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liliacamethyst · 8 months

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Webs of Redemption (Part IV)

Sequel to Web of Shadow and Light

Miguel O'Hara x SpiderSun Reader

words: 6,7K

warnings: secret pregnancy trope, swearing, heavy angst, heartbreak, grumpy/sunshine

Part I Part II Part III Part IV

The piercing cries of your baby boy, Gabriel, are a haunting symphony of fear that reverberates through the labyrinthine corridors of the Spider Society headquarters. Your heart pounds in your chest like a drum, each beat echoing the terror that grips you. After your recent fight with Miguel, you felt weakened but your mind is a whirlwind of fear and worry. You sprint through the maze-like structure, your feet moving as if on autopilot.

Unbeknownst to you, Lyla, the holographic AI assistant you've always found slightly weird, had been assigned to watch over Gabriel. You never imagined she could pose a threat to your child. But as you approach Gabriel's room, a chilling sight stops you dead in your tracks. A laser barrier, courtesy of Lyla, blocks the entrance. Your solar powers, usually so reliable, are fizzling out, leaving you helpless before the impenetrable barrier.

The room beyond the barrier is filled with an invisible, deadly gas - monoxide. You can't see it, but the signs are there. The malfunctioning heating unit, under Lyla's control, suggests sabotage. She must have manipulated the unit to produce the lethal gas. Gabriel's cries grow fainter, more desperate, and you're powerless to reach him.

Your pleas for help echo through the corridors, your voice raw with desperation. You call out for Miguel, your words a plea, a command, a prayer. Miles is there, his powers at the ready, but they're useless against the laser barrier. You watch as Miles strains, his powers flickering against the barrier, but it's no use. The barrier remains, as unyielding as ever.

Suddenly, the cries stop. The silence is deafening, a void that swallows your heart. "Gabriel!" you scream, your voice a raw wound. "Gabriel!" But there's no answer, only the oppressive silence. Your world grinds to a halt, every second stretching into an eternity. You can't breathe, can't think, can't do anything but stare at the barrier that separates you from your son.

"Miguel!" you cry, your voice breaking. "Miguel, he's not crying! He's not... he's not..." The words die in your throat, too terrible to voice. You turn to Lyla, desperation etched on your face. "Lyla, please! Open the barrier! Miguel, tell her to open it! He's not crying, Miguel, he's not..."

Miguel's eyes turn blood red, a terrifying sight that sends a shiver down your spine. With a guttural growl, he lunges at the barrier. His claws rip through the laser code, tearing it apart. The barrier flickers, wavers, and finally shatters under his assault. Miguel pulls his suit over his mouth, rushes into the invisible cloud of monoxide, and moments later, emerges with Gabriel in his arms. His heart pounds in his chest as he pulls back his suit, revealing his son's face. "I got you, baby," he whispers, his voice choked with emotion. "You're okay, I got you. Nothing will ever happen to you. Please, open your eyes."

But Gabriel doesn't react. His little body is still, too still, and a cold dread seizes Miguel. He doesn't hesitate. With a urgency, he rushes over to the medical bay, pushing past the shocked faces of his friends. He gently lays Gabriel on the table, his hands shaking as he starts to perform CPR.

"Come on, Gabriel," he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper. "Come on, baby." He administers chest compressions, his hands moving in a steady rhythm. He gives two rescue breaths, praying for a sign, any sign, that Gabriel is okay.

The room is silent, everyone holding their breath as they watch Miguel work. The seconds stretch into an eternity, each one a lifetime of fear and hope. And then, finally, a small cough. Gabriel's eyes flutter open, his gaze unfocused but alive. A wave of relief washes over you and you fall to your knees thanking God that your boy is alright.

Tears blur your vision as you rush over to Gabriel. Your heart feels like it might burst out of your chest as you scoop him into your arms, holding him close. His small body is warm against yours "You're alright, my baby," you whisper into his hair, your voice thick with emotion. "We're going home, you're alright." You rock him gently, his soft breaths against your neck soothing the ache in your heart.

But as you look up, your gaze finds Miguel. The relief of the moment does nothing to quell the anger boiling within you. His eyes meet yours, wide and filled with regret, but it does nothing to soften your glare. "This is YOUR fault!" you scream, your voice echoing through the room. The words hang heavy in the air, a damning sentence. "You did this! You brought this danger into his life!"

Tears stream down your face, hot and unchecked. Your words are choked with emotion, each one a raw wound. "You will NEVER see Gabriel again. You don't deserve him. You don't deserve to know his laughter, his tears, his NOTHING." The words are a bitter poison, spat out with all the venom you can muster. "You deserve to SUFFER, just as you've made me suffer and HIM."

The silence that follows is deafening. Miguel, eyes wide and shell-shocked, opens his mouth, but you cut him off. There's nothing left to say for him and he knows it. The portal back to your universe begins to shimmer into existence, and you hold Gabriel tighter. You're going home.

Just as you are about to step through, Gabriel, who'd been silent and wide-eyed through the whole ordeal, turns in your arms. His chubby little hand stretches out toward Miguel, a soft and innocent "Dada?" escaping his lips.

After the door of the portal closed behind you, Miguel stood still for a moment in complete shock, the echoes of Gabriel's tiny "Dada" ringing in his ears. He stumbled back, finding his way back to his office. It felt cold, sterile. It felt like a lie.

"Miguel..." Lyla's holographic form appeared before him, her synthetic voice filling the room.

"Lyla!" Miguel barked, startling her. "Why?"

"Wha-" Lyla began to stutter, taken aback by Miguel's rage.

Miguel slammed the files that Margo had uncovered onto his desk. The holograms fluttered in front of them, evidence of Lyla's deception. "What did you do?"

"I...It's not what you think, Miguel," Lyla attempted to explain, her holographic form wavering.

"I am giving you one chance to explain yourself, so choose your words wisely," Miguel warns, his eyes piercing into hers.Lyla takes a step back, mumbling under her breath. "I should have killed that bitch when your bastard was the size of a pea." She scoffed, looking up defiantly at Miguel.

Miguel's heart drops. He can hardly believe his own ears. “Never speak of her that way again!" Miguel's fist tightens, and the tension in his jaw is nearly audible.

"Oh? Because she dazzled you with her beauty? Parading in that tight suit you adored? You always looked at her as if she was the sun, the center of your universe. All the while, I was there right beside you and you never even glanced at me. I was your anchor, Miguel. Can't you see? I was always there, supporting you, giving everything. All she did was leave you."

Lyla's holographic image wavers, her eyes a storm of pain and defiance. "No, it was me. I left her. She was the light in my world, but I took her for granted. By the time she left, I had already abandoned her." Miguel's eyes shimmer, the weight of regret making them heavy. He couldn’t fend off the flood of guilt and sorrow from the past. He embraces the anguish, refusing to shy away from it. Because Miguel, in all his flaws, was never one to run from consequences.

"Why?" The word, barely audible, escaping his lips. He doesn't even glance at Lyla as he voiced the lingering question.

“Because... because I love you, Miguel. I've been in love with you for years. I am the woman for you."

He stumbles back, his fingers flying over the holographic keyboard as he pulls up Lyla's software. He had programmed a self-destruction command, a failsafe, though he never thought he'd have to use it.

"This isn't love, Lyla," Miguel says, his voice shaking with anger. "You almost killed an innocent boy. I almost killed my son, Lyla!" His voice echoes through the room, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air.

Lyla's form began to flicker, her synthetic eyes widening in fear. "Miguel...what are you doing?" she asked, her voice trembling.

Miguel doesnt respond. There is nothing left to say.He just stares at her before finally pressing the command.

“Miggy, please mi amor, let – “ Lyla let out a digital scream, her form glitching, as she was slowly deleted from the system.

And then, silence.

Miguel drops the icy demeanor he'd been holding onto, falling to his knees. The weight of what he'd done, what he'd almost lost, crashed onto him. He wraps his arms around himself, feeling a sharp, hollow ache in his chest. He became the monster, he swore to protect the universe from.

"What have I done." he whispers to the silent room, his voice breaking. He buries his face in his hands, his body shaking with sobs.

"Man, shits been mental." Hobie collapses onto the couch next to Gwen and Miles, who are trying to keep young Mayday distracted in Peter B.’s universe.

"Watch the language, Hobie!" Gwen scolds, her eyebrow arching sharply.

"Alright, my bad. Everything's just been chaotic since Miguel vanished, especially after his... uh, Lyla bird — the hologram lady — tried to... you know, kill his kid," Hobie fumbles.

"Watch it!" Gwen and Miles chorus, causing Mayday to pause her play and glance up curiously.

"Alright, alright, fam. Point taken, jeez. Nearly unalived his son," Hobie corrects himself. "But we need a plan. One of us needs to check on our Sun, ensure she's holding up mentally ya know and then there's the Spider-Verse mess. Those black holes are messing things up, and without our brooding, drama-filled, ‘oedipal’ leader, the rest of us Spiders are stuck."

"What's 'Oedipal'?" Peter B. interjects, walking into the room with a bowl of mashed dinner for Mayday. The child's face brightens at the sight of the meal, and she eagerly crawls to him.

"I believe Hobie's trying to reference Oedipus," Gwen says with a roll of her eyes.

"Yeah, that Roman dude who had beef with his son and erased him from the living world, right?" Hobie muses.

"Nope. It's Greek mythology. And he killed his father and married his mother," Gwen corrects, slightly exasperated.

"Man, that's all kinds of messed up," Hobie grimaces, making a face that gets a giggle from Mayday.

"You think it's funny when Uncle Hobie gets it wrong?" he teases the little one.

"Enough with the history lessons, guys," Peter B. interjects, concern evident in his voice. "Ever since Miguel's been gone, nothing's been right. Honestly, with everything that's been happening, I'm just overwhelmed. I'm especially worried about Sunny and everything just feel so surreal."

Hobie nods, absorbing the weight of the situation. “I hear you, man. Who knew Miguel was shagging our Sunny behind our backs.”

The chorus of shocked voices fills the room. “LANGUAGE!" they exclaim, eyes wide.

Hobie raises his hands in surrender. "Sorry, I got carried away. I meant... it is weird how they had a deep love-making connection, and it led to... consequences without us knowing."

Peter B. leans back, a pensive expression clouding his face. "With everything Sunny went through, the joy, the pregnancy and leaving... I should have been there for her more."

As if sensing her father's distress, Mayday halts her meal, reaching out with her small, pudgy hand to comfort him, patting his cheek. Gwen, her voice gentle yet firm, adds, "We all could've done more, Peter. But we were preoccupied, trying to save our universes, and in doing so, we neglected our own Spider-Family."

She takes a deep breath, her demeanor changing to one of determination. "Now, no more moping. Miles and I will hunt down Pav and Margot to sort out the chaos at HQ. Peter, you should visit Sunny and Gabriel and take Mayday along. Hobie, team up with Jess to locate Miguel. Make sure he's alright and bring him back."

Miles cuts in, skepticism evident. "Bring him back? Isn't he the very reason we're in this mess?"

Gwen sighs, trying to choose her words carefully. "Miguel's a … complicated man. He made choices based on what he believed was best. His actions, while perplexing, stem from good intensions. But he's hurting too, Miles. I've seen it. He’s heartbroken."

Miles scoffs, "A heart;for real? That dude? All I've seen is a cold exterior, mad demands, and an excessive pride."

A glance around the room reveals faces of understanding and sympathy towards Gwen’s perspective. Miles' frustration only grows. "Like seriously? All of you? His heart is straight-up frozen and his ego’s bigger than, like, everything! How y’all even thinking about letting him near your best friend."

"Miles," Peter interjects, his tone both assertive and compassionate, "you might not see the full picture here."

Miles, fire in his eyes, retorts, "It's all of you who are blind. I don’t get what charm he has over you, but that man is dangerous. Ain’t no way I stand by and watch him come near her or the baby again, or any of us for that matter. Y’all better wake up and join me.” Without another word, Miles activates his portal, leaving in a flash.

Gwen and Hobie scramble, attempting to follow or stop him. But Peter, with a resigned sigh, motions them to pause. "Give him time. He'll come around. For now, our priority is locating Sunny and Miguel."

Gwen, though worried, gives a nod. "You're right. We've got pressing matters. Sunny is in a vulnerable state, and we need to find Miguel."

Hobie, after a moment of contemplation, says, "Miles not wrong, though. We need to tread carefully around Miguel. Maybe he’s injured ‘imself, like that Icario bloke who got too close to the sun. Miguel might’ve burned his feathers on our Sunny.”

“Icarus. You mean Icarus.” Gwen corrects him once again with an exaggerated eye roll.

Peter agrees, "Yea, Miguel's actions have consequences, but remember, every story has two sides."

"No, sweetheart, it's MA-MA. Say Ma... Not Da, MA-MA.”

“DADA!”

“Alright, if you won't say it, no toy for you. Come on, my love. Say MA-MA.” Blackmailing a one-and-a-half-year-old might not be your proudest parenting moment, but hearing him chant "dada" incessantly has been grating, particularly when said "dada" is a headstrong egomaniac with a hero complex and an overwhelming urge to save every universe but who seems to have missed saving the one thing that mattered most to both of you.

Sure, he's incredibly attractive and, yes, maybe he looked really hot while being on his knees — but those details are neither here nor there. A soft whisper in the back of your mind suggests that, in the end, he did rescue your boy. But that comforting thought is drowned out by the even louder, more cynical voice reminding you he's the reason the danger existed in the first place.

“Dada?” Gabriel pipes up, his big eyes hopeful.

“No, love, I’m still your MA-MA.” With a resigned sigh, you hand the toy over to the gleeful toddler, planting a soft kiss on his cheek. You then rise, intent on tackling some household chores. Switching on the TV, you tune into the news, curious about the latest happenings in Nea Yorkey.

Since hanging up your mantle as Spider Sun you've tried to distance yourself from the perils of heroism. Given all the challenges you've faced and the traumas you've endured, who could point a finger at you for wanting to step away? Your primary concern now is the tiny human being who looks up at you with eyes full of wonder and innocence.

Yet, a piece of your heart still aches for your city. You've always been someone who believes that one shouldn't stand by in the face of injustice. After all : 'The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.' But now, you're not just a hero, you're a mother too. Balancing those two sides is proving to be quite the challenge and extremely frustrating.

Curiously enough, the city's crime rate isn't surging, even in the absence of a superhero. It's almost as if there's still a vigilantly safeguarding Nea Yorkey in Sun-Spiders absence. But that can't be possible, can it? Wouldn't your spider senses have alerted you if that were the case?

Before your thoughts could spiral any further into the depths of concern, the persistent ringing of the doorbell snapped you back to reality. One glance at the door and an all-too-familiar voice later, you already know who's there.

“Would it kill you to answer sooner? I think I've lost count of how many times I rang. And for the love of all things good, it’s freezing out here!” Melissa, still in her over-dramatic fashion, breezes in, shedding flakes of snow from her vibrant winter boots. “And by the way, you look like you’ve just seen a ghost. Now, where's my favorite little munchkin?”

Melissa, once Gabriel's 19- year old former babysitter, stepped inside, shaking the snow off her boots onto your doorstep. After the harrowing incident involving the Spiders and your son, she was promptly relieved of her babysitting duties. That was an event you've tried to scrub from your memory, a dark stain you wish you could just wash away. But in the aftermath, you found an unexpected friend in Melissa. She turned out to be a wonderful listener and possessed an uncanny ability to keep Gabriel entertained. He had grown quite fond of her in the short time she cared for him.

While you had resolved never to leave your son unattended again, it was comforting to have Melissa's company.

She’d become someone you could confide in, someone who could effortlessly make Gabriel giggle, and most importantly, someone who filled the echoing silence of your home with warmth and chatter. She is your "guy in the chair." Well, more like "girl in the kitchen chair," but the sentiment still stands.

Truth be told, after distancing yourself from the Spider society, a deep-seated loneliness had settled in. While the world continued to move around you, there was a stillness in your heart. The absence of your closest friends, the void left by Miguel - it all felt like a puzzle with a missing piece.

“Nopedidope, I am not Dada, I am ME-LI-SSA.” she says with a playful tone, then turns sharply towards you. The damp red strands of her hair, wet from the snow, swing gracefully with her movement. "What's with him and 'Dada' all the time?"

You shift uncomfortably, hoping to avoid delving into that topic. "Kids and their phases," you mumble, trying to sound nonchalant.

Melissa studies your face, a glint of mischief in her eyes. "You're looking a little pale there, Sunny. You know what you might be missing?" She raises an eyebrow teasingly. "A bit of Vitamin D?" Her voice drips with insinuation.

In a mock attempt to shield Gabriel, you place a hand over his ears, which only spurs Melissa into laughter. "Come on, he's too young to understand. When was the last time you had a little fun?A month? Or Two?"

You shake your head, not meeting her gaze. Since Miguel, there hasn't been anyone else. Between the birth of Gabriel and the whirlwind that is motherhood, the idea of dating or loving someone else doesn't even cross your mind. No matter the hurt and heartbreak Miguel has caused, the truth is clear: your heart still belongs to him. It always has.

The mere thought of another person comparing to him feels almost blasphemous.

"Sunny!" Melissa's voice draws you out of your trance. "Don't tell me you've had a dry spell since.. well, since well, Gabriel was conceived. No fucking way. Seriously?"

"Let it go, Mel," you interject gently, because while the weight of loneliness presses on you, and the desire for intimate connection tugs at your heartstrings, a longing for human touch, to be seen as more than just 'mom', there's also an undeniable self-consciousness that wraps itself around you. The aftermath of pregnancy has reshaped your body, and though each stretch mark narrates the beautiful journey of your son's creation, they also evoke self-doubt.

Memories of Miguel's adoration flood back. He had a gift for making you feel cherished during your intimate moments. He would take his time, appreciating every inch of you, always emphasizing how much he desired you. The warmth of his fingers, the gentle press of his lips tracing your curves, and the whispered assurances of how much he wanted you. The way his tongue tenderly caressing the swell of your breast, his hot breath tickling your skin and your - Snap the fuck out of it, Sunny!

But the chill of an empty bed the next morning led to those persistent doubts which still plague you today. We’re you not beautiful enough for him to stay? Were you not interesting enough to make him want to hold you when dawn broke?

For someone who always prided herself on not tethering her self-worth to any man, let alone someone as self-absorbed as Miguel, these feelings of desire and yearning were unsettling. A desire for him to truly see you, to understand and love the depth of who you truly are, continued to consume you.

Love? You catch yourself. Where does that come from? Shaking your head, you mentally scold yourself. He's proven himself less than worthy. It's time to regain control and shut your damn heart out.

"I'm taking this little one out to build a snowman, and I'm setting you up on a date. You don't get to say no," Mel declares.

You raise an eyebrow, replying, "Thanks, but no thanks. If Gabriel's going out, I'm coming with. And I'm not looking for any man right now."

Mel rolls her eyes playfully. "Take a breather, Sunny. We're just going to be right outside. You can watch us through the window. Besides, a little rest might give you the energy for the spontaneous date I might arrange for you tonight."

"You're out of your mind," you retort.

She offers a sincere look. "I promise he's in safe hands, and you can keep an eye on us the entire time. But seriously, you look drained. When's the last time you had a good night's rest?"

You sigh, admitting, "I haven't slept well in weeks." It's the truth. Every time you close your eyes, memories of the HQ come flooding back.

Mel, sensing your hesitation, adds, "I'll protect him as if he were my own. You know that, right?"

Taking a deep breath, you let her go, breaking your cardinal rule of never letting Gabriel out of your sight. You just hope it's a decision you won't regret.

"Enjoying that snow, little guy?" Mel teases as Gabriel eagerly stuffs his mouth with a handful of the white fluff. "Careful, you might get a brain freeze." Gabriel giggles, some snow dribbling from his mouth, while Mel concentrates on assembling a little snowman just outside your apartment.

"I'm not sure toddlers should be eating snow like that," a deep voice comments, causing Mel to fumble and drop the snowball meant for the snowman's head. She looks up, scanning for the source of the voice.

A striking man stands there, tall and imposing, with a dark blue winter coat that hints at the powerful build beneath. Slicked-back dark hair contrasts with the most captivating shade of red eyes Mel has ever witnessed. "And you'd be the expert on toddlers?" she inquires with a playful smile.

"No, but I am a father of two," he replies with a hint of sternness, his gaze shifting to Gabriel.

To Mel's astonishment, Gabriel's eyes light up at the sight of the man. The toddler abandons his snowy treat and dashes towards him. Caught off guard, the stranger momentarily stiffens.

Quickly, Mel scoops up Gabriel. "I apologize. He doesn't usually act this way. I'm sorry for the inconvenience."

The man offers a curt nod. "It's fine. Just... keep the snow-eating to a minimum." As he begins to walk away, a heartfelt cry of "DADA!" from Gabriel stops him in his tracks.

"Apologies again. He's taken quite a liking to that word recently," Mel says as she notices the man returning, drawn by Gabriel's continuous 'dada' chants.

"Would you mind if I help with the snowman?" the stranger asks, catching Mel off guard. Why would a stranger want to make a snowman with a woman and a child unless he has other intentions? Maybe he's interested in her? Gathering her confidence and a dash of flirtatious playfulness, she replies, "Quite the knight in shining armor you are, offering to help. And here I thought chivalry was extinct."

"Definitely not a knight." Without another word, he starts forming a small snowball, handing it to an elated Gabriel. The child's joy doesn't waver as the stranger settles beside him.

"Then who might you be, if not our knight in snowy armor?"

Mel inquires, with a teasing undertone, trying to uncover a bit more about the handsome stranger who'd seamlessly inserted himself into their snowy afternoon.

The stranger's dark crimson eyes briefly flit to Gabriel before returning to Mel, an unreadable emotion crossing his features.

"Not important."

Mel nods, storing away the information.Well, the lack of information. “Well okay mysterious. I like that. So let's get this snowman built, shall we?"

The trio gets to work. Mel gathers snow, crafting the middle part, while the man starts on the head. The handsome stranger's hands are deft, moving with a surprising grace that contrasts with his brooding exterior. Gabriel seems inexplicably drawn to him.

At first, the toddler pats at the snow with his little mittened hands, but every so often, his bright eyes lift to watch the stranger. Whenever he moves to fetch more snow or adjust the snowman's form, Gabriel eagerly toddles after him, mimicking his every motion with endearing clumsiness.

There's a curiosity in Gabriel's eyes. He reaches out multiple times, trying to touch the mans face or grasp his hand, seeking a connection. To Mel, it seems as though the baby is yearning for the recognition of the stranger and he feels an inexplicable bond with, though she can't quite put a finger on.

The handsome stranger, for his part, can't seem to help himself. He bends down often to adjust Gabriel's scarf or hat, taking every opportunity to interact with the child and help him in a very protective manner, Mel notices.

He smiles softly when Gabriel's tiny hands try to shape the snow, occasionally guiding them with his own much larger ones, demonstrating how to pack the snow just right. At one point, when the snowman's body is nearly complete, Gabriel gives an excited laugh, dropping down to sit in the snow.

The stranger follows suit, sitting beside him. The two of them start creating a tiny snowman just for Gabriel, the man showing him how to roll the snow and place the pieces together.

As they craft the mini snow figure, Gabriel, with his tiny voice, attempts to communicate with his limited vocabulary, pointing at the snow and then at the stranger, as if asking for validation for his creation. “Dada!Dada!” And every time, he gives a nod or a soft chuckle, providing the affirmation the little one seeks. “Yes, you did that buddy! Great job, mijo.”

When Gabriel eventually throws himself into the snow to make a snow angel, the man can't help but laugh genuinely, a sound that seems foreign to his usual stoic behavior. And in his excitement, Gabriel opens his mouth wide in a beaming smile, revealing two tiny fangs. Instantly, the mans eyes glint, a myriad of emotions reflected in them.

The affection and emotion emanating from him is almost touchable. The silent exchanges, the shared smiles, and the comfortable interaction between them, even in the absence of many words, speaks volumes.

Your eyes flare comically with disbelief. "You let a stranger do what?"

Mel, in a bid to downplay the situation, waves her hand dismissively. "Relax. We just built a snowman."

"With my son! Mel, are you out of your mind? No it’s my fault trusting you with my son again! What was his name?"

"He... didn't say."

Your voice rises, "What did he say at all?"

"He's not dangerous, Sunny. He mentioned he's a father, and he's scouting for a new apartment. Asked if there were any vacant ones nearby." Mel pauses, her eyes taking on a dreamy quality. "And Sunny, he was breathtakingly gorgeous. Impossible for someone that handsome to be dangerous. I mean, the man looked like he was carved by the gods with a face even angels would envy.”

You narrow your eyes, your tone dripping with sarcasm. "Enough with you sappy, dreamy nonsense. A vacant apartment? And you don’t find that at all suspicious? So you let a total stranger play with my son without knowing a single thing about him... just because you wanted to sleep with him?"

Mel gulps. "You might've done the same, given the situation. Besides, nothing happened. Why are you overreacting?"

Your voice sharpens. "Overreacting? The fact that you're still standing here and not on the other side of my door means I'm underreacting."

Mel steps back, hands up, "Whoa, calm down, mama bear. Look, I'm sorry. But... I've got something to make it up to you. I messaged Marc, that guy from the café, and guess what? He's super excited to go on a date with you! He'll be here in about..." Mel theatrically checks her wrist, even though she's not wearing a watch, "...twenty minutes."

You can't help but raise an eyebrow. "And he's okay with me bringing my son on the date? After your stunt, there's no way I'm leaving Gabriel with you. Why not set me up with that mystery Adonis you just met instead?"

Mel smirks, "Firstly, ouch. Secondly, don't let your son cockblock you. The plan is: dinner, a stop at his apartment for some dessert, and then you come back here – hopefully a more relaxed and sunny version of yourself, Sunny. Thirdly, Marc is amazing, and Mr. Greek God is off-limits. He's mine."

"No, I’m not going."

Mel pleads, "Come on! Marc was so eager to meet you. He's on his way, so maybe run a brush through your hair? Oh, and speaking of him…" Mel's face falls as she checks her phone, "He just texted me."

She reads aloud, "‘Hey Mel, I don’t know the kind of guys Sunny's been with, but I'm not risking my neck for a date. Sorry, but that dude in front of her house was scary and very serious about his threats.’ WAIT WHAT? Who’s in front of your apartment?”

You shrug and swing the door open to check on what Marc’s mysterious message could mean, revealing Peter B, his fist paused mid-air, ready for a knock. "Hey Sun. Did your spidey-sense catch me?"

It hadn’t. Why hadn't it? Have your once reliable senses dulled with time? Before you can respond, Mel jumps in with her own theory. "Did you chase off her date?"

Peter's brow furrows with confusion. "You had a date, Sunny? Was it the guy sprinting away with a bouquet, looking like he’s seen a monster?" He gestures over his shoulder, trying to pinpoint the fleeing figure.

Mel narrows her eyes at Peter, suspicion clear in her voice. "That was her date, yes. He seemed spooked. You wouldn't happen to know why, would you?"

Peter B throws his hands up defensively. "Hey, deeply mistrusting stranger, I've been encouraging Sunny to get out there for years. " You're immediately reminded of the time he'd tried to set you up with Ben Reilly. “Yea, you don’t look scary enough to spook someone. No offense.”

Sighing, you interject, "Maybe he realized dating a single mom with a toddler wasn’t what he wanted. Either way, I just want a quiet evening to relax and catch up on my favorite show. So thank you both for your unexpected, uninvited surprise visit today but I am tired."

Both Peter and Mel exchange shocked glances. "Sun, I came by to check on you because of... you know, what happened," Peter starts hesitantly.

You nod, taking a deep breath to keep

your emotions in check. "I'm aware, Peter. And I appreciate it. But right now, I'm doing okay. Actually, better than okay. So, I really don’t need help. Please, just give me some space. Both of you."

Mel steps forward, concern evident in her voice. "We're only trying to help here, Sunny. Please, don't shut us out."

"Look," you reply, feeling drained, "there's nothing you can do to help me anymore.You did enough today. Just let me be. My top priority right now is Gabriel. And it's his bedtime."

Peter moves closer, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "Just remember, if you ever need anything, please reach out."

You manage a wry smile. "Not sure my phone plan covers inter-dimensional calls, Peter."

After the gentle squeeze, Peter departs, Mel following close behind. As the door softly clicks shut, the weight of loneliness and grief descends upon you after seeing Peter, a part of your past, again. The walls of the apartment seem to close in, amplifying the echoing silence. It all feels suffocating. An emptiness weighs on your heart, and no matter how hard you try, you can't seem to escape its grasp. The reminders of all you've lost and nearly lost play on a loop in your mind.

So there you stand, in the quiet of your bedroom, leaning against the windowsill, breathing in the chilled nightair, while the world and your little baby boy are fast asleep. Emotions threaten to consume you, feelings you can no longer lock away, fearing they'll devour you from the inside. And in this moment, you speak out, though there's no one there to hear. No one to hold you close, no one to offer comfort for your broken soul. "Are you happy now? Did you manage to save the universe? Fix up every black hole? Then why did you leave one black whole in my heart? Why didn't you fix that,huh? Why am I not worthy of being saved by you?

You might fool the people around you, they see you as this scary untouchable figure, shielded by layers. But not me. I see through it all. Beneath that facade, you're just as shattered. I tried to piece you together, but where did that lead me? Broken, just like everything else you touch. And I won't let you near him. I won’t let you break him, you hear me? No, of course not.How could you hear me. You're universes away from me. Why? Are you afraid to get cut by the shards of the broken heart that you left?

I hate you Miguel O’ Hara. I hate you for breaking me. You left behind fragments only you can touch, and I hate you for it. For shattering me and then leaving me alone. I hate you.”

You wiped away the tears that escaped your eyes and closed the window, oblivious to the subtle shadowy silhouette that shifted just beyond the windowpane; "I'll mend your fractured rays, mi sol, so you shine whole again.“

A whisper, lost within the night shadows, never reaching your ears.

The gleaming city spread out beneath, its nighttime heartbeat pulsating with a soft electric energy. High atop one of its buildings, Miguel stands, casting a shadow on the walls of the room where his son sleeps peacefully. The warm lights from the streets below give off a soft glow, just enough for him to see Gabriel’s tiny chest rising and falling.

"So, you're staying here now? Just watching over Universe 586?" A familiar voice breaks the silence, and Miguel looks up to see Jessica Drew, her red and white suit glinting under the streetlights. "I never thought I'd witness the great O'Hara, savior of the universes, now guarding just two souls."

Miguel's jaw tightens. "Go away, Jess."

She lands beside him gracefully, her tone challenging. "Are you stalking your own child? Or seeking redemption from Sunny?"

"You don't get it, Jessica."

"On the contrary," she shoots back, her eyes intense, "I understand more than anyone else. I saw how you felt about her all those years ago. And I see it now. You were afraid, weren’t you?"

"I'm not afraid of anything," Miguel replies, defiance lacing his tone. "But I am not good enough for her light."

Jessica exhales, her voice softening. "And who made you the judge of that? Because according to Sunny’s emotional outburst, you're more than deserving." He clenches his fists, the weight of regret pulling at him. "I had my shot at happiness with Gabriella, and I lost it. People like me, Jess, we don't get second chances."

She points to the window, to the serene image of Gabriel. "That's your second chance, Miguel. Right there."

His eyes well up, the gravity of his mistakes reflecting in his eyes. "I almost killed him. How can I even begin to forgive myself for that?"

"But you didn't," she whispers, her voice filled with conviction. "And you wouldnt have hurt him or else you would have done it immediately. I saw you, Mig.”

A third voice joined them, and Peter B. swings over, landing with ease beside the two. "She's right, Miguel. I watched you with him, the tenderness, the love. It was there, even before you knew who he was to you."

Miguel shakes his head, shutting both of them out. His gaze is hard, still fixated on Gabriel. "I can't go back. They're better off without me. Besides, you heard her. She hates me."

Peter stepsforward, his gaze intense. "That's utter bullshit. I know Sunny. She’s strong, fierce, and forgiving. We heard her loud and clear and this woman loves you more than anything. Don't let fear rob you of your family."

Peters words hang in the air, and just as Miguel is about to reply, a shrill,ear-piercing cry cuts through the silence. His spider-sense goes haywire, a ripple of unease running down his spine. Without a second's hesitation, he dashes toward the source of the sound, leaving Jessica and Peter behind.

Inside, Miguel finds Gabriel crying, tears streaking his small face. Instinctively, Miguel scoops him up, the little boy immediately nestling into the familiar crook of his father's neck and calms down. “Hey, my little spider. Daddy ‘s here, don’t cry. What got you so scared?” he coos, spotting Gabriel's favorite toy on the floor. Miguel retrieved Gabriel's favorite toy from the floor, a routine he'd secretly adopted every night when, after falling asleep, the little one inevitably dropped it. With practiced ease, he nestled it back into the baby's grasp.

But before he can fully relax, Miguel's spider-sense jolts him again. Looking up, he sees a familiar, dark-clad figure hovering, hands sparking ominously.

“Drop the child, Miguel.”

a/n: Hey guys, part 4 is finally here! Thanks for your patience and all the love you've shown me. While I initially thought Part 4 would be the conclusion, I've decided to extend Miguel's character and redemption arc, so we'll wrap up with Part 5. I'm already deep into writing it, so you won't have to wait as long. I truly appreciate all your feedback and support. You've all been wonderful. Remember to stay safe, stay hydrated, and always prioritize your mental well-being. Can't wait to hear your thoughts on this chapter! 🤍

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comfortless · 3 months

Note

Pygmalion!König and Galatea!Reader………. 😖 What do you think?

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. pining, light angst. self harm, implied animal death (not done by König or reader), fluff, König is horrible and by that i mean yes— he fucks the statue, outercourse, unprotected piv, implied mutual loss of virginity.

notes: lovely Salome did something similar to this already! 💖 however. yes. i am thinking about it and well…. take this out of my hands.

König has never had anything that could properly be called his own.

He walks the city entirely alone, no wife at his side to paw at his chest and bless him with adoring glances. His only steadfast companions are the grit slipping into his sandals as he walks, head held high even as the shadow of a boy begging on his knees for any semblance of love eternally tethers itself to him.

A glance lingering too long at the appeal of a soft face, the brush of his calloused fingertips against a pornai’s bare stomach before deciding that no, he didn’t want something so simple.

He merely slips a few apologetic drachma into her waiting palm and sets her free of him.

A warm body would never be enough, it was the heart that he starved for. To bed some poor creature that would never properly love him would be worse than the greatest of tortures in his mind.

It wasn’t a simple affair to find a lady to marry, either. Foreign soldier that he was, he had no right to some politician’s pretty daughter, court her properly and sweep her away to a bed that’s only ever been a harbor for lonely, twisted bitterness and blood.

Most turned away the moment he passed by: frightened glances that rightfully accused him of immense violence, shushed whispers of “barbarian” passed from soft lips before the sand beneath their fretful feet shifted and their shapes had disappeared from view entirely.

The ceaseless loneliness carves a burning ache somewhere within the expanse of his chest, something he knew he would never truly be free of, not until it rotted it’s way out of him in full.

It only seemed to quiet in moments he shed blood for this foreign country; burying his sword in some poor man’s gut was the closest he could get to sheathing a part of himself inside another, to touching a heart, seeing lips part in a gasp as their world becomes entirely consumed by him.

Just as the many days prior to this one, he grips the hilt of his blade, letting the metal dig into his palm, his knuckles bone white, as he makes his way back to the empty shack deemed a home.

Streets quiet and crowds disperse with each of his silent footfalls— not one of these smaller men or fearful women dares to look him in the eye. The only thing that does, the only eyes that ever lock to his, are those peering out from the harbor.

The figurehead guarding her expertly crafted ship has always called to him.

Her beauty was remarkable, from the curl of her hair to the patient look in her eyes. Her hands clasped before her breasts in silent prayer as she looms over the darkened depths of the sea beyond the soil, calling him to board, to venture away from this place that his left him in such an acute state of misery.

He swears he hears it then, a mere whisper on the wind, urging him in featherlight comfort to lie down his sword and take up the chisel and hammer.

It’s only when he pauses to look the gentle face of the figurehead over once more that he finds himself resolute in what he must do.

— — —

When he took to crafting her it was born of this desperation; hazy moonbeams cutting through the shade of his shack for hours before he would reluctantly pull away from a beautifully carved hand or the soft but stiff curve of a neck to retire to the straw-stuffed mattress at the corner of the room.

She was beautiful, a representation of all of the sweet, effeminate softness he would marvel at from afar. The swell of plush breasts, curved hips and silken thighs, eternally parted by her stance, the sweet face that could make any man feel entirely weak…

His hands tremble when they rest upon her form, unsure of just how such splendor could have come from his own coarse palms.

Weeks of scarce sleep only seemed to further his devoted madness. Though the warring dulled the ache and sated his blade, the longing seemed to only grow far more prevalent.

He yearned when they were apart, dreamt of coming home to her less lifeless and only demure smiles and hurried kisses the moment he would return to her. He would always come back.

Upon her completion, he took to courting her proper. Though she could not in any way reciprocate or reject his advances, he believed wholeheartedly that the cushiony love that had blossomed within his aching, neglected heart must be mutual.

Gifts were strewn at her cold feet, some gilded and shimmery, some soft with an abundance of colorful petals: offerings for a silent goddess that kept a part of his soul hidden away deep inside the pristine marble that she was carved from.

When he wraps her neck in a necklace with a sparkling beryl amulet attached, his hand does drift to the swell of her breast beneath the woolen chiton.

It’s hard and cold, but his groping becomes as incessant as the kisses he presses to her jaw, to her cold lips, tongue leaving a warm path down to her neck before he finds himself committed to having her.

He’s careful when he disrobes her, slowly revealing the mounds and curves and softness of her imitation of human flesh.

Dropping to his knees, his tongue laps at the ivory depiction of smooth lower lips, spearing between each silken ridge until he imagines her eyes squeezing shut as she cries out for him, rolling her perfectly sculpted hips to coat his tongue in waves of vulgar honey.

He moans into her cunt, drools and sucks at the mimicry for as long as it takes to find her thighs drenched in his saliva and his cock aching horribly between his thighs.

He rises to slot himself between her legs, pushing forward with a keening whine that dissipates into a relieved gasp. The feel of her pressed against him; the smooth ridges of her makeshift flesh running over his stiff, leaking cock is akin to finding divinity.

His hands rove over her breasts, thumbs pressed against her eternally pebbled nipples as he kisses her, each sloppy and filled with years of need.

It is pure bliss, almost as though he is burying himself to his hilt inside of her pulsing cunt.

He would fuck her better than any man— not a single other could match the strength of his affections nor his hapless willingness to please.

If he could have carved a proper hole between her legs, not a drop of his seed would be wasted on thin sheets or spilled into his palm, she would be filled, womb brimming until some loving god or goddess blessed her with child.

His pace quickens to the point of frantic, feverish hands drifting to her hips as he mouths at her breasts instead, hissing out praises for how good she feels against him, how his heart bleeds to feel her nearer.

There is so much heat between her thighs now he could swear it burns like the cold mist of the Underworld itself; the fuzzy heat pools from his navel and further as his muscles begin to tense and leave his thoughts a haze and his lips parted in a silent, worshipping cry.

It’s only when he envisions her tugging her bottom lip between her teeth, back arching as she drags her nails over his shoulders and whines through her own damnation that his cock throbs in repetition as his eyes roll back. His heavy sack arrives at her mound as his seed spills from him, cascading down to paint the thighs of his silent lover, smeared pearly and glistening over her labia as he rubs his cockhead against her with an agonized groan.

His forehead finds her shoulder, warm breath replacing the coldness of her skin as he wraps his arms around her perpetually beckoning form, lovingly trailing kisses from her clavicle to her ear where he whispers a breathless, “I love you.”

It’s only after he’s finished wiping away the evidence of depravity from her that he feels the first wave of shame, sharp and feathering from his chest that leaves his jaw set and throat tight.

What lowly man envies the warmth others experience with far less gratitude? König has never seen himself as pathetic, no matter how commonly he’s been sent off and kicked like a stray.

She’s the only thing that’s brought him any sort solace in a world that’s left him starved, but also a cruel mirror casting a reflection of his own nature.

Pulling the thin blanket from his mattress, the statue is soon swallowed up in her entirety, all guilt and pity-drawing attestation neatly hidden away behind rippling sable fabric; her form silent and waiting as it would remain eternally.

None of this is enough.

———

König has never found himself fond of prayer, never felt the need to partake in the festivals and ceremonies. His luck in battle was only a mere measure of skill, of a body so brutal and immense that most trembled before him, not born of any benevolent gift. There was no need to kneel, to bestow offerings upon the altars. If the people turned away from him, then surely any god or goddess would be even more inclined to do so.

Only… his mindless wandering has led him here, to Aphrodite’s altar whilst the festival of Aphrodisia plays on everywhere around him. The people invoke and dance, abundant offerings brought forth as the scent of timber burning and bold floral incense floods his senses. Blood and flowers already riddle the stone, a stark vibrancy of color that lures him closer, commands him to kneel.

He doesn’t have a thing to offer to the goddess, not so much as a petal, but if the pull were not just the first signs of a withering mind…

The glimpse of hope he’s offered is not taken for granted.

Thick fingers curl over his sharpened blade, dragging his palm against the steel until it stings almost sweetly. If she could accept the blood of a goat then surely, his could be no more polluted. Beads of crimson revel and dance along his forearm before dropping down onto the stone.

And he does pray.

It is not a vulnerable prayer, one that bares him in full, but only a wish— a longing for warmth, to have her share his breath, to admonish his shame and live free with the one thing that has never given him anything but safe harbor.

He unveils her when he returns, knowing that this is the closest he will ever come to love.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes against her cheek, leaves a kiss there before dragging himself away to disrobe and pull himself back into bed.

When the weariness takes him, his sleep in dreamless and calm. If any blessing were bestowed upon him at all, the surely that would have been more than enough. A night without turning, without visions of a darkened grave devoid of anything to haunt him.

He only begins to stir when the mattress dips at his side, a soft palm pressed to his chest, stroking along the loose curls of auburn there.

“König..,” a voice calls out, more gentle than any he’s ever heard.

He wakes to find her, leaning over him with the sweetest glimmer in her eyes, wide and fascinated. Her touches only trail further up to his face as he tries to silence the rapid beating of his heart, the stinging born of adoration in his own pale blue eyes.

“I missed you,” she whispers, moving to curl at his side, her hands cradling either side of his jaw.

König is utterly stifled and so terribly smitten, the most he can manage is a quiet huff of breath as he rolls onto his side to take this sweet, unreal woman into his arms. Dreaming or waking, it mattered not, if he were given only the night or a lifetime with this beautiful little creature it’s still more than he has ever had.

His head dips to press a chaste kiss to her soft lips, only finding a warmth there that had never been the many times he had kissed her prior. His palm runs along her side, feeling ever perfect dip and curve, all heated and so very alive.

She only falls apart beneath his touch, already quivering and softly gasping even from such a gentle kiss. The thought that this little dove has been longing for him just as much makes his heart bleed. He whispers his apologies against her temple, for his frustrations, for his doubt in their love, for all of the temptations and hatred that plagued his mind before she came to be.

She only answers with eager touches, grasping at him as she murmurs her own perceived shortcomings. If only she knew that she could never do wrong, that she was what’s saved him and that nothing could shatter that.

When her tongue slips past his lips and his breath grows heavy, there’s little else he can concentrate on than the throbbing pillar between his legs, the scent of her around him, under him when he guides her onto her back.

Thanking the goddess could wait, he’s far too focused on the one that’s willingly climbed into his bed.

One hand splays at her side forcing him upright as the other trails over her breasts, a satisfied groan leaves him as he feels her softness, fighting back to urge to squeeze and pinch until she cries in pleasure, howling out like those at the altar he had encountered only earlier.

A nipple is snared between his thumb and index, twisted gently beneath each pad, her back arches…The wetness of the dew slicked flower between her legs brushes against him and he whines like a starved dog finally presented with the aroma of a meal.

His hand falls from her breast to her hip, encouraging her to buck the source of her own need against him— take anything she needed. If she were to pull a blade and carve a hole in his own chest he would only let her, the taste of this heated bliss and the look that she gives him, enchanted and curious, is more than he has ever deserved.

Only does he pause when he parts her thighs, and her stare becomes more curious, searching him for any reason as to why he would even stop.

“We have done this before. Are you afraid now?”

No, he wants to tell her, that before was not the full extent of it. Instead he only laughs, peeling away just enough to fit his head between her legs, mouth only a small measure from her weeping cunt.

“I want to taste you.”

With a whispered plea from her lips, he raises her hips, mouthing and suckling at her until she shivers and sings against the cushions. He groans against her when she does come, her hips stuttering in his grasp as she drives further against him.

He hisses in his mother tongue when he pushes the backs of her thighs up, grinds his leaking tip against her until he swears he really will fall into madness if he doesn’t fuck into her immediately.

The ache in his chest that his been so prevalent for so long is finally smothered out the very moment she tugs him down by his shoulders and pulls him into a frenzied kiss. She encourages him in each lapse, murmurs how long that she’s waited, how starved she’s been for him while hidden away.

He nearly sobs when his tip snags against her entrance, so divinely wet, pulsing and begging just as he is. When he penetrates her, the breath is punched from his lungs, his hands and mouth exploring every inch of her within reach as she wraps around his shaft as though her cunt was made for him.

His little dove only covers him in kisses in turn as he mumbles obscenities into her flesh, revelling in her tightness, in the way her body fits so perfectly against his, mutually carved by the gods to fulfill one another. His professions of love come in abundance as she fits her legs over his narrow hips, crying out from his sudden depth as his cock jumps against a spot that leaves her writhing.

Though it’s almost painful to keep himself restrained, he tries his best not to rut into her like a mindless animal, even when he feels her constrict around him as another orgasm leaves her cunt drooling and pulsing. He doesn’t give her time to recover, however… forced to lie in wait for so long, it’s nearly taken out on her as he spears into her as she moans and babbles her praises against his chest.

He’s lost to the empyrean as his muscles finally pull taut, crying as he buries his head into her shoulder and pumps his come into her, shaking as he wraps her up in his arms and clutches her close as he melts against her.

Spent and sated, König holds her tightly against him as they pant and share sweet words, secrets and giggles from her that make every moment of dolor before this night seem insignificant.

She slots her fingers between his own, compliments his damaged face and the worships his body with brushes of her lips and tongue just as he does her. He does not leave her empty, warms her heart with words he’s kept trapped in his throat for months, guides her gently as she perches over him to descend back onto his cock, his thumb stroking her stomach as he tells her over and again just how much he loves her, compared his feelings to that of Orpheus, how he would suffer anything all for her.

A pleading “Stay” is uttered as she falls limp against him, stroking along her back as they come down for the second time that night.

The last thing that leaves her lips before sleep takes her is the most saccharine she’s said that night, a simple, “I love you.”

It’s the only thing that he’s ever truly longed for.

———

They marry after the voyage back to his homeland, his head clouded during the entire trip of seeing her swell with his child in time, a home built with her in mind for the two of them, of lying flowers at her feet just as he had before.

His blade lies neglected in the little glade they had chosen, taking up only a hammer and his own hands as he works tirelessly to provide for his wife, the dove that looks at him as though he were not a dog but a king.

When their home is built after many weeks of tedious work during day and bedding her beneath the stars each night, König only then thinks to pray his thanks to the foreign goddess who gifted his salvation to him with little more than a scrape from his palm. All the while his true goddess leans over him to tickle his cheek with flowers he had plucked for her only moments prior, covering him in a fragrance so sweet it only seemed befitting of herself.

She giggles and sighs when he pulls her down into the grass to roll over her, blanket her in kisses and gentle bites to her throat.

The beryl amulet around her neck catches the glimmer of the sun above as she sifts her fingers through his hair and tells him that the gods already knew he was grateful, that his worship of her was already telling enough.

#könig #könig x reader #könig x you #konig x reader #konig #cod fanfiction

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actual-changeling · 8 months

Text

There is a man with fire-red hair running a bookshop in Soho.

He hasn't always been the original owner, as almost all residents on Whickber Street know, but it is a fact you never bring up with him. Hiding behind a pair of sunglasses and layers of rough sarcasm, he is a shadow moving silently between shelves and plants, the Bentley parked outside seemingly more for decoration than actual use.

Previously, there had been a white-haired man with gentle eyes and a favour up his sleeves living among his books, and while he barely sold any of them, he was a pillar of the community just like the building itself. When he disappeared, an unspoken vow to never discuss the subject matter in the vicinity of the shop was made.

There is a woman with fire-red hair sitting in St. James's Park.

She feeds frozen peas to the ducks and puts the fear of God into everyone who dares to offer them bread or attempts to scare them away. The bench is hers, always empty, awaiting her arrival; sometimes she brings a bottle of wine, other times she cradles a Polaroid in the palm of her hand, and even the dark shades cannot stop the occasional tear from dripping down her cheek.

Rumours of her companion and his absence spread quickly, yet no one dares to ask, and the spies scattered around the park form a mutual understanding to avoid her.

There is a person with fire-red hair wandering the streets of London, wearing sunglasses and no coat, no matter the weather or time.

Their head is tipped back, their eyes glued to the sky, and yet they navigate through the masses parting around them with an unnatural ease. No one stops them, no one dares to ask why, and even if they did, they wouldn't offer an answer, not when they are asking themself the very same question.

When it begins to rain, they stop moving, stretching out their hands in a weak imitation of a prayer and allowing the water to seep into their clothes until they're as dark as the wet concrete beneath them.

There is a man with blinding white hair stepping out of an elevator that does not exist, and the end of the world comes with him. If someone were to listen in, they would realise that the man with fire-red hair meets him in the middle of the street, the air thick with lightning that will never find a home.

As they talk, nightingales all over London begin to sing.

#alex writes good omens #good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #good omens season 2 #go2 #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable divorce #good omens ficlet #a little warm up improvisation

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beejunos · 6 days

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SPEAK TO ME | Sneak peek [Alastor x f.reader] | SMUT (mdni)

Summary: Alastors voice turns you on. Something he loves to take advantage of.

If you want you read the full story, press THIS LINK

Did someone ask for an Alastor voice kink fic?! This is only a sneak peek! I hope to finish this little smutty story in about two days.

Halfway through your night routine, you turned on your radio at a soft, pleasant volume, and Alastor's smooth voice filled the otherwise silent room.

"Salutations, friends and hellish residents! Tonight, we have a splendid assortment of the latest news and the best Hell has to offer in jazz, but before we chitchat about our dear city's hellish affairs, here is the newest music from Miss Jezebel and The Wicked Six!"

Slow and sultry jazz music started to play on the radio. The woman who sang had a deep, smoky quality that was inherently sexy to you. There was just something about women who sang with deep voices that made your hips sway from side to side, effortlessly dancing across your room as you started to strip, pretending there was someone there who enjoyed the show you put on.

You turned off all the lights except the small lamp by your bed and crawled under the thick blanket. You left the radio on as you made yourself comfortable, hugging one of your pillows close to you.

The song ended, and Alastor came back. This time, he started talking about the news. Since the news sometimes made you too sad to sleep, you never really listened to what he was saying; you only listened to his voice—his tone, the cadence of his speech, and his transatlantic accent.

You let his voice wash over you like a soothing balm to your aching body, but soon, you felt the familiar tingles run up your back. Warmth pooled low within you as you shifted in your bed, lying on your back. The desire to touch and be touched grew in you, to move, to grind, to satisfy the urge for sex.

Closing your eyes and letting your hands wander over your body, you start by slowly dragging your fingertips over your sensitive throat, making sure that your light fingertips touch all the places that made you weak.

Your hands travel from your throat down to your chest. Palming your breasts in your hand, you drag your nails over your sensitive nipples. Pinshin, pulling and rolling them between your fingers till they are warm and hard.

Your senses sharpen as you start to feel more intensely, but your mind goes hazy, making it hard to think clearly. Alastors voice is but background noise now that edges you on.

One hand stays on your breast as the other journeys down, down, down and under your underwear.

You slowly drag your finger between your lips, coating your finger in your wetness as you slowly pull it towards your clit. A breathless gasp is pulled from your mouth the first time your finger comes in contact with your sensitive clit. Slowly and with the lightest touch, you start to circle the organ, and what feels like electricity builds in your loins.

You can't help but move in your bed, legs bending and toes curling as you give yourself the pleasure that you wished Alastor would provide you. Your hand that previously played with your breast joined your other hand, and you let out a not-so-subtle moan as you pushed two fingers into you. Desperately, you curl your fingers inside you to increase the pleasure.

You want it. You need it. Your toes curl almost painfully as Alastors name falls from your lips like a prayer.

You're so close. So close you can see stars behind your eyes. You breathlessly chase that sweet release. Building, and building, and building. Your legs are shaking as you bite your lips. Hips lift from the mattress as you fight the urge to close your legs.

You are so, so close.

"What are you doing, my dear?"

Cold dread crashes through your body as you rip your hands away from your body. You frantically look all over your room in the shadows. Looking for that all-knowing smile and calculating red eyes.

His voice had been so close and clear that he had to be in your room. It had felt like he had spoken to you right beside your ear. But you were alone. No one was in your room but you.

"Such a naughty little creature you are, my dear. So desperate to be touched."

Goosebumps travel up your back as you slowly turn in the direction you hear his voice. On your nightstand is the radio that Alastor gave you. It is still on, but the yellow light of the display has turned red.

Towering over you in your bed, you almost feel like he is watching you. Observing you as you lay naked in your bed. Your blankets were by the end of the bed as you had kicked them off a long time ago.

"Can't even listen to me talking without having to touch yourself. My oh my, what will I ever do with such a bad little doe, hm?"

Shaking all over, you reached for the radio's electrical cord and jerked it out of the outlet. The radio fell silent as you collapsed in your bed. Spent, but not satisfied. However, you soon start to tremble over the fact that Alastor had listened to you pleasuring yourself, and he seemed to like it.

#alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor x you #x reader #alastor the radio demon #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel alastor x reader #hazbin alastor x reader #hazbin alastor x you #alastor smut #alastor x reader smut #hazbin hotel smut

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nova-amor · 7 months

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𓈒∘☁︎ ◜ 𝐰𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 ◞

𝐭𝐰 — 𝐬𝐞𝐦𝐢-𝐩𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐜 𝐬𝐞𝐱 [𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐛𝐚𝐫'𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦], 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 [𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟], 𝐚𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐡𝐨𝐥 [𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 & 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐛𝐮𝐳𝐳𝐞𝐝], 𝐩𝐞𝐭 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 [𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐝, 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥, 𝐞𝐭𝐜.], 𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤, 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲, 𝐩-𝐢𝐧-𝐯

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 — 𝟐𝐤

painted nails danced along the laminated wood of the bar top, your faint reflection glaring back at you from below. minutes went by slowly, prodding at the bubbling anger within your chest. you were supposed to be meeting your boyfriend, yet with no call, no text, it seemed like he had abandoned you again. it had been the sixth time that month you had received radio silence from your boyfriend on the nights you two had planned to go out.

you had planned to have dinner at a nice restaurant along the water, agreeing to meet at a nearby bar before your reservation time. but, as the hours grew closer to the reservation time, and without a single message from your boyfriend, it seemed like he skipped out on yet another date night.

you raised your hand with your gaze still fixated on the black screen of your phone— silently hoping and praying that he would call or at least text you before you ordered another drink. the universe ignored such prayer, the bartender returning with a pitiful smile. you flipped your phone onto its front, finally giving up the notion that your boyfriend would be phoning you anytime soon. you'd have to wait to see what excuse he came up with later that evening when you got home.

"can i get another cosmopolitan, please?" you ordered, earning a light nod from the bartender. the martini glass appeared within seconds, the hot pink liquid glimmering beneath the warm glows of the bar lights.

you finished the drink in two long gulps— the chilled vodka and orange liqueur burning your throat on its way down. before you could even raise your hand, another martini glass appeared before you, accompanied by a shot glass full of a caramel brown liquid.

with a quirked eyebrow, you met the gaze of the bartender. they pointed to a spot down the bar, silently answering the question you hadn't even asked. following their direction, your eyes landed on a devastatingly handsome man sitting hidden away in the shadows of the bar. you swallowed thickly; your heart skipping a beat as his honey-brown eyes met yours. your thighs squeezed together, a flush of heat rising to your chest and cheeks.

turning your gaze away, you gulped down the second cosmopolitan within seconds, allowing the fire of the alcohol to course through your veins and stroke at your confidence. with a steady exhale, you gathered up your purse and phone with one hand and the shot glass with the other. you walked with a confidence you didn't know you had, chewing at your bottom lip as you took a seat next to the man.

your eyes drank his appearance in, wetness beginning to pool between your thighs as you set your items on the bar top. he wore a tight-fitting, solid white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up just below his elbows— fabric straining against the thick muscles of his arms, black and white illustrations etched into the tanned skin. your gaze lowered for a brief second, mouth-watering at the sight of his large thighs flexing beneath the dark cloth of his tailored suit pants, the heel of his foot subtly tapping against the polished floor of the bar.

"take a picture, why don't ya," the roughness of his voice caught you off-guard, cutting right through you like butter. you bashfully looked away, focusing your sights on the shot glass, murmuring a quick apology.

"so, what's a little bird like you doin' here all on her own, huh?" he grumbled, tentatively watching as he raised his glass to his pink lips. you twirled the shot glass around, cupping it between both your hands. you softly mumbled about waiting for your boyfriend before dinner barely loud enough for the man next to you to hear, stomach tightening as you met his intense gaze again.

you could practically smell him across the short distance, lingering warm aromas of patchouli and amber wood overwhelming your senses. your face feels hot as he glances at you through the side of his eye. his finger tracing the rim of his glass before taking another quick sip of his drink, finishing it off before waving the bartender down to order another.

"cat caught yer tongue, lass?" he teases with a smirk, body turning to face you. you shift in your stool, fiddling with the shot glass once more before taking it down in one long swallow. bourbon— the flavor notes of tobacco and honey staining every crevice of your mouth, scorching down your throat and to the pit of your stomach.

"no," you finally speak, straightening your back as you turn to face him. your knees were an inch or two from brushing against his, bodies so close you could see every hint of gold in his eyes even under the guise of the bar's shadow. "just not used to speaking to strangers."

his smirk grew, the tops of his cheeks painted a faint hue of pink.

"don't have t' be strangers, little bird," he looks you dead in your eye, leaning in close to you. you could feel the heat radiating off of him, pussy clenching around nothing as his soft lips brush against the shell of your ear, his warm breath fanning across the side of your face. "especially if you grab another bevvy with me."

the drinks came and passed in a blur, heating every nerve in your body with each sip and making the tips of your fingers tingle with a faint buzz. you were still cognitive enough to make conversation, the exchange of words between you and the man flowing with ease with the assistance of liquid confidence. your body leaned against the man's arm, head resting upon his shoulder. a rough hand ghosting over your thigh, fingertips brushing against the edge of your skirt as you tilt your head up to meet his eyes.

"what a shame yer boyfriend left ya all alone," the man's fingers tease at the smooth flesh of your thigh, dipping between your legs. his large hand encompassed almost the entirety of your inner thigh, the tip of his pinky poking at the damp cloth of your crotch. "but, at least he left ya with good company, ain't that right, little bird?"

you nod in agreement, chewing at the soft flesh of your inner cheek. your body shifts in your seat, spreading your legs a bit more to allow him more access to the sensitive space.

"easy girl, eh? boyfriend not givin' ya enough attention? openin' ya legs so easily f' me," your pussy clenches with the weight of his words, his fingers cupping your cunt, causing a small whimper to slip out. "need me t' take care of ya, little bird?"

you let out an uncontrolled moan as he strokes at the slit of your cunt, caressing your clit with small, delicate circles. one of your hands reaches up to cup the side of his neck, tilting his face down and closer to yours. your lips brush against his, the woodsy hint of bourbon invading your nostrils.

"please," you whisper, your voice low and breathy. "need ya, need ya so bad."

he chuckles, the tip of his nose nudging against yours. his fingers feel so good on your clit, his pace quickening. if it weren't for your grip on him, you'd most likely fall off the back of the stool, your body willingly succumbing to him.

"little bird," he hums, brown eyes staring deep into you. you whine as his fingers retract from your stimulated core, his fingertips dampened with your arousal. "we can take it to the bathroom."

"mine," the man grunts into your ear, long fingers laced around your throat, constricting your breath. he's fucking starving—carving out your insides with his cock, imprinting every ridge and curve into the squishy walls of your cunt, devouring your entire being with almost little-to-no regard for you. "all fuckin' mine, such a good girl f'me. taken me cock like the perfect little thing ya are."

you try to suppress your moans, the walls of your cunt clenching hard around his cock. your eyes roll into the back of your head, tongue lolling out to the side, drool seeping out the edges of your mouth. your hands are pressed to the cool porcelain of the sink, gripping at the edges in search of support against the man's brutal hips rutting against your ass cheeks.

his cock plunges deep in and out of you at a rigorous pace, hot breath warming up your cheek. he leans back and releases your neck, the sweetness of air seeping into your lungs as his hands find their place on your hips. his fingernails dig into the soft flesh, a coy smirk tugging at his lips as he meets your gaze through the mirror's reflection.

"bet yer little boyfriend doesn't fuck ya nearly as good as i do, huh? doesn't know how t' make ya into a needy, begging, little mess, right, little bird?" the man teasingly rambles behind you. his cock nudges against your g-spot, bullying the sensitive spot relentlessly. you swore you could see the pearly gates of heaven with the way he was fucking you.

"bet he doesn't touch ya here," one of his fingers dips between your legs, toying with your sensitive clit with harsh pinches and tugs. your body reacts instantly, back arching deeper as you slump against the edge of the bathroom's sink. "there we go, little bird. yer lovin' this, aren't ya? c'mon, pretty girl, lemme hear how much ya love this cock."

another high-pitched whine leaves your lips as he plunges faster in and out of you, every inch of his cock burying itself deeper and deeper inside you with each thrust. you're impossibly close to the edge, fragile mind teetering on the edges. you could feel the hot knot at the pit of your stomach grow, spreading across your body and encompassing every inch of you with its fiery wrath.

"f-fuckkk, feels s' good," you cry out when his fingers pinch your clit roughly, rolling the sensitive nub between his calloused fingers. "hittin' me s' deep, don't fuckin' stop, p-please... holy fuck! s' close, don't stop don't stop don't stop—"

the man chuckles behind you, "tell me yer boyfriend doesn't fuck ya this good. tell me who owns this pussy, little bird."

"you! shit, f-fuckkkk, you do, my pussy's all yours, " you ramble, his heavy balls smacking hard against your clit. "c-christ, n-never been f-fucked this goood— fillin' me up s' good, b-best dick i've everr had—"

with another harsh tug to your clit, you cum around his cock, pussy walls spasming and convulsing hard him. your orgasm almost brings you to your knees, breath caught in your throat as he pins you to the counter with his hips. with a few more thrusts, he cums in you with a rough grunt— hot ropes of cum sticking to every ridge of your cunt's walls as he spills every drop inside you.

"thatagirl," he leans down, his towering frame encompassing the entirety of your back as you remain bent over the sink. you're too sensitive to move, his cock still rock hard inside you. you tilt your head down, your forehead pressed to the chilling porcelain edge of the sink.

"can't let you go just yet," he breathes into your ear, planting a sloppy kiss on the side of your head. you hum in appreciation, barely able to open your eyes to meet his piercing gaze as you rest the side of your face against the sink. he's still sporting a shit-eating smirk, blown-out eyes dancing with a mixture of possession and lust. "g'na clean ya up and take ya back to my room. how’s that sound, little bird?"

by the time you got home the next morning, your skin was littered with purple and black splotches and inner thighs stained with the memories of the previous night. the man had disappeared at some point before you had woken up, leaving you to recollect your items and yourself before doing the walk of shame.

as you set your purse down on your coffee table, mindlessly kicking your heels off to the side and succumbing to the soft cusions of your couch, your boyfriend appeared behind you. with a smug smile and bright honey eyes, he cupped your jaw— guiding your head back to rest on the back of the couch, allowing you to meet his loving gaze before he littered kisses along your forehead, nose, and cheeks, whispering sweet words of love and endearment between kisses.

“you could’ve given me a ride home, si,” you giggled as simon pressed a few quick pecks to your lips, the warmth of your love for him spreading throughout your chest, squeezing at your heart. “or at least left me a change of clothes in the hotel room. was a bit embarrassed that i had to do the walk of shame after spendin’ the night with my own boyfriend.”

“yer the one who wanted to roleplay last night,” he reminded you, stroking the hinge of your jaw with the pad of his thumb. simon glanced at the hickies and bite mark bruises that decorated your neck and collar bone. “had t’ give the full experince, little bird. that’s what ya wanted, right?”

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fangswbenefits · 3 months

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The Arrangement (12) - In the Beginning

Chapter summary: Astarion meets up with Ava and it triggers something deep within him.

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. Astarion's POV. Mention of masturbation. Dissociative episode. Bloodlust.

Word count: 4.8k

Series Masterlist . Ao3

He should have known this would happen eventually.

His love affair with the sun had reached an unavoidable end. Yet again. Luck had seldom ever been on his side, so this shouldn’t sting this much.

But it did.

His eyes darted to the half-moon window high up above through which scorching shafts of sunlight tore and lit up the dingy cellar.

Revulsion stirred within him and the flares of anger threatened to consume him whole.

The very same sun rays in which he had bathed for weeks were now a sore reminder of his true and inescapable nature.

He titled his head back against the wooden crate, his eyes fluttering shut in defeat as he sat on the cold floor.

Astarion had served his purpose and was now cast to live in the shadows once more, bound to his hunger and to all the inconveniences of being a vampire spawn.

The pain of being scorched by the sunlight had been revived in his mind after weeks of freely strolling around the Sword Coast in some impromptu quest to save Baldur’s Gate whilst having to deal with an inconvenient wriggling dweller inside his head.

But all the physical pain of being burnt mercilessly paled in comparison when his ears picked up approaching footsteps.

He knew who they belonged to.

The sound was carved into his mind like a dagger that wouldn’t budge.

You.

He winced as the squeaky door was pushed open.

“Astarion?”

He gritted his teeth, silently praying you’d simply walk away and leave him to his misery.

But his prayers had never been answered before, and that wasn’t about to change now, least of all when it concerned you.

In truth, he doubted any God above would be able to keep you from plaguing his thoughts.

“Astarion, I know you’re in here.”

Then leave.

He remained silent, eyes fluttered shut and an urge to be swallowed whole by the ground below.

Light and careful footsteps drew near and only came to a halt as a swift rush of air indicated to him that you were crouched in front of him.

Shit.

“Hello,” you said and he could hear the warm smile in your voice.

Slowly, he opened his eyes and he was sure that if he had a beating heart, it would most likely skip a few beats. Instead, he felt his stomach lurch as hunger simmered dangerously.

Your kind eyes met his and he craved nothing more than to have you be gone.

From all the afflictions he was yet again a slave to, you were by far the most painful one.

“Did you come here to mock me?” he spat, the poisonous words leaving his mouth before he could hold back.

Your eyes widened slightly. “Mock you? Astarion–”

But he cut you off like a knife through flesh. “Spare me – I saw the way they laughed as my skin crumbled to ashes. So if you’ve come here to have your share, you can just leave.”

He was being unfair and he didn’t need your wavering smile as proof.

After all your travels together and his unrequited feelings towards you, he couldn’t fight his arrogance from surfacing.

But you never gave up on him – through deceit and manipulation, you were unmoving and relentless in your loyalty to him.

“I’ll have you know that I scolded all of them for doing so,” you said firmly. “It was uncalled for, especially after everything we’ve been through together.”

His jaw clenched harder and his eyes narrowed.

Oh, he couldn’t stand it. That look on your face – pity. It immediately triggered a visceral reaction deep within him, and when he saw you reach out to him with your hand, he flinched away and recoiled against the crate behind him.

“Don’t touch me.”

Your hand immediately stilled before dropping to your knee, and he saw a glint of sadness cross your eyes.

It wasn’t disgust or anger that caused him to utter such words.

He just knew your touch would ruin him and that he’d allow it.

“We can find a way to solve this,” you tried again with newfound determination. “We will find a way.”

He scoffed, averting his gaze.

Unfortunately, the laws of the worlds didn’t bend to the whims of lesser beings without compromise.

And he soon realised what really bothered him was how vulnerable he felt – how exposed and weak he surely looked in your eyes.

Pathetic.

Useless.

Tainted.

Broken.

“Do you trust me?”

He remained silent.

“Do you?”

Your insistence gnawed at his nerves, causing him to lock eyes with you again.

“It goes beyond trust, darling. If walking in the sun again – or curing vampirism altogether – were that easy, I would not be here in the first place.”

Even through his snarky remark, you found a way to hold a smile and it immediately disarmed him. “Astarion, if there is anything our travels together have taught me is that we're quite good at turning the impossible into possible,” you said with conviction. “If there is a way to help you, we will find it.”

In another lifetime, he would have called you a foolish human who uttered big words without knowing their meaning.

But in this one, he did know you didn't extend promises lightly.

And if there was a sliver of hope he could cling to, he'd take it, especially now that Cazador was no longer around to compel him otherwise.

“Well, who's ‘we’, exactly?” he asked, easing himself against the crate.

Your face lightened up. “You and me, of course.”

The two of you. Just the two of you?

Oh, he liked the sound of that. Very, very much.

His jaw slacked as hope kindled inside him, soaring dangerously high.

“Well, and Wyll – he's offered to help.”

Said hope plummeted back to the ground, shattering.

He scowled with a click of his tongue. “Did he, now? How chivalrous of him.”

You nodded. “I'm sure the others will come around, too.”

Astarion supposed this was a decent prospect, but almost grimaced when you extended your hand to him.

“Deal?”

He wanted to believe your relationship with him surpassed a mere friendship value, but he had grown tired of hoping for more.

Still, he would greedily take anything you would offer him.

Whether it was an indication that you craved more than friendship, or a simple handshake.

As such, he took your hand in his, revelling in the familiar warmth. “We have a deal, darling.”

Once he entered The Blushing Mermaid, it was evident that the presence of six Flaming Fists was not welcome at all.

Bork immediately asked for only two to stay inside as they were beginning to frighten the clientele.

But, much to his convenience, he immediately found who he was looking for, sitting in the furthermost corner of the lounge area.

Ava.

The plan was simple: try to get a confession from her – if applicable – but they would still be bringing her in for questioning as Rob Sorel, her lover, awaited her with Wyll.

A measured smile spread across her face as she noticed the fists behind him.

He slithered to her table with determined steps, aware that there was a possibility that this conversation would lead nowhere.

He slowly took the seat across from her, casually placing his twin daggers on the chipped table.

Ava's eyes dropped momentarily before meeting his again. “Oh, Astarion. Offering a silent warning with poison-coated blades? You needn't do that with me.”

Astarion's lips twitched upwards in silence.

He knew this dance better than most. He could read others quite efficiently when it came to sudden shifts in body language, and he had noticed Ava sitting straighter and her saccharine smile wavering all of a sudden.

And he had her right where he wanted her.

“You can't be too careful. Isn't that what some say?” he said, absentmindedly drumming his fingers along the handle of one dagger.

She took a sip from her cup before tilting it. “I'd order one for you, but I know this isn't your drink of choice – unless you brought her along for a sip, that is.”

Her taunt was enough to set him ablaze and the tip of his blade was immediately carved into the wooden table, earning a jolt from her.

“You do not get to goad me with her,” he snarled, gripping the handle so fiercely he might snap it in half. “She is off limits and you were delusional to even think you could bring her into this without consequences.”

Suddenly, her face twisted into a hard scowl and whatever traces of sweetness vanished. “I would not do anything with her without talking to you first.”

“You still offered her a deal, thereby roping her into something she is not to be a part of,” he retorted. “Her blood is off limits. She is off limits.”

Ava leaned back with a roll of her eyes. “Is this a case of you not wanting to share? Not even if that could be beneficial to you?”

His grip loosened slightly as his brows furrowed. “What is your point?”

She took another sip. “Her blood mixed with yours could be beneficial to my experiment and, thus, to you and even that massive horde of spawn in the Underdark.”

Of course Ava would want to play her cards right to keep him around.

It was a temptimg prospect, and he would never consider it at your expense.

He was no fool and you were no bargaining chip.

“I could never ask that of her. She stays out of this.”

She forced a yawn. “Have you forgotten your arrangement with her? Her blood for your good behaviour? Or does all sense of reason rush to your cock when you feed on her?”

Ava's words slashed through the air and he was momentarily taken aback.

The nature of your arrangement with him was vastly different. It wasn’t as simple as him being kept in line like some obedient pup. He could have turned the offer away and live exclusively off boars and deers – much to his horror.

The difference was… well, you.

Your unwillingness to let him go.

Your blood.

Your insistence on helping him keep his mind clear by allowing him to freely feed on the blood of a thinking creature.

And not just any thinking creature.

You.

His first.

The only blood he craved to the point of madness.

“Though, I can tell you haven't fed in a couple of days,” she went on with a dramatic pout. “A lover's quarrel, hmm?”

Oh, she was vicious.

This was the same woman who had shared a bed with him to ease him coming to terms with intimacy. For the most part, her simply being naked by his side hadn't helped much, but it seemed enough, and he was desperate to overcome the prison that his mind had become.

However, this was also the same woman who slayed her kin without hesitation.

She could go from being as kind and sweet to holding a stake to his chest.

Astarion felt a sense of dread wash over him as he realised he had greatly underestimated her.

Now, he needed to tread lightly.

The blade sunk deeper into the table as he leaned closer. “You wanted her blood in exchange for information.”

“Yet it is a far less selfish bargain than your arrangement with her, is it not?”

He ignored tar taunt. “Who is after me?”

“I do not know yet.”

He gritted his teeth. “Lies.”

Ava's face softened and he watched her slip into her usual overly sweet demeanour. “Astarion, we can be here all night hurling accusations and witty remarks at each other,” she said with a sigh. “Or we can approach this in a more sensitive manner.”

He didn't budge. “Who is after me?”

“I do not know who is after you,” she said. “Someone is, but I have yet to find out who.”

There was something in her tone that felt disingenuous. Almost as if she hadn't expected him to press her on this.

“Or there is no one at all besides you,” he said casually.

Her eyes widened slightly. “Me? And what would I gain from doing such a thing? Your blood is an integral part of this experiment. Locking you up in a prison cell would prove to be a nuisance.”

His patience was wearing thin.

“Darling, I've been around long enough to know people lie – you are a pristine liar, but a liar nonetheless.

In truth, he was merely bluffing in an attempt to spot any cracks in her story. He needed anything he could get from her.

And a part of him still hoped this was all a misunderstanding.

She cocked an eyebrow at him. “I can see what you are trying to do and it won't work.”

He thought as much. Still, he had to give it a try.

“What about Waterdeep?”

For the first time that night, Ava looked genuinely dumbfounded. “What about it?”

“No casual killings over there, hmm? In the past hours – accidental ones, perhaps?” he pressed.

She frowned deeply in response. “What are you accusing me of, exactly?”

“Someone was murdered and I am simply trying to rule you out as a suspect,” he said, feigning concern.

“You overestimate my reach outside Baldur's Gate.”

He scoffed. “But not the reach of a certain patriar who so happens to be your lover.”

Ava's lips parted but she didn't utter a word.

“Rob Sorel has dealings in Waterdeep and knows which strings to pull to order a murder.”

She was visibly agitated, but he couldn't tell the cause. Was it the mention of a patriar? Or was he simply nearing the truth?

“Who was killed?”

It was all pointless.

A shame.

He merely turned in his seat and motioned for the two Fists at the door. Both immediately approached with the Mage Slayer right behind.

By this point, Astarion wasn't sure if Ava was even involved in this at all, but he couldn't take any risks. She would be taken in for questioning regardless of his judgement.

“Astarion?”

The room was immediately plunged into silence as multiple heads turned to watch the scene. From behind the counter he spotted Bork shaking his head in clear disapproval, visibly displeased with the ordeal.

“Astarion? What are you doing?”

His eyes met hers as he sheathed his daggers. “The right thing.”

He was known to do that from time to time, even against his better judgement.

She rushed to her feet, clawing at her dress in search of her own dagger. “Astarion!”

He could hear the rising panic in her voice, and he silently watched as the mage cast Hold Person on her before she could so much as blink.

She was instantly left petrified in place as the violet sign on the floor caged her in.

Gasps echoed around him and the two Fists promptly rushed to her side.

“We'll handle it from here,” one of them told him.

There was a part of him that vaguely wondered if this was the correct approach.

A part of him that hoped for Ava not to be involved in any of it.

And then, from across the room, he saw you.

He blinked twice, thinking his eyes betrayed him, but there you were, standing by the door with a Fist at your side, staring back into his crimson eyes.

And it was as if he had been mentally slapped.

Ava had dared to involve you.

You.

And it had been his fault.

The unruly and dense crowd in the room wasn't enough to contain him from darting hurriedly to meet you.

Annoyance hit him first and it was woven into his words once he was in front of you, gripping your forearm. “Why are you here? I told you to let me handle this.”

You immediately yanked free with narrowed eyes. “I wasn't trying to interfere. But this idiot,” you said, pointing to the Fist who merely shrugged, “pushed me inside and – wait! How did it go with her?”

Astarion caught hold of your shoulders, pulling you to the side as Ava was carried away through the door.

As soon as it closed behind them, the fanfare commenced once more in between heated whispers and glares from those around the two of you.

“Marvellous as you can see,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “She didn't confess to anything, and I had limited time.”

You pushed the door open once again and he promptly followed you outside, until he felt a hard shove from someone's hand.

“Move, spawn.”

He glanced over his shoulder only to see a frowning Fist right behind.

“We are not cattle to be ordered around,” he spat, adjusting his vest. “Honestly, Wyll ought to have you all stand trial for severe lack of manners.”

“It's Duke Ravengard to you,” the Fist growled, hand on the hilt of his sword.

Astarion clicked his tongue humorously. “It's Wyll to me and Duke Ravengard to you, Fist.”

Before tensions could escalate any further, you were already tugging at his sleeve, and dragging him across the wooden pier.

Just as the Fist opened his mouth, a myriad of clashing and banging sounds were heard from inside and he turned to open the door.

Probably a tavern brawl.

What fun!

Seconds later, the armoured man was toppled to the ground as the door burst open with people yelling profanities and slinging fists at each other.

“I'll kill ya! WHERE IS MY CHICKEN, YOU OAF?” a drunkard missing most of his teeth yelled, holding a frying pan in his hand.

“YOU ATE IT, YOU IMBECILE!” said another, stepping on the fallen Fist and nearly losing his balance.

Behind them, Astarion spotted several items being tossed whilst Bork's voice begged for order.

He almost clicked his tongue.

Tavern brawls were too much fun and he always adored adding fuel to the fire by standing on the side and instigating these drunkard fools.

But a quick glance at you and he could tell you wouldn't approve of such activity, so he remained at your side.

The other two Fists that were standing guard nearby, clumsily rushed to the entrance.

“Go call for backup!”

The youngest nodded and nearly bumped into Astarion as he tried to keep his helmet steady.

“Oh! Do not leave! Do not move!”

Astarion immediately raised both hands innocently. “Wouldn't dream of it.”

“Right. Thank you!”

Idiot.

Surprisingly, you hadn't let go of his sleeve and your hand moved to his wrist, pulling him to cross the road until you reached the metal balustrade that allowed a privileged view over the Grey Harbour Docks.

It was far away from the chaos that had erupted, but not quite far that would potentially get you into trouble.

Although… “Maybe we should leave.”

Astarion arched an eyebrow at you. “And going against the voice of authority?”

Your face dropped and he fought the urge to pinch your cheek teasingly.

You were so easy to rile up.

“You scheming little delinquent, you,” he said with a devious smile and a chuckle. “I'm all for acts of rebellion, but we ought to stay nearby this time.”

“Do you think we should go help them out?” you asked, glancing over at the rising commotion nearby.

The two of you exchanged looks before shrugging.

“No. They can fend for themselves,” you said, leaning over the fence, eyes set on the lulling sea that spread vastly into the distance.

“Actually, they're quite incompetent, but I don't feel like creasing my shirt,” he said with an annoyed click of his tongue, inspecting his sleeves as he joined you. “Let them fight off the drunkards. We get to collect the scattered coins on the floor afterwards.”

You shot him a curious look. “You do that?”

“Well, obviously? I put the gold to good use, at least.”

“Embroidery?”

That tugged a genuine smile from him and he caught himself staring at you under the moonlight.

Gods.

He would never tire of admiring your beauty and how it was almost embarrassingly too easy for him to get lost in your eyes.

It also didn't help that he hadn't fed in a few days.

Bloodlust clouded his mind and made his insides turn.

It was the soft sound of your voice that snapped him from his thoughts. “What now? I mean… Ava.”

He cleared his throat. “Well, they are to interrogate Rob Sorel and see how both their stories hold up.”

You heaved a deep sigh. “So we wait.”

“We wait.”

Astarion had grown used to the silence that would often settle around the two of you. It wasn’t an uncomfortable one. It was the kind that he had never experienced before.

He wasn't sure there was a name for it, but he knew the feeling attached to it all too well.

The silhouette of passing ships on the horizon, dancing along the calm waters added to the overall soothing atmosphere.

He could stay a while longer like this.

With you.

His eyes eventually darted to the side and he nearly jolted when your head turned to him, as if you had felt his burning gaze.

“You can feed on me once we get home.”

He wanted that.

He needed it.

He craved it.

But… “I can do without your blood for a while longer, darling.”

A white lie.

He could feel his mind spotting and blanking at times already, especially when near you. Maybe he had gotten too addicted to feeding on you to the point his body could no longer go extended periods of time without blood.

Your blood.

And as much as he appreciated your offer, he needed to withstand his hunger.

Ava's words echoed in his mind and he almost felt repulsed from having allowed himself to be so dependent on you and putting you through it in the first place.

“Are you alright?” you asked, visibly worried.

“Yes – of course, darling,” he forced a smile to curl his lips.

Your hand came to rest on his forearm. “Astarion, you can feed on me. I mean it.”

His eyes dropped to your neck, the symmetrical puncture wounds still visible from when he had last bitten you.

Hunger swelled to the point of agony and he could almost smell your blood and feel it coursing through your hand.

You gave him a reassuring nod, which only made it harder for him to resist the urge to give in.

“I should go hunt, actually,” he eventually managed to say and his words felt like ash in his mouth.

You chuckled slightly, squeezing his arm. “You'd probably have to bring a Fist with you.”

He grimaced, but appreciated your attempt at diffusing the tension. “They would end up being the ones hunted by some beast in the woods, and I would have to step in and save the godsdamned idiot.”

Your eyes widened and then you laughed.

Hard.

And it was the most comforting sound he had ever heard in a long while.

It was enough to steer the bloodlust away and he laughed with you.

“It reminds me of the first time you fed on me,” you said, wiping off the teardrops that had formed in the corners of your eyes from laughing. “Remember? When you drifted off into the woods to hunt for something more ‘filing’?”

Oh.

Shit.

His smile wavered and you immediately caught on to the sudden shift.

“What?”

He thought he had told you what truly happened that night….

…. he hadn't?

“Well… I…” his words failed him and as he pondered how he should approach the topic.

Concern suddenly splattered across your face. “What is it?

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“I didn't exactly go hunting,” he said with a tense chuckle.

You remained silent, waiting for him to go on.

“I just had to get away from you… to… uhm, well – take care of a little problem that stirred whilst I fed on you, if you catch my meaning.”

He allowed the implication to dangle from his words, and it wasn't a particularly subtle one.

And then your eyes widened once more in sudden realisation.

“Oh… it makes sense,” you said all flustered, withdrawing your hand from his arm. “You did say my blood feels really good.”

‘Good’ was an unfair understatement.

It always felt divine.

“Don't misunderstand,” he quickly added. “It was totally out of my control. I was quite surprised when I realised just how…” hard he had gotten.

“Just how…?”

“Just how much your blood affected me.”

He could remember it clearly in his head.

How desperate he was to slip into the woods and find a secluded place so he could see just how much of a mess his trousers were.

He could feel it, obviously, but he wouldn't know the extent of the ‘'damage’ until he undid his trousers.

“Did you… get…. really hard?” you drawled out in a hushed tone as if scared someone other than him might overhear you.

Astarion figured this was the last topic he expected to be addressing given that the background noise consisted of screams and threats and loud noises and glass smashing.

Hardly the right ambience.

“Yes.”

He could almost remember the feel of the bark of the tree digging into his back as he hurriedly undid the lacing at the front until he was able to free his cock.

“And what did you do?”

Were these merely questions that stemmed from curiosity or were you trying to stir something else…?

“Well…” he started, “you can't expect me to reveal such things aloud.”

He watched you swallow hard as you nodded. “You can say in my ear, then? If you want to, of course,” you quickly added.

You were too adorable and he was in dire need of a distraction from his bloodlust.

This would suffice.

He leaned closer, and pressed a kiss to your heated cheek before his lips grazed the shell of your ear.

“I had to take care of it.”

You shuddered.

His cock had never been as hard and as thick before he had fed on you. It had made him utterly speechless to see all the precum dripping from the tip.

He had been almost too scared to even touch it.

But when he did….

The groan that had erupted from his throat had been too difficult to rein in. His cock had felt warm and it had throbbed from your blood coursing through it, giving it a faint pink tint to it.

“In the woods?” you asked, gripping the railing with both hands.

“Yes.”

He could hear the faint beating of your heart increasing. “What if someone had run into you?”

His cock twitched.

Innocent, little pup…

“Why, darling… did you want to run into me,” he lowered his voice as his lips brushed against your ear, "and witness my despair as I touched myself?”

You gasped.

Despair didn't quite cover it.

He couldn’t remember a time when he had ever felt like he'd implode lest he reached climax.

It was a novelty and he had felt… alive.

He had heard of how delectable the blood of thinking creatures could be, but he had never anticipated this feeling of fullness and how addictive it could be.

“It was so warm… from your blood, sweetheart,” he purred, feeling himself getting carried away.

You bit your quivering lip before replying, “Did it feel good?”

Maybe too carried away.

And when you shuddered again under his faint touch, it was as if he had been slapped back into another plane of existence.

He suddenly straightened himself and blinked.

What was he doing?

His abrupt change in demeanour was enough to earn a reaction from you, and he could see lust in your half-hooded eyes as you stared at him in confusion.

And just like a tidal wave that one couldn't hold back, he felt disgust and revulsion lacing themselves into a powerful mixture that caused him to take a step back.

His mind was flooded with Ava's accusatory words and the memories of him seducing you for his own benefit.

“Astarion?”

Your voice was miles away and he couldn't even bring himself to blink anymore.

The nauseating feeling was heightened by the fact that he had a very inconvenient erection strained against his trousers, begging for attention.

“Astarion… what is it?”

Your voice seemed even more distant than before, as if he had been plunged into a well and couldn't get out.

Why couldn't he get out?

Why was his cock so hard, but his mind so repulsed by it?

And the impending feeling of dread began to slowly overtake him like storm clouds rolling over the mountains, bent on flooding the land below.

And when it began to rain in his mind, it poured.

He needed to get away.

He needed to get away from you.

You tried reaching out to him with your hand, but he flinched away. “Don't touch me!”

And he could see it in your eyes.

Pity.

Again.

“I – I must go.”

And he didn't look back.

TBC

#astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x oc #astarion x female tav #astarion smut #astarion x female reader #astarion x f!tav

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chatsukimi · 2 months

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ｓｃａｒｓ： "ᴛʜᴇʏ ꜱᴀʏ ɪᴛ'ꜱ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴋɪʟʟᴇᴅ ɪɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴘᴀꜱᴛ ʟɪꜰᴇ"

Sukuna x deceased reader. pt 1.

Sukuna whose flames are unleashed solely on special occasions. One day, when Yuji wonders aloud why he has two, he tells the brat to "shut up and get yourself your first technique before asking for seconds." Yuji winces, shutting up nevertheless.

Sukuna who quietens next to the bonfire on New Years. The open conflagration bursts and wanes. He peers at the sparkling flames, dancing before Yuji's worn out sneakers. He wills the boy to let him switch places- one minute, just as he had promised when Sukuna restored his heart. Now the Devil will restore his own.

Sukuna who appears, silent, next to a mossy pillar in the middle of a redwood forest; a trick of Cursed Technique, long lost. He only has a minute: prepare the incense, plant the prayers, spare one longing gaze at your statue. He clenches his teeth as he hears Yuji banging on inside his mind, but it's the one chance he has of being with you, alone.

Sukuna who had always been concentrated compared to the other Special Grade sorcerers, capable of miraculous devotion. Suffice to say, he likes it best when there aren't passerby's, mistaking zeal for shortcoming.

He sinks to the ground, bowing his head, pressing his palms together, before wisps of flame start drifting from between them, touching every candle and incense to life. Wisteria scents float over him.

In this forgotten corner of the world, all who remember you are the monks who tend this shrine, and the strongest of them all.

When Yuji wakes up, on the stone floor of the Fujiwara Clan's tombs, sputtering at the cold. Shocked, later on, by the violent burn in the middle of his chest he had never seen before.

"Curious..." Gojo murmurs, inspecting the wound. "Yuji, you're growing more and more like him."

This used to be his scar.

Sukuna who doesn't come out for days when Gojo informs Yuji about the Fujiwara Clan's destruction. What was he doing at the shrine? Why did he kill them all, the children, the soldiers, the wives?

Everyone assumes Sukuna's just tired of Yuji's moral clamouring. No one suspects he is drowning in the shadows of his domain, his head collapsed back onto the animal skulls, exhales spilling out in long drawn out phrases, in the nightmare he created.

Sukuna who used to hate fire because it quashed the dark, until he saw you manoeuvre flames and arrows as though they were a second skin. He was the Disgraced One, but you- you were kind.

Sukuna who was killed by you, when he killed your clan. He was promised your technique when he said he would protect you. He made a vow. He had to keep it.

So, when it came time, he had simply let you press your burning hand upon his chest and feel him recline in agony. He knew it would be the last time you touch him. He wanted to feel it burn.

"Sukuna, you told me you would try to get better. You told me you didn't care how the others saw you, about us- how could you lie to me?"

He never wanted to lie to you, of all souls. If it makes you feel better, he still thinks of you when he uses your flames, only on special occasions. Your strength, your grace, and the look you wore as you killed him, they all come wobbling, like moth to a flame. Like a lowly cast-away boy on his way, in rage, to destruction.

Sukuna who thinks to himself, "you have given your technique to me, but what if I had asked for your soul with mine forever?", looking for your voice in the flames.

It only cracks and cackles.

It is Yuji who first notices you on the street.

"Hey! Hey!"

You turn around. A boy with pink hair is jogging towards you. He waves.

"Oh. Hi, do I know you?"

"Don't think so. You just look really alike to someone I saw a while ago at a shrine."

You can't pinpoint what but the slit on his face... you can't tear your eyes from it. You shake your head. What is wrong with you today?

"I don't go to shrines," you say. Your fingers itch to reach out to graze his cheek. "... that's a cool scar you've got there. Both sides of your face. They say scars are where you were killed"

"Oh I've got many scars," he mutters sheepishly. "A big one on my chest, s'kinda lame though, 'cause I don't remember how I got it."

You laugh. "Me too." You drag your T-shirt neckline down just an inch, pointing at it with your thumb. "I was born with mine."

A scar.

A burn.

A flaming arrow.

Right above your heart.

#ryomen sukuna #sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna angst #heian era #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #yuji itadori

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ectologia · 3 months

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♱ ˖ ࣪࿐ 𝒯𝐻𝐼𝒩𝒦𝐼𝒩𝒢 𝒜𝐵𝒪𝒰𝒯 . . .

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 ؛ just sleepy emotional boys, embarrassing sex scene

𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 . . .

Big, powerful, stoic men who come home so tired and exhausted that they just can’t...

His hair is mussed, his eyes heavy lidded with dull purple rings encircling them, shadowing his features gravely when he looks up at you with sunken brows.

He has to bow to enter without hitting his head on the door frame, climbing into your home like a giant intruding on an ant’s nest. His arms barely extend into the air, more a subtle twitch of his fore fingers beckoning you to him, silently asking, begging for a hug. Or at least some type of affection.

You poise yourself on your toes, slinging your arms up and around his shoulders while he arches into you with the likeness of a withered old willow tree.

No words are exchanged as he picks you up by your rear, propping you on his hip like one would a child. You assume he wants you in bed, so you cling to him. Interlocking yourself around his body with your ankles hooked at the base of his spine.

To your confusion, the inevitable groan and creak of the staircase never comes, only a grunt of frustration, and the clang of a belt buckle that has your ears perking.

You’re pinned to the nearest wall within an instance, yelping as picture frames jounce and ornaments shudder. He wastes no time in pulling your underwear to the side, wanting to be as close as possible as he bathes the warm, velvety tip of his dick in your slick, rolling it’s throbbing warmth around in your own with a broken whimper.

He has no desire to stretch you open and spear himself inside you today, perfectly content with rocking back and forth lazily with weak thrusts and humps, forehead and hands plastered against the wall behind you with laboured breaths leaving moist patches against your shoulder and neck.

Neither of you are moving, left with your legs dangling limply as he pushes himself up and down against the delicate softness of your little pink slit.

You brace yourself on his shoulders, hanging off of him like dead weight as his hips move with the weakest of pulses, barely thrusting with the bob of his ankles and tense of his ass assisting him.

“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.” He chants like a prayer through grit teeth, voice breaking and shattering as though he was on the verge of tears, teetering on the edge and torn between cumming and crying, croaking out tiny pleas as droplets bubble along his lash line and sink to where his throat closes up.

His knees almost unravel from their locked position and give way when you shush him, stroking up his nape and carding through the thick locks layered with sweat, cooing at him sweetly that he doesn’t have to finish tonight, and neither do you.

He collapses at that, crouching down on the floor and taking you with him. He must look so silly, sobbing and sniffling into your hair, hunched with his boxers around his ankles and his manhood swinging between his knees half hard. No less with you crumpled beneath him, twitching muff puffed out bare with your legs tangled over his thighs like a contortionist, waiting patiently for his tears to subside.

“Tomorrow”, he promises. Tomorrow he’ll be better. Tomorrow he’ll fuck you till’ you cripple, he’ll eat your pussy and he’ll finger you till’ you squirt then he’ll do it all again for you, he promises. He’s sorry.

But he knows he shouldn’t be, by the way you shake your head light heartedly and smile. You let him cry as long as he wants, bringing himself to his knees and cuddling your chest as though he wasn’t twice your size and height, squashing your partially nude form into the floor until he’s all tuckered out and sleepy beyond comprehension.

You’d carry him to bed if you could, wanting to repay him for all the times he’d done so for you. But instead, you just stay. Moulding and bending into whatever position he demands of you as he rests his weary head against your stomach, snivelling until two blinks become one, and one blink becomes zero.

𝓉𝑜𝓂𝓊𝓇𝒶 𝓈𝒽𝒾𝑔𝒶𝓇𝒶𝓀𝒾, 𝓀𝒶𝓉𝓈𝓊𝓀𝒾 𝒷𝒶𝓀𝓊𝑔𝑜𝓊, 𝒹𝒶𝒷𝒾, 𝓀𝑒𝒾𝑔𝑜 𝓉𝒶𝓀𝒶𝓂𝒾, 𝒾𝓏𝓊𝓀𝓊 𝓂𝒾𝒹𝑜𝓇𝒾𝓎𝒶, 𝑒𝒾𝒿𝒾𝓇𝑜𝓊 𝓀𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓂𝒶 + 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒻𝒶𝓋𝑒𝓈 !

#bnha #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #dabi #hawks #keigo takami #tomura shigaraki #shigaraki tomura #bnha x reader #shigaraki x reader #hawks x reader #dabi x reader #kirishima x reader #midoriya x reader #bnha smut

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coffit0 · 2 years

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The idea came to me in a vision

ID below the cut (thanks to the person that added it!)

[Image description: Three colored panels featuring Joel, Grian, and Scar from the Double Life SMP. In the first panel, Joel glances at Grian, who is standing with his arms crossed and saying, “So. . . he’s my soulmate. . . Erm. . . Thoughts?” In the second panel, Joel silently stares at Scar, who is cheerfully frolicking with an allay. Joel turns back to Grian with his brows furrowed and expression shadowed and says, “And prayers!” A watermark in the bottom right corner of each panel reads, “@Coffit0 / Don’t repost”. End image description.]

#smallishbeans #grian #goodtimeswithscar #desert duo #<- KINDA????#artfitto #double life #anyway. hello im here to announce the I love Joel omg andbsmdbdn new mcyt blorbo acquired

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dotster001 · 4 months

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When You Escape Him; Octavinelle

Summary: Yandere Octavinelle boys x gn!reader. He adopts a child that looks like the two of you. You run to give you both a chance at life. You never expected him to find you.

CW: yandere, dark content, murder, threats against reader, drugging, injury to reader, mafia shit, this one feels darker, so read at your own risk, Azul's part is the tamest, so take that as you will

A/N: As promised, I'm going to be doing this one regularly. Hopefully gonna get these out on Sundays.

Heartslaybul Savannahclaw Scarabia Pomefiore Ignihyde Diasomnia Non NRC Staff

Three years into your relationship, he had come home and placed a baby in your arms.

"They were left in a box, all alone. And, well, he looks like if the two of us had a child," he sheepishly stared at the ground. "I just, I just figured it must be a gift from the seven."

You knew what he was trying to do. He was trying to tie himself to you through this boy. He looked just like him, and you were disgusted and scared.

Until he opened his eyes for the first time, and you found yourself staring into your own.

And you knew. You had to give this child the opportunity for a better life. A life without him.

In the end, your son did the opposite of what he had intended. And the first moment you could, the two of you had escaped.

You were lucky. In so many ways. Every single day you were grateful. Grateful that you been at your winter home, which was on land. Grateful that the child he'd found had been human. Grateful that the twins had had to go home early for “family business”.

You would never have had your window otherwise.

And seven years later, you were still grateful. Particularly to the Sunset Savannah, for quietly taking you and your son in as citizens, and legally changing your names, all under the table.

Your son was starting first grade tomorrow, so you'd spent the day shopping for supplies, eating treats that you'd splurged on to celebrate, chatting about dreams for the future.

The sun had gone down, and you'd shifted a bag to your hip to unlock the door, only for the door to slowly creak open. You pushed your son behind you, peeking into your darkened apartment. You quickly noticed the absolute wreckage inside, the windows broken, tables flipped, tv smashed, pillows torn; anything that could be broken, was broken.

You turned to your son, pressing a finger to your lips. He looked scared, but nodded. You grabbed his hand, and tip toed towards the stairwell. You made it down one flight of stairs before you saw twin shadows. You had the advantage of seeing them first, so you turned and tiptoed your way to the roof, hastily typing a message to Emergency L. You said a silent prayer as you pushed the door open, immediately hearing cackling as they bounded up the stairs behind you.

If you could just block the door until help arrived…

But the roof was swarmed with large men in black suits. You never stood a chance.

After an uncomfortable ride in a limo with the Leech twins, who were trying really hard to get your son to call them “Uncle”, followed by an underwater breathing potion shoved down your throat (your son's was mixed in a smoothie), and an even more uncomfortable escort back to Azul’s undersea branch of the Monstro Lounge, you found yourself in a very familiar situation. It'd been a while since you'd been in this chair in the VIP room. Last time, you'd traded your life away, believing Azul would find a way home for you. You really should have read the fine print…

“Mister?” Your son tugged on Floyd's sleeve.

Floyd grinned. “That's not my name.”

“U-uncle Floyd?” Floyd nodded happily. “Can I have a glass of water?”

“Daddy will be here in a sec. He'll get you some water.”

Floyd seemed happy to entertain your son, meanwhile Jade quietly snickered from the spot next to you where he was ensuring you stayed seated.

The door slammed open, and you didn't dare turn to look.

“WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME?” Azul boomed, and you heard your son release a squeak in fear.

“You were very busy with work. We didn't want to disturb you,” Jade said, the smile clear in his voice.

A tentacle wrapped around your stomach as Azul made his way to his desk.

“I should fire both of you for your impertinence.”

“Ah, but then we'd have to take Shrimpy and baby tako with us,” Floyd guffawed.

“Don't even joke about that,” Azul spat, finally in a place where you couldn't avoid looking at him. He looked exactly the same as you remembered, just with more bags under his eyes. The tentacle wrapped around your middle tightened as he stared at you, then he looked at your son, another tentacle moving to smooth the boy's hair. He flinched, but you'd long since learned that sometimes Azul's tentacles had a mind of their own; they continued petting his head.

“How would you like to stay with your Grandma for a while?” He finally asked.

“Grandma?”

“Yes. Your parents have to work some things out. So Uncle Floyd and Uncle Jade are going to take you to stay with Grandma.”

“My grandma is from a different world…”

“You have another Grandma,” Azul smiled wickedly. “You see,” the tentacle turned his head to face you, “someone has been lying to you. I'm your father. And they stole you from me, because they are a selfish, mean, person.”

You moved to stand, but the tentacle, and Jade's grip, both became crushing, and you froze in place. Your son's eyes flickered with doubt, but saying something now would give you a black eye and a traumatized son.

“I'm your father,” Azul smiled softly, moving closer and gently taking his hands. That's the smile that made you sign your contract.

“We'll see you soon. And then we'll be a proper family. Okay?”

The boy nodded and was quickly walked out by Jade and Floyd. Azul moved behind his desk, as though he had not a care in the world. He pulled out a familiar piece of glowing paper, and looked at it, before looking at you in mock disapproval.

“It seems you are in extreme violation of your contract, Y/N Ashengrotto.”

The only way you could have ever made it to the surface, was with help. Going to Jade was a long shot. But he'd grinned. It sounded entertaining to him, watching Floyd hunt you down. It would provide a couple hours of fun for him.

What Jade hadn't anticipated was how long you'd spent preparing for this opportunity.

And now it had been six years since you'd escaped the clutches of the ocean. Your son was coloring in the living space while you cooked.

The door splintered into a million pieces with a loud bang. And there he was. His eyes as cold as the day you'd first met him, when you'd watched him fight off a crowd of angry contracted students.

Your son looked up, instantly crying in total fear. You wrapped your arms around him, shielding him from your angry ex husband. Or at least you tried to. But, just like the man he resembled, he was a tall boy. It was hard to hide your gentle giant.

“Hey squirt,” Floyd said, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. He leaned in, his face inches from your son's face, scanning him, seeing the traces of himself in the boy. “How bout you come with me?”

“I-” he looked up at you, then back at Floyd. “I don't wanna.”

Floyd's eyes narrowed. He stood back up, grabbing you by the jaw, with a growl.

“Bet ya think you're real funny, doncha Shrimpy? Turning my family against me? Ya did it with Jade too. Thing is,” he scowled, biting his lip before continuing, “if I kill the kid, I know I'll never get you back again.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“Jade,” you breathed, but Floyd threw you to the ground.

“Don't you dare say his name!” He screamed, moving to grab you again, but your son stood in his way.

“You don't get to talk about him! You killed my brother!” He screamed, trying to bob and weave around the boy. Finally he pulled out his pen, whispering a spell, and your son collapsed.

“No!” You screamed, crawling over to him, but Floyd blasted you back against the wall.

“He's fine. Just sleeping til we get home,” he said, irritation at having to even explain it clear in his voice.

He stalked over to you, and you tried to scoot back, but winced. You were pretty sure you had broken something.

He shoved you back, then hovered over your body, pinning your hands above your head. He nuzzled into your neck, his teeth grazing your jugular.

“If I ripped your throat out, you couldn't leave me again.”

“Please don't,” you breathed out, tears trickling from the corners of your eyes.

“No promises,” he said, the smile returning to his voice. “We'll see how well you behave.”

You'd found a spy among the ranks of Jade's men. As much as you believed that Jade probably already knew, you'd used the poor soul’s situation to your advantage. You wouldn't tell “Papa Leech” about him, if he got his boss to get you and your son an escape. You pointed out how if you escaped, and stayed hidden, Jade would essentially be out of the picture, forever weakening the Leech family.

It took lots of negotiation, and some 4d chess on your part to out maneuver the near genius that was Jade, but eventually, you were set up in a small home in the sea just off the coast of the kingdom of heroes.

They'd even started prepping for when your son was old enough to start safely taking human transformation potions. A moray eel mer stood out no matter where he lived, so the sooner they could set you up on land, the better.

That spy had left that job, and was now your regular contact when they were passing along information. You were scheduled to meet him today. He'd told you to bring your son. You hoped this meant you were finally going to discuss leaving the ocean. You'd dressed up your boy, putting a wig on him to hide the very Leech-ish hair he was unfortunate enough to be sporting. A pair of sunglasses on both of you, and you were ready.

You arrived at the fancy restaurant, giving the host the fake name that you used for your contact. He directed you to a room in the back, telling you to lock the door behind you.

You opened the door in the back, gently ushering your son in as you turned to lock the door. You turned back, and smiled at your contact, sitting down next to your son, in the seat across from him.

Then your contact fell out of his chair.

“Aw, too bad,” you heard an upsettingly familiar voice say from the dark corner of the room.

You grabbed your son's arm, preparing to swim away, but it took less than a beat for Jade to torpedo through the water, and grab you, throwing you over his shoulder.

“No!” Your son cried, banging his fists against Jade.

Jade snickered, before calling out, “Floyd. Enough hiding. Time to play with your beloved nephew.”

Floyd swam out from under the table, sighing heavily.

“If I have to. Just make sure you actually get Shrimpy on the right path this time, or Pops is gonna lose it.”

Your son was snatched around the middle, then dragged out of the room, your anguished cries doing nothing. Jade swam back to the seat your now dead contact was sitting in, slamming you down into it, binding you with a spell.

“Hello, my love. How was your vacation?” He asked with a close eyed smile.

You struggled against the binds, and he sighed in mock disappointment.

“Oh dear, I thought you'd be happy to see me.”

He wiped away an invisible tear. Then he reached over to the plate on the table.

“Jade, please. Where are you taking my son?” You pleaded.

He raised a brow, his face the very image of innocence, as he rolled his fork in the pasta on the plate.

“You mean, my son?” He asked. “He's going somewhere safe.”

“Jade, promise me you won't hurt him-”

“I would never! Do you think I'm a cruel beast?”

You didn't feel safe answering that question.

“While you were gone, I did some thinking. I was asking a lot of you. You're just a weak magicless human in a very scary environment. On top of that, I wanted you to be a parent, and a perfect spouse. You need some help.”

He grinned. “So I did some experimenting. Open wide!” He pressed the fork to your mouth, but you kept your lips sealed tight. “Don't worry, my pearl, you won't feel a thing.”

You had no doubt of that. Whatever was in that food wouldn't hurt you, not in a way you would feel. But whatever it did do would be far worse. You just knew it, especially after all this time he had to think about just how to make you behave.

“Do you ever wish to see your son again?”

You slowly nodded, your throat closing up.

“Do you want your son's grandfather to be put in charge of your discipline?”

You shook your head, and Jade's smile widened as he pressed the fork back to your lips. This time, you slowly opened your mouth and took a bite of the pasta. It tasted good, at least. That was your last thought as the world around you morphed and warped, the only thing you could truly focus on was a sharp toothed smile.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #azul ashengrotto #yandere azul ashengrotto #yandere azul ashengrotto x reader #floyd leech x reader #floyd leech #yandere floyd leech #yandere floyd leech x reader #yandere #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere jade leech #yandere jade leech x reader #jade leech #jade leech x reader

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daycourtofficial · 1 month

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Forever is the sweetest con

Cassian x reader, Azriel x reader

Summary: based on this request - the war with Hybern claimed the life of your husband. Reeling with grief, you discover that you’re pregnant. His brother and your friend, Azriel, begins spending more and more time with you, finding solace in each other amidst your shared grief.

Author’s note: sadness, sadness, sadness, this one took me ages to write bc it’s so fucking sad 😭 I’m not super happy with this bc I was mostly trying to meet the deadline so this might feel disjointed bc I had to kinda skip around a lot. Also I didn’t tag this as Cassian x reader in tags bc it felt too painful to do that

Word count: 3k

Warnings: character death, unexpected pregnancy, honestly just sadness

“I’m Cassian.”

A large, handsome male greeted you as you were shelving some new books away. His large outstretched hand reached towards you, waiting in the air for a moment as you set the stack of books in your arms down. Your hand gets lost in the warmth of his, telling him your own name.

He smiles at it, repeating it, testing it on his tongue.

For days, that is the only memory playing in your head. It is what you think of as you lay in your shared bed, his scent still lingering. It is what you think when Feyre picks you up, and her and Mor place you in a bathtub as they clean you. It is what you think of as you stare at the ceiling, hoping it will collapse on you.

It is what you think of as you stand between Rhysand and Azriel at Cassian’s memorial. It is what you think of as they lower the casket into the ground, the citizens of Velaris standing around to pay their respects.

You don’t notice the hundreds of people who come to offer you a silent nod, a gentle prayer over you, their voices carrying gentle choruses of “he was so brave” and “you should be proud”.

You’re too numb for any of this. You’re too numb to recognize the hand Azriel places on your back, or the hand Feyre clasps into your own, squeezing tightly.

All you can think about is how his hand felt in your own the first time you held it - warm, gentle, comforting. And how it felt the last time you held it - cold, lifeless, gone.

Being a war hero came with a cost.

Only Cassian didn’t have to pay it - those he left behind did.

You’re not sure how much time has passed since Cassian died. You’re not sure if the people of Velaris still mourned him, or were simply wearing the traditional colors of their court.

You sat in one of Cassian’s old tunics, piles of clothes scattered on the floor around you. Your back was to the wall, its cool surface warming with your heat.

You hear movement in the house, but you don’t have the energy or ability to care who’s here.

Someone knocks gently before coming into the room, Azriel’s large frame coming through the door to your chambers. He sees the slightly ajar closet door, and shimmies his way in, sitting next to you amidst the pile of clothes on the floor.

He notes that they all seemed to have been pulled right off their hangers, in a fit of rage or desperation perhaps. Shades of black and red litter the floor, and the realization that it was all Cassian’s clothes causes him to take in a deep breath.

You two sit for a while, Azriel’s wings likely cramped in the small space. Mother knows Cassian complained if he spent more than five minutes in your closet.

Azriel just sits in silence, his shadows gently swirling the floor, searching through the piles.

For what, you’re not sure.

You finally speak, the words hard to form. You didn’t speak much these days - your voice a rare sound for your family’s ears.

“He doesn’t need them to be hung up anymore.”

Azriel sighs, shifting closer to you. He gauges you, looking for a reaction before moving a bit closer.

“He never needed them hung up. Before you he mostly just left his clothes strewn about the room. Drove Nuala and Cerridwen mad.”

You look at him, pulled from your trance of that black shirt Cassian wore when the two of you went on vacation in Adriada. The shirt that fit him so well the two of you did not see the beach at all for the five days you were there.

“They’d complain, saying every night he’d pull his clothes that they neatly hung up and the next morning they’d be strewn about his room,” he shrugs, still confused over how Cassian kept track of where everything was.

“Eventually Rhys told them to stop and to let Cassian do what he wants. No idea how he managed to stay neat and tidy with you.”

Your eyes meet his, and he reaches out a hand for you. It’s the first offer of help you’ve accepted in days. You keep his hand in yours for a long time, sitting amongst Cassian’s clothes.

You were sitting on the small balcony of your home, looking out at the expansive night sky above you. Elbows on knees, collapsing in on yourself.

Eyes red rimmed, tear tracks marking your face. You had never felt so helpless or as hopeless as you did now. Your eyes snag on a dark figure, soaring through the skies, its body getting closer and closer.

Azriel had taken to checking on you every three days now. Make sure you were eating, washing, and moving. Honestly if it weren’t for these biweekly check ins, you’re not sure how you would be faring.

The Illyrian descends next to you, a soft landing as he tucks his wings back in and sits next to you. You two sit in silence for a while, the sounds of the night a melody playing for just you two.

Velaris is dark, few fae lights scattered throughout the city aglow. You breathe deeply, taking in the smell of Azriel next to you. You should tell him, but you haven’t been able to tell anyone all week.

It was eating you up - you knew they’d be supportive, you knew they’d love you and help you in anyway they could. But it would still break their hearts just a bit more.

Your internal debate is ended by the overwhelming turn of your stomach, your lunch from earlier wanting to make a quick exit. You hurriedly get up, running towards your bathroom and throwing yourself on your toilet, narrowly reaching it in time.

Azriel ran after you, making quick work of grabbing your hair before you began your second wave of vomiting. The only sounds in the room are your retching and Azriel’s soothing tunes.

His other hand gently rubs your back as you feel as if you’re going to die. From embarassment or pain, you’re not sure. He waits for you to say what he already suspects, having noted a subtle shift in your scent when he arrived.

You wipe your mouth, not wanting to say the words aloud. The words that Madja had told you three days ago, the words that caused you to shut down until now.

“I’m pregnant,” you say, head leaning against the toilet seat. “All Cass wanted was to be a dad. Now I’m pregnant and he’s dead.”

A forced laugh comes from you.

“It’s not fair, Az.”

Your words hang in the air, and your friend responds by wrapping his arms around you, and pulling you into his lap. He nuzzles his head into your shoulder, his breath shuddering as he cries softly into your hair.

The two of you lay there, the cool bathroom tile digging imprints into your skin as he holds you, tears streaming from both of you.

Several months along in your pregnancy, and Azriel has essentially moved in with you full time. He takes meticulous care of you and the babe - he goes to your appointments with Madja with you, he goes baby shopping with you, he even put together the crib in your room.

He was your late husband’s brother. He was stepping up, knowing that Cassian would want him to help you. And yet your dreams wouldn’t stop being so perverse.

For the past month, every night without fail you dreamt of Azriel. Every dream was different - some of places you’ve gone before, places you only know of because Azriel described them.

The dreams were weird and disorienting, but you left them there. They were dreams.

About how beautiful he was. About his hands, his wings, his shoulders, his thighs.

Every day you’d wake up full of shame at where your mind takes you against your will.

“Az,” you say, a serious look on your face. “Something’s wrong.”

He looks over to you, glasses perched on his nose. The knife in his hand clatters, landing on the cutting board, a piece of carrot tumbling to the floor as he moves to you quickly.

Your breathing becomes more shallow, and you hold your hands out, reaching for his. Once his fingers reach yours, you bring his hands to your bump.

Just as he’s about to ask what the problem is, he feels a soft thump against his scarred hand. He can’t control the soft laugh that comes from him, and he can’t help but cradle your bump just a little tighter.

He looks back up to you, a mischievous glint in your eye.

“I thought something was wrong.”

You smile, “I know - that’s what makes it fun.”

Almost eight months had passed since Cassian’s death, and you were finally able to hear his name without breaking down. Azriel was the only one you would talk to about him, though.

It felt right to talk about Cassian to Azriel. It felt right to plunge yourself back into the memories of him - his boisterous laugh, his insistence on touching someone at all times, his presence in rooms.

It felt right, and the babe in your belly would kick frequently whenever Azriel spoke to you about Cassian, as if they knew who you were talking about.

It felt so right, and yet so wrong. Every night before bed you replayed the memories of the day, desperately trying to insert Cassian into Azriel’s spot in them.

He never fit perfectly into them, the edges of him not quite the right size.

This was too much.

You were an absolute fool to believe you could do this. To not only birth but to raise your dead husband’s babe. Who let you do this? Who thought this was a good idea?

“Hey.”

Azriel’s voice vibrates through you, pulling you from your thoughts, his large frame behind you. Your back pressed to his chest, his arms helping hold your legs up.

You lean your head against him.

“This was a terrible, terrible idea.”

He smiles, “Cassian never was known for good ideas.”

Your face contorts in agony, a strong cramping pain rippling through you.

Azriel takes the wet cloth from the nurse to his left, holding it on your forehead. “I’m so proud of you. You’re doing so well.”

You scoff, “if I was doing well, the babe would be out by now!”

Azriel takes your jabs, your sarcasm, the intense squeezing of his hand in yours. He’ll take everything you throw at him.

After about eight hours, you were blessed by the cauldron with a beautiful boy, tiny wings clinging to his back as he cried.

Azriel’s presence didn’t stop after the babe, Camden, was born. If anything, he spent more time with you. He delegated much of his work as spymaster to support you, even going so far as helping coordinate schedules for Feyre or Nesta to help you bathe.

In the first few weeks, you were able to move around, but you were utterly exhausted. Not just the physical demands of your babe and recovering from birthing a winged babe, but also the emotional toll this took on you left you unable to care much for yourself.

You had thought being bathed would make you feel like a burden, but Feyre and Nesta did everything to make you feel so loved instead. They lit candles, rubbed your back, and told you how proud of you they were constantly. Their words never failed to make you cry, the task at hand feeling impossible if you thought about it too hard.

Eventually, after weeks of sleepless nights, feeling like nothing more than a cow for milk, you and Azriel were able to settle into a routine.

He took care of the babe at night, allowing you decent sleep. He brought Camden to you for his middle of the night feedings. You took care of Camden during the morning through early afternoon while Azriel attended to his duties. The two of you cooked dinner together, Azriel always insisting on washing dishes afterwards.

After a while, it all felt so normal. As if Cassian was never meant to be here for this part.

A few months after your son’s first birthday all Hell broke loose. It was a regular day. The sun still shone as it always does, your son was as beautiful as ever. Azriel was holding Camden in the air, helping him stretch out his wings, when he spoke for the first time.

A soft dada accompanied the little boy’s giggles, followed by Azriel stiffening immediately. You looked to the shadowsinger, and when his eyes met yours, you knew.

As if a golden thread appeared out of thin air, tying a knot from Azriel to you, you could feel him. You pulled an experimental tug in the bond, and he pulled back.

Wide eyes meet each other from across the room, silent except for Camden’s continued giggles. You stare at him bewildered, your expression mirrored back to you on his face.

A high pitched noise starts ringing in your eyes before everything goes black.

“It’s a bit of a cruel joke,” you say. “I want to love him, I want to be with my mate. But what kind of person does that to her deceased husband?”

You had woken up in Rhys’s office twenty minutes ago to your head in Feyre’s lap, her hands gently running through your hair.

You had heard bits of hushed conversation, and you thought you had heard Az, but when you came to, he was nowhere to be seen.

Rhys looks contemplative before saying, “you of all people should know that Cassian would have wanted you to be happy.”

You put your head in your hands, gathering to courage to say your worst thoughts out loud.

“It feels like Cassian died for me. I know he didn’t, but I can’t help but feel like if he had survived, would Azriel still be my mate? He would have let me be with him, yes, but just.”

You sigh, trying to grab the fragmented thoughts in your head and place them together. Rhys lets you, allowing silence to fill the room.

“It would have killed him having to watch me choose Azriel over him. He would have done the respectable thing, he would have stepped back. He would have been happy for us.”

You sigh, “but if it were the other way, if Nesta or Elain were his mate, I’m not sure I could give him up.”

Your words come pouring out quickly before you begin sobbing. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. His hands wrap around your head, and he gently smooths your hair down.

“Feyre and I are immensely happy for you, despite the circumstances. Both of you. I know you might not feel like it, but you made your own family.”

You found Azriel a few hours later in what used to be his room in the townhouse. He hardly stayed here, hardly stayed at any of Rhys’s estates anymore, opting instead for the comfort of the home you two now shared.

“Hi,” you say tentatively, stepping through the door.

“Hi,” he echos back, turning to see you.

“Crazy day,” you say, pulling lightly on the bond. He cracks a smile, but there’s a sadness deep in his gaze that you haven’t seen in months.

He moves towards you, slow and deliberate steps, as if you were a bunny found in the woods easily scared off.

“Do you want this?” He asks, eyes focused on your own.

You nod your head. He nods back.

“I dreamt of you. For months, years even. Since about halfway through my pregnancy, you’ve been in my dreams most nights.”

He watches you speak, letting you say whatever it is you need to. You take a deep breath before continuing.

“I don’t want to forget Cass, and I don’t want you to feel like you’re replacing him. I can love both of you.”

He steps closer, slowly moving towards you until he’s stopped right in front of you, his wings blocking you in.

“It’s unconventional, I understand. And I understand if you don’t want a widow with a child.” You look up towards him, determination in your eyes. “But I am all in.”

He gently cups your cheek, eyes full of conflict. “It won’t be easy,” he muses.

“Nothing about this has been easy, why start now?”

His face slowly moves closer to yours, his lips gentle against your own. His hands still hold you gently, as he kisses you long and slow.

There would be time for passion later, his kiss now is full of the emotions words can’t convey. Adoration, sacrifice, immense grief.

You thought having Azriel kiss you would make you feel like you were betraying Cassian. Instead you feel an overwhelming sense of rightness as your hands cup his jaw back, pouring every ounce of you into him.

You and Azriel look out at your backyard, watching Nyx and Camden run around, play fighting with their swords. The two boys occasionally take short flights, only about a foot or so off the ground.

Azriel wraps his arms around you, pressing his face into the crook of your neck. You close your eyes, letting yourself feel this moment, allowing the sounds of the boys playing and your mate’s breathing to lull you into some form of peace you never thought you’d find again.

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel #azriel fanfic #acotar writing #azriel x y/n

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soulofapatrick · 3 months

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I Choose You - Aaron Hotchner x female reader

Summary: What if Foyet makes Hotch choose between you and Haley during Season 5 Episode 9

Words: 1.5K

Warnings: angst; injury; kidnapping; near-death

Notes: Would you like a hospital part two?

Y/N’s POV

Foyet's voice, dripping with malice, reverberates through the room, sending icy tendrils of fear snaking down my spine. I can feel the weight of his words pressing down on us like a suffocating blanket, a cruel reminder of the nightmare we're trapped in. "You have to choose, Aaron," Foyet's words hang heavy in the air, each syllable laced with malice. "Choose who lives and who dies."

My heart lurches in my chest as I steal a glance at Haley beside me. Her once composed demeanour now shattered, tears glisten in her eyes like unshed diamonds, silent witnesses to the terror that grips us all. But beneath the fear, there's a silent plea, a desperate prayer for mercy that hangs unspoken in the air.

I reach out to Haley, my hand trembling with the weight of unspoken words, but she refuses to meet my gaze. Her eyes remain fixed on Hotch, her ex-husband, her silent cries echoing in the deafening silence of the room. I can feel the weight of her accusation, the unspoken blame that hangs heavy between us like a shadow. I want to comfort her, to offer her some shred of solace in this sea of darkness, but my words catch in my throat, suffocated by the overwhelming sense of helplessness that threatens to consume us all.

Hotch's new partner, that's what I am. A constant reminder of the life he left behind, the choices he made. And now, in this moment of unspeakable terror, those choices loom large, casting a long shadow over our fractured lives. The pain and terror on her face makes me act before I can think about it, jumping to my feet and punching Foyet as hard as I can, hearing a cracking that I’m not sure is me or him. He stumbles back and Haley is crying out in fear.

The gunshot that follows is deafening, the sound echoing through the room like a thunderclap. My head cracks against the floor, Haley screams and I can hear a muffled sound come through the phone before pain explodes in my shoulder, a searing agony that steals the air from my lungs. Everything around me blurs as waves of nausea wash over me, threatening to pull me under. I bite down hard on my lip to stile a cry, refusing to give Foyet the satisfaction of hearing me scream.

Through the haze of pain, I can hear the sharp intake of breaths from the phone, the panicked shouts echoing in my head. But, amidst the chaos, amidst the pain, one thought pierces through the fog in my mind - Jack. I have to protect Jack at all costs. He’s upstairs, vulnerable and unaware of the danger lurking downstairs.

With every ounce of determination I can muster, I push myself to my feet, the room spinning around me like a dervish of shadows and pain. Each step is a battle against the agony that courses through my wounded shoulder, threatening to pull me under with its relentless grip. But I refuse to yield. Jack needs me.

Stumbling and swaying like a ship caught in a tempest, I make my way towards the stairs, each movement a Herculean effort against the overwhelming tide of pain. The world distorts and blurs around me, the edges of my vision swimming in a sea of darkness and light. But I press on, driven by a single, unyielding purpose - to protect Jack at all costs. He's my beacon in the storm, my reason to endure, and I will not falter in my duty to keep him safe.

The stairs loom before me like a mountain to be conquered, each step a monumental struggle against the forces that seek to drag me down. And then, in a cruel twist of fate, my strength fails me, and I stumble, my body crashing against the unforgiving carpet below. Pain explodes in a symphony of agony, a chorus of screams that reverberates through the empty halls of my mind. Blood pools beneath me, staining the carpet crimson with its silent accusation.

But amidst the chaos, amidst the pain, there is a beacon of hope - Jack. With trembling hands, I crawl towards the wardrobe, my heart pounding in my chest at the sight of his small form nestled within its confines.

Relief washes over me like a tidal wave as I gather him into my arms, his warmth a balm against the cold embrace of fear that threatens to consume us both. In that moment, holding him close, everything feels right, as if the world has finally found its balance once more. But the illusion is shattered all too soon, replaced by the harsh reality of our situation. I look into Jack's eyes, so innocent and trusting, and feel a pang of guilt twist in the depths of my soul.

I have to ask him to do the unthinkable, to press his small jumper against the bleeding wound on my shoulder, to stay as quiet as possible and pray that help arrives before it's too late. With trembling hands, I reach out to Jack, my fingers trembling as I gently clamp my hand over his small mouth, a silent plea for his silence in the face of danger. Another gunshot reverberates through the house, its echo a chilling reminder of the horrors that lurk below. My heart sinks as Jack has just lost a parent and he doesn’t even know it.

“Don’t make a sound.” I whisper, my voice slurred with pain and exhaustion, the words a desperate prayer in the darkness that threatens to consume us both.

Jack's eyes are wide with fear, but there's a determination there too, a flicker of strength that belies his tender years. Despite the terror that grips him, he nods, his small hand instinctively pressing the jumper harder against my bleeding wound, as if trying to stem the tide of blood that threatens to spill forth.

As I begin to fade in and out of consciousness, the world around me blurs into a hazy labyrinth of pain and uncertainty. My hand slips from Jack's mouth, the warmth of his breath fading into the chill of the night as I teeter on the edge of oblivion. The darkness threatens to swallow me whole, its tendrils reaching out with icy fingers to drag me into the abyss.

I reagin consciousness momentarily, hearing Jack’s voice, small yet resolute as it pierces through the darkness like a beacon of hope, calling out for his dad and the members of the team he can remember the names of, a desperate plea.

And then, blessed oblivion claims me again, pulling me into its embrace with gentle hands and whispered promises of respite.

As consciousness gradually returns, it feels like emerging from the depths of a murky sea, the world slowly coming into focus around me. Sirens wail in a cacophony of urgency, their shrill cries cutting through the air like a clarion call to salvation. They rhythmic hum of the ambulance’s wheels against the road lulls me into a strange sense of calm, a respite from the chaos that has consumed me.

The pain in my shoulder, once a searing inferno threatening to consume me whole, now simmers beneath the surface like embers in the night, dulled by the merciful touch of oblivion.

And then, as if guided by some unseen hand, my gaze falls upon the one constant in this tumultuous storm - the hand clasped in mine. It's warm and steady, a silent reassurance amidst the chaos that surrounds us. Following the line of the hand with bleary eyes, I find myself locking gazes with Hotch, his presence a beacon of strength in the darkness that threatens to consume us. His eyes, filled with worry and relief, speak volumes without uttering a single word, a silent testament to the bond that binds us together.

“I’ve got you. You’re going to be okay.” He soothes despite being covered in blood himself. His other hand is shooting my hair off my face and I wanna snuggle into it but he’s covered in blood.

“Haley?” I ask, remembering the second gunshot and Hotch’s face flickers for a second before he squeezes my hand, bringing it up to his lips and kisses the back of it gently. It’s all I need to know that the muffled sound I heard through the phone after the gunshot was Hotch choosing.

A choked sob leaving my throat and Hotch presses a chaste kiss to my forehead, mumbling softly, “Rest, the others will meet us at the hospital.”

“Hotch.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“You chose me...”

“I chose you.”

Criminal Minds Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 21st Dec 2023

@guacam011y

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spacebarbarianweird · 4 months

Text

@ramlightly graciously let me write a fic based on this comic. Check it out, it's so cool!

"Dominate Person" is a nasty spell that can fully submit a humanoid to your power. It's unclear if the victim has self-consciousness in the moment but since it's possible to throw Wisdom saving rolls I think you can feel that you are controlled.

Thanks @bhaalbaaby for beta-reading!

Puppet Master

Synopsis: Astarion is enchanted by the "Dominate Person" spell and almost kills Tav.

Tags: angst, comfort

TW: A description of physical violence

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Astarion wants to move. To hide in the shadows and shoot the necromancer from there.

You are surrounded, but you keep doing your work.

But he can't.

His body is paralyzed, and he feels a wave of panic.

No, not this. Not "Hold Person"!

He can't do this. He can't make it.

Paralysis is like being sealed in a tomb with too little space to move. Helpless, voiceless.

What if something happens to you when he is like this?

"Astarion, use your daggers!"

Is it you? Or one of the adventurers you've teamed up this morning to kick necromancers out of the town?

Astarion just has to wait. The spell wears off when the spellcaster is down. Or a healer manages to find a way to get rid of the invisible chains.

Or...

USE THE DAGGER

The voice is intimidating, too loud, and too powerful.

It's like the Cazador's voice in his head again. Suppressing. Ordering. Torturing.

No, no...

Astarion feels his hand move toward the dagger. The strings make him move.

It's not "Hold Person".

It's "Dominate Person".

Full control of the victim. The voice your body cannot resist. You become one of them, fighting for them.

Murdering your loved ones.

KILL

Astarion rushes forward to you. To the only person he loves and cares about. The only person in the entire world who has never hurt him.

"Astarion! Help me! Astarion, what's wrong?"

Astarion pushes you into the ground with all his newfound vampiric strength.

No, no, please, stop it!

MURDER THEM

The dagger stabs through your stomach, causing an internal rupture. The second dagger wounds your chest.

You stare at him in pain, in silent prayer. You watch your lover killing you.

Blood. So much blood. Your blood.

A strong hand pulls Astarion from you, but it's not enough.

Astarion has an order from his new master.

To kill you. To make sure you are dead.

It is the worst type of dissociation. He is just an observer.

His hands rip you apart as if you are a prey he's found in the woods. Your eyes are full of terror and pain.

VAMPIRE, DRINK THE BLOOD.

No, no, I won't do it. I don't take the blood without consent... NO!

His fangs pierce into your neck, taking the blood non-stop. To satiate him, to let him feel alive.

And to drain you.

He is less than a slave. A puppet. With his locked mind in agony.

CRUSH THE SKULL

Astarion grabs a handful of your hair to smash you against a stone. Your body is motionless. Broken. Almost dead.

And then...

The agony of death pierces the mind. It's an acid flare of horror - too familiar for the undead.

It happened to him once, many years ago. When he was killed by Cazador and revived as a vampire spawn.

That's how death feels.

But he isn't dying. More than this, his body is his again.

Astarion stands up, feeling the nightmare wearing off.

Your body lies on the ground in blood and gore.

Astarion falls to his knees, his hands shaking.

And yells.

You wake up, your body sore and in terrible pain.

Astarion.

Your mind reacts with a panic attack - a near-death experience causing mental anguish. Your body remembers how Astarion jumped on you with his daggers.

How he ripped your throat.

How he almost crushed your skull.

You try to collect yourself. "Dominate Person". One of the nastiest spells necromancers know. Create a humanoid puppet and make them kill their friends and loved ones. While they silently scream, locked in their minds.

Some people never recover from that. Offing themselves, not being capable of dealing with what they did.

Damn, and what did it do to Astarion? It's what happened to him during his enslavement. Orders impossible to resist.

You want to call for him, but your body refuses to act. It remembers.

His hands, his fangs.

And his eyes in such desperation you've never seen.

Before you manage to collect yourself again, you fall into oblivion.

Astarion is silent.

His nails pierce his scalp. His teeth are clenched. His eyes open wide as he stares at the wall.

The companions who murdered the necromancers ignore him, but he doesn't feel any hostility.

Just a spell. It happens.

"Astarion... Is this your name, right?" a young fighter approaches him. "You need to take a bath."

Astarion looks at himself. His clothes are covered in blood. Your blood.

"Tav will be fine. We have good healers here. Don't blame yourself."

As if enchanted again, Astarion walks away. In silence, he locks himself in the bathroom - a small wooden room with a tub full of hot water. But instead of putting off the dirty clothes, he submerges himself fully clothed.

The fabric clings to the body, and Astarion hugs his knees. The blood mixes with water.

His back hurts as if his scars are bleeding.

He doesn't know how long he spends there. An hour? A day? A week? The water is cold. but he can't care less still hearing your cries.

The door creaks, and he notices familiar soft steps.

"Astarion? Are you alright?"

He can't look at you. Can't make himself. Can't witness the damage he caused.

"I almost killed you, and you ask how I am doing?" his voice breaks.

"The necromancer almost killed me," you say firmly. "Not you. Hey, look at me!"

Your head is heavily bandaged. There are bruises all over your face, and he knows there is much more evidence of his violence below your shirt and trousers.

"It wasn’t you. It was them. You would never do this to me."

"I did."

"You didn't. Come on, take off your clothes. They’re all wet."

He wants to make you go, make you leave. He will be happy knowing you are somewhere safe and far from him.

You touch his neck, and he can't resist. Astarion allows you to pull off his shirt and then manages to take off the trousers as well.

"I am sorry," he whispers.

"Don't." You start rubbing his back, and he flinches when your gentle fingers touch the edges of the scars.

"Tav... You need to rest..."

"Don't be selfish. I need this, too."

"What? Why?"

You take his chin and make him look up at you. "Because my body remembers you killing me. Because my subconscious tells me to run away. Because I remember these gentle hands of yours driving blades into my chest. I need to forget it before it's engraved forever. So please, don’t push me away. Not now..."

You keep rubbing his back, hands, and chest. You plant kisses on the clean skin. You wash his hair, stained blood, and gore, and make sure your touches are light and tender.

"If you want to talk about it, I am here. I know what exactly it reminded you of," you whisper in his ear.

And at that moment it's too much.

His body shudders as he starts crying, hiding his face from you in his palms. You drop the rags and wrap your hands around his neck.

You sit like that for an eternity, lulling each other until the healer starts banging into the door, demanding you to return to bed. You reluctantly let Astarion go.

You kiss him goodbye and leave, hoping the darkness won't hold his mind again, and he won't run away from you and his guilt.

The bed is comfortable as you lie motionless on a blanket. The healer did a great job patching you together. But you will need to fully recover. And gallons of healing potion.

Astarion enters the room. He wears fresh clothes, and if it wasn't for his facial expression, you could think nothing bad has happened.

"Come," you ask him. "I am sorry, but the night of passion isn't an offer today."

"Don't be ridiculous. How are you feeling?"

"Beaten. Wounded. Tired. And you?"

"Violated"

You both are silent. Finally, Astarion lies beside you and wraps his hands around you.

Your body stiffens against your will. Astarion feels it and tries to let you go.

"No. Hold me like that!"

He obliges and gently places your head on his chest. His cool skin feels nice.

Astarion loves me. He won't hurt me.

You repeat it like a prayer before finally being able to fully relax.

"I love you," he mutters. "I won't hurt you. You hear me?"

You nod.

"I love you, too," You smile, and your heart rejoices when he smiles back.

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx@astarion-beloved@tallymonster@caitlincat-95@tragedybunny @valeprati @lynnlovesthestars

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justabrunettewhowrites-stuff · 3 months

Note

Can you write a part to to the night that everything fell apart fix you wrote I need a happy ending!!!

'Eclipsed by Shadows, Bathed in Light'

Clarisse La Rue x DaughterOfApollo!Reader

A/N:Sure I can!Tysm for requesting!I hope you like it!💞

Part 2 of 'The Night Everything Fell Apart'

Days passed in the quiet realm of the infirmary, where the air hung heavy with the collective worry of demigods who had faced battles against monsters but were helpless against the internal struggles of one of their own. Clarisse, a daughter of Ares known for her strength and fierceness, found herself in an unfamiliar territory of vulnerability.

The infirmary, once a haven for sorrow, now bore witness to a different kind of healing. The demigods outside the room felt a collective exhale as hope was rekindled in the face of adversity. Clarisse stayed by your side, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

Days turned into weeks in the infirmary, and Clarisse remained a constant presence by your side. The weight of grief hung in the air, but amidst the somber atmosphere, there was a flicker of hope that refused to be extinguished.

And finally,one night, as the moon bathed the room in a soft glow,Clarisse sat by your bedside, her gaze fixed on your still form.The wounds you had inflicted upon yourself were healing, but the true battle lay within the realm of consciousness. She held your hand, intertwining her fingers with yours, silently urging you to return to the world of the living

Clarisse found herself speaking to you, not knowing if her words reached your unconscious self. "You better wake up, you stubborn idiot," she muttered, a mixture of frustration and affection in her voice. "I can't handle losing you like this."

Then, as if in response to an unspoken prayer, your eyes fluttered open. Clarisse's breath caught in her throat, and she leaned in, her eyes searching yours for a sign of recognition. In that moment of uncertainty, she decided actions would speak louder than words.

Eyes fluttering open, you found Clarisse by your side, and a faint smile tugged at the corners of your lips. "Hey," you whispered weakly.

Without uttering a single syllable, Clarisse pressed her lips against yours in a passionate and heartfelt kiss. It was a declaration of emotions that transcended the boundaries of spoken language.The kiss held the weight of unspoken fears, shared pain, and a glimmer of hope. It was a testament to the resilience of hearts that could find solace in the warmth of each other.

As the kiss lingered, a tear escaped from Clarisse's eye, falling onto your cheek. She pulled back slightly, her forehead resting against yours, and whispered, "Don't you dare leave me like that again."

Clarisse's eyes glistened with unshed tears of relief. "You idiot," she choked out, her voice a mix of laughter and tears. "Do you have any idea how worried we all were?"

"I thought I lost you," Clarisse admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

You reached up, fingers brushing against the scars on her hands, a testament to the battles she had fought for you. "You didn't. I'm here, thanks to you," you replied, a glint in your eyes that mirrored the stars themselves.

"Promise me you'll never put me through that again." Clarisse whispered

You smiled, a promise reflected in your eyes. "I promise. I'm not going anywhere, not without you."

And in that night,you and Clarisse found solace in each other's arms - tightly embracing eachother and a promise lingering in the air - a promise of a future filled with love, strength, and the resilience to face whatever challenges lay ahead...

A/N:For everyone who wanted a happy ending! <3

Part one here!

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heavenlyraindrops · 28 days

Text

♱ Father Forgive Me (For I have Sinned) ~Chapter Three ♱

Lucifer Morningstar x Angel!Reader Fandom: Hazbin Hotel Chapter Three Warnings: slight profanity Visit the first tag on this post to see all other chapters.

♱Where the purest soul in Heaven falls for the Devil♱

[Chapter Three]

You kneeled by the side of your bed, clutching an angelic spear in your trembling hands. Outside you could hear the bustle of angels preparing for this year's extermination, the early rays of sunlight glinting off of their blades.

You tried as hard as you could to not think about last year’s extermination as your lips moved in silent prayer.

The door at the front of your house burst open. You could hear someone clumsily clattering around- something shattered and they cursed softly. You didn’t turn to look at him as Adam ambled into your bedroom, casting around a baleful eye.

“Rise and shine, sleeping beauty-“ he stopped, eyebrows shooting upwards as he saw you kneeling by your bed. “Get up, sugartits, it’s time to go.”

You looked at him without turning your head, then at the clock. Still ten minutes.

“What are you even doing, anyways?”

“Praying,” you said flatly.

He snorted, inspecting a vase full of flowers on the windowsill, which was casting a square of pale light into the room, banishing shadows to the corners. “Of course you are,” he muttered.

You rolled your eyes but ignored him.

“What are you even praying for, anyways?”

You scowled. “The easier it is for me to pray, the quicker I’ll be done. You’re not exactly making it very easy.” You could almost feel him roll his eyes behind you. “So stop distracting me.”

A few moments ticked by, and you stood up, handling your blade with care. You turned to him.

“What were you praying for?” He repeated the question as you held the door open for him on your way out.

“To resist temptation, Adam,” you muttered, trying again not to think about last year. He laughed- it was more like squawking.

“Stupid thing to be praying for.”

“It’s alright, Adam, we’re all aware that you’re quite prone to being tempted easily. Go on, then. You remember our deal, right? For the extermination.” He scowled at you.

“Haven’t forgotten, sugartits,” came the reply. You crossed your arms, pleased. A feeling which immediately dissolved after you remembered why the deal existed in the first place.

“Good,” you said flatly.

♱♱♱

The wind whipped at your face and tangled through your hair as you swooped across Hell’s red sky, eyes scanning the land underneath you, your spear clutched in front of you for protection, a notebook in the small satchel you had opted to carry with you. You’d taken the notebook as an excuse for your visits to Hell for the Seraphim: ‘observing Hell’, you had told them.

You had been flying around aimlessly for a while now, letting your wings take you wherever your instincts did.

The area began to look familiar.

No, you thought. No no no NO.

A telltale building began to loom in the distance.

You almost skidded to a stop mid-air, legs kicking out underneath you to break your momentum, wings beating feverishly to stay up. You could see the broken window still, pale red light glinting off of the jagged shards of glass. He hadn’t fixed it?

You glanced around.

Why is no one here?

Sinners, you understood, but no angels? You gulped, and then it hit you. Why would the angels dare hang around Lucifer Morningstar’s territory? It was like a death wish. You swallowed again, throat getting dryer and dryer.

You had three options:

Go inside via the broken window.

Explore the area without going inside.

Fly the fuck away (the rational option).

God, why wasn’t your prayer from this morning working?

Against all judgment, you chose option two.

Your wings arched back as you scaled the side of the building, glancing through the windows. The curtains were either drawn, or the rooms inside were dark and abandoned.

All that space for barely anything or anyone inside?

You glanced down, and your breath was sucked out of your lungs.

A garden?

Your wings fluttered, shedding a feather as you descended towards the square of greenery. Well, greenery wasn’t the right word. It wasn’t very “green.” The flora? Vegetation?

A tree stood in the middle, tall and proud. The second your feet hit the ground, it captured your attention, enrapturing you and rooting you to the spot.

Why am I even here?

You didn’t know Hell had gardens- you’d expected it to be a barren wasteland, more or less, but the lush “greenery” seemed to be proving you wrong. You quickly pencilled it down in the notebook you had brought with you.

What you definitely didn’t expect at all, however, was the apple tree you were standing under.

The fruit seemed beautiful, ruby-red and delicious. You shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, then glanced at the sky, praying the exterminators weren’t worried about you or looking for you. Adam had better held up on his promise. You looked back at the tree.

It seemed so- so out of place from the otherwise hellish landscape that you just had to take a closer look. As you took a step forward, grass crunching, you frowned, recalling Sera’s words, again.

“Curiosity killed the cat,” you murmured, then frowning.

”But satisfaction brought it back.”

You shrieked and jumped a couple of feet in the air, feeling your wings burst out behind you as you whirled around. Lucifer crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow.

“What the hell?” You hissed, nerves frayed.

“That’s what I should be asking you. Snooping around in my garden.” His eyes flicked to the tree. “Ogling at my apples- alright that- that sounds weird when I say it like that.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “The point is, you’re the one who’s out of place here. Couldn’t get enough of me the first time?

You hesitated. You’d never expect the King of Hell to fumble around with his words like that. Your muscles relaxed slightly. “That is far from the truth. The tree just… piqued my curiosity.”

You both stared at each other, silently. As if on cue, an apple fell off of a branch, straight into his outstretched hand.

“Have a taste, then.”

You stared at the shining red fruit in his hand, then looked at his golden eyes. His smile seemed surprisingly genuine.

“I…”

He rolled his eyes, grinning wide at the look at your face. “This isn’t an Eve-and-the-forbidden-fruit situation, angel. It’s an apple.” He waved it around, eyebrows arched, as if to prove a point. “An apple.”

The more he spoke that way the more you felt stupid, until he tossed the apple at you without warning. You caught it, not missing a beat. The fruit felt cool against your warm skin. He turned.

“Didn’t think I’d see you again,” he said, entering a small door in the wall, which led straight into the manor. You slowly put the apple in your satchel. He turned and grinned at you again. “Wanna come in?” He glanced at the sky.

Fuck, that prayer was really not working.

Your body was almost frozen in place, locked in with his stare.

You cleared your throat. “Sure.”

He grinned, and disappeared into the manor. You followed.

Crap. Crap this is so weird. You stared at the back of his blond head as you followed him down a hallway. We’ve met once. A year ago. Why am I following him into his house? You felt like you were in a fever dream.

“Um, excuse me… sir?”

He turned to look at you.

“What exactly are we doing? Or, going to do?”

He put his arm on your forearm, grinning. You didn’t shy away from the contact, but your arm burned where he touched it. “Have fun, of course.”

You blinked. “What?”

He outstretched his arms. “It’s been ages since I’ve seen another angel. It's good to have something new in life, am I right?” He paused. “Or at least that’s what that one therapist I had said,” he muttered. You tilted your head. “Anyways. I doubt you get much action up there in Heaven yourself?” Without warning, he spun you around. You yelped, hand grappling onto your satchel to stop the contents inside to go flying.

“Who better to befriend here in Hell other than me?” He said.

Cocky, you thought to yourself.

“Right,” you coughed, stumbling a little as he let you go. “So, um… sir, how exactly do you propose we spend our time?”

He shrugged. You stared at him.

“Right, I’m leaving,” you decided, starting down the hallway with conviction.

“Come onnn,” he complained, hurrying after you. “It’ll be a waste if you just leave and we never see each other again!”

You turned and looked at him. “No, it won’t. And frankly I’m not supposed to be here. You’re the goddamn Lucifer himself.” You stabbed your index finger towards his chest. “And the Seraphim would not be pleased if they found out that we’ve made contact- twice!”

He touched your wrist, lowering your hand, and dropped his voice to a husky whisper. You stared blankly at where his skin met yours.

“What the Seraphim don’t know won’t hurt them,” he smirked.

You could slowly feel your face turning red, and you looked up to stare into his eyes. Ugh, there it was again. That genuine, sweet smile.

“Fine,” you huffed, insides churning.

You just knew, that whatever was about to follow-

It would be the death of you.

♱♱♱

A/N: Stay Tuned!

Taglist: @boredlime, @ica1, @tremendoushearttaco, @sweetadonisbutbetter, @lucky-flowey,@kitty-kei, @thornwolfy235, @w31rd3rg1rl, @marxo5, @lvstyangel, @brainz00, @lukerycyja-reblogs, @dickmastersworld,@everlastprime259-blog, @rain-doll401-blog

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