#day 1: mythical creatures
Text
Day 1!! (Fashionably late) Reddie week- mythical creatures!! (Richie is a ghost)
Ghosts in movies are usually ancient beings of untold power or Victorian children in nightgowns with no eyes. Something ominous, right? Something grand and mysterious.
"Are you gonna eat that?" The ghostly white and see through visage of a floating guy with coke bottle glasses and a shit eating grin asked from behind Eddie's back.
Without even cracking a smile, Eddie responded. "You can't even eat, dumbass. You have no stomach."
He somehow snorts with no physical nose. "I'm sure I could find a way to make an exception for something like that. Besides." He flew around Eddie as if he were swimming in air and tapped the side of his "glasses". "I don't have eyes, and yet I still have these babies."
"Yeah, why do you do that to yourself, anyway? Are you even capable of taking them off?"
"That's not the point. The point is, I look devastatingly handsome in my glasses, so I keep them, and the cake would be devastatingly delicious, so why not enjoy it? I'm already dead. I gotta at least try to live a little. What do ya say?" He flared his fingers out as if he thought he really did something.
Eddie stabbed a piece of the dairy-free gluten-free cake. One of the few treats he allowed himself. "No."
"Please." Richie begged, bringing his not-face closer to Eddie's and puppy pouted half inside of his face.
"No." Eddie continued, unfazed, and put the piece in his mouth.
"Please." Richie said again, this time face to face, eye to eye, close enough to kiss if they could even physically touch. Instead, their faces were just partially merged.
Eddie shrieked sharply and bits of cake fell out of his mouth and through Richie's face. "Oh gross, look what you made me do. If you're gonna pull this shit at least have the courtesy to be alive enough to clean up your mess."
"Another perk of being dead, Edwardo. Now about that cake." He said.
"Oh my god." Eddie groaned, throwing his head back as he swept the hard cake crumbs from the floor. "You may be the one that's dead, but you make me lose my will to live."
"I love you too." Richie chirped.
After letting out a long, heavy sigh, Eddie stood up next to his plate and silently cut off a piece.
"Ahhhh," Richie let his jaw unnaturally unhinge, like a snake, with his tongue lolling out like a Looney Toon.
Eddie held the cake on the fork. "Don't get cocky." He held the cake out to him, keeping his hand under the fork to manage crumbs. Richie got close, too close, and put his mouth around the fork. The fork and Eddie's hands were fully visible through Richie's milky white head. Bits of the cake fell from the fork onto Eddie's hand.
Richie kept trying, miming biting and licking, much to Eddie's disgust, but nothing happened. "Awww." He backed away, defeated.
"I told you. We do this multiple times a week. What made you think the result would be any different this time?" He looked at him through his eyelashes, a headache coming in.
"You're making it sound like you don't treasure our 'boy and his ghost' bonding time, Eds."
"Boy? I'm basically middle aged!"
"I hope not. If you're middle aged, I'm middle aged Eds."
"You're dead."Eddie sighed. "Not sure if I should be more worried about your sanity or mine. You know what they say about insanity. Doing the same thing and expecting a different result or whatever. But I'm the one talking to thin fucking air and trying to feed it my dessert."
"I don't know about thin. I've put on a few pounds in my old age. I'm middle aged you know." He smiled, wide and smug.
"Oh, shut the fuck up." Eddie instinctively chucked his forkful of cake at him. Richie tried to catch it in his mouth, but of course, it fell to the floor. Richie wouldn't have gotten it anyway. He was a little too left.
"Are you gonna clean that up?" Richie winked. "I'd help, but, ya know, dead."
"I hate you so fucking much. What did I do to deserve this? Is it too late for the clown to just take me?" Eddie begrudgingly got the broom and stomped around, diligently looking for crumbs to sweep into his little pan.
"Then you'd really be stuck with me, Eds. Till death do us not part. Because I'm dead and I haven't parted. So, I'm sure you'd be just as stuck here as I am."
"Oh my goddd," Eddie screamed into his hands.
There once was a boy named Richie Tozier. They grew up together. They met when they were in the first grade. Bill, Stan, Richie, and Eddie were typical best friends that loved each other, and would do anything for each other, but also kinda hated each other sometimes. Mike, Beverly, and Ben joined when they were thirteen. They didn't have time to form a dynamic before they were all haunted by horrors beyond their wildest childhood imaginations. The clown. It was more horror than any kid or anyone for that matter should have to witness in any lifetime. They did what they could, but they were kids.
Eddie had a broken arm. He had no business splashing around in a sewer trying to fight evil itself, but he wasn't going to let his best friends go in without him. Richie was a goofy kid with broken glasses, a smart mouth that wouldn't stop running, and buckets of unearned confidence and bravery. He never was okay with anything happening to Eddie. If a bully hurt Eddie, Richie would open his mouth and end up getting hurt way worse than Eddie was in the first place. If Eddie was tripped, Richie ended up with a black eye and bloody nose. And what was the clown but a big, supernatural bully? So when he came for Eddie, Richie didn't even think before using his mouth to get himself into trouble. The last trouble he'd ever get into. They really were best friends and it turns out, they were inseparable, even in death.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/47685511/chapters/120198859
#reddie#reddie week#reddie week 2023#eddie kaspbrak#richie tozier#ghost Richie#sunny writes#reddieweek#day 1 mythical creatures
55 notes
·
View notes
Text
#art#digital drawing#illustration#digitalart#stickers#dragon#Phoenix#mythical creatures#pride#lgbtq#lgbtqia#tumblr polls#1 day poll#1 day left
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
#day 1#mythical creature#vampire au#vampire richie tozier#vampire eddie kaspbrak#trans eddie au#trans eddie kaspbrak#fanart#toziervlogs#piggyback ride#pet name#blood tw#murder tw#reddie#richie tozier#eddie kaspbrak#established relationship#reddie week 2023#ao3#fancomic
13 notes
·
View notes
Text
I deserve to get absolutely railed after finishing this reading tbh
#Creature rambles#this hw is fucking me and so can you!#its spanish lit which is FINE i can read spanish the language is not the problem#the problem is the author who takes like 5 pages to say 1 sentence bc he must ramble on about the mythical power of a given poem and the#greek funeral that the poet deserves#if someone told him to shut up thatd be a good day i thinky#why is it taking him 50 pages to get thru very basic details about 4 (four) poets
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
Well well well it is midnight on the first day of Radship Week 2022, and here is my submission for all three prompts: pirates, consentacles, and mythological creatures. Main pairing is Raditz/Turles but a few others pop up.
Legendary: Raditz is a cecaelian just trying to get by in a fish-eat-fish sea when he goes to the surface in search of food. Turles is a pirate captain who gave up on his dream of finding the legendary Tree of Might a long time ago.
#radshipweek2022#Raditz#Turles#raditz x turles#day 1#consentacles#mythical creatures#pirates#pirate turles#octopus man raditz#cecaelia#my fic#minors dni#18+#gay#very gay
26 notes
·
View notes
Text
╰┈➤ ORIGINAL YANDERE MASTERLIST!
This post has a compiled list of all our original characters. Links with '🖌️' at the end has art attached to it.
Dae-Hyun Introduction 🖌️
Meeting Dae-Hyun’s dad 🖌️
Dae-Hyun’s reaction to a s/o that gives him small trinkets 🖌️
Dae-Hyun headcanons
Shopping with Dae-hyun 🖌️
Dae-Hyun’s reaction to a s/o that plans to move out 🖌️
Dae-Hyun’s childhood 🖌️
Dae-Hyun with a sick/bedridden s/o 🖌️ (ft. Lukas)
It’s been a long day..
Does Dae-Hyun want to marry his s/o? 🖌️
What would happen if Dae-Hyun and Demetrius ran into each other during a "clean up"?🖌️(ft. Demetrius)
What if Dae-Hyun accidentally made his s/o cry?🖌️(ft. Lukas)
What if y/n tries to seem mysterious when first meeting Dae-Hyun? 🖌️
Does Dae-Hyun have any secret fantasies about y/n? 🖌️
Jealous Dae-Hyun 🖌️
What's the worst thing Dae-Hyun would do behind his s/o's back? 🖌️
Dae-hyun with a cheating s/o headcanons 🖌️
Would Dae-Hyun let his s/o pull his hair?🖌️
How would Dae-Hyun react to someone flirting with his s/o?
How would Dae-Hyun react to his s/o giving him affection?
Dae-Hyun's reaction to sharing the same s/o as Lukas🖌️(ft. Lukas)
Dae-Hyun with a chubby s/o🖌️
Lukas Introduction 🖌️
What if you try closing the door on Lukas the first time?🖌️
How would Lukas react to sharing a s/o with Dae-Hyun?🖌️(ft. Dae-Hyun)
Would Lukas get flustered if you stare at him for some time?🖌️
How would Lukas react to a polite darling that turns down his offer?
When did Lukas realize he was obsessed with y/n?
What is Lukas like when he is jealous?
What makes Lukas valuable?
What if y/n has no money?🖌️
How would Lukas react to making his s/o cry?🖌️(ft. Dae-Hyun)
How would Lukas react to a sick/bedridden s/o?🖌️(ft. Dae-Hyun)
What does Lukas usually sell or offer?🖌️
Lukas breaking in to prove y/n needs a security system🖌️
Lukas's brother🖌️
What happens after y/n buys the security system?🖌️
Lukas taking his s/o to the mall🖌️
Demetrius Introduction🖌️
Meeting Demetrius (part 1)🖌️
Meeting Demetrius (part 2)🖌️
What would happen if Demetrius and Dae-hyun ran into each other during a "clean up"?🖌️(ft. Dae-Hun)
How would Demetrius react to y/n short circuiting when first being confronted by him?🖌️
Does Demetrius ever genuinely smile at y/n?🖌️
What are some downtime activities he does with his darling?
What would an outburst look like from Demetrius?🖌️
Is Dr. Laurence aware how handsome he is?🖌️
Dr. Laurence headcanons🖌️
Dr. Laurence finds y/n's clothes 🖌️
What if y/n was a fellow coworker instead of a patient?🖌️
What if you provoke Dr. Laurence?🖌️
Dantae introduction🖌️
Dantae headcanons 🖌️
Dantae with a plus sized s/o🖌️
Dantae with a s/o that's terrible at cooking🖌️
The yanderes receiving forehead kisses🖌️
How do the yandere's react to a s/o that enjoys sitting in their lap?
The yandere's as dads🖌️
How do the yanderes carry y/n?🖌️
What would the yandere's be as mythical creatures?🖌️
Y/n returning home to the yanderes after a tired day at work🖌️
The yanderes reaction to a s/o that can break a melon🖌️
Do the yandere's want children?🖌️
Voice headcanons🖌️
How do the yandere's react to a s/o that brings home an old cat/dog?🖌️
Fun drawings of the yandere boys🖌️
#yandere#yancore#yandere imagines#yandere scenarios#yandere oc#yandere x reader#male yandere#//mun kiki#yandere drabbles#yanderecore#masterlist#yandere headcanons#yandere art#mun kiki art#mun rose writing
337 notes
·
View notes
Text
MILLER'S GIRL ✎ SERIES MASTERLIST
Chapter Three: Forbidden Fruit
Chapter Summary: Mr. Miller receives your assignment in it's full detailed exposé and despite his reaction, doesn't seem as pleased as you anticipated. It leads to a tense interaction that lands you in his office with more questions and confusion. [4k]
[student/teacher relationship, age gap, no outbreak, power dynamic]
Chapter Warnings: fem!reader, professor!joel miller (his teacher persona is v different from outside of the classroom, so if he seems slightly ooc....close your eyes), dom!joel, sub!reader, reader is a little obsessed with joel (and delusional), background tess x joel, inappropriate relationships/actions, masturbation (m), confrontations, joel manhandling reader (kinda roughly), panty ripping, one (1) forbidden kiss
— AO3 | PLAYLIST | PINTEREST
↝ other fics | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec
Joel takes the plunge into the assignments the following night—it was a small class so he knew it wouldn’t take a large chunk of time, a couple hours at the end of his day and he’d have it out of the way and grades posted before the following morning. It was always easier to do things this way, hidden away in his office to force his focus and block out the rest of what was going on.
He flies through the assignments with a detailed precision, giving proper and full notes on things he thinks the students could work on or tweak, give some personal thoughts on creativity, and allow some encouragement where it was needed.
But, your name sits in the bottom of his inbox, bold lettered and unread—he saved it for last.
He could lie and say he didn’t do it on purpose, but he’s come to thoroughly enjoy your writing, so he pushes it off until it’s the final thing he has to grade that night. He knows Tess should be arriving home soon, so despite his want to give you his full, undivided attention—he intends to give it a quick skim.
Joel knows there’s no real notes he can give you. You always had a clear idea on your work, so meticulously planned out that it reminded him of himself in a way.
He takes a sip of the quickly dissipating bourbon in the cup sitting on his desk, ice clinking against the glass as he clicks on your essay and watches it expand onto the screen.
He likes to jot down his thoughts on paper as he goes, making it easier to format and type as he replies—he grips the pencil tight, reading the title of your essay.
ill-suited innocence
In a crowd she finds herself searching, looking for him. Days and days of tense glances and inappropriate thoughts—he must share them too? While she can’t be bothered by the fantasy of mythical creatures and things that only made sense in fiction, she did believe in the fantasy of wanting what she couldn’t have. Him.
Much older, wiser—grim around the eyes and a deep sorrow that burrowed its way into his chest and made home. He couldn’t fix himself, but she could. At least, she thinks she could.
Joel straightened his back, leaning into the screen to assure himself he wasn’t misreading. It was…an interesting take on the assignment he gave you, but he’ll bite. He’s used to your stuff being a little more unorthodox.
Something along the lines of forbidden fantasy? A tale of love? It wasn’t his particular choice of fiction but he wasn’t opposed to it. He squints, reading more.
He drops the pencil for a moment
Their lives mundane and unassuming, they traverse through life with little enjoyment. Two sides of the same coin and he was too oblivious to realize. He offered smiles and kind words, guidance that seemed from a good place but only allowed her to feel more misdirection. He was an enigma, difficult to decipher and she craved him.
And though he tries to fight whatever attraction he may feel, she can see it in his tense gaze. The lingering touches he leaves on her body. Secret meetings, talks that allowed themselves to be more deep than should be allowed. He was allowing her in little by little but she needed more.
She just had to ask, so she did.
Joel feels a tightening deep in his gut that wasn’t there before, reading between the lines of text and allowing faint glimpses of memories with you to match themselves with the words—his brow furrowing under the guise of…anger? No, frustration. He shouldn’t be equating his perfectly…appropriate relationship with you to this. In fact, it shouldn’t cross his mind. But, it does.
All of this from a dream? He could lie and say he wasn't intrigued, but that wasn't the case.
Joel doesn’t expect the full 180 turn as he glances down at the chunk of text that follows.
“You’re my student,” He whispers to her, “I can’t allow this.”
She bites at her lip, noticing the subtle click of his heels as they hit the floor, back them against his desk as she takes a seat, plastic cup full of pencils falling to the floor but neither of their eyes leaving each other.
“You can,” She encourages, “I’m hardly a student anymore. I’m a friend. We’re friends, right?”
And given his ability to let her in so easily, he also considered her a friend. Naively. He’s gotten himself into this position and he can’t find a reason to not give her what she wants—what he wants.
He captures her lips in a searing kiss, much less polite than a friend would, her fingers quickly undoing his belt—
Joel feels his cock hardening under the confines of his slacks, clearing his throat slightly. He should stop reading—he knows he should. The glaringly obvious lines being crossed are blurred for a moment. He shouldn’t have led you on like this, allowed you to cook up some depraved illusion of what you thought things could be.
Because they couldn’t. That wasn’t what this was. Joel had told himself over and over—he was helping. He didn’t think you’d take advantage of the scenario like this. Still, he finds himself loosening the buckle of his belt as well, unzipping his pants enough that he can stuff his hand into the tight space between his bare cock and briefs, palming himself impatiently.
And he skims—words sticking and fading in his mind. It starts of with a slow, sensual make out and a messily described handjob that has his cocking throbbing with every tight stroke he pulls at his shaft, eventually tired of fighting the tight space he’s allowed with his slacks making it impossible to move, he leans back and pulls his cock out far enough that he has free, unrestrained range. The bourbon glass leaves a sweat ring on the oak of his desk but Joel can’t be bothered, he scrolls down further, taking in the last few scenes that allowed him a full idea of just what exactly you thought was going on between the both of you. Or, what you wanted to happen.
He allows himself a moment to slip out of his headspace and imagine, selfishly.
Bent over the desk, items scattered to the floor he pulled at her skirt, something she wore necessarily—easy access, she whispered against his lips before he bent her fully over the desk, chest pressed against the solid wood.
Joel imagines it vividly, his breath quickening as he tugs at his cock in rough, fast strokes and pictures it—you, bent over his desk and your ass presented to him like a prize and how good it would feel to squeeze the flesh between his hands. He knows your sounds would be sweet, divine, and it drives him wild.
He’s thought about you before like this, hand wrapped around his cock, but never in full detail as you’d written out.
And then he slips his cock inside of her, a small gasp of, “Just like that, professor.” falling from her lips and it only spurs Joel deeper into his despair, tugging himself until he feels his orgasm creeping up on him, a churning in his gut that feels too good to quit and he reads out the last few lines, as he comes deep inside of, recklessly and without much decision making.
He thought you were smarter than this. Expected more out of you.
There’s a creak of a floorboard down the hall that sends his world crashing down on him, dampening his orgasm almost immediately as he scrambles to shove himself back inside of his slacks, buttoning and buckling his belt hastily as he clicks out of his browsers and feigns exhaustion, Tess’s fingers curling around the doorknob as she peeks her head in, watching as Joel’s fingers circled the glass of liquor.
God, he hates her.
Not you. Tess.
He figured his reasoning was valid, but truthfully—he just couldn’t stand her any longer. He's been battling the decision to go through with his divorce, but this seemed like as big a sign as ever. It's the unbridled rage he was tired of harboring around her, trying to act like things were fine.
Nothing was fine and his life was imploding.
He was lusting after a student and worse, he know you were after him—actively, clear in the boldness you showed through your assignment.
He thinks back briefly on the video call that he shouldn’t have allowed, your question that seemed…vague but unassuming. Had you planned this the entire time?
Was he just that stupid to not see it?
“Coming to bed tonight?” Tess asks hesitantly.
Joel offers a clear and concise, “No.”
He wasn’t sure if he could even sleep, contemplating over how to handle this…situation.
He couldn’t allow it to stray further.
It would damage his career and ruin his life.
But truthfully, he felt like he’d already reached that point, so what did he have to lose?
-
You wake up on Monday with a deep pit in your chest, knowing that grades were posted that morning. You knew it was a risk, being so open with him—but he couldn’t fail you. You followed the parameters of the assignment and made sure to clear the few questions you had with him.
Part of you is expecting another email from his private account, wondering his thoughts beyond what he would address appropriately. But, the moment your eyes drag along the screen, still blurry from sleep, you feel your heart stop.
0/100. A complete failure.
No comment besides—Rewrite and resend immediately. No extension. Due by the end of the day.
Your jaw clenches in frustration.
Oh, you were not being ignored that easily.
You storm into his room later that day during your free hour for lunch, knowing he’d be saddled up at his desk eating his own lunch.
You couldn’t even think about eating, full of anger and annoyance that kept you full and ready to strike. He can hear your footsteps before you approach and is wiping at his mouth with a napkin when you stop at his desk.
He holds a hand up, face steely and emotionless.
For a moment, you think he might break. Crack a smile and say it was an excuse to get you here.
Instead, he has your essay printed out and ready to shove at you, your fingers curling around the stack and crinkling the edges.
“You can’t fail me,” You start tensely, “I did your stupid assignment and I followed the steps you asked for.”
“I expect a new one by the end of the day. Appropriate to the topic. End of discussion.”
You scoff, not daring to look at the glaring zero he drew out on the paper just to prove a point. It lands in the trash as you throw it down, “No.”
Joel’s chair squeaks as he rises and it startles you slightly, and suddenly he’s invading your space, the muscles in his neck tightening as he pointed an accusatory finger at the trashed papers.
“In what situation did you think any of that was appropriate to write and send to your professor?” Joel asks, noting the way you blink quickly, backing away slightly.
He almost…feels bad? No. He quickly wipes the thought away as more anger crosses your face, eyes dilating in rage.
You lean in slightly, thankful that the halls were quiet around this time of day and that you had closed the door behind you.
“You started this,” You argue, “You crossed that line when you messaged me on a private email. Telling me that you liked the time we spent together. I’m your student—maybe you should’ve taken that into account first.”
His fist clenched at his side, almost to restrain himself, knowing he’d rather shove that finger into your chest and blame you. But, you were both to blame. And he even more so. Still, he doubles down.
“Rewrite it or I’ll fail you for the entire semester.”
Your mouth gapes open, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
“That’s…completely unfair.” You settle, voice softer as you drop the act. “I just—”
“Rewrite it.” Joel responds firmly.
“Mr. Miller—” You begin, trying to find a feasible way to get him to listen.
“Or I fail you.” He says with finality. “You’re lucky I don’t take this to the board.”
Which, he never would. He’s just as much at fault. But, he’s taking his frustration out on you. An easy target, slim pickings.
You weren’t playing into that though, not now.
“You won’t,” You challenge him, “because if you do—I can assure you, you won’t appreciate the results.”
It was a threat. Cold and plain.
“Rewrite it,” He reiterates again, his voice softer now. “I have to submit these assignments at the end of the semester and if—that cannot be in there. I need a real essay. Real. Not some fucking delusion.”
It’s the first time he’s talked so…out of term. It feels like him, the real Mr. Miller.
Fine—you’ll write the goddamn essay as he intended. You roll your eyes and Joel relaxes slightly, seeing your defeat as you settle your shoulders back.
“I want it on my desk by the end of day.”
Sure, you could manage that.
If anything, it gave you more of an excuse to drag out his torture a little longer.
-
You spend the entirety of his class working out a new essay, bullshitting your way through an hour of class and typing up something feasible enough to get you a decent grade, knowing that his views of you were already tainted. But, that didn’t matter.
You had plans.
When evening rolls around and classes are finally done for the day, you make the long trek across campus to his class, finding it empty but spotting the light in his private office is still on, a low and muted orange that shined through the window. You approach slowly and knock on the door, hearing his muffled greeting on the other side.
You peek inside, noting his position as he rests with his fist pressed against the side of his face, seemingly nursing a headache as he rubs the fingers of his free hand over his forehead and sighs, closing his laptop as you hold out the small stack of papers for him to grab. He does, skimming through it briefly. You toss your bag off your shoulder and rest it in a nearby chair, standing quietly.
“Something bothering you?” You ask politely, hands crossed over your front as fiddled idly with your fingers, “Mr. Miller?”
He looks up tensely, eyes darkened and foreboding.
“What did you mean earlier?” He asks suddenly, reading your essay with a careful eye. Scribbling something down before he pushes it away, fingers clasped together under his chin as he gives you his full attention. “That I wouldn’t…appreciate the results?”
“Oh, that was—”
A threat. He knows it. You know it.
And he voices it.
“It was a threat, wasn’t it?” He asks coarsely, his voice sounding rough.
He seemed worse for wear, with good reason.
The dignified squeak of his chair is like deja-vu but you don’t back away this time, turning to him as he rounds his desk—his tie is gone, starch pressed shirt unbuttoned to a dangerous degree and his belt is missing, your eyes tracking it in a nearby corner where it’s slung over an empty chair.
He allowed you in here, the small glimpse of his relaxed state. He wasn’t shutting you out necessarily, which was good. But, you still felt unwanted. It was almost like he was dangling a myriad of fruit in front of you, ripe for the taking, but riddled with poison. Forbidden.
“No—”
He grabs your wrist suddenly, tight and gasp-inducing as he pulls it up until it’s level between you both, right at chest level and you’re waiting for him to let go, but he doesn’t.
“Tell. The. Truth.” He says pointedly, a small jerk of your arm with every syllable as he pulls you undoubtedly closer, “I want to hear it.”
Instead of admitting that you did openly threaten him, you switch gears.
“What? That I want you to fuck me?” You ask innocently, pulling your wrist away harshly. “Joel, come on—don’t act like you haven’t thought about it.”
His name is like a gut-punch, a reminder that he gave you that information under the idea that you would keep it safe, but now you were using it against him.
“Don’t—” He warns and your hands press into his crisp button-up, scrunching the fabric in an effort to wrinkle it, feeling the solid press of muscle under your hands that makes your mouth water, eyes widening slightly at the touch and for a split second, he allows it.
He had to escape the situation before he acted on something he would regret.
“Get out.” Joel responds through gritted teeth, shoving your hands away harshly and in turn, forcing you back a few steps with the urgency of it. “Now.”
Still, you step closer, chest against chest as you can feel the distinct bulge in his slacks against your front, tongue clicking in your mouth as you cocked your head to the side mockingly, a finger tracing along the buttons of his shirt until you can curl the tip of it around the hem of his pants.
“You can do it, you know,” You offer, “You could fuck me right now and I wouldn’t tell a soul, not even your wife—or…ex-wife? I’m not sure since you never wear your ring.”
Fuck this and her smart ass mouth, Joel thinks.
Joel’s nostrils flare and he snaps, backing you into the wall by his hand pressed against your chest, the bookshelf beside you shaking with the force. His hands creep up your neck, pressing rigid against the skin and he keeps you there, trapped.
“I can feel it,” You tease through strained vocal cords, his finger squeezing against your neck–not quite cutting off air flow, but the pressure is there and you feel it. It makes your head swim, squirming against his hold as he shifts closer, body pressed against your own firmly, “is that why you asked me to turn the paper in by the end of the day? You wanted me here, didn’t you? I guess my essay did strike a nerve after all.”
The laugh that follows is sickening, a grin appearing under his sneer. His fingers move up a few inches to grip your face. Hard. Squeezing until he feels the solid press of your cheekbones under his thumb and he speaks, so quietly into the space you can barely hear him, “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
Your eyes drift to his, his head tilting up slightly away from your ear that he had whispered into and there’s glint in your eye. It’s exactly what you wanted. You wanted to burrow yourself under his skin so he couldn't get rid of you.
He feels your fingers continue to trace along the seam of his shirt, tracing over the bumps of the material until you meet his slacks, pressing your palm flat over his cock, hardened under the material and straining–and he can’t help the way his breath intakes sharply, the full body restraint it takes to not rut into your hand. He knows he has the upper hand here, but with the small amount of effort it takes to break his revere for himself, he doesn’t know how much longer he can keep this up.
“I would,” You nod slowly, eyebrows furrowing as he tightens his grip with your admittance and in turn, you squeeze him just a little harder. He hisses and leans in, letting go of your face to return to your neck–he isn’t squeezing this time, but his hand is a solid presence. You move, he moves. And if he doesn’t like how you move, you would end up exactly where he wants you to, “Come on, Joel. You read all about it. I can do so much more than whatever your wife is doing—isn’t that why you reached out to me?”
“Don’t—stop saying my name.” He warns, trying to keep what little line of professionalism he had between you there, unblurred. “I reached out to help. As your mentor.”
“Well, I’m sure there’s a few things you could teach me.” You say sweetly, the deft sound of his zipper being undone by your hand, popping the button on his pants, “Joel, please.”
He stops your hand in it’s decent, fingers tracing along the hem of his underwear before he’s gripping your arm and turning you with little resistance on your end, front pressed harshly against the stucco wall, a sharp gasp emitting from your throat as he crowds you in again, whispering harshly into your ear, “Mr. Miller. Not Joel. You don’t get that privilege. And stop talking about my fucking wife.”
You moan brokenly at the feeling of his cock pressed against your ass, skirt riding up your thighs and you were sure—positive that Joel could see the fabric of your underwear clinging to your hips from how high up and mused your skirt was now, but he can’t take his eyes of your face, anger emitting from his own and suffocating you like a blanket.
You were pressing his buttons just right and he hated it.
“So, no marital troubles then?” You pester him and he shuts you up immediately, palm covering your mouth tightly as his free hand grips at the hem of your underwear at your hip and tugs—yep, he saw them. Some soft color, all lacy, meant to be attention-grabbing. And if Joel couldn’t have you the way he truly desires, he’d make you wish you could have it even worse than he wanted it. “You—huh, you can’t even wear your wedding ring, Mr. Miller—don’t lie to me.”
He pulls at the material of your panties until they’re riding up your ass slightly, pulled tighter against your cunt and the drag of the material against your clit is almost unexpected. He’s pointedly avoiding touching you so intimately, teetering on the edge of not enough and too much.
“You thought it would be that easy?” Joel asks testingly, jerking your head slightly when you don’t answer. You figured it was redundant but clearly not. You mumble against his hand, overwhelmed by his touch that all you can do is nod, forehead pressed against the wall as he breathes down your neck. “You’re mistaken.”
There’s a distinct rip of fabric as he removes his hand from your mouth quickly using his hands to grip your panties in tight fists, tearing it apart as it falls from your body and you think he might just do it—shove his slacks just far enough down his thighs and slip inside of you, bring an end to all of your suffering.
And his own.
Instead his fingers tighten around your forearm, spinning you in his hold and shoving the ripped fabric into your hand, leaving you bare under your skirt and exposed and Joel doesn’t mistake the wetness on the material. His fingers linger over your palm and you scoff, adjusting your skirt and slightly skewed shirt.
“Keep them,” You challenge, shoving the material into his chest before he allows them to drop to the floor, eyes trailing your departing figure as you reach for your discarded bag, “a gift for your wife—you know, the one who you avoided to spend time with me. Right?”
You want the words to linger and sting, bag slung lazily around your shoulder as you depart for the door, ignoring the quickly approaching footsteps. Joel, unbeknownst to you, had already pocketed your panties, torn to shreds in the pocket of his slacks. But, the words cut deep and he can’t leave things like this and allow you the final word.
Joel yanks the strap of your bag and backs you against the office door, the wood rattling against your conjoined weight as his lips press against yours in haste, messy and uncoordinated but your brain quickly assess what’s happening and joins, your lips parting to allow his eager tongue into your mouth. His kiss is biting and furious, mean and full of nothing but tense emotion. It’s months of suffocated lust pouring into you, out of him, and you swallow it down eagerly. His hand holds your chin forcefully, sloppy exchanges of spit and forceful bites, a battle for dominance that Joel quickly won out on.
And you think that maybe that comment was the final straw, that he might just give you what you want, but your delicate moan that slips into his mouth as chase him, his head pulling back slightly at the noise—it had him falling back to reality, right on his ass.
There wasn’t any line left to cross anymore. He’d obliterated it.
“Don’t threaten me again,” He warns, “ever.”
There’s one solid shove against the door as your head hits the surface gently, his touch quickly dissipating and his disheveled appearance a tell-tale sign in your mind. He was fighting his own battle and losing terribly.
“Of course,” You agree sardonically, “Mr. Miller.”
The silent click of the door is deafening and Joel retreats to his desk, punching a fist into the solid wood, the papers of your assignment flying to the floor. He can't be bothered to pick them up or even allow them the proper glance they deserve.
Because you—in his mind, don't deserve it.
And he's not going to give you that satisfaction.
It's unprofessional, but he'll allow it this once. It only takes a few quick clicks and he's adjusting the assignment out for your new one.
Poof. Gone. Like it never existed.
But, the grade is unchanging and he knows that will make things tremendously worse, but he can't be bothered to care anymore.
You'd be back and that's exactly what he wants.
#joel miller#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller x y/n#joel miller smut#professor!joel miller#tlou fanfic#the last of us#the last of us fanfiction#joel miller fanfiction#my writing#pedro pascal characters
375 notes
·
View notes
Text
Choices (6)
Werewolf Au! Jungkook x Reader / Enemies to Lovers [Angst and mature content. Not smut but almost smut.]
Summary: Jungkook finally found her. His mate. His lifelong partner. But she’s a human. Does he have to stay with her or can he stick it to whatever and whoever binds mates together and make his own decision?
***THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR PATIENCE. I PROMISE I WON'T MAKE YOU WAIT THIS LONG AGAIN***
Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5
You rang in the new year with some coworkers. The night was a blur of lights, laughter and music. Despite being a lightweight, you didn’t get as drunk as you thought, in fact, you were barely tipsy. It was hard to have fun when your reality didn’t even feel real. You had all the ingredients to drink your heart out: you met who was supposed to be your soulmate, you find out that mythical creatures are real and your best friend in the whole world has been hiding all of this from you for a year. To add more salt to the wound, Jennie spent Christmas and New Years with the pack. Sad wasn’t quite the right word for how you felt, maybe confused or disoriented? You had been in a haze since the last time you saw everyone trying to figure out if the past weeks were real or not.
After Jungkook dropped you back off at the cabin, Namjoon decided that you should leave for your safety. Apparently having someone as unpredictable as Jungkook free from his chains while his mate was hanging out with other men was not a good idea even after you told Namjoon that Jungkook actually saved your life. Namjoon took you home that night and advised you to keep your distance for a while. He seemed sad when he dropped you off and truth be told, you were kind of sad too. You had a fondness for Namjoon because he was the one that made you feel sane and safe throughout this whole journey. You would miss your friendship with him and everyone else.
Your phone pinged, reeling you out of your thoughts. You thew it towards the edge of your bed when you saw that it was just one of those annoying marketing texts. Your eyes then glided towards the Christmas card on your nightstand as it did almost everyday; it was the one artifact you had proving that everything you went through was real. Everyone from the pack had signed the card, all except for one. You reached for the card and ran your fingertips over the glitter covered snowman on the front page. I wonder how he’s doing. Embarrassed didn’t even begin to explain how you felt. You felt like a fool, an actual idiot for still wondering about Jungkook’s wellbeing when he couldn’t even write his name on a stupid Christmas card for you-he probably laughed when Namjoon asked him to contribute. With one last read through of the card, you placed it under your bed and made never thinking about Jungkook again as your new year’s resolution.
__________________________________
Maybe because there was no one to talk to about your new year’s resolution in full but getting over Jungkook was pretty easy. You hadn’t spoken to anyone in the pack in over a month and the memories of them become less and less clear by the day. Was it Jin that helped you with your injuries or Yoongi? Was it Namjoon that drove you home or did Hoseok tag along also? And did you actually feel sparks when Jungkook touched you or was it just your imagination? Either way, it felt good to feel less crazy. It was only when you and Jennie hung out that everything would hit you like a freight train. Seeing her was bittersweet. You were so happy to spend time with your best friend despite your guys’ schedule but you couldn’t help this building of resentment in your chest at the same time. Anger and guilt gnawed at you so raw that replying to her texts took hours to do. Luckily, both of you were so busy with work that seeing each other was few and far between.
One thing you had a really hard time forgetting was the night you had to leave. After Jungkook asked you to wait, you sat by his side and watched him catch his breath. It was hard seeing someone in so much pain despite the lack of physical wounds. Once Jungkook seemed to have a grip on himself, he told you to sit as far away from him as possible while he sat on the other side of the cabin. You remembered feeling like you were naked under his red gaze, like he could see every single movement you made. Jungkook told you that it wasn’t safe for you to leave yet and that you had to wait for a little bit. Unbeknownst to you, Jungkook couldn’t have you leave just yet. A wolf in the midst of his heat finally meeting his mate after being kept away from them was like a ticking time bomb. Jungkook needed to engulf your scent and calm his mind before letting you go back to a cabin full of fully grown men. He was surprised that you complied and that you kept your composure. Sure, he noticed your trembling hands and shortness of breath but you kept calm and collected. Jungkook needed to direct his attention to something else-anything- and so the small talk began. It started off with what you did for work and ended with Jungkook shit talking his pack mates. When Jungkook felt sane enough, he insisted he carry you home to be safe. You remember flinching when a low growl escaped from Jungkook when you hooked your arms around his neck. You felt his body shake as you wrapped your legs around his waist. It took a minute before he was able to hoist you up and get going. You remembered him being gentle and asking if you were all right the whole way back to the cabin. You remembered him letting you down a couple meters in front of the cabin because Namjoon would’ve killed him if he saw Jungkook and you together.
“Are you going to be okay?” you asked.
Jungkook offered you a nod, his bright red eyes doing the soft smile on his face an injustice. Perhaps it was the darkness playing tricks on your eyesight but Jungkook looked bigger. His muscles were more toned, his hair was thicker and his overall aura was just larger. You felt embarrassed drooling over his physique like some school girl despite almost dying a couple hours ago. Namjoon’s voice from inside the cabin redirected your guys’ attention and you suddenly remembered that it was below freezing outside.
“I-I’m going to go inside now,” you reached out your hand to give Jungkook’s arm a reassuring squeeze but retracted remembering how much he ordered you to not touch him, “goodnight.”
To your surprise, Jungkook reached out instead and caressed your face with both his hands. You closed your eyes and leaned into his touch pathetically. Jungkook left out an exhale of both relief and frustration. Every ounce of control he had was quickly slipping through his fingers. He was teetering towards the edge of danger with you right now. You opened your eyes to see Jungkook watching you but not like he did before. Just a couple of hours ago, you felt like a prey under his gaze. This time, he was looking at you like how Taehyung looked at Jennie.
“Do me a favor?” he asked, his voice almost hoarse.
You nodded and scrunched your eyebrows. What could you possibly do for him? Jungkook felt his stomach drop knowing what he was going to ask of you. The warmth that happened when you guys touched intensified as Jungkook brought your body closer to his. He knew he only had a couple minutes to relish your touch before his heat and his reality would take over again.
“I need you to forget about this night,” he finally said. Although subtle, he felt your pressure lift from his hands. “I need you to forget about me, about my pack, about everything. Make it like I never even existed, and I’ll do the same. Trust me, it’s for the best.”
As cruel as his words already were, Jungkook then sealed it by pressing his lips against yours. You couldn’t help but gasp which, he happily swallowed. A surge of electricity pulsed through you as he deepened the kiss. The heat from his body immediately making you forget how cold it was. As gentle as he was, you remembered his body began to tremble and the slight sting against your bottom lip when his fangs unsheathed.
And that was all you wanted to remember. Perhaps you were a masochist. Of all the memories you chose to forget, you just couldn’t let go of this particular one; no one ever really completes their new year’s resolution anyways. You knew you would never get an answer but it didn’t matter anymore. Every time Jennie saw you, she'd try to ask about Jungkook but you would either change the subject or give her vague answers. You didn't want to know more than you already did.
“Goodnight, Sooyoung!” you chimed.
“Goodnight,” Sooyoung replied with a sympathetic smile, “you should leave soon.”
“I will!” you lied, “see you tomorrow morning.”
Sooyoung hovered by your desk for a few more seconds before heading towards the elevator. It was common for you to stay after work but not for this long. You waved at Sooyoung until the elevator doors finally closed. When you were certain that there was no one else in the office, you closed the document you were pretending to work on and slumped against your chair. A tired sigh left your mouth as you roughly ran your hands against your face. Just as you were accepting your new reality, the past week and a half had you re-questioning your sanity. Being at home recently felt eerie. You were constantly checking over your shoulder and hesitant to sleep with your bedroom door closed. The nightmares you were having didn’t help either. Night after night, you would see the same things in your dream: rogue wolves chasing you and a Jungkook bleeding out to top it off. You’d jolt awake in the middle of the night and could only fall back asleep after taking melatonin. With the nightmares being a daily occurrence, the melatonin had stopped taking effect and you were left trying to calm your racing heart on your own. To your disdain, the only place you felt safe was at work. Your office was high up on the 25th floor and security here was pretty strict. You concluded that your paranoia was from these nightmares but those moments when you felt like someone was watching you felt too real to blame on lack of sleep. You put your head down against your desk and stared at the time displayed on your computer. It was nearing 7:45 and you promised yourself that you’d leave at 8pm. As the minutes ticked by, you tried to come up with some sort of game plan to combat another inevitable sleepless night.
____________________________________
“Jungkook!” Taehyung shouted as he kicked over a half conscious rogue towards Jungkook.
Jungkook caught it mid air and slammed it down onto the ground before ripping its head off. With that being the last rogue, Jungkook and pack were able to finally catch their breath as they examined the graveyard of torn limbs by their feet.
“Where the fuck are they coming from?” Hoseok panted.
Namjoons eyes wavered as he studied the carcasses on the ground. He had no answer for Hoseok. Rogue wolves attack here and there but never had he seen such great numbers. Their appearance usually coincided with the phases of the moon but recently, their attacks had been random and in hoards. He did notice that they foolishly always went for Jungkook first. As strong as Jungkook was, he was not invincible. Namjoon had also taken note of how haggard and tired his pack was from fighting almost everyday. If they didn't find an answer anytime soon, he feared that he would lose a pack member.
Everyone turned their head towards the trees when they heard a branch snap. In the distance, Jungkook caught a flash of white teeth and familiar pitch black eyes.
“I got it!” Jungkook shouted, before running after the rogue.
He was fucking exhausted. He really hoped that this was the last one because he was losing strength and fast. These recent attacks only fuelled his anger because if he had mated with someone of his species, he would’ve tripled in strength by now.
A yelp emitted from the rogue when Jungkook finally caught up and grabbed its legs. Jungkook swung the rogue against a tree, breaking its ribs in the process. As the creature whimpered against the ground, Jungkook winced when he saw that it was laughing.
“What’s so funny?” Jungkook sneered, angry that it was still breathing.
The creature seemed to be mumbling a familiar word over and over again but Jungkook couldn’t figure out what it was saying. Another yelp came out from the rogue as Jungkook kicked its face in. He crouched down and grabbed the creature by its scruff.
“Speak up!” He demanded.
Despite his impressive experience fighting rogues, Jungkook still had a hard time getting used to the disturbing ways these creatures moved and laughed even though they were near death. This rogue had its jaw kicked in and its tongue was hanging out due to the lack of the bottom half of its face. The grip Jungkook had on it tightened when it continued mumbling. Just as he was about to lose his patience trying to unscramble the creatures jargon, Jungkook finally put together what it was mumbling. The rogue seemed to notice the shift in Jungkook’s eyes and laughed even louder.
“I bet she’d taste so good too.” were its last words before Jungkook ripped out its heart.
Jungkook had to get back to Namjoon and let him know what happened.
It was mumbling your name this whole time.
The living room was quiet as the pack tended to their wounds. Jin went around ensuring that everyone was treating their injuries correctly even if it was just a little scratch.
"You need to clean it." Jin sighed, looking at the deep cut on Jungkook's forearm. The cut was his own fault. As Jungkook was ripping the rogues heart out, his arm got caught in the creatures ribs and it carved his arm as he was pulling it out of its chest.
"Just leave it, Jin." Jungkook grumbled, swatting Jin's worried hands away.
Namjoon and Jin exchanged glances, both annoyed and worried about the youngest member but Namjoon didn't have time to adhere to Jungkook's attitude. Thankfully, no one was seriously hurt but who knew when the rogues would come back to attack again.
"So," Yoongi said, sucking his teeth in the process, "anyone here knows what they want?"
Jungkook wanted to hear his members theories before jumping the gun because maybe the rogue was toying with Jungkook or maybe it wasn't even saying your name at all. The silence that followed confirmed Jungkook's fear. No matter what Jungkook did, he just couldn't seem to get away from you. All eyes were on Jungkook when he suddenly cursed.
"They're after her." Jungkook said, his fingers pinching his nose bridge.
"Who?" Jimin asked.
"His mate." Taehyung's grin only grew when Jungkook glared at him.
Amidst Jimin's surprise and the symphony of swear words thrown back and forth between the members, Namjoon felt his heart sink as a wave of deja vu hit him. The younger one failed to notice the sadness in the leaders eyes as he berated his pack mates who were teasing him with swear words.
"They're not after her," Namjoon finally spoke, breaking the fight, "Jungkook, they're after you and then her. They know that you'd go after them if they kill her before you mark her. They're after you first to get you out of the picture. As long as she's unmated, they're going to keep coming."
Namjoon felt a lump grow in his throat as realization washed over each member. All eyes slowly turned towards Jungkook who had his fists balled up. The pressure from his fists made his blood seep out from the cut on his forearm. Why did he have to deal with this? How come you were still intertwined with him despite being away for over a month? What did he have to fucking do to get rid of you for good?
"T-this could be different, Namjoon." Jungkook stammered, his mind moving too quick for his mouth to catch up.
"Jungkook listen to me," Namjoon said picking his words carefully as he approached Jungkook, "only you can stop this. We can't fend them off forever."
Jungkook grit his teeth and felt his breath labour. This wasn't fair. He didn't choose this and it seemed like life wasn't planning on giving him too many options either. Jungkook began to replay the conversation he had with Namjoon after he first discovered you. The blood from Jungkook's cut was now staining his pants as he remembered what Namjoon said about how strong humans were. What a fucking joke.
"I am stopping this! Who here in this room has killed more rogues than me? Huh? Who?!" Jungkook bursted.
Jungkook's brown eyes had now turned into a dark red shade.
"Killing them one will send ten. Killing ten will send a hundred. Killing a hundred will send a thousand. You have the responsibility to save her life," Namjoon argued tiredly, "look at your brothers. Look at you! We are not immortal, Jungkook."
Jungkook jumped up from his seat and grabbed his hair. His ears were now ringing. His responsibility?! He hadn't even marked you yet, why were you now his responsibility? He couldn't help but laugh aloud by how absurd everything and everyone was sounding. You had stolen what seemed like everything away from him-his freedom, his bodily functions and now even his morals. You kept taking from him and now you were his responsibility?
"Jungkook please," Jin pleaded, "can you please put your own ego aside and make a good choice for once in your life?"
Jungkook turned towards Jin and snarled, "Remind me who saved your fucking life just 20 minutes ago? If I hadn't ran to you in time, you would've been shredd-"
"Enough!" Namjoon yelled, "Whether you like it or not, her life is in your hand-"
"I will not be responsible for her death like you were for Irene!"
Within a second, Jungkook was slammed against the wall. His right cheek was throbbing and his nose bloodied. He wasn't sure if he had finished his sentence but the right hook from Namjoon answered that question for him. Before Jungkook could orient himself, Namjoon grabbed Jungkook by the neck and trapped him against the wall again.
"You will never utter her name in that context again do you understand?" Namjoon asked through gritted teeth.
Jungkook licked his lower lip, the taste of his own blood filling his mouth as he did.
"Do you understand?!" Namjoon bellowed, shaking Jungkook.
"Y-yes." Jungkook finally answered.
The older one finally let go but not without giving Jungkook one final shove.
"Have a better attitude tomorrow morning or you fend for yourself from now on." Namjoon threatened before disappearing into his study.
Jungkook kept his eyes on the floor as his members stood around staring at him. Jungkook could only count on one hand how many times he felt ashamed in life, he would now have to count on two hands after tonight. His members didn't say a word to him as they retreated back to their rooms one by one. Taehyung lingered for a little bit longer. He wanted to ring Jungkook out but decided to leave him to sulk all alone. Jungkook watched his blood drip from his nose onto his sweater. Would dying by some disgusting creatures be better than surrendering to fate? One thing was for sure, Jungkook would rather die with his brothers than alone. He turned his head towards the end of the hallway where Namjoon's study was. The searing pain from his broken nose was nothing compared to what he just said to Namjoon.
Namjoon had his head buried in his hands as Jungkook's words echoed in his mind. It had been years since Irene's death but it still pained him like it happened yesterday. He knew the younger one was speaking out of anger but if he only knew how much Namjoon did blame himself.
"You know, I couldn't even mourn her after she died. I think I finally did after three months." Namjoon spoke.
Jungkook figured it was probably the smell from all his blood that alerted Namjoon to his presence. He cautiously walked towards Namjoon and sat in front of him.
"Her death was the first out of the two times I ever regretted taking leadership of our pack." Namjoon continued, looking up to meet the younger ones sad gaze.
"And the second?" Jungkook asked, his voice barely audible.
"Tonight." Namjoon replied.
Jungkook let the uncomfortable silence engulf him. He stared at the picture of Irene resting on the bookshelf behind Namjoon and felt remorse like he had never before. Irene was Namjoon's mate. For years, Namjoon refused to mark her not because he didn't want to-because he did-but because he was afraid of bringing Irene in his world. He thought the best way to protect her was to keep her away. Jungkook had never seen someone love another person the way Namjoon loved Irene. He doted on her and gave her anything she ever wanted, everything except for one. Irene had begged and begged Namjoon to make her his official mate but he always rejected her advances. By the time Namjoon decided to turn a new leaf, it was too late. If Namjoon had marked her, he would've been stronger and maybe could've fought off the pack of rogues. That day, Jungkook and the pack were out hunting. When they came back, the cabin they had built had been ripped apart. The image of Namjoon carrying Irene's bloody body in his arms as he wept and called out her name was forever imprinted in Jungkook's brain. Namjoon's physical state was no better and if they hadn't returned when they did, they would've lost their leader too. Irene was one of the strongest people Jungkook knew. She was brave, unwavering and quick witted. Before Jin met Mina, it was Irene nursing everyone back to health after a fight and braving the forest to find medicine. Irene was strong and she was human.
"I'm really sorry. I didn't mean what I said and I shouldn't have said that," Jungkook apologized tearing his eyes away from Irene, "I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you."
Namjoon smiled. Although brash and somewhat arrogant, Jungkook always meant well at the end of the day. He couldn't even count how many brawls Jungkook got into because someone slightly badmouthed a member of the pack.
"Please, your life will probably end in the next few minutes with the amount of blood you're losing. Just let me punch the other side of your face and we can call it even." Namjoon joked.
Jungkook scoffed and wiped his nose. He really was losing a lot of blood.
"Jungkook, I couldn't save Irene but you have a chance here. Learning to love someone...don't you think that's better than losing someone," Namjoon wanted to laugh when he saw Jungkook flinch at the word 'love', "and if you can't do it for her, do it for me. For Irene."
Jungkook swallowed the lump in his throat, "I-I don't know if I can mark her right away, you have to give me some time."
Namjoon nodded understandingly.
"But I promise," Jungkook sucked in a breath, "I'll protect her with my life."
#bts fanfic#jungkook werewolf#jungkook fanfic#jungkook x reader#bts werewolf au#bts smut#bts#jungkook smut#jungkook#yoongi#jimin#namjoon#taehyung#hoseok#jin#bts x reader#jungkook werewolf au#choices
241 notes
·
View notes
Text
Hell and back.
Sukuna Ryomen x You
Explicit Smut 18+ 🚫Minors DNI🚫
Sukuna Ryomen is the most fearsome syndicate head of the modern day. He looms like a storm cloud that threatens to unleash devastating hail at any moment over the city, ruling it with an iron fist. He’s the Two-Faced Demon incarnate, as you’ve heard those around you refer to him, the enigmatic man always addressed as if he was a mythical creature rather than a living, breathing person. He's the richest man in the city with his mountains of dirty money, each finger on his hands tied around the neck of all the local politicians and officials. As such, you never in a million years expected him to wind up at your strip club in a dingy corner of town, so far away from the luxury of the inner city.
What’s more than that–you never expected just what sort of violence he’d invite into your life, but here you are, a bargaining chip in a game you never agreed to play.
Relevant tags: Mafia! Sukuna Ryomen, Stripper! Reader, 2nd POV, no use of “y/n”, themes of prostitution, themes of mafia typical violence, explicit sex, unsafe sex, rough blowjobs, rough sex, choking, manhandling, cowgirl, doggystyle, creampie, manipulation, hot & cold, unhealthy relationships, complicated relationships (tags to be added as story progresses)
Cross-posted on Ao3.
List of chapters:
1. God’s dead, and that’s all right with me.
Comment to be added to my taglist for updates!
#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x you#sukuna x you#sukuna x reader#sukuna headcanons#sukuna smut#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#ryomen sukuna#sukuna#jjk x reader smut#jjk imagines#sukuna imagine#hell and back fic
183 notes
·
View notes
Text
Monster Mayhem: Lion's Pride [PART 2]
Gender Neutral Reader x Leona Kingscholar
Word Count: 4.3k
Summary: There is a Lion living in your chicken coop. This sounds like the setup for a really bad joke--you wish it was.
[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3]
There were wards carved into the wooden pillars of your small cottage that had existed long before you’d made your home here, and they had an ancient, cloying, sort of magic to them that always left you feeling swaddled in bubble-wrap comfort—safe and secure. Even against angry Skin Changers banging down your door.
“You won’t be able to cross the threshold unless you’re invited,” you called, hoping it might deter him from actually destroying your entire porch.
There was an irritated growl from the other side that sounded an awful lot like he was probably still going to wind up trying to put his claws through the paneling, so you pulled the door open once more and stepped aside with purpose.
“You are not welcome,” you said, cheerful, before gesturing for him to try and step inside.
The Lion Man sneered at you, his ears flattening pissilly atop his head as if such a fluffy show of irritation could ever be intimidating (even if he wasn’t drenched down the bone), and he moved to make his way into your home. But when his sandaled foot reached the threshold, he stopped. You watched as his brow furrowed and something darkly frustrated slithered across his handsome face. There was no great arcane barrier or explosion of magical prowess—just a gentle shudder you could see creep along his limbs as he tried to force himself to move and couldn’t.
“Was there something you needed?” you asked, after what was perhaps a too-long moment of watching him stew in a mucky mix of rainwater and his own burbling rage.
He scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning up against the well-beaten doorway like the slouch was supposed to be intentionally casual, and not because he literally couldn’t move anywhere else.
“I need your help,” he said—demanded. He stared down his nose at you like you were some sort of unpleasant looking bug crawling across the floor.
“Alright,” you shrugged. “And…?”
“And what?” he demanded.
You rolled your eyes towards the ceiling and mercifully gave him through a silent count-of-ten to try and figure his shit out. When all he did was curl his lip at you like a petulant noble in court, you sighed and turned back on him with a cheerful, customer-service, quality smile.
“Thank you for your inquiry,” you chirped. “But I’m afraid I’m all full up for the day. Good afternoon.” And closed the door in his face yet again, but this time with a polite, little, wiggle-wave of your fingers as you went.
The next morning arrived altogether uneventfully. The rain had stopped sometime during the evening, and the lingering moisture had left your little homestead shrouded in a lovely cloud of fine, glistening, mists. You headed out into the soft chill with a pleasant hum and armfuls of treats for all your critters.
And then you noticed that there was an extra animal making itself at home in your little farmyard—one that you’d assumed had eventually given up and stomped back whichever way he’d came.
The Lion Man was sleeping in your chicken coop—perfectly contentedly, too. Which you wouldn’t have expected from a near mythical creature dripping in precious gems and who spoke with all the haughty self-assuredness of someone who’d never been told ‘no’ in any way that mattered.
You glared at him for a moment or two, hoping the searing irritation in your frown would be enough to poke him awake. But the Lion Man just laid there, cozy as a clam in his bed of shredded hay.
“You’re scaring Penelope,” you huffed, loud, and tossed a handful of seed by his feet.
The birds squawked and hopped up to peck brainlessly at the treats—unbothered by the predator lounging in their nest. The rustling of their feathers and tap-tap-tap of their little beaks at least seemed to finally wake the lazy Lion Man, and he opened one glowing, emerald, eye to glare balefully at you.
“They don’t seem like they give a shit,” he rumbled at you, voice still thick and syrupy with sleep. And indeed they did not, bopping around without a care in the world. Your aforementioned Penelope had even shuffled herself into the Lion’s lap to reach some of the seed that had fallen into the folds of fabric pooling at his hips.
“Why are you in my chicken coop?” you asked, as polite as you could manage. It still sounded like you were giving yourself a root canal.
He stood with a languid stretch and your birds clucked at him irritably for a moment before settling into the warm spot he’d vacated.
“It was raining,” he complained. Like it was obvious.
You pinched the bridge of your nose and tried again. “Why are you still here?”
“I already told you, herbivore,” he yawned. His long, white, canines, glinted in the morning sunlight. “I need your help.”
You sighed a miserable sort of sigh and fought the urge to dig your thumbs into your eyes.
“Forgive me for not jumping at the opportunity to assist the person—or, sorry, whatever it is you are—who abandoned me to die in a hole,” you harumphed, turning pointedly to start trudging back to your cottage.
“You got out, didn’t you?” the Lion griped, slipping forward to dog at your heels.
“No thanks to you!” you accused, jabbing a finger in his direction. He rolled his eyes and you could practically feel the steam leaking from your ears. “I helped you once already,” you pointed out testily. “Twice, if you count all the rations you gobbled up. And you still left me behind without a second thought! Why should I bother doing anything else for you?”
His face twisted up into something sour. The grin he shot your way was all sharp teeth and vinegar.
“Ahh, that’s right. I should have remembered—humans are only willing to barter their aid if they’re going to be repaid in kind. So. Tell me. What do you want then, hmm?” He scoffed. “Wealth? Power? Protection?”
You stopped at the door to your home and spun on him, angry.
“This has nothing to do with being repaid,” you seethed. “This is about decency!”
He scoffed again and you fought the urge to just hurl the entire basket of seed into his smug face. Because you were clearly the adult in this situation and needed to act as such. Sure, Mister Lion Dude looked close enough to your age, and you knew well enough of Magic Beasts to understand he was probably decades your senior—if not entire generations—but clearly a wealth of time left no account for manners. So you were going to have to step up and be the mature one here, and not waste an entire week’s worth of grit on the petty urge to upend it all over his stupid head.
With a heavy sigh that was more a gust of incompressible cursing than anything else, you placed the basket aside and turned to him with a stubborn pout.
“Alright, then. A deal—as you’re so insistent that you know exactly what every one of us stupid humans wants. I’ll help you again. If—” you declared, “—you say you’re sorry.”
He frowned, that righteous loathing giving way to a heady mix of even more irritable confusion.
“I have nothing to apologize for,” he snipped, turning his nose up at you.
“Then I have nothing to help you with,” you smiled, barbed, and swiveled to retreat into the safety of your cottage. “Good afternoon, Mister Lion. And please don’t eat my chickens.”
The Lion did not, in fact, eat any of your chickens. Or your geese, or ducks, or even the little rabbits that lived in the walls. He’d passed out beneath one of the overburdened fruit trees that grew along the edge of the forest and slept there for the entire evening—sprawled out amidst the roots like the rough bark was as comfortable as any other luxurious bed. He was still there now, snoring softly beneath the gentle, yellow, warmth of the morning sun.
You watched him for a few quiet moments, throat catching on a curious little hum. You wondered how long he was planning to skulk about your little homestead. You wondered how he wasn’t cold and miserable every night. And surely he must have been ravenous by now. It’s not like you’d seen him eat anything.
So you raided your icebox for leftovers and heated them on the stove until your cottage was filled with the cozy smells of well-seasoned meats and sweet, berry, tarts. You packed up the meal into a neat, little, box, wrapped it all up in a tea towel to seal in the heat, and then dropped the thing in his lap hard enough to startle him awake.
The Lion glowered down at the mesh of checkered fabric in obvious distaste. But then the scent of what was tucked within said wrappings must have made its way to his nose, because some of that ire seemed to melt away and he sniffed curiously at the air.
“Thank you for not decimating my livestock population,” you said.
“You told me not to,” he snapped, tail whipping angrily at his rear. He reached out to pick at the folded edges of the parcel with a perplexed sort of expression twisting at his mouth.
“And you didn’t,” you responded with a shrug. “It’s appreciated.”
With that, you left to go about your daily business. Your garden needed tending, and one of the corners of the fence needed a new patch to keep it upright. You also hadn’t seen much of your foxes since Lord Lion had decided to make himself at home, and you wound up spending far too much time crawling around on your hands and knees—looking under bushes and into holes as you waved around a juicy chunk of roast beef in hopes of tempting them out.
There was the telltale crunch crunch of someone stepping through the dirt to stand at your side, and you glanced up to see the Lion Man looming over you with a heavy scowl—arms crossed loose over his chest.
“Is this what you do? Everyday?” he asked, sounded insultingly incredulous. His face was twisted up into a sneer that was entirely unimpressed. “Crawl through the muck like a worm?”
“Not every day,” you said after a moment of consideration. “And worms don’t have limbs. I’m more like a cockroach, maybe.”
He scoffed. “And you have the nerve to think that you’re too good to help me.”
“I never said that,” you frowned, sitting back on your heels and brushing some of the dust and grass from your pants. “I just said you needed to apologize first.”
“I’m not sorry for anything,” he said again, just as put out as before.
You waved a finger at him in a gentle tut-tut. “Ah, but we’re making progress. See, earlier you said there was nothing to apologize for at all. Now at least you’re recognizing that there is, in fact, an anything.”
You swayed your way back to your feet before he could launch into another rant about your mortal ridiculousness.
“A friend of mine hunted down a White Moor Stag last week,” you said, brushing the last of the grit from your knees. “It’s supposed to be delicious, and I’ve had some of the cuts marinating for a while now. You see, it’s this whole mess with orange zest, and molasses, and these little Red Eye chilies that I’ve been growing for ages now—”
The more you rambled, the more constipated he looked. So you cut yourself off and rubbed at the back of your neck, just toeing the wrong side of embarrassment.
“R-Right. Anyways. I’m going to be cooking some of it up tonight to try. So—Well,” you waved your hand awkwardly around your head in a gesture that even you weren’t entirely sure made any kind of sense. “If you apologize before then, you’re more than welcome to come in and have dinner.”
He scoffed. “That’s not exactly a worthwhile offer when we both know you’ll just end up bringing me some tomorrow either way.”
You sighed.
“Probably,” you admitted. “Well. See you in the morning then if you’re still around, I guess.”
“You’re terribly accommodating to unwanted guests,” he sneered after you as you climbed the set of stairs that made up your teeny porch, and you waved him off with a grumble.
What was so wrong with being civil, huh?! You liked to think that your little cottage was homey and welcoming. You took in weird guests all the time! And you liked being known as that awkward but friendly recluse who could offer a wandering adventurer a fresh set of laundered clothes and a good meal. It was how you’d met all your other friends. Odd as they all were. In fact, if you were being perfectly honest, in comparison to some of your other compatriots, Mister Lion really probably was the most societally acceptable definition of ‘normal’ out of the bunch. Which was—not to rag on your dear friends or anything—but that was certainly… Uh…
You spent the afternoon shuffling about your kitchen, and then a long evening searing the meat to perfection. It tasted absolutely divine—totally ‘making noises not meant for polite company’ and ‘curling your toes under the table’ levels of yummy. You happily set aside some portions for your friends whenever they inevitably stopped by (with an extra-large and prettily packaged one for your Hunter), and then packed a small box of leftovers to set at the front of the icebox. Just as the Lion had said you would. Because unlike him, you were nice. And kind. And really didn’t want him to get hungry enough to start eyeing your chickens in earnest.
The next morning when you ventured beyond your front door, you noticed something a bit odd.
Your brow scrunched and you shifted the little box of meats into one hand so you could use the other to poke around your very neat looking garden.
“I don’t remember weeding this yesterday…”
Nor had you had time to fix the fence amidst all your fox chasing. Or prune the berry bushes. And normally your trimming was not quite so, err, ugly, lopsided, like the work of a toddler with safety scissors imperfect. More of a scorching, really, than any kind of clipping. There was a soft dusting of glittering, arcane, sand scattered along their roots.
The Lion snorted and snatched the food from your hands with a scowl. It was a weird, tiny, twisty expression—and way more performative than he’d probably intended it to be.
“Then you must be even stupider than I thought.”
“Huh,” you mused, plopping yourself down on one of the low-cut stumps and resting your chin in your palm. You tried to hide the amused tick of your lips behind your fingers. “I hadn’t thought that would be possible. What’s lower than a base zero?”
“Negative numbers exist,” he sneered and sat cross-legged in the grass across from you to devour his plundered meal.
You hummed and rifled around in your pockets. You unearthed another wrapped treat and passed it his way.
“Thank you for cleaning up,” you said.
He scoffed and took a too-large chomp out of his food, eyes averted towards the ground. “Whatever.”
The Lion followed you around the rest of the day—always at a distance, and always with a perpetual cloud of scathing comments settled about him like a swarm of buzzing bees. You just hummed through the streams of pessimistic angst and continued your chores. Mostly he just watched you toil away. Occasionally you’d toss him a berry from a bush you were replanting, or share some bites of the granola you’d tucked into one of your pockets. He accepted each treat with an upturned nose and absolute indignity. But he ate each and every morsel, and you noticed him go back to swipe another berry when he thought you weren’t looking.
He still outright refused to apologize, so you took your dinners alone. But he did help you move some thorny branches, and didn’t even complain too much when Penelope the Chicken made herself a nice bed in his lap. You brought him one of your spare blankets—a big, old, fluffy thing that you’d once hoped would be a bit magical, as you’d spun it together from some enchanted wool. It was not, which was disappointing. But it was still warm and pretty, so that was fine.
The Lion scoffed at it, but you just left the folded-up mess of soft fluff by his side with a pointed pat-pat-pat before returning to your own cozy bed for the night.
When the sun rose the next day, you woke to a familiar, scraggly, redhead at your door. Ace smiled at you through a layer of grime thicker than the shirt on his back, and you immediately herded him out towards the backyard to dunk him in the pond.
“What did you even do?” you asked, upending another bucket of water over his head. “You look like someone tied you to the back of a horse and dragged you the entire way here.”
He shivered petulantly. “I didn’t do anything! I swear! And nothing happened!”
Splash went the next bucket.
“Nothing I didn’t deserve,” he corrected, and you handed him a towel as a reward for his vague attempt at honesty.
Eventually Ace managed to weasel his way out of the frigid pond and into a fresh set of clothes. He sighed, content, and set about lounging in the sun like a fat, lazy, tom cat. Which, speaking of lazy, lounging, cats…
You glanced around your little farm, but your new Lion companion wasn’t anywhere to be found. Huh. How strange. You retreated back into your home to collect some of your leftovers before returning to your friend. You carefully balanced one of the boxes atop the fence as you went, just in case the Lion did come around looking for a snack.
You handed the other to Ace, and his mouth nearly started watering at the sight.
“No Deuce this time?” you asked, peering back out towards the dirt road—half expecting to see the warrior sprawled out in a ditch or something just a few paces down the path.
“Nah,” Ace sighed, kicking up his feet and letting out a heaving sigh that sounded like it weighed more than the thick, traveler’s, pack usually strapped across his shoulders. “He stopped back in town to drop off a letter for his mom.”
Ace moved to dig into the food in earnest, and you lit up at his enthusiasm.
“This is from that Stag,” you beamed, and his face went a bit pale. “Remember? The one we could barely fit through the shed door even when we got all six of its antlers off? I finally got around to cooking it.”
“That Hunter brought this?” he asked, looking more and more uncomfortable by the second.
“I mean, who else could kill a White Moor Stag?” you laughed, and Ace’s expression was shifting into something that looked a bit too close to sea-sickness for someone sitting in a soft patch of grass in the heart of a landlocked prefecture.
You reached forward to pluck up a bit of one of the juicier steaks between your fingers and shoved it firmly into his mouth. The indignant spluttering that followed rapidly melted into near moaning, and whatever hesitance was brewing in that empty skull of his dissipated in the face of such a pure, culinary, masterpiece.
You leaned forward eagerly when he began to shovel the stuff into his mouth like a dying man inhaling his last meal. “How’s it taste? I tried using rinds this time in my marinade instead of just the orange pulp, and also tried whole ginger slices rather than the ground up kind, and—"
“Yeah, yeah,” Ace waved you off around a mouthful of half-chewed meat. “Food magic, and fancy things, and whatever. Can’t you just let me enjoy this stupid, terrifying, meal in peace—”
A clawed hand slammed down over the top of the makeshift lunch box with an echoing thwack, and the redhead lurched backwards with a startled squawk.
“If you’re not going to bother listening, you don’t deserve to eat it,” the Lion huffed, snatching the portion for himself and gracefully folding his unfairly lithe limbs to plop down at your side.
“You’re one to talk,” you blinked, taken aback at his sudden appearance. And blatant hypocrisy. Like. Come on, dude.
He was close—far closer than he was normally willing to get to you and your human cooties. Practically slotted up against you from hip to shoulder. His tail curled up and around your wrist and you could feel the tip of it twitching irritably against the soft skin at the heart of your palm. That aloof, emerald, glower of his was fixed on Ace with just a touch too much ire to really be considered indifferent, and his ears were pressed down into stiff, flat, lines atop his head. You blinked again, wide eyed and a bit confused. Huh. Maybe he just wasn’t a fan of strangers.
“When have I ever interrupted one of your ridiculous tangents?” the Lion snipped at you, pointedly popping the thickest, juiciest, slice of the bunch into his mouth. It shredded like tissue paper between his canines and Ace audibly gulped.
“You make faces at me,” you argued petulantly, and immediately felt like a toddler.
“But I always listen,” he shot back, equally as bitchy. And also… surprisingly earnest. Even if he was being as miserable about that sincerity as he was about everything else.
His green eyes flicked down to meet yours for a moment—two, three, four—before swiveling back towards Ace and narrowing all over again. And yeah, you’d assumed that the Lion had looked irritated with you plenty of times before, but the sneer he was giving Ace was all sorts of unpleasant. Rivaled only perhaps by that open, spiteful, hatred when he’d turned to bear his fangs at the metal spike trap twining around his legs and keeping him trapped in that pit.
His lip twitched up, almost like a snarl, before he continued, “Even an herbivore like you deserves that at least.”
Then the Lion reached around you to snatch the checkered tea towel wrapping from its place discarded at your friend’s feet, jostling you ridiculously all the while and practically bullying you into his lap with his flailing elbows in the process. He idly wiped the mess of sauces and drippings from his fingers before tossing the fabric back into the dirt—this time at his feet. You rolled your eyes at the petty theatrics and shot Ace one of your patented ‘man, what a day, am I right?’ looks, that he responded to with an expression that looked more like someone had just punched him in the nuts and threatened to wear his skin as a suit than it did any sort of real life, rational, human, emotion.
The Lion’s arm tightened from its place at your waist—where he’d lazily left it after that initial reach around. You settled back against him with a good natured, if exasperated, huff. At least he was warm. And honestly a much nicer seat than the damp ground.
“Uhm—” Ace choked. Cleared his throat. Tried again. Choked harder. “Who—Who’s this?”
“Oh,” you hummed, pensive. “Actually. That’s a very good question. I don’t really know.”
The Lion Man practically groaned into your neck. Ace looked like he wanted to put your head through a wall.
“This entire time,” the Lion hissed. You could feel the imprint of his canines bumping up against your skin as he grit his teeth. “You didn’t even know who I was?”
“No?” you frowned, confused. And then, rightfully indignant, “It’s not like you ever introduced yourself!”
He pulled himself back with a sigh that sounded like it was the only thing standing in between a gruesome murder and whatever fragile sanity he’d managed to wrangle together. He straightened—posture going rigid and regal. The claws at your waist flexed into the breezy fabric of your shirt and his tail tightened along your arm.
“I am Leona Kingscholar,” he declared, proud. “Second Son of the Sunset Savannas. Heir to the King's Roar.”
Ace started choking all over again, and let out what sounded vaguely like a strangled ‘holy fucking shit.’ You waited a moment, shifting through the catalogue of names and places in your head before drawing a complete blank. So you simply nodded as best as you could while squashed up so close against him and offered your own name politely in return.
Ace gawked at you. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
You frowned. “What are you talking about? I was just being polite!”
“This is—He’s—!” your redheaded friend just barely managed to splutter out past his obvious terror. “Leona Kingscholar is a Warlord. He’s an ancient terror—He’s—He’s a General, and a monster, and the fucking Changeling Prince whose family rules over this entire goddamn continent, you absolute fucking halfwit!”
Your brain seemed to evacuate the premises all at once, and you were left gaping like a fish out of water. Mouth opening and closing as if of its own devices. Just. Not a thought passing behind those wide, horrified, eyes of yours. Eventually you managed to tilt your gaze up and up until the back of your head thunked against your guest’s shoulder. You stared at him in outright consternation and he simply arched a handsome brow, entirely unimpressed by your apparently lackluster deductive reasoning.
“…is that all true?” you asked haltingly. He rolled his eyes at you.
“More or less.”
“… and you’ve been sleeping in my chicken coop.”
Leona snorted. “I have.”
You turned back to Ace, a creeping sort of dread slithering through your gut and clawing up your spine.
“Oh no,” you said. With feeling.
“Oh fucking no indeed,” he wailed, and dropped his head into his hands.
.
.
.
TAG LIST [CLOSED]
@marvelous-maxi, @ilikefanfics4, @jackalope08, @crocwork-clockodile, @cosmicobubisi, @buttplugs-stuff, @pomefleur, @decemebercircus, @ailynyan, @genzombie, @meliade-ot, @sunlightocean, @theofficialantitherapist, @hermiona18, @sailorenthusiast, @fantasy-dating-sim-trash, @thefiasco-onyourblock, @insideous-beez, @its-clockwork-princess
@novaloptr, @imlost-sendhelp, @matcha-berry @preciosayorgullosa @whoretaglia, @kookygirlwholikescookiesandcoke, @nanauedorian, @trixeraptops, @voxnipop, @starkling25, @thedum1, @horcrux-alchemist, @sleepykitty21, @apathicace, @instantregret101, @nekanecorvus, @looney-mori, @re-ducing, @my2phetaliaheadcanons, @naughtybodypillow, @rendy-a, @carmen-404, @candy284, @thealiennamedterry, @their-name-is-fake, @huetolog, @glacticrose, @seraphinariddle, @rabioa, @sn00zl4x, @dreasimping, @jeidoreech, @ai-dev, @galaxyshine24-7, @fatally-incorrect, @juulranch, @camrastuff, @nocteetdie, @stargaryengirl,
#twisted wonderland imagines#twisted wonderland#twst x reader#Monster Mayhem#My Writing#Twst Fantasy AU#Leona Kingscholar x Reader#Leona x Reader#Leona x Yuu#Skin-Changer Leona#Ace Trappola#Monster Mayhem Leona Part 2
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Merchant's Daughter (Part 2)
God! Aemond x Human●Fem! Reader
Summary: In order to ease the wrath of one of the Gods, the girl among humans is chosen to be gifted to him.
Part 1
To find more stories — masterlist
A/N: I know you've been waiting for it. So here is chapter 2, finally. Want to express my gratitude for your likes, comments, and reblogs. I appreciate it! Love you, guys! Enjoy the story :)
P.S. English isn't my native.
Warnings ⚠️
NSFW, sexual content, typical treatment of women those times, she/her pronouns.
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○
The man of her father's age opened the gates and kindly smiled at her.
"Welcome to Ēbrion, my lady. The residence of the God of Murk and Affliction — my lord."
She examined the pale complexion of the man, who wore perfectly ironed and starched white shirt with a black suit. His skin was pallid as if the blood no longer rushed in the veins. The man was acting as an alive human, though, there were doubts whether he was one.
"Who are you?" She cautiously inquired, still considering if she could trust him.
"I am a butler, my lady," the man was still smiling warmly.
"What is E... Ebrion?"
"Ēbrion," he pronounced it correctly and went on explaining, "this is the name of the castle, my lady. It means "dusk" in the Valyrian language."
Valyrian — the language of Gods.
The butler took her case and pointed at the lane with his thin arm. She made several uncertain steps walking into the territory of the castle. The gates behind her started closing by themselves what surprised her a little.
"Why is the castle named like that?" She curiously looked at the man and then turned her glance to the great piece of architecture in front of her.
"Due to my lord was born at dusk," she heard the butler's soft voice behind her back. "Please, my lady, may us come inside. Dinner is already awaiting for you, along with a hot bath. You must be exhausted after the journey."
She felt someone's presence the whole dinner as if an invisible person were in the room together with her, hiding stealthily. Somber aura hung over making the air in the castle humid. Although, it could have been her nervousness, and heightened temperature of the body due to her anxiety.
Massive walls were decorated with modeling, ornamented in pretentious paintings of mythical creatures and flowers; pictures in wooden frames adorned the rooms. Events of Gods' and humans' history were depicted on them. At times, it seemed the characters on canvases revived — expressions were altering on their faces, their eyes were watching her with the penetrating gaze. Here and there muted fragments of their conversations were echoing across the halls.
The servants of the castle were moving around ghostly — once they were working in one place, then, after a blink, there was no one in the room, the servants quickly were shifting to other places.
When the girl needed explanation or help, miraculously the butler appeared near her. A moment she turned her head, he vanished as though he weren't there initially.
Who were all these people serving the God of Murk and Affliction? Ghosts? Corpses who came to life? She doubted that someone ever would provide her answers.
She had been staying in this bleak place for a week and hadn't ever met its owner. Each day was gloomy and dull, the atmosphere outside was constant. Once in a while, it was drizzling — at those moments chilly spirit was sweeping through the halls, and the girl was hiding in the chamber, allocated for her, under the thick blankets.
The longer she had been staying here, the more dreadful anticipation of the meeting with the God became. She couldn't comprehend why he still hadn't appeared in his residence. But, she had a horrible feeling the moment she would meet him, it would be the most terrible encounter in her life. It seemed as if it were easier to face the Death than the God of Murk and Affliction himself.
One evening was especially murky. Since morning it had been pouring, so the whole day felt macabre. The poor girl had low spirits — there was no joy in here, nothing to do, nowhere to go, nobody to speak to.
The servants had prepared a hot bath for her. While she was lying relaxed in the tub, pleasant water was soothing her strained muscles, several women were readying her bed, changing usual white linen into black one with red intricate patterns on it.
After, they dried her with soft towels, brought her a beautiful transparent nightgown to wear, something unpleasant tugged and then dropped in her abdomen. Her mind gave the cue that tonight was going to be the encounter. Their lord was coming back home, and his servants were preparing Ēbrion to greet him with lush tables full of mouthwatering dishes, polished floors and decorations, and the main gift who was standing in this chamber.
Her.
Now she realized why her bedroom was in the remote part of the castle — nobody would hear her voice, her screams, her calls for help. As though there were somebody who would safe her.
"My lady," the servant gently took her hand and led her to the bed, helping her to get onto it.
"Please, lie on your back, my lady."
She did as she was asked. Her breath caught in her lungs — the feeling of terror was capturing her body slowly.
"What are you doing?" The girl jumped terrified when the servants grabbed both her arms.
"Please, my lady, you have to lie on your back," the woman's gentle voice asked her again.
Be obedient.
The girl gulped and lowered herself on the duvet. She was trembling, as a small leaf ready to fall on the ground in late autumn, while her wrists got tied to the headboard. A silk bandage covered her eyes — according to the servants' words, it was an order.
And there she was lying, alone, on the fresh and still cold bed, her arms attached to the headboard with ropes. She relied only on her ears hearing attentively what was happening around. The baldachin made of heavy fabric was completely closed. She was in the utter darkness.
Anticipation was eating her from the inside. It felt as if her heart could jumped out of her chest because of how afraid she was.
The echoes of someone's steps were audible in the corridor, reaching closer and closer to her chamber. She strained her body and tightly clenched her legs — was stiff as the violin's string.
All at once, the doors opened and she heard heavy male breathing, and loud stomps of leather boots. She tried to produce no sounds as though he didn't know she was here.
The God knew everything since the moment the convoy entered his lands. His henchmen saw her every step in the mist — vultures, ravens, trees, serpents, the fog itself. Everything and everyone felt foreign presence of a stranger, a human they'd never seen. And he already knew her name — the wind had whispered him.
The girl heard clatters of the crystal jug and goblet, and then quiet pouring of the liquid.
"Do you know who I am?" She heard a deep voice rumbling right from the chest. It felt dangerous and spellbinding at the same time as if looking at the volcanic eruption and hearing grumbles that come from the inside of the mountain.
"God of Murk and Affliction," her own voice sounded pathetic that was natural for such a miserable human she was.
"Remember it. I am a God, you are a human. A little pitiful human."
The baldachin opened suddenly revealing her small body to him worn in transparent fabric. He, without any shame, was staring at her young untouched body smelling her scent — dulcet and virginal.
The girl began moving, yanking the ropes, pulling her legs. Her heart was beating as a bird in the cage, fluttering small wings with the hope to escape. Unfortunately, there was no way back, no way home.
The God's large palm wrapped her thin neck pinning to the bed, his long nose grazed the side of her left cheek reaching her ear.
"Be a good girl for me. If you appreciate your life, be obedient," he whispered and left a light kiss on the earlobe.
She was incapable to breath, her body felt numb due to fear — the girl was lying still on the bed praying to remain alive after this encounter.
But who was she praying to? The Gods who themselves suggested to send her here?
She became alone, abandoned by humans and Gods who knew, who saw, who heard everything from above. They didn't care. One mortal girl was not a big deal.
The night had been dragging a long while, darker than it had ever been in any place of the world. It felt like infinity until the dawn. The infinity with his hard cock between her quivering legs, his heavy breathing and rumbling growls and moans.
She felt sticky hotness between her thighs — blood mixed with her juices and his semen. His strong hands left bruises on her innocent body, he bit her with his sharp fangs, penetrated her with rough thrusts. It was pleasure and pain she was experiencing. Her fleshy insides were fluttering because of exhaustion, but for the God it wasn't enough. He interchangeably used his shaft and long digits exploring the girl's interior.
Her crying didn't halt him, her moans encouraged him to keep on moving.
He examined every inch of her body craving to know all her cavities, convexities, and curves. He played with her breasts, nibbled her nipples, smelled her hair, and teased her clit.
She was different, unlike the Goddesses he had laid with. He sensed purity in her which he was devastating with his sinful actions, wicked tongue and perverse, constantly seeking for fulfillment dick. He adored her hot blood that could be heard rushing in her veins, he relished her taste feasting between her legs for hours till she couldn't take it anymore.
Everything was his from then. She belonged to him and only him.
He took her almost every night, and when the daylight touched the floors of her chamber, the servants always fetched her hot bath and breakfast. The God bestowed her with rich dresses made of heavenly fabrics and precious jewels that no mortal queens or kings ever possessed.
She was his own little human.
She was a good girl for him, and according to his promise he once made, she enjoyed only pleasure in bed. The God allowed her to explore the castle and the territory outside as a gift for her obedience.
Daily she had been spending time in the library, in the garden, or riding a horse in the surroundings of the castle. Her white stallion — a present from the God — was her loyal friend ready to take her anywhere she desired.
The girl was scared no more. The God's henchmen were watching her, the woods were protecting her from the possible danger that may have come from outside of his possessions.
She felt save and secure. Once she came here as a slave, a toy for the God, now she became his girl who he cared for and cherished.
***
The girl was bouncing on the God's hard cock standing on the hands and knees. Light breeze was tickling her nude body, sweet scent of grass and flowers enveloped the space around them.
Since her appearance here, the God's lands has changed reasonably. Thick fog has gone from Ēbrion to the borders of his possessions hiding them from the world outside. The sky wasn't overcast anymore allowing the rays of the sun to elucidate the territories around.
"My Lord..." she moaned loudly.
He gripped her hair tightly accelerating his thrusts.
"My Lord... Aemond! I need a break. I can't take it anymore," her ragged breathing showed her tiredness.
The God groaned, and grudgingly came out of her hot insides. She stretched her body on the blanket, closed her eyes enjoying the warmth of the day. The woods around them were shuffling. How much time had passed since she arrived in here? She didn't remember.
The days and nights blurred, time had no sense for her anymore. Once she was cut from the world she was born in, left forsaken in the unknown place, but now it seemed to be just a memory of long ago times.
In front of her was sitting her beloved man, the God who was spreading his wrath in the world, but sought love and appreciation in her hands.
Her dear Aemond.
"Are you tired, my love?" He took her arm and kissed it.
"A bit, my lord," she smiled, exploring his sturdy body with her curious eyes, and stopping her gaze at his thick cock patiently waiting to be buried deep within her walls again.
"Hmmm..." He thoughtfully rubbed her abdomen. Something began sparking in his good eye.
"What are you thinking about?" She half rose up on her elbows.
"Want to breed you, my love. To conceive a child with you," lust was heard on his tongue. He leaned his face closer to her, his silver hair glistening in the beams of the daylight.
"Do you want a half-God child from a mortal woman? I'm not even a queen, just a merchant's daughter."
An astute smile appeared on his face. He delineated her cheek with his long finger, then gently kissed her full lips.
"I don't want a half-God child. I want you to give birth to a God." He whispered into her mouth, and then pinned her to the blanket with the weight of his body.
She gulped and asked surprisingly:
"How?"
"I will make you my wife. My Goddess."
With these words he pushed his hard cock into her entrance, catching her moan with his lips.
#aemond#aemond targaryen#house of the dragon#prince aemond#aemond fanfiction#aemond fic#aemond one eye#aemond x reader#aemond x you#aegon ii targaryen
244 notes
·
View notes
Text
@reddieweek day 1: mythical creatures
I started this on actual Day 1, and as usual it spiraled into something much bigger than the simple doodle I started with, but I definitely enjoyed thinking it through and finding my take on the concept!
[Image description: A Werewolf/Vampire AU featuring Richie Tozier and Eddie Kaspbrak from the "IT" movies. The AU is detailed with handwritten notes and captioned vignettes. Alt text is provided, and copied and reformatted for easier reading under the cut.]
Copied Alt Text, reformatted for easier reading
Image one:
Young half-shifted werewolf Richie and vampire Eddie pose for the camera. Bulleted notes read:
Derry 1.0
The Losers are all some sort of mythological creature (which isn't that weird in this Derry).
Richie is a werewolf who stays half-shifted around his friends (but hides on the full moon).
Eddie is a vampire who carries blood bags from the pharmacy in his fanny pack (less messy that way).
Richie mimes Eddie's fangs and taunts him with puns as Eddie pulls out a medical blood bag. The dialogue reads:
"Stopping for a quick bite?"
"You know I- hey wait-"
"Kinda sucks to be you."
"You suck! And you already have fangs! Quit that!"
"Fangs for noticing!"
"HISS!"
Image two:
Portraits of Richie and Eddie as unhappy adults in their human and creature forms. Bulleted notes read:
Derry 2.0
Richie
Intensely guards/hides werewolf side
Very hairy even as a human
High stress situations or the full moon will involuntarily shift him
Eddie
High neck suit collar to hide the bite
Strict diet for basic nutrients
Ironically more vampiric the more he suppresses the urge to feed.
Black ink seeps up the page, with the caption, "Pennywise forces them to reckon with the parts of themselves they've hidden away…"
Image three:
Set against an inky background are scenes of a bloodstained full vampire Eddie, full wolf Richie in the Deadlights, and wolf Richie hunching protectively over Eddie. They are captioned, "Eddie kills and drains the Leper. Richie fully shifts in the deadlights. Eddie saves Richie, and in turn Richie saves Eddie."
Set against a bright background are scenes of after the fight: wolf Richie sleeps as Eddie waits with Richie's folded clothes, and of them recreating their pose from the first image, touching foreheads. They are captioned, "Post-battle nap and swim in the quarry before hightailing it out of Derry."
Image four:
Richie's clawed hand scratches out "R + E." It is captioned, "With one final stop on the way."
End Copied Alt Text.
#reddie#reddieweek#richie tozier#eddie kaspbrak#it#it 2017#it chapter 2#it movie#digital art#werewolf#vampire#doodleswithangie#500#i'm far from the first to do werewolf richie and vampire eddie but i had to bc it works so well (beyond the canonical tie ins)#full disclosure this au is not that much more detailed beyond what i managed to fit on these pages#just like a couple of more scattered thoughts about themes and such#i really want to do at least one more day but we'll see!
784 notes
·
View notes
Link
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: IT - Stephen King, IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: slight Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Characters: The Losers Club (IT), Ben Hanscom, Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough, Eddie Kaspbrak, Mike Hanlon, Richie Tozier, Stanley Uris
Additional Tags: Werewolf Richie Tozier, Reddie Week
Summary:
Basically Richie is a werewolf and people find out. Somewhat inspired by this tumblr post: https://chipsncookies.tumblr.com/post/116319099556/peoplemask-larissafae-whatamievensaying
#day 1#ao3#richie tozier#eddie kaspbrak#reddieweek#werewolf richie tozier#fanfiction#mythical creature#reddie week 2023
7 notes
·
View notes
Text
Reddie Week day 1: Mythical creatures
I love some vampire Eddie...
#reddie#reddieweek#richie tozier#eddie kaspbrak#it 2017#it 2019#it moive#gloomy draws#im not doing every day but im gonna try to do at least 4 specific ones#reddie week
640 notes
·
View notes
Text
Hello!
I'm Avi! My hobbies are painting, singing, writing and cooking. My favorite decks are : Tarot of the divine , The wild unknown tarot and Rider waite tarot . If you like my work please leave a review in my ask box!
Thank you for visiting my blog. I hope you have a grand time looking through my treasure box!
Sending lots of love your way! ♡
Difference between karmic and soulmate relationships
Importance of self-love
Pick a cards ☆
Self concept ♥
Tarot series
1) why are you so special 😻
2) admirable things about you
3) what are you attracting right now
4) why are you the most attractive person in the universe
5) let me hype you up!!
6) what effect do you have on others
7) what do people talk about you behind your back
8) watch me have my glow up in 2023
9) how do men view you?
10) 10 Random things about you or for you?
11) what surprises others about you?
12) the compliments you have been receiving behind your back
13) how do your classmates and teachers view you.
14) why do people fall for you?
15) letter from your shadow side
16) your demons and how you can fight them
17) How your existence makes this world a better place.
18) An appreciation letter for you
19) what is it like to be loved by you?
20) what sets you apart from the crowd?
21) how would you be described as an inspiration?
22) how are you glowing up?
23) what kind of lovers do you attract/are attracting
24) how do you inspire others
25) what makes you hauntingly beautiful?
26) About your beauty/vibe
27) the type of lover you deserve
Spirit guides/ Ancestors 🕊️
1) How do your spirit guides see you?
2) message from your ancestors
Guidance / messages 🫂
1) messages from the fairies 🧚♀️
2)short pac ( random messages)
3)short pac2 ( random messages)
4) what new things are coming?
5) random message for you ✨
6) letter from the MOON GODDESS 🌙♥🔮
7) some things you need to know
8) Random things about your 2023
9) Advice and messages from a friend
10) what's coming for you soon?
11) blessings coming to you in the next 30 days
12) Intuitively channelled messages for you
13) messages from Aphrodite
14) messages from the universe
15) messages from your inner child
16) 10 things you need to know right now
Fun readings 🫧
1) some songs for you ♡
2) you are a 10 but
3) which spy × family character are you?
4) describing you in some books quotes
5) how would a writer describe your character in a book?
6) what mythical creature are you? Pt 1
7) which Pokemon would you be and why? Pt1
8) your Christmas gift from the universe
9) you're a 10 because-
Love readings ❣️
1)what do they love about you
2) what's next in love for you
3) how would they describe you in song
4) letter from your future spouse
5) what will your future spouse love about you
6) The destined one for you
7) who is coming into your life in 2023 💞
8) I was enchanted to meet you (fs reading)
9) Love you like a love song baby
10) First date with your future lover.
11) what first impression will your future lover have of you?
12) Random things about your future lover
13) you from the eyes of your future lover / future spouse.
14) random things about your next lover
15) who's crushing on you?
16) what will you find adorable about your future spouse?
17) how will your future spouse act in front of you vs in front of others?
18) what will draw your future spouse to you?
19) Red string of fate : your destined love
20) what will your future spouse find attractive about you?
21) your next relationship
22) you from the eyes of your future lover/future spouse pt2
23) Random messages from your future spouse
24) Letter from your soulmate
25) what kind of lovers do you attract/are attracting
26) your future spouse : personality
27) First date with your future spouse
28) Some random things your future spouse will say to you (poetic edition)
29) some nicknames your future spouse may call you by
30) How will your future spouse/lover show their love?
31) when will you find love? And a little about your person
Paid reading services
Payment will be taken through PayPal and this will be taken before I send your reading . I'll deliver your reading on email or Tumblr dm your choice.
All of the feedback
Astrology masterlist
Tarot series :
Let me hype you up series ❁
#pac tarot#tarot reading#tarot cards#tarot#tarotblr#masterlist#tarot masterlist#tarot witch#astro masterlist#paid readings#tarot sale#tarot services#tarot sequence
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
Well, mythical creature. Anything to say for yourself? Fuuuuuuuuuck yooooooou.
Bear with me because this may get rambly, but I find it fascinating that Izzy chooses to pick a fight with the figurehead on the ship. Given the history of figureheads as both identifying markers on a vessel and talismans to keep their crews' safe, I got thinking about the fact that for Izzy, Blackbeard is a figurehead.
Literally and figuratively, Blackbeard's identity looms large. Ed said it himself: he doesn't even need to be on the ship. People recognise the flag and the vessel and that's enough.
When the crew 'kill' Ed, Izzy is the one to keep his body on the ship. Which means that Izzy is the one to cover his head, leaving only his body visible. Only then, after Ed turns out to be alive again, Izzy goes and hides with the figurehead and - significantly - picks a fight with it.
Did Ed ever tell Izzy "I'm the kraken" (ie. a mythical creature)? Who knows. But even if he didn't tell him, Izzy said way back in 1x04, "I was honoured to work for the legendary Blackbeard". Blackbeard who is a legend and a ghost and a mad demon pyrate. A mythical creature, if you will.
For Izzy, he really seems to be redirecting all the rage he didn't/couldn't direct at Ed towards the unicorn. The subtext in the first scene between him and Stede at the bow is... uh. Quite telling.
Stede: He's seen better days, hasn't he?
Izzy: At least he's still got both legs.
Stede: Yes! Oh, he can't hear you. He's got no head. You've got a head, though, which you should look after.
Given that "losing your head" was another euphemism for insanity and Ed said himself "they think I'm a bit crazy" and Izzy described him as "going mad", Izzy really does seem to be projecting everything on to the figurehead who lost its head.
And then, in a drunken rage, he hacks the legs off the unicorn, dragging them along and throwing them down in front of the crew, declaring "There! It's done! Maybe next time he'll think twice about doing his fucking job".
We know that this is a triggering sentence for him. We saw it in episode 1 when he tries to bring the crew to order, and the memory of hearing it from Blackbeard - knowing he's expendable and not as valued or trusted or safe as he believed himself to be - led to him having his breakdown in front of the crew.
For him to bring this back up again, this open wound that led to the meeting with Blackbeard that then led to the confrontation and the shooting that cost him his leg, all ties in together with the unicorn.
Initially, I didn't twig why he was doing it beyond grief and misery and being drunk off his tits, but then in episode 5, it clicked. Specifically because of this exchange:
Izzy: Flipping the tables on Blackbeard didn't quite numb the pain?
Lucius: Maybe we try what he did to you next.
Izzy: What who did to me?
Lucius: Blackbeard. Because he... chopped off your leg.
Which is what Izzy was doing in episode 4: trying what Blackbeard did to him by hacking the legs of the unicorn. Only it didn't help... until it did when the crew took a piece of the damage he had done and made something new from it to support him. (Hello, I am rolling around in the symbolism 🥰)
What I also find especially compelling is that he recognises that Lucius is trying to process his trauma the same way as he did: by doing unto others what was done unto him. Only Lucius does it by pushing actual Blackbeard overboard while Izzy takes his frustrations out on a myffic wooden pony.
227 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
fruitypemi
FruityPemi
tarotwithavi
Divination
heykageyama-archive
permanantly moved to @ladykeqing
tristan-ooc-blog
Tristan's OOCness
daily-hanamura
行くぞ, 相棒 ！