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sttoru · 8 months

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𝐈𝐓’𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍 .

⟣ sypnosis. a nightmare of your lover’s disappearance wakes you from your sleep.

⟣ tags. gojo satoru x female reader. angst, comfort, fluff. takes place after gojo’s unsealed but before dec 24th, bits of spoilers jjk leaks 236 at the end. mentions of death, blood.

⟣ note. based on it’s happening again by agnes obel. coping rn dhmu . . . not proofread bcs i cant read through my tears anyways hope u enjoy im gonna cry myself to sleep now

everyone has to die at one point — not even the strongest of all could avoid that tragical fate. not even the strongest sorcerer you call your lover.

no, not even him. the universe couldn’t spare him. you thought that maybe, it would. maybe fate wouldn’t apply to him. oh, how wrong you were.

blood splatter—a stream of red liquid. right at your feet. right in front of your eyes. a man in half. and not just any regular man;

“satoru !”

your dark surroundings become blurry with tears, your body jolts out of its current dreaming state. you could feel your heart in your chest—in your throat. your brain shut itself off for a few seconds as your eyes try to make out shapes and figures in the room you’re in. your bedroom.

you only then realises that it was all just a gruesome nightmare. a hyperrealistic one at that; one that will haunt you for years.

“hmmh.. ‘m right here, baby.” a groggy voice next to you replies to your yell in agony. the yell that was the shape of your lover’s name leaving your lips—

you instantly turn your head to the right and there he was; the man whom just met death in your dreams. gojo satoru, all alive and well. in your bed, in your presence, in your life.

satoru’s hand aimlessly pats the space next to him in search of your body whilst he rubbed his eyes with the other, trying to adjust his sight to the dark so he could find you. you seemed to be in complete distress. which he does not like.

“it’s okay, shh, shh,” your lover hums, hand finally finding your arm. he doesn’t hesitate to pull you on top of him—your head laying on his chest.

his body was warm. his heartbeat was there. loud and clear in your right ear.

“satoru. . .” a river of tears flows down your cheeks like a dam that has been broken into. your body trembles, lungs feeling like they couldn’t get any air in them from how hard you were sobbing. the pain of losing your loved one; it all came flowing back to you.

satoru frowns, “hey, hey. look at me — sweetheart, c’mon.”

he instantly sits up and pulls you along with him. his hands find your cheeks, tilting your head up. this time it was his turn to feel his heart break in pieces. you looked absolutely distraught. as if you just went through a traumatic experience of some kind. he hated it.

“shit,” satoru mutters under his breath before pulling you into his embrace again, arms circling your waist with his head buried in the crook of your neck, “it’s okay, i’m here now. you’re safe.”

it wasn’t the first time you had nightmares when he was with you. you had them regularly after satoru had gotten sealed in the prison realm for nineteen days—nineteen days of dread for you. of an empty bed, an empty house and an empty life.

when satoru had finally been released from the prison realm it was like a dream come true. a happy dream, that is. not those repetitive, bad ones you have every now and then. you still get those nightmares of your lover being either taken away from you by force or by death itself. your brain couldn’t give you a break — even after his return.

“take a deep breath in,” satoru instructs and sets an example by doing the breathing exercise with you, “hold it for three seconds . . . breathe out for six. mhmm, good—jus’ like that.”

you repeat it a couple more times, sobbing and shaking throughout the entirety of the exercise, but eventually manage to calm down a little. satoru sighs in relief at this;

“you okay, baby?”

you nod weakly and sniff, wanting nothing more than to be held by the man you thought had vanished from your life forever. you had that scare once, when he was sealed, and you never want to go back to those dark times. ever.

“it’s— i, just—“ you hiccup once, unable to complete entire sentences, “i thought you w-were gone. i thought you had died.”

it was silent after that (except for the sound your silent sobs and sniffles). satoru had guessed by now that you saw him die in your dream — that much was pretty obvious. but, the thought that you were this distressed because of it makes him. . . happy in a way.

happy that someone would mourn over him at least.

“well,” satoru pensively replies, hands rubbing your back up and down soothingly, “everyone has to meet their end one day, you know?”

that sentence was one that was meant to lighten up the grim mood somehow. one of his many lighthearted remarks that were supposed distract you from your tears. it would work during other moments like these — were you’d be too baffled by the things satoru says to care about what you were crying for — yet today it only worsens your misery.

“shut up.” you weakly punch his chest to which the white haired male chuckles softly, his slender fingers instantly interlocking with yours. satoru’s thumb brushes against your wrist before pulling it up to his lips, placing ticklish kisses among your skin.

another silence hangs in the air.

“seriously though. . . if i were to somehow die, i’d want you to live and move on, yeah?” your lover whispers in such a quiet tone that it was almost inaudible. satoru had looked death right in the eye before — he didn’t care back then if it were actually his end.

he does now. he has the world to lose — his world — his everything. you.

satoru wants to live a happy life with you. he doesn’t want to die now that he has you. the love of his life which he wants to grow old with. maybe have kids with. start an own family away from the busy streets, away from the swarming curses in the city and away from all that sorcerer stuff. it was a nice dream.

“shut it!” you huff and satoru takes another weak punch to the chest. his gaze lands upon your tear struck face and he instantly drops the serious ‘act’.

the sorcerer laughs, his usual boyish laugh that makes you feel better, and he flips you both over so that he has you pinned underneath him. satoru grins before kissing your tummy all over, making you giggle from the ticklish feeling;

“i’m playin’, baby! i’m not going anywhereeee!” he promises through wet pecks against your skin, the smile on his evident even if you couldn’t see it — you could hear it in his voice.

satoru leaves your tummy and moves on to your neck and face. he was smothering you in affection in hopes you’d cheer up some way. he just wants you to forget about anything bad happening to him. you didn’t deserve to think about all that stuff — you deserve to be happy and full of joy.

even without him one day.

“i’d never leave my princess all alone.” satoru shakes his head and pouts dramatically, “who else is gonna spoil you? or kiss and cuddle you to bed, huh?”

you finally show an ounce of joy. a tiny smile. that was all satoru had needed to see. he wasn’t going to stop there, however. his goal was to turn that small smile into a full blown fit of laughter.

“i’m one of a kind, baby. you’re never gonna meet a man like me.” he continues with a proud grin, putting all of his body weight on top of you which causes you to groan and grumble a lighthearted complain.

satoru knows you like it whenever he clings to you and thus he uses that piece of knowledge to help you feel better. his head was buried into your shoulder, limbs enveloping your body like a koala.

“whatever.” you roll your eyes and snuggle up to your lover, closing your eyes as the tiredness hits your body after all that crying.

“whatever !” satoru mocks you in a high-pitched tone, followed by a pair of giggles from the two of you. a third and final punch to the chest finally shuts him up for the rest of the night.

the sorcerer made sure you had fallen asleep first before he whispered the next words in your ear, hoping they’d calm your mind and body so that no nightmares would ever bother you again;

“don’t you worry, sweets. i’m not leaving you. ever.”

. . .

those were the same exact words satoru wished he could utter to you one last time before the current date — 24th of december.

#sttoru writes.#jjk x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk fic #jjk fluff #jjk angst #gojo x you #jjk x you #gojo angst #jjk comfort #jjk spoilers

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yanderemommabean · 4 months

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Hey Momma!

I like butterflies, ya got any Yandere Alien Butterfly scenario for me? Or everyone? Cause I'm sure we'd like a nice Yandere Alien Butterfly~ 🦋

“P-Please! Please you have to-Ahh!” You sob, wincing and jerking as more of their invasive fingers inspect your body. It wasn’t a sob of pain either, oh anything but. You’ve been handed over for these insect aliens to inspect as a sort of treaty and well, they’re being /very/ thorough with you.

Their wings flutter here and there as they murmur and whisper to one another, you assume to speak about notes and what they’ve learned but you can’t help but notice the clipboards and tablets have been set aside for over an hour now, and they simply haven’t bothered to test anything more than your limits on pleasure.

Weren’t you supposed to be tested on with other items too? Wasn’t this more or less a death sentence from your oh so cowardly government?

“They react nicely when you press right here-” The one on the left states a bit louder, something you can actually comprehend, but you’re focus is cut off as they demonstrate what they mean-curling their fingers inside you just right and making your body pulse with pleasure once again, your eyes watering as they begin to more or less abuse that spot and make your muscles tense and shake.

You can’t even catch your breath as the one on the right nods their head, but moves to grab something off of the table beside them. “Yes but do you think their anatomy could handle someone of our size? I think this mating tool is about as large as one of us, shall we try it?”

Oh god you can’t even bring yourself to look up. You try to catch your breath while you can, laying back on the cold table bringing you back to your senses even if just slightly. You aren’t sure you want to know just how big that toy could be, your mind would simply break.

“Oh not to worry! They’re quite resilient creatures! But we do have to be careful, I like this one” one says, amused as they grab the item and flick the switch. “We have to be slow, humans can handle sizes better when relaxed and sedated. Our little specimen here should be able to take at least half before we run into any issues”.

Your walls flutter and pulse once again, and you hate your body for being so eager to start after finally catching your breath. It’s as if your instincts are trying to tell you to just lay back and give in, and really, you can’t fight that urge much longer. That buzzing sound only makes your legs want to squeeze together tighter, but not out of fear this time.

Oh you’re slowly becoming a mindless toy yourself aren’t you?

When the head of that large toy enters you, your breath catches and it can’t be helped when you arch up and brokenly cry, that stretch seemingly both painful and blissful. That vibration was only making your fingers and toes curl as the two aliens watched with rapt attention, slowly pressing the toy in deeper and deeper, listening to your feeble noises and adorable moans almost nonchalantly.

If it wasn’t for the heady scent in the air and the fact you could see their own members sliding out in arousal, you’d think they were genuinely bored with experimenting with you. You catch a glimpse between weak twists of your body, and those dangerous eyes hold something more primal than they did when you first entered the room.

They were doing this for more than just research, that’s for sure. You’re at their mercy until they get bored, if they even do.

“Go ahead. Climax. We know you have more in you, we’ve studied your vitals and liquids, you aren’t dehydrated yet” the one on the right bites out, eager and needy as he leans forward to turn the toys vibrations up. “You look so good like this, human. Stuffed and needy, begging to be bred and made into the perfect mate. You must feel so neglected if you’re this sensitive to what we use”

You can only manage a whimper, eyes rolling back as your breath catches and that thick, pulsing toy hammers inside of you. It’s no use in fighting it, you couldn’t fight the multiple other attempts either. You cave, body lurching and head lolling back as you cry out and loudly gasp for air, feeling your hole clenching down and trying to make sure that large toy doesn’t leave, milking it for all its worth as you rock your hips to ride out the fifth intense orgasm of the day.

The two butterflies coo and croon in your ear, you think they’re praising you even but everythings so blurry and sounds like it's underwater, you can’t make any of it out.

“Good job human, such a good job. That’s it, deep breaths…When your breathing is back to a stable condition let’s see if we can’t fit in the rest of the device. I’m sure you won’t disappoint us”.

(-Mommabean, hiya! Sorry for any typos! Anyway I hope you enjoyed, feel free to tell me what you thought!)

#yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere exophilia #mommabean #yandere noncon #yandere dubcon #yandere smut #yandere alien bugs #yandere alien butterflies #yandere aliens #yandere butterflies #experimentation tw #experimental torture tw

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thedreamlessnights · 1 month

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Since requests are open, here's my suggestion: I recently revisited my old mythology book and found one of the myths about aphrodite bathing in a lake and blinds some pervs that sneaked up to watch her. Now, the reader might not have the powers of a goddess but you know what she does have? A dagger-happy vampire boyfriend more than willing to shank unwanted peeping toms (in his defense, he actually asked if he could be there, so no harm done here). Idk, I just like the idea of the reader having scary dog privileges and Astarion not minding looking menacing/scary while doing so

Thank you so, so much for this request, anon. It's an absolutely incredible concept, and it fits Astarion so well! I had such a fun time writing it, and I really hope you enjoy the result!

For Your Eyes Only

Astarion x F!Reader - NSFW

Content warnings: Mentions of brief, non-consensual voyeurism. Somewhat graphic violence, as well as mentions of blood, degrading terms, and the description of an injury and death. Explicit sexual content, including: oral sex (receiving), penetrative sex, fingering, multiple orgasms, blood drinking, and ear play. Tags: Takes place post-Cazador, some point in Act 3. Includes mild spoilers. Established relationship, a bit of emotional hurt/comfort, and tender smut.

Word Count: 5.8k

After the darkness and chill of the Shadowlands, the heat in the city feels suffocating.

You missed the warmth dearly back then, trudging through despair and gloom, thinking of nothing but the inevitable relief of the city. Your bones always ached something awful in that foul place, never warm enough to ward away the icy air. Now, though, it occurs to you that you hadn’t fully appreciated the cold when you had it.

The sun that streams down from the skies is blistering - scorching, even - and without reprieve or relief. Sweat courses down your neck, soaking the collar of your shirt. Your socks are damp inside your boots, and where the leather meets your calves, they’re chafing.

Gods, what you wouldn’t give for a bit of that chill again. Even with the achy bones.

What’s worse is the mud, somehow. One would think that Baldur’s Gate would be scarce on its share of the stuff, but it’s everywhere. Tracked up from Rivington, puddling in the streets, clinging to the bottom of boots.

Granted, your boots have seen more than their fair share of mud since the nautiloid: sticky, wet, warm. It’s seeped into socks and splattered across new armor, stained some of your favorite nightwear. Sometimes, when you’ve finally settled down for dinner, you’ve been able to taste it. No amount of scrubbing rids you of the earthy, bitter taste for long.

The mud in front of you is different, though. By all accounts, the heat should have baked everything at least somewhat dry, but this puddle remains. If it can even be called a puddle, really. The gloppy, wet mess looks more like a pond, and completely blocks the only path ahead. Even the edges of it remain entirely liquid. If you didn’t know better, you’d think it’d just rained.

A quick glance at your map confirms what you’d feared; this is the only nearby route to your destination. You’re on the outskirts of the city. Rock walls line either side of the path, too steep to climb. You know for a fact that Shadowheart had recently used your last Potion of Flying. Either you lose hours of progress to get Gale from camp so you can cross, or you’ll have to proceed through this stupid pond.

Astarion watches you eye the mess with a dramatic flick of his wrist. “Oh, by all means, darling, you go first!” he exclaims, raising a brow. “It won’t be me jumping in that slop.”

Karlach frowns at the mud’s appearance, tapping the toe of her boot against the surface. It ripples at the movement, brown waves gently sloshing against the surface of the nearby stone. “Can’t be that deep, right?”

“I don’t know,” you reply. You’re aching for a stick or loose branch, something to measure it, but there’s nothing around. Just grass and stone, the scalding sun on the back of your neck, and the muddy pond directly in the middle of the path.

“I say we go back,” Shadowheart urges. “I don’t know about any of you, but I’m not keen on dirtying myself.”

“We’d have to backtrack through hours of traveling,” you point out. “There’s no other way forward. I’ve checked the map.”

“Fine,” she relents, crossing her arms across her chest. “You go first, and we’ll follow behind you. Once we’ve seen it’s safe, that is.”

And, hells, you do not want to step foot in there. Not one bit. Still, do you have much of a choice? Your feet are already aching from the day’s walk. It would be devastating to lose all your progress. So, no - you really don’t have a choice, not if you want to get those Netherstones and stop the Absolute in time. The quakes in the city have only been getting worse.

“Alright,” you finally reply, your voice stronger than you feel.

You step forward, pressing your right boot against the mud, then apply your weight. Your heel breaks the surface with a terrifying rush of movement, and your leg instantly slides down into the muck - much deeper than you’d thought, deeper than it should be. When your foot hits the bottom, sticky, cold mud splatters up, painting your shirt, neck, and parts of your face.

Suddenly, the day isn’t quite so warm.

When you finally muster the courage to look down, your right leg is submerged up to the knee, soaking through your trousers. You can practically hear the sick squelch of it making its way into your socks, squishing between your toes.

“Urgh,” you mutter, wrinkling your nose as you attempt to pull your leg up. “Disgusting.” But it won’t budge. In fact, your squirming seems to be making you sink down even further. You try to shift your weight, but your balance is uneven with one leg in and one leg out. You’re dangerously close to losing your footing, and every bit you struggle threatens to tilt you face-first into the makeshift mud pond. In a prime moment of idiocy, you plant your other foot in the mud for support, and find your bottom half completely unable to move.

“What a brilliant idea,” Shadowheart says. “Now you’re stuck.”

“Thank you, Shadowheart,” you grit out, sweat dripping down your neck as you attempt to twist yourself around. “I had no idea!”

Karlach steps behind you, laughing a little. “Come on. Up you go, soldier,” she says, leveraging her arms under yours and giving a quick tug. You’re expecting the mud to release you, but it doesn’t. Your legs don’t budge - not even an inch.

“What in the…?” she mutters, giving another pull. This one has more force behind it; when she tries to haul you up, white-hot pain sears up through your ribs, ripping an agonized cry from your lips. No matter how hard she yanks, the mud’s grip only tightens around you. It’s beginning to feel like you’re a brittle piece of rope in a vicious game of tug-of-war.

“Shit! I’m sorry!” she exclaims. “So, so, sorry!”

“What are you doing?” Astarion asks, his voice suddenly sharp. “You’re hurting her! Put her down!”

“So she can get sucked further into the mud?” Shadowheart asks. Her voice is lined with fear now, which is scaring you more than anything else about this miserable situation. “We have to get her out!”

But it quickly becomes clear that no matter how hard Karlach pulls, it’s useless. Every yank is agony, and you only sink further and further. Tears stream down your cheeks from the pain, and your spine feels like it’s gained a good two inches from being stretched, but still nothing. No give at all.

Eventually, Karlach lets you go. Your body plops down in relief, but the mud is somehow deeper than it was before. It’s up to the bottom of your ribs now.

“Fuck me,” she pants, wiping her forehead. “What should we do?”

“How should I know?” Astarion’s face is drawn, more pallid than usual. His lips are pinched into a line. He should be telling you I told you so, making jokes - and you know he would be, if he were anything but absolutely terrified. Your panic is bad enough with the heaviness of the mud on your chest and lower body, but the look on his face? That tells you it’s even worse than it feels.

“Step back,” Shadowheart instructs quietly. “I have an idea.”

Once the two of them are out of the way, she steps forward. Stretching out her hands, she mutters an incantation into the air. In seconds, the slight chill of the mud surrounding you becomes sharp, painful ice that burns against every exposed inch of skin it touches. A very muddy shade of ice, but ice all the same.

Karlach’s axe crashes through the surface and it shatters, breaking around you. After another hit and a moment of digging, she finally has you out: freezing, still covered in mud, and very sore - but alive.

“Thank you,” you manage, choking out the words between your shivering.

“Never say I didn’t do anything for you,” Shadowheart says, smiling a little. She lets out a breath of relief, the tension bleeding from her shoulders. “Now. Turning around, are we?”

By the time you get back to camp, you’re the most uncomfortable you’ve ever been in your life. You’re wet and cold and exhausted, caked with dried mud that pulls at your skin when you move. It’s in your hair, on your face, and in your shoes, squelching with every step. The feeling makes you want to crawl out of your skin. Your ribs are sore and achy, and - on top of all of that - you’ve lost a good day’s worth of travel.

The only thing you want is to fall into Astarion’s arms, but he wrinkles his nose when you come near, holding out a finger to stop you. “Oh, no you don't,” he says. “Bath first. Then you can talk to me, darling.”

It seems no amount of persuasion is going to change his mind, so you head back to your tent and grab a number of supplies - soap, sponges, a towel, and a change of clothes. Your trusty knife for protection. The river is bound to be freezing, but it’s better than sponging yourself down and hoping for the best.

Thank the gods you’d found a decent pair of boots in an abandoned house today, because the ones that are currently plastered to your feet will take days to dry out, even in the hot sun. When you get to the nearby river, you don’t even bother to take them off before you plunge them into icy water, sufficiently drenching them until you can furiously loosen the mud enough to slip them off and toss them onto the riverbank.

The rest of your clothing gets the same treatment: the trousers which slowly pull away from your skin, the shirt that’s splattered with mud and covered in it up to the waist. Your hair will no doubt be a disaster, too.

You’re still sitting in the soaking-wet clothes when you hear the sound of a twig snapping behind you. Your hand instantly grabs for your knife, ready to throw it at whatever threat might be in the woods as your eyes sweep along the trees.

Nothing. You find nothing.

“Darling,” comes Astarion’s voice. He slips out from the shadows, immaculately clean, gazing down at the weapon in your hand with a lifted brow. “Planning to render me dead twice-over?”

“You scared the living hells out of me, Astarion!” you snap, sucking in a shaky breath. The blade drops from your loosened fingers, softly thumping against the dirt. “What are you doing out here?”

He steps closer, taking a seat on a nearby log. “You were taking ages to get clean,” he whines, sprawling out his legs in front of him. “And, unfortunately, our companions haven’t had an argument all night. How else am I meant to entertain myself? So here I am. Trudging through the woods for your company.”

“You could give me a warning next time,” you reply, still a little jarred. “I thought you were someone hoping to catch an eyeful.”

A smirk flickers across his lips. “Oh, but I am,” he says. “Do you mind terribly?”

Against your will, your cheeks heat, and his smile widens. “I don’t mind,” you say. “Not if you behave, that is. Hands to yourself.”

“I’ll be on my very best behavior,” he promises. Leaning forward, he prods your boots, wrinkling his nose at the sight. “Gods below. Those disgusting things should be burned.”

“I have an extra pair.” You move to tug your shirt off, but it’s clinging to you. “Gods damn that stupid mud pile. I should have asked Gale to use a cleaning spell.”

“Oh, please,” Astarion says. “He’s been sulking in his tent all evening. Apparently, being asked to blow yourself up by an old flame doesn’t do much in the way of socializing.”

The shirt finally pulls free, and it’s clear that your smallclothes have received the same treatment as the rest of your garments. Gods, you really should have asked for that cleaning spell. This mud is going to take ages to get out.

“Hand that here,” Astarion says, motioning for your shirt. You toss it to him, and he inspects it closely before setting aside.

“What?” you ask. “What were you looking for?”

“Oh, darling, nothing,” he says. “That’s my ‘to be burned’ pile. We’ll get you a new one.”

You’d argue, but you aren’t very attached to your current outfit - and besides, after weeks of trekking through wilderness and Shadowlands alike, it’s falling apart even without the mud.

“Do what you want with it,” you grumble, finally pulling off your smallclothes. “That shirt was barely surviving anyway.”

You glance over your shoulder and find him observing with a raised brow, slowly taking the sight of you in. You must look like a mess, but you’d never know it from the glint in the eye, or the complacent smile that plays upon his lips. Heat stirs low in your belly, simmering under your skin. Later, you tell yourself. When you aren’t covered in filth.

You lather up the soap on your sponge, scrubbing away the mud the best you can, but the damned stuff takes ages to get off. By the time you’re finally clean, the silvery moon is high in the sky, and your skin is beginning to prune.

Astarion makes a small comment or two, but mostly seems content to watch you in silence. His gaze burns over every inch of exposed skin, leaving phantom heat wherever it stalls. All you want is to get out of this damned river and touch him, but you’re determined to get every bit of the mud off before you do, and it’s taking much longer than you’d hoped.

When you’re finally presentable, you start on cleaning your filthy smallclothes. The soap is slippery, making it difficult to do much scrubbing, and the water alone is doing hardly anything.

Astarion watches you struggling, huffing as you nearly drop the soap bar in the river. After a moment, he lets out an exasperated sigh. “Dearest, you do realize that it would be much easier if you-”

But his words suddenly cut off. His head snaps toward the woods, and every nerve in your body burns with fear. In the span of seconds, he’s lunged forward, grabbed your knife, and darted after the sound.

Not a moment later, there’s a loud crash - some form of impact as he tackles whatever it was that he heard. You instantly push yourself out of the water without thinking, numb, your heart pounding in your chest as you stumble into the forest after him. It only takes a few steps in before you see it: a man on the ground, Astarion’s knife to his throat.

Your stomach churns, and your skin prickles in the air’s chill. How much had he seen? How long had he been standing there?

Astarion is shouting something at him, and the stranger is struggling against his hold, but it’s useless. He’s a scrawny, weak little thing, no match for Astarion’s lithe, nimble strength. No amount of twisting or fighting dislodges Astarion’s grip. After a moment, he finally gives up, cackling like an old hag as his head plops down against the dirt.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you here and now,” Astarion hisses, anger contorting his features.

In response, the man spits in his face. “She’s your bitch, is she?” he croaks. “You can take a turn after I’m done with her.”

Astarion snarls in response, gripping the man’s collar and pressing the blade deeper into the skin until it draws blood.

“Wait,” you call, stepping closer. “Don’t.”

Astarion blinks in disbelief, sitting up, careful to keep his weight on the stranger underneath. “My love, you can’t be serious,” he says. “You want to spare this-”

“Spare?” you echo, cutting off his words. “Who said anything about sparing him?”

Something glints in his gaze as he takes in your words. “Darling,” he drawls, his tone admirational. “By all means.”

He hands you the knife, and you kneel down next to him. It’s heavy in your hand, cold and smooth as you run your finger over the flat edge of the blade. You stare at the shimmer of it for a moment, entranced, somehow calm in the midst of this chaos. Then you slam the bottom of the hilt into the man’s nose.

There’s a sickening crunch before he screams, blood streaming over his mouth and spilling down his chin. Even after last night’s feeding, Astarion tenses up at the smell of it, but the curl of his lip tells you that he won’t be drinking from this piece of absolute refuse.

When the stranger reaches over and grabs at your arm, you almost don’t even realize - you’re so caught up in your own mind, in the weight of the knife in your hand. Then his nails dig into your skin, and everything hits you at once.

The freezing night air. The stinging, throbbing pain that flares through your skin as he claws at you, unable to do much more. The feel of Astarion’s hand, gentle but firm, prying the knife from your grip. It happens before you can even react - a swift slice of the blade, slitting the man’s throat. Dark blood, gushing from the wound and onto the dirt below.

For a moment, there is nothing but the sound of your breathing. Sharp but shallow, straining in your chest. Jagged air that flows in and out, but it does nothing to stop the increasing amount of black in your vision.

You’ve fought and killed more people than you can count so… why does this feel different? Why here, why now? You’ve nearly died before, so why does the scrape on your arm feel like it’s much more than that?

Then Astarion’s hands envelop your cheeks, blissfully cool, and the panic and pain seep out all at once.

“Darling,” he’s saying, half-breathless, “are you alright?”

You manage to nod, and some of the concern leaves his eyes. He runs his fingers over the scrape on your arm, and you wince. “We need to get you patched up,” he murmurs, his brows pinching together.

“Don’t take me to Shadowheart,” you choke out. She’s already done you enough favors, and you won’t be able to stand her disapproving gaze if you disturb her rest after today’s fiasco.

He huffs. “Stubborn little thing,” he mutters, but he doesn’t argue.

Instead, he heads back to your supplies by the river. When he returns, he wraps a towel over your shoulders, and it’s only then that you realize you’re naked. Completely, utterly naked. It had been bold of you to break that bastard’s nose in the nude, but… well, it hadn’t been your intention.

He’s dead now, though. He’ll never look at you again.

Astarion sweeps you up into his arms and carries you out of the woods along with your clean change of clothes, holding you tight against his chest and leaving your soiled clothing behind.

You can’t find it in you to care at the moment. You’ve scrounged up plenty of clothing along the journey; those torn, stained things won’t be missed. Not to mention, if you ever need more, Astarion will gladly steal you some new ones.

He takes you to your tent, and you’re grateful to see that everyone else has turned in for the night. Anyone awake to see you would inevitably have questions, and this only affirms your decision to avoid Shadowheart - if you woke her up to heal a minor scrape on your arm, she’d be seething.

And though she’d undoubtedly be sympathetic after hearing the cause, you don’t think you can muster up the words to tell her what’d happened.

After he’s carefully set you down on your bedroll, Astarion yanks the flap of your tent closed and reaches for your pack, digging through the contents until he’s found some bandages. His grip is gentle as he takes your arm and swipes some remnants of a healing potion over it. You’ve been through this dozens of times, but you can never seem to shake the urge to wince as it sets in - the potion stings just a bit before it soothes, a sharp tingling that fades into a sweet, balming relief.

You’ve calmed down some, warming up in your tent with him, but Astarion’s hands are shaking as he wraps the wound. His brows are pinched together, his swallows are thick and strained, and he can’t seem to meet your eyes, even when he’s done bandaging you up.

“Astarion,” you murmur. “He’s dead.”

He stills in place, jaw clenching as he inhales sharply, still not meeting your gaze. Instead, he glowers down at the tent’s floor, his hands balling into fists. “He deserved so much worse than that,” he snaps.

You don’t argue with him. Instead, you let him fuss over you, taking the time to smooth through your wet hair, plucking out remaining leaves and twigs from the woods. He gets you into a warm, fluffy robe - only the gods know where he’d managed to find something like that - then pulls you close, his thumb stroking over your cheek. You rest your head against his chest and close your eyes, listening to the soft sounds of his body working under his skin. No heartbeat, of course, just the quiet churn of his movements, the rise and fall of his ribs that’s become habit to him.

After a moment, he takes your face in his hands, just as he had in the woods - but when you meet his gaze, there’s a sharp intensity in his eyes rather than fear. He takes you in little by little, tilting your head up to brush his fingers over the fading marks on your neck.

Then he leans in, and you catch the smell of him you know so well, lingering on his skin like soap. Bergamot, rosemary, brandy. It’s what you associate most with him, that sweet, sharp scent that bathes over you. When his lips finally meet yours, the kiss is rough and desperate, heated and aching. His fangs scrape over your lip, grazing the delicate skin but not breaking it. His tongue slides into your mouth, and his hand returns to the back of your neck, tightening his grip.

One of your hands fix into his shirt as you lean into him, nipping at his lip. You shift your free hand up into his hair, tousling through the soft, silky curls before gently tugging. He groans and pulls you closer, and - gods, it’s incredible. Warmth drags down your spine like a hot coal, searing and addictive. You squirm a little in his grasp, shifting until you’re straddling his hips, and he pulls away to kiss down your jaw, murmuring soft words into the skin.

When he gets to your chest, you let him untie the robe and spread his hands underneath, peeling the fabric off your shoulders, fingers slowly warming as they trail down your back. His hands settle on your waist as he kisses you again, mouth soft against yours.

Gods, you need him. You’re already soaked, and he’s barely even touched you.

You can feel him hardening underneath you, his movements growing desperate, his breathing labored. You grind your hips against him and he lets out a strained noise against your lips, shuddering. He pulls away, examining your expression as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

The movement is tender and incredibly sweet, but you’re hardly patient. You’ve been wanting him ever since he sat on that log in the forest, gaze roaming over every inch of you. You let out a soft whine, attempting to tug off his shirt. He does absolutely nothing to help you.

“Astarion,” you breathe. “Please.”

“Hm? Did you want something, darling?” he asks, the desire in his voice betraying his otherwise casual tone.

“I want you,” you tell him, rolling your hips again in search of the friction you so desperately need. “Please. I want you.”

“Easy, love. You have me,” he replies, brushing his thumb against your lips. Your heart swells with a fondness that would threaten to make you cry if you weren’t so ridiculously needy.

And finally, thank the gods, he takes off his godsdamned shirt.

You run a hand up his shoulder, then into his hair. You’d once thought that he was using a special shampoo - his hair was so soft, it seemed the only explanation. Then you’d seen him with the same shampoo you were using, and you’d practically wept with envy over his ridiculously perfect genes. Even now, as you run your hands through the silk-soft curls, you don’t understand it.

Then you trace up the line of his ear, and he shudders, leaning into your touch. When you gently massage the tip of his helix, he lets out a soft, seeking noise and his eyes flutter shut. Hells, you swear that you can feel him growing even harder beneath you. Another roll of your hips and his eyes slowly open again, half-lidded and glazed with desire. His hands firmly grip your waist, and there’s the briefest sensation of falling as he rolls you back onto your bedroll, tucking the pillow under your head.

He kisses along your clavicle, nosing down your ribs, humming against your skin. Feather-light brushes of his lips meet your ribs, then your breast, pausing to swipe his tongue over your nipple before he proceeds downward. When he arrives at your navel, your legs automatically spread open for him, and he lets out a hum of approval. He takes a leg in his hand and kisses up the thigh, warm, sharp kisses that trail up to the place you want him most.

He starts off slowly - a long lick over your clit, a quick swipe of his tongue before he settles between your legs, propping your thigh over his shoulder and starting a maddening rhythm. After all this time, you really should know how much pleasure to expect - but after everything, after his confession in the Shadowlands and the fear with Cazador, this still feels… new.

And Astarion is very, very good at what he does. He seems to know exactly what you want before you do, before your mind can put it into tangible thought, and before your body can even search for it. He works a finger into you, then two, and you’re left gasping and squirming as he sets an agonizingly slow pace. After a moment, he speeds up, just where you want him, perfect, perfect-

And then he pulls away, and the look on his face practically shouts that he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. Of course he does. He’s always been a tease. His fingers continue their work, languidly dragging in and out of you as he speaks.

“You know,” he says, pressing a kiss to your thigh, “back at the river, this was all I could think about. Getting my mouth on you. Watching you come apart piece by piece.”

Gods, he’s been direct before, but never that direct. Frankly, you’re surprised you don’t come then and there. Instead, you clench hard around his fingers and whimper, rolling your hips in time with his movements.

“Astarion,” you pant, unable to coax your mind into forming a coherent reply. “Gods, Astarion.”

He hums in response, flashing you a wicked grin. “That’s it, darling,” he encourages, shifting his fingers until they’re brushing against a spot that makes your vision black out. “Say my name. Let everyone hear you.”

You manage a laugh that quickly fades into a soft moan. “The entire camp will kill me if I wake them up.”

He nips at your thigh. “Let them try,” he muses. “They’ll have to get through me.”

He lowers his mouth between your legs again, and your head falls back against the pillow. It’s an embarrassingly short time before your muscles start to tense up, wiring you with pleasure from head to toe. One of your hands fixes in his hair, pulling tightly as white-hot pleasure sparks through your abdomen, and oh, gods, you’re coming-

Your vision cuts out again. Your mind fuzzes over, drunk with pleasure, leaving you shuddering, clenching around his fingers, moaning into your free hand.

You know he’d prefer to hear you, but if you actually disturb any of the others, you’ll die of embarrassment. One day, the two of you will have your own house with a real bed, and you’ll be as loud as you want. For now, you muffle your cries into your fingers and tremble through your climax.

Your body floats weightlessly for a moment in what must be Elysium, until you finally rejoin yourself and find your limbs heavy and uncoordinated. Astarion huffs, placing a final kiss on you until he crawls upward, kissing up your chest again.

He’s still holding himself back - you can see it in the way he moves, in the tension of his muscles and the coil of his shoulders. There’s a fire in his eyes, a hunger that you recognize so well. When he reaches your neck, you instinctively tilt your head, allowing him access to his usual spot.

For a moment, he hesitates, his warm breath fanning over the skin as your pulse hammers in your throat. Then he groans, grinding himself into your leg as he bites down, chasing his pleasure against your thigh as your blood spills into his mouth.

You know this routine so very well by now. The sting of the bite, and the numbness that follows. The ebb and flow of your blood, filling his mouth. The slight dizziness that comes before he pulls away, swiping his tongue over the bite for one final taste.

“Gods,” he pants, gripping your shoulder. Then, to your utter disappointment and confusion, he pulls away. “Wait here, my sweet. I need to - I’ll be right back. I promise.”

And before you can protest, he’s scrambling out the tent. For a long, numb moment, you stare at the tent opening, wondering if you’re dreaming. The silence of the tent grates on your ears, echoing the sound of your breathing until you can barely stand it. Then he’s pushing inside again, a scroll in hand as he closes the tent.

“Do I want to know what that is?” you ask.

“A scroll of Silence, darling. I’ve been saving it.” He flashes you a grin, murmuring the incantation as the scroll shimmers in his hand. Pure Weave, confined into parchment.

You don’t hear the spell take effect, but you feel it. It’s a thickness in the air, a heaviness in your movements.

Astarion doesn’t waste another second. He pushes up to kiss you, and it’s messy - your tongue against his, the sting of sharp teeth, your hand in his hair and his hand on the nape of your neck. There’s the taste of metal and herbs: your blood mixed with the remnants of a healing potion. He spreads your legs with his knee, then sits back on his heels and reaches down to undo his trousers.

You study him for a moment. The crease of his brow. The alabaster of his skin, sculpted out like a statue from marble.

If you were an artist, you’d make him your life’s work. You’d chip out his every feature little by little, painstakingly working away at the stone to define the look in his eyes when he tells you he loves you. You’d spend ages carving every wrinkle, every line, every perfect imperfection. The touch of it would be cold, like him, but it could never compare to how he looks as he settles over you, eyes blown dark with desire.

He inches closer, still on his knees, and takes hold of your thighs, lifting them up to meet his hips before gently easing inside of you. He lets out a sharp exhale as he slowly presses deeper, his grip shifting to your waist.

Nothing could compare to the way it feels as he fills you up inch by inch, murmuring praise, telling you how beautiful you are for him. “Darling,” he bites out, gritting his teeth at the pleasure. “If anyone ever tries anything like that with you again, I’ll tear them to shreds.”

You laugh a little, breathless, delirious in the delicious stretch of him inside you. “I won’t stop you. I just might ask to break their nose first.”

He shakes his head, but a small smile plays on his lips before he straightens and starts his rhythm. Slow, even thrusts that leave you grasping at the blankets beneath you, trying to steady yourself in the waves of sensation. He stares down at you, half-drunk on your blood, lips parted and his cheeks flushed.

“You feel incredible,” he breathes. “Gods. You’re incredible.”

Your eyes don’t quite know where to land. They never do. Now, they flutter over his abdomen, taking in the sight of the muscles that ripple and contract with the rolling of his hips. The droplets of sweat that slowly build on his skin, glimmering like crystals.

His jaw clenches, and his pace starts to quicken, and the feeling of him inside of your aching cunt is just so godsdamned good. His cock stretches you out like it was made for you, and soon your lungs are hardly filling with air. You can’t think, and you can scarcely breathe. All you know is that you’re not going to last much longer.

You tug at the blankets and shut your eyes, and he lets out another soft, aching noise as he thrusts deeper, faster, filling you up, the slick sound of your arousal echoing through the tent and mixing with the heaving of your breaths. You clench around him and he groans, shifting the angle of your hips, rhythm frantic.

“That’s it,” he pants. “Come for me, darling.”

And you do. Your body clenches around him as you cry out, back arching, pleasure overtaking every thought but one: Astarion. Astarion, Astarion, Astarion. Your breaths scrape shallowly through your chest and ecstasy burns through every inch of you, every nerve - until you feel paralyzed. Content, thoroughly fucked and sated, but paralyzed.

You’ve just started to come back to your senses when Astarion follows you over the edge, a moan tumbling from his lips that sounds remarkably like your name. His hips thrust a few more times, chasing after his pleasure, clumsy movements that slow to a halt as he shuts his eyes. He shudders, then slackens, carefully pulling out of you before he wraps his hands around your thighs and gently lowers them back to the bedroll.

You can barely move, still lost in the aftershocks of pleasure as he cleans you up, smoothing the hair out of your face as he lays next to you.

“You know,” he says, “I think I’m going to ask Gale to make us another one of those scrolls.”

And, gods, all you can do is laugh.

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion fic #astarion smut #bg3 x reader #mywriting

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help-itrappedmyself · 2 months

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Summoning Game Show Part 7

Masterpost

Okay. This is technically the end of Summoning Game Show! There is room to write more, but that probably won't be coming for a little bit. Thank you to everyone for reading and commenting and sharing. I am so so happy that people liked it and interacted and everything. I had a great time and I hope you like the end.

~~~~~

Red, Nightwing, and Robin soon find themselves in an office/meeting room of sorts. They’re seated on a couch in front of a table.

Danny closes the door behind them. “I would offer you a drink, but I don’t think you could drink it.”

Danny takes a seat on a loveseat across the table from them. He has a small green dog with a spiky collar sitting in his lap and he pets him absentmindedly as he gets settled. Robin is laser focused on the dog.

“What would you guys like to talk about?”

“Who is that?” Robins asks immediately.

“This is Cujo!” Danny smiles down at the Cujo and he wags his tail when he hears his name. “You guys don’t mind him being in here right? He’s mostly well behaved.”

Robins shakes his head. “We don’t mind. Just…”

“Ah, dead animal. Well, animals get ghosts too.” Danny explains. “ Personally, I like to think that Cujo is happy.”

“His collar says Axion Labs.”

Danny nods at Robin, fingers playing with the collar. “ He used to be a guard dog for them.”

“What-” Robin is cuts off as Danny and Cujo start glowing more brightly, Cujo starts growling and his form flickers.

“Never- never- ask a ghost how they died.” The boys all nodded, and Danny and Cujo stabilized as they calmed down. “It’s very rude. Now, to business, why did you want to summon me? ”

“We do a lot of travel, space, dimensions and everything and we just wanted to learn more about this realm. Maybe set up communications, that kind of thing. A learning experience.” Nightwing explains.

“I mean, we clearly don’t know enough considering we didn’t know you could help Hood. Or that he needed help in the first place.” Red mutters the last bit.

Danny eyes them all warily. “Historically, we don’t really do well when people want to learn more about us. What exactly do you need this information for?

“”Just to learn. I told you, I like to know things.” Red said.

“Well, I can’t just give out any information, but if you want to ask me some questions until Hood gets back, I’ll answer what I can.”

“What is this place actually called?” Nightwing asks.

“Oh, it has lots of names, because it’s lots of places. This is the Infinite Realms, home to all afterlives and the dimension between dimensions.”

“Home to all afterlives?” Red is flabbergasted. Red wasn’t sure that he believed in any afterlives, and now there are multiple? “So you’re all dead?”

“No.” They wait a moment but Danny does not elaborate.

“So there are living people here?” Nightwing asks.

“Obviously.”Danny makes a face at them. “Everyone here is living. You need better terminology. Humans are very narrow when it comes to life and death.”

“That’s because usually you’re either dead or alive.” Robin is struggling to comprehend the possibility of an in-between.

“That seems very narrow-minded coming from people who came here with someone both alive and dead.”

“Hood?” Red asks.

“Hood is alive.” Nightwing states.

“And dead!” Danny chirps. “There are many in-betweens, most leaning to one side or the other. Hood leans more towards being alive, but his being alive is dependent on ectoplasm, so he’s at least a little dead. Though the fact that he was able to live with the ectoplasm he has means that he is mostly alive.”

“What is ectoplasm and how did Hood get it?” Red is very curious now.

“Oh, everything. Most of the Infinite Realms is made out of ectoplasm , including most creatures in it. “ Danny puts his hand together and green liquid pools in it. The same green as everything outside.

“So, that’s probably the Lazarus pits.” Red mutters. “ Explains the exposure bit.”

“You have ectoplasm in your dimension?” Danny asks.

The boys nod. “There are a few pools of it around. One guy in particular likes to hoard them to keep from dying.”

Danny frowns.

“That’s a violation. Ectoplasm is poisonous for humans, radioactive.” Danny complains. “And if his ectoplasm is as bad as the ectoplasm in your friend, that is not healthy.”

“It would be, he’s the one who exposed Hood to it in the first place.”

Danny groans. “Alright, I’m going to need a list of all the locations you know of in your dimension, and if you have a way for me to contact whoever is hoarding the ectoplasm that would be great. I’m going to have to take care of that.”

There’s a knock on the door and Danny calls, “Come in!”

Frostbite opens the door for Hood, who comes in without his helmet, but with a mask on. “Guys, this is my new doctor. He’s great.” Hood says.

“Glad you’re doing better!” Danny smiles at them both as Hood takes a seat. Frostbite nods his head, then leaves again, shutting the door behind him. “Frostbite gave you a rundown of what’s to do and what’s going to happen now that you have healthy ectoplasm?”

“Yep, explained all the side effects, but I’m already feeling much better.”

“Wonderful! So If you guys wouldn’t mind just giving me that information so I can follow up on it, I think we’re done here.”Danny stands, putting Cujo on the seat as he vacates it.

“We would like to be able to get in contact with you, if you’re coming to our dimension, that way we can tell the rest of the heroes what you’re up to and everything. Is there any way to communicate between our dimensions?” Red asks.

“Frostbite also said I would need to discuss a way to get fresh ectoplasm from you until I can create my own reliably.” Jason cuts in.

“Well, looks like I have lots of business in your dimension. Do you guys have communicators that you use? Anything from your dimension on you right now?”

They all nod. “Cool, hand me something, two-way, that you don’t mind losing because after I fix it up you won’t be able to contact anyone except for me on it.”

Red hands him a phone, Danny opens it up and messes with the insides before putting it back together. Then he turns it on and calls his Ghost business phone so he would have the number. He hands Red back the phone, picking his own up. “What should I name you guys? Is it always going to be Red on the phone?”

“Probably not.” Red says. “Especially if Hood needs things from you as well. Just put us under Bats.”

“Bats is weird, but whatever you say.” Danny finishes with his phone and smiles up at them. “Thanks for competing! I’ll be in touch.”

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blackrockkchronicles · 2 years

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thaumcraft should let you do more with the soap actually

#do yall KNOW what soaps are made of #like okay theres a lot of kinds but the basics with like. no matter what kind of soap youre making its either flammable caustic or both #under the right conditions #i should be able to make soap to wash away flux. and then use liquid death to make another kind of soap #and then like immediately dip back into explosives with it #give me insanity soap making rights #unsanitizing soap if you will (drain cleaner)

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xozombiee · 6 months

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“AFTER HOURS!” | W. BONNEY

✫| synopsis: bartending in the west gets boring at times, especially when the same old cowboys and outlaws come through those saloon doors everyday. you’d thought this was it..that’s the end of your story. then a certain outlaw, who’s name was getting around, walked through the doors.

warnings: porn with little plot, mentions of death, riding, little praise..it’s always gonna be there, female bodied reader, lowk psy rubbing??, hair pulling me thinks, idk what else

note: am i doing this instead of my homework?…yes. also do i know wtf women wore in the 1800s? err no. i tried tho! this is not proofread btw

In a dusty, sun-kissed town nestled amidst the rugged landscape of the west, there stood a saloon that echoed with tales of grit and resilience. behind the polished mahogany bar, you stood tall with a fiery spirit that matched the flickering glow of the oil lamps that illuminated the room.

you weren’t any ordinary bartender; you were a force to be reckoned with. with glimmering eyes that held mystery, and a rough demeanor that you used to command respect from every patron who dared to enter the establishment. your hands, calloused from years of hard work, moved with grace and precision as you served up drinks that could raise spirits or drown sorrows.

though the town was dominated by rough cowboys and outlaws, you had carved out your own place in their rugged hearts. they sought solace in your presence, and you became a confidante, offering a sympathetic ear to the broken souls who stumbled through the doors.

as the sun began its descent, casting an orange hue over the town, your saloon transformed into a sanctuary of camaraderie and laughter. the clinking of glasses and the lively banter of patrons mixed with the soulful melodies of a lone pianist, creating a symphony that echoed through the wooden walls.

but behind the facade of joviality, you carried your own secrets and dreams. you arrived in this town not long ago, escaping a past that haunted your every step. determined to leave a mark on the world, you had chosen the life of a bartending, finding comfort in the stories and journeys of those who crossed paths with you.

with swift movements back and forth behind your bar, you served drinks to the men celebrating..whatever it was this time. they sang along with others, their words jumbled and lazy, but undoubtedly filled with passion. you laughed as one of them sung to you, his eyes droopy and a crooked smile at his lips.

cleaning a few glasses, you watch as they all chat amongst themselves, if they weren’t still singing that is. a part of you yearned to have a life like theirs. to be free to do whatever you please, and not be told otherwise. you’d liked the idea of running from place to place and meeting new people. though, that’d never happen for you.

your back turns as you gather the clean glasses together, putting them neatly side by side. the sound of the saloon doors open, a sound you were used to by now. with your back still turned, you notice how most of the attendees in the saloon had gone quiet, watching as the person and their footsteps approached the bar.

turning back around, you come face to face with a taller man. he wore a shabby black hat, a maroon corduroy jacket that sat along his shoulders, and a gun at his waist. two actually, you noted as the jacket moved when he sat at the bar.

with a polite smile, you come closer, holding his gaze with yours. “evening, sir. what can i get you?”

he gives you a tight lipped smile, “whiskey, please.”

you hold his gaze for a second longer before glancing back at the people in the saloon. they stared with either fear, or curiosity in their faces. a scowl grows on your lips, muttering a small ‘drunkards’ under your breath.

the man watches as you place a clean glass onto the bar, and grab a bottle filled with brown liquid. his gaze moves to the drink as it pours into the cup, almost filling to the brim.

“you look familiar,” your voice chimes in again. “have i seen you in here before?”

he shakes his head, gaze falling back to yours. “nah.” he replies. “just passing through.”

with a sigh falling from your nose, you try to read his expression; he looked tired. you weren’t an idiot, it was obvious he was on the run. you’d seen his face on the posters, but didn’t know what his name was or what he was wanted for.

your fingernail taps against the glossy wood of the bar. trying to hide your sympathetic expression, you glance around the room. “if you need anything else, let me know, yeah?”

he nods, watching as you walk away to tend to the other customers. the way you moved was calm despite working in such an intense environment. his eyes trailed up and down your figure before taking a sip from his glass.

it seemed like hours passed as you worked. going back and forth behind the counter was time consuming as it passed so quickly. more and more people were leaving the bar as the early hours of the next day were coming.

as you went to grab some glasses from tables, you notice as the man before was still at the bar. his head was hung low, eyes trained on his glass. he’d had about three glasses of whiskey by now, only taking sips from time to time.

you’d noticed through the night how people tried to approach him. he’d usually brush them off, or making small talk that ended in peaceful silence. he wasn’t someone that was easily approachable to the blind eye. he held a strong, cold demeanor.

after gathering all the dirty glasses, and kicking the last passed out drunkard, you slide back behind the bar. you take the bucket of dirty glasses to the small sink, placing it inside before turning the water on. as it fills, you stare at it as your mind falls else where.

before it overflows, you turn the faucet off. you pour a little soap into the mix before drying your hands off to let the glasses soak. with echoing footsteps, you turn back to the bar and are face to face with the man of the night.

“want another, or is three enough?” you ask, a slight smile at your lips.

he glances up at you, studying your expression for a moment. his eyes drop back to the wooden bar, fingers tapping his halfway-empty-glass.

“this is fine.” he answers.

your elbows come to rest at the cool wood, chin in your palm as you watch him. you’d debated for most of the night to ask him what exactly he was running from. it would probably sound stupid considering how everyone and their second cousin knew about it. all except for you, as you didn’t look much into news and such.

he stares back at you, giving you the same energy within his gaze. his blue eyes analyze every bit of you, and you almost shudder at the sight of it.

“so, how long you been on the run now?” you ask, voice interrupting each of your own thoughts.

he brings the glass to his lips, downing the rest before replying. “months.” he mutters, not even phased by your abrupt question.

you hum in reply, “alone?”

“mhm.”

with his short and simple response, you laugh. it wasn’t out of humor, but rather more of irritation. you’d think someone as well known as him would talk more. most outlaws never shut up about flaunting their reputations. it’s different.

“you’re not a man of many words.” you say, not really caring about how he’d take your tone.

he shrugs, sucking his teeth a bit. “i’ve got nothing to say.”

you raise a brow, “tell me a story or something. i hear the same shit every night from my regulars. give me something new.” you request.

pouring a little more whiskey into his glass, you watch as his eyes dart to yours. “it’s on me.” you assure, giving him a smile.

the man sighs, tilting his head a little at the thought. what could he tell you? that he killed a man? that he fought a man in a saloon just like yours right before shooting him in the stomach out of defense? no..you’d probably already heard it anyways.

“what do you already know about me?” he questions, taking another sip.

your eyes squint at him, “i know you’re an outlaw on the run, obviously..and that’s about it. i don’t even know what the hell they call you.” you reply.

he chuckles, a small smile at his lips. “you’re probably one of the first.” he says. “just call me billy.”

with another hum, you nod slowly and give him your name. “billy..yeah, i think i did hear that once or twice.”

“well, either way, i don’t have many stories to tell.”

your eyes roll, a huff coming from your nose. “tell me why you’re an outlaw. i’ve heard like three different stories, and it can’t be all of them.”

billy smiles again, eyes falling from yours and to your lips for a split second. you watch him debate in his head before taking his hat off. he sets it on the empty stool next to him, running his fingers through his hair. he had brown shaggy hair that was sprawled all over his head.

“i killed a man. it was self defense.” he says, almost as if he was pleading his case.

you deadpan at him, “that’s all i get? not even a backstory?”

“there’s not much to it. he was making accusations at me..which weren’t entirely false, then he came at me. we fought over my gun, and i shot.” he elaborates, glancing at you with disinterest as if it was a meaningless story.

you fall quiet for a moment, brows raised while processing his words. that story was heard, but you didn’t know if it was the truth until now. the other stories were about robbing a bank and killing a bunch of people. hearing the actual story now..you couldn’t understand all the fuss.

a laugh falls from your lips, hand moving to pinch the bridge of your nose. ��so, all this talk is because you killed a man that was attacking you?”

“yes, ma’am.”

your smile remains for a bit, eyes watching billy. “so, what now? you just gonna keep running?”

he shrugs once more, eyes kept on his glass. “probably.”

“have you at least slept?”

billy shakes his head. you chew on the inside of your cheek, contemplating multiple things in your head. if you offered him a place to sleep in the loft above your saloon, he’d probably laugh in your face. but, a part of you didn’t want him out on the street sleeping defenseless.

as a other sigh falls from you, you move away from the bar and stand straight. “i’ve got an extra room where i stay. wanna take it for the night?”

his eyes find yours, expression vague, “are you sure? i mean, i don’t wanna—”

“it’s fine. i’d feel guilty if i opened up tomorrow and my regulars are telling me you got killed in your sleep.”

billy focuses on you for awhile before taking one last sip. he lightly places the glass on the counter before moving to grab some money from his pocket.

your hand finds his wrist as he places it on the counter. “keep it. just take your ass upstairs while i finish up.”

he grins a little, grabbing his hat and standing from the stool. billy slowly moves to the door at the back of the saloon, opening it and disappearing from sight. you roll up your sleeves as you move back to the sink, dipping your hands into the soapy water to clean the glasses.

after about ten minutes, you make way up to your loft in the building. your footsteps slightly echo as you move toward the light in the living room. when you reach the floor, you watch as billy sits on the couch with his head thrown back on the edge while his hat covered up his face.

slowly approaching in front of him, you lightly kick his shin. he snaps his head up, eyes wide as his hat falls to his lap. he lets out a small breath in relief, making you smile. you watch as he sits up on the couch.

“scared the shit out of me.” he mumbles, putting that ragged hat on again.

you move to sit next to him, bouncing lightly on the cushions. “must’ve been too tired to hear me coming up the steps.”

he leans into the couch once more, eyes trained on the ceiling. you watched his expression and how he studied the whiteness of the panels above.

“penny for your thoughts?” you whisper, watching his eyes shift over to you.

billy shakes his head, scoffing a little to himself. “it’s nothing. just thinking.”

“about?”

“everything.”

you let your gaze falter, moving to the floor. “everything that’s happened?” you ask.

he nods, fidgeting with his hands in his lap. billy wants nothing more than to go back and stop everything that’s happened. to change what got him to this point.

but if he did that, he would’ve never met you. you were one of the kindest people to him since the incident. the way you carried yourself, much like him, was with confidence. he respected you, and that aspect of your personality.

“i understand what it’s like..kind of.” you say, patting down the wrinkles in your outfit. “i was never wanted, but i’ve done things. things i wish i could take back.”

billy watches as you speak, the way your lips move and the expression you hold shifts with each emotion running through you. he almost doesn’t understand what you’re saying. the only thing keeping him to reality was the fact you sounded serious.

he adjusts himself on the furniture, “what have you done?” he asks, a part of him afraid to know the answer.

“i’ve killed.” you reply, the tone of your voice dropping lowly. “it was in defense, like you.”

billy watches the way you bounce your knee against the flooring of the loft. the dress you wear moves along with it, and your shoe lightly taps.

“when did it happen?” he asks as his pure curiosity gets the best of him.

you look up at him, smiling a little. “i was fourteen.”

billy looks at you, empathizing with your situation. though he wasn’t that young when it happened, he still felt some sort of connection with your experience.

“i don’t regret killing him honestly, but i regret hurting my family and his. they didn’t deserve to go through that. it wasn’t any of their faults.” you say as you breathe out slowly.

in an small moment, his hand is on yours. it’s a light touch, like he’s afraid to hurt you. billy moves his other hand to the space beneath your chin, and shifts your head to look at him in the eyes.

his voice is light, “you were defending yourself. it wasn’t your fault either.” billy whispers.

the words make your heart swell. after everything, hearing those words made it all feel better. almost all the guilt left your veins. he was right after all. it wasn’t your fault. what that man did..you just did what you had to.

as he holds your gaze, you slowly inch toward him. his blue irises bore into yours, watching as you shift them to his lips. they were slightly chapped and held a small frown on them.

billy leaned closer to you and your breaths mingled, like two lights finding each other in the darkness. he could feel your heart beating against your ribcage, as all of his senses were focused on you and you alone.

he closed the distance, and his lips met yours. billy felt himself melt into you like a magnet. everything muted itself, and his hands made way to your waist. he pulled you onto him, your knees caging around his thighs.

your hands found their way to his jaw, pulling him even closer. he tasted your soft lips and felt your warm skin against his. the room seemed to dissolve around you as the only thing in existence was this. this perfect union.

time stood still, and you both wanted more, but neither wanting it to initiate it. then, with what restraint he had left, he pulled away, his lips still grazing yours.

he looks up at you, his eyes filled with worry. “im sorry, i didn’t mean—”

“shut up.”

pressing your lips back to his, he lets out a grunt in reply before melting into you once more. the warmth of you, your lips, your being that sat in his lap—he felt lightheaded. billy moved his hands to your waist again, slowly trailing them up your back.

you feel the buttons of your dress being undone. he stops right before taking the sleeves off, prying himself away from you. billy’s eyes look into yours for confirmation, and you give him a quick, impatient nod in reply.

with that, he pulls the dress off slowly. your lips trail from his own to his neck, putting the flesh between your teeth. he groaned, trying to focus on untying your corset.

as he removed it, he wasted no time to discard it to the floor, hands making way to take off the chemise you wore.

“all those months on the run got you impatient now, cowboy?” you mutter, laughing as he would struggle from time to time.

billy looks up at you, his gaze slightly hidden by his hat, “no, just none of the women i’ve been with wore this much underneath. i’m also not a cowboy, sweetheart.”

rolling your eyes, you grab at his wrists to stop him. he looks up at you, big eyes and all, causing the built up pressure in your lower stomach to worsen. “just leave it. i’m not wearing anything under, so don’t fuss.”

you watch him nod slowly as he started to stare, making no move to take off his clothes. “do i have to do it for you?” you whisper, hands undoing the brown suspenders on his shoulders.

he shakes his head, moving to unbutton his pants he wore. you watch the way he fumbles with them, sliding them midway down his thighs. billy’s hands eventually move back to your waist, bunching up your chemise to your hips.

billy’s eyes watch as your pretty pussy comes into view, sitting in his lap with such a prepossessing aura. he has to restrain himself from taking you right then.

his dick was hard and twitching, the length had an angry tip with its slit profusely leaking pre-cum. it looked painful and it was because of you. you. you wondered if you had power over him now for a brief second but you shake your head clear of these thoughts.

instead, you catch his lips again, the kiss slower this time. you raise yourself a bit so he can align himself to your entrance. the cool touch of his hand meets your cunt, sliding a finger through the folds and collecting the juices flowing from you.

he uses your slick and spreads it across your sensitive pussy. you took a deep breath of air into your lungs. this feeling was new, since no man you’d been with ever did this, but it wasn’t unwelcome.

a small groan falls from billy’s lips as he uses it to prep himself, guiding his hand along his cock and pumping it slowly. he was on the girthy side with veins on the underside of his cock.

you knew you would stretch around him, that your walls would be a perfect fit around his length. you were too impatient for any sort of foreplay; you wanted the stretch. you wanted him to make you dizzy with his cock splitting you apart.

billy grabs your hips with his unoccupied hand, bringing you closer to him. you let out a whimper as you began to sink onto him, eyes flicking to his. those blue ones he held were zeroed down to the place you both were connected now.

his hands are on either side of your hip, guiding you down on his length. it was after his cock was fully stuffed in you, that his self-control allowed him to almost whine at the feeling of you.

your hands are on his shoulders to support yourself. your fingers weakly fist his shirt as you begin to ride him, raising yourself a few inches before slamming down on his cock with a loud moan escaping your lips. he reached the deepest spot inside of you somehow. no one had ever done that. not like this.

his cockhead grazes your spongy spot as you fuck yourself on him. arousal and his pre-cum are smeared all over your thighs. this sight made billy’s breath hitch, something you didn't notice as you were too busy with your eyes closed and taking him. you looked completely dissoluted like this.

your hair was a mess now, your lips glossy and swollen, hands digging into his shoulder. billy felt himself become enraptured by you and this sight. it was something he could get used to..if he wasn’t an outlaw that is.

he pulls you closer to him. one of his hands is on your back, pressing you to him. his hips raise upwards to fuck you as he now lets out more vocal sounds of enjoyment.

watching him with a hazy gaze, you remove the hat from his head. you place it onto your own, grinning at how he stares up at you like you were the creator of all living beings and creatures on this earth.

moving one of your hands from his shoulder, you bring it to his hair and give some strands a tug. he groans, the vibrations of his chest transferring to his dick, which transferred to you.

each thrust of his was made for his selfishness in your velvet walls. the drag of his cock was perfect, his speed was unbelievable. it was like heaven itself, but without the pearly gates and clouds.

while stuck in your own brain, the feeling of teeth bring you back to reality. you let a shuddered sigh fall as billy digs into the collarbone that peaked from your square-necked chemise. he slowly kisses up your neck, bringing a hand to the back of your head.

“fuck..’s too good,” he mutters, trying to keep his voice even.

you laugh, making him groan a little. he looks up, watching as you bounce with one hand held on his hat to keep it on. “too good? were all your other girls shit?”

he lets out short breaths, his blue eyes studying the way you moved as if he was in a trance. billy would answer if he wasn’t on another planet right now. a planet where you were taking him so deliciously, almost to the point where he could pass out.

“fuck,” he says under his breath as your pussy clenches around him. “where do you want it?” his voice was strained from trying to keep his composure.

you pant, “inside.”

billy doesn’t waste a second before obliging and quickening his pace, making the hat on your head fall lopsided. you could feel the pressure in you tightening, almost about to burst like a pipe.

he moves his thumb to rub at your clit, and the tip of his cock repeatedly nudges against that one spot that has you falling apart on top of him with a loud cry. your orgasm hits you hard and billy can’t hold it in any longer. he fucks into you for another minute, eyes squeezed shut as he groans out your name.

billy groans when you flutter around him as you cum. he’s thrusting his hips up into you with his newfound force. it requires you to tighten your grip on his shoulders to stay put as he empties his load deep inside you, his sweet moans echoing in the living room.

your cunt milks him dry, and he fills you up to the brim—to the point where you could feel him leak out of you. the both of you pause, your hands resting on his chest as you catch your breath.

he slowly eases his cock out of you. the both of you were breathing heavily as he pulls you closer, letting you rest your head on his shoulder. you wrap you arms around his chest, listening to his heart beat.

“wanna share my bed?” you whisper.

tags: @m0rphys

#xozombiee #YESS I FINISHED #tom blyth #billy the kid 2022 #billy the kid #save a horse ride a cowboy #coriolanus snow #RAHHHHHH #guys pls like #and subscribe #william h bonney

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yougavemeyourheartyouknow · 6 months

Text

Oh, you wanna play psycho killer? (Ghostface! Miguel O’Hara x Fem! Reader x Ghostface! Peter B Parker) Part 1

RAAAAA! Excited about this one! Based off this post. Inspired by this drawing from Andalusia_Lu on Tiktok. Not proofread. Tbh I’m kinda nervous about this one but…Enjoy! Also in this story MJ and Peter are just friends. This is probably the darkest think I’ve written.

(Y/N) - Your name.

NSFW!!, Cursing, use of alcohol, death, murder, yandere behavior, Reader has a bf who does die, violence, blood, said reader’s bf calls her derogatory remarks behind her back, religious imagery(I think???), stalking, male masturbation, invasion of privacy, reader being drugged, panty stealing, stalking, implied kidnapping, gore, cameras being placed in readers home without their knowledge, it’s a horror one shot so… you know what you’re walking into. Dead Dove Do not eat, MDNI!

Word count: 2.5k

Part 2

Masterlist

—

October 31st, Halloween night. Also know as the night that gives college students an excuse to get fucked up while in a shit quality costume that cost 50 bucks at spirit Halloween.

That little rule you are not exempt from, that’s how you found yourself in a random college frat party at NYU, a bottle of beer in one hand, and your boyfriend’s in the other as you drag him through the crowd so you both can dance. The alcohol in your system made your whole body relaxed and your cheeks glow with a dash of red over them, your eyes half-lidded and your smile wide as you looked up at Daniel while Promiscuous from Nelly Furtado blasted through the house. You looked like an angel straight from heaven, although that might be due to your customer, being dressed up as Juliet from the 1996 movie, while your boyfriend was clattered in armor as Romeo. The costumes being your idea after having rewatched the movie a few weeks ago.

You both had lost the rest of your group in the crowd, Jess and MJ had said they were going to the kitchen while Miguel and Peter had said they were going outside to get fresh air but you haven’t seen them since, you wouldn't have extremely worried, if it wasn’t for the reason sightings of the ghostface killer that had been popping up on the news though. Sure maybe going to a party wasn’t the best idea either but you figured you would have been fine since you were going in a group, I mean, what wouldn’t you be okay? It’s not like an actual serial killer goes after a group of young adults who are all drunk right? But now you’ve lost 4 out of 6 people in said group. But maybe in the small chance you do get targeted, you should be able to stand a chance since your Daniel was always in the gym with Miguel, so he was pretty jacked (not as jacked as Miguel though but you’ll never say that out loud).

One song turned to two then to three, just like the beers in Daniel’s hand, you had slowed down so you could at least be sober enough to order a Lyft for when the night was over. Eventually you were whisked away from your boyfriend by MJ and Jess, thankful that they were still at the party and nothing happened to them.

“Hey, have you guys seen Peter or Miguel?” You shouted over the music after a while, Jess just shrugged, before MJ answered.

“They texted me that they found Daniel and he’s like, fucked up apparently.”

—

“Please!”

Stab.

“I don’t want to die! Please stop!”

Stab.

“I’ll give anything! Just don’t kill me!”

The begs and pleads become more desperate and sloppy with every second, the words slurring more together from the alcohol and the crimson red liquid dribbling out of Daniel's mouth. The sight was almost enough to make the two men feel pity. Almost.

“Anything?” The shorter one asked with an agonizingly slow head tilt, his voice altered from the voice changer attached to the plastic mask, signaling for the other to stop plugging the knife into their victim’s stomach. Despite not liking being told what to do, he dropped Daniel on the floor with a snarl. Daniel quickly retracted into a small ball, shaking arms going to cover his bloody wound with a groan and whimper.

“We want (Y/N).” If it weren't for him being in excruciating pain and bleeding out, Daniel would have thought they were joking, but the tone in which the words were spoken made his blood that was spilling out from his stomach and mouth run cold.

“W-what?” He asked as he tried to keep his breathing from becoming shallow and his head from becoming too dizzy, but he was failing miserably.

“You heard us. We. Want. (Y/N).” The larger one spoke this time. How badly, he wanted to emphasize each word with another stab, the knife in his hands twitched a bit as he tightened his grip on the black handle. He was itching for an excuse, but he’ll refrain.

For now.

Maybe it was the way he responded to a stressful situation, or maybe it was the lack of blood finally affecting his brain, but Daniel had the nerve to laugh. Fucking laugh. The laugh was breathy, and in between coughs and groans, causing Miguel and Peter to look at their prey like he was the crazy one. Rage filled their bodies when Daniel finally composed himself enough to talk again.

“Y-you can’t be serious? …Right? You-you’re gonna kill-kill me over some bitch?”

How fucking dare he.

How dare he speak about you like you were some random skank, like you were a pile of dirt. You were a fucking goddess, Miguel and Peter knew that, because they worshipped you like one. They didn’t see what you saw in Daniel, he didn’t deserve you, no one did, except Miguel and Peter, they would treat you better than any other man that roamed this stupid planet, and especially far better then the sorry excuse of a boyfriend that they had on the ground like he was a wounded animal.

For someone who was about to die, he sure had a lot of nerve.

He didn’t love you like they did, he didn’t know your every move like they did. They were like your real life guardian angels, always following behind you to make sure no one would harm so much as a hair on your pretty little head, and how lucky were they, that you were juuust oblivious enough that you don’t notice them, just enough to brush of your rummaged trash as raccoons, just enough that you didn’t noticed when a pair or two of your dirty panties go missing, you had too many to keep track of all of them anyways. Never knowing that one of the two would sneak into your apartment while you were asleep to grab them from your hamper, no matter which boy had decided to embark on their mission, both of them had to fight against the struggle to not stay and watch you sleep, fighting the urge to release their painful hard members and stroke while watching you sleep. They’d be lying to themselves if they said they haven’t lost the battle at least once before, biting into their free hand to stop any moans from escaping and waking you up, while they fist fuck their cocks with the other, but can you blame them?

They just loved you so much and you loved them too, you just haven’t realized it yet. How could you when that pest of a boyfriend of yours was pumping your head full of false thoughts? He didn’t love you like Peter and Miguel did. Sure Daniel might seem like he loved you so much, going as far as to get you flowers and gifts from time to time, but Miguel and Peter’s gifts they would give you were so much better, because these gifts were all given to you with the same purpose. To help them watch over you, make sure you were safe, strategically planning to make sure to eventually fill your entire home with cameras right under your adorable nose. The teddy bear that sits on your bed and the light up mirror over your bathroom sink were first of course.

Peter couldn’t help himself, with all of his force, he kicked Daniel right in the balls, causing him to curl up more in pain. Miguel was going to do the same when his phone pinged in his pocket, he quickly took it out and checked it, your name filling his screen made his heart skip a beat.

“It’s (Y/N). She’s asking where we are, and wants us to meet her at her apartment after she drops off Jess and MJ in 15 minutes.” Miguel mumbled as he looked down at his phone, before looking up at Peter then down at their prey on the ground. “She probably thinks we’re still with him, what should we do with him?”

Peter’s eyes followed Miguel’s gaze down to the half- conscious Daniel, silent as if thinking about what to say, or more likely what to do with him.

“We could leave him here for dead?” Peter suggested, but Miguel shook his head at the thought, too risky, they couldn’t have the chance of him being found by someone and taken to the hospital, that could ruin everything.

“You both… ar-are fucking psychotic! Killing me over some-some bitch who doesn’t eve-even give good fucking… fucking head!” Daniel yelled between coughs, more blood falling from his blue-turning lips, he looked like he had seen a ghost due to how pale he was becoming from the blood lost, and now he’s gonna become one. Miguel’s phone buzzed again, this time you only sent a single question mark, looking down at his phone.

“I want you to know that if I wasn’t about to be late to see you, I would beat this guy bloody, for the way he talks about you.” Miguel said out loud as if you could actually hear him, as if you were actually here to hear how true those words were, but instead Miguel raised his knife with one hand and grabbed Daniel’s hair with the other. Enjoying the way the Dani’s eyes widened in fear, his weak arms flailed around as he tried to fight the larger man off of him, but it was no use. “Guess I’ll just have to cut straight to the point.” He said, the smirk evident threw his altered voice before putting his knife against Daniel’s throat and slashing it open. Watching whatever life that was left in him drain from his eyes.

Peter being the skilled photographer he was, took a selfie of the two with their slayed animal, now it’s time to go claim their trophy.

—

Something was off.

Like seriously off, ever since Peter and Miguel disappeared at the party neither of them had answered their phone, and as soon Dani disappeared neither had he. Maybe the party wasn’t the best idea in retrospect, you let out a sigh as you entered your apartment, and collapsed on your couch, wanting to try and calm your racing thoughts a bit before you changed out of your costume. Closing your eyes, and taking in a deep breath.

Your phone started to ring.

Usually, you didn’t answer calls from people who weren’t already in your contacts, so the “blocked number” would normally set off red flags, but maybe the alcohol was still making your brain foggy, because without thinking you answer the call and put your phone to your ear.

“Hello?”

No answer.

You left out a huff and tried again.

“Hellooo?”

When you didn’t get an answer again you rolled your eyes.

“I think you got the wrong numb-“

“Wanna play a game?”

“I’m-I’m sorry?”

“I said, wanna play a game?”

“Um no thanks. I'm hanging up now.”

“Hang up and you won’t get to see your special surprise though.” Oddly enough, you grew a bit curious.

“Wha..what do I have to do?” You asked.

“It’s simple, We’re gonna play a small game of hot and cold.” You had a feeling this wasn’t a good idea, maybe you shouldn’t answer the call. “Right now you’re cold.”

Without another word, you slowly got up, and made your way down the hall, your floorboard creaking underneath your heels.

“Warmer.”

Your heart begins to beat in your ears, you bring a shaky hand up to the doorknob of your bathroom, you go to open the door when the voice from the other end of the phone spoke again.

“Colder.”

You quickly bring your hand back down to your side and let your heavy footsteps make your way into your bedroom.

“Hotter.”

You swallowed the thick lump of saliva down your throat as you made your way to the left side room, your eyes dead set on your closet.

“Hotter.”

You closed the gap between you and the closet, and brought your hand to the handle, mentally preparing yourself for whatever hides before the wooden doors.

“You're on fucking fire baby.”

Your hand drew back the door, the sight made you let out a blood curdling scream, almost dropping your phone in the process. Your Daniel, dead, sitting on the closet floor, gutted out like a fish. The voice on the other end of the phone let out a sly chuckle before speaking once again.

“Sorry about your boyfriend, guess all those muscles didn’t help much.” He mocked before the call went dead, and you finally released your phone, it falling to the floor, as your body began to shake and your breathing became rapid.

You let out a sob and began to stumble away from the mangled corpse that you once called your boyfriend, only for your back to meet with a what felt like a wall of muscle, you quickly look up over your shoulder, being met with the infamous ghostface mask that has been plastered all over the news.

“What’s the matter (Y/N)? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” The altered voice taunted. No, no, no,no. This cannot be happening. You shook your head as another sob left your lips stumbling away from the masked killer and into the hallway, expecting him to follow after you, but instead he just watched you. If you were thinking straight. You’d probably realized that this was a trap, but you weren’t thinking straight, as you finally reached the front door, you went to unlock the door and leave your apartment, but before you even stepped foot out of the door a large hand came and grabbed you around your waist. You take in a deep breath and open your mouth to scream, but instead a white cloth came and covered your nose and mouth, the strong smell of chemicals quickly filling your lungs.

“Surprised (Y/N).” This voice was a bit deeper, then the one from your bedroom, your head became dizzy as you eyes fluttered, your vision was beginning to blacken, before you were fully go under, you saw the man holding you still was a lot larger than the other one, it clicked, there were two of them.

You black out.

—

“She out?” Peter asked Miguel as he slipped off his mask, Miguel following suit.

“Like a light.” Miguel smirks as he goes to pick you up bridal style, your body limply laying in his arms. The two couldn’t help but smile as they watched your sleeping form, so peaceful looking, like an Angel. Their angel. Their plan played out just as they wanted, you were theirs now, and theirs alone. No one could come in the way of you three anymore, all they had to do now was make sure you wouldn’t leave them. But how would you do that if you didn’t know where you were? You couldn’t. That’s why Miguel gently placed you in the backseat of Peter’s car, before getting into the passenger’s seat. They were going to make sure you were far, far away from your old life, so you could start your new one with your lovesick killers.

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fanfic-gallery · 3 months

Text

love at first dive

merman! neuvillete x gn human! reader

|| fluff, fluff and more fluff

» manager's note: happy valentine's day to my single babies and not forgetting my lovebirds out there too; i remembered i didn't make a valentine's fic last yr- so so sorry about that ヽ(*。>Д<)o゜hope this small little fic makes up for it thooo, and with that said - hope you enjoy, love ya <3

"there you are!"

marine eyes rolled towards that blaring voice of yours - there you stood, by the shores, arms crossed. he couldn't help but smile at the illusion of a miniature 'you' by the bay waiting on him. what nostalgia, he thought; reminiscing a time where you two were trapped in the same position months ago

"worry not, sir- i'll get you out of there!"

there he laid, basking in the blue hues of the moonlight; silver locks flowing within the grasp of the lake, surrounding his head like halo; enjoying the eerie silence of the pine forest yet there you were - scrambling to fix a life float with worn out rope to get to him. you launched the thing into the waters, nudging it forward with a large pole.

head rose from the surface of the waters, webbed fingers softly griping at the inflatable, jolting as it drags him towards the shore.

"are you alright-"

he felt the atmosphere tensing, your eyes lingering at the soft-sculpting of his features; his glittering skin, fin-like ears, broad frame.

"...is something the matter, little one?"

"ah- i-it's nothing- it's just-"

"...just?"

"nevermind- l-let's get you out of here-"

he shook his head as you stuck your two arms out for him.

"can you not move? are you injured?!"

"...far from it..."

filed nails trailed up your palms...

"WAH-!"

SPLASH!

...before pulling you into the shallow depths; yet, you didn't seem to be in any state of panic - bright eyes staring at him starry and full of shock. he could only guess that you took notice of the shimmering scales across his his fish tail, colours of blue and purple in patches covering his figure.

so mesmerised that you barely saw the bubbles your were releasing from your parted lips; the merman smiled softly at the sight, right hand clasping against yours while the other held at your waist, tugging you into him before rushing you both back up to the water's top.

"GASP-"

the merman carefully patted at your back, as you coughed out the liquid you had managed to shallow in your few seconds within.

"...i'm sorry for scaring you, young one... it's just... i couldn't help but give ya a little tease,"

"cough- i-it's alright, mister- just- try not drowning your victims next time-"

"...will do."

"anyways, cough- do you live here?"

"...no, sadly."

"what- then did someone move you here from the ocean?!"

"...no either."

"then..."

"i was taken in by a family who lived in a nearby village; regretfully, the leaders found out about my secret and decided to sentence me to death- luckily... i was able to escape and that's how i ended up here..."

you were quiet, speechless even.

"...so you're homeless?"

"it would seem so..."

"why don't you stay with me?"

"...pardon?"

"i have an extra room or more like you could live in the tub- plus, it's quite lonely living in the woods all alone..."

"..."

"well- you can stay here too if you-"

"...i'd be happy too."

"wait- really?"

he nodded.

"that's- that's great- do you need me to pick you up then- transport you into the house or-"

"no need for that, i have my ways..."

"come now- dinner's ready!"

he stood from his position in the waters, swimming over all while chuckling at your huff of annoyance. reaching the borders of the water - he took a slight leap, and within a flash of light, his tail turned to a pair of legs clothed in black trousers; waist-up, dress-shirt underneath a dark-marine vest. soft, pale hand combed through his now dried mane before strolling back to the cozy, small cottage up ahead.

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fieldofdaisiies · 11 months

Text

Fly With Me

ship: Azriel x Reader type: angst, fluff; short story warnings: near death experience, mentions of being forced to do something you did not agree to word count: 6,3k words synopsis: The night court rescues a human that was forcibly turned into a fae too, Azriel is there to comfort when she feels at her worst, terrified and broken. And on top of it all, she falls in love, but thinks Azriel likes someone else and there will never be more between them than just friends...

Your eyes shoot wide open as liquid swaps over your head. You were so close to death moments ago, and you doubt that you have escaped it now that you feel its icy grip around your throat as you are pulled down, deeper under water. Is this what entering the afterlife feels like? No, no, it is not. A sense of relief blooms in your chest when you realize your not dying, yet confusion clouds your mind. You are not dying, you are under water, but you are not drowning either. Is this a dream? A fever dream?

Gone is the pain you formerly felt from the knife prodding from your belly. In a frantic frenzy, you pound, thrust, and thrash against the walls enclosing you. This might be a fountain, the one behind your house, could that be it? Did someone throw you into the fountain? For you to drown. Your head whips around under water, but nothing enters your nose. Desperation fuels you as you try to break free, your fists hitting the hard walls around you. What are these walls, and why do you find yourself within them?

You open your mouth to scream, which might not be the best idea when you are under water but still you do so, and the icy liquid around you infiltrates your throat, you swallow. It burns down your throat but you are not drowning. You can swallow the liquid without anything happening to you and you are sure this is a fever dream. There is no other explanation for that. Because you are not dying, not anymore. Yet, your stomach coils with a sense of helplessness that overwhelms you. A vivid mix of dread, panic, horror, and anguish grips you, makes you whirl around in the cold water, and yet a glimmer of hope flicks on inside of you.

But suddenly there is something else — gone is the icy embrace of the water around you. A surge of fiery heat erupts from within, spreading throughout your body. It is a sort of sensation you have never felt before—a scorching blaze that slowly then again cools your suddenly so hot figure. You are consumed by an icy-heat that prickles over your skin, leaving you burning yet strangely refreshed. Kicking and wriggling, you battle the darkness that surrounds you. It is an abyss of blackness, somehow pulling you deeper and deeper towards the bottom or its centre. But your determination prevails, you have always been a fighter, and you won’t give up so easily. You fight and trash your arms out once again. As if you hold the darkness by its very throat, you tear it apart with your bare hands until the surface comes into view. The thing enclosing you roars in response, protesting against your violent fight for freedom. It trembles and shrieks, revealing itself to be no ordinary fountain and you keep fighting, punching and trashing until a light appears above your head. It pierces through the terrible darkness and once again you open your mouth, instinctively fighting for air even though you are still beneath the surface. This time, however, you make no sound, allowing the liquid to envelop and consume you fully. You consume it in return, roaring with a primal intensity as it fills your lungs. The darkness yields to your aggression, torn apart by your hands as they reach skyward. And then, you see it—the warm embrace of sunlight. It falls onto your skin when you break through the water’s surface and gasp for air, greedily filling your lungs. The thing that has held you captive wastes no time in getting rid of you, hurling you out with a roar that echoes through the air. You descend like a discarded, wet towel onto the cool, snow-coated grass below. But it is is then that darkness falls over you once again, it engulfs you, and you black out.

☙ ☙ ☙ ☙ ☙

“You are my mate…” Azriel breathes out, his eyes wide open, hair disheveled. He looks at you in bewilderment, lying there on a fieldbed in front of him in the healer’s tent. The war is over, is won, Koschei defeated. Although he managed to claim many lives, destroy complete kingdoms and territories, there is still a sense of relief and bliss hanging in the air. It is over. But Azriel does not really feel like celebrating, his mind is spiraling. Koschei’s supporters have thrown many people into the Cauldron, a lot who did not survive. Nesta, Cass, Gwyn and him arrived exactly when it was your turn, a young human girl with a dagger prodding from her belly. You were screaming and wailing in pain, sobbing and thrashing around you. But his men ignored you, simply tossed you into the Cauldron, their cruel laughter still reverberating through Azriel’s body. He looks at you for a long moment, a cool breeze dancing over his skin, as he sits there, the curtains of the tent parted and chatter of happiness and relief reaching him from the outside. Azriel fights the urge to touch you, to brush his scarred fingers over your skin, scared of what it might do to you. He does not want to wake you, does not want to scare you, you seem so fragile lying there. And he also does not want to invade your personal space. But still, the bond is alive inside of him, glowing vividly, sparkling alive with every breath you inhale and he feels drawn to you. You are, without doubt the most beautiful female he has ever seen and he feels awful that this has been done to you. If he hadn’t slaughtered the males already he would do it all over again, letting them bleed out until the last drop. Azriel lowers his head, closes his eyes for a moment and inhales a deep breath. He does not want to let himself think of it any longer, it has been done anyways and there is nothing, absolutely nothing that he can change about it. He can only do as much as help you — help you adapt and accept the fae life, which he gathers, will be hard enough, telling by how Nesta and Elain dealt with it. And speaking of the sisters, Nesta slips through the curtains just a second after, walking up to Azriel and placing her hand gently on his shoulder. “She really is your mate?” Azriel bows his head. The words slipped out of his mouth the moment you were thrown onto the in snow covered ground. He couldn’t stop them, he was so shocked and surprised. ‘She is my mate.’

And the shock is still imprinted in every fiber of his body, even hours later. For all his life, Azriel has yearned for a mate and apparently his fate is the same as the one of his brothers — being mated to a mortal that is turned fae. Azriel thinks it makes sense, but still, it will be difficult. You will first of all have to adapt to the fae life before he can tell you about the bond. He can’t throw it at you just like that. He has to give you time. “She looks peaceful,” Nesta whispers and slowly removes her hand from Azriel’s shoulder to sit down on the field bed next to your bent knees. “And don’t worry. I will be there for her. I will help her adjust and feel comfortable with this life.” The flashes Azriel a sympathetic smile before both of them look back at you.

You are starting to stir, shifting a little on the bed when your lips part. Your throat feels so dry and you cough, and cough again, a little louder then. Your lids feel heavy and you try to open them, but they burn. They are only open a little, the bright light in wherever you burning in your eyes like salt water. Your head lolls to the side, your eyes blinking open again a little when you clear your throat. Once your eyes are fully open, and your vision clears you can see what is in front of you. In an instant, you jerk backwards, consumed by panic as a silent shriek escapes your lips. A tall male, with dark hair, and large wings and something like shadows is sitting in front of you. His presence fills the whole…tent and your breathing halts as you stare at him in horror. Have you been taken captive? Is he your captor? This tall male with a darkness around him that you have never seen before. You pull your legs up to your chest and curl your arms around it. “What do you want from me?” you breathe and whip your head into the direction of a female sitting at the foot of the bed. You haven’t noticed her before but when she shifted on the bed you saw her. And then—

“Who are you?” you ask, lips parting once again. “Are you holding me captive? What do you want form me?” You shudder visibly, your whole body shaking as everything inside of you coils. The male in front of stands up quickly which makes you jerk back on the bed. He lifts his hands, showing you the palms. “I am sorry, I didn’t meant to scare you.” He looks at you with big eyes and then slowly slips out of his thick leather coat. “Let me put this around your shoulders, you are freezing,” he offers and despite wanting to say no, you find yourself nodding, feeling so terribly cold you can barely focus on anything. You lean forward, gaze ping-ponging between the male and the female. A breeze, cold and harsh, that dances over your legs makes your head whip towards the entrance of the tent through which a tale male accompanied by a female and another male with wings enters. “I see you have woken up,” the first male says in a low voice. “Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court. You might have a lot of questions, but first of all I want you to know that you do not have to worry. You are safe with us, and we will do everything in out power to keep you safe and help you find your place among us. And also to adapt to your new life.” Bewilderment is written all over your face. You sit up straighter and vehemently shake your head. “What are you talking about?” Awareness nears in small steps, but you already have an inkling of what he might be referring to. They made you fae.

“Why did you do that?” you breathe out and shake your head again, panic tracing icy fingers down your spine. “We did nothing. It were Koschei, the death lord’s supporters.” The male, Rhysand, lowers his head.

“We are here to help you. It is not easy and it will take a while, but you will be fine.” The female sitting on your field bed says in a calm voice as she reaches forward and gently place her hand on your lower leg. “I am Nesta, Nesta Archeron and both my sisters and I went through the same, we were turned fae as well, and it took us a while to adapt to this life, but we did it. And now, and I can also speak for my sisters, I couldn’t be happier about this life.”

“Good for you…” You shake your head, looking at each one of them and when your gaze lands on the gloomy male next to you, your heart makes a tiny leap. “But what about my old life? I can’t just be fae and…” You stutter and feel dizzy, your vision blurring and your legs feeling numb and tingly. “I am not fae.” You shake your head and lie back down, afraid you might faint due to the shock.

“We are sorry, but you are,” the female next to Rhysand says. “I am Feyre. I know this is hard to believe and a lot for now, but it will get better.”

Only that it won’t. For your whole life you have been told how bad the fae are, what they do and how cruel they are. And now you are one of them. Now you should…are you going to live with them? “Will you take me with you?”

“If you want to yes. But we think it is the smartest decision. We will help you and support you.” Your head lowers as tears start to bubble up in your eyes, slowly trailing down your cheeks. This can’t be true. This can’t be it. You can’t be fae. You can’t live with them. This is all not real. Maybe you died and you are….No you did not die. Slowly you trace your fingers over your body, feeling your skin that feels so much softer than it ever did before. But maybe you…maybe this…oh gods…maybe this is really a fever dream. Maybe after you have been stabbed your blood got poisoned and you are suffering from a sepsis?

“I know it is a lot, but you are not alone in this.” Nesta squeezes your leg and you jerk backwards, sucking in a sharp breath. As they give you a little more information and describe and explain many things to you, you can’t really focus — it all becomes a blur of words and phrases and gestures and your head fills dizzy. You begin to see flecks of white and black in front of your vision, head feeling heavy, legs numb and tingly again as you sway back and forth. You can see the people’s mouth moving, but you can’t hear any words. You see that someone reaches their hand to your face but you don’t feel the touch and then everything is gone. There is nothing but sweet darkness that slowly lures you towards its center and you follow like a pirate to a siren’s call. The last thing you know is your back hitting something hard and then it is all gone and so are you.

There is nothing hard beneath you when your eyes slowly adjust to the dimly lit room. Softness practically envelops you as you slowly stir awake, your head rolling from one side to the other as you bring a hand up and rub it over your face. Consciousness gently stirs within you, and you fully open your eyes. You are lying in a bed, in a lushly decorated room through which windows a few strays of sunlight filter through. Confusion swirls in your mind as you grasp your surroundings and your lips part in silent irritation and curiosity. The room is unfamiliar, so are the paintings on the wall opposite you. Your heart is beating slowly, as nervousness bubbles up inside of you and your fingers curl into fists, grabbing the sheets on top of you tightly. A sense of disorientation lingers inside of you and in the room, and for a moment you find yourself lost between irritation and nervousness, uncertain of where your are.What is this place? And why are you here?

And then you shriek, the tall male you somehow recognise, getting up from the chair he has occupied. It is across the room and fear takes root in your chest. “Have you been watching me sleep? What do you want? What do you want from me?”

“Please, don’t be afraid. I mean no harm. I was just checking if you were alright and found you asleep.” “You have been watching me sleep!” you snap at him and throw your hands up in despair. “And now you tell me what you want from me!” You shove the bedsheet, away and get up, stalking towards him. The former nevousness is forgotten, anger prevails and also the urgent need to finally get answers.

But he stays calm, despite your fury. “You are in the Night Court. I don’t know if you remember what happened before you passed out, but you were turned fae and we took you in. You are in the Night Court now. We brought you here, for you to recover and slowly find your place in this new life.”

Your whole body shudders, as everything inside you coils and you stumble backwards a little. Slowly memories come back to you and awareness fills you — you were turned fae and he is one of the fae that offered to help you. With a warm smile, the stranger extends his hand towards you. “Please, calm down," he says kindly, "My name is Azriel and you are safe here.” He slowly gets up, his hand still extended. But you still don’t shake it, your eyes fall to the marred skin of his hands and your stomach coils. He mist have been hurt terrible and that makes a crack in your heart appear.

“How do I know I can trust you?”

“I am sure you will soon learn you can trust us. It is all a lot and very new. But you will manage to find your place here.” And I will help you with it, Azriel wants to say but the words go unspoken. He tries to hold your gaze, as yours jumps around nervously and you start chewing on your cheeks. “Where are the others?” you ask as some memories slowly come creeping back into your mind.

He motions towards the door and you gaze there briefly. “Are there also the females that said they were turned as well?” Unease rings in your voice and Azriel hears it, his stomach twisting a little. He does not want you to be scared, or anxious. But of course he also understands what is going on inside of you. “They are,” he says in his low voice, hoping to calm you a little. “One of them is the High Lady of this Court.” Your eyes widen with surprise as you find yourself swaying on your feet, your head feeling so light again. Azriel wants to reach for you, steady you, but he keeps his hands at his sides, fingers curled into fists. “We can go downstairs if you want to?”

You agree, but tell him you would like to freshen up at first. Only a short bath and then slip into some fresh clothes. Azriel tells you it is fine and he will wait outside. You agree and go about your business before you let him guide you through the corridors that lead to a staircase. The walls are adorned with all sorts of beautiful paintings you find yourself gaping at. Nervousness nears in waves as you reach a room where loud chatter already reaches you. Azriel is behind you as you go inside, his chest nearly touching yours when all eyes land on you. But you inhale deeply, close your eyes for a moment, your hands balled into fists as you step further into the room.

You talk for hours, they explain things, you do so too. And then you eat and talk some more and you figure out that they are much nicer than everyone has always thought. You no longer feel so afraid or nervous, the atmosphere is light and almost feels comfortable. Only when you can barely keep your eyes open anymore, does Azriel offer to guide you back to your room which you accept with a small thank you.

And so the weeks pass and turn into months of where you slowly adapt to your new life. Feyre, the High Lady of the Night Court, often takes you to the art studio with her where you either paint yourself or take care of little Nyx, playing with him or painting with him. Other times you join Nesta, Gwyn and Emerie as well as Azriel and Cassian in training where they teach your certain self-defense techniques. You enjoy it a lot, and really start like this new life. You also like training for another reason…for the reason of being able to steal glances at the male, who has turned out to be a shadowsinger (whatever that is) and the spymaster of the Night Court. You like him, gods you do, he is really easy on the eyes in addition.

You are sitting in the dining room of the House of Wind, Azriel opposite you, leaning over some reports, closely studying them. He looks concentrated and you watch him silently, how his jaw is clenched a little with concentration and how his long lashes draw shadows to his cheeks. The muscles in his broad shoulders and strong arms are flexed, the large wings draped behind his back and his shadows lazily dance around him. You like them, they often reach out and brush your hands and legs before Azriel calls them back.

“Like what you see?” His low rumble dances over your skin and your eyes widen as they meet his. “Gods!” Your cheeks and cleavage fill with colour, but you hold his gaze. “I am so sorry, I just…” Azriel chuckles lowly and then closes the folder of reports. He pushes his chair back, watching you with an amused smile on his face as he gets up. “You just…?”

You pull your lower lip between your teeth. Azriel grabs himself a glass of water and leans against the kitchen counter, still waiting for an answer. “I was just thinking,” you tell him, your thoughts running wild as you have technically just been checking him out.

“About?” he raises a brow, the silly amused smile still on his face. He takes a sip from his glass, his gaze never leaving you.

“You can truly fly with those, right?” you ask, a tinge of curiosity in your voice. It was the best question you could come with and since you have never seen him fly, your question is valid.

“Yes, yes. I can.” He dips his chin with a lazy smile. “Cassian and I hail from from a race of faeries called Illyrians. We’re born hearing the song of the wind.” So poetic, you think, but smiled instead. “That is lovely,” you whisper. He holds your gaze, somehow like he is waiting for further questions which you of course present him with. “Well can we do it then?” You take a step towards him. “I mean…only if you want. You don’t have to, obviously." “I would love to show you Velaris from above." His chest heaves with a deep inhale. "Come, fly with me!”

He smiles and you know that without doubt he is the most beautiful male that you have ever seen in your life. Azriel walks up to the balcony door, the sun setting slowly on the horizon. With an inviting smile, he extends a hand, beckoning you to join him. Curiosity sparks inside of you as you take his hand, feeling a little zap as your palms touch. You suck in a sharp breath and meet his gaze. “You won’t drop me, right?”

“I would be the greatest fool alive to let a female like you fall.” It is all he says before he lifts you into his arms and sets your heart racing — both with anticipation but also about what he said. With a single leap, he takes flight, his large wings flaring gracefully behind his broad shoulders, carrying you both into the early evening sky. The world below you gets smaller and smaller when you finally peek your eyes open, your lips parting in utter admiration. You fly through the air, weightless and free, slow and coordinated, him holding you gently in his arms. He presence, how close he is, the solid press of his chest against your body, his scent fills your senses and you can barely focus on flying.

“This is beautiful,” you breath in astonishment as you look over his shoulder.

“Not nearly half as beautiful as you are.” Your heart makes a few happy leaps, your cheeks warming and you can’t really look at him. So you turn your head, once again looking over his shoulder.

The scent of evening and late summer is carried in a breeze, mingling with the woodsy smell of the forests beneath you. You glide over the landscape, feeling the brush of the wind against your skin and you feel free and weightless. You feel alive.

Azriel tells you a little bit about the landscape you see below. He tells you about the Night Court and Illyria and you listen closely, soaking up every word he says. His voice is beautiful and it is rare that he talks so much. You enjoy it a lot — this time with him, being in his arms. In his presence, time almost seems to stop as minutes blend into hours. The sun has nearly fully disappeared and realisation dawns on you that this journey is coming to an end. With a graceful descent, Azriel gently lowers you back to ground, softly placing you on the ground. His hand stays in yours for a moment as he turns to you and smiles softly. “Did you enjoy it?” he asks in a silent whisper.

You bow your head, beaming at him. “It was amazing. Can we do that again?”

“Whenever you want!” And then he leans in, his lips softly brushing over your cheek. “Have a good night, Y/N. See you for breakfast.”

You are still grinning when you fall face forward into your bed, kicking your feet and silently screaming into the pillow.

Azriel also returns to his room with a big smile on his face. He had to say good night. He had to leave. He would have kissed you if he stayed. He would have said things which should not be said yet. He wants to give you time. He wants you to arrive here first, to adjust to the fae life, to start feeling comfortable and also to grow on him. So he will give you time, weeks, months, maybe even years if needed. But he knows, he is actually sure about it, you like him as well. And that…that is a damn good feeling.

☙ ☙ ☙ ☙ ☙

“I thought I find you here,” Azriel hums as he sits down on the couch next to the bookshelf. You turn a little, book in your hand as you walk up to him and sit down as well. “I like it here,” you whisper, not quite sure what to say to him as your heart beats faster every time you see him. And then…there is this strange tug at your chest whenever he is close and somehow warmth erupts every time he then walks up to you. “We are going to do some training now, on the roof top pitch. Some actual training, fighting, for a change. I wanted to ask if you would like to join?”

You do and also do not. But you decide that you will join and you tell Azriel so, but add that you have to get dressed in appropriate clothes first.

And so you quickly don some leggings, a loose shirt and put your hair in a braid and a good ten minutes later you are heading up to the pitch, not expecting what you are met with there.

Still you walk out onto the pitch, the sun gracing your skin as you try to look everywhere but straightforward. You start to stretch a little, loosening your muscles and preparing your bones. But still, you always catch yourself stealing glances at them, the two of them holding a sword, their bodies bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. They stand close, their laughter and happy chatter reaching your ears and your heart twinges with a pang of jealousy, a feeling you can't quite shake off and you are not used to. Why are you feeling like this all of a sudden as especially towards them. Gwyn has been nothing but kind to you, and Azriel. Well, Azriel is just handsome male. There is definitely not more between the two of you. Of course not, and you definitely don’t have feelings for him. But Gwyn is beautiful and you understand why Azriel chats with her, why he loves to spend time with her. She is stunning, her eyes sparkling with joy, and her voice and laughter are a symphony that fill the air. The way he looks at her, with eyes filled with admiration, makes your chest squeeze. You are about to turn on your heels and just run away from the scenery, no longer wanting to see it. And that for more reasons. First, because it hurts you. And secondly, because you don’t want it to hurt you and you don’t want to have negative feelings towards Gwyn. But still you find yourself biting down on your lower lip, nibbling as you silently observe them. They share inside jokes that only they understand, which creates a bubble you feel excluded from. Your mind wanders to the moments you've shared with Azriel — the moment before you came up here. You were close, but never as close as them. Probably he knows her for much longer and obviously so much better…

As you continue watching them, a pang of self-doubt strikes you and you start comparing yourself to Gwyn. Obviously he finds her more attractive. How would not? And she is smart, and athletic and you are…well you are a mortal turned fae. As you turns you gaze away from them and take a step back, you can’t help it but imagine yourself in her place. Azriel laughing with you in that way, looking at you like that, his gaze filled with so much—

“Y/N?” Your head whips back to Azriel, to meet his gaze. He is heading towards you, Gwyn now wielding the sword alone behind him. She smiles at you, brightly and happily and your stomach churns. You don’t want to not like her…but they jealousy, this absolutely irrational jealousy, is still there.

But as Azriel comes running towards you a glimmer of hope emerges in your heart and you focus your gaze on his. “I am so glad you are finally here,” he breathes when he finally comes to a halt right in front of you. He extends a hand, waiting for you to take it. “I thought I would show you around a little, show you the different kind of weapons you don’t know yet and then we can try some fighting techniques with them?”

“You think I can do them?” you ask, your voice tinged with nervousness. But Azriel nods his head, smiling. “I am, you can.” You finally slip your hand into his, your palm perfectly fitting into his callused but warm palm and your heart makes a leap. Azriel explains to you some things about dagger and swords and then, just as usual he shows you some fighting techniques you mirror. But this time it is different, forgotten are his interactions with Gwyn, or rather pushed to the back of your mind, as something has shifted between the two of you. You are closer now, standing closer, touching more often, leaning onto one another. All of Azriel’s movements are fluid and precise, showing both the grace and power of the Illyrian warrior. With each motion, he guides you through the tactics of a battle. You learn how to ground yourself, how to kick, how to use a dagger, and so on and so on. You even spar Azriel later on, your movements intertwining like a dance. Azriel is merciless as he challenges you, pushing you beyond your limits, sweat grazing your skin and making tendrils of hair curl around your face. Only you really can barely move anymore and crave nothing more than a chair and water, does he give in and let you take a break. Azriel wants you to grow stronger, you need it, and he wants to help you with it. In addition, he just loves training with you so much — those delicate touches and the stolen glances, the moments where your bodies touch…

“Let’s call it a night,” you say and release a loud breath. “My legs are like jelly and I can’t make a single move anymore.” You grimace up at Azriel who stands in front of your chair, towering over you and laughing whole-heartedly. The sound is so pure and rich it has your heart doing happy flips. You have never heard him laugh like that, but you love it.

“Of course. You think you can walk alone?” Despite wanting to say that you would like to be carried, you decide that you can very well walk alone. It would be weird to ask him to carry you, wouldn’t it? So you get up, groan a little as you do so and wipe your hands down your thighs. “I can,” you grit out and show him thumbs up. He only chuckles again and slowly shakes his head. “If you say so. But I…” He trails of. You both start walking and you turn your head to him. “But you…?”

“Can we maybe talk for a moment?” Azriel asks as he guides you to the staircase leading downstairs. You feel a kernel of nervousness bloom in your chest and turn to him, to look up into his eyes. “Of course. Now?”

He smiles a little sheepishly, colour blooming high on his defined cheeks. He can’t wait anymore, he has to tell you now. It is getting too much and the bond too overwhelming, he has to share it with you. “Yes, now.”

You enter into the dim interior of the staircase as you slowly walk downstairs, tension so thick between the two of you that one could cut it with a knife. Your heart is beating rapidly, hammering against your rib cage with every step you take downstairs. Your throat nearly constricts and finally you reach the bottom where Azriel is quick to guide you to…his room.

“I need to tell you something. And I think it will come as a big surprise but I can’t just keep it a secret anymore.” He takes a deep breath, his eyes locked we smith yours. The words spill forth from his lips,” so fast you for a moment believe you imagined them.

“I love you," he declares, his voice filled with warmth and affection. In that instant, your heart skips a happy beat, your breath catching in your throat. His words wrap around you like a thick coat of warmth and love and your lips split into a grin. “You mean it? I mean…how? Why…I did not…” “I did not show it, I know…” His gaze is turned down-wards, his cheeks even a tint redder as he wringing for what else to say. There is so much to say, he does not even know where to start. But it is there, in the way he looks at you, with a tenderness that nearly makes you melt. It's in the way he reaches out, his hand trembling slightly as it seeks yours, and finally takes it into his scarred one. You find yourself caught in a whirlwind of emotions. A mixture of surprise, delight, and a hint of disbelief washes over you. Is it truly possible? Is it really possible that he likes you? Yes you have grown close, but just an hour ago you thought he was with Gwyn. And now his declaration. You want to jump and shout, your body feels hot and your legs too light. You take a moment to gather your thoughts, to find the right words to respond. And then, with a soft smile playing on your lips, you return his words, “I love you too.” You grin and the world around you seems to brighten as he cradles your face in his scarred, warm hands, looking deep into your eyes. His own are aglow, like heated honey in the sunlight. And then you feel a warmth erupt in your chest, glowing vividly as Azriel’s lips part in silent astonishment. “And not only that…” he whispers, leaning in closer. “You might not know about the concept of a bond stronger than love…but you are my mate, Y/N.”

When he finishes the connection between you deepens, a bond —the mating bond— gets stronger and you know why you’ve been feeling this tug on your chest since weeks. It is the bond.

“We are mates…” You breathe and even though it is a statement it sounds a little like a question, your voice rising at the end of the utterance. But the words sounds so beautiful as the reverberate through your mind.

“We are.” He smiles as he moves in closer, his thumb tipping your chin up. His eyes seek yours, asking for consent and permission, which you grant him. His lips brush yours in a gentle, short kiss that has you yearning for me. Your hands find their place on his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin through his shirt. “I waited so for you, and now you are finally here.” He kisses you again, softly nipping on your lips. Slowly, you lean in fully, feeling the soft brush of your lips against each other. He deepens the kiss a little. Emotions surge through you like a tidal wave—passion, longing,

and so much love. It’s a kiss that speaks volumes, as you whisper silent promises of love. “And I finally found you, my mate.”

“My mate.” Azriel beams, his eyes tracking your face. “You are all mine and I am all yours.”

You kiss some more that evening and eventually, as he guides you towards the bed and asks for you consent, he makes love to you, slow and gentle, and promises you unconditional love from this day on until the very last day of your immortal life. And then you fall asleep in each others arms, holding on tightly, your head resting on his chest, right above his steadily beating heart.

feedback, criticism etc. is very appreciated💙

~~~~~~~~ tags (crossed-out I couldn't tag) : @juulle987 @marimorena06 @danikasthings @younxii @nightcourtwritings @mrofontaine @lunalilyf @whor-3-crux @tired-all-the-time @anni-was-here @ummmmmwat @azbracadabra @j-pendragonx @hollyismentallyillhelp @famousbasementpainter @bsenpai @lena-davina @red-highlady @thesugatoyourtae @azrielsbabyg @aroseinvelaris @moony-thoughts @wrensical003 @cherryjain17 @moonfawnx @crushedcloudsx @devilsfoodcake22 @valeridarkness @azrielscertifiedslut @mulansaucey @cynicalpotato95 @hanasakr @high-bi-andreadytocry @eerievixen @feyretopia @moonlightazriel @randomness-it-is @brekkershadowsinger @eliieee23 @girasoli-e-sorrisi @illyrianvalkyriecarynthian @kennedy-brooke @highladyofillyria @theworthlessqueen @marina468 @topaz125 @illyrian-dreamer @azriels-mate123 @eos-princess @courtofjurdan @a-frog-with-a-laptop @banasheefan56 @a-frog-with-a-laptop

#azriel x reader #azriel #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #acotar x reader #acotar #acosf

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sun-snatcher · 2 months

Text

🌾 ・ OF CLARION CALLS

summ. The rebellion runs into trouble, & Jet takes the brunt of it. In the aftermath, you fight to keep him alive. pairing. Jet x f!medic!reader w.count. 1.5k a/n. So little Jet fics/imagines around so i had to take matters into my own hands. Enjoy!

The moonlight casts a halo above your head, and for a brief moment, Jet thinks you’re a divine spirit, perhaps a goddess— or whatever it is his mother used to read to him before bed.

( In some ways, you are. )

…Jet, he hears, distant. He can’t pinpoint exactly where— every sound is either muffled or echoing, and the world keeps tipping in and out of a blur. All he can sense through the haze is the belt of dull pain creeping up his chest, and the cotton-numbness engulfing his head. Right. He’d been shot clean through his armor plate by a wayward arrow after he’d jumped infront of Sneers to protect him. He remembers now, vaguely. It had been an ambush on their way home.

...et, stay with me.

Jet.

“Jet!”

The world focuses. He inhales, sharp, and the pain blinds him white as he gasps.

“Easy there, handsome,” you joke (not really), holding his twitching body down and trying to meet his dazed look. The blood is thick enough to taste, and one look is enough to tell he’s walking a tightrope between life or death. He's growing colder, and losing colour by the minute. You make quick work to staunch the gaping wound in his chest, hope he can’t detect the shakiness in your hands, or the tears gathering in your eyes. “You’re gonna be okay.”

“Will he?” comes a voice behind the two medics crowding him. It’s Smellerbee, standing at the step of the medical tent; her voice sounds uncharacteristically frightened, and it sends a pang through your heart. I’m fine, Jet instinctively wants to insist, but you answer for him instead. “Yes. He will." ( And, well, surely such a small deception would not count against you, not when it was meant to give the others some measure of peace. )

Jet blinks, finally orienting himself enough to look at you and not through you— and blinks again. You’re lying. He could feel it. He could always tell, whenever it comes to you.

…Stay, he thinks, suddenly and senselessly, and clasps his bloodied hand around your wrist. He calls your name, voice straining in pain. But he must’ve said it aloud instead, because you’d smiled at him as gently as you could— even when it looked as if the effort of doing so would wound you— and said, calmly, convincingly: I promise, I’m not going anywhere.

“With me?” he asks, again, even when he knows he must’ve sounded like a madman. Perhaps it’s the bloodloss. Likely, it was. It wouldn’t be such a bad end, though, so long as you stood by his side. He wants to tell you this— been wanting to for a long time, now— but the strength has left him, leaving him floating somewhere between the world of waking and dreaming.

“With you,” comes your reply.

You catch the ghost of his trademark smile just before he slips away.

Jet survives.

That’s the first surprise.

The second is that; you’re here. Just as you’d promised.

He must have been out for longer than he thinks, because the atmosphere in the medical tent seemed to have ebbed to something much more conducive than last he remembers. The tinctures of alcohol and sedatives surrounding him and his bloody bandages that night are now replaced with dry ingredients; yarrow half-crushed in a mortar and pestle, mixed herbs and colourful liquids corked in tiny bottles and tins he couldn’t begin to name. His armour had been stripped from him, lying above a chest by the corner.

Ever the leader; “Sneers,” is the first word out his mouth, once he’d stirred awake on his cot and recognition returned slowly to him. It’s early sometime in the morning, judging by the colour of the sky outside the tattered tent flaps and the still quietness in the air. Beside him, an incense of sandalwood burns. “Sneers—”

“Is alive, thanks to you,” you override. The faint bitterness in your voice is not lost on him.

Somehow, someway, seeing him conscious now seemed to make you bristle. You think— no, you know— that it’s unfair of you; that it’s simply the pent-up frustrations and stress overflowing from the night he’d been hauled back to camp with one foot in the grave. But Longshot’s harrowing clarion call for a medic from the trees still rings clear as a bell in your head, just as much as the cold shock that had seized you the moment you realised the birdcall was for Jet.

“Good.”

“Not good,” you correct, “Not when you of all people pay the price.”

( Jet doesn’t delude himself into thinking that there could possibly be another meaning to what you said. It would be impossible. ) “You would’ve done the same,” he bites back, and takes your silence as quiet agreement.

“You’re upset,” Jet points out, narrowing his eyes. “Why?”

A sigh. “You just woke up,” you dismiss, if only to get him off your scent. “We can talk another day.”

“We’re already here, so let’s settle it now. The mission went well, and as far as I can see, I’m the only one in here, which means nobody else got hurt on the way back but me. Atleast, not as badly.”

It’s a debrief, you recognise. A coping mechanism for him— to spur himself into action and settle himself. Given the stress and trauma his body has been enduring the past days, you let it pass.

It’s only when you shift out from your seat by his cot, standing to begin putting away the bowls of medicine prepared, that Jet realises your fingers had been holding his wrist before. You must have stayed up for, what he can only imagine to be long nights, to keep track on whether his pulse was still beating. ( Something inside his chest burns. He can’t tell if it’s your doing or the injury being fussy. )

“I’m sorry,” he huffs, sighing out. “If that’s what you wanna hear.”

“For what?” You set the mortar down on your table with more force than necessary, and looked at him sharply from over your shoulder. Jet, damn him, still looks at you straight in the eyes, confident as ever. You want to kiss him. You want to break his nose. “For being a hero?”

“No.”

“Playing martyr?”

“No.”

“For saving Sneers? Everyone?”

“No—”

“Then what?”

“For scaring you,” he says, simply.

Your heart starts.

A frisson runs through you, and you feel the back of your eyes begin to burn.

“I’m sorry you had to see me like that,” he emphasises, and doesn’t say, I’m sorry I made you cry, because your prideful self would have denied it instantly, even if he remembers it clear as day. “I’m sorry I put you through that.”

He yanks at a loose thread on the blanket you’d laid on him a night ago. It must have been terrifying to see him be dragged to the table, half-dead with a broken arrow in his chest, and leave a mess of blood and horror in his wake. It must have been terrifying, indeed, to be the one responsible for him against Death itself— to carry the weight of his life on your shoulders, while the rest of the Freedom Fighters watched on.

“It’s, it’s my job,” you turn away to close a drawer of medical instruments, because you’re not quite sure you can stand meeting his gaze. Not when it only reminds you of just how much he lived, breathed and bleeds chaos and revolution; not when you know this accident definitely won’t be the last.

You can’t handle him. Or maybe it’s yourself you can’t handle, when it comes to him. “Just, be careful.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he salutes mockingly, albeit with a wince. The flinch is what kicks you back into action.

“You’re staying in bed until you’re better,” you order, curt, ignoring his groan. His wrapped shoulder still seems painfully defiant despite all the numbing you’d given him; it would be a couple of weeks longer before he’d be fully healed, but knowing Jet— he’ll be up performing duties within a week. “That means no strain at all. No scouting or recon or hunting, got it?”

He lulls his head, but there’s a dash of humour on his face. “Since I’m bedridden, does that mean you’re at my every beck and call, then?”

Your face twists. He lets out a laugh when you answer, "In your dreams, Jet."

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

You roll your eyes, though without heat, and place a bowl of fresh water by his side. There is, at the very least, a smile on your face, and Jet’s sure he can sleep well tonight knowing you both are, at the end of the day, okay.

“Hey,” he calls your name, once you've begun making your way out the tent. You try to ignore how much more sweeter it sounds coming from him. “I really am sorry. I’m serious.”

He had caught your sleeve when he spoke, so your fingers now brush against his. You try not to focus on the touch too much. “So am I.”

“We can’t lose you, Jet,” you continue, unsteady; because saying I can’t lose you would have been unthinkable.

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sunfyresrider · 9 months

Text

Memories

Lo’ak te Suli Tsyeyk’itan x Fem!Reader

Summary: After you go into labor unexpectedly it’s up to, Jake, your father in law and Lo’ak, your husband, to get you through it. Meanwhile, Lo’ak recounts all of the first times in your relationship while you’re giving birth to your first child. Tags: pregnancy, established relationship, fluff, small smut scene, Lo’ak being a dummy (himself), sentimental moments, Jake stressing, and finally birth (blood, contractions, and pain). Word Count: 2466. Author’s Note: I am not sure how I feel about this but it’s been in my head for so longggg. Actually, it’s my first time doing flashback scenes so lmk any constructive criticism. (I’ve never given birth either so I’m going off the top of my head.)

-Present

A relationship was filled with many first times, first date, first kiss, and first intimate experience. After so many firsts you would assume you would be prepared for the next, but nothing prepared you for this. More specifically, nothing prepared your husband for what was about to happen.

It was midday when you noticed something was up, your baby kicked in your belly more and the cramps came more frequently. You brushed it aside, assuming it was a false alarm. The hunting trip planned with your father in-law and husband was meant to be short and you couldn’t miss another family outing due to cramps. Although, now that you’re miles deep into the forest, stuck with two idiots you love dearly, you realize that was a grave mistake.

“Lo’ak…” you groaned, bent over gripping onto the nearest tree you could find. Both of their heads whipped around, “Baby?” You mustered up the strength to mutter the next words, watching as their faces trailed down your legs. A look of disbelief and terror glazing your husband’s eyes, “My water broke.”

In less than seconds you were on the ground, your legs spread and hands squeezing Lo’ak’s arm hard enough it was turning white. “What do I do? What do I do?” He was frantic, watching you writhe in pain and struggle to push. “Is that blood?!” Lo’ak looked mortified, were you bleeding to death? Does this happen during every birth? “Ok… ok, just push, baby girl.” His father sounded less than confident, sweat pooling at his forehead. Jake’s eyes purposefully avoided your lower regions, opting to stare with pained expression at your face. “Umm…”

“You’ve had three kids and you don’t know what you’re doing?!” The worry in his heart all but exploded at the realization, no one here knew how to deliver a baby. He felt his head become light as he stared at the blood, Lo’ak’s eyes began to droop and his body swayed back. A heavy slap sounded at the back of his head, drawing him back to the situation at hand. “Pull yourself together, boy! You’re a man! Act like it!”

You tried to block out their voices, think only about the precious life coming out of you. Whatever was going on in front of you was not your concern, though it was ceaselessly annoying. “Will you both shut up!” You screeched out and the forest around you went silent. A deep breath escaped your lungs, closing your eyes you began praying to Ewya for strength. All Lo’ak could was watch, his mind drifting back to where this all started.

-The First Meeting

Lo’ak was only six, rummaging around where he probably shouldn’t have been. He was somewhere in his grandmother’s hut, taking something he wasn’t supposed to. Lo’ak was tall for his age, yet somehow you managed to miss him completely and run directly into his back, knocking a pot of a mystery liquid all over the floor. He whipped around quickly, ears peeking up at the sound of glass shattering. “Owie,” you rubbed the spot on your head where he assumed you hit him.

“Watch where you’re going dummy!” He shouted, not thinking about how hurt you actually were. Your pained expression dropped, eyes narrowing at the sight of him. “Lo’ak Sully! You can not be in here!” At that instance he knew, you were a little shit. The one that always followed his grandmother around like a shadow, stealing all of Kiri’s attention away from everyone else. “Me? You’re in trouble for breaking that!”

You gasped at the glass, your eyes beginning to water. It must have been something special to get you to react like that. You stood up quickly, your tail lowered behind you and ears flattened against your skull. Lo’ak felt heartbroken for a moment, seeing you look so defeated. His dad always says to be nice to girls and already he was failing. He went to reach out, touch your arm in comfort or something. Then a deranged look appeared in your eyes,“Not if I tell on you first!”

“You little brat!” He couldn’t believe how easily you tricked him! You took off sprinting in the direction of the entrance, your tail whipping behind you frantically. He threw down whatever he originally planned on stealing and chased after you, no way was he taking the blame for this.

-Present

“Okay baby, just breathe in, 3…2…1” you took a deep breath, clenching his arm tightly with your first. “Now release and push,” he spoke lightly as to not piss you off any further. Jake was on the com with Neytiri, whose shouting voice could be heard from a mile away. Somewhere he found his sanity in reliving memories as he tried his best to coach you through it. You let out a strained cry and Lo’ak’s ears fell flat, “you’re doing great, tahni. A few more tries.”

-The First Date

Lo’ak had asked you out a hundred different times, each time had a different, more creative way of rejection. One more try, he promised himself as he made his way to your hut. This time he brought a bouquet of flowers he searched all over Pandora to find, did all girls like flowers? Kiri told him you liked variations of things, which was the opposite of specific. Lo’ak felt like an idiot waltzing around camp with a rainbow assortment held out in front of him, if you rejected him this time around he might just let a thanator eat him.

To his surprise, you said yes almost immediately and ushered him out of your hut with an unnerving haste. It was really awkward at first, the picnic he planned was too silent aside from the sounds of you chewing your food. He shuffled uncomfortably in his spot, clearing his throat to speak up. “I-“

“Lo’ak I like you, a lot,” you deadpanned, staring off into the distance. Lo’ak froze in place, his entire body language perking up at the thought. Then again, his ears could be betraying him. “It’s just… you know… My parents have already picked a match they’ll think will be suitable and I’ve never ever gone against them.” His joy melted away into a swirl of despair and disappointment. If he ever got shot, he could only assume it felt like this. “Who?”

His question was simple, what man did they think was so much better than him? “Atan, but I’ve never liked him and he has a weird face and-” Lo’ak couldn’t contain the chuckle that escaped him, were you really being serious? “Atan? Fucking Atan? The biggest idiot known to Na’vi kind?” A wave of superiority or maybe confidence knowing his competitor was a complete idiot enveloped him. His ears perked back up, a smile gracing his features. “Well yeah,” you looked at him incredulously, awaiting for his next words anxiously.

“Babe, I will literally sweep the floor with Atan.” He stood up from his position, determination all over his face. “Give me a month and your parents will regret ever considering him.” You were completely dumbfounded, mildly insulted on behalf of your potential mate. Lo’ak outstretched hand, signaling for you to take it. “Screw this, I’m meeting your parents tonight.”

-Present

“Neytiri is on her way with Kiri right now. Lo’ak get in position.” Jake spoke quickly as he took his seat on your other side, taking the place as your hand holder. Even while in the middle of birth both of the men took it as a very serious mission. “Yes sir, I can see the head.” The words fumbled out of his mouth before he realized what he was saying. “You’re doing great babygirl, just a few more pushes alright?” Lo’ak’s smile stretched from ear to ear, The head! He was looking at a baby’s fucking head!

-The First Kiss

The bioluminescent flowers perfectly illuminated your face, the freckles on your face decorating your every feature. Lo’ak couldn’t help but stare as you laid next to him so peacefully, basking in the light of Pandora’s moons. Your lips looked more tantalizing than usual, the plush softness all but invading his mind. You’d been going out for so long now surely it was past time to try or at least ask right?

“Tahni?” The words came out in a hushed whisper, stirring you awake. “What is it, Lo?” You glanced up at him, an expression you’ve never seen before gracing his features. There was a river of emotions flooding behind his eyes, making your breath hitch in your throat. “Can I kiss you?”

There was a beat of silence as you stared into his eyes. A moment where your heart swelled in your chest as the butterflies began to flutter in your stomach. And then your lips were pressed against his, fumbling against each other as you learned to move in sync. Your hands came up to his face, cupping his cheeks as you felt his rough ones against your waist, pulling you closer.

When you pulled apart, your faces were both purple from the lack of air. Lo'ak's mouth hung open as he tried to catch his breath, his thumb rubbing over your bottom lip. His eyes were blown out in lust, a silent plea to touch him again. You bit your lip, forcing back the giggle threatening to escape your throat. “Can we do it again, please?”

-Present

The baby was nearly out, you were almost free from the seemingly endless suffering. Your breaths were weighted, "One last push. You're doing great. Keep going!" Lo’ak did his best to encourage you, watching your face as you focused all your energy into pushing. “You did this- I-I’m gonna k-kill you!” This was his fault, you weren’t the one that had an appetite like a starved animal. Your hands tightened on Jake as you cursed out your husband. Lo'ak wasn’t offended, in fact the memory brought him nothing but joy.

-The first time

Your bodies intertwined perfectly, his movements slow, almost teasing, as he pushed himself inside of you. He wanted to feel every inch, every second, every movement. Lo’ak wanted you to feel him, to remember his shape, to know how well he fit inside you. He wanted this feeling to be ingrained into your memory so the next time you laid down, he was the only thing you could imagine.

From your connection, Tsaheylu, Lo’ak knew he was doing better than expected, that you loved him more than he believed. His love for you grew deeper, he felt your heartbeat, the rhythm of your breathing, the pulsing of the blood coursing through your veins. Your love was a beautiful melody he could listen to for the rest of his life.

His pace quickened, on your command, of course. He couldn't deny his queen a thing she wanted. He pushed himself in further, making sure to hit the spot that made your back arch, your toes curl, and your moans louder. He felt it, the tightening, the way your walls closed around him. Your fingers clawed into his back, pulling him closer, deeper, tighter, as if there was room for him to go. Lo'ak's breath was uneven as his climax neared, his lips pressing against your neck, his hands grabbing at whatever they could reach.

That feeling of bliss, the one he longed to reach. You were the only one who could take him there, the only one that made him feel anything, the only one he could let his guard down with. You were the only one he trusted, the only one he needed. Lo’ak movements became frantic, feeling you reach your own release, the sounds that slipped from your lips driving him mad. Your cries filled the forest, his name on your tongue, begging him not to stop.

He didn't want to finish, he wanted this to last, to feel this way forever, with you. It was too much, his body wasn't letting him hold on any longer, so he let go. Your name rolled off his tongue, over and over again, a prayer, a thanks, a confession. It was a moment of pure bliss, a moment that Lo'ak would never forget.

"I love you."

-The first child

You let out one final scream, using up all of your strength. You felt all the pressure within you snap, the constant ache disappearing into oblivion. For a moment, the forest was completely silent, only your ragged breaths filling the air. That was until the screams of a newborn child echoed in the trees.

Lo’ak was the first to see her, to hold her, and to bask in her beauty. “It’s a girl,” he said softly, looking back at you, his smile so bright it could light up the entire moon. She was small, her skin a beautiful hue of blue, her head full of black hair. Jake’s arms snaked around you, pulling you into his lap, holding you as if you would break if he didn't. o'ak was mesmerized by the new life that he helped create.

“Give her to me, Lo.” you held out your arms, a warm smile on your face. Lo'ak couldn't deny his queen a single thing. As carefully as he could, he handed his daughter over to her mother, a sigh of relief when the baby immediately stilled in your grasp.

He was in complete awe. She was perfect, from her tiny toes, to her chubby little cheeks, she was the most beautiful thing Lo'ak had ever seen, besides her mother. Tears began to pool in his eyes, his chest swelling with pride. You and his daughter were everything to him. The love of his life, and his precious little princess. Lo'ak was never good with words, and right now was no different.

“I’m so proud of you both.” Jake spoke like a true father. The sounds of twigs cracking and feet scurrying across the floor caught Jake’s immediate attention. He could already hear the weighted breaths of Neytiri and Kiri as they neared you.“Ma Jake!” Neytiri ran towards you quickly, faltering in her steps as she looked at the scene before her.

Neytiri's hands moved over her heart as she watched, A tear began to streak down her face, a large closed mouth smile stretching from ear to ear. Kiri was already standing over you, no doubt asking too many questions about your health. Lo’ak had moved to where Jake once was, cradling you whilst rubbing soothing circles onto your hand. His tail swayed behind him, his head tilted downward, and his eyes fixed on the gift from Ewya in your arms.

“The first grandchild,” Neytiri murmured next to her mate, reminiscing on the birth of their first child. “Damn, we’re old,” Jake muttered, a soft chuckle escaping him.

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m-ayo-o · 3 months

Text

　✦　˚ your hot psycho course mate ★⋆. ࿐࿔

𐙚 light blackmails reader (she knows a little about kira) into doing his bidding with the death note -_- college au [21+]

*　✦　.　nsfw cw: DARK CONTENT non consent: reader is blackmailed → dubious consent: she enjoys it. threat, murder, oral, toy use; clit clamp, ring gag. overstimulation, squirting ˚　. *

He's your snobby stuck up college course mate and there's nothing about him that you like. He's a smug fucking bastard and you wish he'd stop staring at you in class.

Luck isn't on your side, since he gets you to himself when you're paired into a group project together. Typical, that you get put with this creep.

He manages to lure you back to his place because it's bigger and more comfortable than your small single apartment.

And that's when he first shows you it...

A black book...

It looks simple enough, but when he pulls it out of the drawer you start to shiver and he tells you what he could do to you... if you disobeyed him.

"What the fuck are you talking about," you knew he was weird, but this is too much, "Light?"

"Get on your knees"

He gives you a smirk like he expects you to do what he says. He knows you will sooner or later.

But you laugh and scoff.

"What?"

Your laughter turns nervous when he just keeps staring and you stutter something about needing to leave. But his left hand circles around your wrist in a bruising grip and his right finds a pen.

"Stay still"

The TV is on. Some stupid talk show.

He scribes something down on the white lined paper. A name, in immaculate handwriting.

He's finished. Time goes slack.

"Watch"

He takes your chin between his fingers and points your face towards the screen.

He studies his watch.

"Now"

Your eyes are glued to the TV. Your lip starts to tremble and you see one of the talk show contestants start to convulse. His whole body shakes, he chokes out a few terrible noises and collapses right there on the set.

The entire TV station descends into chaos and the channel abruptly goes blank.

"See?"

It's him, it's really him. Kira is real. And he's in your class. Undetected... A normal student???

"No-"

There's nothing normal about him.

Your eyes blink up to meet his hollow glare and you slowly shake your head, terrified.

"Come here," his hand slithers up your arm and rests on your shoulder- the one he knows you hurt in netball practice the other week- and he squeezes. You wince and he pulls you closer.

"Say no again, pretty girl"

You didn't.

And when he touched you, god, all you could think about was how good it felt...

Your pleasure points... Your pain... He controls it all...

And you succumb to his touch until your wrists are bound to his bedframe, your eyes are bleary from it all and you momentarily lose sight of him.

"Light?"

You call out like you need him.

His body looms over you. He removed his shirt and pants. He stripped you bare.

He has something in his hand.

"What's that.."

He hushes you and slips something cold and hard in your mouth. It feels like a circle. Your mouth is forced open. You can still breathe.

You gasp and he lets out a sinister chuckle.

Then attaches a toy to your clit.

"Oo-wh--"

You can't talk.

"Don't worry it'll feel good."

It clamps onto you hard and starts buzzing.

The vibrations are so intense your eyes well up with fresh tears of overstimulation and he watches your legs twitch and your hips buck with a painfully hard orgasm. You can't control it. Liquid starts spilling out of you and the mattress feels unbearably wet. Your arms tug at the ropes and you let out some cute weak noises from the confines of your ring gag.

"Haha, wow, you look cute when you squirt" he finally takes his boxers off and shows you what he's packing...

"Uh-" your efforts to back away only get him harder.

He approaches you and climbs over your body, pressing his knees either side of your shoulders and he slaps your face with his dick.

"You can't say no, remember?"

You're not in a position to say no.

Do you even want to?

Your mouth gapes and you start drooling, the vibrations continue and you feel like you're about to cum again. Your eyes flutter back and he calls you a good little slut before sinking his cock through the metal ring and over your wet tongue.

He gets himself off with your mouth but you can barely suck him due to the compromising metal ring. Your saliva drips everywhere; down your chin, over your neck, and he starts using your throat.

He hums with pleasure when you gag and everything gets a bit dirty and hot and you swear you've never been so turned on in your life.

He finally takes his cock out and releases you from the gag...

The first words that spill out of your mouth leave you shocked. But he's not surprised at all.

Just amused.

"Light- fuck-- fuck me??"

Your thighs are holding onto the clit clamp so tight he can barely open your legs.

But when he manages to spread them and finds the mess you've made... your juice so slick and dripping in filthy strings from your thighs...

"Oh," he lets out a moan, "good girl"

His praise and that expression on his face make him look so... hot. Your body shudders at the thought of finding him so attractive but he coaxes out a few more whimpered noises to the tune of begging and he slides his cock through your mess.

"Now, aren't you so glad we played this little game?"

A game of blackmail and murder.

You nod slowly and he tells you how pretty you look. Your pussy starts throbbing and sucking him in and, with the vibrator still on full power, he sinks in and you cum over his cock instantly.

"Finally got something to cum around, huh. Feel good, angel?"

You nod and he fucks you stupid.

You can't stop asking him for more and he gives you exactly what you want.

He gets everything he needs and more and he thinks this could be quite a nice arrangement.

Now, after college, you get yourselves into a little routine and, even after your group project is finished, you make a habit of getting fucked by your hot psycho course mate.

#light yagami smut #light yagami x reader #light x reader #light yagami death note #yagami light #death note smut #death note fanfiction #deathnote #tw: death #tw: murder #tw: noncon #tw: dubcon

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claymoresword · 3 months

Text

I Choose Her | Chp: 18

Hermione Granger x Slytherin Fem!Reader

Summary: You are the daughter of two known death eaters from one of the oldest and richest families in the wizarding world. Are you truly prepared to give up everything you know for Hermione Granger?

Pairing: Hermione x Reader

Wordcount: 4.9k

Warnings: smut, cunnilingus, g!p elements, fluff, mentions of gore and death, y/n & draco , atp it's y/n and hermione against the world

Note: hi! sorry this one took literal ages, I hope y'all can forgive me.. Initially I thought I'd be able to wrap this story up with 1 more chapter but I think rn it's looking like 2 more atleast lol

anyway this part pretty much kicks off with smut so be warned, I feel like I've written so many at this point I just hope it's not stale and still enjoyable to read, feel free to let me know what you think! <3 love you all and I will try my best to get the next part out asap

Taglist: @gvrsto @aweidlich @xxsekhmet @arielj @poppyflower-22 @scarleigh1989 @smut-religiously777 @cocoyeehaw @blackbirdv98 @arcturusseer @iamcapitalgbicorn8287 @lonewalker17 @karasonromanoff @httphayn @bigbadsofty07 @cherryflavoredcoke @dumpsapphic @idontwannabehereatm @js-a-writer @baylegend6 @puta1 @t-wylia @raven-ss @unexpected-character

Hermione unzips your slacks, tugging them down till they pool at your feet. By the time you kick them off, her hands are already roaming your frame, graceful and determined fingers disappearing into your hair as her tongue invades your mouth.

Your girlfriend kisses you with such fervent hunger, any feelings of apprehension on your end rapidly dissipate.

Her hands continue their mission to undress you, and before you realize it, she has undone the buttons on your shirt, tugging the fabric off your frame.

Hermione continues to be driven by careless want, her mouth finds your collarbone, and then the swell of your breast. Her palm gliding across your bare torso makes you shiver in anticipation.

“Hermione–” You try as she pulls away for an instant, but your chest tightens the moment your eyes meet.

She is eyeing you like a caged beast– as if you are her last meal on earth, and she plans to devour you whole.

You can see how violently her chest heaved with every ragged breath she took, her stare glazed over with arousal, it made you ache.

This can't be the last time. It shouldn't be.. but that wasn't up to either of you.

Her fingers find the back of your head once more, this time her grip is frantic– your breaths continue to mingle as she cleaves to you, coaxing you to kiss her again, to take her.

“I want you, please.” Hermione pleads, and you can't help but smirk, attentive eyes studying her features, traces of true desperation painted across them.

Your girlfriend, now reduced to a creature of want and desire and you are the only being on earth that will ever hope to satiate her.

Hermione appreciates the way your hand halts at her rear, giving her ass a wanton squeeze.

Your bodies now flush against each other, your bare skin feels like fire against hers– Hermione would gladly burn to ash if it means you will continue to touch her.

“You have me..” Your assurance is sealed with a passionate kiss, pulling a whimper out of your girlfriend.

Hermione's lips move against your own, hard and eager, she tugs you down onto the floor with her by the nape of your neck.

Her legs immediately curl around your waist, and you can't help the feeling that sets over you. You were intoxicated, completely enchanted by Hermione, even from the simplest of gestures.

This can't be the last time.

Hermione gasps as you trail open mouthed kisses down her neck, a familiar liquid heat settles in between her legs as your mouth reaches her breasts.

You kiss her nipple over the fabric of her bra, and she arches her back reflexively to feel more of you.

She leaves room for you to reach around so you may unclasp the undergarment, discarding it to the side with practiced ease.

Hermione captures your lips with her own once more, as if it were a form of sustenance, as if she would lose herself if she did not steal every opportunity to kiss you.

As both of your lungs clamour for air, you pull away, once again your warm mouth finds even hotter flesh, and your intentions are shameless, you begin to bite and suck, leaving deep purple bruises in your wake.

You were only just getting started with her, and Hermione is already a panting, writhing mess. Her breathless moans are music to your ears.

You proceed to suck on her nipple, hard, and merely revel at the feeling of her fingers tightening in your hair, the way she trembles helplessly underneath you.

Soon your tongue finds her navel, and it is a welcomed sensation, you nip at it lightly this time, Hermione squirms. “Y/n..” The sweet and perilous way she utters your name gives you no room to think.

You loop your fingers underneath the hem of her underwear, tugging them down, she lifts her hips dutifully, allowing you to take them off.

You look up at Hermione in the process, her stare is bright and demure, it fills you with pride. Your girlfriend remains to be the most comely specimen you have ever set eyes on.

Then, Hermione impatiently grips a fistful of your hair, as you inch closer to her weeping center you catch sight of it, swollen and glistening, you can smell her arousal, and it makes your mouth water.

Practically dizzy with want, you just about maintain some semblance of composure, leaning in to plant an experimental kiss against her folds.

Hermione whimpers at the feeling, the sight of you licking her arousal off your lips nearly tips her over the edge. She groans, but she does nothing else to rush you.

You find her compliance addictive, always as enticing as ever.

Finally, your open mouth makes contact with her sex, the sudden nature of it rips a cry out of Hermione.

Your tongue moves with bold strokes, you suck and kiss her repeatedly– however restless and greedy, it causes Hermione's legs to shake ever so slightly.

Her moans echo throughout the vast and vacant chambers, your girlfriend's fist tightens around your hair to the point of pain, and you make no plans to stop.

You shift your attention to her bundle of nerves, sucking, albeit slightly more tenderly as you bring a finger up to her entrance, prodding at it for a moment before pushing it inside, until you are knuckle deep.

And that does it– Hermione chokes out another loud moan, her body responding to you before her conscious mind can even catch up. She gasps despairingly as her climax washes over her.

Her grip on your hair finally loosens, and you pull your mouth away, soon your face is hovering over hers.

Slipping a hand underneath her neck, you hold her as she trembles, you observe as she attempts to catch her breath.

Your other hand doesn't move from in between her legs, a finger still inside of her, you can feel her cunt squeezing at it indecently.

Hermione's warm brown eyes still darkened with arousal as she gazed up at you.

“That was the quickest one yet.” You quip, but Hermione doesn't respond to your smug remark, instead meeting your lips with her own with real anguish.

She wants more, much more, you can feel it.

You retract your finger from her sex slightly, only to re enter with another. Hermione's whine slips past her lips directly into your own.

You pull your face away so you may look at her– watching her expression contort as you proceed to curl your digits inside of her.

Your girlfriend's hand flies to your bicep, her nails digging into your flesh.

Hermione mewls and whimpers pathetically with every tantalizing pump of your fingers, she begins grinding her hips against it, wordlessly urging you to move faster, but you don't comply, not yet.

“Tell me what you want, sweet girl.” You coax, and even after an orgasm, your girlfriend still appears as though she is on the verge of tears.

“Please..” Her voice trembles. You continue to slowly pump in and out of her, Hermione is so wet she is dripping down your hand.

“What do you need, tell me.” Your lips graze the shell of her ear, you kiss it knowing how it would only weaken her further.

“I need you to fuck me.” Hermione finally says, she is still gripping your bicep, her words are driven by her frustration, and they were exactly what you wanted to hear.

You are incapable of containing your grin then, soon rewarding her with a deep kiss. A moment passes before you pull away, retracting your fingers from her core entirely in the process.

Hermione's breath catches in her throat, a flicker of panic as she watches you move off her.

“Let me fetch my wand.” You quickly explain, and she releases your arm before nodding, she consents to your idea.

You rummage through your clothes that are strewn on the damp stone floor, fishing out your wand from your jacket.

You can feel Hermione's eyes on you, observing as you removed your underwear. A familiar sensation overcomes you as you waved your wand over your pelvic area.

When you turn to look at your girlfriend once more, Hermione has propped herself up on her elbows. No doubt she has been watching you intently, her gaze soon falls to the length in between your legs and you take notice of the way her chest is heaving uncontrollably.

The look of near primal hunger she wore unabashedly across her face was enough to drive you to the brink of madness, you needed to take her now.

You settle yourself on top of her once more, and Hermione kisses you again, haphazard and familiar, she wraps her leg around your waist, and you quickly decide there is no more easing into it. You grab the base of your shaft, lining up the tip of it to her entrance.

Hermione is forced to separate her mouth from your own as she nearly falls apart, her head thrown back in pure ecstasy when you enter her– immediately setting a rhythm with your hips.

She gasps with every thrust, your cock hitting every inch of her in a way that never fails to make her see stars.

Your own noises of pleasure are muffled against the crook of her neck, her grip on your back never falters as she holds you as close as she possibly could.

Hermione's cunt flutters against your girth, a sign that she was already approaching her peak, tightening around you with every stroke.

You were drunk on the feeling, her eagerness to feel you, to take her pleasure from you. She felt so warm and wet, her walls molded around your cock as if it was made for you.

You are fucking her mercilessly, selfish and without reserve. It is perfect. It is exactly what she asked for.

“I love you– so much.” Hermione's admittance sounds closer to a whimper, so helpless and meek, it makes you groan.

“I love you.” You respond in between thrusts, her nails are digging into your back, it makes you wince but it also makes you move harder.

You continue rutting into her, wild and unchecked, until finally she comes undone once more, she cries out from the force of her peak, her walls clenching around you so tight that you are forced to halt as your own orgasm hits you.

It comes on so intense that you can just barely hold yourself up, Hermione welcomes you to rest some of your weight against herself.

“Fucking hell–” You curse breathlessly after a prolonged silence, and Hermione's chuckles in response.

You lift your head to meet her gaze, expecting your girlfriend to appear at least a bit satiated, but the glint in her eye suggests otherwise.

She looks starved, needy, and so damned captivating.

Hermione threads her fingers through your hair, guiding your face to her own by the back of your head.

You attempt to bring your mouth closer, expecting a kiss, but instead, she takes your bottom lip in between her teeth, tugging on it hard enough to make you hiss in pain.

She only stops to glide her tongue across it soothingly, before dipping into your mouth.

You moan at the sudden chain of motions, eagerly massaging your own tongue against hers. Hermione doesn't let you pull away until you were both gasping into each other's mouths.

“I want to go again.” She declares, and you stare at her in astonishment and delight, you tenderly swipe the pad of your thumb across her cheek.

“Let us keep going forever.” You reply, and you meant it. You desire nothing more than to remain in this chamber with Hermione, just the two of you, like this, for all eternity.

It is unrealistic, foolish, there is only a short time left until you are inevitably forced to face reality, but neither of you wish to focus on that right now.

You plant a quick peck on her forehead, thrusting your hips forward playfully, Hermione's giggle rapidly morphs into a light moan as you move inside of her.

“Get on top.” You commanded, albeit without allowing her a moment to decide if she wanted to abide.

With a hand on the small of Hermione's back, you flip your positions with ease, your length still sheathed inside your girlfriend as she settles on your lap.

Hermione is now straddling you, and she doesn't require any further direction. Her hand rests against your chest in between your breasts as she starts to grind her hips.

You bite back a moan as your cock moves in and out of her at a delicious pace. You savor the feeling, allowing Hermione to set her own rhythm, however quick or slow she wishes to take you.

Your hand moves from the other woman's waist up to her breast, kneading in accordance with her movements.

Hermione's mouth falls agape, a sharp moan escapes her as you pinched her hardened nipple in between your fingers, tempted to feel them in your mouth once more.

She lifts herself up until only the tip of your shaft is inside before sinking down once more. Hermione does so repeatedly, chasing the feeling of your cock stretching her out, over and over.

Her moans only increase in volume the quicker she moves against your lap. Your own breathing picks up as you watch her, utterly captivated.

“You are so beautiful..” You manage to choke out, and a faint smile covers Hermione's features as she glances at you, her movements becoming more confident and unabashed.

She guides your hand that was once on her breast up to her lips, she skillfully guides your thumb into her mouth with her tongue. As she sucked on it with purpose, you can't help the guttural noise that leaves you. Your own arousal heightens considerably due to Hermione's valiant actions.

Soon she removes your thumb from her mouth, now coated in her saliva, she guides it further south towards her clit, and you need no further instruction.

You expertly rub at the sensitive nub, and Hermione arches her back, she allows the pleasure she feels to overtake her. Eventually letting go of your hand to brace herself against your chest once more.

All you can focus on is her deafening sounds of pleasure, and the sensation of her clenching purposefully around your cock, urging you to reach your peak with her.

Hermione sinks down onto your length once, lifting herself up before doing it again, and then she halts, crying out as her entire body tenses and trembles uncontrollably, you feel her walls fluttering helplessly around your girth, sucking you in even further.

Your girlfriend soon collapses onto you, the bottom half of her body no longer capable of supporting her own weight. Your moans of pleasure blended together as you reached your own climax.

You feel the rapid beating of her heart against your pounding chest as she lays on top of you. You could scarcely tell where Hermione ended and you began.

═══════════════════════════════════════════

Now, you and Hermione are clothed once more, but neither of you are particularly eager to face whatever might be going on outside the chamber.

The ground shakes again, Hermione clutches your forearm as you both attempt to maintain your balance.

You recognize the sound of curses bouncing off and destroying the walls and structures above ground. The screams of pure terror that permeates suggest those curses might be bouncing off people too.

No doubt, in your fleeting absence, things have only gone from bad to worse.

You want to flee, to take Hermione far away from Hogwarts and hide, but you know that isn't an option. If the Dark Lord wins the battle here today, there is no hiding.

Hermione tugs on your arm as you take a step forward, deliberately preventing you from moving any further. You shift your glance towards her, and the look on her face shatters you.

She doesn't say anything at first, merely throwing herself in your arms. For a while you held her tightly, glad of any diversion at this point.

“I won't be able to carry on without you.” Hermione mutters against your shoulder.

Her words were blunt and conclusive, and yet so helpless, it made you want to weep. You couldn't imagine your life without her either.

“I know.” You respond soberly.

“But we can't stay down here. Harry needs our help.” You add, and at the mention of her best friend, Hermione seemed to gain her bearings, she pulls away, ending the hug.

Her stare is distant, you can tell she was deep in thought by the way her nose scrunched slightly as she chewed on the inside of her cheek– it made you smile.

“If we survive long enough to kill the remaining Horcruxes, we might stand a chance.” She states, with newfound determination.

You nod in agreement. “We have to try.”

Finally, she gazes at you, and just like that, her resolve falters. You felt compelled to grant her a knowing look before placing a lingering kiss on her forehead.

“Come on.” You say, tugging on her arm to lead her out of the chamber. No longer allowing either of you a chance to dither any further.

═══════════════════════════════════════════

By the time you leave the Chamber Of Secrets, things are far worse than you could have imagined.

The Death Eaters have infiltrated the castle, attacking from every which way. The air was engulfed in noises of various curses being thrown, structures being destroyed and people screaming.

Voldermort's followers have somehow managed to get through the protective barrier, and they are relentlessly attacking students and professors alike, no one is safe.

You catch a cloaked figure disapparating into sight just right above you. A knee jerk reaction urges you to extend your wand arm.

“Reducto!” Your careless move pays off as you deflect the Death Eater's curse. The now dead man, propels backwards into a group of students.

The force of your spell blew him to chunks, the sight of it causes the students to recoil, a few of them putting hands over their mouths, trying not to wretch.

It all works to unerve you as well, but the feeling of Hermione grabbing you urges you to stay alert.

Your girlfriend guides you to a fairly secluded area, the west wing of the castle. The ambiance is a stark contrast to the main hall, but the distant sounds of battle continues to leave you on edge.

Hermione pulls out the Marauder's Map once more, hoping luck will be on your side this time.

Still, you find no sign of Harry or Ron.

“Bloody hell, we'll never find them on that.” You remark in frustration, but not a moment later, Harry’s name finally appears upon the parchment.

“There they are, just there.” Hermione points to the spot on the paper, but just as she does, her friend's name disappears into the page once more.

“They just vanished. Just now, I saw it.” Hermione gapes, and you remain silent, the both of you trying to make sense of it.

Perhaps the map was faulty, but that doesn't make much sense considering how well it has worked before– Your mind reels, another beat passes, and then it hits you.

“Wait, maybe they've gone to the Room Of Requirement. It doesn't show up on the map, does it?” You suggest, and Hermione's eyes widen.

“That's right.” She says, then she is silent, as if thrown off balance, and you realize you have to take the reins this time.

“Let's go.” You grab her hand, leading the way this time, towards the astronomy wing.

═══════════════════════════════════════════

You overhear a bit of commotion as you enter the room, Hermione lifts a finger up to her lips, gesturing that you stand back for a moment to listen, and you give her a curt nod in compliance.

“You have something of mine, I'd like it back.”

“What's wrong with the wand you have?”

You immediately recognize Harry's voice, as well as Draco's. It makes your heart sink to your stomach, he is still alive.

You have to see him.

You step forward past Hermione, and as expected she attempts to stop you.

“Y/n, wait.” She scolds in a hushed tone, but you advance anyway. Hermione now has no choice but to follow closely behind.

“Draco.” You call out to him, making yourself known. You then notice that he was not there alone, Goyle and Blaise stood on either side of him.

Harry and Ron whipped around at the sound of your voice, a look of what seems like relief upon their faces.

Your best friend on the other hand appears stunned, he only glances between you and Hermione.

Although you couldn't quite make out his expression, whether it was fear or guilt, the sight of you manages to pacify him well enough as he starts to lower his wand, but Goyle had other plans.

Goyle retracts his arm in preparation to attack, but your girlfriend reacts quickly.

“Expelliarmus!”

She doesn't manage to disarm the man, instead only provoking Goyle to re direct his wrath towards her.

In a fit of rage he throws another curse. “Avada Kedavra!” He shouts.

A flash of green appears, and your heart stops.

“Stupefy!” Hermione narrowly avoids the killing curse, and pure unfiltered dread overcomes you.

Your girlfriend could have easily just been killed at the hands of someone you once called a friend.

This realization acted like a jolt to your system, igniting a patent fury within you.

It shows clear on your face as you advance forward, Goyle flinches, lowering his wand.

Blaise and Draco are first to remove themselves from the scene, disappearing in the opposite direction.

“Look, mate– I didn't mean–” He starts, but as you take another step, the man panics, turning around to bolt out of sight.

Without a moment's thought you sprint after him, clutching your wand so tight that your knuckles begin to turn a shade paler.

“Goyle!” You shout, turning a corner, but he was nowhere to be found.

This only aided in infuriating you further.

“Don't hide from me, you fucking coward!” Your taunt proves effective, as a curse catapults your way.

In the throes of your rage, you manage to deflect it with ease. Goyle emerges from behind the large pile of discarded furniture, Draco and Blaise behind him.

“Crucio!” You shout without hesitation, the curse misses him by an inch.

Goyle's expression twists, but he doesn't attempt to strike back.

“Y/n!” “Come on, we've got the diadem.” Hermione's voice remains distant as you focus your attention on Golye.

“Sectumsempra!” You throw the curse, and then another immediately after. He deflects them one by one, but you are so relentless in your efforts that amidst the struggle, he inevitably loses his balance, landing on the ground.

You had a clear shot of him now, you extend your arm, but before you can decide which curse to torment him with, Hermione grabs you by the shoulder, forcefully turning you around.

“Stop, enough!” “Look at me.” She places a firm hand on your jaw, urging you to look upon her properly.

“I'm unhurt.” She reminds you, her tone now far more gentle as she wishes for her words to sink in.

“Please, we need to focus, y/n.” Hermione adds. Then, you avert your gaze, almost ashamed.

Hermione was right, now was hardly the time to allow your temper to guide you, hurting Goyle can't be your priority.

“Come.” She coaxes, intertwining your fingers, but before you can walk with her, you hear a scoff.

You turn to find no trace of Draco or Goyle, but Blaise remains standing, scowling at the pair of you in disgust.

“Pathetic.” He remarks, scornfully.

“I can hardly believe I ever considered you a friend.. you spineless fool.” Blaise hisses, staring directly at you.

You felt as though your insides were burning with the force of your anger, your jaw tightens.

Hermione only sighs, she clutches your hand tightly.

“Y/n please. Just leave it.” She begs, and a more sensible part of you hears her, deciding to be the bigger person, you turn around once more to take your leave with her.

“I should have killed your mudblood pet when I had the chance.” Blaise revolts in order to tempt a reaction out of you, and he succeeds.

You whisk around with the intention to fight back but before you can do anything, Blaise has his wand pointed directly at you.

“Fiendfyre.” He recites, and a steady stream of blazing heat flows out of his wand, engulfing the atmosphere.

“Aguamenti!” Hermione rapidly waves her wand, and a barricade of water prevents the two of you from being burnt alive, you can only observe as Blaise flees the scene.

Hermione holds the barrier for a long while but the fire doesn't let up, instead it only grows bigger and hotter.

“We have to run, I can't hold it much longer.” Your girlfriend's voice is strained, and you can only nod in acknowledgement as you prepared to run with her in the opposite direction.

The large sentient flame chases you through the room, twisting and morphing into different variations of beasts.

This was a curse you had never seen casted before, one you didn't understand how to subdue, and from the looks of it, neither did Hermione.

“Run!” You shout as you approach Harry and Ron, but it is too late. Fire has surrounded you on all sides. The room was going up in flames at a rapid pace, and you were bound to burn with it if you didn't act fast.

A bead of sweat rolls down your forehead, the sweltering heat making it difficult for you to think. But then, by a miracle, Ron stumbles upon a solution you were seeking.

He tosses the discarded pile of brooms onto the ground, enough for each of the boys and one for you and Hermione to share.

“Come on, this way!”

As you took flight, your girlfriend clutched onto you tightly, at one point even burying her face into your shoulder.

You couldn't tell if it was the prospect of flying that frightened her, or the mere possibility of plummeting to your death into a sea of flames.

Either way, you were terrified too.

“The doors!” Harry shouts as you approached the exit, and Hermione takes the initiative to force them open with her wand.

The four of you manage to escape the fire, stumbling out the room simultaneously.

Harry ungraciously sets Ravenclaw's diadem onto the ground. You manage to retrieve the Basilisk fang from your pocket, chucking it to him.

With one large motion, the chosen one stabs the Horcrux with the tooth, it flings up into the air violently, a screeching noise erupts, piercing and unsettling as it wailed in pain.

Harry kicks away the object mid air, and it flies into the Room Of Requirement, engulfed by the flames.

It is over– that is until the fire starts to take the shape of Lord Voldermort, three headed and angry, it charges towards all of you, but before it can cause any of you real damage, it is mercifully barred by the doors, the Room Of Requirement once again disappearing into the walls, as if it never existed at all.

You share a look of relief with Hermione, but it is shortlived at the sight of Harry suddenly collapsing onto the ground.

The man grimaces in pain, and you deduce that the Dark Lord must have sensed that yet another Horcrux had been destroyed, another part of his soul, gone.

By the time Harry opens his eyes to look up at the three of you, his chest is heaving violently, he speaks through heavy breaths.

“It's the snake– she's the last one. It's the last Horcrux.” Harry states, confirming your suspicions.

But then you pause, searching your memory, you think back to all those you have destroyed. Nagini being another part of the Dark Lord's soul made complete sense, but to your knowledge, Voldermort had split his soul into seven pieces, and you've only destroyed five Horcruxes so far.

There is one more you have yet to locate.

You glance at Hermione, and her brows were furrowed in similar confusion. Half a beat passes, and her expression shifts in accordance to your own, the realization graces the both of you at the same time, but neither of you dared to speak it aloud.

Harry was the final Horcrux.

Ron kneels next to his friend, a reaffirming hand on his shoulder. “Look inside him, Harry.”

"Find out where he is. If we find him, we can find the snake.” Ron suggests the perilous tactic, but Harry does as he is asked, you need to take every risk right now if you hoped to have any chance at defeating the Dark Lord.

His face twists in pain once more, Harry doesn't speak, his eyes clenched shut.

Soon, a worried Hermione kneels by him as well.

After several moments of tense anticipation, Harry gasps, as if it pained him every time his lungs fill with air, his eyes fly open before he speaks.

“I know where he is.” He croaks.

#hermione granger imagine #hermione x reader #slytherin au #hermione granger #harry potter #hermione granger x reader #hermione granger smut #harry x hermione #draco malfoy x reader

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spikesbicth · 5 months

Text

Your Whole World

Astarion x Reader!Female!DarkUrge One shot

approx 3.2k words.

CW: 18+, minors DNI, face fucking, oral sex, fingering, PiV, smut, choking, bleeding, biting. rough sex, creampie, blood play

cross posted on ao3

A/N: oh hi everyone… I couldn’t resist adding an Astarion smut to my repertoire. Besides, he has such a chokehold on me right now. A few things; if you have read my other posted one shot, you make notice a few similarities. I’m very proud of that fic and this being my first time writing in over a year, I borrowed a few elements from it to inspire me and get ideas flowing. It’s minor, but just FYI. also, sorry if there are any glaring grammatical mistakes/typos/tense errors. also i barely proofread. the majority of this was written in the middle of the night so I could give all of you sadistic fucks the most heinous christmas gift ever. So enjoy some sex and a dash of fluff. please don’t hesitate to give me feedback :)

Nothing sparked a glow in Astarion’s eyes like watching you standing over your most recent kill; bloodied and battered beneath you moments after landing your final strike. Lowering your hands and brushing loose hair from out of your face, you lift your gaze to meet his.

“Gods, it never gets old watching you work” he purrs, stepping towards you to further relish the moment now that the enjoyment of the bloodbath you created could begin.

Months had passed since you freed yourselves of your pasts. Astarion, exacting revenge against Cazador and ascending to his present form. Yourself through your rejection of Bhaal. Together you destroyed the Elder Brain, banishing any doubt that either of you would be puppeted by anyone, ever again. You remembered the night it all ended fondly, Astarion pressing you to accept his gift of immortality. Though you declined at the time, citing your desire to experience the rush of near death but a few more times, you assured you always planned to accept and commit to an eternity with him. You also remembered the way he fucked you that night, bringing you to the brink of ecstasy and back. How he promised to make you edge for every so-called “rush-of-near-death” you wished to experience before entering immortality with him. How he fed on you until you were nearly drained, exacting his dominance over your life. How much you

fucking.

loved it.

In the time since that night, you had parted ways with your companions and set forth on your journey together. Time was spent ravaging the nobles estates, killing off anyone who threatened you, giving in to every sadistic whim and desire. Nothing but the exacting of pure chaos as a victory lap before getting down to the real business. Power was still to be exacted.

“My Queen of the Hells…” He breathes, stepping towards you across the white tiled floor of the home belonging to whatever Mage of High Sorcery you had just butchered. Still meeting his gaze, you watch his pupils dilate as the scent of your own blood from the oozing gash on your cheek overcomes him.

You smile, extending your hand for him to take. His hand meets yours for a brief moment, before tracing his fingers up your forearm across to your waist and holding you firmly against his body. The both of you take a moment to admire the bodies that dotted the main floor of the ornate home, and the blood that so starkly contrasted the white decor.

“Shall we explore?” You ask, a cunning smile spreading across your lips. Astarion nods, his face dotted with specks of blood and his pupils so black they eclipsed his crimson irises.

“My love, you know I want to.” He affirms, his voice liquid velvet echoing the grand hall you stood in. After all this time, even his smallest endearments still fill your abdomen with warmth.

Together, you proceed up the opulent white tile staircase to the second level. There is no secret as to what you were looking for. Nothing filled you with lust and desire the way watching Astarion dominate his opponents in battle did. His most malicious attacks read like a dance, it seemed even his enemies were not immune to melting in his striking gaze. Though you promised to yourself that you would never be a servant to anyone again, the rules were much more malleable when it came to Astarion. You adored being under him, subject to his control and desires, the feeling of existing to pleasure him. Property he cherished, though still his property, he once declared.

At the end of the hallway at the top of the stairs, the former tenants bedroom lay vacant and freshly tidied. You watch as his graceful hand turns the doorknob and unlatches the door. On the other side was an appropriately opulent bed chamber dimly lit by fading mage light, now that the magic of the previous owner had begun to dispel. Upon entering the room, Astarion’s focus intensifies on you.

“Gods… you’re so beautiful…” He turns to you, his eyes examining your face, one of his fangs caught on the outside of his slightly parted lips. He brings his free hand to your bloodied cheek, pressing his thumb into it. You welcome the wince of pain at his hand and lingering for a moment. You could see the lust in his darkened eyes, hear the desire in his gruff voice.

You bring your hand to meet his on your face, and press his thumb deeper into your wound. The pain elicits a sharp exhale, and you watch Astarions eyes flicker to yours then back to your wound. Every sensation he imparts upon you was a taste of bliss. He slips his hand out from under yours, and brings his thumb to his mouth, gently licking it before closing his lips around it. A soft moan escapes him. He wants all of you.

The moment he removes his thumb from his mouth, you move to meet his lips with yours, entering a forceful and hungry kiss. You taste the slight sour of your blood in his mouth as he teases your lips with his tongue. You press your body against his, feeling a growing bulge in his pants.

“May I, darling?” He asks as his hands find the bottom of your shirt . You nod, and he tugs it over your arms and head. Your freed breasts bounce gently from the movement, and Astarion quickly brings his fingers to your erecting nipples. You press yourself further into him, kissing him hard. He hadn’t yet removed his light armour, and the coolness of the metal tingles your nipples and hardens them even further. He kneels, trailing kisses down your chest as you stand, and makes quick work of the tie holding up your trousers. He slides them off you with your undergarments and aided you in removing your shoes. He rises to standing again, gently nibbling at you on the way up to meet your lips again.

You pull away from the kiss for a moment, bringing a hand down to the base of his top, awaiting him to assist you in the removal of his layers.

“Mmmm..” He moans in anticipation, “Not this time my pet.” A sultry growl in his voice. He places his hands on your shoulders, and slowly presses you down. “On your knees, my precious thing.” He orders.

You obey, lowering to the floor. The cold hard tile digging into your kneecaps as you look up to Astarion from the ground.

You are his precious thing.

He takes a step back to remove his own armor and clothing as you watch, kneeling naked on the floor in front of him. Your heart quickened and you felt your folds dampen with arousal as Astarion removed his pants, freeing his erect cock that had been buldging for freedom just moments prior. His tip already slick with precum, glistening in the dusky room. Your mouth waters in anticipation. He indulges in a few strokes of his length before stepping closer to you, your eyes level with his muscular lower abdomen. There you sat beneath him, eyes wide with admiration and chilled from the cool tile floor, dripping in your own arousal, waiting.

“My love, do open your mouth for me.” He asks, his voice a breathy hush.

You obey, parting your lips and letting your tongue slide out. You knew how he wanted to use you, how you wanted to worship him. With your hands clasped behind your back, you welcomed his cock into your mouth. Your mouth waters at the saltiness of his precum and Astarion’s composure falters as a moan escapes him. He adored fucking you this way.

His cock quickly met the back of your throat, and you began to salivate fiercely to welcome it. You try to swallow but your throat closes around Astarion’s cock, and saliva begins to pool in your lower jaw. He slowly fucks your mouth, pulling out so that his tip met your lips, then thrusting hard to push his cock further and further down your throat, digging for your gag reflex. You cough, and your vision blurs as tears well up in your eyes.

“Oh, that’s it pet,” He moans, pushing deeper into your throat. Tears spill over, running down your cheeks and you blink to clear your vision as well as you can. He feels the flood of saliva building in your mouth and withdraws, then cocks his head to one side in admiration of you. Saliva flows down your chin and neck, dripping on the floor between you. You gasp for air, then open your mouth once again. He smirks, and runs his hand through your hair. He aligns his cock with your mouth again once more, you allow him to enter but not before teasing the spot below his glans that you know will send thunder through him.

The delicate moment is lost upon an abrupt thrust of Astarion’s hips, forcing his cock as far down your throat as he could. He continues to fuck your face with concentrated thrusts at the back of your throat, blocking any air from entering your lungs. A burning sensation grows in your chest as you try and fail gasp for air. Your vision grows fuzzy as a dark veil begins to shroud the corners of your vision, and you begin to choke. He takes a fistful of your hair and pulls you off of your cock, leaving a string of saliva pulling from your mouth to the tip of his throbbing length. Tears trail down your cheeks and you quietly gasp for air. Seconds after you inhale he shoves his cock back into you, fucking even harder than before.

“That's it my love, I know you yearn for breathlessness, I could give you this forever.” He praises, tightening his grip on your hair and humming with pleasure. You catch him with his gaze towards the ceiling, enjoying the filthy sounds. Beginning to feel the fire in your chest building again, Astarion pulls himself out and you gasp for breath, this time with enough time to notice the tears and saliva mixing with the blood from your face flowing down your bare chest.

Nearly as exerted as yourself, Astarion comes to his knees to greet you, meeting your slick and swollen lips with his own.

“Look what you’ve done to me…” you whispered between kisses, reaching up to feel the wetness on your face.

“I am not nearly done with you yet,” Astarion growls, pulling away from your lips then tonguing over his own, relishing the taste of your blood. He placed one hand on your mid back, and another to guide you down to lay gently on the floor. The chill of the tile on your warmed skin sent a shiver through your body, causing your nipples to erect once again and goosebumps to cover your body. Astarion smirks, admiring your body and the arousal leaking from between your legs. He works his way down your neck placing loose, open mouth kisses down your neck and chest, allowing his fangs to catch on your skin as he moves. He finds your left nipple and began to trace his tongue around the hardened sphere of flesh, sucking and flicking.

“Astar…ion….” you moan, fluttering your eyes. Now he was just teasing you, waiting for your patience to wane. “A..Ast..star..ion” you moan again, your clit swelling and throbbing between your legs. “P…p..please… Ast..star..ion” you beg, undulating your hips to touch his, attempting to alert him of your desires.

“Impatient tonight are we, my dear?” He coos, looking up to your eyes from where his face rested on your breast.

“P..please… touch me..” you beg, and you see a grin spread across his face, his two fangs glinting in the light.

“Now am I supposed to say no to that?” he asserts, not breaking his gaze as he begins kissing and lightly biting down your abdomen. Your stomach fluttered as you watched him move towards your pelvis. You admire his beautiful silver curls shift on his head while he moves his hands to your thighs to signal you to spread them, and you obey.

He traces circles with his fingers on your thighs, sending shivers through your body. Slick fluid drips through your folds and you feel your walls pulsating with the beat of your heart, you are desperate for him. You are certain you have never wanted anyone more than you have ever wanted Astarion, beautiful, powerful, Astarion. His aspirations, his ascension, and your mutual freedom, his unwavering devotion to you and only you. Gods, was there anything else you truly needed besides him?

You are snapped back to reality when he licks his cunning tongue up your folds, circling quickly around your clit. You take a sharp breath in and wrap your legs over his muscular shoulders, taking a fistful of his curls in your right hand. He wraps an arm around one leg and pressed down on your lower abdomen a few finger widths above your pelvic bone, not breaking the contact between his tongue and your clit. His ascendant strength holds you down as you adjust your hips, begging for him to indulge you. He teases your entrance with an icy finger, and you clench around nothing. A moment later, he slowly pushes two fingers inside of you, hooking them rhythmically to catch your G-spot. Your back arches and waves of warmth course through your body, reveling in the pleasure he was bestowing upon you. He drags you up to the “Darling, I thought you’d never ask” he responds coyley. It was often routine for him to feed on you while he fucked you, elevating his own ecstasy and you enjoying the way he held your delicious little life in his hands.

He kisses his way to your left inner thigh, and without warning, pierces his fangs into your tender skin, and blood begins to spill. You breathe out slowly, enjoying the pain he inflicts on you and the pleasure from the fingers still toying with your clit. You feel him drinking from you and your blood pressure dropping, sending a shockwave of dizziness to your head. This was pleasure like you had never experienced before him.

Astarion rises from his feed at your thigh, and slinks his way back to meet your mouth with his. Once again you taste your own blood in his mouth as he kisses you with such urgency and near corporeal desire.

“I need you… to be inside you..” he desperately speaks between kisses, and you feel him shift his weight to fumble with his throbbing cock. His facade has cracked, palpable, burning eagerness leaking through. He parts your folds and drags his cock against his bite, still exuding blood. For a moment he teases your entrance with his tip, but you know his grip on his composure was slipping. Carnal. Insatiable, it was coming.

He thrusts inside of you, and you moan with adjuration. Your walls expand for him, and you spread your legs, bending your knees to allow him the deepest thrusts he could muster. Your breasts bouncing in rhythm with him, and you reach your arms around his shoulders to pull him nearer to you. You moan hungrily in his ear, knowing this and the filthy noises of your fucking would drive him duly mad. He moans, breathing heavily and kissing you hard, enjoying every sensation of you around his cock. It was clear that he was edging to his finale, but it was now your turn.

You untangle your arms from him and press your hands on the front of your chest, and gain enough leverage to roll him off you and onto his back, you, only an instant behind him. You slide him back inside of you, then bring your hand to his mouth for another taste of your wetness and blood. He closes his eyes and licks your fingers, preparing himself for your turn of the fun.

His cock flexes inside of you and you find his wrists and guide his arms above his head, gripping them tightly to the floor. Your extended position leaves your breasts hanging just above his mouth, and he lifts his head to lick and suck. Slowly at first, you lift your hips so only the tip of his length remains inside of you, linger for a moment, only to come crashing down to him. His eyes widened and mouth opened, an aching moan coming from within him. You repeated the motion, watching him gasp and moan, withholding and flooding him with pleasure. The stickiness of your arousal, his precum, and your blood mixing on his thighs, squelching with each of your movements. After demonstrating your control over him, you release your grip from his wrists above his head, and lean back, forcing his cock to press into your walls. His hands find your hips, and he digs his fingers into you as you rhythmically fuck him. You push him closer and closer as slowly as you can handle. You push him to the edge, so, so close.

You find your swollen clit with your free hand, and begin rubbing in heavy circles. Astarion loves watching you pleasure yourself on him, using him to reach your own peak before allowing him his own. As you rub yourself and ride him, you feel intense pleasure rising within you.

“I- I’m going to come,” you moan, moving your hips faster and faster on his cock while applying more pressure on your throbbing clit.

Astarion opens his mouth to speak, but no words arrive, only fast, broken breaths.

You sing his name while you squeeze him with your thighs, gushing over his cock. Finally, you are over the edge. An intense euphoria floods through you as your walls contract around his cock. Your heart races and you gasp for breath, reveling in the pure pleasure you were experiencing. Astarion bucks his hips into you, desperate to spill himself inside. His silver curls now clung to his sweat-dampened forehead.

“O-oh f.. oh fuck…” He speaks, now fully lost his control and desperate only to join you in your pleasure. The contractions of your walls on him are sending him over. A powerful moan rises from his chest and with a few beastly thrusts inside of you, he spills. When he comes, he throws his head back and moans your name so it echoes within the tiled bed chambers.

His thrusts mellow, and eventually his twitching cock inside you calms. You lay forward on him,

His breath slows, and he wraps his arms around you, welcoming his coolness. He kisses your temple, then begins to rise. He helps you to the freshly made bed, and rests beside you.

“I love you, Astarion.” you say quietly, delighting in his arms woven around you.

There you lay together in your nakedness, the sweetness of your undying love cleansing all desire for anything more. No promise of power could be worth the sacrifice of losing each other. Despite both your aspirations and contributions to chaos, the constant of having each other for eternity was an invaluable prize to you both. You turn and delicately kiss his neck, breathing in and savouring his scent garnished with the metallic of your blood that was beginning to dry and crack on your skin. You feel his embrace tighten around you and you close your eyes, listening to his beating heart and melting into the arms of your little star. And he loves you too.

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xmalereader · 2 years

Text

Simon Riley X Male Reader

|| Masterlist ||

Authors Note: Here is my first Simon “ghost” Riley shot! Now, I didn’t play this game but do have some knowledge of it…since I did research on his character and everything like that but either way, hope you enjoy and sorry that it’s short!

Summary: Simon is finally at peace and trying to move forward with his life without thinking about death and war. He moves to a new town where he visits a bakery owned by a very persuasive owner.

Warnings: Fluff, domestic ghost, Simon Riley, change of views, reader is a dilf, single parent, mention of abuse, past abuse, slight flirting, bakery AU, Ghost deserves a break.

Word count: 2.2k

Simon had lived his life in fear.

Fear of his own father and fear of his own future. When he joined the task force 141, he didn’t think that he’d accept his teammates as close friends, people that he grew protective whenever they were in missions together. His bond with Jonny deepened during their time together, allowing himself to open up a little whenever he was around the other or whenever they had time. After spending majority of his life in the special forces he didn’t think that he’d finally give himself a break. To sit down and relax, not having to worry about the bloodshed and the worry of losing anyone else.

When he first made the decision of giving himself a break and returning back home he has grown restless and uncomfortable by the sudden change. He didn’t see himself having a domestic life, used to the violence and death that surrounded him. He was still cautious whenever he walked the streets, head low and face hidden. No matter how many times he told himself that he was free to remove his mask he couldn’t find it in himself to do so. He insisted on keeping his face covered, hiding from the public’s eyes until he felt comfortable at the new adjustment in his life.

He first started with his new place, settling in and making the place comfortable and to his liking, after he created his own routine. Giving himself time to adjust to the new changes of his life, having no plans to return back to the task force. If he was ever told that he was needed back he wouldn’t hesitate to do so, but deep down inside he knew that he deserved this break and that they’ll have to rely on someone else’s help.

During his time back, he’d given himself the opportunity to roam the area. Spotting a few families here and there, minding their own business as he walks down the street. He didn’t pay much attention to his surroundings until he reached the end of the road, going around the corner to come face to face with a small ship, tucked away. He takes notice of the empty shop even though it was clearly open, allowing the public to enter whenever they please. Simon doesn’t know what lures him into the shop but upon entering he’s hit with the strong scent of yeast and coffee beans, even though his mask he’s able to smell the mixture of both scents.

He’s standing in the empty shop, eyes roaming the place as he takes in the interior of the place before his eyes land on a young man, his back facing him as he hums softly to himself. The shops music plays in the background, soft piano keys playing as the man behind the counter sways side to side, focusing on their own task, clearly not taking notice of their new customer. Simon doesn’t wish to interrupt and decides to sit in one of the empty tables, leaning back in his chair as he glanced at the man every few minutes before turning his gaze out the window, watching the world go by.

It wasn’t until a cup of tea is set in front of him, snapping his attention towards the man who was standing behind the counter now standing next to him, silently serving him some tea. Their own eyes focused on the warm liquid being poured into the small cup, soft smile on his lips as he holds the kettle up and away once he finished pouring the tea.

“I didn’t order tea.”

The young man shifts their gaze towards Simon, looking into his brown eyes as they smiled. “I know.” He simply says, stepping away from the table. “It’s on the house.” He adds before leaving Simon on his own and continuing on with their own business, returning behind the counter as he cleaned up the counter and focused on completing the bread he was baking. The man didn’t cower away in fear like most people would, instead he served Simon a drink, gave him a soft smile and returned back to his own tasks.

Simon didn’t say a word after their small interaction, watching him in silence as the man behind the counter finishes with their baking, placing trays of bread and cookies inside an oven as he sets a timer and cleans up the counter in the meantime. Simon doesn’t touch the tea nor does he drink it, not comfortable enough to remove his mask or to at least lift it up in order to take a small sip. He didn’t know why the man was being kind with him or what his motive was. He stares at the warm cup of tea in front of him, frowning under his mask as he stares at his own reflection. Before he could reach out and touch the warm cup, the door to the shop is shoved open.

A teen rushing inside as they apologize frantically to the older man who can only smile and provide them reassurance. Simon doesn’t stay long and is standing from his seat and leaving the shop before its crawling with people. When he arrives back to his place he grows curious of the place and does some research, finding out that the owner of the bakery was the same man who served him tea. The bakery was popular around the area and many came to visit during certain hours of the day, Simon doesn’t return back to the bakery until a week later.

It was late in the afternoon, the sun was slowly setting and the streets were slowly dying down. People were making their way back home from work or visiting friends and eating out together. When Simon entered the bakery he expected the place to be empty, ready to clean up and close for the night. Instead the tables near the windows were full with teenagers who have finished their classes for the day, sitting and drinking their coffees along with eating the pastries that the bakery provided them. Simon huffs to himself, shifting his gaze towards an empty spot near the far corner of the shop. He makes his way towards the table and takes a seat.

It doesn’t take long for a teen wearing an apron to approach him. “Welcome, would you like something to drink? Something for the cold weather?” He asks, hands behind his back as he stares down at Simon. The older man clears his throat, leaning back in his chair. “I’ll have some tea.” He answers.

“Anything else?” The teen questions.

Before Simon could say anything else he hears the door behind the counter open, revealing the same man from a few days back exiting the back with a tray of cookies in hand. He stood tall, wearing a brown turtle neck with a black apron around his waist as he focused on restocking the cookies behind the counter, smiling softly to himself, unknown by the eyes staring at him. It wasn’t long until the teen leans over to cover Simons view of the man. The teen frowns at him and raises a brow. “No offense but, please stop staring at my dad.”

This gets Simons attention. “He’s your dad?” He questions, looking over the teens shoulder to give the other man behind the counter a quick look before looking back at the teen. “A bit young to be a father.”

“Adopted—not that it’s your business. But I’ll get you your tea.” The teens voice is full of venom, causing Simon to snicker at his attitude as he watched him walk away. He watched as the teenager grumbled to the other man, whispering harshly to him but the other man stays quiet and listens intently, letting the teenager ramble on as they worked together.

“Fuckin’ stupid machine—!”

“That’s enough.” Y/n frowns, turning to face his son as he snatched the kettle from his hands. “You’ll break the machine and if you break it. I will remove the pat from your check.”

“You can’t do that!”

“My bakery my rules.” Y/n points a finger at him in warning, getting a pout from the teen as Y/n focused on making the tea. The two are quiet for a few minutes until the teenager breaks the silence. “He’s back.” He whispered, nodding towards the corner where Simon sat on his own. Y/n doesn’t look up or pay much attention. “And? He’s a customer and we do our job. If he scares you then suck it up.” He grins, finishing up the tea and handing him the drink. “If you are scared I can take it to him.”

“No way, he sounds like an asshole and wouldn’t stop staring at you.”

“Really?” This gets his attention, finally looking over his shoulder to stare at Simon. The masked man stared back at him, his brown eyes staring deep into his own as he blushed softly before looking away. “Well—“ he clears his throat, taking the tea with him. “Why don’t I introduce myself?” He smirks.

His son groans. “Please don’t flirt.” He pleads while watching him walk away with tea in hand and approaching Simon. “Didn’t think I’d see you here again.” He admits, setting the cup in front of Simon as the other hums in response. “I could say the same.”

Y/n chuckles. “Oh! I also want to apologize for my sons behavior—didn’t think I could hear him when the place is very small.” He let’s him know, not wanting to offend or upset the other man from his sons attitude or perhaps sarcastic wits. “He speaks his mind sometimes and it can get some people upset by what he says.”

“Nothing he said offended me—he was just keeping an eye out for his father. Which I think is far too young to be one.” Simons finger grazed over the rim of the cup, tapping his point finger against the handle and having a feel of the warm cup in hand. “Are you—?”

“His father? Yes, by blood? No. But I don’t see him any less.” Y/n responds back with a smile. “I adopted him at a young age, single parenting isn’t easy but the poor kid had a rough life. Lived in the streets at a very young age, parents weren’t so great.” He mumbled, eyes full of sorrow as he remembers the first time he found the kid alone in the streets, holding a worn out blanket and wrapping it around his shivering body. He sat outside his bakery during earlier hours, y/n always gave him a warm meal without making the kid pay anything. He’d grown used to the kid visiting him everyday that when he suddenly went missing he grew worried and anxious, even though the kid wasn’t his he still saw him as family.

Y/n later found out that the kid was living in a abusive home, both parents not caring for the child as they threw him out and forced him to live in the cold weather. The baker didn’t hesitate to make things right, getting the proper people involved and finally taking the kid under his wing, adopting the kid from his abusive family and giving him the home and love that he needed. Even though his son was protective he was still a kid at heart who was healing from his past. He shakes the memory away and provides a soft smile to the other. “Besides, he’s a great kid.”

Simon was staring at him, smiling softly under his own mask as he agrees. “I bet he is.” He muffled out, taking in the other man’s warm presence. He didn’t think that someone so young would own a bakery, let alone one not too far away from where he lived now. “What’s your name?” He finally asks.

“Y/n and your’s—if I may?” Y/n raises a brow with a grin on his face.

Simon opens and closes his mouth, not comfortable enough to reveal his name and decides to stick with his code name. “Ghost.”

“Ghost?” Y/n repeats the name, chuckling to himself and decides not to question it. “Very well, ghost. It’s nice to meet you. I wish I could stay and continue our conversation but classes end in ten minutes and the place will be packed with university students.” He checks the watch on his wrist, taking notice of the time. He’d have to finish up the rest of the cookies if he is too sell them all today and perhaps give a few freebies if the students get lucky enough.

“At this hour?” Simon didn’t think that students would still be in class at such a late hour. “You’d be surprised.” Y/n’s place was always packed during this hour due to students leaving class with empty stomachs and finding their way to the bakery or to find a comfortable and warm place to study. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. It was nice meeting you, hope we met again.” He gives Simon a nod before rushing towards the back.

Simon watched him disappear in the back, chuckling softly and turning his gaze towards the cup of tea that Y/n provided for him. Simon wasn’t one to stay in one place for too long, but perhaps he’d give this town a chance and continue visiting the bakery.

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