart, riling yourself up… over nothing. Over a handsome god, existing in the Golden city? Like you’ve never seen those before… like it’s so unbelievable.

“Are ye alright?” He murmurs, stepping up to your back. You can feel the heat of him, his warmth bleeding from beneath the suit to your exposed skin, the dress you chose wholly exposing your spine, your skin.

Your nipples tighten. Your heart races, and your thighs press together inadvertently.

“Yes.”

“Dinnae lie.” He’s gentle in the reminder, and you fill your lungs.

“I’m just… nervous.”

“Ye’ve done this before?” He’s assuming. You nod, quickly, and he motions to a very comfortable looking lounge chair, where you perch on the edge of the cushion. “What would make ye happy tonight?” Anxiety unsettles your posture, and you choke down the embarrassment that tries to claw its way up your throat.

“A… a spanking.” You whisper, pushing flimsy confidence forward. Far away, a piece of your mind, your magic, pleads. It cries, it begs for release. It urges you forward, and you lift your face to his, seeking approval. Comfort.

Reassurance.

The cold hand of doubt rears. It snickers at you. It laughs.

Reassurance from someone, anyone but yourself? Comfort?

No.

“Do ye-“

“My safe word is flower.” You spit, motioning to the stool that waits between you.

It’s an act. A song and a dance, something fake and forced. But he doesn’t know that.

He freezes. Thick tension runs the gamut, heavy and exhausting, and you smother yourself, your emotions, your reactions to this very moment.

Pain. The desire burns. It pushes you to the zenith, until you’re down on your knees, folding yourself forward.

Pain, to turn it off. Pain, to make it all stop.

Pain, to release you into yourself.

What matter of creature are you, that you can only feel whole, when parts of you are carved away?

“Up.” John commands, and you lean back, confused. “Ye’ll do this over my knee.” He bends you, with grace, back towards the soft cushion, laying comfortably, your palms flat.

A hand coasts over the swell of your ass.

“Ye’ll count.” His voice has shifted. Gone is the feather’s edge, now replaced by steel. His accent still rings true, but there’s a firmness to it, a finality. Dominance.

“Yes.”

“Ye’ll tell me yer name, and today’s date, when asked. If ye cannae answer, we’ll stop. Immediately.”

“Okay.”

“I need a yes.”

“Yes.”

“We’ll go to ten, then.” We.

“I can take more.”

“We’ll decide what ye can take, when we get there.” You acquiesce, fingers digging down into the cushion before forcibly relaxing. “Big breath.” He coaches, and then-

The first slap stuns you. Only with his hand, and yet still so much stronger than last time with a paddle. It punches air from your lungs, the noise that rockets out of your throat a mix between a scream and a moan.

“F-fuck.” You croak. “One.” He doesn’t hesitate and rains the next one down on your opposite cheek. Again, it robs you of oxygen. “Two.”

“Good girl.” The praise is very small flame at the bottom of the darkest well. It barely lights the path ahead, desperately trying to catch, to grow, but it’s too easily snuffed out. His palm rubs the base of your spine to the tops of your thighs.

Crack.

The sting sizzles outward from impact, and you gasp. “Three-“ Another, same cheek. “Four!” The whistle of the swing alerts you a second before the next, and when you shout “Five!” it sounds off kilter.

“What’s yer name?”

“Seph-Persephone.” Raw warmth simmers beneath your dress and underwear, and the fire at the bottom of the well starts to rage, growing larger, eating what it’s been given, hungry, seeking, trying to build momentum. He asks you the date, satisfied at the lack of delay, and swings so high, you can see the shine of his palm from the corner of his eye. Your toes curl.

Whack. Two, too quickly.

“Six!” A choked cry. “Seven.” Your face is wet, saltwater tracing the plush swell towards your mouth and chin. You sniffle.

“I know, I know. Ye poor thing.” He bunches the fabric of your dress, scratching it across your scorched cheeks. “Ye’re doin’ so well, almost there.” The words barely register, only the sentiment cuts through the haze. Your thighs are pressed so tightly together, slick dripping from your cunt, the aching throb of your clit rubbing against your panties. You’re desperate… to be touched, to be hurt, to be whole. You need it. Crave it more than anything else.

He delivers two more strong, healthy, swift blows. Eight. Nine. They enflame you completely, fire burning in the pit of your soul, encasing you in a coffin where no one can hear you, or see you. Safe and tucked away, floating into a dark cocoon of eternal night.

At the tenth, the room changes. The air grows colder, nearly frigid, shadows clinging to the walls, and you barely register being moved, held like a child, tucked into a chest. There’s talking, somewhere, in your mind or maybe behind you, two pitches at war, a dance of wills.

“Beautifully done, darling.” Somewhere far, far away, in the last sliver of your sane mind, you realize it’s a different voice, a voice echoed in gemstones, ruby and emerald and pearl, before that too, slips into space, and you drift deeper inside the luxurious praise. A warm bath. A sunlit meadow with thousands of Narcissus dotting the hill, soaking up every ray. A golden fawn, taking her first steps to freedom.

John’s face looms into your line of sight, maskless, no Cloak.

“We need a yes.” He murmurs, cupping your cheek. “Persephone.”

“Hmmm?”

“Need ye to say yes, so we can take ye home, take care of ye.” The words don’t match. They don’t click, they catch, they bump against each other, trying to lock into place, failing over and over.

“Supposed to go… home with my friends but-“ Your tongue is heavy, weighted beneath a giant sequoia, and you shiver. The chest that your head bobbles on catches, an arm securing you in place. It’s warm, and firm, heavier than a tree. Who…

“Little goddess.” He prompts, and you sigh, already wistfully unaware.

“’kay, yeah. Yes.”

You’re already slipping away when the world goes dark.

Your eyes open to a strange place.

You don’t recognize any of it, from the massive four poster bed with lithe, gauzy curtains drawn closed on three sides, to a fireplace the size of a giant, roaring, sizzling flame burning endlessly in its hearth. You don’t recognize the room, the black marble floors, polished to a brilliant gleam, one that you can nearly see your reflection in, or the vanity, dark oak housing a hand carved mirror. You’ve never seen the ornate stained glass window before, stretching from floor to ceiling, the size of ten men. You don’t know the bed, sized for a king, emerald silk sheets and a matching duvet, with a million pillows that were just cradling your head. The robe you’re wearing matches, the green only a shade lighter, and you tuck it tight across your body, realizing you’re fully nude.

The fire pops. It pushes a gasp from you, caught off guard, and at the sound, another being in the room stirs from the plush rug just beneath the bed.

A three headed dog.

It, they, stare at you, tongues wagging, eyes wide. Jet black fur, darker than midnight, white teeth so sharp they could rip your throat free in an instant.

You’ve seen this dog before… in pictures. Schoolbooks. You know their name.

Cerberus.

Panic races through your veins, ratcheting your heart rate higher and higher, your body and mind separating, all synapses dizzy with fear.

Oh gods. Where… where are you? What happened? You were just… you were just having some fun, at Aselegia, with John… weren’t you? Where…

Are you dead?

You reach for your power, digging deep, trying to drag as much as you could to the surface-

Nothing.

You bleat, a scared lamb, in panic. It’s a cry. A scream. An awful sound. You need your rage now, but all you find is fear. You cannot reach your power. There is a blackened lock around it, a casing that holds it away from you, out of reach.

Cerberus whines. They hold their position, tail swishing back and forth, and you scramble towards the middle of the bed. Your ass protests, skin warm and tender against silk. Your knees tuck to your chest, and you force your eyes closed, trying to take long, measured breaths without success.

You’re dead, you’re dead, you’re-

The door clicks. John appears, two palms out, hesitant, and cautious. Your voice shakes, no matter how hard you try to reinforce it with iron will. “G-get away from me.”

“Ye’re alright, Persephone. We’d never hurt ye.” We?

“We need a yes.”

“Need ye to say yes, so we can take ye home, take care of ye.”

Something flickers behind him. A figure, a shape of shadow, shifting.

Dark. Dangerous. A wolf, circling a kill.

The male from the dance floor. He wears no mask now, but the feel of him, the threat of his power, is unmistakable… and familiar. You sputter on it, choking on him and John, the threat of their power combined looming, suffocating. “Oh gods.” You clutch the robe tighter. “Wh-where am I?”

“You know where you are, darling.” The other one says, and you moan.

“N-no. I… I can’t be. I can’t dead. I can’t be here… I-“

“You’re not dead, Persephone.” He cautions. “You’re very much alive.” And shaking, alive and trembling so vigorously you can hear your teeth chattering, chest heaving up and down, desperately trying to suck air inward. Cerberus whines again, and he rubs a thumb behind one of their ears. “Easy, Cerberus. She’s alright.”

“I ca-can’t be here. I have to… I have to go home.” The room seems wet, dollops of tears falling from your lashes, sticking to your skin and the sheets. Reality slams forward, rushing right up against your nonsensical mind.

It takes one gentle pulse of their power, to realize the truth.

Hades. They’re… Hades. They’re Hades and you’re… you’re in the Underworld.

Beg. Beg them for mercy. Whatever it is you’ve done, you must try.

“I’m s-sorry. I don’t know… I don’t know what I did but I swear, I’m sorry, I-“ John tries to reach, seeking your hand, but you curl up into a tighter ball.

“Shhh. Ye hae nae done anythin’ wrong, sweet Persephone. Ye’re alright. Ye’re safe.” Safe? Safe in the Underworld? With them?

Oh gods. You let Hades spank you.

“You… you tricked me.” You whisper, raw betrayal and pain weeping profoundly in your heart. You trusted him and…

You are a fool.

“We did what was necessary.” The wolf-like one says solemnly, gaze heavy.

“Necessary?” You squeak. “What’s… necessary about this?”

“We will explain everything, after we’ve eaten. Or maybe had some more rest? It’s the middle of the night, for you.” What?

“No… I can’t… I can’t stay here. I have to-“

“Go home? So, you can hide away in your temple, kept company only by your plants and the occasional friend you let inside?” You blink, stunned, mouth dropping open.

“How do you... have you been watching me?” The stained-glass window on the far side of the room shifts, drawing your attention, morphing slowly from a tawny blur to a… screech owl.

“Oh, my gods. Oh…” The room shudders. “You can’t keep me here, I have to go…” Wolves circle, flanking where you sit, precarious and hopeless, a hand in front of your body like it will save you. “Please.”

“It’s alright, darling.” The dark one moves, blurred in shadow, magic blanketing you in a warm, comforting hold, heating your bones, encouraging your eyes to slowly shut.

The last thing you see is the ceiling, your body cradled in the embrace of a stranger.

Morning comes slow.

At first, you don’t open your eyes, even though you’ve been long awake.

If you open them, your fear will be real. It will be valid.

So, you keep them closed. Keep them shut long enough you drift in and out of twilight, until someone clears their throat.

Fuck.

“Are you going to open your eyes?” His voice is ruby and velvet. You shudder.

“Hades.”

“Technically. One half of a whole, but my loved ones call me Simon.” Your brow flexes at that, and there’s a soft chuckle in response. “Will you wake? It’s well past morning now.”

“Are you going to render me unconscious again?” you hiss, cracking an eyelid. He’s sitting in a posh armchair, oiled black leather beneath his black suit, eyes steady on yours. His face is a map of scars, but instead of seeming rough, or out of place, they naturally suit him, complementing his broad jaw, severe expression, perfectly sculpted bone structure. His nose is crooked, like it had been smashed and rearranged once or twice, but still sits as if it was meant to be, and you wonder how anyone could do anything of the like to Hades.

He's handsome, in a way you expect to die from.

“Only if you cannot behave.”

“Perhaps I could show you how I behave.” You smile with a full set of teeth, words ending in a snarl, and he huffs another gentle laugh.

“I have seen the victims of your wrath, Persephone. I have no doubt you’d strike me down if you could.” You swallow the nausea in your stomach. Your magic.

“I want my magic back.” You blurt the demand, not even pausing to consider a more tactful way.

“We did not take it, only… bound it, for the time being. It’s still within you, we would never separate you from your power.” He sighs, a golden pearl rocking in his palm, glinting in the fireplace’s gleam. “Contrary to popular belief, we are not a monster.”

“Then let me go home, if you’re not as they say you are.” His eyes harden, face twisting sour, and then… sad.

“I’ll give you some privacy. There are clothes in the closet. Johnny and I expect you for breakfast, and then a tour… if you’re good. Cerberus will show you the way when you’re ready.”

If you’re good.

Cerberus leads you through a maze of decadent marble and arches.

You follow behind them hesitantly, cautious, and they mind you, slowing when you’ve lagged too far behind.

You can’t help it. You’re mystified.

You expected the Underworld to be dark, and dingy. And while maybe it is on the dark side, with glossy, polished marble, giant onyx columns that blot of the sky, and black stone everywhere… when you peek out the windows, you’re gob smacked.

Beneath wherever you are, which you’re beginning to suspect is Hades’ palace, is lush greenery. A verdant, fertile field lays to the south and the east, wrapping around to the edge of a forest, where you can just barely make out a large variety of deciduous trees. To the North, a river winds, separating the palace from a large meadow and… a town? You shake your head, as if to clear your addled mind and cloudy vision. Is that truly… a town?

“Asphodel Meadows.” Someone says from behind you, nearly jumping you from your skin.

“Fuck.” You gasp, hand clutching your chest. It’s a man, not John, or Simon, but a stranger, clad in all black.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“It’s… okay. I- what did you say?”

“The town. It’s Asphodel Meadows. A place for mortal’s souls.” He bows. “I’m Thanatos.”

“I’m… Persephone.” He smiles, just slightly.

“I know who you are, my lady.” My lady?

“What do you…” words nearly fail as you grapple. “What do you do here?”

“I am a child of Nyx. The god of Death.”

“I thought Hades…”

“They are the Kings of the Underworld. I am the personification, the embodiment of Death.” Oh.

“You reap.” You whisper. His jaw tightens, and then smooths.

“Your escort is impatient. I think he’s probably ready for his bacon.” He eyes Cerberus, who whines, tapdancing on slick marble.

“Bacon?”

“Yes. He’s very spoiled. Eats better than the Kings themselves.” He motions down the hall. “It’s just that way. Lovely to meet you, my lady.” He gives you another bow, and then turns down a corridor, one that had not been there before, leaving you and Cerberus alone in the empty hall.

“I- you too.”

The Kings, as Thanatos called them, are both seated when you push the incredibly heavy door open. At the sound, John rises, Simon behind him, and the three of you stare at one another for a minute, until Cerberus barks.

“Please, sit.” John motions to the only other place set, a third chair between them. You swallow.

“Uh…”

“We don’t bite.”

“Not unless ye want us to.” John smiles, sinfully handsome in the morning light. It streams into the surprisingly cozy dining room through a group of five windows, all facing east, capturing the light of… a sun?

“Is that a sun?”

“It’s a sun of sorts.” Simon offers. “We have a sky, weather. A sun, a moon. Clouds. Everything that exists in Olympus.”

“Are ye hungry?” You hesitantly lower yourself into the chair, surprised at the array of food displayed. “We ah, weren’t sure what ye liked so, got a bit of everything.” Meats, yogurts, sweets, cereal, fruit, anything you could want laid out in front of you, but it’s something so near to your heart that catches your eye. Portokalopita.

“They are Hebe’s.” Simon murmurs.

This is a trick. They kidnapped you. They’re holding you hostage. You have to convince them to let you go. The warning resounds, and your stomach thrashes.

“I want to go home.” You push the plate of orange cakes away, disappointment flickering across John’s face, exasperation on Simon’s. “Please. I… I appreciate your hospitality and you… you bringing me home for… aftercare,” you grit the word, shame rocketing up your spine. This is what happens when you trust. You let Hades spank you, for fucks sake. And then they abducted you. “but I need to go home. The plants, they need me. My friends-“

“Your friends are used to going days on end without contact from you.” Simon cuts you off, and the blood drains from your face. “Are they not?”

“N-no. They’ll know I’m missing, they will.” Lie. He knows. You know they both know, just by the way the regard you. Half pity. Half amusement. It makes your blood boil. “Fuck you.” You hiss, shooting up in the chair.

“Seph-“ John tries to soothe you, calm you, using your nickname like he knows you, and it only makes you more irate.

“Don’t call me that.” You whirl on him. “I trusted you! I don’t even know you and I let you-“

“That is the nature of Aselegia, is it not?” He counters, cutting you off. You gape like a fish. “The anonymity. Dinnae turn it on me now.” His tone melts from ice to warmth, sympathy bleeding from his irises. “I assure ye, we are more than trustworthy. We would never, ever hurt ye. We would never let anythin’ happen to ye. Ye’ll see.”

“Then let me go home.” He shakes his head sadly but says nothing, and rage snaps in your heart like the drawback of a rubber band, stinging and sharp. “What do you want from me?” John opens his mouth, and then abruptly closing it, deferring to Simon.

“You are our guest. We’d like to get to know you. I promise, just as before, you will not be harmed in our care. We will never hurt you."

"How do I know that?" You’re incredulous. “You expect me to take you at your word?”

“Let us strike a deal then.” He declares, and John nods supportively.

Don’t, your good sense screams. Don’t be an idiot.

“What kind of deal?”

“You will stay here for two days, forty-eight hours exactly. We will show you this realm and get to know one another in that time, and at the end, we will reveal the doorway that leads back to Olympus.” You raise an eyebrow.

“Two days? And then I can go home?”

“Two days.” John echoes. Sapphire eyes gleam, and you carefully, quickly, try to pick apart every word in the proposal.

“My magic.” You demand, and they both answer immediately with a resounding,

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Your power is wild, Persephone.” Simon tells you, not unkindly. “We do not know how the Underworld will react to it, and we must think of our residents, all the souls we care for here. We cannot let something upset the balance that is so delicate.” Your mouth goes a little dry. You were expecting more of an answer about control, domineering you, your magic, keeping you contained. Not… care for souls.

“Yer mother raised ye to be her weapon.” John says softly, kneeling before the chair where you sit. His hand rests on the cushion, and you wonder if he means to touch you. “We dinnae regard ye as such, but until we understand ye better, we need to protect-“

“I understand.” You cut him off. You don’t need some forced sympathy, pity, thrust upon you by Hades, of all gods. They exchange a long glance, one that gives you a small peek into their lives, layers on layers of words and sentiment, communicated with a single glance.

Simon reaches for John, pulling him to his feet and into his body, chest to back.

“Do you agree?” Two days. Two days and you can leave. You can do two days of anything. You certainly cannot fight them, or your way out. What choice do you have?

“Sure.”

“We need a yes, darling.” Darling. The pet name makes your toes curl. You take a big breath.

“Yes.”

The valley outside of Asphodel Meadows is one of the most stunning places you’ve ever been. It’s lush and lively, covered in Narcissus and Asphodelus, like a meadow one could only dream of. You're not sure why it feels so familiar, like the cusp of another life, or a nightmare, but it takes root inside you. You lay in the field of flowers, letting them cover your body, wishing so desperately to touch your magic, so you could truly feel them, the grass and the dirt and the stems here, all things that seem like they’re so full of life, so opposite your expectations of the Underworld.

“Shall we continue?” Cerberus perks up at the sound of their master’s voice, head popping over the flowers to spot both Kings standing on the path, a good distance away. They peek at you, heads tilted, and you sigh. It seems you’ve been assigned a minder, in the form of a three headed dog.

You join them on the road before long, walking silently, sullenly, John sneaking glances at you nearly every chance he gets, and you can pinpoint the heat of his gaze every time, the throbbing intensity of his focused power nearly bowling you over.

“So, there are two of you?” What are you supposed to talk to the Kings of the Underworld about, anyway?

“Aye. It’s a little-known secret. One realm, two gods to rule.” You frown, perplexed.

“But… you haven’t always been that way?”

“No.” Simon answers. “We were once Golden brothers in battle, long before your time, before becoming this. When we fell in love, our souls split. They merged with our magic, tied us together eternally. Now, we rule as one.”

“So, you’re married.” You deduce.

“In the most permanent way you can think of.” They stop short of a bridge, one that crests high over a roaring river, and Simon gestures broadly. “Persephone, this is the Acheron.”

The Underworld is a place of rivers, you learn. Waterways that hold power, that possess the ability to cleanse you, free you, burn you, punish you. There is a river of fire, a river of weeping, a river to forget.

The Acheron is the river of woe.

Fitting, you think, standing on the bridge. Below, bright turquoise water rushes by, crashing into rock and boulder, each sound more akin to a scream than the thunder of a tributary. Mouths, long and full of despair, wail beneath the current, wraith like creatures with bone white skin and eyes skimming along the top.

You get lost in them. Lost in the irreversible cycle of woe, desolation creeping up inside your own self as you peer down into the depths. Are you not like them? Despondent. Bleak. Isolated. Is that not what you’ve made with your life, what was chosen for you? Hidden away, sharpened like an axe never to be used. Are you not alone, like them? Trapped, like them?

You don’t even realize you’re leaning forward until pressure rests at your back. “Easy. Dinnae want ye fallin’ in.” John murmurs, stepping away the edge, bringing you with him. Your limbs feel shaky, and you wonder if it’s because you just almost went over… or because you didn’t eat earlier.

“Sorry. I uh-“ you don’t know how to explain it, that feeling. The agony that bubbles up in the back of your throat.

“We know.” Simon regards you with empathy, understanding, and you shake the attention loose, pushing ahead of them, down the bridge and into town, into Asphodel Meadows itself, eager to leave the river and its woe behind.

In town, the Kings are well received. It surprises you, to watch them in the street, welcomed by the souls who live there. They take you on a tour, introducing you to residents, explaining the structure, the magic and the infrastructure that makes it all work. Souls take their preferred form in Asphodel Meadows, allowed to choose for themselves, whatever they feel most comfortable in, and you’re shocked that such benevolence would be bestowed upon anyone in the Underworld.

Why are they showing you this? Why go to such great lengths? What is the purpose?

“Hi.” A small voice breaks you from your confusion, and you find a small girl at your feet, bouquet of Narcissus clutched in her tiny hands. You crouch.

“Hello.”

“I’m Phoebe.” She giggles, cheeks round and rosy.

“I’m Persephone.” You incline your head. “Phoebe is a beautiful name.” Your heart pangs. She’s so small, so… fragile. How did she die? Where is her family? Is she here alone?

“Thank you, my lady.” She tries to bow, and you rush to stop her, stilling her with a hand.

“Are those for me?”

“They are. Johnny said they’re your favorites.” Johnny? You glance over to where they stand, both turned your way, something unreadable in their reflections.

“Well, thank you. They’re lovely.” She wishes you well, skipping off in another direction, and you meander across the street, unable to hide your quizzical expression.

“Johnny? Not Hades?”

“Ach. The kids they’re… they’re usually a wee bit scared, first thing. It’s better for them, if we’re friends.” He shrugs, but Simon watches him in reverence, pure love and light beaming from his gaze, adoration in every slow blink.

Your heart skips.

Fuck.

“Are you not hungry?” Simon muses, walking beside you and John in the castle. Your shoes tap along the way, echoing, and Cerberus barks. John glares at them.

“I… I am afraid to eat here.” They both stop short.

“Why?”

“I have always heard… a myth. That if you somehow find yourself here and you eat, you’ll become trapped, stuck here forever.” Simon chuckles, dry and warm.

“No, darling. Please, we do not wish for you to starve.”

“The legend isnae true. Only by eating whole pomegranate seeds that ye pluck from the flesh of the fruit yerself, can ye become bound to the land. And we dinnae serve those.” He winks, stepping a little closer. “Ye can eat, little goddess. Please. Join us for dinner, we insist.”

“Okay.”

Simon is not at dinner.

John makes no mention of it, and only when you’re halfway done does he offer an explanation, something important that needed to be tended to.

“Ye look stunning.” He hums, and you have half the decency to smile. You chose a dress from the never-ending closet, black to match their suits, for fun. Its back is open, and the front offers a generous view of your breasts, but not quite enough.

You felt like sin. Johnny has been staring like you are. And maybe, you didn’t want sex, but you did want to punish them for their treachery. If only a little bit.

For making you a fool.

“So, no Simon?” He swallows a mouthful of red wine.

“He apologizes. Somethin’ came up.”

“That’s alright.” You shift, legs crossing. The transition is unintentional, but it draws Johnny’s eyes to your knees, and up. You lift your glass, the largest goblet of red wine you’ve seen, and allow a small river of red to run from the corner of your mouth to your neck. It traces the valley between your breasts, and Johnny growls.

“Persephone.”

“What?” You ask, innocently.

“Ye’re playing with fire.” He grits, the gleam in his eyes one of a predator.

“I’m not playing with anything,” you hiss, slamming the glass down. It shatters, it sloshes, it spills onto the table and into your lap. “You’re the ones playing with me. Kidnapping me, holding me hostage.” Your anger builds, overflowing inside your soul, clawing at the locked box of your magic. Cerberus whines, galloping across the floor and out the main door, but you hardly notice, too focused on spitting as much fire and venom at your captor as you can. “Touring me around the Underworld, making yourselves look like some benevolent, beloved rulers when really all you are… are gods of death and decay.” John stares at you, wild eyed. Your chair clatters to the ground as you stand, fury rocketing through every vein in your body, ichor pulsing beneath your skin. You’re so, so close to your power; you can taste it. Can feel the way it screams, how it howls to you, churning in the depths of your being, rattling the cage it’s trapped inside.

Trapped. You’re trapped. Like always.

Your vision blurs, and you take a step towards John. It all happens so fast, so lightning quick that it doesn’t even register until your hand is swinging through the air and across his face.

He does nothing. You feel the rumble of his power, pushing and pulling at the seams of your very being, waiting to tear your apart, but he holds himself at bay.

Only watches you with cold, wrathful eyes.

The air chills.

“That’s enough.” Simon stands between your bodies. Power, so potent, so strong, wraps tight, shoving your wrists together, Golden cuffs immobilizing you, holding you still. “You want to be a disobedient little brat, is that it?”

“YOU STOLE ME!” You scream it, raw and agonized. It tries to burst through your skin. Tries to explode your vessels. Your very heart. Your chest heaves, eyes wide, and John flanks you, coming closer and closer until you can feel his heat against your side.

He’s hard.

“What did ye think ye were doin, sweet Persephone? Did ye really think you could strike me?”

You don’t have an answer. Words die on your tongue. Guilt burns. Did you want to hurt him?

Did you?

The cuffs yank you forward. They singe your skin, dragging you to the table. “What’re you doing?” They drag you across the food until you're climbing on top, until your whole body is prone, feet dangling above the floor, bent at the waist.

“Is this what you wanted?” Simon mocks. Hands grip your hips, and your traitorous body clenches. “This what you need, little goddess? Need to be punished?” Your dress is shoved up around your waist, exposing your skin to the frigid air, and you force away a small moan. “You need your pain, darling?” Yes. Fingers pinch the back of your neck. “Answer me.”

“Yes.” You snap, darting daggers with your eyes over your shoulder. His answer is a chuckle.

“Turn your head.” He hisses, hand on the back of your skull. When you do, you come face to face with Johnny’s hips, the length of his cock freed from his suit pants and bobbing right in front of your mouth.

Oh, gods.

He strokes it slowly, the pink- nearly red tip oozing pre-cum, long and thick in his fist, his size enough to make your thighs press together, cunt throbbing with delight. Traitor.

“Open, darling.” He smears it against your lips. You tuck them in tight, trying to keep them closed, and he looks over, to the god who stands at the curve of your ass.

Simon takes a handful each of your cheeks, spreading you wide. He kicks your feet too, knocking your legs into an A-frame, fully exposing your weeping cunt.

“She’s dripping.” He announces, a finger sliding through your folds, body jolting with his touch. He circles your clit, barely, not enough, and you whine indignantly. It’s enough to loosen your lips, enough for Johnny to grasp your jaw, shove the tip of his thumb between your teeth, and then pry you open.

Once he gets the tip of his cock against your tongue, it’s over. Salt and earth dab along your tastebuds, and you drool on the table, trying to breathe through his rhythm, trying to focus as Simon tucks a finger into your hole, slowly pumping in and out, occasionally pulling free to swirl it around your untouched rim.

One finger inside you is enough to burn, heat rising through your belly, walls clenching tight, and John groans, pressing into the back of your throat, cutting off your airway.

“So good, all day.” Simon grits, stroking your clit in tiny circles. “Sweet Persephone, and now,” he’s building you closer, so close to the precipice, to the top of the mountain where you’ll hope he’ll throw you off.

But it’s not enough.

“I know darling, don’t worry. I’ll give you your pain.” He croons. John thrusts hard, drives into you vigorously, head thrown back. There’s a sheen of sweat on his neck, and you watch a slow rivulet dip beneath his collar. He’s so… they’re so…

A hand cracks across the tender skin of your ass, rippling out like a shockwave. You choke.

You clench. The tide rises.

“Fuck. There you go.” Light dances in front of your eyes, small pinpricks of stars, and you gurgle on the dick that shoves down your throat. Another strike, the same side, and you cry out, gasping for air. The tip of his finger gently pushes against your rim, and then it’s replaced with a mouth, a hot, intrepid tongue, swirling around as your hips buck and he plays with your clit.

You’re going to die. You’re going to explode. You need more.

You try to tell him, try to choke it out around John’s shaft, but it’s like he knows, like he’s reading your mind, and he pulls away to dig his teeth into the plump swell of your ass, biting down so hard you think you’re bleeding.

No. You are.

You scream.

Rivers of ichor paint your skin. The next spank comes directly over the puncture wounds, and instead of screaming in pain, you moan in pleasure, head held in Johnny’s hands, your face a tool for him to fuck, your pussy squeezing down around the single finger stroking in and out of your body. He swings again, and again, fire lighting behind your eyes, explosions going off one by one, your orgasm cresting, rising in the swell of an enormous wave, and just as you’re about to come, Simon plunges a finger deep into your ass, shoving you off the mountain.

To where they catch you below.

The rest is a blur. John finishes down your throat, salt and sweat and tears all mixing in your mouth, and he moans your name as he gives you a belly full of seed.

You’re limp, floating, drifting higher and farther than you ever have before, not in your body, not even in your own mind. Hardly cognizant when you’re picked up, tucked away in the shelter of a chest and carried down the hall. You close your eyes.

You come back a little bit when you’re placed in shallow hot water, a steaming, rocky pool, your face settled in Johnny’s neck. Cloth and deft fingers rub your shoulders, your waist, anywhere you might feel sore, even the bottoms of your feet.

All the while, they talk.

It starts simply, sweet words that fills you up until you can’t take anymore. “Did so well, darling. So good for us.” John murmurs in hushed tones as Simon shifts you, turning you on your belly to run the cloth between your legs and over your ass. It stings, and you hiss, but you’re soothed with an apology, gentle kisses down your spine, each one pressed with praise.

It’s not long before you’re tucked into bed, turned over on your side, some sort of magic and salve being applied to the bite in your skin. You’re gone now, barely aware, barely awake, but with it enough to catch the little bits here and there.

“-talk about it tomorrow.”

“If they’re from Demeter, I’ll-“ No. Not this. Anything but this. Distress catches in your chest, and fingers stroke your cheek.

“Shhh, sweet one. Rest now.” There’s a little touch of magic, a barely there pulse of power, and you let it take you into the soft comfort of sleep, bedded down like a fawn, cradled between two Kings.

*Hymn 2 to Demeter, line 347

#peaches writes #ghoap x reader #ghost x soap x reader #simon riley x reader #soap x reader #john mactavish x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #john soap mactavish #simon riley #ghost x soap #soap x reader x ghost #AIV #ghost x reader #hades and persephone #AIV(OFK)#modern retelling

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lendeah · 4 months

Text

No, my love. I'm not jealous of the walking encyclopedia.

Summary: Astarion is very much not jealous of Gale being your magic teacher. And he is definitely not going to teach him a lesson. or Astarion gets jealous of Gale teaching you magic and decides to teach him his own lesson.

Pairing: Astarion x Fem!Reader.

Word Count: 4.1k

Tags: Jealousy, Possessive Behavior, Exhibitionism, Vaginal Fingering, Cunnilingus, Possessive Sex, Vaginal Sex, Creampie , Public Sex, Public Nudity, Forest Sex, idk its a lot, Happy Ending, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings.

WARNING: +18, minors DNI

[AO3 Link]

You would've thought Astarion wasn't one to be jealous. He was always so nonchalant when it came to sharing you with others, or watching you giving affection to the rest of the group. So tranquil and chill. And you liked that! You loathed controlling behavior on your partners, as it should be. But over time, you noticed small details that betrayed his true feelings.

Despite his calm exterior, he would bite your neck harder after having drinks with Karlach, leaving marks for days. Or sometimes, if Shadowheart got too close for comfort, the vampire would fuck you so hard that night you were barely able to move the next day. Laughing at Wylls jokes? He would eat you out for hours on end until you were pleading for him to stop.

But it wasn't just during sex that he showed hints of jealousy. One day, while sitting at the campfire, Gale brushed his hand against your arm playfully as he told a story. You didn't think much of it until Astarion's hand casually slid over your hip and pulled you closer to him, silently claiming you as his own. As his fingers gripped your waist, he leaned in and planted soft kisses on your neck, causing you to blush at the unexpected display of affection. This pattern persisted for days, and you couldn't help but notice that whenever someone got too close or flirted with you, Astarion would subtly place an arm around your shoulders or play with your hair. It was like some sort of game to him, though he would never admit it to you.

The worst came when Gale offered to teach you to do magic. You were surprised by how easily you seemed to pick up the magical arts. Gale was also an excellent teacher, patient and encouraging. It was exhilarating every time you successfully cast a spell or even conjured a small flame in your hand. As you continued to learn and practice magic with Gale, you would excitedly retell your experiences to Astarion. You loved every moment of it and couldn't contain your enthusiasm. And even though he loved teasing and taunting you about your newly acquired magical abilities, he was also impressed by it.

"You truly are a surprising little thing," he would say with a genuine smile as he watched you practice spells.

But soon enough, you noticed that every time you brought it up, he would go harder during the night, making sure you were moaning his name loud enough to wake everyone in camp. After one particularly intense session, you were lying next to him in his bedroll, lightly tracing your fingers over the bite marks on his neck

"Are you okay?" you questioned softly.

Astarion's hand stilled on your back as he looked at you.

"Why do you ask?" he replied, his voice guarded.

"I just... you have been behaving a bit weird lately when I talk about my lessons with Gale."

He just scoffed "I simply find it amusing to think about you spending so much time with Gale of all people; his constant rambling must be driving you to madness."

You raised an eyebrow at his response, not buying it for a second. "Come on, Astarion. I know you better than that. What's really bothering you? Are you jealous?"

He looked at you shocked for a second, but then just laughed. "Haha! No, my love. I'm not jealous of the walking encyclopedia."

You couldn't help but laugh at Astarion's response. "Walking encyclopedia? That's a bit harsh, don't you think?"

Astarion just rolled his eyes and shrugged. "He's got as much magic expertise as he has a knack for being utterly irritating."

You just chuckled and decided to overlook it for the time being.

A few days later you were in the middle of a class with Gale laughing together about a miscast spell you couldn't seem to grasp. The wizard came up from behind and placed his hands on your waist to assist with your movements. You were so focused on the task at hand that neither of you noticed Astarion's arrival until he loudly cleared his throat, causing you both to startle.

"Having fun without me, I see," Astarion said with a smirk as he leaned against the nearby tree, arms crossed over his chest.

Gale responded with a nonchalant roll of his eyes to Astarion's usual snide remark, but you couldn't help feeling annoyed, already knowing where this conversation was headed.

"We were just practicing," you said curtly.

"Is that right?" he drawled with a smirk. He sauntered towards you, his fiery gaze assessing every inch of your being."Well, I apologize for interrupting your lesson, my love, but I do require your assistance. It's a matter of urgency, you see."

"Right now? Can't it wait?" you interjected, wanting to get back to your lesson with Gale.

"Is there anything amiss? Do you require our assistance?" Gale asked, his hand still grabbing your waist. Astarion's gaze locked on the hand, his eyes reflecting something almost primal.

"Nothing that should concern you," Astarion snapped, eyes fixed on Gale."This is an important matter I need to discuss with her. Alone."

You could feel Gale tense up beside you, his grip on your waist tightening ever so slightly. Sensing the tension between the two men, you quickly stepped out of Gale's grasp.

"Fine," you said with a sigh before turning to Gale. "I'll catch up with you later for our lesson."

Gale just nodded in understanding and gave you a small smile. Astarion didn't even wait for you to follow before walking in the direction of the woods. You rolled your eyes at his childish behavior before catching up to him. He effortlessly navigated through the dense forest, leading you to a clearing not far from Gale's tent with his elegant and agile footsteps.

"What did you need to discuss?" you asked, trying to sound calm.

Astarion's intense gaze snapped back to you, and with swift strides, he closed the distance between you. Without warning, he pulled you into a sudden and passionate kiss that nearly knocked you off balance. The taste of his cool lips sent electricity coursing through your body, igniting every nerve ending like a blazing fire.

"W-wh-" you tried to mumble, but Astarion's kiss was almost suffocating, his hands gripping your waist tightly and pulling you closer to him. Finally, you were able to break free from his grasp and take a step back, taking in his disheveled appearance, "By the Nine Hells Astarion, what is wrong with you?!"

Astarion smirked, his eyes glinting with a mixture of lust and mischief. "Gale was getting too chummy with you, darling. And we can't have anyone stealing my spotlight. He's a ticking time bomb, after all," he murmured, his voice low and seductive.

You rolled your eyes and swatted at him, trying to hide your growing frustration. "Don't give me that, you know as well as I do he is perfectly fine. Just admit it, you are jealous!"

Astarion's smirk fell completely now, his eyes darkening with anger. "You have no idea what you're talking about," he spat, taking a step back from you.

"Oh please, Astarion. You don't have to pretend with me. I can see right through you. The casual touches, the nights you go harder, the biting... All this nonchalant act is getting out of hand!" you snapped back at him, your frustration now bubbling over.

A flicker of emotion crossed Astarion's face, revealing a petulant anger that made him look almost childish. "I'm not envious," he insisted, his voice dripping with frustration. "It's just...he's so aggravating! Always touching you and trying to make you laugh."

"He is teaching me, Astarion. That's what teachers do!" you exclaimed, stepping closer to him.

But Astarion didn't relent. "You may be oblivious, my dear, but I see the way he looks at you," he muttered, "Whether you're fighting or casting spells, his eyes are always on you. It's quite maddening, really."

A shiver ran down your spine at Astarion's words and you couldn't help but feel a little confused. "You are imagining things," you whispered.

Astarion's gaze intensified as he leaned closer to you, his lips brushing yours. "Am I?" he purred, "Did you not see the way he was holding onto you when I walked in?"

You felt yourself blushing under his intense stare. "That's just how he is, Astarion. He's a naturally affectionate person," you tried to explain.

He chuckled. "A naturally affectionate person, you say? And yet...it seems I've never received such affections from him," he said, his gaze trailing over to where your tutor stood behind the trees. He turned back to you with a sly grin, his hand snaking around your waist. "Maybe it's about time we teach him a lesson," he whispered, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine.

A mischievous glint appeared in his eyes and before you knew it, Astarion had pushed you back against a nearby tree, his lips claiming yours in a heated kiss. Your thoughts faded away as you naturally wrapped your arms around his neck and deepened the kiss. Astarion’s grip drew you in, pulling you flush against him while his lips devoured yours. You were swept away by the sensation of his cold hands sliding under your shirt and along your back. Instinctively, your fingers tangled in his ivory hair, pulling at the curls and causing a low rumble to escape from his mouth.

But just as quickly as it began, Astarion pulled away with a satisfied smirk on his face.

"Oh darling," he purred in your ear, "what would your dear tutor say if he saw you now?"

Your face flushed hotly, a new wave of embarrassment washing over you.

"Astarion," you warned weakly, trying to escape his grasp.

But his hold only tightened, the arm around your waist bringing you flush against him once again. "Oh darling," he murmured, his voice low and tinged with amusement, his breath fanning your ear, sending jolts of electricity down your spine. "I'm just getting started."

Heart pounding in your chest, you willed yourself to meet his gaze. His crimson eyes bore through yours and despite everything that was happening, you felt a small flutter in your stomach. "You're impossible," you said finally, trying to sound stern but only succeeding in letting out a breathy sigh.

Astarion's lips curved into a wicked smile at your words. He leaned in close so you could feel the coolness of his breath on your skin and whispered, "Only for you."

Any further arguments were lost as he captured your lips once more with his own. The world around seemed to blur as you were consumed by the feeling of Astarion’s lips moving over yours. You could feel yourself melting into his touch, all thoughts of your tutor and any consequences forgotten.

Astarion's hand, which had been resting on your hip, began to glide down the length of your body until it reached between your legs. You couldn't help but let out a gasp at the unexpected touch, but Astarion only pressed himself closer to you, causing you to feel his hardness pressing against you. His hand continued to move teasingly, his fingers lightly pressing along the fabric of your trousers, causing small shivers to run through your body. You could feel yourself already dripping in anticipation, wondering if he could feel it through the fabric. The other hand that was now resting on your ass moved upwards, slowly unbuttoning your shirt. Your breath caught in anticipation as you felt the cool air hit your hot skin as Astarion opened your shirt fully. Astarion's hungry eyes roamed over your exposed chest, taking in every inch of your skin as his mouth descended on one of your nipples. He suckled and nipped at it gently with his fangs, sending sparks of pleasure through your body. You moaned softly and arched your back, fingers buried in his hair, pulling him closer as you lost yourself in the intense pleasure. Astarion's attention shifted to your other nipple, leaving a trail of wet kisses between them. You let out a small whimper as Astarion's hand finally slipped inside your trousers, his fingers exploring your wet folds.

Astarion's lips left your nipple and traveled upwards to capture your mouth once more, his tongue tangling with yours in a heated dance. As his fingers began to circle your clit, you couldn't help but moan loudly into his mouth.

He chuckled against your lips before breaking the kiss and whispering huskily in your ear, "You're so wet for me already."

At that your breath hitched, eyes traveling to the place where you could barely see the camp, watching as Gale read his book in the cushions of his tent. If he were to look in your direction, he would see everything that was taking place.

Astarion's fingers expertly explored your cunt, teasing and stroking your clit repeatedly. His lips never left your skin, trailing kisses down your neck and collarbone as his hand continued its movements between your legs. He pulled back slightly, looking down at you with a heated glare, "Well, well, well. Look at you, dear. All hot and bothered."

You couldn't help but blush at his words, feeling slightly embarrassed by your own actions. Just then, your thoughts were interrupted by a loud snort coming from Gale's tent.

"What if he heard us?" you whispered frantically to Astarion.

Astarion shrugged nonchalantly. "Let him hear," he said with a sly smile. "Maybe it'll make him realize what he's missing out on."

You rolled your eyes at his cockiness but couldn't deny the thrill that ran through your body at the thought of being caught by Gale. Then, to your surprise, he suddenly dropped to his knees and began to lower your trousers down to your ankles before pushing them away. Your heart was racing with anticipation as he revealed your wet and throbbing core. His eyes darkened with desire as he took in the sight before him.

"Delectable," he muttered, almost to himself, before he took your leg and placed it over his shoulder. Then, he leaned forward and pressed his mouth against your core, using his tongue to explore every inch of you. You moaned at the feeling, gripping the back of his head as he sucked on your nub and licked along your slit. The sensation was overwhelming, causing you to buck your hips against his face. Astarion's hands tightened on your thighs in response, holding you still as he continued his ministrations.

His thumb caressed circles around your swelling clit, a slight chuckle escaping his lips as he felt a surge of wetness spill from you at his touch. He then slowly pushed a finger inside of you, the sudden intrusion making you clench around him and grip his hair tighter.

"Such an exhibitionist you've become," he murmured, voice raspy. His eyes flickered up to meet yours, devilish delight dancing in them at your disheveled state. He added another finger inside of you, thrusting it in and out slowly while his rough thumb focused on your throbbing clit. You threw your head back in pleasure, biting your bottom lip to suppress the loud moans threatening to escape.

Suddenly, you heard Gale's voice call out from behind the trees, "Is everything alright over there?"

Astarion paused at the sound of his voice but didn't break away from you completely. He looked up at you with an amused grin, whispering, "Do we tell him, dear?"

The panic that had momentarily subsided returned full force, all the color drained from your face.

"T-tell him what?" you managed to say, trying to regain your composure as Astarion continued his teasing movements.

"That his lovely apprentice is currently being fingered by a vampire," he said with a mischievous look in his red eyes.

As you were about to retaliate, Astarion's fingers curled inside of you in just the right spot, sending electric shocks of pleasure through your body and cutting off any coherent thought.

You let out a loud moan, despite your efforts to hold back. At this, Gale's voice called out again, sounding closer this time. You tried to protest, but the words were lost in another wave of pleasure as Astarion's mouth latched onto your clit and sucked hard. Your hand flew to your mouth, biting it to prevent more sounds from emanating.

"Oh, no, that won't do dear." He whispered, gripping your wrist to pull it away from your lips.

You looked down at him with pleading eyes, silently begging him to stop and not let Gale discover you in this compromising position.

But Astarion only smirked up at you, his fingers still pumping inside of you as his tongue continued its assault on your clit. He shifted his position slightly, making sure that Gale wouldn't be able to see what was happening unless he came closer.

You could feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, the pleasure building and building until you were practically shaking with it. Astarion must have noticed, as he abruptly halted his actions and withdrew his mouth and hand, leaving you feeling empty and frustrated.

Before you could complain, his mouth was back on yours, swallowing any sounds that threatened to escape as his fingers found their way back inside of you. This time he didn't hold back, thrusting them in and out of you relentlessly while his other hand reached around to pinch and twist your already sore nipple. The sounds were so lewd and wet and loud, it was hard to imagine that Gale wasn't able to hear them.

"By the gods," you moaned in his mouth, breaking the kiss to gasp for air. "I need you. Now."

Astarion chuckled and pulled back to look at you, his red eyes glinting with desire. "You'll have to be more specific, love," he said teasingly, still keeping his fingers inside of you.

You could feel yourself getting more frustrated by the second. You needed him inside of you, filling you up and satisfying this aching need that had been building since he first touched you.

"Just...just fuck me already," you practically growled, finding it hard to form coherent thoughts with the way he was making your body tingle.

Astarion's smirk turned into a full-blown grin as he withdrew his fingers, licking them clean before whispering huskily. "Only if you don't hold back."

You grumbled under your breath as Astarion reached down and unbuttoned his pants, revealing his already rigid and eager member. Your heart races as you reach out, unable to resist the temptation, and wrap your hand around it, stroking lightly. He responds by lifting your leg with ease, wrapping it around his waist as he presses you against the rough bark of a nearby tree, igniting a burning desire within you.

He positioned himself between your legs, teasingly rubbing his hard length against your entrance.

With one swift thrust, he entered you fully, filling you up in all the right ways. You moaned loudly at the feeling of being filled by him, gripping onto his shoulders tightly. He began to move slowly at first, pulling out almost completely before thrusting back in. Each time he hit that perfect spot inside of you, you couldn't help but let out another loud moan. You could feel your walls tightening around him.

"Say my name," he groaned, his red eyes locking with yours, "Say my name so he knows."

"A-Astarion!" You cried out, heedless of the echo that bounced back from the surrounding trees. He chuckled darkly against your skin, his hot breath fanning over your dampened neck and sending shivers down to your core.

"That's it, my sweet," he praised. "Let them know who's making you feel this good."

His arrogance was infuriating and intoxicating all at once. Astarion's pace quickened as he chased his release, the sounds of your moans and the slap of skin against skin filling the air. His hands tightened around your thigh and hip, almost painfully so, but the slight discomfort only added to the intense pleasure coursing through you.

The rough bark of the tree was also scratching your back painfully, and you knew that it would leave bruises and scratches from this encounter, but in this moment, all you could focus on was Astarion and the way he was hitting that spot inside you time and time again.

A rustling in the bushes caught your attention for a brief moment, but Astarion's hand grasped your neck and his signature glance brought your focus back to him. You knew what that glance meant; he wanted to claim you fully. Without hesitation, you offered your neck and he wasted no time, sinking his fangs into your skin. The sensation was overwhelming - both painful and pleasurable at the same time. You moaned loudly as he drank from you, and Astarion's thrusts became erratic and desperate. Your hands were tangled in his hair, pulling him closer to you as you moaned his name over and over again.

As he felt himself reaching his peak, he reached down to the space where your bodies joined, and pressed his rough thumb against the sensitive nub there. Your mind spun, your vision blurred, and the world seemed at once both too bright and too dark as you gasped out his name one last time before the intensity of the orgasm took your voice away. Astarion groaned deeply against your neck, his fangs dislodging from your skin. You could feel yourself clenching around him, milking him for all he was worth as he continued to thrust into you until he found his own release.

With one final moan of your name, Astarion climaxed, his body tensing as he spilled himself inside of you. He collapsed against your body, both of you panting heavily as you tried to catch your breath.

Stunned by the whole encounter and paralyzed by exhaustion, you hung limply against Astarion whose arms felt like steel bands around you holding you up against the tree. The rustling in the bushes grew louder now, more insistent but neither of you cared enough to investigate the source.

His gaze flicked down to inspect the puncture marks left behind on your skin and an expression of satisfaction washed over his handsome face. He pressed a soft kiss on the two small wounds before pulling away from you, his body still trembling slightly from the afterglow. As he pulled out, you could both hear and feel the squelching, as the remnants of his seed dripped between your legs. You were left panting and trembling against the tree trunk as Astarion straightened up with a satisfied smirk on his face. You looked up at him in disbelief.

"I can't believe...you did that..." You managed to say between breaths.

Astarion chuckled and leaned in to kiss your forehead before calmly fixing your blouse straight and helping you retrieve your pants, which were thrown in the aftermath. He cleaned your legs and core with his own shirt, and you pointedly ignored his proud grin. He seemed so calm and collected, as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened between the two of you.

After you had composed yourself, you spoke firmly to Astarion. "Your jealousy is becoming a real problem," you told him. "This needs to be addressed. I'm not jesting this time."

As he started to speak, his usual defensive tone creeping in, you stepped forward and cup his face in your hands. You could feel the warmth radiating from his skin, evidence of the recent blood he had just consumed. Your thumbs gently traced over his cheeks, trying to convey all the love and understanding you have for him in that simple touch.

"I crave you and only you. These displays are unnecessary to win my affections, for you already have them completely. Astarion, I am yours, wholly and unconditionally."

Astarion's eyes widened in surprise before they softened. He cupped your face in his hands now, mirroring your gesture. "You truly mean that?" he said in a small voice.

You nodded, looking into his eyes without fear or doubt. You have known for a long time.

Astarion's lips curled up into a genuine smile, fangs and everything, before he leaned down to kiss you again. When you finally broke apart from the kiss, Astarion seemed almost sheepish.

"Well, I must admit, I was a tad envious. But who can blame me? You are so beautiful and incredible." He sighed dramatically, his thumb tracing gentle circles on your cheek. "And now look where it's gotten us. My apologies for letting it get the best of me."

You couldn't help but let out a small laugh at his words and embrace him tightly with your arms.

"Don't worry, a small public display isn't too terrible every now and then. But from now on, please let's keep our encounters in the privacy of our tent," you said with a playful wink.

Astarion chuckled and leaned down to kiss your forehead before returning the tight hug.

"I can do that," he said softly. "As long as I have you, I don't need any further exhibitions."

You smiled against his chest, feeling content and happy in his embrace.

"So, you think Gale caught us?"

#astarion ancunin #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 astarion #astarion x reader #bg3 #bg3 fanfic prompt #bg3 tav #astarion x tav #astarion fanfic #baldurs gate fanfiction #baldurs gate 3 #astarion baldurs gate #astarion #baldur's gate 3 #fanfic #astarion x you

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milkpup · 3 months

Text

✧ ns/fw alphabet: choso ✧

@ puffer1111 on twitter

ʚ ao3 ɞ / ʚ kofi ɞ / ʚ fic masterlist ɞ

›› choso x 18+f!reader

‹𝟹 tags: switch!choso, switch!reader, choso is a perv tbh

‹𝟹 notes: thought i'd make a lil smthn smthn while it's still valentine's day <3

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

›› still sticky from the mess both of you made, choso prefers to cuddle you for a long time, skin to skin. he likes to feel your warmth when he spoons you (although he does like to be little spoon sometimes too!)

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

›› he likes his hands the most. he definitely knows how to maneuver his fingers with precise motions. he knows what he's doing

›› he thinks it'd be cruel to pick just one part of your body that is his favorite, when everything about you is his favorite. so he would say all. but if you kept bugging him about it, he'd confess it's ur thighs. he definitely likes laying his head in ur lap and taking naps, or just squishing them <33

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

›› he thinks cum swapping is hot tbh. sometimes he tells you to not swallow all of it so he can kiss you after. (bonus: just likes fluids like cum + spit teehee). also loves cumming inside you

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

›› he has stolen your used panties before and used them. multiple times. in multiple ways. you thought the washing machine just magically ate them, but no, choso is a little pervert

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

›› although he's always been a lil freaky, he doesn't actually have much experience outside of your relationship. you kind of woke something in him tho. at first you had to teach him, but they always say the student surpasses the teacher :3

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

›› mating press.

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

›› he can be both. sometimes you can see the super concentrated look on his face, but usually he's really laid back and in tune with yours and his emotions / feelings. if something funny happens (like a queef) he will laugh. but so do you

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

›› he does what you like tbh. (this is not a cop out answer he just thinks since ur the one down there that u should tell him what to do)

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

›› he's so fkn cute fr. he loves holding your hand in whatever position you're in, intertwining his fingers with yours. he definitely whimpers and says "i love you" like a million times in a session

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

›› aside from the used panties stuff, he tries to limit the solo stuff. he'd rather save his loads for you than waste it in his hands. but on the off chance he does feel the urge, he's either using something of yours or watching the many videos you two made together

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

›› mommy kink frfr. he loves calling you mommy. and although he is a switch and does like to dom, nothing beats being taken care of by his mommy <3

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

›› literally anywhere. he will do it anywhere he doesn't even care. choso thinks semi public stuff is fun, like the forest or beach.

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

›› anything to do with you. looking at you, hearing your voice, smelling you, thinking about you, literally anything.

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

›› he couldn't do any pain towards you or even that much from you. choso would be fine w/ a light slap or spank, but nothing too rough ><

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

›› absolutely loves eating you out. he is a certified munch every day of the week. he could do only that and still feel satisfied. (he definitely jerks himself during that or dry humps the bed)

›› he loves you throat fucking him, but not as much as your cunt. he'd rather use that

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

›› both :3 starts out pretty slow and rhythmic but as he feels himself approach his orgasm he starts erratically and frantically fucking into you

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

›› it's alright, but he prefers longer sessions and would rather wait until you have a few hours alone

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

›› he will try anything you suggest to him. anything you are curious about he's instantly the #1 fan of

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

›› multiple rounds, an hour at least. he likes to switch up positions and take breaks with foreplay and toys to extend the fun time tbh

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

›› loves being leashed and collared by you. but also the same to him. he uses whatever you want, vibrators, dildos, plugs, etc on you. he sees it as a great way to have more fun

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

›› he prefers being teased more. he likes you bullying him

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

›› this man WHIMPERS a lot. such a slutty yet angelic sound tho tbh. he's loud, vocal, and likes to talk

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

›› too scared to ask you to wear thigh highs and let him thigh fuck you but he drools thinking abt it

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

›› 5 in soft, 7.5 in hard. cut, slightly curved, pale base like #FFF1E4, gradient towards the tip which is much redder like #FFD3CA, fluid #FEFEFE, slightly salty

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

›› as much as he can do it. he's a horndog fr. multiple times a day at least. but he always respects when you tell him no ^_^

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

›› near instantly. the post-sex cuddling almost always ends with him snoring within minutes :3

‹𝟹 notifs: @vvxxccaa @arylaa @navi-n0 @starshipxoxo @comicalgrievance

ʚ join my notifs ɞ

(･ω･)つ divider creds to @/cafekitsune and @/eloquentreverie

#choso kamo #choso kamo smut #choso smut #choso jjk #choso my beloved #choso jujutsu kaisen #jjk smut #choso x reader #choso x female reader #choso x you #choso x y/n #jjk x reader #jjk x reader smut #jjk x fem!reader #ns/fw alphabet #ao3 writer #ao3 fic #jjk fic #jjk drabble

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lunarmoves · 10 months

Text

beauty and the beasts

summary: you should've expected they were up to something when they picked you as a volunteer for one of their theatre shows. you just... didn't expect all of this.

pairing: DCA sun/moon/eclipse x reader

mentions: gender neutral reader, non-sexual intimacy, pining, fluff, true love's kiss<3, takes place when the dca used to work in the theatre, so includes ruin eclipse & their characterization, more eclipse-focused than anything tbh, eclipse uses they/them while sun & moon use he/him, they are all the same animatronic, lowercase fic

word count: 3.2k

ao3 link

this was not how you'd expected your day to go.

the theatre had been scheduled for an afternoon show according to the email you'd received from management. you were the only one on shift at the moment, so you were required to go and supervise. you didn't mind, not really. all of the jesters' stories were perfect for the kids, with just enough adventure, magic tricks, and morals to satisfy everyone. you liked watching them perform—weaving tales from that robotic mind of theirs. they never did the same story twice, not precisely, anyways. it was entertaining. and hey, getting to spend time in a dimly-lit auditorium beat having to walk around the plex any day.

ten minutes before showtime, you made your way over to the theatre and entered through the main double doors. families were already starting to trickle in, sitting on the plush seats that surrounded a curtained stage as they chattered excitedly. you smiled and offered polite nods to those you made eye contact with as you walked over to the stage to take your position next to it. you leaned against the wall and crossed your arms, gaze surveilling both the lower level and the balcony of the auditorium. looked like it was going to be a full house.

from your position, you could see the edge of the red curtain closest to you shift a tad before a glowing, white eye peeked out from behind it. you watched as it seemed to take stock of the room's capacity, the sunrays you could see spinning left and right in little motions. then the eye turned to look right at you.

you offered them a smile and a wave. they jerked back a little in a way that made your smile falter only slightly. then, their eye upturned in delight—sunrays spinning once around their faceplate—before they disappeared once more behind the curtain.

they'd been acting a bit weird lately, you pondered to yourself as you waited for the show to start. at least, weirder than usual. you'd caught them numerous times staring off into the distance—sometimes at you—or mumbling lowly to themselves. you figured maybe they were just thinking about more stories to perform. but when you'd approach them about it, they'd jump and their voice would start glitching out slightly before they'd run off to their little room.

they didn't always act like that, of course. it just happened enough times that you were starting to wonder if they were okay. did they need a check up in parts 'n services or something? maybe you'd bring it up next time you chatted with them.

as soon as the clock hit three p.m., the curtains rustled a little before a tall figure stepped out from the middle part. a hush settled over the theater at its sudden presence, the lights dimming slightly so that everyone's attention could focus on it.

"hello friends and welcome to the faztheatre!" eclipse spoke out, hands politely clasped in front of them as a spotlight beamed down on their body. you were always in awe at how easily they could command the attention of a room. their rays did a little wave-like motion around their faceplate, shifting the night cap they had on slightly. "before the show begins, please make sure to silence your cellular devices. flash photography is not permitted in the theatre. in the case of an emergency, exits are located in the back and to the sides of the stage. we hope you enjoy this fazbear-approved performance!"

and with that, they stepped back behind the curtain. a gentle murmur started up in the audience as music played from the speakers overhead. the lights dimmed further and you got yourself comfortable as the curtains parted so the first story could begin.

whoever designed eclipse had certainly done a good job helping to balance the three A.I.s they had in them. you always found amazement in how easily they were able to switch from eclipse, to sun, to moon. it was seamless—smooth. almost natural. you ended up zoning out slightly as you watched them perform, having watched this particular story so many times beforehand already. you mostly liked watching the motions they made, observing every click, twitch, and spin of their joints and head adornments.

ten minutes later, you were roused from your daydreaming when clapping erupted around the theatre. you blinked and glanced at the stage to see eclipse doing a little bow. done already? that was fast. well, the stories were rather short. each show was about half an hour long, after all. kids could only sit still for finite amounts of time. you clapped along for a bit, then quietened when you noticed eclipse straighten back up.

"for our next story," they said as they rocked back and forth on their heels, "we will need a volunteer!"

you tilted your head to the side slightly as a few hands waved up in the air, a chorus of 'me me me!' following in their wake. you don't think you'd ever supervised one of their performances where they asked for a volunteer from the audience. first time for everything, you supposed.

eclipse made a show out of tapping a finger against their chin, faceplate moving from one side of the theatre to the other until their bright gaze landed on you.

"you there! eager participant!" you blinked owlishly as a metal hand extended in your direction. their grin seemed to widen at your stupefied look. "come on up if you so insist!"

"wh—" you started, only to cut yourself off as your gaze darted around the audience. a sea of eyes stared at you, some expectant, some disappointed. sweat broke out on the back of your neck. "i don't—"

"come on, don't be shy!" eclipse bounced closer to the edge of the stage and reached a long hand over to grab at your arm. you swallowed thickly and found your legs moving to climb up the small set of stairs and onto the stage. the lights were so much brighter here, nearly blinding you and causing your eyes to squint slightly. large hands grasped at your shoulders, moving you along to the center of the stage. eclipse made a sound as though they were clearing their throat, then projected their voice out to the rest of the auditorium. "the show will resume in five minutes. please take this time to stretch, use the restroom, or purchase a drink and/or snack from one of our nearby stations!"

and with that, the curtains drew themselves back across the stage, hiding you and a seven-foot-something robot behind them. you were grateful for the reprieve from the lights, but the feeling did not last all too long.

"eclipse, dude, what the hell?" you wheezed as you stepped away from their hold and spun around to look up at them. a rasped 'language!' came from moon that you ignored as you gave them a look. a smile was still on their face. "you and i both know i didn't volunteer myself. what gives?"

"come on, it'll be fun!" they told you delightfully, rays spinning slightly. they swayed gently side to side to a tune you could not hear. you frowned. they were planning something, you knew it.

"i don't even know how to act," you grumbled, listening to the chatter of the audience from beyond the curtain. it left an uneasy feeling in your gut that made you feel slightly sweaty. you did your best to push it down.

"fret not, my dear! just follow along with us and you'll do wonderfully!" eclipse soothed you, hands reaching out to hold onto your upper arms. "you needn't even say a word, just allow us to guide you!" your frown only deepened before you let out a long sigh and allowed some of the tension to ease itself from your shoulders. something seemed to sparkle in their eyes at your relent.

you only had to last through a ten minute show for a bunch of children. you could do it. you didn't even need to speak. it shouldn't be too bad. "fine, but this is the only time i'm doing this, okay?" you wagged a finger up at them, then poked them right between their eyes that upturned at your action.

"amazing! now come—let's get you a costume."

five minutes went by quicker than you'd expected and soon you found yourself standing off to the side as eclipse stood in the center of the stage once more. you fixed the shiny headpiece they'd put on your head and took in a deep breath when music started playing through the speakers once more. the curtains withdrew and the audience quieted.

"once upon a time," eclipse began in a honey-coated voice—soft, gentle, dulce—as he narrated, "there lived a humble prince."

before your eyes, they shifted over to sun—who stood proudly on stage decorated with a fluffy cape and golden crown placed around the rays on his head. eclipse's voice continued on even as sun let out a hearty 'ho! ho ho!'. "the prince loved adventure. the thrill was something he chased after. sword in hand, he journeyed far and wide, looking for people he could help." sun brandished a wooden sword from somewhere behind him and bounced around the stage, pretending to fight invisible enemies.

"one day, the prince learned of a gentle noble who'd been kidnapped and locked far away in a castle for reasons unknown." that was your cue. you took in another deep breath and stepped into view on the stage, resisting the urge to squint your eyes in the light. "none had been able to save the noble, for a dangerous beast guarded them."

sun suddenly shifted over to moon, white eyes being replaced with red ones that lit up his face in an ominous glow. straight teeth slanted into ones sharp enough to rip you to shreds. the crown disappeared and was replaced by a familiar night cap. moon let out a low, raspy chuckle and swept up close to you, circling you slowly in a way that had goosebumps rising on your skin. he reached out a clawed hand and pulled you close to him so he could guide you across the stage in a strange, sweeping dance.

your gaze darted up to his face, allowing him to lead you along. moon's sharp grin seemed to widen at the slight confusion on your face. the close proximity made your heart skip a beat. you hoped he couldn't hear how fast it was racing.

moon suddenly let you go as eclipse continued with the tale, shifting over to sun in the process. you stepped away into the shadows of the curtains. "naturally, the prince believed this to be a worthy adventure. so he set off in search of the noble." sun marched about the stage, a determined look on his faceplate. "he found the beast in his travels. knowing he was close, the two fought against each other."

you watched as sun and moon took turns shifting into each other as they enacted a dramatic battle. it was interesting to look at, especially with you standing so close by. sun struck his sword out in front of him, then twirled around into the spot he'd slashed as he shifted into moon. "the prince won the battle. but as the beast lay dying on the floor"—moon made some choking sounds and collapsed onto the ground in a heap, clutching at his chassis where sun had presumably injured him—"he used his last breath to curse the prince."

moon made a clawed motion with his hand, then shifted up into sun who clutched at his rays and made a pained noise. he dropped his sword and cleverly kicked it to the side near the curtains. he seemed to fight with himself, rays jittering in and out of his head before he shifted into eclipse. they stared down confusedly at their sharp hands. "the prince turned into a beast. dazed and disoriented, he found himself stumbling towards the castle the noble was imprisoned in until he found them."

you emerged back into view as eclipse staggered over to you, reaching a clawed hand out. "the noble looked in horror at the prince, and as he managed to tell them that they were free—that he killed the beast—they only looked at him in sadness." you did your best to school your expressions into the ones eclipse was describing, but you weren't quite sure if you succeeded.

"the noble told the prince that they had been kidnapped and locked up because of their powerful magic. they had grown to believe it was dangerous and that they needed to keep away from society." eclipse took your hand in their own and squeezed it gently. you patted it sympathetically with your other one. "they refused to leave and with the prince now turned into a beast, he did not want to go either. so they stayed in that castle together—healing. grieving."

eclipse tugged you close and twirled you around in another dance, your hand still gripped in their own. they were being awfully touchy with you. you found yourself not minding all too much—not with how careful they were being. "the two grew close together over time. they danced around the feelings that had developed between them." eclipse dipped you swiftly and brought you back up so fast you wondered if it had happened at all. a rosiness dusted itself across your cheeks that you did your best to fan away. "but just when the prince thought to confess, disaster befell them."

eclipse ripped themselves away from you and shifted into moon again, crouched low to the floor. "a warrior had arrived at the castle, intending to free the noble once and for all without knowing their story. and upon seeing the prince-turned-beast, the warrior struck."

moon launched himself forward and made a slashing motion with one of his clawed hands. he spun around and switched over to eclipse, who clutched at their chassis and fell dramatically backwards onto the floor. "in the noble's grief at seeing the prince fall, they used their magic to end the warrior's life then stumbled over to the side of the prince."

you didn't know what to do about the whole 'using magic to end the warrior's life' bit, so you just fumbled your way over to eclipse's side and sank down onto your knees by their chest. their eyes were closed and they lay as still as possible. their voice continued on with the story. "the noble grieved over the prince's body." you sniffled and did your best to force yourself to cry, wiping your hand at your eyes. "and as the prince let out his last breath, the noble leaned down and gave him true love's kiss."

wait— what the fuck?

there was a moment where you froze, eyes widening slightly. eclipse's grin twitched from where they were laying on the floor, feigning death—or close to it, anyways. and as you processed the words they'd spoken, you shot them an incredulous look and felt your face burn with the heat of a thousand suns.

were they messing with you? they were just messing with you, right? you glanced up at the audience before you—so silent that you'd nearly forgotten you were on stage, performing. right. you were just acting. you swallowed heavily and—ignoring the way your heart thumped rapidly away in your chest—leaned down to press a light kiss to the metal of their smile. you added a weak "mwah" for effect.

eclipse's grin widened delightedly.

"the prince turned back to normal and came back to life," eclipse said as they shifted back into sun, who wasted no time in springing to his feet and grabbing onto you. he swept you up into a crushing hug that shocked a laugh from you and spun around, rays happily clicking in and out of his face. "and they all lived happily ever after. the end."

the audience burst into applause at the end of eclipse's story, the sound echoing in your ears. but all you could hear was the pounding of your heart—feel the breathlessness in your lungs. sun grinned happily up at you as the curtains drew together once again, swathing the both of you in shadow.

"you did great, dearest!" sun exclaimed once you were both out of view, spinning you around once more for good measure. you laughed and attempted to hold onto the headpiece you were still wearing to no avail. it slipped off your head and fell somewhere to the floor in a light clatter that you couldn't hear over the crowd of people leaving the theatre.

"that was surprisingly fun," you admitted, your hands holding onto sun's shoulders so you could keep your balance. "it's cool seeing you guys at work. you've really got a knack for storytelling." as sun preened with your compliment, you paused for a second and thought back to the ending. "well. you've got a few plot holes."

sun's grin twitched a little before he switched over to moon. it was a bit strange, especially with you still clutched in his hold. moon grinned sharply at you. "plot holes? do tell."

"well for one, the noble used their magic to kill the warrior when they were in the castle because they were afraid of how dangerous they were," you rambled, tapping moon on the arm so he could set you down. he did so after a short moment of hesitation. you fixed your clothes once you were solidly on the ground. "like, talk about trauma. no way they're gonna wanna leave the castle after that. they didn't really have any character development either in terms of accepting their magic."

moon tilted his head at you then said, in a dry voice, "it's a story for children. they won't remember it by tomorrow." he then switched over to eclipse, who clasped their hands together.

"we'll workshop it!" they chimed out, swaying side to side animatedly. "a tale of helping others, love, and embracing who you are!"

you gave them a smile. "i'm sure it'll be great after."

eclipse seemed to look at you then, almost in an expectant manner. their hands wrung together. "you know, maybe you should get a position as a theatre assistant! you'll do numbers on stage!"

at that, you laughed and waved a hand at them. "who, me? no thanks, i don't think acting's for me. you guys do fine on your own." something changed in their expression that you couldn't quite make out, but before you could ruminate on it further, you distracted yourself with looking at your phone. you didn't know why you were feeling so... odd. you brushed it off easily. "i need to get going. got a mess to clean in bonnie bowl. i'll catch you guys later."

with that, you spun around and waved at eclipse as you headed to the stage's stairs. you couldn't linger—if you did then you'd never leave. their arm spasmed a little before they lifted it up to wave back at you. "come back soon, friend!" they called out, watching as you disappeared past the thick, red curtains. they waited—as though hoping you'd return—but when you didn't, their body slumped.

their arm fell slightly before they reached their hand up to touch at the smooth metal of their grin thoughtfully. longingly.

eclipse sighed, the sound getting lost in a stage that was a bit too big for just a solo act.

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spacedace · 9 months

Text

Reluctant War AU Part 4

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Everything I know about Flash and the FlashFam (& Flash enemies) comes from fandom and theflashmuseum on tiktok so fair warning on that lol

Sorry if Barry is out of character or things don't line up with canon. Canon is a stranger I think I passed in a crowded room once, I did not ask for its number lol

Anyway, time to touch a bit more on that whole Ancient of the Speedforce Elle thing yeah? Here be a sprinkle more of that and I promise there's more to come haha

Gonna start posting this on Ao3 soon, probably Monday or Tuesday, so heads up I may stop adding these parts here on tumblr once I do

---

It lived beneath his skin.

For a long time Barry had never believed in magic. His world was grounded, scientific, made of predictable rules and laws. Tools that could be used to explain everything strange or supernatural away as just another odd twist of the massive universe they all belonged to.

It took perhaps a little longer than it should have to admit that magic was as real as thermodynamics and gravity and atoms. That the world was a great deal stranger than even science - for all its own wildness at times - could account for. There were things that went bump in the night. Hells below and heavens above and things that crawled and clawed their way out from the places in between.

It was almost a little embarrassing how long it had taken him to admit to such things, when considering his relationship with the Speedforce.

A force of the universe. Like gravity or time, pushing and pulling everything along. Something that could be explained with all the familiar scientific concepts that had buoyed him along in life for so long.

Except.

Buzzing, burning, blistering. Not painful but felt. Making his hair stand on end, his fingers tingle and numb. Sliding against his veins, bouncing between scar tissue and freckles. Pressing out from the confines of his sternum, rattling against his rib cage as it shifted and moved. Twining around each and every vertebrae. Coiling over and under itself within his skull, darting along the paths of his neurons and nerves. It hummed in every cell in his body. Darted and danced in the space between the atoms that made up his very existence.

The Speedforce lived beneath his skin.

Lived.

Not existed. Not contained. Lived.

He couched it in terms of science, but science - despite his long time refusal to acknowledge it - wasn’t really able to explain the full scope of what he could feel. Not just the power of the Speedforce, but the…the identity of it. The living part that made it’s home in his body, existing in a way that was separate from him. Distant and indistinct most of the time, but…sentient.

He could feel it. Warm and excitable, delighting every time he tapped into it. Pushing him from behind urging him on and on, tugging him forward from ahead beckoning to go, faster, faster. Joyful in his victories, despairing in his loses.

It lived beneath his skin.

Until it didn’t.

He followed its joyful calls, pushed beyond what he should, what he knew was safe. Chasing that welcoming chant of faster, faster until he was there. In the Speedforce. More even, was the Speedforce.

He was everywhere. Beyond everywhere. In every possible everywhere it was possible to be. Every world, every universe, every multiverse.

To enter the Speedforce, to merge with it, was to become part of existence itself.

He couldn’t remember everything about it once he came back. He got flashes, sometimes, quick moments in dreams of places, of moments. What stuck with him most had been the feeling of it all. That had been the hardest part of returning. The sense of terrible loss, of having been surrounded by such a giddy, delighted, devoted love only to be pulled back from the heart of it. Returned to how he had been before, drifting at the edge of it all, it had been painful, agonizing even.

He…adapted, eventually. The sense of it all was still there, just distant. Something he’d come to feel he’d see again, someday.

It had been different, recently.

His powers were the same, he just as fast as ever, but…there was something…off. Changed. A sense that while his speed remained, the Speedforce had become, for lack of a better word, quiet. Distant.

He’d been having dreams, since it started. Not the quick glimpses of his time where he’d merged with the Speedforce. No, instead they were more nightmarish. Not nightmares exactly, though he felt like they should be with what they contained, but something else. Something that felt unnervingly real, left him confused and reeling when he woke with the certainty that when he opened his eyes he’d see the same as what his dreams held.

In the dream, he was in a room.

Cement and metal, hostile and brutalistic in design. He was bound in place, standing upright with feet and hands spread wide and locked in place within strange devices. Gleaming chrome and brilliant green, a painful thrum of energy surging through his body - not the Speedforce, something else, deeply unpleasant pulsing through every cell of his being and freezing him in place more firmly then the restraints did. Projectors hung from the ceiling, displaying images of landscapes, changing every ten second or so.

The sight of them made him nauseous, body shivering and spasming with the burning, agonizing need to go, but at the same time there was something distantly soothed by them too. Like a gnawing hunger abated with water and crumbs. The need for food not gone but the pangs diminished by the false feeling of being full.

In the dream he felt like he was dying.

In the dream he was afraid that maybe he couldn’t.

That he’d be trapped alive in that state forever, watching places he’d never see in person again as he was trapped in one place. His mind spiraling his Core splintering under the weight of it all, scared so scared. He wanted his brother, wanted to see the cement walls explode into dust and debris and see him there, ready to save the day like he had so many times before.

He just had to wait. His brother was looking for him, would have everyone in the Realms looking for him. He just had to hold on.

Barry didn’t have a brother. He only remembered when he woke, heart hammering in his chest fast even by his own standards, mouth tasting of bile and body aching with the need to go.

He hadn’t been sleeping much these days, even before the King of the Dead declared war.

It was having its effects, as sleep deprivation always did. His mind drifting, catching again and again on the dream, attention far away from the world around him. How many times had he been startled by someone calling his name, touching his arm? How many times had they given him a pinched, worried look that told him they’d been trying to reach him for longer than they should have before he noticed.

He was aware, distantly, of the glowering, stern faces around him. The flinty looks of his friends’ and partners’ eyes as they stared at the image of Waller’s scowling mug.

She’d declined an in-person meeting, hunkering down in some bunker somewhere trying to avoid the consequences of her latest atrocities. Or maybe just trying to avoid the very real possibility that one of the members of JL Dark might try to kill her for what she’s caused.

Or JL light, for that matter.

Bruce and Clark had their rules that they lived by, but Diana certainly wouldn’t hesitate to splatter Waller’s brains across the nearest available wall. In reviewing footage of one of the last battles - she’d been at the other one at the time, trying to contend with a ghost in the shape of an ethereal dragon - she’d recognized the spectral figures of Amazons long dead, fierce even in death as they fought with a warrior’s pride along side the rest of Phantom’s armies. They followed a figure that towered even above the Amazons, four arms and gleaming armor and a name that Barry associated with ruin and forgotten hope but who was so much more to Diana. Heroes long departed to the fields of Elysium, stepping out of their well earned rest to fight once more.

A few hadn’t survived the weapons the GIW shot them with. Barry didn’t know what that meant, for a ghost to die. If they simply returned to their afterlife or -

He tried not to think about the or.

They’d been going back and forth for awhile now. Voices faraway, muffled. The world felt as if it was underwater, blurred and cold. Clark had gotten to his feet at some point, Waller’s grip on a pen so tight on the screen he expected to see if burst at any moment. It was an important meeting, an important discussion. One he needed to be apart of, aware of, but it all escaped him. Sand held too tightly, slipping through his fingers. On the screen, Waller hit a button on the computer beside her and the image changed.

The world burned back to life in sharp relief.

The dream.

The room.

Cold cement. Projections of unreachable places on the walls. Chrome and green machinery in a configuration meant to contain.

It looked larger on the screen.

Maybe it was how small the figure held prisoner inside it was.

She was young. A child, no older than Superboy Jr. or Robin. She looked like Phantom - her father - but there were differences. Her hair was white, but it didn’t look like the spun starlight of her father’s. Instead it burned, the bright hot crackling of the plasma of a lighting bolt striking. Skin the blur of shapes caught just at the corner of the eye as you ran past, Eyes -

Looking at him.

The image had come up, a live feed - he knew it was live, knew he was looking at her where she was at that exact moment - and she’d been as he was every time he tried to sleep. Trembling and shuttering, eyes squinting against the pain, trying to stay open so as not to miss a single moment of the flat images imposed on blank cement walls. Desperate to fill the fathomless hunger burning deep down in the Core of her.

But then a shuttering breath and her eyes - the burning green of an afterimage - snapped up to the camera. Snapped up to look at him, recognition in her young face. And despite never having seen this girl before, he recognized her too.

The Speedforce lived beneath his skin.

She lived beneath his skin.

He could feel her there. Buzzing, burning, blistering. Not painful, but felt.

Not as felt as she used to be.

The image snapped back to Waller’s face, smug and self-satisfied. Talking - lying - about the how the girl was there, what the GIW’s intentions for her were. Barry was on his feet, but so was everyone else. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, could only hear static, the rush of wind, the crack of the lightning bolt. A call for help.

It was then that the alarms began to blare. On the screen someone rushed in to whisper into Waller’s ear. Bruce was running out of the room towards the Zeta tubes and Barry was right there with him and there was so much chaos around them, men in white and Gothamites and Ghosts banding together to rain terror down upon them and something massive and horrible and living towering above it all and Barry let go of that last bits of logic and thought.

Instinct, older than he was. The echo of a voice that had called him for years now, carrying him along, biding him forward:

Run.

Someone might have shouted after him as he left Gotham behind. He didn’t know.

All he knew was the pounding of his feet upon the ground, the wind in his face, the Speedforce lashing and frantic and hopeful burning and sizzling beneath his skin. Calling him further and further away until he stood in a vast, empty field staring at a single, rusted shack near ready to collapse before him.

He wasn’t alone.

Wally. Bart. Max. More still. Not just his family and friends. Eobard. Hunter. Thaddeus. Everyone touched by the Speedforce.

They didn’t speak. Bodies humming and thrumming, crackling with energy and intent.

Minds as one, they focused on the shed, the hidden hatch inside, the base hidden deep below.

The Speedforce lived beneath their skin, and no one was going to steal it away from them.

#dpxdc #dc x dp #dp x dc #barry allen #justice league #flashfam #dani phantom #danielle phantom #elle phantom #ancient of the speedforce elle #ever onward elle #amanda waller #eldritch speedforce #kinda #unsettling speedforce at the very least #cut to 20 minutes later to all of the speedsters & Elle at a waffle house having the world's most awkward family reunion #Dick gets a call from his bank about his card being used to buy several thousand dollars worth of breakfast food in another state #& immediate calls Wally like #Dick: YOU TOOK OFF IN THE MIDDLE OF A FULL ON WAR IN GOTHAM TO GO GET WAFFLES?#(because of course he gave Wally his card - he's bought Wally a god damn expensive ass apartment they're basically married)#Dick: I THOUGHT YOU WERE BEING MIND CONTROLLED #Wally: ....sorta? But like...in a good way?#Dick: How can there POSSIBLY be a good way of being mind controlled?!#Wally: you know what actually I'm gonna make our new mom explain this one #Dick: ...WHAT DOES THAT *MEAN*???

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justporo · 5 months

Text

Tokens of Appreciation

Astarion likes to bring you little gifts and presenting them to you in his overly dramatic way and little bit of playful banter (that he totally didn't make all up on his way home to you).

MASTERLIST | AO3

Author's Note: Written for the "Gifts" prompt of the BG3 Winter Holiday challenge. I like the idea of just showering a loved one with random gifts and being like "this made me think of you" - and also I imagine Astarion could be pretty cute and loving in a genuine relationship with doing stuff like this (albeit insufferably sassy, lol)

Pairing: Astarion/GN!Tav (You) Warnings: none Wordcount: 1,1k ~~~

Throughout winter time Astarion brought you presents. Little trinkets or a sweet treats (accompanied by him saying “a treat for my sweet” and a wink while you act like you’re going to have to throw up from his cheesiness), a single blossom of a flower besting the ice and the snow or maybe a bottle of wine the two of you could share together. It almost had the musings of a cat bringing its owner “gifts” - but you were happy that yours were much more delightful than what a feline predator would have brought in. He didn’t tell you where he would get these small tokens of appreciation - and you didn’t ask. That was part of the magic of this little game. Though, you had the distinct feeling that many of these weren’t acquired under explicitly lawfully good circumstances. But to the hells with that, you were a former thief and he a rogue, what else was new?

It had become a habit for him that whenever he went into the city to run some errands that he would grab a little something for you as well. You had dared to become accustomed to the sweet little gestures and were excited anytime you knew he’d return with a little surprise for you.

The vampire meanwhile had found he enjoyed this way of showing you a bit of admiration: a sign of thinking of you, making the time to grab something and show you some love - all without him having to give anything of himself up. Rather, it even gave him something as well: whenever he saw how your face started to beam with love and admiration, your eyes lighting up, he felt how his own chest felt lighter, warmer and a telltale smile stole onto his lips.

A naive fool might’ve called that love. Astarion counted himself among such fools when it came to you - if exclusively so.

And then he made a show of it each time too. Like when he brought you a flower that was magically frozen in a sphere of ice.

Astarion came into the kitchen where you had been preparing some dinner for yourself still fully clothed from going out. The way he’d sauntered into the room had already told you that he had a little something planned and was infinitely proud of himself - he was terribly predictable sometimes.

When he cleared his throat to get your attention you had obediently put down the vegetables you’d been currently cutting and turned around to him, leaning casually against the counter. The vampire had been waiting with a smug grin, his arms still by his sides so the cloak was fully covering his form.

“My sweet darling, I have something for you,” he said and leaned a little closer in a playful sort of way.

You immediately joined his little back and forth that you already were well accustomed to. Placing your hand on your chest as if asking ‘for me?’ you made a delighted “Oh?” and smiled at him.

With a swift movement the vampire sent one side of his cloak flying, revealing his hand under it which held a shiny sphere. Dexterously, he let the perfect, transparent sphere roll over his wrist and down his arm. And just before the ball fell to the ground he let it smoothly wander onto his other arm. With a quick shrug of his shoulder he made the shiny thing roll up and with a flick of his wrist he elegantly caught it and then offered it to you with a little bow.

“May I present to you, my love, a magically frozen blossom. The height of its existence forever caught in magically eternal ice. Beautiful if ice cold - almost like you, my dear,” he presented the gift to you, still in his little bow before you. You could see the twitch of his eyebrows and the corners of his mouth. Must’ve taken him the whole way home to come up with all of this.

You took the shiny sphere from him - immediately intrigued by its beauty and shininess. It was almost as if your history as a thief had permanently altered your brain to be drawn to shiny, glittery things; as if you had become a little magpie.

The sphere was merely cool in your hands, the ice encasing a wonderfully bright red blossom that immediately made you think of summertime. You turned the beautiful trinket in your hands admiring its beauty when, finally, Astarion’s words registered with you.

You pursed your lips and crossed your arms over your chest, still holding onto the icy sphere. The vampire grinned smugly at you - he’d been waiting for this moment.

“Astarion, dear, I did not just hear you call me frigid, did I?,” you had asked indignantly. The vampire grinned broader in response, putting even his fangs on display.

“Maybe I just called you cool, love,” he replied, sauntering over to where you were still leaning against the kitchen counter.

“Or - maybe,” you countered as Astarion leaned to you, placing one of his arms on the counter, “you just called me chilly.”

The vampire clicked his tongue and pouted: “My heart, you think so negatively of me. I would never dare to call you cold to your face.” He tried to stay serious but a smug grin crept onto his lips, making one corner of his mouth twitch. Meanwhile he leaned in a little closer. Seemingly he was convinced he’d soon be the winner of your little banter and would receive a kiss for all his efforts.

You though weren’t done playing.

“I’d hope so, Astarion. I really hope so. Because that would be so rich coming from a walking and talking corpse whose body heat can’t rise above room temperature”, you replied tongue in cheek as you stayed unimpressed by Astarion craning his neck to reach for you for a kiss.

When the vampire took in your words, he was taken aback. He stopped moving in, his eyes widened while his mouth had fallen open. Then his expression immediately changed into an amused and proud grin.

“My gods, dear,” Astarion said with a little chuckle, still grinning proudly at you.

“Alright,” he then said after staring at you for a bit longer, “I guess this burn has just proven that you’re anything but cold.”

You lifted your chin up and grinned triumphantly at him and Astarion quickly stole a little peck on your lips before he went back to the hallway to take off his cloak.

“Good! But if you’re still not convinced I can show you some heat later on”, you shouted after your vampire and were gifted with a genuine laugh.

Tag list: @spacebarbarianweird @sunfire-ancunin @tragedybunny @dependsonthedream @tallymonster @magazzne @micropoe10 @aoirohi @my-bunny-prince @lumienyx @fayeriess @darlingxdragon

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #astarion ancunin #fanfiction #astarion x tav #bg3 spoilers #baldur's gate iii #baldurs gate #astarion x mc #astarion x oc #bg3holidayfluffle23 #astarion x you #astarion x reader #bg3

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genshinluvr · 9 months

Text

Mr. Sweet Talker

Pairings: Various Genshin Men x Isekai'd!Reader (Lyney x Isekai's!Reader)

Summary: Aether and Paimon managed to snag free tickets to the magic show in Fontaine! It's all thanks to a certain famous Fontianian magician. Who knew he could be such a sweet talker?

Note: Since I took a break from posting fanfics last week, this is a mini-fic, so not a lot of men will be talking in this fic since this mini-fic does center around Lyney. If you're wondering if I'm going to add him to the harem or not, the answer is idk. I know, for sure, that I'm not going to be adding Freminet to the harem. I don't mind adding Lyney to the harem, but I have a feeling there are going to be people in my inbox telling me he's a minor— and debating over Genshin character's ages is something I do not want to deal with. Anyway! I don't post anywhere else but on Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and on AO3 (Aaliah_exo).

Warnings: None that I know of 🤔

Word Count: 3.3k

Your groans fill the living area as you plop on the couch, sprawling across Wriothesley and Pantalone’s lap. The two men glance at each other before looking at you. You roll over on your back and stare up at Wriothesley and Pantalone with a pout.

Pantalone runs his fingers through your hair. “What’s wrong, Butterfly?” Pantalone coos, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

“I thought summer break was going to be fun, but all I did was sleep in! There are a few weeks until school is back in session at the Akademiya. But I don’t want to return to the Akademiya, telling my professors and classmates that all I ever did during the summer was sleep in,” you say, puckering your lips.

“What else did you do during the summer? Aside from being in my arms, of course,” Wriothesley says, running his hands through his hair with a cheeky smile.

No, really. What else did you do during the summer? Summer is a blur at this point, and the only thing you remember was taking many, many naps. In fact, you slept so much during the summer that your sleep schedule is even worse than it already is. You can say you have traveled to many regions in Teyvat. After all, your boyfriends are from different nations, and you sometimes tag along with them while they work. So, you job shadowed your boyfriends sometimes?

The door to the estate slams open, startling you, Wriothesley, and Pantalone. Aether and Paimon enter the large estate— Paimon looks smug while Aether is wringing the water out of his hair with a grimace. You and Paimon lock gaze before she waves at you with a big smile.

“[Y/N]! Do you want to go to a magic show with us?” Paimon asks, floating over toward you.

You prop yourself up, accidentally digging your elbows into Wriothesley’s thighs. If it did hurt Wriothesley, he didn’t let it show on his face. Instead, the man looks at Paimon and Aether curiously. Magic show? With all of the things that exist on Teyvat, you’re sort of surprised that magic still exists despite there being Archons, dragons, and mythical creatures roaming and inhabiting Teyat.

“Depends! Who is ‘us’ exactly? You and Aether, or everyone in the abode?” you ask, sitting up and getting off Wriothesley and Pantalone. “And where is this magic show going to take place?”

Aether holds his hands up. “Whoa, slow down with the questions there, [Y/N]. The magic show is going to take place in Fontaine,” Aether says.

Your eyes light up. “Fontaine? I’ve always wanted to explore the City of Justice more often! Furina invited me to be a witness at one of the trials, but I wasn’t able to make it,” you say.

Paimon claps her hands, twirling in the air with excitement. “Great! Let’s get ready before the show starts! We know the magician of tonight’s show, and he managed to get us all the best seats in the house!” Paimon says, propping her hands on her hips with a smug smile.

You have no idea what Paimon is implying, but you went along with it anyway. When you were thrown into Teyvat, it was before Sumeru was released. And now, since you’re going to (according to Paimon and Aether) Opera Epiclese, you’re going to assume Fontaine is now released. You have stepped foot in other regions aside from Sumeru, Inazuma, Liyue, and Mondstadt, but it was brief.

You’re not sure what people typically wear to the Opera Epiclese. Since the citizens of Fontaine dress elegantly on a day-to-day basis, you opted to wear something classy. It’s the best thing you can find that isn’t too formal or too underdressed. The trip to Fontaine was fun— aside from the Meks attacking when you and the men accidentally used the wrong waypoint. But it’s fine because no one got hurt, not a single hair is out of place, and everyone’s clothes are spotless and creaseless. While the seating is free (all thanks to Paimon and Aether knowing the magician of the show), you weren’t sure where you wanted to sit. You don’t mind sitting in the first row or the second row. The main issue is the men fighting over who gets to sit next to you.

“I want to sit next to [Y/N] during the show,” Venti huffs, glaring at Albedo.

Albedo sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Well, if [Y/N] sits between us, then we don’t need to argue over who gets to sit next to [Y/N],” replies Albedo.

You plop on the chair, resting your elbow on the armrest while the men around you argue. You don’t care where you sit. The only thing you probably care about is being able to watch the magic show without any interruptions. And you’re also hoping the magician isn’t going to ask for volunteers or randomly pick someone from the audience for one part of the show. You don’t know how you’re going to react if it did happen.

“Oh? What’s going on here?” asks a suave voice.

The men stop bickering around you and turn toward the direction of the voice. You peek from behind Capitano to see a shorter male, around Xiao’s height, approaching you and your boyfriends. He stops in front of the group, propping his hands on his hips, and adjusts the hat on his head. On his right cheek is a single teardrop, and he has a braid on the left side of his head. His hair is almost the same color as Kazuha’s hair.

Paimon perks up, waving to the male. “Lyney! It’s good to see you!” Paimon cheers.

Lyney smiles at Paimon and graciously bows to Paimon.

“Lyney! Good luck with your performance! We look forward to seeing you perform and wow the audience,” says Neuvillette, smiling at the shorter male before him.

Lyney’s eyes light up, and he smiles widely. “Thank you, Monsieur Neuvillette!” Lyney says.

Lyney looks at the others around him, and his eyes land on you. You’re fixing your shirt, making sure there isn’t any lint sticking to your silk shirt. You tuck your hair behind your ear before continuing to adjust your clothes.

“And who is this? I don’t believe we’ve met,” Lyney speaks up.

You look up to see Lyney standing before you, gazing at you curiously. You blink at the Fontainian magician owlishly and look around at the others, assuming he is talking to the men that aren’t from Fontaine.

Lyney laughs softly, shaking his head. “I’m talking to you, silly. You’re a fresh face around here, and I want to know my guest’s name before the show starts,” says Lyney.

“Oh! I thought you meant the others that aren’t natives to Fontaine aside from myself,” you laugh shyly, rubbing the back of your neck as you stand up to properly greet the Fontainian magician. “My name’s [Y/N]! It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lyney.”

You hold your hand out to shake Lyney’s hand. Lyney bows gracefully, grabs your hand, and presses a delicate kiss on your knuckles. You stare at Lyney with wide eyes, heat rushing to your cheeks as you begin to stutter. Scaramouche narrows his eyes at Lyney and is at your side almost immediately, wrapping his arms around your waist and walking away with you.

“I don’t like it when other people show affection toward you,” Scaramouche mutters.

You and Scaramouche end up bumping into someone. Scaramouche looks to see Lyney standing there, his hands propped on his hips as he gazes at you and Scaramouche with a small amused smile. Scaramouche does a double take and turns to where Lyney was standing before he and you bump into the Fontainian magician.

Lyney points at your ear. “You have something in your hair,” Lyney murmurs.

Your eyes widen, and you begin feeling around your hair, searching for the supposed object in your hair Lyney’s referring to. After a few seconds of searching around, you look at Lyney, confused. Lyney smiles and steps toward you, tucking your hair behind your ear. You stare at Lyney with wide eyes.

Lyney glances at you for a second before looking at the side of your head, humming softly. “Oh! I think I found it!” Lyney says.

You sigh in relief and see Lyney hold out a rose toward you.

“A rose for someone as beautiful as you. The rainbow rose is beautiful, but it pales in comparison to your beauty,” says Lyney, his cheeks turning bright pink.

Your eyes widen, and you grab the rose from Lyney’s hand. Lyney smiles and takes a step back, fixing his hat while ignoring the subtle (and some not-so-subtle) glares from the men around you two. You admire the beautiful flower native to Fontaine, lightly rubbing the rose petal between your thumb and index finger.

“Aside from the glaze lily, the rainbow rose is beautiful,” you murmur.

Lyney smiles, places his index and middle finger underneath your chin, and tilts your head up. “Both are beautiful flowers, but they’re not nearly as beautiful as you, my flower,” Lyney says, winking at you.

You gulp and stare at Lyney, cheeks ablaze. Who knew that the Fontainian magician was a sweet talker. Childe lets out a fake laugh as he slowly walks over to you and Lyney, draping his arms over your shoulders while standing tall. Lyney crosses his arms over his chest, looking at the irritated eleventh Harbinger with an amused look.

Childe pats your head. “I don’t know if you’re aware or not, but [Y/N] is my significant other. My snookums is taken,” Childe says, pulling you to his chest while glaring at the Fontainian magician.

Lyney laughs. “Well, your partner is quite a beauty. You might want to hold onto them tightly, or else someone is going to snatch them up,” Lyney jokes, taking his hat off and twirling them on the tip of his finger. “And Snookums is their nickname? How adorable, but a little bit too common.”

Dainsleif raises his eyebrows at Lyney’s comment while Childe lets out another fake laugh, hugging you to his chest tightly. You pat Childe’s back, trying your best not to let the ginger Harbinger crush you against his chest. You don’t mind it, but at least not in front of Fontaine’s famous magician.

Dainsleif crosses his arms over his chest. “And what nickname would you give them if they were your significant other?” Dainsleif asks.

Itto coughs. “Uh, Dainsleif, my guy, I don’t think we should give the magician guy permission to give our onikabuto booboo bear nicknames…” Itto trails off, tapping his foot on the ground.

An amused look flashes across Lyney’s face after hearing Itto’s comment. Lyney hums and strokes his chin while gazing at you intently. Your face heats up the more the Fontainian magician stares at you. Childe rests his chin beside your shoulders, glaring at the shorter male. Lyney snickers and shakes his head.

“Onikabuto booboo bear is certainly an interesting pet name for your significant other. It’s more unique than snookums, that’s for sure. However, it’s too much of a mouthful, and I believe someone as lovely as [Y/N] deserves something sweet and simple,” Lyney says, shrugging his shoulders.

You look around the Opera Epiclese, searching for a clock. You just want the show to start already. You don’t think you have the patience to deal with multiple people debating over nicknames given to you.

Ayato crosses his arms over his chest, looking at Lyney curiously. “And what is that?” Ayato asks.

Lyney smiles and grabs your hand, kissing your knuckles again. “Mon amour, have I ever told you how beautiful you look under the lights of the Opera Epiclese?” Lyney purrs, looking up at you through his thick eyelashes.

“Huh!? Mon amour!? That’s just ‘my love,’ but in another language!” Kaveh exclaims, propping one hand on his hip while leaning on one leg.

Cyno yawns. “And you say the previous nicknames aren’t creative? I would say the same for you,” Cyno mutters nonchalantly.

Lyney releases your hand and sighs softly. “While the nickname is common, I believe it sounds better and more endearing in another language,” Lyney says proudly.

Tighnari huffs and leans to Albedo, whispering, “I find it ironic how he doesn’t like the nicknames Childe and Itto had given [Y/N] when the nickname he gave [Y/N] falls in the same category.”

Albedo chuckles and shakes his head. You sigh and close your eyes, mentally praying to the Hydro Archon to start the magic show already so you don’t have to be caught in the middle of whatever is going on right now. As if the Archon has heard your prayers, the doors to the Opera Epiclese open, and audience members gradually start trickling into the room. Lyney sighs, turning to look at the men around you.

“This is my cue to prepare for the show. I hope you all enjoy the show!” Lyney says, smiling at everyone before turning to look at you. “I hope you’ll cheer for me as I perform, mon amour,” Lyney adds, winking at you before walking to the back of the stage when Lynette gestures for him to get his butt backstage.

You sigh, puffing your cheeks out before sitting down. The men grumble as they begin taking their seats, no longer arguing over who's going to be sitting beside you during the show. The magic show was almost two hours long— the overall show was entertaining, and you could see why Lyney is such a popular magician in Fontaine. He’s charming and witty. He knows how to put people on the edge of their seats, wanting to see more of the magic tricks up his sleeves.

Lights suddenly shine on you, startling you out of your thoughts. You look around cluelessly while the audience stares holes into your body. You clear your throat and look at the stage, only to see that Lynette’s the only person standing on stage while her brother, the star of the show, is nowhere to be seen.

“Huh?” You look around, searching for the Fontainian magician.

Hands cover your eyes, causing you to place your hands over the person’s hands. You hear shuffling from behind you.

The person whispers, “How much do you trust me?”

You space out. How much do you trust this person behind you? You know it’s Lyney. Who else would it be? You decide to go along with it and see where it goes from there. It’s part of his magic trick, and you wonder what he has in store for you and the audience.

You press your lips into a thin line. “I trust you a decent amount,” you reply.

“Do you trust me?” Lyney asks.

You nod slowly. “Yeah, I trust you,”

Lyney smiles and continues to cover your eyes. “Wonderful! Now, please stand up for me.”

You furrow your eyebrows with confusion but continue to do what he says. You hear more shuffling around you. You didn’t know what you were expecting, but when Lyney pulls his hands away from your eyes and tells you to open your eyes, you find yourself in another room. You’re still in the opera house, but you’re not in the audience.

You look at Lyney. “Where are we?” You ask.

“We’re backstage! However, I would like for you to do something for me,” Lyney says, walking toward the wooden box and gesturing to it.

You point at the box, raising your eyebrows at Lyney. “You want me to go in the box and do what exactly?” You ask. “I’ll have you know, I’m not a magician or an assistant to a magician.”

“It’s a surprise,” Lyney says, winking at you.

You get into the box and watch the other assistants close the box. You press your back against the box, feeling the box getting wheeled away somewhere. You trust Lyney despite meeting him not long ago before the performance. You hear the faint chattering of the audience and Lyney’s muffled voice from outside the box.

You were so distracted with trying to hear what Lyney was saying to the audience when the box was suddenly airborne. Your heart sinks into your chest, your stomach drops, and you close your eyes, bracing for impact. Whatever trick Lyney has up his sleeves, you trust him. You’re going to be okay, and you’re not going to get hurt.

Right?

The box opens, and Lyney peeks into the box, gazing at you. You stare at Lyney, confused. Lyney holds his hands out for you to take. You grab his hands and step out of the box. You thought the box was falling from a great distance, but you were wrong. One minute you assume you’re freefalling in a box, and now you find yourself standing on a platform beside Lyney.

Huh? What just happened?

“Why do you look confused?” Lyney teases, poking your cheeks.

You shake your head. “I have so many questions,” you mutter.

Lyney hands you a rainbow rose from thin air, giving them to you. You grab the flower and look at the audience, still confused about what happened. As much as you wanted to ask Lyney how you went from being in the audience to being on stage beside Lyney as his “volunteer assistant,” you have an inkling feeling Lyney is going to tell you the same thing. “A magician never reveals his secrets.”

Lyney laughs, twirling you around in front of the audience before having you face him. You blink rapidly, feeling the dizziness hit you. Lyney pinches your cheek and waves at the audience as they all begin to leave while the men get up from their seats and start walking over toward the stage. Lyney wraps his arms around your waist and jumps off the platform.

“You didn’t inform me about this stunt, Lyney,” Lynette says, propping her hands on her hips while glaring at her brother.

Lyney releases you, and you fix your clothes, sighing in relief when your feet touch the ground. Lyney rubs the back of his neck, laughing shyly.

“Lynette, I sometimes bring volunteers to the stage, remember?” Lyney reminds Lynette. “What? Don’t tell me you’re jealous,” Lyney teases, poking his sister’s cheek with a shit-eating grin.

Lynette rolls her eyes and lightly smacks Lyney’s hands from her face. You sit at the edge of the stage, blanking out. You’re not sure if you have brain fog or if Lyney is such a charmer that he can get you in many situations without noticing the warnings. You rub your temples and close your eyes, sighing. Your mind is all over the place— you can’t think straight. Someone stops beside you and sits next to you at the edge of the stage. You look to see Wriothesley and Neuvillette.

“Did I happen to space out the entire time during the show? I can’t help but feel like I missed out on a lot of things,” you say.

Neuvillette smiles and tucks your hair behind your ears. “Well, Lyney did ask for volunteers for the last part of the show, and you happen to volunteer,” replies Neuvillette.

Well, this is news to you.

You hug your knees to your chest and rest your chin on your knees. “That’s odd. I don’t remember volunteering,” you mumble.

Kaeya laughs from behind you, squatting behind you, and ruffles your hair. “Maybe you didn’t notice because he’s a sweet talker who managed to enchant you with his words,” Kaeya says, pinching your cheeks.

Gorou laughs nervously. “I would be careful if I were you. It seems like his sister isn’t too pleased about him giving you that rainbow rose,” Gorou says, peeking over his shoulders.

You shrug your shoulders and rest your head on Neuvillette’s shoulders, twirling the rainbow rose around by the stem. Unbeknownst to you, Lyney doesn’t plan on stopping wooing you anytime soon. As long as he (and the others) get to see the pretty smile on your face, Lyney doesn’t want to stop sweet talking you.

Note: Not sure how I feel about this mini-fic.... anyway, depending on how high demand Lyney is and if he's an adult (or at least a young adult above the age of 19), I will add him to the harem. Other than that, he and his little brother will make appearances in fics here and there, depending on what the fic is about. Freminet is not going to be added to the harem, in case anyone is wondering. Since there is a hurricane headed toward my state, I don't know how the future of this upcoming fanfic is going to turn out. I'm just hoping the power doesn't go out and that everything will be fine. I just want to write fanfics and post them. Anyway, to all my new and returning readers, keep in mind that I ONLY post on my Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and my AO3 (Aaliah_exo)! Nowhere else except Tumblr and AO3!

Taglist for my Isekai'd!Reader one-shot series and my overall taglist: @chirikoheina, @yoru-trash, @kaoyamamegami, @deartoru, @toobytub, @ins4nebish, @bokuto-kinnie, @jadedist, @mompt2, @thelost-in-time, @ventisweetheart, @hispasian-otaku, @juuuuuj101010, @samarill, @testsubject0012, @irisxiel, @kazuhaprnt, @lunarapple, @emilymikado, @vinnie-w, @n8mareee, @heyimkay, @eliciana, @blesstosuisen, @goldeneclipsedragon, @jjvr4yxc, @sovermike-21-blog, @vox34, @skyyyyackerman, @undecidingfate, @nightlysunn, @faeryminnyx, @simpcreator, @lucifarts-boxers, @thelovebuggs, @urlocalheizousimp, @sunlightstarr, @asoulsreverie, @thedarkwinterrose, @soobinsgirlfriend, @inapileofbooke

Read more of my works on my Masterlist / Masterlist 2 | Maybe support me by tipping me on Ko-Fi or by reblogging my fanfics! ^^ I will also be posting exclusive fanfics on Ko-Fi as well very soon! I might post all of my stories on there too, but who knows. You can also tip me on Tumblr if you'd like as a way to show support! ^^

848 notes · View notes

anto-pops · 1 year

Text

Lost and Found - Sebastian Sallow x Female! Reader

Summary: You’d both fucked up, and you both knew it. But Sebastian was starting to lose himself, and you couldn’t stop sobbing. The air was too thick for words, the pain and the anger and the fear combusting into a shrieking tempest. It was too much to bear in the cavernous room, and you both cracked. Two years of your steady cadence shuddered and fell like leaves when Sebastian found his voice first. “I’m fucking done.”

Alternatively summarized as Sebastian dealing with the aftermath of your break-up and working through his feelings.

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: Mild injuries, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending

Full fic can be found here on Ao3

Mostly Sebastian’s POV following the argument because I wanted to put him through it

Maybe you were naive for believing your last year at Hogwarts would be easy, but after Ranrok, Rookwood, the Keepers, and the whole debacle with Sebastian in the catacombs, you were desperate for a sense of normalcy. You had deluded yourself into thinking that things could only get better from then on, and for the most part, they had.

There was something about this semester, though. Something in the air, or in the water. Something in your clothes and in your bed and in your chest that just kept digging deeper and sharper, leaving you uneasy and on edge.

You and Sebastian had been tense with each other, even though you didn’t mean to be. Neither one of you meant to be assigning blame so harshly, or to be getting so worked up over nothing at all, ending up angry more often than not. Growing up had proven to be fucking scary, though, and the learning curve could be enough to knock most people on their asses and keep them there for a good, long while. You and Sebastian had juggled these fears and told one another about them after you’d both already blown up, and you had apologized quietly for snapping so hard over dumb shit like spilled vials of Wiggenweld, and sometimes it was enough.

Sometimes, it wasn’t.

It wasn’t enough when you threw your hands up one night to scold Sebastian too loudly for staying up late, cutting one too many corners, and getting busted in the restricted section. The weeks worth of detentions had only served to set back his schedule, but it was his own damn fault, so why was he complaining in the first place? You clenched your fists and your voice was shaking when, halfway through wondering aloud when Sebastian was going to learn to be fucking responsible, you realized you didn’t mean that, and that it was kind of a fucked up thing to say.

You might have tried to backpedal– to apologize– but Sebastian was tense. He was scared. He had fucked up his end of term project for Potions, and he was positive he’d basically failed an exam in History of Magic earlier today because of how scatterbrained he had been. He had yet to narrow down a potential career path for after school ended, which his professors never let him forget, much to his annoyance. So as you drew in a breath to stutter out an apology, Sebastian was too afraid of hearing more about what a fuckup he was to let you start.

Blindly, he picked up the closest thing to him on the desk situated between you both, and shot out of his seat to throw it at the wall. It turned out to be an ink container, the black, murky liquid spilling down the walls of the Room of Requirement, and the sound of the shattered pieces of the bottle cascading to the floor was muted by the volume of Sebastian’s cruel words.

When Sebastian was finally out of breath from screaming and your tears were streaming down your cheeks in earnest– the salt trails equal parts rage, disbelief, and guilt– the two of you stared at one another for a long, heavy moment.

You’d both fucked up, and you both knew it.

But Sebastian was starting to lose himself, and you couldn’t stop sobbing. The air was too thick for words, the pain and the anger and the fear combusting into a shrieking tempest. It was too much to bear in the cavernous room, and you both cracked.

Two years of your steady cadence shuddered and fell like leaves when Sebastian found his voice first.

“I’m fucking done.”

—

It had been three days of Sebastian actually staying in his dorm. He hadn’t been sleeping at all, but he was there during the night, and Ominis had been forced to listen to his friend toss and turn fitfully since he’d ended things with you so terribly.

Sebastian could still hear the echoing slam of the massive oak doors of the Room of Requirement. He could still hear the way you’d choked on your words, and when he closed his eyes in his vain attempts to quiet his mind, all he saw was you. Your hands curled into fists, teeth savaging your bottom lip, tears coursing down your face and dripping from your chin as you’d squeezed your bloodshot eyes closed and started erasing him from your mind.

At least, Sebastian imagined you had.

Given his shitty academic performance in recent weeks, Sebastian couldn’t afford to skip classes in order to avoid you, but it turned out that he didn’t have to. You hadn’t shown up once to any of your classes– even the ones you didn’t share with him. It hammered home the finality of what had transpired three nights ago, and if he drank a little too much stolen Firewhiskey to cope with the sinking feeling in his chest, Ominis elected not to say anything about it.

“You’ve been under a lot of stress recently,” Ominis said later that night, squeezing Sebastian’s shoulder as he used the brunet as leverage to lower himself into the couch cushions. The common room was deserted, and Sebastian was grateful for the lack of prying eyes, curling his hand tighter around the neck of the bottle between his legs. “Both of you have. Sometimes, things just boil over.”

Sebastian didn’t reply at first. He didn’t even know where to fucking start. Stress couldn’t begin to excuse the shit he’d said to you right before he left. In-between your gut-wrenching sobs, he was certain he had heard your heart crack in two at some point, and it was his own fault. Running his hands down his face, Sebastian heaved a trembling sigh, trying to sort out the crappy thoughts bouncing around his tipsy brain.

“Was she in any of your classes with you today?” Sebastian asked, his gaze trained on the ceiling as he willed the watery tone in his voice away. He had cried enough over everything– his eyes and his throat fucking ached from it.

Ominis sighed, reaching to the side table for his steaming cup of tea. He worked it into a safe grip before blowing softly, taking a tentative sip. “Not today, no. None of her roommates have seen her in her dorm either– I already asked.”

Sebastian just wanted to know how you looked. Maybe it was awful of him to think as much, but he liked to imagine you were faring as bad as he was. You were an impossibly strong and powerful witch, willful and understanding, and you got mad so rarely that Sebastian couldn’t help but loathe the idea of you putting on a brave face and smiling until you were over him.

What right did he have to be thinking such things, though? He was the one who had walked out.

Ominis said nothing when he heard Sebastian lift the bottle to his lips again, taking a hearty swig that burned on the way down. Tears welled up in his swollen, brown eyes, and they slipped down his cheeks silently, a metaphorical rain cloud looming over his end of the couch. The two men didn’t say a word, but after a while, Ominis tugged Sebastian against his shoulder, letting the heartbroken man cry softly into his pajamas.

—

“Bloody hell, mate,” Garreth muttered, leaning over his cauldron to get closer to Sebastian. “Two years, though?”

The classroom was quiet, save for the steady bubbling at everyone’s stations. They were supposed to be working on brewing an Edurus Potion, but Garreth seemed more interested in his friend’s failed love life after hearing through the grapevine what had happened. Sebastian didn’t answer, choosing to focus on adding in the Mongrel Fur to his silvery concoction.

“Together that long and this close to graduation, I thought that was going to turn into fucking marriage, you know? Are you sure it’s–”

Garreth stopped talking when Sebastian slammed his hands down on his table, shattering a flask under the weight of his fist so suddenly, the redhead jumped back with his green eyes blown wide. Sebastian’s stare fell from Garreth to the blood pooling under his palm, biting his tongue through the stinging pain and unintentional tremors while Professor Sharp strode over to see what the commotion was about.

Docked five house points and dismissed to the Hospital Wing, Sebastian shuffled up the winding staircases in a daze. His head hurt when he walked through the double doors to the infirmary, but he ignored the dull ache and got to dealing with his hand so he could leave faster and sleep through the impending migraine. Once all the glass had been picked out of Sebastian’s cuts and he’d been disinfected, bandaged, and fed a Wiggenweld potion for extra measure, he made his way back to the dorms.

He dimly realized on the trek down that it wasn’t how long he had been together with you that was preventing him from getting over you.

—

“You’ll be back on your feet in no time,” Leander said from two tables away, raising his Butterbeer towards Sebastian and Ominis. The two were tucked away in the far corner of The Three Broomsticks at Ominis’ insistence, in some feeble attempt to get Sebastian out of the permanent rut he had found himself in for five consecutive days now. The brooding Slytherin just picked at his bandages, gritting his teeth together and silently hoping that the dirty bar floor would open up and swallow him whole.

There were too many students around for comfort, and a number of them glanced cautiously between Leander the Sebastian, checking to make sure that the Gryffindor wasn’t at risk of having his nose broken. He meant well– especially after 6 Butterbeers– but Prewett was famously not good with words, and Sebastian didn’t trust himself to speak anymore.

Leander motioned to Sirona for another drink, and once she’d deposited it on the table with an amused shake of her head, he walked the pint over to the dreary corner. “On me. You don’t need her, mate. Chin up.”

With a rough clap on Sebastian’s shoulder, he left just as suddenly as he’d appeared. Ominis listened warily for any signs of anger or sadness, but all he heard was the sound of liquid sloshing as Sebastian lifted the drink to his lips and chugged down two thirds of it.

As he set the tankard down on the table, Sebastian looked up at the cobweb covered beams overhead, acknowledging that no, he didn’t need you.

But that wasn’t what was keeping him so low, either.

—

After a week without so much as a glimpse of you, Sebastian took to wandering. He was restless– constantly fidgeting– like he had a fire burning under his ass all hours of the day. His chest was perpetually heavy, as though there were a Graphorn sitting on him, and his hair was in a constant state of disarray from running his hands through it.

Sebastian was a mess. He knew he was.

Shit, there really weren’t any other excuses for standing in a fucking fountain in the middle of the night, staring daggers at a stone dragon because there was no one else around to focus his frustrations on. There were probably better places to be shifting through his jumbled thoughts than in the middle of the Transfiguration Courtyard, but at this point, he felt bad keeping Ominis awake all night with his inability to sit still and sleep.

Either way, Sebastian halted his wading through the water to glare firmly at the statue again, doing his best to imagine a future without you in it.

Thus far, you had been Sebastian’s first and only love– aside from dueling. You knew him inside and out. You could look at him from across a room and know instantly how close he was to punching someone, how tired he was, or whether or not he was actually listening to a conversation. You had a million different smiles for a million of Sebastian’s petty annoyances, and all of them struck hard and true and left him feeling at peace with the state of his life.

He knew you just as well– it wasn’t like you were some all powerful Legilimen living in his head. You had your flaws, your insecurities, your anxieties. You made mistakes, and you had inhuman levels of empathy and understanding– which was probably how you had managed to deal with him after your tumultuous fifth-year.

There was something viscerally calming about you, something that never failed to keep him in line when he was acting like a piece of shit, and that kept him steady when he was feeling anxious. It had been too much, though, and Sebastian knew you took on the burdens of others far too heavily without stopping to think of yourself. It weighed on you.

You weren’t perfect, but neither was he.

Leaning against the dragon, Sebastian closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose, the water in the fountain lapping at his calves and trickling soothingly in a short arc from the dragon’s parted lips.

Maybe Sebastian just couldn’t comprehend people as well as he thought he could. That was probably it.

You were the brains, and he was the brawns. You were philosophical, seemingly making sense of everything that crossed your path, while Sebastian understood too little despite trying. Between the two of you, you managed to make just enough sense of the world to be comfortable. But now everything was over.

Sebastian kicked at the water idly, dodging under the dragon’s stream to make another lap around the fountain.

He liked dueling. He appreciated how simple it was– it was do or die, realistically speaking. Cast or get casted on. Win or lose. Whoever he would go up against would inevitably let their mask slip, cluing him in on their thinking, their pain, their weaknesses. It was logical for him, and most of the time, he found his opponents predictable.

Sebastian never could have predicted that he would walk out on you, though, and he definitely wouldn’t have ever predicted that you would let him.

It took him a few minutes to realize that he was standing under the dragon’s stream, and it was soaking through his hair and into his shirt. He sighed, slicking his bangs away from his face before letting the cold water rain down on his flushed face for a moment, and then he was stepping out of its way.

There had to be a reason Sebastian was having so much trouble with this.

Leander had been unwittingly correct; Sebastian definitely didn’t need you, as in, it wasn’t like he couldn’t breathe without you. He was his own person with his own strengths, and you were the same. It wasn’t even that he had put ‘too much time into it’, as Garreth had implied, because loving you had never felt time consuming. He couldn’t even begin to move on from this, and it was pissing him off, because he was really fucking tired of crying and of staring at walls, unfocused and feeling hollow.

Sebastian was especially tired of his hands turning over all the time to find yours, because he knew you weren’t there anymore. Still, he couldn’t stop his fingers from spreading to make room between them for yours, and he couldn’t stop his eyes from scanning every room for you. He would never be able to stop his body from shifting to accommodate someone who would never occupy that space again.

Sebastian fixed his stormy gaze on the dragon again, deep in thought about you. You, who always understood a little more than you probably should have, and who always knew how to read him like a damn book. You would lay beside him every night tangled together, tapping in time to the steady beat of his heart under your ear, quieting the restless drive that seemed to always exist within him.

He could move on from you. He could focus on his studies, the two of you would graduate, and eventually you would both find someone else. But ultimately, Sebastian seriously doubted he would ever feel the bone-deep comfort that stemmed from you again. It seemed highly unlikely that he would ever meet someone that made him feel the way you did. It was like… no matter how long the two of you sat and watched clouds, or meandered through the woods, it was never time wasted. It had always been okay to just exist for a while without doing something, or making something, or going somewhere. When he was with you, it had always felt okay for him to put his problems on the table and walk away from them for a while, instead of obsessively stabbing them and getting more and more frustrated.

No matter where he went or how successful Sebastian could potentially be, he had a sneaking suspicion that his fingers would always spread just far enough for yours to slide between them.

The sound of sloshing water filled the courtyard, and then Sebastian’s soaked shoes were slapping against the grass with each pounding step that led him full speed towards the Room of Requirement. The only thought in his mind as he skipped up the steps two at a time was that the peace that came over the both of you when you were together had to be worth fucking trying again.

There was something to be said about how the normally concealed oak doors were already displayed, as though beckoning him to where he knew you had been hiding for days now. He eased his way inside without a second thought, noting the messy state of the desk in the corner and the stacks of books that had toppled over on themselves beside the entryway. The entire space looked lived in, and your unique scent hit him full force as he strode further into the room.

When Sebastian reached the bottom of the tiny stairwell leading towards the larger living area, you were looking up from your seat in front of the fireplace that lit the otherwise dark chamber. The look on your sleepless face and the way your unruly hair curled wildly around your temples clued him in on the fact that he wasn’t the only one who had been feeling like utter shit this last week. Your lips parted around a silent gasp as Sebastian stumbled towards you, still panting from having sprinted to get there.

“Hi,” he wheezed, leaning forward on his knees and forcing a deep breath into his lungs in a bid to prevent himself from passing out.

“Sebastian?” Your voice was small and raspy– as though it hadn’t been used the entire time you’d been holed up here. “Why are you so wet–”

“I love you,” he interrupted, his labored breathing filling the silence that followed the declaration. “I love you and I’m so fucking sorry that I’m such a prick and that I hurt you. I fucked up and I can’t take back anything that was said but I wanted you to know how sorry I am, and that I don’t want to be done, and if you aren’t tired of me yet I have a really stupid dueling metaphor for why we should stay together– mmph–”

You had crossed the space between you both in a flash, reaching out preemptively until your trembling hands clasped Sebastian’s soaked tie to yank him towards you.

“I missed you,” you whispered as you leaned your forehead against his, your breath warming his chilled lips– just a hair’s width away from kissing– but your hesitation burned like fire between the two of you. “Merlin, Sebastian, I’m so sorry–”

Sebastian reached up to tangle his fingers in your hair, and his damp skin caught on the tiny knots that were scattered throughout the normally tame strands. His sighs mixed with yours, the two of you murmuring tense little ‘I love you’s and ‘I missed you’s until the sounds mingled and settled in time.

Looping an arm around your waist to guide you towards the modest bedroom the room had conjured up years ago, Sebastian maintained the tentative space between your lips, whispering your name as he led you through the hallway. Your fingers were already working open the buttons on his soaked shirt, trusting him completely to walk you safely backwards to your once shared bedroom. Sebastian slowed, taking his hands off of you only once to shrug out of his button up, dropping it haphazardly behind him. Your strikingly warm hands blazed over his shoulders, then down his chill-ridden arms, before he was bending over to rid himself of his waterlogged shoes and socks. Sebastian stood straight right after, resting his hands on your waist while your shaky hands slipped down to work at the wet catch of his trousers.

The bedroom door was shut, so your heads banged together when Sebastian accidentally walked you into it. He blurted a string of curses, leaning down to press his lips gently against your forehead apologetically. Blindly, he reached behind you in search of the doorknob– which was quite frankly the only unfamiliar part of the entire room– because the door had never been closed before.

Sebastian realized belatedly that oh, the door had never been closed before, and the couch you’d been perched on when he walked in had been covered in a nest of thick quilts and extra pillows.

Oh.

He trailed his lips slowly across your brow, then down the curve of your nose, before kissing the corners of your mouth so tenderly that the affection left you wanting to cry. Pressing one more kiss to the tip of your nose, he whispered, “You slept on the couch?”

Your breath caught in your throat, and your fingers stilled in their efforts to remove the damp material from Sebastian’s clammy skin. Shivering slightly, you could only look up at him through your lashes, understanding that he wasn’t asking so much as he was stating. Of course he knew you had slept on the couch.

Silence crept through the dark hallway, broken only by your meek sniffles, before you were nodding against Sebastian’s chest. He lowered his head in an instant, pressing his lips to your cheeks, but the sudden taste of salt and the slip of water had him pulling away to look at you. You were quick to wipe away the fresh tears dripping down your face, your breath hitching on barely-caught sobs and your bloodshot eyes squeezing shut against them.

Sebastian captured your hands in his and twined your fingers together, nuzzling away your tears without a care for his own, and he hovered cautiously for a beat before finally closing the space between your lips to kiss you.

It lasted for a moment, then a minute, then a lifetime as Sebastian leaned in closer and breathed love into you, receiving in equal parts the taste of his tenderness returned. He freed one hand to gently cup your face, his thumb wiping through the wet trails that still lingered, and your arm around his waist tightened immeasurably further, tugging him flush to you.

You whispered against his soft lips then, your voice cracking, “What brought you back?”

Sebastian pulled back enough to look at you– really look at you– and take in every bit of your face like he would never get the chance to again. It wasn’t like he didn’t already have every expression of yours memorized, but in the last seven days without seeing that warm light in your eyes, the world had seemed a whole lot darker. He sighed, swallowing thickly as he wondered how to begin phrasing every bottomless thought that he’d had since he realized why he hadn’t been getting over you.

He didn’t need you to function. His relationship with you wasn’t an investment or something that could be measured with time, and it wasn’t like he couldn’t imagine a future without you. It was just that he didn’t want to.

Sebastian didn’t want to live without you beside him. He didn’t want to grow old without you, and he didn’t want anything but to be surrounded by your warmth every day for the rest of his life.

He leaned forward and kissed you again, just as gently as the last dozen times, and you reached up to cradle the hand he still had cupped against your cheek. Breathing a long sigh, Sebastian stared at you longingly as he murmured, “Wherever you are is where I want to be. It’s home. I wouldn’t be stranded without you, but the place I like best is wherever I can be next to you.” You trembled against him, both of you biting back resurfacing tears and failing miserably. “If it’s okay, can I come home?”

A tiny whimper slipped from your throat as you nodded, wiggling your arms up to throw them around Sebastian’s shoulders, and then you were sniffling feebly into the crook of his neck. Sebastian wrapped his arms around your wait, holding you tightly as he fumbled for the doorknob, and by the time the two of you had crossed the short space to the bed, you were somewhere between laughing and crying.

Your hands moved back to Sebastian’s glued on trousers, leaning up into his kisses eagerly as you swiftly got to removing the painfully cold attire. With a little assistance from the brunet, the two of you managed the pants– by the grace of Merlin and more than a little shimmying. Sebastian’s briefs and the oversized jumper you wore vanished significantly quicker than the rest, and he quickly eased you down onto the soft, familiar sheets.

Sebastian rolled over beside you, lifting his hips to haul the covers over you both before he pressed his still-chilled body into your welcoming embrace, and he relished in the shiver that coursed over you from the contact.

When your lips came together the next time, neither one of you pulled away, leaving your tears outside of the safe, blanketed world you’d created for yourselves. The whispered love that twined like smoke alongside the quiet sounds of your hands relearning each other’s skin filled the air for hours. Gasping breaths and soft moans of your name were all you could hear, Sebastian’s gentle affirmations of reverence making your heart swell with unbridled affection.

You stayed like that all night, wholly content for the first time in a good, long while. When the sun finally began to cast its waking rays through the paneled window, bathing you both in a golden glow that illuminated the drying sweat on your skin, Sebastian’s soft murmurs and twin heartbeat lulled you into a blissful sleep.

Just before unconsciousness stole you away, you threaded your fingers through his own, letting your intertwined hands rest atop his chest in the same way Sebastian had so dearly missed. He pressed a lingering kiss to your temple, closing his eyes against the growing morning light, and he felt lighter than he ever had as you thoughtfully whispered, “Welcome home.”

#sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x you #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow fanfic #sebastian sallow x female! reader #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fanfic #my writing #sebastian sallow oneshot #sebastian sallow x mc #angsty pain because it can't all be daisies and roses where Sebastian is concerned

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spacebarbarianweird · 4 months

Text

The Dead, the Half-Dead and the Undead

Synopsis: Baby Alethaine is ten and, apparently, the thing she is a dhampir isn't the only problem Astarion and Tiriel have to face.

Tags: dadstarion, dhampirs, necromancy

Alethaine's age: 10

Thanks @queenofthespacesquids for beta-reading!

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Astarion immerses himself in one of his books. It is a complex text that has been written by some ancient magic who had probably been completely insane

Necromancy is an interesting subject, but damn difficult for those without an innate aptitude for it.

It's still midday, but out there in the underground part of Daggerlake, it doesn't matter. The city is divided into two parts, above ground and underground. The city is mostly populated

by dwarves, halflings, and humans but for some reason it feels like home for Astarion.

Besides, the town dwellers had decided they'd better have a vampire of their own than be threatened by other undead.

Astarion is still puzzled by this. Yes, these people should be grateful to him and Tiriel for saving them from a particularly nasty fairy pact. But letting them stay? Tiriel, a half-elven warrior, is one thing, but him, a vampire? Do they really want to share the town with him?

But they are fine. They treat him like others would treat some retired wizard or a former mercenary. But he knows he must be careful - one mistake and the neighbors will remember who Astarion truly is and that there is a reason why he never goes to the upper town in the daylight.

And there is a complication Astarion always has to take into account.

“Dad! Dad!”

Astarion looks up and sees ten-year-old Alethaine. She is upside down, but the hem of her dress brushes the ceiling, ignoring gravity. There's a bit of forest dirt on the girl's shoes, and he can distinguish the smell of wood.

“I told you not to go alone,” Astarion says. When she was younger, Astarion often found it difficult to parent her. The moment she asked something or started crying, he was ready to do anything just to make her feel better. It took him time to get a grip and establish boundaries. He is her father. If he wants the best for her, he has to be strict sometimes. Even if the response is tears and anger.

“I didn’t go to the woods! I was in the meadow. It’s still in the town!”

Fair enough. The meadow is a favorite place for town kids since it is indeed the forest but their asses won’t get whooped by their parents.

“So, what is it, princess?”

Alethaine jumps on the floor with a soft “thump” and she inclines toward him making direct eye contact. Astarion still wonders sometimes if her eyes black because his eyes used to be, too, or because of her dhampirism.

Dhampir.

Half-undead. Does Alethaine even understand what it truly means to her? Town kids don’t really care and adore her ability to walk on ceilings and steal sweets for them. But will it last long? She is ten. When she and her friends grow up, they will notice things that make her different. Will they start fearing her the same way town dogs start howling if Alethaine or Astarion pass by? Will they avoid her? Will they force her out of town to go seek her own kind?

“I want a kitten.”

“Princess, last time I checked cats don’t really like us, either.”

Alethaine sits beside him and forces him to close the book. “No, you don’t understand! A week ago, I found a kitten! She didn’t like me at first but I’ve been bringing her food. And today Wyv let me hold her! She doesn’t mind me at all!”

“Wyv?”

“She is albino! She has red eyes and white fur! I think she went missing from her litter. Or maybe her mother's cat forced her to go. Please! Pretty please! She is so tiny, she won’t make it on her own! And I will take care of her!”

Alethaine stares at him with puppy eyes and her elven ears twitch with anticipation.

“Mum won’t mind, she will be happy there is an animal that doesn’t react to me as if I am some evil entity!”

“Princess, there is a very big chance this poor creature will run away once it senses me in the house. Last time I checked I am still undead.”

“And I am half-undead! Wyv got used to me, she will get used to you, too!”

Astarion flicks the tip of her nose. “But if your mother asks, you forced me to say “yes”.

Alethaine squeals and wraps her hands around his neck forcing him to drop the book. Astarion chuckles when he feels the soft prickling of her teeth on his skin.

“I will be right back!” Alethaine rushes outside, slamming the door.

He had 200 years of pure misery and it still hurts him to see how much was taken from him. But then… Thirty years of something else. Something he hadn’t wished to have.

A woman to hold and to love who is brave enough to trust and care.

Fifteen years of adventures, when they could go wherever they wanted and do whatever they desired. Then, they were offered to stay in Daggerlake, a small town near the Unicorn Rim.

Home was a concept unfamiliar to both of them and Tiriel sometimes begged him to return to the road.

But he was adamant. He needed a home. He needed a place to stay. To own. He wanted a place to stash all the artifacts and books they'd found, a comfortable bed to sleep and make love.

Tiriel wanted it, too, though didn’t admit it.

And five years later the thing he’d least expected happened.

He barely remembers how it was - he was so drunk on blood, he felt his undead heart beating. Then he found Tiriel and dragged her home to pin her to the bed.

As a result…

Alethaine.

His daughter. His flesh and blood.

Sometimes he treats Alethaine as a matter of course. Most men in Daggerlake have children, and usually more than one. But sometimes Astarion gets distracted and forgets where he is, and only comes back to reality when Alethaine taps him on the shoulder and then Astarion looks at her in awe, wondering how he even deserves her.

Ten years. Such a tiny piece of time but Alethaine’s whole life. Astarion can already see the woman she is becoming. The woman he will be proud of, the woman who will have the freedom he had to fight for.

Suddenly, Astarion realizes Alethaine has been missing for far too long. The meadow isn’t really far away and it’s already sunset - Astarion feels it.

Astarion locks the house and goes looking for his daughter.

It's already night when he gets to the meadow. Alethaine is there sitting on her knees with her head bowed.

“Alethaine, what did we talk about not being outside after sunset?”

She doesn’t answer. Astarion comes closer and sees that her face is red as if she has just stopped crying.

“Princess, what happened?”

“It’s my fault” she sniffs. “I should have taken her with me right away,” her shoulders tremble and Alethaine bursts into tears once again.

Astarion kneels beside her, not knowing what to do. He still hasn’t learned how to react to her tears properly - so he does the only thing that works all the time with both her and Tiriel and also works for him.

He hugs her.

Through her muffled cries Astarion manages to understand that the albino kitten got out of the shelter and someone kicked her with such effort she died instantly. Now the kitten’s body lies in a small hole in the ground with her mouth wide open and stains of blood on the white fur.

'It's not your fault, it’s the fault of whoever did this, not yours.’

“No, you don’t understand! I could have taken her with me! If you had said “no”, I would have given her to the neighbors! And now she is dead! She is dead because of me!” Now Alethaine almost screams with all the sorrow a ten-year-old girl is capable of.

Astarion hugs his daughter tighter. He often stays with her on his own when Tiriel leaves to do some adventuring job - and usually, Astarion has no trouble. But right now the only thing he needs is for Tiriel to be at home. Because she can find the right words. She always can. Because what exactly does he need to tell Alethaine? It’s the first time she’s witnessed death. And it was the vilest example possible.

An innocent creature was killed for fun.

Well, maybe he should find that person and break their legs. It won’t help but maybe it will make Alethaine feel better.

“Alethaine, let’s go home.”

Alethaine doesn’t answer.

“Princess, come on,” he repeats.

His vampiric senses feel that something is wrong. As if something eerie, and unnatural has started to happen.

Astarion glances at the dead kitten.

Then the kitten moves.

“What in hell…,” he mutters.

It opens its eyes which glow an unnatural green color. The paws twitch, and the mouth opens showing small fangs.

“Dad! Look! Wyv is alive! She was just wounded! And I thought she was dead!” Alethaine exclaims, grabbing the dead kitten. “We need to show her to the healer!”

Alethaine’s eyes glow with the same eerie shade of green.

Necromancy.

Alethaine has just used the “Rise Animal” spell.

A spell so difficult it takes mages years to learn it.

Alethaine drops the dead kitten on the ground as if it were a poisonous snake.

“No… What is wrong with her, Dad?”

The kitten immediately sits up and freezes. Waiting for orders.

“She is dead, isn’t she?” Alethaine sniffs. The kitten doesn't move, staring at her with its resurrected eyes.

Necromancer. If being a dhampir wasn't enough for her. Necromancers have always been outcasts with their abilities to raise the dead and cast the darkest of spells.

Alethaine is one of them. Twice an outcast.

“Alethaine '' Astarion makes her face him. “Listen to me carefully. There must be strings, connecting you with the kitten. Like a puppet doll. You need to cut them.”

“But she will die”

“It is already dead. it’s not a life. Put it to rest.”

Alethaine wipes tears and the weird glowing fades. Alethaine concentrates, looks at her hands, and then makes a movement with her fingers as if she were tearing threads.

The dead kitten falls on the ground like a puppet.

Alethaine sits down tired and exhausted. Resurrecting a creature, even small animals, is a difficult spell requiring much energy even from adult mages. For a ten year old it’s the equivalent of hiking in the mountains.

Astarion takes Alethaine in their hands.

“Dad?”

“Hm?”

“Will you and mum still love me if I am a necromancer?”

“Of course, we will.”

“You can’t get necrotic damage, can you?”

“Well, I am very undead myself. So fear not, you won’t harm me even accidentally”

“And mum? She is mortal, she can get hurt.”

Astarion sighs. Damn, ‘Tiriel should come back sooner, I can’t answer all those questions’.

“You won’t hurt her. Don’t worry.”

Silence. The little dhampir doesn’t believe him. Alethaine sniffs again.

“Did it hurt when you were resurrected?”

Astarion has to make an effort to keep himself composed. It is still traumatic. Still hurts. Two hundred years of pain. Tortures. Isolation. Transformation.

“I am a vampire, not a ghoul. Ghouls don’t feel anything. They are already dead. you resurrected the flesh but Wyv didn’t feel anything.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am. Alethaine, promise me you won't try to practice alone, all right? No one must know you are a necromancer. People won’t understand. ”

The rest of the walk home is passed in silence. That evening Alethaine refuses to eat, and all attempts to cheer her up fail. She's heartbroken and scared, and whatever is weighing on her mind, she just can't process it.

He needs to think something up. The sooner, the better. Before Alethaine harms herself or someone in the town.

Alethaine can't sleep.

It's been a week and she feels terrible. There are whispers on the edge of her mind, dark and frightening, they call to her, they promise her something.

Alethaine can't shut them up.

She sees threads stretching from her fingers to the dead animals. Worse, she feels the threads leading to living people.

Cause them necrotic damage, the darkness whispers. It is going to be fun! Strike fear in them, make them scream, make them cry! And drink their blood if that’s to your liking!

Tiriel didn’t say anything when she heard what had happened. But Alethaine sees uneasiness in her eyes. Of course, she is afraid! There are strings attached to her as well, one or two necrotic spells and she is dead!

Astarion left two days later - he said he would try to look for something. Alethaine cried and begged to take her with him, but he refused.

Alethaine has locked herself in her room, barely leaving. But the silence and solitude are the fuel for nightmares. For the darkness. For tempting whispers.

The little dhampir gets out of her bed and goes to her parents’ bedroom. Tiriel is fast asleep under a blanket. Peaceful and quiet.

Alethaine fumbles at the door. She is ten, not three! She is too old to sleep with her mother. But the thought of spending one more night alone with those whispers feels awful.

“Kitten? Are you alright?”

“Mum… can… I…”

“Come here.”

Alethaine gets under the blanket and her mother’s arms immediately wrap around her.

“I am afraid,” Alethaine finally admits.

“I know, Kitten. Dad will think something up.”

“What if I hurt you while he is away?”

“You won’t”

“How can you know that? I am a necromancer!”

Alethaine turns around to see her mother’s face.

“Alethaine, you are also a dhampir and I don’t remember you ever trying to drain me. And you’ve had your fangs since you were five months old.”

Alethaine relaxes and hugs mother back.

“Mum, did you always know dad was a vampire?”

“Hm, I learned it on the third day I think. Woke up to him trying to bite me. He is lucky I’d already liked him.”

“And you weren’t afraid to be with him?”

“No. Your father was a troubled person, not easy to handle. But he was worth it. I know you are scared. People don’t take it easy when someone can cast dark spells. But it doesn’t mean you have to be alone or be a bad person, even if it’s expected. You will meet people who will accept you for who you are. Who will love you. One of the kindest men I knew was a warlock with a devil pact. Things aren’t always what they seem.”

Your mother’s blood is so warm! You’ve tasted it once, remember? When you were dying of bloodlust! Bite her, take what is rightfully yours!

As if hearing the intrusive thoughts, Tiriel hugs her daughter tighter.

“Whatever happens, we will always be with you. We will help you, we will support you, and no matter what happens, you can always trust us. Even if you do something really bad. ”

Alethaine sniffs and buries her nose in her mother’s neck.

The darkness steps away, and the girl falls asleep.

She doesn’t have nightmares for the first time that week.

“Alethaine,” she feels a soft tap on her shoulder. “Wake up.”

Alethaine opens her eyes and sees she is still in her parents’ bed. Tiriel, fully dressed, stands at the doors.

“Hm?”

“Dad is back. Could you go down to the basement?”

Alethaine, still half asleep, dresses up and goes down. Her senses immediately tell her Astarion isn’t alone.

“Hello, princess,” Astarion strokes her head the moment she gets closer.

A man in a dirty red robe sits on the wooden bench. His head is bald and his right eye is missing. Instead, there is a blue gemstone with intricate runes.

“Astarion, don’t you tell me she is a dhampir.”

“Oh, she very much is! Alethaine, this is Nris. He is going to be your teacher.”

“Astarion, I deeply appreciate you for saving me from that devil but I am not morally ready to teach a dhampir necromancy!”

“I doubt you will be able to pay me. My services are expensive. And I can always sell you back to the devils. I need you to teach my daughter necromancy. End of story.”

“For fuck sake… How old are you?”

Alethaine steps back. “T-ten”

“Fuck, this is the worst age ever! In a year she will hit puberty and it’s bad even without dhampirism and necromancy!”

Alethaine looks at her father.

“Dad, I don't like him.”

“He is a necromancer, princess. People aren’t supposed to like them.”

“Astarion, I knew I shouldn’t have made deals with you! A devil is better than a vampire! At least with devils, I know what to expect! Alethaine, you know what your father did? He took advantage of my desperate situation and forced me to make a pact with him.”

“Nris, don’t be stupid. It’s a working agreement!” Astarion grins. “And I can summon your former master any time, and, I fear, this time he will be harsher on you.”

Nris curses again, and Alethaine makes a note to use one of the slurs next time she gets into a fight.

The necromancer stretches his right hand, covered in weird tattoos. “Come here, Alethaine.”

Nris sends a shiver down her spine, but Astarion only nudges his daughter slightly, forcing her to approach the mage.

“Dhampir, necromancer, and all this with Fey blood. You did pick the wild cards out of Tasha’s cauldron. What exactly did you do to make your father save my ass from the devils?”

“I-I revived a kitten.”

Nris flinches. “I hate sorcerers to my guts! I’ve spent decades learning how to revive small animals - and you did it just like that! But good for you that you didn’t resurrect a human because if you had, the townsfolk would have burnt you alive. I was trying to make the darkness talk to me and it still doesn’t answer back but it calls upon you like an old friend. Life is truly unfair, Alethaine Ancunin.”

Alethaine is silent, unable to stop staring at the gemstone in the eye socket. The runes move resembling trapped flies.

“Very well, let’s start from learning the basics!”

Astarion leaves the basement. When he glances back he sees Alethaine drawing runes on the floor while Nris is giving her the lecture.

Astarion is tired. He didn’t have time to rest during the week, and besides, the worry of leaving a ten-year-old necromancer who didn’t understand how to control her powers alone with Tiriel plagued him like a nightmare.

Nris doesn’t look like the most decent or talented mage but he is bound to him by a pact and doesn’t have any desire to return to the devils. So, he is going to live in the secret basement under their house and teach Alethaine as much as he can.

Wild cards out of Tasha’s dungeon. Yes, that’s true. An unlikely child with dangerous skills.

Astarion finds Tiriel in the inner yard, throwing axes into the wooden wall. He approaches her and hugs them from behind, placing his chin on her shoulder.

“Tired?” she asks.

“Can I take your blood?”

She touches his curls with her tender fingers. “Of course.”

Astarion indulges his fangs in her neck. Blood streams down his throat, calming him down. Tiriel falters. He immediately releases her neck and takes her in his hands to carry Tiriel to the bedroom.

When they get there they lie together on the bed, their fingers intertwined. Due to sharpened hearing Astarion feels a distant echo from the basement. It seems like Alethaine and Nris have started a screaming match.

“You really didn’t warn him, did you?” Tiriel asks, drawing invisible symbols on his back.

“Maybe. Kind of.”

“Well, at least I won’t be the only mortal in the house.”

“Tiriel, don’t make him your drinking pal, I beg you!” Astarion laughs.

“What? A mug of ale after a difficult day hasn't hurt anyone yet.” Tiriel touches the tip of his ear. “Meditate. I will be with you.”

Astarion nods. Thirty years of happy memories are enough to give him bliss. He concentrates and lets the flow of memories take him to reverie.

Astarion holds Alethaine for the first time. A newborn girl is probably still in pain after being pushed into the world. He hears her fast heartbeat as her living heart pumps half-undead blood through her veins.

He cradles her in his arms. Alethaine is so warm, so delicate, so innocent. It’s not yet clear if she is a dhampir but Astarion knows he loves her. It’s a different form of affection, unknown to him. A selfless love for a child, a desire to make sure she won’t endure the same hardships as he did.

And she must not know.

Astarion gives himself a promise. His daughter will never know about his past. it will never taint her. The pain, the touches, the humiliation, the violence - she will not know a word of it.

Her mindset will be free of that dirt and of that darkness. He won’t pass it.

“Thank you, my love,” Astarion whispers. “This is a gift.”

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati @lynnlovesthestars @marina-and-the-memes @waking-electric @ayselluna @connorsui @asterordinary @darkarchangel96 @locallegume

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rosieofcorona · 7 months

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The Shape of Your Hands

Guess who's back with another soft Halsin x Tav fic. Literal (but very mild) hurt/comfort themes, so TWs for: blood, stitches, minor injury. Also on AO3, if you prefer. Thank you for reading! 💕

“You seem impatient,” Tav observes, as Halsin fiddles with his whittling knife.

In his opposite hand, he holds a piece of wood so sharp it could rival a blade. He had intended it to take the shape of something pleasing, something soft– a songbird, perhaps, or a poppy flower. The shape of her hands. The long fingers, the slender wrist.

Instead, he has made a weapon.

He is consumed by thoughts of Thaniel, resting fitfully in his tent, and of Oliver, somewhere out there beyond camp. Of the curse that split them, ripped the very fabric of nature down the middle, and cloaked them all in unending, unyielding night. He slices absently at the wood, over and over, the shavings piling in little coils at his feet.

“It’s been a century of this,” he sighs, gesturing vaguely at their surroundings. “I am anxious to end it.”

“As we all are.”

“Then why idle here in camp?” He takes a tone he doesn’t mean to, but cannot seem to help.

“We are not idling,” Tav bristles. “We are spent. Even your magic– even Gale’s magic– is depleted in this place.”

It’s the truth, though Halsin is loath to admit it. The Shadowlands weaken even the most powerful among them. Bend them. Break them. He has seen it.

“We will gather ourselves,” she goes on, “And we will finish this. After a hundred years, what’s one more day?”

“What’s–?” Halsin’s frustration sneaks up on him, crashes over them both like a rogue wave. “You do not understand. One more day is one more day, when one more hour, one more moment is insufferable–”

His knife cuts in, literally, the sharpened edge slipping past the grain and into his finger, deep enough to make him drop the wood, to suck in a breath through his teeth.

It distracts him for a moment, forces his anger back onto himself. Or perhaps that’s where the anger’s always been. It is his fault, he knows, that this has gone on so long, that the shadow-curse has been allowed to linger. If he had been wiser, less distracted, less careless–

Careless. He almost laughs at the irony of the moment, the cut on his hand pulsing.

“Here,” says Tav, softening. “Let me help.”

She comes to kneel before him, takes his blade and sets it gingerly beside her on the ground. It glints in the firelight in a way that makes it look like it’s winking, taunting him as a little rivulet of blood flows down his palm.

“It’s nothing,” Halsin insists, though the grimace on his face gives him away. “I can heal it.”

“You ought to save your energy. It’s not as bad as it looks.”

She is holding his big hand in both of hers, turning it carefully this way and that, examining the damage.

“I can stitch it, if you like,” she offers, flicking her eyes up to his. “Astarion’s been teaching me.”

“To stitch wounds?”

“Well, to embroider.” She gives a sheepish little grin. “But he says I’m very precise. And he’s not the type to lie to spare my feelings.”

Halsin nods his consent.

Tav stands and walks toward her tent, and Halsin presses his other hand into the cut to stem the bleeding. It would be easier to cast something simple, he thinks, but she’s right– to use his magic on so small a thing, with all that was still to come, would be a waste.

Through the firelight he sees her silhouette returning, supplies in hand.

“Come closer,” she says, settling cross-legged before the fire. “Put your hand here.”

She shows him, places her own hand on the edge of her knee.

“I’ll get blood on you,” he cautions, but she only laughs at that.

“You would not be the first.”

Halsin does what she asks of him, sits across from her and rests his hand, palm side-up, on her leg. She bends close to examine it again, to wipe away the blood with a soft white cloth.

“I owe you an apology,” Tav says softly. “I forget, sometimes, how long you have been fighting, when I have only just picked up a sword.”

He feels the prick of the needle, the pull of the thread. The whisper of breath on his skin.

It is equal parts reward and punishment to have her this close, this way. To have her tend to him, to touch him and not be able to touch her back. Not in all the ways he wants to.

This is the part he doesn’t tell her, the part she doesn’t understand. It’s not the shadow-curse alone that feels so urgent. Each day in darkness is a day he cannot make his feelings known– a different kind of torment, but not lesser.

They sit in silence until she finishes. A final knot, a cut of the thread, and she sits back on her heels to inspect her work. Six tidy little sutures in a tidy little row.

Astarion was right.

This is the kind of thing he taught his students in the Grove, before the war, before the curse, when he was not yet named Archdruid. When things were simpler.

When he thanks her she relaxes, swipes at her brow with the back of her hand. She leaves the barest streak of blood trailed like a comet across her temple, and Halsin, without thinking, reaches forward to wipe it away.

If she’s surprised, she doesn’t show it. Tav seems to turn into his touch, to feel as much of him as possible, to rest the softness of her cheek against his fingers.

He wants to kiss her in this moment, just like this.

It would be easy to lean forward and press his lips to hers– only gently, at least at first, harder if she reciprocated. He can imagine her soft hair woven between his fingers, later wrapped around his fist as his mouth moved down her jaw, her neck, her collarbone.

He can almost feel her weight on him, can almost hear the little sounds that he could draw from her if she would let him try. If he would let himself.

“Does this mean you forgive me?” Tav smiles.

She sweeps the thought from his mind like a hand passing through smoke. It’s for the best, Halsin thinks. They cannot afford distractions now.

Still, it doesn’t stop him placing a kiss against her forehead, or stroking her cheek with his thumb one final time.

He reassures her. “There is nothing to forgive.”

He resolves that when they leave here– if they leave here– he will tell her all the things he feels out loud.

One more day.

#halsin #bg3 #halsin x tav #halsin x reader #baldur's gate 3 #hurt/comfort #halsin fanfic #bg3 fic #fluff #all the tenderness in the world #my fic #like I know I already did this in a different proverbial font but #he needs so much comfort #LET TAV COMFORT HIM #tw: blood #tw: injury #tw: stitches #halsin x fem! tav

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rogueddie · 7 months

Text

Soulmates Steddie Recs

Important: READ THE TAGS! Also, leave a comment and kudos! These fics are amazing and I love them and I hope y'all do too 🧵

And Death Stands So Small In The Face Of Love

writersagainstwritersblock

Soulmate AU where soulmarks don't turn until the person actually loves you, rather than upon meeting. Unturned marks are just ink until the person who loves you touches them and turns them into bright, colorful tattoos. Or a character study on Steve, the people he loves, and the people who love him.

Words : 14,514 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Teen And Up Audiences

AO3 : x

Find the words and talk to me

daytimedreamer

In a world where a tattoo-like mark appears on your left wrist when your soulmate is relatively close to you, Eddie Munson doesn't have one.

But he's fine with it. Completely fine. Who needs a soulmate... Right?

He has his whole life figured out already and the lack of a soulmate hasn't affected his plans at all.

That is until a mark does appear and Eddie discovers he can't run from fate.

Words : 72,470 Chapters : 11/11 Rating : Explicit

AO3 : x

color me in danger

SolariaLunar21

The first time Eddie remembers a major change in the color of his meter he’s 11 years old. For most of his life the bar on his wrist has sat firmly in the green sometimes on very rare occasions darkening to a green blue color. That is until that day when he’s 11 and he watches it change to yellow for the first time.

Words : 4,755 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Mature

AO3 : x

Your skin and bones turn into something beautiful (You know I love you so)

ChristinMKay

Steve Harrington is born with a scream on his lips and so much love in his being that his body is covered in it. An abundance of moles, freckles, and birthmarks are speckled across his skin, painting him in constellations and stardust and affection.

The nurses and doctors are congratulating Steve’s parents as they place him in the arms of his mother. They say he is blessed. Lived so many lives filled with people who loved him so much that the press of their lips against his skin had to echo through time and leave a mark.

Words : 4,209 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Mature

AO3 : x

so we must meet apart

leah_btw

He sometimes imagines how it would feel to be in Munson's orbit. Sometimes imagines where his words would be. Hopes they'd curl along Munson's cheek bone where Steve could brush his thumb so easily. Or in the junction between his neck and shoulder, a place where Steve could drop kisses. Or along the curve of his hip, where Steve's palm could settle.

None of it matters because Steve never says anything.

Words : 15,437 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Teen And Up Audiences

AO3 : x

Heart on Your Sleeve

Anonymous

Steve Harrington doesn’t know how to love right. He knows he loves his parents, but their soul marks have turned to scars on his skin. He doesn’t know what he’s doing wrong. With some help, he figures out it's not his fault.

Inspired by a kink meme prompt where your soul mark appears when you realise you love someone.

Words : 22,816 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Explicit

AO3 : x

Error Option Romance

thankyouplease

Eddie imagines that Steve Harrington probably thinks that he is real hot shit. On top of being a rich prom king, he is also an eroptomancer. A love seer. A soulseer, some people call them – someone able to see the weird magic that connects people in a predestined shit storm of a craps game. He probably thinks he’s real goddamn special. One in a million special.

It’s actually closer to one in five million, but who’s counting?

Words : 61,348 Chapters : 6/6 Rating : Teen And Up Audiences

AO3 : x

Platonic with a capital "P"

fucktacles

Robin Buckley was betrayed by the universe twice in her short teenage life. Once when she was born a lesbian in a homophobic little town. Again, when it shoved Steve Harrington into her life. Worst of all, he was starting to grow on her. She might even be, gods forbid, fond of him.

Words : 8,429 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Teen And Up Audiences

AO3 : x

as you bleed your deepest feelings here

hitlikehammers

“My first fucking tattoo, hell,” Eddie sniffles and sneers and neither sentiment really lands, it’s more just…devastating. “Thought about covering it up, soon as anyone would let me into a parlor. Tried to stick-and-poke it, so I couldn’t tell what it was anymore but I couldn’t even get past a single little dot, like a full inch away,” he presses Steve’s hand closer, the skin so smooth and so fucking warm; “made my,” Eddie’s voice cracks then, and sounds almost like it bleeds around the last wet whimpers that fall forth:

“Made my heart hurt.”

Fuck, but it makes Steve’s heart hurt, too.

“But it was a whole new hurt when there was you, you understand?” Steve freezes, scared for half a second until Eddie reaches for his chin and lifts his gaze, stares utter devotion and maybe a little disbelief straight into Steve’s veins just with a look that full, then Eddie licks his lips and there’s a hint of a smile that dares to breach the cloud cover.

“You made my heart kinda,” and oh, yeah, a smile: “sing.”

Words : 3,096 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Teen And Up Audiences

AO3 : x

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #fic rec #ficrec

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m-jelly · 1 month

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Mask of the heart - Chapter 1

Levi x fem!readerRoyalty, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Curses, Curse Breaking, Demons, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Magic, Romance, Drama & Romance, Falling In Love, Love, Love Confessions, True Love, Demon Levi Ackerman, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Running Away, Arranged Marriage, Obsessive Behavior, Soft Levi Ackerman, Levi Ackerman Needs a Hug, Protective Levi Ackerman, Possessive Levi Ackerman, Cuddly Levi Ackerman, Masks, Curvy Reader

When the psychotic prince of your country tries to force you to marry him you manage to run away to the next country over and right into the arms of a demon Count called Levi. Levi has been cursed to be forever stuck in his demon form, believing he is ugly and scary to others he always wears a mask. Levi looks after you and helps you learn how to trust others again. While Levi teaches you the world's joys, you teach him how loveable and handsome he is. With encouragement from yourself and a lot of your pure love, Levi starts taking his mask off more and allowing his people to get to know him. With romance blossoming between you, the prince of the other kingdom wants you back and tries everything to get you back. Levi helps you and works with King Erwin to stop the prince of the other land and free the people of his tyranny.

This first chapter mentions blood, the prince hurting workers and possessive behaviour.

Ao3

Part 2

Pleasure flowed through the prince as he pressed the hot symbol against his servant’s chest. Every scream that was emitted from the man was incredible. The prince took joy in hurting others, it was his favourite pastime. When he wasn’t hurting someone, he was busy partaking in the flesh of many women. Never loyal to one woman, there was always another each night. Sometimes he’d have them for just a week.

However, a part of him longed to have someone he could devote his heart to. No matter how many times he met countless women, not a single one of them stirred his heart or moved him. As he placed the hot brand against the man’s flesh again, he decided that a ball was needed. The prince was determined to meet the woman of his dreams.

He lifted the hot iron and inspected the skin clinging to it. “Mr Clarke? Organise a ball for me and make sure that every single bachelorette of age is invited. I want a wife.”

Mr Clarke gazed at the prince as the words settled in his head, it was shocking to hear his master tell him to gather women so one can find a bride. Prince Jareth Lovell was a cruel man to all those around him, yet charming and alluring to those he needed to be. It was hard not to be captivated by the prince with his chiselled jawline, angled cheekbones, almond eyes were icy blue, lips plump that always held a wicked smile, a tall frame to tower over others, muscles over every inch of him, small waist, large hands and a mane of long silver-white hair with a few pieces at the front to create layers.

He bowed to the prince. “Yes, Your Highness.”

Jareth lowered the iron and gazed at his helper. “I want it soon. I crave a wife. No more temporary lovers. Make sure the ones I have are cleared out.”

“Understood, Your Highness.”

The whole palace was in a frenzy about organising the ball, as soon as everything was in order the invites were sent and news broke out. The charming prince was after a wife. Most women were excited to be the one the prince married, especially those who had taken him as a lover some nights. However, one rare woman despised the prince and the country after everything that had happened.

Your parents had owned a lot of land, and your father was a well-loved Lord by many and cared for those in need. The royal family were not keen on your father and his influence on people. Your father and mother wanted to take their money and run away to the next country over. During a trip to the border to organise their escape with you, their sweet eight-year-old daughter, there was a carriage accident. With every fibre in your body, you believed the royal family did it.

After your parents died, your uncle and aunt took you in. The two of them were obsessed with money and fame, so they tried everything to take what was your father’s but thanks to the will your father made, it was all yours. When you came of age, you moved out and returned to the land your family owned and lived in a small home. However, your aunt and uncle were always around and wouldn’t leave you be.

Today you were even more irritated by them because your cousin, who was younger than you, was screaming about an invite from the palace. “Ruby, please stop screaming.”

She shoved the white invite card in your face. “The prince has invited us to a ball!”

“Am I supposed to be excited?”

“Yes!” She huffed. “It’s a chance to be a princess and then a queen!”

The idea of being a royal did not interest you, so you looked back down at your work. “I’m good.”

“I’m telling mum!”

You rolled your eyes. “You do that.” It didn’t take long for your young cousin to rush out of the room and return with your aunt and uncle. “Before you speak, no I am not going.”

Your uncle huffed as he said your name. “She is only 20, she is of age to marry the prince. You don’t need to go as a potential bride, but you could at least escort her! She’s younger than you and she’s not used to those types of places. At least escort her.”

You glanced over at your cousin. “You do know the prince is a monster. His whole family are terrible.”

Ruby pouted. “I just wanna go to a ball.”

Part of you felt bad because she’d never been to a ball or a grand event but you had. So, you decided to push your issues aside. “Very well, I’ll escort her.”

“I ah…” She hesitated.”

You cast your gaze on her. “Yes?”

Nerves began to show on through her playing with her dress. “I do not have a ball gown.”

Your aunt moved closer. “Help her, please? We aren’t rich enough to get her something so fine and beautiful.”

You rose to your feet. “I know of a local lady in my land who will give us a good deal.” The clacking of your heels on the wooden floor echoed in the room. When you noticed no one was falling you paused. “Are you coming?”

It was a nice day with Ruby in the shop, to see her so happy dressing up warmed your heart a little. For a long time you’d been hurting and rather closed off, it had become so bad that your ex left you and said you were a cold-hearted bitch that didn’t understand love. It was true, that you were rather cold-hearted but you did know love and it wasn’t for him. A part of you craved and longed for love, but you believed it was somewhere out there, not within this country. You were going to finish what your parents started, you were going to take your money and power then leave this place and never return.

Sometimes you would feel bad about leaving, mainly because Ruby was sweet and the people you looked after in the small land you owned were incredible. There was this sweet bond that was between everyone in the town and you, so walking away was going to be hard. The land was near the border on the beach, so a part of your plan was to possibly sell the land to a royal or lord in the country bordering this one. Someone had to be better than your royal family.

After helping Ruby with her dresses, you spent a few days teaching her how to dance and greet royals. You ensured she knew that her head must be slightly bowed and eyes downcast when she spoke and only to lift your head when requested. The greeting bow was also important, the deeper the bow the more respect you had for the royal. Ruby had told you she was going to go for a very respectful bow, which you supported.

When the day of the ball arrived, you felt sick to your stomach about going but you had promised Ruby to take her. Ruby was too young to go alone and was not educated enough to speak to royals and powerful people. It was sweet seeing her bounce in her carriage seat, but for you, your anxiety was eating away at you the closer you got. Wearing a corset and a tight ball gown was a little bit soothing for you, it was like a tight hug.

As you walked up the stairs and held your dress you gave Ruby the last bits of information. “Now, when we go in there they will announce us. You will have a Miss as a title and I Lady. This is a little odd because the prince will already be there. Normally at balls, the prince or royal enters last, but he wants to see every woman enter.” You stopped at the top. “This is like a parade of things he can shop for.”

Ruby nodded. “I understand. Are we first or last? It’s always good to be around there.”

You handed over the invites to the butler. “We’re middle.”

The butler checked the cards. “Correct, you are in the middle. Do not worry miss, the prince cares for all ladies.”

“A word?”

“But of course.”

You moved to the side with the butler. “Ruby is a potential bride, but I am not. I am here as her escort.”

He was in utter shock. “My Lady, you were invited as a potential bride.”

“And I decline that invite. I am just an escort, nothing more. Please announce me as the escort.”

A slight fear shot through him, he was sure the prince would not like this. “A-Ah um…very well, my Lady.”

The grand white doors with gold leaf trim were pushed open to reveal a large hall with a white marble floor sprinkled with gold. In the ceiling were paintings of battles, women taking lovers and grand scenes of royal successes. Two chandeliers sparkled in the light like the sunlight bouncing off the sea. Below was an overhearing throne with the prince sitting upon it, quivering behind him was Mr Clarke and a few women on the floor begging for attention.

As the soft music played, the prince brought his gold chalice to his lips and felt unamused by the women so far. Not a single person had interested him and he was beginning to get antsy. When the doors opened he dragged his bored eyes up and felt his ears prick with interest when he heard Ruby being announced with a female escort. As soon as he heard your name, he held back a laugh and couldn’t believe you had come here.

Jareth smirked. “Is that the girl whose parents died due to my father?”

Mr Clarke leaned closer. “Indeed, Your Highness.”

“It’ll be interesting to see that little welp. I find it amusing that she is an escort and not a potential bride. She must have rejected me.” He downed some of his red wine. “Rightly so, that disgusting…” Words failed him as soon as you walked out with Ruby in your figure-hugging dress and hair up and away from your stunning face. “Such beauty.”

“She is a fine one. Let’s see how she bows.”

Jareth saw Ruby give a deep bow, but you gave a small one which was disrespecting the prince. Rudy was blushing, but you could not care less about this occasion and didn’t even bother to sneak a glance at him, like most of the ladies tonight.

Clarke gasped. “How disrespectful, I am so sorry Your Highness.”

Jareth rose to his feet. “Don’t be. I liked it. What a hypnotic creature.” He moved past the pleading women as Clarke scrambled to follow. “I must have her. She will be my bride.”

“Your Highness?”

Jareth turned to his helper with a glint in his eyes. “Being a lady means she is well educated. She is beautiful like a goddess. She is willing to speak and act her mind even though there could have been a risk to her life. She was bold too by rejecting me of all people. Send an invite to her. I wish to see her in private.”

Clarke bowed. “Yes, Your Highness.” With quick movements, Clarke made it across the room to you. Getting closer to you now, he was beginning to understand why the prince was so taken by you, you were a vision. “My Lady?”

You turned with a glass in your hand and a smile on your face due to speaking with a rather charming Lord, a friend of your father’s. “Yes?”

“The prince would like to see you privately.”

Your nail tapped against your champagne glass. “Does he now?” You flicked your gaze to the prince as he watched. “Tell him I decline. I am an escort tonight and I am conducting business. I am not interested in marriage or a roll in the sheets with him.”

Fear shot through Clarke. “M-My Lady! Please.”

“I understand your situation, but I decline. He can find a play toy elsewhere.” You returned your attention to the man you were speaking to. “As I was saying, I am happy to meet up to create a contract of trading between the two of us.”

The gentleman chuckled. “Excellent. You remind me so much of your father, he was a good man. He would be so proud of you.”

“Thank you, that means a lot to me.”

Mr Clarke cried out your title and name causing people to stare and the prince. As soon as you turned to him he spoke. “His Royal Highness would like a meeting with you.”

“As I explained to you the first time.” A strained smile spread over your lips. “I decline his invitation. I am an escort tonight, that is all. If it upsets him so much that I say no, then he can come here himself and I will tell him no to his face.”

Mr Clarke felt irritated when he saw people were trying to hide that they were laughing. “Fine.” A part of him was excited at telling the prince you said no because then you would get tortured, Clarke rather liked it when that happened. “Your Highness.”

A tingle rushed through Jareth. “Well? When is she meeting me?”

“She declined.”

Amusement and excitement now consumed him, this was even more exciting. “Declined?”

Clarke glanced over at you. “She did.” Seeing you be strung up and tortured by the prince was exciting him. “She said you can talk to her and she will reject you to your face.” He gazed at his prince and waited for a reaction of disgust, but was shocked.

Jareth laughed. “What a woman. I will speak with her.” People parted out of the way as Jareth’s long and muscular legs moved him over to you. He towered over you with his height. “Excuse me.” He softly said your name and felt arousal when you turned to face him. To him, you were incredibly beautiful and your plump breasts were wonderfully pressed in your dress and corset. “I was told you wanted to tell me your response to my invitation.”

Your neck hurt a bit looking up at him. “Goodness, you are too tall.” You huffed a little. “I informed your little messenger that I will not meet with you in private. I am escorting my cousin Ruby, that is all. If you want so woman to roll around in the sheets with for a night or few nights, I am not the woman for you. So, no I will not have a meeting with you.”

“I am not looking for a woman to lay with. I am looking for a bride.”

You bowed your head to your friend and started walking away. “You are not husband material.” You stopped in a hall half open to the garden. “Knowing you, you would have countless affairs. You cannot stick to one woman.”

He grabbed your upper arm and yanked you to him, he made sure you looked him deep in the eyes. “You are different. I will give everything to have you. I will destroy anyone in my path. You are everything I could ever want and more.”

“I do not want you.”

He gripped tighter making you wince. “Perhaps I will have a word with your uncle. You may be a lady and have power, along with being well over the age of 18, but he still has the final say. The law states that the male of the family has the final say on marriage.”

A cold fear went through you. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“I enjoy a challenge and you are the biggest challenge. I desire you deeply and I will make you mine.” He pulled you close and forced a kiss on you. “I will visit your uncle soon.”

It hurt deeply in your heart that your Uncle and Aunt went against your pleas. No matter how much you told them both you did not want to marry the prince, it fell on deaf ears. Arrangements were being made for you and as soon as your Uncle said yes, you were whisked away to the palace. Being in the palace was so deeply lonely and soul-crushing. The prince was deeply obsessed with you in a very disturbing way. Anyone who said anything against you was tortured personally by his hand.

There was only one good thing about the palace and that was one maid and a carriage driver. The two of them cared for and looked after you, they even made sure you stayed mentally healthy. Sometimes when you were alone with them, you would just talk for hours which gave you a boost to keep going. When they saw you weren’t going to get any better, talks of escaping started and a plot of you running away began.

It was hard to plot your escape, mainly because the prince had spies all over the palace who were very loyal to him. Plus, the prince made sure he was with you as often as possible and took you on countless dates. The prince wanted you to fall in love with him, he knew it was a hard job to do so wearing you down first was the best option and hoping the Stockholm syndrome would kick in.

Today you were hoping for an easy day. You’d been sleeping more and hardly eating, so you were weaker than normal. You were a plump person, but the weight was starting to drop off. It scared you that it was happening because you liked your curves, you were proud of them and Jareth was just draining you of so much happiness and health.

Your maid moved closer to you as you sat up in your grand bed. “Good morning, my lady. Did you sleep any better?”

You shook your head slowly. “More nightmares. I don’t know if I can keep doing this. Marrying him…” Bile rose in your throat. “I feel sick.”

She helped you out of bed and to the bathroom. “I will get you some water, my lady.”

Jareth shoved your bedroom doors open. “Doll! Where are you?”

The maid flinched at seeing the prince. “Your Highness.” She bowed deeply. “My lady is in the bathroom.”

A devilish smirk spread over his plump lips. “Bathing?”

“N-no, she is unwell.”

The smile faded away. “Unwell?”

“She had a restless night and is currently being sick.”

“What?”

You walked out of the bathroom and hummed. “I am fine before you start a tirade.”

Jareth was soothed as soon as he saw you. “Doll, you look so cute in your night dress. Your maid has told me you struggled with sleep, perhaps sharing my bed would help.”

You glared at him. “I would rather sleep on a bed of broken glass.”

“I do adore your sharp tongue.” He clicked his fingers. “Maid, dress my bride up in something beautiful; it’s date day.”

You walked over to the bed and sat on the edge. “Are you not tired of this constant charade?”

“It’s entertainment for me.”

You released a grow. “Leave so I may change.”

A dark and deep chuckle came from him. “Leave me waiting until the wedding day, hm?” He glanced at his maid. “Hurry up and dress her, I don’t like waiting and if I am not pleased…”

You stormed over to Jareth and shoved him out of the room. “I asked you to leave. Please don’t pressure my maid either.”

He stopped outside your room as he chuckled. “You continue to surprise me.” He turned to face you. “Such a beautiful thing.”

You slammed the door in his face. “Let’s get this over with.”

It didn’t take long for the maid to dress you up into an incredible dress that fit you perfectly, you were like a walking goddess. Jareth was speechless and over the moon about how you appeared. After joining him, you were escorted all over the palace so he could show you off. Eventually, he took you to the garden for some lunch together.

Jareth paused while eating and noticed you weren’t. “Why are you not eating?”

You sighed. “I’m not hungry.”

“You haven’t eaten all day!” He stood and dragged his chair closer to you before sitting again. “You need to eat.” He put some food on a fork made of gold. “You like fighting me all the time. You can’t fight me if you’re weak.” He offered the food to you. “Besides, your plump and curvy frame is divine.”

You released a long sigh and knew he was right. You had started to like how you looked and you needed your strength. “I will eat but, please don’t feed me.”

He handed the fork to you. “I will get you to love me.”

You started eating your lunch and rather enjoyed it. “Mm.”

He caressed your cheek. “So cute and precious.”

“Do you really think I’ll love you? You’ve used your power and the law to force me to be your fiancée.” You downed some of your drink. “Love will not happen between us.” You flicked your gaze to him. “Are you even capable of love?”

He leaned his cheek on his hand as he took you in. “I love you, so yes.”

“You torture workers for your amusement and I am sure your father was behind the death of my parents.” You leaned closer to him. “You love it when people get hurt or die by your hand. Plus, you have slept with so many women who knows what diseases you have inside you. I would never want to touch you or let you near me. I will never give you a child because I don’t want your infected body to touch mine.”

The rage inside Jareth built up, he had never been called disgusting and infected before. As soon as you finished talking he flew into a fit of rage. When he stood up the chair scraped loudly against the floor. It all happened in a blink of an eye. One minute the butler was standing waiting for instructions, the next moment Jareth had smashed the hot teapot against him. Blood flew through the air when Jareth’s fist connected with the butler’s face over and over.

You launched yourself at Jareth and hugged his arm. “Stop!” You pulled hard. “Stop it!”

A fearful scream escaped you when Jareth grabbed and threw you across the grassy floor. The thud of your body was loud when it connected with it. Jareth didn’t give you a moment to think because he was on you pinning you against the ground. His large bloodied hand gripped your jaw and mouth in a painfully hard squeeze. You breathed heavily through your nose causing his hand to heat up.

Jareth panted a little as his silvery white hair created a curtain around you both. “I am not disgusting or dirty.”

Part of you hoped someone would come to pull him off you, but no one would dare because he would break them. Plus, it seemed a lot of people who worked for him enjoyed it when he was violent. You were doomed if you stayed with this man. As he pinned you in place you knew that you had to run away because no one was ever going to save you.

He leaned down a little more so he was inches from your face. “I might have enjoyed fucking a lot of women or having them suck my cock, but I ensure that everyone was well protected. I don’t want a dirty child being made from them. You have me all wrong, little doll. I never came inside a single woman. I protect my seed.” He released your face and caressed your cheek. “I am saving myself for you.” He dragged his thumb over your bottom lip. “I was to fill your breedable cunt with all my seed. Our children will be perfect.”

You went numb when he leaned down and kissed you. You didn’t kiss him back, so for him, it was like kissing a doll. Even when his teeth pulled at your lip, you didn’t react. As soon as he gripped your breast, then you got angry. You slapped him hard causing him to pull back. You sat up and wiped the blood off your lip and felt annoyed by him.

Jareth sat back and rubbed his cheek. “Doll.”

You stood up and gently rubbed your jaw. “You will never have me.” You glared at him. “I won’t allow it. You don’t deserve a woman like me.” You released a long sigh. “I am done with this date. I don’t want to see you for the rest of this day.” You walked over to the hurt butler. You took his hand and helped him to his feet. “I’m sorry you got hurt because of my words. Let me care for you.”

The butler shook his head. “I’m okay, my lady. We have a medic.”

You pulled back and smiled. “Let me know if you need anything.”

Jareth stumbled to his feet. “Doll, please don’t leave me. I am sorry for my actions.”

You turned to your maid. “Please could you take me to my room?”

She bowed. “Yes, my lady.”

After returning to your room, the maid helped you change. The room was silent for a while before the maid started talking about helping you escape the palace. It was unexpected to hear her want to do that for you, but you weren’t going to turn her down. So, you started plotting your escape. You worked hard and passionately, but something seemed off with your maid and she seemed to be putting a bit of her ideas in the open.

The way your maid was sometimes with you was a little harsh after how romantic Jareth had tried to be recently. Even though not everything seemed right, you still had some sense of hope and you made a little backup plan with the carriage driver just in case. Your carriage driver was a wonderful older man who seemed the most genuine.

One day your plans came crashing down and breaking your heart. You were enjoying some peace in his grand garden, which seemed to be the only nice place in the palace. Your peace was ruined when Jareth came storming over with two guards and Mr Clarke. Whatever he wanted brought him some sick joy because he had a smirk on him that said he was going to hurt someone.

“You think you’re so slick, don’t you?” Jareth chuckled. “You thought you could get away with this.”

You closed your book and looked up at him, but it seemed he wasn’t looking at you but your maid. “Jareth?”

He glanced over at you and kissed you. “Not you, my doll. You’re a good doll. Someone has taken advantage of you to get my attention.”

“I don’t understand.”

He played with your hair. “Your maid.” He smiled as he took in your beauty. “I still can’t get over how beautiful you are.”

You looked over at your maid as the guards grabbed her. “What are you doing with my maid?”

She smiled at you. “Looks like I’ve been found out.”

“Found out?” Fear shot through you, it had to be your escape plan. “What do you mean?”

Jareth sat next to you on the loveseat and released a long sigh. He pulled you close and held you. “Well, have you ever wondered why you’ve been so unwell?”

You gripped your book. “I thought it was due to stress.”

“Well, this little bitch has been poisoning you. While she’s been doing that, she has been leading you on and pretending to help you go on a trip.”

You felt a pain in your heart. “Oh…why?”

Jareth hummed a laugh. “Why indeed. Why don’t you tell us why, little bitch?”

The maid huffed. “You have had countless women, but you never once wanted me!” She shook a little. “I could give you everything you could ever want.”

Jareth held the side of your head and pulled you close so he could kiss your temple. “You are nothing because you are not my doll.” He held you close. “Clarke, you know what to do with this bitch.”

Mr Clarke smiled. “Yes, Your Highness.”

He waited for everyone to leave before speaking to you. “I am ever so sorry for the treatment you have received, but now you are protected and safe. We’ll get your health back on track.”

Tears stung your eyes. “Mm.”

He hugged you tightly. “Now it’s just me and you, no more maid in our way.”

A few maids hurried around you as you were pushed and pulled into your wedding dress. The number of layers and the tightness of the corset were too much. Since your maid was taken away, Jareth was with you every second he could meaning it was impossible to plot your escape. It seemed like there was no escape for you and you were stuck. All you could think about was having to sleep with Jareth because of the royal rules that the marriage had to be consummated.

“My lady?”

You lifted your head and registered your carriage driver standing at the door of your carriage. “Today is the day that I die. As soon as I marry him, everything inside me will die.”

He watched you sob into your flowers. He reached inside your carriage and placed his hand on your arm. “I won’t let that happen.”

You sniffed. “What do you mean?”

He clenched his jaw. “It has been an honour.”

You flinched when he slammed the door and climbed into his seat. “What is happening?” You yelped when he cracked the reins and the carriage sped off. Your back slammed into your seat as the carriage raced off. “Harold!” You clambered over to the other seat and opened the little window to the driver seat. “Harold?”

The loud thumping of the horse's hooves and their breathing was so loud, but he managed to shout over them. “I’m setting you free. I’m getting you to the border!”

“Harold, he’ll kill you.”

He sighed. “I know, but I cannot let you do this. Run across the border, do not look back. Get yourself safe and find love.”

You let the tears fall. “Thank you, Harold.” You pulled back and started pulling at your dress so it’d be easier for you to run. You yanked your engagement ring off and tied it to the flowers. After shoving the door window open, you tossed the flowers out. “Freedom.”

As the carriage shook and travelled along the road to the border, you sat back and closed your eyes so you could enjoy some peace. A shout made your whole body jump. It seemed like Harold was shouting about something. You leaned out the window and looked behind you to see it was the royal guards in the distance racing towards you as well as Jareth.

Harold cracked the reins. “Don’t worry, my lady! I’ll get you close to the border! We’re almost there!”

You breathed out to see it was cold out. The mountain path was the only way you could escape. “Harold, thank you!”

“I’ll race into the woods. You need to jump out and start running, okay? I’ll draw them away.”

You nodded. “Okay.” You braced yourself against the door. “I’m ready!”

He turned the carriage into the thick snow-covered woods. He glanced back to see you were out of view. “Now!”

You threw the door open and leapt out and into the snow. You cried out when your body slammed against the floor on a bank then you started rolling. You yelped as your body rolled over hidden rocks. You kept rolling until you banged into a tree causing the air to be knocked out of you. “Ow.”

As you lay there in the snow you heard the carriage race away. Horses hooves and shouting got closer, meaning Jareth was getting close to the carriage. You winced as you leaned up and listened closely to what he was ordering, it seemed like he didn’t know you had jumped. Knowing you’d be safe for a bit, you pushed yourself up onto your shaky-cut legs and started sprinting as fast as your broken body could take you.

Time seemed to mean nothing to you as you stumbled through the forest. It was hard to see where you were going now, but you were sure hours had passed. You had prepared for your sham wedding in the morning and now it was the middle of the night. The bright moon lit up your path as you stumbled around. The once glamorous wedding dress you wore was not ripped, wet, dirty and had your blood on it.

Exhaustion bit away at your body, you needed to stop and rest but another part of you was telling you to fight. You slowed down and spotted a light from a lantern moving closer to you. A boost of energy rushed through you. You ran towards the light and saw a man dressed in black with a long cloak with a thick fur collar. When he moved into the moonlight you felt breathless.

The man was muscular and of average height. The clothes he wore indicated that he was rich, but likely not a royal. His hand gripping the top of the lantern was not fully human, it was black with claw-like fingers that seemed so soft and warm. The cold winter air blew his raven undercut hair a little to show off his stunning face that was dotted with black markings and some scales. Two reddish horns curled from his head and framed his handsome features. There were dark marks under his eyes to show he lacked sleep. A tail flicked behind him as he looked around. The most beautiful part was his steel blue eyes, you wanted to look deep into them for the rest of your life.

Levi had gone out for a night walk because he had heard there was a runaway bride who had escaped the prince in the neighbouring country. He had heard that the love of his life would run right into his arms and break his curse. This runaway bride might be his destined love that the one who cursed him was pissed off about. Levi had been cursed by someone who loved him but he didn’t love them, they tried to see Levi’s love future and saw a woman dressed as a bride running into Levi’s arms. So, they cursed Levi to be unable to change out of his demon form.

Tonight Levi had not worn his mask because he knew he wouldn’t meet anyone, so no one would be scared of how he looked. Levi was ashamed of how he looked, he believed he was frightening and ugly. He moved his lantern a little and squinted to see there was a figure running towards him. Something hopeful gripped Levi’s heart, it was just like he was told. His beloved bride and the love of his life seemed to be running right to him.

A gasp escaped him when the light caught you, you were his bride. Levi felt a hot rush go through him, you were the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen even though your wedding dress was ripped. He dropped his lantern when you jumped into his arms. He held you close to him as butterflies fluttered in his stomach. He glanced down at you to see a sparkle in your eyes.

You reached up and caressed his cheek. “You’re so handsome.”

Levi felt a rush of emotions, one was panic that you saw his real face but pure happiness and love fought with the fear because you saw the real him and liked it. “Th-Thank you.” He studied you. “My bride, you’re hurt.”

You rested your head against him. “Worth it all because I ran into your arms.”

He blushed hard. “Mm, yes.” He gazed at your pretty face. “You’re cold.” He yanked his massive cloak off and put it around you. “Here.”

You hugged it around you. “Smells wonderful.” You looked up at him. “You smell nice.” You cupped his face. “My saviour.” You leaned up and kissed Levi.

Levi wrapped his arms around you and kissed you back, but then you went limp. “My bride?” He pulled back to see you’d passed out. “Poor thing.” He grabbed the lantern and scooped you up. “Let’s get you home.”

The walk was short to his black horse, but he knew the ride would be a little long. It was spring in his land which meant the mountains were covered in snow, but when he took you down from the mountains to his home, it’d be a lot warmer for you. He made sure you were held against him as he rode back down the mountain path.

As the excitement of finding you died down a little, he realised how awful this was for you as well as how bad you looked. There were cuts and bruises all over your body, along with your toes and fingers looking blue. He was going to get you back and help you soak in a hot bath. Levi was very aware of the terror that was the prince in the other country because he was working closely with King Erwin to help people cross the border and escape him.

The land Levi lived in was welcoming and loving. It was a mixture of humans and other magical beings. Levi, like King Erwin, was part of the demon clan but preferred to appear human in form. There were a lot of policies to keep things fair and people to be treated equally. The balance between the poor and rich wasn’t massive, people were happy and comfortable. The biggest focus right now was making sure people fleeing Jareth’s country were cared for, kept safe and moved somewhere they wanted to go.

Levi dragged you off his horse once he arrived at his stables. Using the darkness, he rushed you inside his grand home and upstairs to his room. He lay you on his bed wrapped up in his cape and hurried over to his mask. He pulled on the mask that only showed his eyes and felt comfortable now he had hidden away.

Once Levi felt comfortable, he rushed out of the room and found a maid. “Ah, Anne. I need your help.”

Anne gazed at her kind, shy and sweet master. “Of course, I’m more than happy to help you.”

He fiddled with his hands. “Th-thank you.” He turned and hurried down the hall. “This way.” He opened his room door. “I ah…I found my bride running through the snow up in the mountains.”

Anne walked over to you as you slept, she could see the damage on you was horrific. “Poor thing, she needs a good bath, lots of food and new clothes. “She is very beautiful though.” She smiled at Levi. “Did she run into your arms like you were told she would?”

“Y-yes.” He smiled as his tail flicked. “She’s perfect. I-I want to help her.”

“Could you carry her to the bathroom for me?”

Levi nodded. “Y-Yes.”

She followed her master. “Is she the runaway bride? I heard that the tyrant prince lost his bride yesterday.”

Levi carefully lay you on the lounging sofa in the bathroom. “I think so. She must have been really scared to run all this way and get this hurt.”

Anne knelt by you and started undressing you. “Could you check your pool bath? It should be warm. I think something nice should be added to it.”

Levi checked the different bottles. “Ah, lavender.”

“Perfect.” She held you close and light woke you. “My lady, I know you are tired but we need to bathe you.”

You inhaled deeply and hummed. “Okay. Thank you.”

“Anne. It’s lovely to meet you.” She looked up. “Your Lordship, I need to get this lady naked.”

Levi flinched. “S-Sorry. I will get some clothes.”

You hummed a laugh. “Cute.”

Anne giggled. “The Count is as sweet as anything.” She helped you out of the last of your clothes and then over to the bath. “I’ll help you bathe.”

You sat there for a while as your body warmed up. “Is the count married?”

“No, he is single. Why?”

You released a long sigh. “I think in my ill state I kissed him.”

Anne smiled. “That explains why he’s so happy.” She washed your hair. “He’s a good man, very shy and gentle. He helps out those in need. All of us who work here for him have escaped your country.” Anne lifted her dress and showed you that one of her legs was a prosthetic. “The prince is a monster.”

You reached over and touched her leg. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m happy here and I have a handsome boyfriend.” She giggled. “So, it’s okay. Now it’s your turn to be happy and okay.” She helped you out of the bath and dried you off. “His Lordship will take care of you. You won’t be hurt anymore.”

You welled up. “I’m so glad.”

Anne hugged you. “You’re safe here.” She smiled and then ushered you out into Levi’s room to see he was fiddling with some clothes. “My Lordship.”

Levi flinched. “A-Ah! I uh…I bought clothes. A-are they okay?”

You walked over and looked them over. “They’re beautiful.” You smiled up at Levi. “Thank you.” You leaned closer and kissed his mask right where his lips would be. “You saved my life. I owe you everything.”

Levi gulped hard. “Y-You’re welcome. A-Ah, you should r-rest. Y-you can use my room.”

You held his clawed hand making him flinch at the contact. “You’ll be sharing it with me, right? I’m afraid to be alone.” You looked down and welled up as your body shook. “What if he comes back?”

Levi wrapped an arm around you and pulled you against him. “I’ll stay. The bed is massive.” He released you and turned his back. “Anne? Could you help her?”

Anne took the towel off you and dressed you in a lovely night dress. “Here you go, my lady. So pretty.” She stepped back. “She’s all ready for bed, your lordship.” She bowed and moved to the door. “I will take my leave.”

Levi turned to face you as soon as Anne left and was glad he had a mask on because he would be bright pink with a blush. To him, you looked incredibly beautiful with your hair down, the soft white nightdress on and it being lowcut. “P-pretty.” He went to reach for you before pulling back. “S-sorry, I shouldn’t touch.”

You smiled. “You’re nothing like him. That makes me so happy and safe.” You let out a big yawn and looked so adorable to Levi. “Mm, tired.”

“Bunny.”

You looked up at him. “Bunny?”

He whined. “Sorry, you remind me of a cute bunny.”

“Really?”

He walked over to the bed and pulled back the covers for you. “Bunny’s are amazing. They’re strong, durable and determined little things. They might be cute, but they have a mean kick.”

You climbed into the bed. “You don’t see me as a fragile thing?”

“N-no.” He tucked you in. “I will change.”

You lay back and felt so exhausted that you didn’t fully contemplate your situation, that some demon man had scooped you up, brought you to his massive home, washed you up and now had you in his bed. Your thoughts and slight worries washed away when Levi walked back over in a very loose and lowcut white shirt and high-waisted comfy trousers. The muscle you could see was plump and kissable with a few black markings and scales on.

Levi stopped on his side of the bed and whined. “S-sorry, my body is ugly.”

You sat up. “It’s the opposite! You’re the most handsome and beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”

Levi sat on the bed and felt confused. “Jareth is supposed to be that.”

You shook your head. “No, you are.” You reached over to his mask and lightly touched it. “I wish I could see your wonderful face again.”

“Mm, you won’t like it or me after you’re well rested.” He helped you to lie back. “Sleep.”

You softly said your name and title. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

Levi smiled behind his mask. “Count Levi Ackerman. I am the right-hand man to the King.”

You tried to fight sleep, but it was hard. “Mm, pleasure.”

Levi watched you drift off. “Pleasure is all mine.”

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