#Bar Bending List | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yourlocalsmutwriter · 29 days ago

Text

You, the driver and the horrible no good day

Summary: You're too busy hiding your new relationship to actually consumate it. For once, wardrobe malfunctions work for you, not against you. Aka accidentally flashing the driver leads to smut. ft oral (f receiving), titjobs, 69, age gaps, praise and cock warming.

Lewis Hamilton- Lewis was taking his job as your very new, very rich boyfriend very seriously. When his schedule is free enough to finally ask you out, he's low-key concerned. Why were you suggesting seedy bars and cheap sandwich places? When he found out that's where your exes had taken you, he had to do something. So he went ahead and booked a restaurant on the Michelin star wait list. It was mostly to impress you. And he also wanted to have a good meal.

You were never late. Especially for a day you had been anticipating. But also you had no dresses for a fancy restaurant. An impromptu shopping trip that included Victoria's Secret. Time to shower and glam up. Unreliable transport. And that all amounted to trouble. Thankfully the restaurant was right in front of you. With a minute to spare, you broke out into a little sprint. You could feel your panties being a bit too big. They were sliding down your body, but you were too focused to care. Lewis was also in your sights now. He's leaning against a pillar, smirking at you, looking delicious. You stop right in front of him and your panties land squarely on his expensive shoes.

"Nice to see you too." He says through a smile. You both bend down to fix it, cause otherwise it would look more awkward. Once you're decent you go to apologize, but as soon as you look at your date's eyes, well. You're not sure who started the kiss, or how you end up pressed against a wall right in front of the high class restaurant. His lips are on your neck, and you're already starting to feel something in your stomach. Then your brain makes the connection where you are.

"Our reservation" you exclaim.

"Honey, did you forget who I am? They can wait. Don't make that face. When you still hadn't arrived, I went in and it's fine." He places a quick kiss against your cheek and leads you in the restaurant. He was definitely starving now, but not for anything to eat.

******************************************************

You two had already broken so many rules of first dates already. Having been speaking for a few months already, your meal wasn’t filled with ice breaker questions and shyness. Maybe it was that comfort that eased you. Or the very expensive glass of wine your boyfriend recommended. But you had ended up in his hotel room, wearing only your thong, with Lewis between your legs asking ‘’Is this okay?’’.

As soon as you said yes, he was kissing up your thighs. The driver was so pretty, you couldn’t help but just keep looking at him. Him, moving your thong aside, but not taking it off. Him holding eye contact as he places his lips on your clit. Him, holding your legs, open wide.

Him, replacing his mouth with his fingers, so he can talk you through it. Him, forehead pressed to yours, telling you, ‘’Don’t hold back. Listen to your body. It’s telling you what you need’’.

Him, moving his fingers faster. Him, saying ‘’That’s it, come for me.’’. You got to see his pretty face become even more handsome as you palmed his cock. Going down on him, you were looking for a little dessert of your own. The perfect finish to an unforgettable meal.

Daniel Ricciardo- Attending any GP was a dream come true for you. But the Australian one was the most special. Not because it was gonna be your first one. But also because it was a certain Alpha Tauri driver’s home race. And you were gonna cheer him on extra loud, because he was your boyfriend, albeit a secret one.

Danny had gotten you paddock passes. You were well known and successful enough in your area, so it made sense for you to be invited. But the actual processing kept you on your toes. You couldn’t justify your boyfriend paying for your flight or anything else.

Thank God for flash sales. Everything was very last minute, and in the mad rush to the airport, you forgot your suitcase. Thankfully your passport was in your bag and you managed to board the plane. Danny picked you up, because you texted him in your frazzled state. Jetlagged you and your over excited boyfriend went shopping and got you a cropped white office shirt. Along with navy blue summer pants, you were ready for tomorrow. Or so you thought.

Apparently, you had underestimated the number of critters around you. Even in the paddock, you could see some of the big bees flying around. Someone around you swore that there was a giant spider crawling out of the grass. Suddenly, you wish you were with the groundhogs in Canada. At least Daniel drove like he was back in his prime. You’re so focused on watching him that you don’t feel the huge spider getting snug on your chest. When the driver is done with his quali, he walks over to you. ‘’Guess I’m not the only Aussie that likes you, huh.’’, he notes, motioning to the creepy crawly. You completely freak out, trying to get the spider off you.

The victim of this wasn’t the insect, but the integrity of your shirt. Your buttons scattered on the ground. Like the proverbial pears of viewers if the director pans to you. Thankfully, no one sees your exposed chest, but your boyfriend. Who quickly spins you around and glues you to his back, like you’re a koala on a branch. You’re pressed up so tightly that your nipples are hard, making you both groan. You basically barricade yourself in the driver’s room until the admin brings you an Alpha Tauri shirt. You secretly wonder if Danny likes you wearing it or finds it cringe.

*********************************************

When your boyfriend pulls you into his hotel room and immediately takes it off your chest, you don’t have much time to reflect. While usually your makeout sessions had remained pretty PG (leaving you pretty sexually frustrated), this one was all bites and hickeys, tinged with desire.

‘’Get on the bed’’ Danny said as your head was still reeling from his forwardness. Where was this guy when you were wearing your shortest dresses, intent on sleeping with him, only to be wished goodnight with a peck on the cheek. And now his hand was smacking your other cheeks, mumbling something about impatience. As you laid down, you watched him take off his pants, hard cock popping up in your view. You guessed he’d heard your soft ‘’Fuck, it’s so big’’ by the signature smile appearing on his face. As if intent on making you explode on the spot, he adds.

‘’You know, darling, I'm usually a gentleman. But your tits have been driving me crazy this whole day. So I’ll use them to get off. Can’t say I usually finish first, but I need you so bad. But I promise I’ll make it up to you, a couple of times even. So can I?’’. After letting you finish saying yes, he straddles you, tongue and teeth all over your breasts. His cock was rubbing against the sheets, reminding him of the need to get off. He asks you to hold your palms flat against the side of your chest. Your boobs are pressed together and he slides his cock between them.

Danny catches your eyes and sees that you look confused.

‘’Does this feel good’’ you ask, followed by ‘’Should I be doing something more?’’ and ‘’I could stick out my tongue,so it feels like a blowjob.’’

‘’I know what I’m doing.’’ he practically barks at you, and makes a mental note of how your eyes glaze over in pleasure. You now just stare at him in fascination now, mesmerized by his flushed, pretty face, how he’s put his large hands over yours, how his cock fits perfectly like this, even though the precum is making you sticky. Daniel pulls away and jerks himself off over your chest, making your pretty tits even prettier by covering them with his cum. You, dipping your finger and tasting it, is the last thing he sees before he sets off to make sure you at least come second.

Oscar Piastri- ‘’Oscar, it’s hot’’, you say for the upteenth time. When your boyfriend had the bright idea to bring you to Australia for the summer break, you agreed. Maybe it was the curiosity to go to a new place, maybe you were wondering how he would introduce you to his friends. You didn't anticipate that it would be spent on beaches or indoors. Oscar somehow neglected to tell you about his broken AC. You were practically daydreaming about the ice bath from Singapore. And not just because Oscar was sitting in front of you shirtless. To beat the heat, he claims. What you do next is pure muscle memory. With all the activities lined up, you're always wearing a sports bra or a bikini top underneath your shirt. Maybe it was the climate fogging up your brain. Maybe it was the fact that you were living out of a backpack and clothes were everywhere. But today, of all days, you aren't wearing anything. So there you are, not only flashing your boyfriend, but also not being aware of it.

****************************************************

"Um, honey. This isn't gonna help me much with the heat. In fact, it's gonna be worse.”. You're surprised that he would get so flustered over what you had on and glance down. With a quiet yelp, you cross your arms over your chest. Oscar moved next to you, rubbing your back and reassuring you that there's nothing to be embarrassed about. He gives your forehead kisses,his lips trail to your cheeks and your mouth. One thing leads to another, and his face is practically buried in your neck. Between bites, he'd say you have “perfect fucking tits”, calling you stunning and breathtaking. Oscar pulls you into his lap, and you see that he's not all talk, but also all action. As you grind against his hardon, he tells you.

“Well, that's not gonna fix itself, is it?”. You go still for a moment and he thinks he's fucked it all up. His horny brain took over the rational one, but now he had to dial it down.

“I mean, it could fix itself, if you need. It's totally okay if you aren't ready to go any further.” he backtracks.

“No, I mean, it just took me by surprise, that's all. Now I'm short circuiting between all the things I've been fantasizing about. And apparently I'm not shutting the fuck up, despite being so embarrassed I wanna die.” you reply, obviously really excited by this development.

“Yeah? Tell me what you want from me. Please, wanna hear you.” he asks and you're reminded why you like him so much.

“Is this a time to quote Mark Webber about the Australian kiss? I mean, when in Rome, right?”

“Never thought I would be having to think about my mentor with a raging boner. Okay, now that I've said that, it's cursed, let me just shut up and do what I've been wanting to do.”

Oscar's rambling ended with kisses from your chest down to your cunt. When his lips find your clit, it's electrifying. Yet, he's there, making sure you feel good, while getting nothing in return. You know sex doesn't have to work like it always does. You know that it's not always an equal amount of pleasure distributed even among the people having it. Yet, you know that if your boyfriend keeps eating you out, you'll have the best orgasm of your life, followed by the best sleep of your life. So you take matters into your own hands. Or should we say, mouth?

“Oscar, come here. As hot as it is to see you between my legs, let's change up this position, shall we?”

He agrees because he doesn't really care about the logistics of this, he had a taste of you, and now he's starved. So you move your thighs on either side of his head like earmuffs. You wait, just a moment for him to make the first move. As you lick a stripe down (or is it technically up here?) his cock, you feel him groan against you. God really has favorites, you think as you slowly tease the head with your tongue. But your wonderful boyfriend isn't about to make this into a long session. Nope, he's frantic, intense, hands on your thighs, spreading you open. His tongue is more than enough, yet he adds a finger and you're ready to just come right there. Well two could play at that game.

You take him deeper, slightly gagging as he hits the back of your throat. And that makes him even more insatiable. His touches slow, yet his hips move up ever so slightly. Absolutely filling your mouth with his cock. It's a bit rough, but exactly what you need to come on his tongue. He fuck you through it, not pulling away until his own cum is in your throat.

5 minutes and some post sex boring stuff later, and you're in his arms, as he praises you for being so good and doing so well for him. This was a trip you'd definitely remember. It's quiet but filled with crackling energy, like Oscar himself.

Fernando Alonso - You and Fernando had a bet. It was a bit unusual, but he requested to have you go out clubbing with him and the team after his DNFs. Normally, you and him interacted in two ways. The first was you doing your job as his assistant, keeping him on track about his commitments. The second was behind closed doors. Where the older man would be busy pinning you to a wall and kissing you. The club would be a dangerous threshold. Who would you be there? Well, in Mexico, you found out.

Nando's weekend was shaping up to be unpredictable. From missing media day, to celebrating his 400th Grand Prix, to the quick end of said race. As soon as he retired to the garage, you were there, asking how you could be useful. You swear there's a mischievous glint in his eyes, yet you brush it off. He just reminds you of the party bet and asks you to fetch his phone. You comply, and the two of you sit side by side, not talking. You're drafting press release statements and tweets. He's shopping? When you look his way and ask how he's doing on his post race comments, you see him just close his banking app? Fernando's antics stopped surprising you long ago. Or so you thought.

You're back at the hotel with half a mind to just lay down in the nice bed and not move until the flight. But someone from reception hands you a luxurious shopping bag and says that this was just delivered for you earlier. You thank them and bring it up to your room. You take the elegantly crafted Channel box and open it. You don't wanna think what just the shipping on this thing was. It's a dress. A gorgeous, Aston Martin green dress. That looks like it could be used as a fancy cocktail napkin. You look at the note "For tonight, - F". You really cannot say no to this.

Yet you barely have it on your body. Nando bought this with only himself in mind. He didn't consider that it had thin straps and a plunging neckline. Which you could live with, if it wasn't also riding up every time you took a step.And of course, Nando picked a practically backless number, so you couldn't even wear a bra.

You don't belong. In the taxi with your boss, who's also your boyfriend, Lance and his "new female friend". You're kinda squished in the back between the two men, as Fernando can't help but pull you closer to him. You'd be in his lap, if it was up to him. But even though his teammate could keep a secret, the girl in the front seat was worrying you.

"Why did you pick up a grid bunny before your breakup with Lou was announced? Lance, I don't wanna see cheating rumors tomorrow on Instagram. " you say, in French. Thank fuck for your parents pushing you to learn that in school.

"She's gonna pose as your friend when we walk in. After that, I can be sneaky. And you? Did Nando give you a big tip to get you here tonight, or what? You never come out with us." the young man implied something. You chose to ignore his innuendo.

"He has his traditions, I don't wanna upset him. You know how he gets when he's sulky."

You also dismiss that Fernando had wrapped his arm against your waist and that his grip had been tightening ever since you mentioned his name.

"You're gonna crease my dress, Mr. Alonso." you commented.

"Look who speaks English. Thought French was the official cab language." he's mad and you can sense it in his tone.

"I'm sorry sir, we just needed a quick word about security. Figured it was best not to bother you. As I said to Mr. Stroll, we don't wanna be spotted and all over social media tomorrow." you clarify.

"Of course. But some things you have to let everyone know. Or else they might get the wrong idea. Besides, don't I pay you to tell me things" He continued. You were gonna need to also use your broken Spanish, you guessed. Duolingo had nothing on you. Taming your boyfriend was on your bingo card, but not like this. Not in front of an audience. You pray that the girl can't focus on both giving directions and snooping on you.

"Are you jealous? Over him? " you ask.

"I'm gonna ruin you tonight" he states, then his words consisted of something about everyone and seeing. Before you could probe further into his head, the cab driver stopped. He dropped you off on the empty street, far away from the lights or a queue. After a bit of a walk and through a back door you found yourself in the club.

Fernando was a party animal(we've all seen the NYE pictures with George Russel). You left him to be in his zone. You, on the other hand, glued yourself to a bar seat, slowly getting through a cocktail, water, water and then another cocktail. You occupied your hands with incessantly checking the gossip sites. So far, you were in the clear.

"You gonna spend all night here? Shame, when you look like this." a familiar voice says next to you.

"Lance, what a surprise. I'm sure your companion is also dressed nicely. You should tell her this." you reply, not willing to entertain him.

"She's not much of a talker. Anyway, she went to the bathroom." You glance at the line and spot the girl there. You will her to come back and ask the driver pestering you to take her home. She, unsurprisingly, cannot read your mind.

"Dance with me." He continues. It's no use for you to argue when you know just how rarely he hears no. Besides, you could use some movement. You stand up, and don't miss his eyes trailing up your legs as you pull your dress down. You sway your body to the rhythm, a little stiffly, but you get it. For a good minute you forget all your worries. You're just dancing with a very drunk coworker. That's normal. The strap of your dress falls down your shoulder, and Lance reaches out to fix it. You think nothing of it. In a second, you feel a hand on your waist, pulling you away from the driver. You're frozen, not knowing whether to scream or try to fight. Then the man behind you says

"Why was he touching you, doll? Why did Lance have his hands on what's mine?". It's Fernando. He had been the one pulling you away. You're still too stunned to speak. When you finally go back to your senses, you reply.

"You can't just do that, you grabbed me, I was terrified. What if it hadn't been you,what if it was some stranger." Tears are on the corners of your eyes and he just takes you outside through the same back door you came in.

"I'm sorry." he says as you're still crying outside. He's calling a taxi and you still can't calm down, won't get close to him or touch him. "I'm sorry for not thinking. I'm sorry for letting the jealousy get to me. I'm sorry for not telling you it was me and that we're going. I'm so scared of losing you that I didn't care.". Your hiccups dissipate and you finally look at him.

"It's gonna be okay, Nando. Just the whole thing has been fucking insane. Can you come here and hug me? This fucking stupid dress of yours is making me so cold." you reply.

"It's a pretty dress. And you wear it well." he notes, as he wraps his arms around you.

"Can't fucking believe you had to drag me out of the club because Lance was drunk and sad about his breakup.". You're ignoring his flirting, because you know you'd melt back into his arms soon. And you're not sure if he deserves it.

"You didn't seem to be having much fun there anyway." He observes and you're happy that he's had the time and decency to check up on you. Suddenly you realize that all he's done tonight is try to show you off and care for you.

"Well, I never got to dance with you. Or have you sneakily pull me off to the side and kiss me. Which you can still do." You say, suddenly in a good mood.

"You sure you want a kiss now? I can wait, if you're still upset at me, doll." He asks.

“Well aren't you so chivalrous. Kiss me, Fernando. Before our can driver comes and sees.” you whisper, your words only between him, you and the night air.

Not needing you to tell him twice, he tilts your chin up and kisses you. In a second, it's all tongue and bites and his hands move to your ass. The fucking dress he bought you was paying off by the minute. He had agreed with you to wait before making your relationship physical. Tonight, he would try to not wait anymore. But it was all up to you. You who was currently gripping his shirt like your life depended on it, trying to get your hands under it. Maybe Lance did you both a favor. Nando would have to send him a candy basket or something.

The Uber Black honked his horn and caused you to break apart. You got in first. The makeout must have been too heated. Or maybe it was your flats tripping you up. But the second you tried to get in the backseat, you face planted. Your legs akimbo gave your boyfriend the best view of his life. You, in the dress he picked out, with no fucking panties. You righted yourself and managed to sit down properly. Fernando got it next to you. When the cab driver gasped in recognition, your boyfriend just sighed, got out a pen from his jacket pocket and offered to sign anything for all the friends and family.

"Hey man, look if you put on the music really loud, so me and my assistant can discuss work and put up the privacy screen, you'll be lucky you drove me tonight.". The other man silently agreed and as soon as you couldn't be seen, Nando's lips were on your neck.

"You know, doll, you shouldn't be so clumsy. Because now that I've seen you, I don't think I can hold back from touching you. What do you say? Do you wanna feel good? You want me to make you see stars in this cab?"

You nodded, all worries gone. Your body needed him. And it was gonna get him.

As soon as he got a yes, Fernando's hand was between your legs. His fingers expertly rubbed your clit as he told you how wet you were for him, how good you were, how he was gonna make sure your greedy pussy was gonna get what she needed. His fingers were moving in and out of you, and just about as you were going to cum, the car stopped. The music lowered. The driver simply said "Sir, we've reached your destination.". Fernando groaned and slipped all the bills from his wallet.

"Look, there's a great 24h restaurant right next to the hotel we're currently behind. How about you grab yourself something to eat and I'll come back when we're done with the car. " . Again, the driver agreed and silently tossed the keys in the back. Nando caught them and pulled you into his lap. Undoing his jeans, and boxers, he holds up a condom. Reading your mind, he explains "men's bathroom in the club" and then asks you "Wanna do the honors, pretty girl? Wanna feel my cock before I put it in?". You did, so you acted. As you roll on the condom, you move and also sink down on his cock. You try to move, but his hands grip your hips and stop you.

"No, doll. You're just gonna stay like this for a while and feel me inside of you. As a little reminder of who you're dating."

"Nando, again with the dick measuring contest?" You say, your face scrunching up.

"I don't need a contest to know, I'm big." He fucking moves, jackhammering into you, making you feel him deep. "Now, I just like to admire you, is that a crime? Don't think so. Let me clear up a few things and I'll make you come so hard you forget about everything else. Lance Stroll doesn't fucking intimidate me. I know he cannot fucking compare to me on any level. Same goes to any other man that tries to hit on you. Right now you are mine. And since I can't show you off, they have no idea who they're dealing with. But you do. So every time someone else tries to get what's mine, you'll be getting a reminder just like this. That Fernando is better than them." . With the last sentence he starts moving again. With one hand on your waist and the other on your clit, he makes you cum, and he follows about a minute later.

The next morning, you regroup at the airport. Lance is so hungover that he has absolutely no recollection of last night. Nando says that the night was great, but he really enjoyed the taxi back home, too. He winks at you, and you swear that was a premeditated murder.

#f1 imagine #f1 headcanons #f1 x reader #f1 smut #smut headcanons #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton smut #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo smut #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri smut #fernando alonso x reader #fernando alonso smut

497 notes · View notes

innerfare · 2 months ago

Text

Smutty Shanks Headcanons

Summary: a collection of NSFW Shanks headcanons

Genre: pure smut

CW: oral sex, penetrative sex, slutty Shanks

———

Has a habit of asking people to join his crew when he wants to sleep with them. Beckman no longer wastes his breath trying to stop it, has simply resigned himself to the reality that his captain is a whore because… well, he is a whore.

More than happy to share with others.

Has so much game, it’s unreal. Nobody had to teach this man how to pick people up at a bar, he was just born that way. And he has perhaps the most colorful body count of anyone in any of the seas, a list of past lovers that include pirates, marines, aristocrats, bureaucrats, and many a bar maid (there’s a green-haired one in the East Blue whom he is particularly sweet on and often finds himself reminiscing about). Gender, appearance, profession- none of this matters. If Red Hair Shanks has you in his sights, he’ll have you in his bed soon enough.

Not the biggest dick, but above average and on the thicker side; definitely has a nice curve in it. Has never manscaped in his life, would be deeply offended if you suggested he should. He’d probably be offended if you shave, too. This man likes it natural and nasty.

Kisses like he’s trying to swallow your tongue. Seriously, the messiest, sloppiest kisser, aims to swap as much saliva as possible with you; the type to share chewing gum with you. This holds true for when he goes down on you, too.

Speaking of going down on you, he’s religious about it. He swears your pussy is a hangover cure and he’ll have a headache all day if he doesn’t get to taste you. You’ll end up with a rash on your inner thighs from his stubble, but if that’s the case, he’ll just bend you over and lick your cunt from behind to give your inner thighs a break. As much as the stubble bothers you at first, you quickly reach a point where you don’t think you’d be able to cum if a clean-shaven man put his face between your legs.

Sometimes gets a case of whiskey dick (happens far more often than he’d ever admit), but he always makes it up to you come morning- to the point you’ve assured him repeatedly there’s no need (help, you’re so sore), but he feels he has something to prove. His whiskey dick isn’t even straight up dysfunction because he can still get hard, he just can’t cum, so even though he’ll fuck you good and make you cum, he feels like you haven’t been fucked properly until he’s finished inside you.

Has a bit of a Jekyll and Hyde thing going on in that there are two versions of him in bed: 1) the easygoing drunk who is more than happy to lay back and let you do all the work while he watches your tits bounce (Shanks is a titties man, it’s practically canon), and 2) the pirate emperor who will pound mercilessly into you from behind, hands digging into your hips so hard they leave bruises.

You always know when the pirate emperor is going to be the man waiting for you in bed that night based on how many jokes he cracks over dinner/drinks. If he’s in rare form, making even more jokes than usual, leaving the entire crew keeled over in laughter, he’ll be bending you over and snapping his hips against yours for a solid hour; basically, if Lucky Roux laughs until he cries, you are about to get fucked. Once you notice this pattern, you realize he makes eye contact with you while the crew is distracted by whatever joke he just told, and he always has a wicked gleam in his eye, as if his Conqueror’s Haki might just rear its powerful head.

Pirate emperor Shanks is willing to risk it all, too. He’s not going to wait until his cabin door is shut to start tearing your clothes off. He’s not going to tell you to keep it down in case the crew overhears. He’s not going to double check you took your birth control that morning. He’s just going to fuck you, and you’re just going to take it.

That being said, he’s never rough with you when you blow him. Blowjobs actually bring out the sweetest version of Shanks there is, the version who tells you to pace yourself and smiles brightly when he cums. He’ll hold your hair back for you, being very careful not to tangle it, and be sure not to thrust his hips forward; not into face fucking.

Has the most ridiculous nicknames for you outside the bedroom, and these carry over into the bedroom, too. His favorite is to call you his red panda. Sometimes uses these silly nicknames to break some of the tension.

Your most common position is with you on top, but his favorite position is prone bone. He likes your body flat against the mattress with his on top of you while he bottoms out inside. He’ll make you cross your ankles, too, so he can get even deeper.

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

#one piece #one piece headcanons #one piece smut #shanks x reader #red haired shanks #shanks #red hair shanks #akagami no shanks #shanks smut #shanks headcanons

436 notes · View notes

corroded-hellfire · 3 months ago

Note

Throwing a fluffy idea out there: Eddie volunteering (possibly for community service after getting busted for something silly) at a pet shelter. The kittens trying to play with his hair, him rough housing with the dogs to help get them some playtime and exercise.

Eddie loves animals and no one can change my mind. All I want is to see him with these fuzzy little babies 🥺

Words: 3.1k

Hopper was a good guy. He knew deep down Eddie was a good kid and that if he was the worst criminal that Hawkins had, things were going all right. But that didn’t mean that the chief of police wouldn’t lay down the law once in a while with the small-time drug dealer.

Eddie had gotten the choice between a few nights in the tiny town jail or volunteering at a pre-approved Hawkins business. Not wanting to spend time behind bars, Eddie grumbled as he took a look at the list of volunteer options. Spending any time at a medical facility was an automatic no and Eddie wasn’t sure how picking up trash would keep him away from drugs when all he’d want is to smoke a joint after the arduous task.

The Hawkins Animal Shelter immediately seemed appealing, though. Growing up, Eddie had always wanted a dog, but his dad couldn’t afford to own one and Wayne is allergic. Thinking of spending time with the dogs and cats that didn’t have families of their own brought a smile to his face. Maybe part of it was that he didn’t have a stable home life before coming to live with his uncle, so he could relate to the sweet, innocent animals.

His first day on the job, Eddie jumps out of his van and tosses his leather jacket on the passenger’s seat so it won’t get covered in fur or drool. The gravel crunches beneath his boots as he heads towards the front door. Barking can be heard before he even grips the dull copper doorknob.

There’s an older woman seated behind a desk as soon as he walks in, who looks up at him over the rim over her tortoiseshell glasses.

“Munson?” Her voice is deep and raspy, the pack of cigarettes sitting in front of her the obvious culprit.

“Uh, yeah,” Eddie says.

The woman nods her head to a yellow door covered in scratches—mostly on the bottom half. “In there. The girl will show you what to do.”

The girl. Eddie doesn’t even know who she is, but he’s offended on her behalf by being referred to in that way. Giving the woman a quick nod, Eddie heads over and through the door, eager to be out of her presence.

The sound of dogs barking and yipping is even louder in the back hallway, and now it’s joined by the high-pitched meowing of cats. It brings a smile to Eddie’s face as he shoves his hands into his jean pockets. He turns a corner and sees a girl bending over into one of the dog’s kennels. As excited as he is to see the animals he’s going to be spending time with, he admires the view of the nice ass in front of him first. A particularly loud woof from a Pomeranian has the girl standing up straight and Eddie is quick to avert his eyes, hoping he can keep up the facade of being a gentleman for more than five minutes.

“Oh! Hi, Eddie.”

At the sound of his name, Eddie looks back towards you. A smile breaks out on his face as he recognizes you from school. The two of you never really spoke before, but he couldn’t deny that he’d always thought you were very pretty.

“Hey! I didn’t know you worked here,” he says.

“Nope, just volunteer,” you say as you wipe your hands off on the thighs of your jeans.

“And I bet you weren’t even threatened with jail time,” Eddie says with a playful smirk. You giggle and it makes Eddie’s stomach flip in a way that’s unfamiliar to him.

“Let me guess, Brenda sent you back here with a huff?” A dog clamors for your attention in a kennel to your right and you reach in to scratch behind the chocolate lab’s ear.

“I assume so,” Eddie says with a shrug. “She didn’t bother introducing herself before ushering me along, saying you would tell me what to do.”

“Hmm,” you hum, narrowing your eyes as if inspecting him. “Can anyone really tell Eddie Munson what to do?”

This makes him laugh and it scares a skittish poodle to his left.

“Aw, I’m sorry, pal.” Eddie crouches down and holds his knuckles up to the kennel door to let the white, fluffy dog give him a sniff.

“That’s Stella,” you tell him. “Her brother Bruno is on the pillow back there asleep.”

Eddie’s eyes roam over to the dark gray poodle snoozing away in the back corner. He looks like he doesn’t have a care in the world and Eddie envies that.

“Do you know all the animals’ names here?” Eddie asks as he stands back up.

“Sometimes it’s hard to keep track because they come and go, but yeah, I think so,” you say. “Hmm, okay, I was just about to go change the kitty litter. Want to come along and distract the kittens? You wouldn’t believe how much they get in the way.”

“Sure,” Eddie agrees as he follows you down the hallway. As soon as you open the door to where the cats are kept, a cacophony of meowing floods his ears. There are different volumes and different pitches blending together to create a song of cat chaos. Eddie realizes he must be staring when he hears a soft giggle coming from your direction. Ducking his head, he clears his throat and turns towards you. “What should I do, boss?”

“Well,” you say as you walk over to a few of the cubbies the cats are residing in, “I’ll let a few out at a time, you distract them with the toys or maybe even some treats and I’ll clean their boxes. Then we try to corral them back in and start over again. Ready?”

There’s an array of cat toys on the far side of the small room. Fuzzy mice, balls that jingle, some with feathers, and a few cat wands. Eddie grabs a bag of cat treats off the shelf–which means every little eyeball in that room is on him–and settles himself on the floor next to the toys.

“Ready.”

The first batch you let out consists of five cats–ones that you know for a fact get along, you inform him. There’s a calico named Turtle, an orange and white one named Eric, an all-white called Kissy with the bluest eyes Eddie’s ever seen, and two small kittens. They’re both tabby cats with stripes, but one is grey with black stripes and the other is a soft orange with darker stripes; named Pepper and Chili respectively. Unsurprisingly, the kittens are the first ones intrigued by their new visitor. Tiny paws pad over the linoleum floor until they’re both standing right in front of Eddie. Now that they’re this close though, they get a bit shy. Their eyes are so big for their little heads, Eddie thinks, and he can’t help but chuckle at how cute they are. Chili decides to be the brave one and takes on the scary task of crawling up Eddie’s leg.

“Jesus,” Eddie winces as sharp little claws dig through the material of his jeans and prick at his skin. You pop your head out from one of the kennels and give him a sympathetic look.

“Yeah. I don’t know why but kittens’ claws are sharper than adult cats,” you tell him.

“God, you’re lucky you’re so cute,” Eddie tells Chili as the little furball stops to sit on Eddie’s thigh. As if seeing that his brother is safe, Pepper jumps up and follows the trail the ginger cat had led. “Ah, both. Great.” His words are joking, but the way he grits his teeth as Pepper’s claws do their little pricks of damage is very real.

Turtle makes her way over and begins to chew on the top corner of the treat bag. Kissy immediately wants Eddie to pet her, and Eric is content to sit about a foot away and watch the others interact with the human on the floor.

You peek over your shoulder as you empty the dirty litter into the garbage can beside you, and smile when you see Pepper standing on Eddie’s lap with her two front paws pressed right over his heart. Her tiny head bobs as she inspects Eddie’s face, little pink nose twitching as it works.

Chili has to outdo his sister and jumps right up to Eddie’s shoulder, as if he were a pirate and Chili is his trusty parrot. The ginger cat noses at Eddie’s curls before deciding to take a taste. He opens his mouth and Eddie is glad that hair doesn’t have nerve endings when Chili sinks those little needles that he calls teeth into the strand.

By the time you get finished cleaning out the litter and refilling the food and water, Pepper is up on Eddie’s other shoulder, chewing on hair on that side of his head. Kissy is curled up in Eddie’s lap, purring contentedly as she snoozes. Turtle is still trying to figure out how to get into the treat bag, and Eric decides he can trust Eddie enough to rest his head on Eddie’s ankle.

“Well, don’t you all look comfy,” you say as you stroll over to them.

“Cats have no boundaries,” Eddie says with a smile.

“Not a one,” you agree.

Eventually, you get them all back in their cubby condos and are able to move on to clean the other cat’s areas.

When you get to the last one, you open the cage door and reach in. Eddie watches as you pull out an older gray and brown cat and hug it to your chest.

“How are you, Perry?” you ask before planting a kiss right between the cat’s ears. You turn towards Eddie so he can get a better view of the large feline. “This is Perry. He’s the oldest cat here and an absolute sweetheart. I would’ve brought him home with me a long time ago if my sister wasn’t allergic.”

“Hi, Perry,” Eddie says, walking closer to the two of you. He holds his fingers up and Perry gives them a quick sniff. The cat ducks his head and Eddie takes the hint, scratching wherever his hand is guided along the soft fur.

“Wow,” you say softly. “I’ve never seen Perry let anyone pet him that quickly. He can be a grumpy old man when he doesn’t know someone.”

“I live with a grumpy old man,” Eddie says with a shrug. “Guess I just know how to deal with them.”

“Do you want to hold him while I clean?” you offer.

“Sure.”

You hand the cat over and Perry quickly adjusts to being in Eddie’s arms. It’s another thing that surprises you. Perry isn’t usually a fan of being held—unless it’s by you. But the tabby seems quite content in Eddie’s arms.

Since the last cage is the easiest to clean, you finish up with the cat room in no time.

“What now?” Eddie asks.

A look down at your watch lets you know.

“Time for the first group of dogs to go outside.” You nod for Eddie to follow you in the direction of the dogs’ section. “We do it in groups since there’s so many of them. This way they can all get some attention and there’s less likely to be any issues or fighting.”

It’s not surprising to you that Eddie is a complete natural with the dogs when you get outside. He’s on the grass with them, rough housing, he plays fetch, and even runs laps around the yard with a few who just need to burn off their extra energy. The dogs all take to him so naturally—even the shy ones. It’s impossible not to smile as you watch the canines play with this golden retriever of a man.

By the time the two of you bring the last round of dogs back inside, Eddie’s cheeks are rosy from exertion, his breathing is somewhat labored, and he has patches of dirt on him almost from head to toe.

“Come here,” you say with a chuckle once you’ve snapped the last lock shut.

There’s a battered door at the other end of the hall, and Eddie follows you over towards it. You jiggle the rusty doorknob and step into the small bathroom. There are a few stacks of towels lined up on the counter and you pull a teal one off the top of a pile.

The scent of lemons fills the small space as you pump some hand soap onto the towel and wring it out with some water.

You turn back to Eddie and motion for him to drop his chin. He does, and you push a few strands of curls back to wipe at the dirt on the left cheek and jawline.

“How’d you get this?” you ask with a chuckle.

“No idea,” he replies with a small huff of laughter. “I think it was when Yogi and I both dove for that tennis ball.”

The memory of Eddie and the chocolate lab both going for the toy brings a smile to your face as you clean off what you can of the dirt.

“He’s a good boy,” you say.

“What about me?” Eddie asks with a mischievous glint in his eye.

You laugh and toss the dirty towel in the laundry bin.

“Yes, Eddie,” you tell him. “You were a good boy, too.”

Even though he’s the one who brought it up, he feels his face get warm.

“So, I’m actually headed out early today,” you say as you wipe your hands off on the sides of your jeans. “But I’m sure Brenda will let you know what you can do next.” It’s hard to keep the playful smirk off your face at the mention of the cantankerous receptionist.

Eddie drops his jaw and stares at you with mock annoyance.

“Playing hooky and leaving me with someone who makes Ms. O’Donnell look like a ray of sunshine? How dare you?”

You chuckle and shake your head.

“I mean, if you want to go get my cavity filled for me, I wouldn’t complain,” you say with a shrug.

Eddie winces, fighting off the urge to run his tongue over his teeth.

“Oof, okay. That’s a good excuse, I guess,” Eddie says.

“I’m so glad you approve,” you tease. “Are you coming back tomorrow?”

“Sure am.”

Honestly, Eddie has no idea if he’s scheduled to come in tomorrow or not, but he hardly doubts anyone would complain if he showed up for extra volunteering.

“I’ll see you then.”

You give him one last smile before heading to grab your bag from the back room.

The next day, all the cats and kittens meow at you the moment you step foot into their room.

“Hello, babies,” you greet them. “How’s my man Perry doin—” Your face falls when you see Perry’s usual crate empty of the senior cat.

Despite the cries of protest, you back out of the cat room and hastily make your way to Brenda’s desk.

“Where’s Perry?” you ask without preamble.

“Got adopted,” Brenda responds, not looking up from the old issue of People Magazine she’s flipping through.

“Oh.” You swallow and nod your head. “Good for him.” I didn’t get to say goodbye.

A few tears fall as you head back to the cats and begin your daily cleaning routine. You are genuinely happy that Perry has found a home. Cats of his age don’t belong in a shelter, they belong with a family. Well, all cats do, but it’s especially harder for seniors. It’s the fact that you didn’t get to give him one more scratch between his ears or kiss the back of his head one last time that is upsetting you. He was so much a part of your daily life that it already feels empty in the shelter without him.

“Hey.”

Eddie’s voice startles you, causing you to jump and hit the back of your head on the roof of Chili and Pepper’s cubby.

“Ow.” You wince and step back, bringing your hand up to hold the sore spot.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry!” Eddie says, eyes wide. “I didn’t mean to scare you—hey, are you okay?” Eddie frowns in concern when he sees the tear tracks running down your cheeks.

“Huh? Oh yeah,” you say before wiping off your face with the sleeve of your shirt. “I’m fine. Just found out that Perry got adopted and I’m bummed I didn’t get to say goodbye to him.”

“Oh.” The smile forming on Eddie’s pretty face doesn’t hold the tone of sympathy that you were expecting. He clears his throat and brings his hand up to scratch at the back of his neck. “Well, um, actually, I’m the one who adopted him.”

Either your ears or brain are having a hard time grasping what Eddie just said, so it takes a few moments before it finally clicks.

“You? You adopted Perry?”

“Yeah.” There’s a prideful grin on Eddie’s face and it makes your heart rate pick up. “After you left yesterday, I went to say goodbye to him, and he kept pawing at me through the bars of the crate. I let him out and he wanted me to hold him. I kinda fell in love with him right then and there.”

Tears flood your eyes once more, but this time for an entirely different reason.

“Oh, Eddie.” You chuckle and wipe at your misty eyes. “That makes me so happy. Perry deserves a good family, and I couldn’t have picked a better one. Thank you.”

“You can come by whenever you want to see him,” Eddie says, a nervous warble in his voice. He clears his throat and tries again. “I’m sure, uh, he’d love to see you more.”

A shy smile graces your features as you reply, “I’d like that, too.”

“So, no more tears,” Eddie says, stepping forward and using his thumb to gently erase any remains of your waterworks.

“No more tears,” you agree, taking a deep breath.

Before you can let the thought linger and overthink it, you lean forward and wrap your arms around Eddie’s neck, hugging his body close to yours. He tentatively wraps his arms around your body before holding you just as tightly as you’re holding him.

Reluctantly, you pull away and take a step backward.

“So, what do you say?” you ask. “Should we get to work?”

Eddie drops into a bow and makes a grand sweeping gesture towards the cat cubbies.

“Let’s do it.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fan fic #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #request

453 notes · View notes

selenezq · 6 months ago

Text

🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞MDNI🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞

I'm back with a fic I've written that was inspired by the wonderful @home-for-wayward-fawns

Edited by the lovely @the-demon-of-a-thousand-eyes

Alastor x Reader

Reader is AFAB

CW: Stuck trope, dub con, semi public sex, penetration, oral, porn no plot

Help Me Mr. Radio Demon, I'm Stuck

It had been a long day. There had been lots of things to do: Charlie's bonding exercises, helping Husk restock the bar supplies, and taking an inventory of everything that was running low around the hotel—some general day-to-day tasks to keep it running. The only thing left on your list to do was your least favorite: laundry.

It had already been started, the melodic chime of the washer alerting you that it was time to move things along. With a sigh, you head to the laundry room and open the lid to the washer. Pulling your wet clothing out carefully, you ascertain what pieces need to be hung up to dry first. Humming softly as you work, you pull all the special care items out and hang them one by one.

Finally, all that needed extra care are hung to dry. Now you can focus on putting the rest in the dryer. You reach into the washer, grabbing a handful of wet clothes and chucking them into the final machine when you hear a loud clunk. Wondering if you had left another lipstick in your pocket, you bend down to investigate.

Getting down on your hands and knees before the dryer, you reach around, trying to find whatever had landed in there, but without success. You quickly decide to stick your head in the metal contraption to see if you could find whatever had dropped inside. Popping your head into the dryer’s opening, you immediately see exactly what you thought you would find: a forgotten container of lip color.

Grasping it firmly in your hand, you move to pull yourself out, only to find that you can't. You jerk yourself backwards, using more force this time, only to hear the faint ripping of the fabric of your blouse. Unwilling to ruin your shirt even more, you realize you are stuck—inside the dryer of all things. You groan in frustration, and it echoes in the small metal chamber. Briefly, you consider yelling for help, before deciding against the embarrassment that it would bring. "Fuck." You utter in frustration.

Alastor walks at a leisurely pace through the halls, lamenting the lack of occupants in the hotel today; they are off on some ridiculous adventure, providing for a less than entertaining afternoon. Mulling over his thoughts as he passes the laundry room, he wonders what everyone was up to, what amusements they were entertaining themselves with. Lost in thought, he almost misses the faint sound of your groan, quickly followed by an unladylike curse. Alastor halts, pivoting around in immediate curiosity. He steps through the door, only to be met with a sight that causes his trousers to feel too tight as his cock hardens within them.

You are currently bent in half and low to the floor, your plump ass barely covered by the short skirt you wear. Your top is bunched up, exposing the luminous skin of your lower back as you appear to be caught on something inside the dryer—trapped and waiting for him just like prey. How would your skin feel under his hands? His name would sound so sweet falling from your pretty lips. The thoughts came unbidden into his mind as an image of him rutting into you follows immediately afterwards.

Alastor had never dealt with these kinds of urges before—at least, until you. Your quick wit and kind smile had him yearning to spend time with you. The fact that you were the most breathtaking creature he had ever seen was only a bonus. He reaches his hand out, as if to touch your perfect posterior, before he seems to think better of it, letting his arm fall back down to hang at his side. He’s plagued with the desire to take you right then and there. Driven by his need, he takes a step closer so he is close enough to reach out and grab you. His cock twitches eagerly in his suit pants.

The Radio Demon's lips quirk into a sinister grin as his eyes rake over you hungrily. Feeling his licentious gaze, you call out helplessly, "Is somebody there?" Your voice echoes in the metal drum you find yourself captive within.

"It seems you've found yourself in a bit of trouble, my dear." Alastor remarks in his radio-filtered voice.

"Oh, I'm so glad you’re still here, Alastor. I seem to be stuck on something and I don't want to rip my shirt too badly; could you help me?" You ask, trying not to let the rising panic you feel at being trapped seep into your voice.

"I would be delighted to help a beautiful damsel such as yourself, pet." Alastor purrs, his radio voice filling the silence of the room. Using a shadowy tendril, he pushes the door shut, the echo of it closing loudly before sliding the lock into place with a snap. His feet bring him even closer to you, the heels of his boots clicking loudly. Close enough to touch, he stops, his large frame towering powerfully over you. He can feel the heat radiating off your body. "You silly girl; how did you even get stuck in there?" He chuckles deprecatingly.

"I wanted to remove the lipstick that fell in here so my clothes wouldn't get ruined." You answer, your voice muffled from the machine surrounding your upper body. You can feel him standing close to you and your heart races, pulse quickening. You've always found Alastor extremely charming, with his protective nature, dangerous aura, and hilarious jokes. Hips moving as you wiggle, jittery under the weight of his gaze, you try to free yourself once more.

Alastor watches as your shapely rear gyrates back and forth in your futile attempt to free yourself. He represses a groan, pondering what it might feel like against his throbbing cock. Bending at the waist, he leans down to place a clawed hand on your exposed lower back. "Calm down my dear; I'm sure I'll have you out in no time. I'm here to assist." He says, the static in his voice crackling dangerously, a direct contrast to the words the demon is saying. "Although, I don't see why I shouldn't have a little fun while I'm here." Alastor says, his usual smile taking on a predatory edge.

He kicks your right leg to the side, giving himself a clear view of the tiny strip of fabric barely covering you. You should feel the sting of embarrassment, but instead you can feel your pussy clench with need. "Alastor, I don't see how this could possibly help." You argue feebly, not really meaning for him to stop.

Not listening to the words he knows you don't mean, Alastor grabs your waist. His hands are on either side of your hips, claws digging lightly into your skin as he pulls on you, hoping to get you free. The material of your undergarments clings to your pussy, slick with want. As he tugs on you, your ass grazes against his barely constrained hardness and you bite your lip, aware of how big he feels against you.

"I plan to help myself first. Then I'll help you." The tall demon growls, his voice thick with his radio filter. You can hear static crackling and popping as he grinds into you. Using his power, he wills a cold tendril to pull your panties swiftly to the side. You don't protest, feeling a pleasurable jolt every time he humps and rubs his covered manhood against your backside. You find yourself desperate to feel him bare against your needy quim. As he pulls away momentarily, you find yourself holding back a whimper of disappointment.

Before you have too long to feel discontented, you feel his hot breath fanning against your bare cunt. Alastor's tongue darts out of his mouth, eagerly lapping at your clit and you can't help the gasp that wrenches its way from your mouth. He moves slowly, as if he's savoring a meal, each stroke sending pleasurable tingles through your body.

Alastor loves the taste of your juices, unable to think of a sweeter treat he's had in his life. Sliding his tongue down your slit, he plunges it deep within your cavern without warning. You let out an obscene moan as you feel his lengthy, demonic tongue reach just the right spot inside of you. Curling and slurping it, Alastor attacks your pussy with an intense vigor. He brings a hand up to your sensitive bud, massaging it with his digits in steady, circular, motions.

As he continues his ministrations for quite some time; you can feel pleasing tingles travel increasingly through your body and you know you won't last long. "Alastor, please don't stop!" You cry out, not caring about your volume as long as he doesn't cease his movements. Increasing his pace, his finger and tongue move in unison to bring you closer and closer to that edge you feel quickly approaching. With a loud scream of ecstasy, you feel your orgasm crashing, waves of pleasure flowing over you.

Holding onto you as your legs quiver, he continues to lick as you quake through it, his fingers still moving against your over-sensitive nub. You feel the creeping of shame as your post-bliss fades away. You can't believe you enjoyed this while trapped in this infernal machine.

With one final swipe, the overlord collects one last taste of your saccharine nectar. Pulling himself off of your sensitive flesh, he licks his lips with an indecent smacking sound. "You taste simply divine, darling." He coos delightedly at you. "You simply must let me sample that again sometime."

"I would love to do this again, but I still need help out of this dryer." You murmur, embarrassed. "Please Alastor." You tack on at the end pleadingly.

"Ah, I still intend to free you my dear, but I'm not quite finished. What kind of hunter would I be if I turned away such a gift, my prey already trapped and laid out deliciously for me?" He says with a tsk, tsk, tsk. Bringing his hands to his belt, he undoes it with a hurried, urgent pace. Sliding it through the loops on his trousers he pulls it out, discarding it recklessly, and you hear it clatter against the linoleum.

You hear a metallic zipping sound before his colossal cock is springing free, hitting your ass with a hard thwack. Alastor slides his considerable length along your already soaked hole, teasing you playfully. "I'd like to hear you beg again, pet." He decides, and you can hear in his tone that this isn't a request.

"Please, please, please, Al; I need this. I need you inside of me." You beg prettily, desperately. Without even waiting for you to finish, he's shoving himself inside you, his thick hardness stretching you almost painfully. Your slick walls grip his hardened member perfectly and he lets out a throaty groan.

"You are just as warm and tight as I always imagined, my doe." He praises, thrusting into you, driven by his overwhelming desire to feel you come apart around his aching cock. His hips move at a brutal pace, slamming into you over and over again, his tip hitting your cervix every time. The dryer shakes with the force of each thrust as he chases his own release.

"Before I reward you with my seed, I want you to cum for me one more time. No holding back those beautiful noises you make." He says authoritatively, not stopping his movements.

"I don't,” you pant out, “know if I can." Pleasure overwhelms you as he drills into you over and over again.

"You can, and you will. I'm not asking, darling." He commands, snapping his hips into you, hitting just the right spot as he does. You can sense another orgasm creeping upon you, despite saying you couldn't. You focus on that feeling as his cock moves in and out of you, producing a wet squelching sound. With a loud shout, you're pushed over the edge a second time. You shake as the force of your climax causes your knees to go weak, unable to hold yourself up any longer.

Alastor supports you as your body goes limp, your last bit of energy spent. His thrusts become erratic and sloppy as he follows his own high, the tightness of your soft cavern milking him. With a loud, guttural cry, he releases ropes of cum inside you, his cock twitching with every spurt. He calls out your name, his member deflating as the cooling mess of his seed slides out of you.

With a frustratingly easy snap of his fingers, you are freed from the dryer. In an instant you are on your feet in front of him, your blouse repaired, and your clothing all back in its rightful place, his suit fresh and pristine like nothing ever happened. "You could have just done that this whole time?"

"Ah, but where would have been the fun in that? We both enjoyed our time here tonight, after all." Alastor responds, patronizingly smug. A blush blossoms on your face as you think about the sex you've just had with the man you’ve been distracted by for quite some time. With a smug grin, he slides the lock on the door back open with a click. Grasping the knob, he holds it open for you, ever the charming gentleman. "Ladies first." He says holding his other hand out to help you. Together, you both leave the laundry room behind.

#alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor the radio demon #hazbin alastor #alastor x you #alastor x reader #alastor smut #alastor x you smut #alastor x reader smut #smut #stuck trope #semi public sex #hazbin hotel smut #the radio demon smut #alastor hazbin hotel #SeleneZQ #help me step alastor

722 notes · View notes

whichcouldmeannothing · 1 year ago

Text

big big marvey fic rec list

marvey is currently my most bookmarked ship, so trust me when i say i've been around the bend for marvey content. i have dug through a lot of it the past few months, so trust that these fics have been highly rated!

fics are loosely grouped, with the summary and my thoughts under the cut :3 no spoilers ofc bc i love you

MY PERSONAL FAVOURITES

A Specter-Ross Affair by @frivoloussuits (15k+, au)

“You ordered an ‘extra-hot, extra-wet cappuccino, single-origin, properly layered, to-go and ready five minutes ago to make up for your service speed or lack thereof.’” In which Mike is a barista, Rachel is a lawyer, and Harvey is paid excessive amounts of money to plan their joyous Christmas wedding.

"Love is just a particularly socially accepted form of fraud. It's a series of increasingly complex and fragile deceptions between two or more people, and, more alarmingly, between each participant and their own deluded subconscious."

i literally cannot recommend this fic enough. this might be my favourite read of the entire year, dead serious. this sounds fluffy but trust me, the pining and the angst go well like salt on a chocolate chip cookie: extremely decadent. everything about this fic goes insane and this should be your gateway drug into marvey, im so serious about this. READ IT. (weddingplanner!harvey)

of all the gin joints by @frivoloussuits (10k+, au)

Hanging around a neighborhood bar one night, Harvey befriends a guy named Mike after realizing they can both quote The Princess Bride on demand. In the law offices of Rand, Kaldor, Zane and Pearson, senior partner Harvey Specter takes on an unusual case, representing his managing partner's daughter as she divorces a Michael James Ross. Harvey sees no connection until it's far too late.

"They’re playing a virtuosic duet with inhuman ease, as if the intoxication has broken their boundaries and blurred them into a single entity."

this. obsessed with fics that really use the law in their plots, and this is a prime example. a lot of chemistry in this one that is described in a way that makes you jealous of the bond they share and there are still lines in this fic that i think about almost everyday but honestly, such a top-tier read. PLEASE PLEASE IF YOU LIKE SUFFERING ANF REALLY REALLY GOOD CHEMISTRY PLEASE

5U175 by Closer (26k, canon-adjacent)

Harvey sometimes moonlights as a Star Trek BNF. Mike might have an attitude problem on the internet. TiberiusGhost is strangely compelling, for a recluse who never goes to meetups, and Harvey's finding this kid Photohead vaguely familiar…

i know that the terminology in this one is hella old-school but trust me. as someone who doesnt read a lot of fandom fics, this fic has changed it all for me (also bc the author replied to my comment hehehe) stick with this fic because the way fandom weaves with the character development is absolutely delicious, i remember saying this in my og comment but this fic was written with love for fandom and you should definitely read it too!!! you'd absolutely love it! (also ben stans rise up ^^)

fics to sink your teeth into (20k+)

needs must by @melthemagpie (98k+, au)

When Grammy needs an upgrade in care, Mike knows that the usual one-off gig as a paid submissive won't be enough. He takes a job he's been refusing for a while - a long-term, full-time contract. He expects his client to be a sadistic asshole. He expects not to like it. He's wrong on both counts.

this is a fandom classic, every fic rec has this on the list (cw for dom/sub and prostitution, so if you're uncomfy please dont read) but i swear there are so many romantic moments in this one that make me swoon and the smut is very good, i usually tap out in long fics really quickly but this hooked me the whole way through twice. thats my ringing endorsement, READ THIS

Lobster and Other Catastrophes by @andthetardis (21k, canon-compliant)

After months of silence, Mike starts texting Harvey again out of the blue. Funny thing to do on his honeymoon, really.

BRO PLEASE. this was so good. angsty and pining-y enough even though it's mostly a text fic. text fics to me are more like comedic, but this one had substance and heart (and funny and enjoyable btw). pulls you in and really makes you want to stick it out and get to the beautiful ending <333 (harvey being soft is probably a category on its own :3)

The Game by @frivoloussuits (27k, hunger games au)

Harvey Specter and Donna Paulsen are efficient and elegant killers. They have trained since childhood, mentored personally by Jessica Pearson and marked for years as District 1's Tributes for the Hunger Games. Mike Ross is an orphan from District 12, a drug dealer, and an underage gambler. After years of scrutinizing the Hunger Games on TV to make savvy bets, he finds himself on the wrong side of the camera, now playing the odds just to survive. Harvey and Mike cannot, should not trust each other. Still, they strike a backroom deal.

"Because he’s clever and quick-thinking and he’s learned her main lesson well– don’t love anyone you wouldn’t be willing to see dead. Ideally, don’t love anyone at all."

I READ THIS WHEN I WAS REVISITING HUNGER GAMES AND OHHHHH THIS HAS THE ANGST. absolutely riveting. ths is the third fic im reccing from them bc i love frivoloussuits. i would die for them HHFSHFHKSDGDHFG i love the angst and the life-threatening situations that the hunger games provide and harvey as a career is correct. its just correct. everything here grips my soul

Disaster Stories by agatestones (22k, canon-compliant)

"Hold on," Mike asked, "you made Donna come into work in the middle of a blizzard?" "I don't make Donna do anything. Haven't you learned by now?" Harvey gave Mike a mean little smile, but under that was relief for anyone to see. "You, I can make come into the office in a blizzard."

reads like a novella to me, and it's really good!!! very episodic and you really feel like these are things that have happened in universe. its very slice of lifey and i reread it a lot as a comfort read, its like a big hug to me

Pizza and a Movie by Closer (30k+, au)

In an alternate universe, Harvey's still a lawyer but Mike's not a pot runner -- he's a deliveryman for Rollo's Pizza and Ribs, which happens to be Harvey's favorite pizza place. Once Harvey finds out his pizza guy is a genius, Mike's life takes a few turns he would not have expected...

i swear this is the most rom-commy fic marvey has to offer. i like aus that slap me in the face more with the alternate universe, but this is such a rom-com plot. fandom classic as well and it really reads like a hugh grant 90s movie and if thats not enough to pull you in idk what will tbh

Imprimatur by Closer (22k, au)

Mike was raised to believe Imprint was a life-changing event for those few lucky enough to experience it. Harvey was raised to believe it was a form of mental illness. When it actually happened, neither of them noticed.

this goes absolutely crazy. one of those fics where you read it and you almost want to throw your phone at the wall because the characters could make it so easy if they werent so stupid (but in a good way of course) but the way it was written, you feel the depth of the soulmate bond and why its so important (which a lot of soulmate aus forget to do loll) but goes down like an expensive and delicious dinner :)

afternoon reads (10k+)

Sony SRF-39FP by @frivoloussuits (11k+, canon-adjacent)

Anita Gibbs won’t settle for Mike, not when there are name partners within her reach. She offers only one deal– two years, no other charges against anyone else in the firm, as long as Harvey Specter turns himself in. And even as Donna and Jessica and Louis and Mike beg him not to, he jumps on the grenade. “Time to get busy living or get busy dying,” he remarks, and Mike gives a small chuckle. Then Harvey smirks, straightens his suit jacket, and strides into FCI Danbury.

“I can’t believe they’re trying to lock you in a box and forget about you,” Mike sighs as he leaves.

“Well, as long as you don’t forget me, I figure I’ll survive.”

“Maybe you haven’t noticed, but forgetting’s never been my strong suit.

cw for depersonalization and desc of solitary confinement, very very heavy but the way mike is there throughout everything makes my heart twinge. i really dont know how to describe this fic at all but its really good. it makes me cry a lot. also made me start listening to jazz which- uh

Here at the end of all things by @tattooedsiren (10k, au)

When he arrives at the Pearson Hardman building the lights are dimmed and the floor is deserted. His feet carry him to Harvey's office even though he expects it to be empty. Because Harvey probably fled the city via helicopter or teleporter or sheer force of will. But when he approaches the office he can see that Harvey is there. He has moved the couch so that it now faces the floor to ceiling windows and Mike silently sits beside Harvey, joins him in looking down at the chaos engulfing the city below. [Apocalypse AU]

I LOVE APOCALYPSE FICS UP UP UP badass!harvey makes me bark, but im a really big fan of people who find happiness in the worst circumstances and this fic does it so so so well. reminds me a lot of tlou episode like 2? the one with the strawberries. please this is what i revisit when i miss marvey and i dont have a lot of time because the world and the characters are jsut so delicious!!!

quick reads (1k+)

This Love is Silent by kim47 (8k, canon-compliant)

She should have known. She had known, that something was off, at least. She knew he was hiding something. She just never imagined it could be this. Despite Harvey's warnings, Mike tells Rachel the truth about everything. She's shocked, naturally, and more than a little angry, but she agrees to keep his secret, and even to date him. So when they break up, Harvey goes into damage-control mode.

RACHEL!! HELLO RACHEL!! im always up for smart and discerning rachel (this shows up in of all the gin joints too btw!!!) this runs realistic to me because it shows that rachelxmike arent some hopelessly wrong for each other couple, they have good and bad times. this feels more real to me than other fics bc its not like the world conspires for marvey to be apart, its just life. i know this makes it sound so sad, and it is, but trust me: this is really really really good i love this so much

an archive of harvey specter's expressions by @frivoloussuits (2k, canon-compliant)

Five old expressions that Mike rediscovers in new contexts once he and Harvey are (finally) together, and one that he sees for the first time. Alternatively titled “An Ode to Gabriel Macht’s Face.”

this was written for me. this is literally me. writing fic because gabriel macht is too pretty, like this fic is literally for me. a lot of peering at him to get this fic as masterfully written as it is, and i thank you author everyday for it. to me, this reads like it's been written with love and care and true adoration (Truly, like Mike)

Coffee-Cart Client Privilege by @frivoloussuits (7k, au)

Mike runs a coffee cart. The coffee cart.

"Why not? They're too big and dense to be a snack." So are you, Mike thinks, and yet.

IM SORRY I KEEP RECCING FRIVOLOUS SUITS THEYRE MY FAVOURITE WRITER IN THIS FANDOM HFBKABFDKHFBHKDSA this has the hand-wavy logic the show has itself but mike's internal monologue in this one is one of the best ive ever read and the way mike's integrated in the offices is just so well-done ahhhh

Objection by yeah its frivoloussuits again i feel bad tagging them like 7 times (2k, canon-adjacent)

When Mike announces he’s leaving, Harvey plans to hide the jagged pieces of his broken heart deep inside, where no one will ever find them. His heart would like to object.

BIGG fan of physical hurt/comfort!!!! also big fan of people absolutely freaking out in the hospital in fics, it makes me bounce of the wall!! very short but the angst and love really hits you quick and leaves you on the floor gasping for air. very good (also cant prove this but im very sure this is a scrubs reference.t hanks)

Excerpts From The Gospel of Harvey Specter, edited by Michael "Forever Awesome" Ross, 2011, 1st Ed, by @rcmclachlan (7k, canon compliant)

Mike can totally read people. Well, most people. Some people. Or maybe just Harvey, who's pretty much an open book.

this one's really funny! it doesent follow direct prose and instead plays a lot with the setting its in (where mike's a documenter of harvey) and its just so funny and adorable. has a lot of heart too, it isn't just crack or anything but you really feel everything mike does as he writes all this, read this!!1

One More Sleepless Night by @sal_si_puedes (9k, au)

Soul Bonds are one-sided – there’s usually mutual affection, but only one party feels the crippling need to be together as often as possible. If separated at length from their love, that party becomes crushed by longing, panic, and sheer hopelessness, and so it is illegal to forcibly keep Soulmates apart. Some days, Harvey Specter hates the Bond that skews his judgement and weakens his resolve, and he fears what would happen if anyone in his world ever discovers he is so compromised. He certainly never planned to disclose the Bond for the first time in the middle of Anita Gibbs’ office, in a last-ditch attempt to invalidate the deal sending Mike to prison.

HSDGFHSDKGHRLKGHK THIS FIC. i love fics that use more than just prose to tell their stories (see above fic) and this does my favourite thing that soulmate aus do, which is where they integrate in-universe explanations for the phenomenon. the amount of work and dedication put into this fic makes it absolutely sing and was absolutely lovely!!

also pspspsps

golden like the daffodils by @mini-mart (2k, canon-compliant)

Poetry holds meaning, for anyone who reads it. It obscures and dances around the literal and metaphorical, because it’s imbued with so much of something that it overflows out of any definition. It can make someone mad, or lovesick, or aroused, and the reactions would be absolutely warranted. Mike is poetry, to Harvey. - Harvey Specter could be a good politician, as he believes in pragmatism over poetry. He won't let his progress fall apart, won't let someone knock it down. And then someone unceremoniously cracks open a suitcase at his feet. Or: Harvey, pretty boys and poetry.

yeah yeah i wrote this yeah yeah self promo smth smth

there's a lot more that isn't here but i'll probably write a new one when i go for a deep dive through the ship tags again :3

^^ ao3 etiqutte applies! if you like the fic, kudos and comment and bookmark!! show your love! happy reading marveys! my gift to u :3

#marvey #suits tv #suits #mike ross #harvey specter #marvey fic recs #marvey fic #ao3 #fic rec list #fic recs #tbr #fanfiction #103 #GUYS PLEASE READ THIS #mikexharvey #read this

1K notes · View notes

crushmeeren · 2 months ago

Text

࿐ okay little bats! this is part one of vampire week! shinsou is up first, inumaki’s version can be found here.

࿐ master list link ⇢ ⇢ ⇢ ⋆ FEM READER ⋆

⋆ ⬪ KINKS INCLUDED ࿐ biting, blood play, exhibitionism, praise/degradation, sadism/masochism ish?, mild body horror (I think, correct me if I’m wrong).

⋆ ⬪ please keep in mind in case it triggers you, hitoshi and reader save someone from being assaulted. It’s not at all graphic and is over in a split second, but I wanted to warn you just in case!

⇢ ⇢ ⇢ @sikuthealien ࿐ kinktober master list

┊ ༝ ᭝ ༝ short summary ༝ ᭝ ༝ ┊ ‣ ‣ ‣ ‣ Hitoshi is the only other vampire that works at the bar with you. In fact, you’re two of the only vamps in town. It’s kind of isolating, but you have each other to lean on. You’ve resisted sleeping with him for fear of losing you’re only vampire companion, but when the shitty drunk regular takes it too far you and Hitoshi decide to…. “take care of him”. And each other.

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

“Oi! I’m talkin’ to ya, fuckin’ blood sucker. Gimme ‘nother rum and whiskey!” The drunkard slams his empty glass down onto the sticky wooden bar top, words slurring incomprehensibly as he orders incorrectly. Fucking idiot.

You swallow the snarl building in the back of your throat at his pathetic attempt to insult you. As if a low life, alcoholic human could rattle you. You grit your teeth enough to make them creak under the pressure, and you barely hold back from crushing the glass your currently drying off.

You swear, if one more trashed bastard pisses you off, you’re tearing this bar apart and draining them all of their blood. Consequences be damned.

You glance at the clock on the wall above you and sigh deeply.

You wonder where the hell Hitoshi is, because it’d be real damn nice if he were to show up on time for his shift, but the probability of that happening in this lifetime is slim to none.

Regardless, the annoying man behind you, who’s started to shake the ice in his glass obnoxiously, is unfortunately a paying customer. You take a fortifying breath to calm the furious simmer in your belly and twirl around to face said idiot.

You shoot the regular, Tom, with your fakest smile, taking care to display the full length of your razor blade like fangs. After all, you do want to remind him who he’s speaking to, and that you’re quite able to rip the head from his shoulders if you see fit.

The teasing imagery of your daydream about it makes the predator in you twitch in anticipation.

“You want a double whiskey on the rocks with coke, right Tom?” Your voice drips with condescension as you correct his order, tone sickly sweet in a way that’s so obviously insincere.

Tom’s stare flickers down to your teeth briefly before returning to your face, sniffing once and straightening his spine.

“S’what I said, ain’t it?”

Your lips quirk briefly.

“Sure thing.”

Your expression falls flat as you turn to the rows of liquor behind you and begin making his drink. To your unending frustration, Tom begins to speak once more. He spews his hate at your back, tone conveying false bravado now that he’s not face to face with a vampire.

“Ya know, you’d be awfully pr’tty if you weren’t a vamp,” he spits the last word as if it’s a curse. “Maybe if ya wore smaller shorts, I’d bend ya ov’r the bar right here doll.”

The undead heart in your chest would be jackrabbiting in rage if you were still alive.

You whip around with a face like thunder, slamming the glass onto the bar top hard enough it splinters with cracks. Tom’s mouth drops open and the potent scent of fear clouds around you.

With your lip curled and tension crackling in the air, you lean across the bar into Tom’s space, eyes itching to fade to complete black and tear him a new asshole when a deep voice pipes up from your left.

“Aw Tom, I didn’t know you were into men. I’m flattered really, I am, but I just love pussy too much,” Hitoshi chimes in, coming to a stand still by your side and placing a hand on his chest in fake endearment.

Your eyes widen in surprise, fading back to their normal color, and flicker over to Hitoshi. You slowly unclench your fingers from the glass in relief when you realize it’s your friend coming to your aid.

Tom’s face turns bright red and splotchy, mouth twisting in anger. “I was talkin’ bout her, ya fu—,”

Hitoshi cuts him off.

“You said if she “wasn’t a vamp”, right? Well I’m one too, so seems to me like you’re implying that if I wore booty shorts you’d bend me over this bar just the same.” Hitoshi taps the wood with his knuckles and grins lazily as Tom stutters over his words, becoming even more enraged.

Tom glances at you before seemingly deciding he’s got no rebuttal and won’t win this fight. He snatches the whiskey and coke from the bar top before glaring at Hitoshi with a look that could kill. But, as usual, Hitoshi remains cool and unbothered.

“Fuck you, Shinsou.” With that, Tom scurries back to his table of dumbasses and you raise an eyebrow at Hitoshi, grinning in satisfaction and failing to hold back your snort of laughter.

“I thought you said you didn’t want to fuck me?” Hitoshi calls after him, raising his voice enough that other patrons look at him curiously. Tom doesn’t spare Hitoshi another look. You laugh harder, hand coming to rest on your fellow vampires shoulder, and Hitoshi smiles at you in amusement, lids lowering slightly with affection.

“Thanks,” you say through a laugh, wiping a fake tear from your eye. “He’s such a fucking idiot, we aren’t even the only supernatural creatures in this town. I don’t know why he singles us out.”

“He probably wants to be a vampire and secretly loathes himself for it. Or he just wishes he could be as pretty as you.” Hitoshi gently bumps his shoulder with yours, playfully smirking. You roll your eyes, but the echo of what you remember butterflies to be, flutters in your belly.

You roughly jab his stomach with your elbow and watch as he pretends to curl over with a fake gasp of pain.

“I think you may be the one who’s an idiot, Hitoshi.”

“So rude! I saved your ass from having to sleep with vamphobic Tom!”

“Vamphobic?” You ask incredulously, then scoff. “You say that as if I don’t have the strength to drink all his blood and rip him to shreds without flinching. Are you doubting me?”

Hitoshi sends a smug half smile your way, one sharp fang poking out over his bottom lip. “Nah, but I’d enjoy watching that play out more than I should, if you know what I mean. My pants would be way too tight for the interview I’d have to give to the police afterwards about why you murdered someone.”

You ignore his nasty, but not unwanted comment, playfully baring your fangs and punching him in the shoulder before commanding him to get back to work. Hitoshi does, but not before sending you a wink. His relentless flirting would make you blush to the tips of your pointy ears if you still retained that ability.

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

After that, Tom doesn’t bother you directly for the rest of the night. And he avoids Shinsou like the plague, going to your very much human coworker at the bar to satiate his alcoholism. He does keep sending you searing glares, but you could not give less of a fuck if you tried.

You’d ban him if the owner would allow you, but he’s a human who’s standoffish towards supernatural creatures on a good day, and he rightfully assumes you can take care of yourself.

Which, to be fair, you can, but it’s the principle of allowing someone to treat you so shitty and letting him get away with it that bothers you. Even if you are a vampire.

With an annoyed huff, you at least attempt to look friendly as you set down a drink for another customer, grabbing their offered money and handing them change before they walk away.

You lean your hip against the bar and cross your arms, taking advantage of the lull to study Hitoshi as he works along side you. You notice that he’s still unfairly handsome when viewing him from the side and you can see just how tall the fucker is. Your gaze traces the long lean line of his body and how deft fingers mix drinks without spilling a drop.

You frown in some sort of misplaced jealousy when he teases his current customer and makes her giggle, sending her a cat like grin that has her blushing. Hitoshi must feel you burning holes into the side of his skull, because he turns to you after she leaves and wiggles his eyebrows at you.

You frown even harder and switch your attention to refilling the ice underneath the bar. You make your way to the back and locate the ice machine, the biting cold not affecting you in the slightest as you scoop the frozen cubes it into a bucket. Your skin’s only a couple degrees warmer anyways, if that.

It doesn’t surprise you when your thoughts start wander as you complete the mindless task. You recall how you met Hitoshi when you moved to town a couple years ago, longing to be free of the big city and closer to the vast wilderness.

You’d ventured into a little diner in town that serves supernatural creatures exclusively, and you’d ended up sitting next to the handsome man at the bar, too absorbed in your own world to realize you’d sat down next to another vampire.

Hitoshi had instantly noticed that you were of the same species, introducing himself with a lazy smile and mentioning he was surprised to meet another vamp in town. Especially someone new because there were so few of you around here.

You’d ended up chatting with him until the sun threatened to rise and incinerate both of you. You had exchanged numbers and eventually he offered to secure you a spot at the bar he worked at. He said that they were friendlier to vampires than most of the other bars in town, and that you’d earn pretty decent money there.

When you stared at him in shock and asked why, he just shrugged and smiled knowingly, saying “vamps have to stick together, right?”

You’d had a fat fucking crush on him since then. But, begrudgingly, you’d decided not to do anything about it. The risk wouldn’t be worth losing such a pillar in your life because you spend too much time daydreaming about sitting on Hitoshi’s cock.

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

The rest of the evening passes smoothly. Tom managed to leave without a scene, and now you’re closing down the bar with Hitoshi. You’ve checked off almost every chore of cleaning up front, finishing up with mopping the sticky floor, and Hitoshi was in the back. You can hear him loudly counting the cash from the registers before he deposits it in the safe hidden in the managers office.

You had just gotten done pouring the filthy mop water down the drain when Hitoshi snuck up behind you and dug his fingers into your ribs. You shoot up straight with a yelp, eyes shifting to pitch black and nails sharpening into points as you spin and try to claw at the face of your assailant.

Hitoshi ducks with a laugh, easily avoiding the assault and hopping backwards out of your reach. A warning rumbles lowly in your chest and you sneer at the sneaky vamp. He doesn’t rise to the bait, just tilts his head back in delighted laughter as you click your tongue behind your teeth in annoyance.

You crack your neck and allow your features to return to what they once were and roll your eyes so hard you think they may get stuck in your skull.

“You’re such a dick Hitoshi!” You complain, ready to send him flying through the wall if he keeps it up.

“C’mon,” he taunts. “You don’t normally let me sneak up behind you like that.” He saunters up close to you now that the threat of his eyeballs being ripped out has disappeared. “Something on your mind?” Hitoshi tilts his head to stare down at you, eyes glinting in a way that tells you he probably has an idea of what you were distracted by.

You purse your lips and slip past Hitoshi to get to your locker and gather your things. You vehemently remind yourself that Hitoshi cannot actually read your mind, and there’s no way in hell you’re admitting to your silly daydream of him fucking you on the bar top, fangs embedded deep in your throat.

“No,” you emphasize as you slam your locker shut. “I’m just starving, that’s all.”

“Uh huh, sure.”

“I am,” you insist, staking him with your best glare.

He smirks, pretending to be nonchalant as he stretches his arms above his head.

“Well since you’re practically withering away from starvation, do you want to get a bite to eat with me before the sun comes up?”

Your eyes narrow. “Were you planning on heading out to the forest?”

“Yep,” he confirms, popping the p and dropping his arms to his sides.

You debate it, but ultimately you agree to go with him, as long as you hurry because there’s only a couple hours left until sun rise. Hitoshi replies with a “yes mother,” and gestures for you to go first, looking entirely too smug, and follows closely behind you as you exit the bar, locking it before you leave.

The forest isn’t far, and with how fast the two of you are, you’re there in seconds and lingering at the edge of the tree line. Your limbs tingle with adrenaline the way they always do right before going on a hunt with Hitoshi.

“Ready slow poke?” He jokes, eyes crinkling as he grins widely and shifts into a stance that will allow him to take off like a shot.

You scoff but smile nonetheless. “You’re not going to win this race Toshi.”

“We’ll see. Loser has to mop the front for the next week?”

Before you can protest, Hitoshi is gone. You curse and take off after him, a delighted peal of laughter leaving you once you catch up and witness him tripping over a branch.

You catch your first animal before he does, effectively crowning you the winner of the bet.

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

You’re borderline painfully full and extremely satiated as you and Hitoshi make your way back into town.

You had somewhat tried not to make a mess of yourself, but had given up after drinking your first animal made you giddy. Blood now stains your mouth and chin, dying your neck a deep red and soaks your clothes. Your hands and arms also look as if they’ve been dunked in red paint.

Hitoshi doesn’t fair much better, and you find your gaze lingering on him for far longer than is comfortable.

It’s difficult to ignore the way your lower belly swirls with arousal when Hitoshi looks so high from the hunt. Eyes wide and wild as he runs a hand through his hair and paints it crimson. You swallow drily when his lips stretch into a manic grin.

The two of you chatter excitedly, trekking back through town towards the direction of your respective homes. There’s no need for a car when you can run everywhere.

You make it close to a hundred feet from the bar when the sounds of a struggle make your ears perk up, clothes rustling and a faint sobbing cutting through the air. You freeze in place, sharing a concerned look with Hitoshi as he does the same.

“You hear that?” You whisper, and Hitoshi nods.

“Yeah, it sounds like…” Hitoshi trails off as he strains to listen, head jerking back in surprise and eyes widening. “It fucking sounds like Tom!”

Your jaw drops open. “Holy shit, it is! What the fuck is he doing?” You hiss, nails resharpening and eyes fading black until no white remains. One peak at Hitoshi shows his body reacting the exact same.

Within a second, you and Hitoshi are at the entrance to the alleyway by the bar, a gust of wind being propelled down the alley as you skid to a stop.

You find Tom, the bar regular, pinning a petrified women to the brick wall. He’s got a knife pressed to her throat as tears stream down her face. The bitter scent of her fear is so strong your nose scrunches, and her racing pulse pounds in your ears.

Tom’s other hand is tugging the sleeve of her shirt over her shoulder, but stops as he turns to the alley entrance in annoyance at the sudden disturbance.

He drops the knife in shock when he notices just who has interrupted him, his own heart skipping a beat or two as he takes you in.

You know the moon and street lamps must paint you and Hitoshi in a terrifying light. The two of you look as if you’ve just returned from a massacre. Eyes soulless and calculating, black veins branching out to your temples and down your cheeks.

Tom gasps once he catches a real look at you, frantically taking a few steps back from the women who appears as if she’s stopped breathing to seem invisible. She trembles, nails grating against the brick wall behind as she silently slides down to sit in the gravel.

“W-what the fuck are you two doing here?” Tom stutters, instinctively shifting so his back is facing away from the looming threat. You grin, a sick sense of satisfaction swelling in your stomach, and the lingering bloodlust of hunting down your prey makes your fingers twitch. You can help this lady and scare the hell out of Tom at the same time.

Before Tom can blink, you’re standing in front of him, gripping his throat and digging your nails in as you lift him until he’s on the very tips of his toes.

“Aw,” you say with a fake pout. “What’s the matter Tom, not happy to see us? Ha, you’re scared of Toshi and I, aren’t you? But why? We’re just a couple of filthy fucking vamps after all,” you sneer, nails piercing his skin and sending rivulets of blood down his throat. He scrambles to hang onto your wrist, vigorously shaking his head no as his face turns red.

Hitoshi appears next to you. “What the fuck were you doing to that poor lady Tom?” He smiles with a crazed look in his eyes, clearly a beast playing with its food. “You aren’t hurting her, are you? Cuz that’d make me awfully angry if you were.”

Tom tries to speak, but you squeeze your hand against his trachea and he chokes, wheezing pitifully. He looks terrified, and you’re pretty sure you could get off from it.

“N-no! Fuckin’ let me go!” Tom tries to wriggle free, hand coming up to try and swing at you but he misses and it makes you giggle. You cock your head, eyes alight with excitement.

“Too bad we don’t believe you. You’re the scum on the bottom of my shoe, Tom.”

“Should we kill him?” Hitoshi asks aloud, just to make Tom squirm. Said man’s face loses all its color when you take longer than necessary to pretend to consider it.

“Mm, no, not this time,” you finally answer. Hitoshi pouts when you glance at him. “But we can hurt him,” you reassure, bloodlust pulsating to down your toes. You turn back to Tom and speak in a tone that surely has the hair on the back of his neck standing up. “If either of us catches you at the bar again, I promise you’ll die by the hands of a fucking blood sucker. Do you understand me?”

Tom nods so fast you think his neck might snap.

With a flick of your wrist you’re flinging Tom down the alley way until he collides with the corner of a metal dumpster. His skull hits it with a loud crack, and he crumples to the ground in a heap. His hand flies to the back of his head as he cries out in pain, swaying as he pushes himself to stand on unsteady legs. He stares at you and Hitoshi like a deer in headlights, freezing momentarily before sprinting away with his tail tucked between his legs.

You sigh dejectedly through your nose, grinding your teeth to release some of the energy still blistering inside you, and Hitoshi tends to the sobbing woman nearby. She’s skittish as he helps her to her feet and guides her to her car. He offers to drive her to the hospital or to call the police, but she declines profusely, affirming she’ll go to the police station herself.

As much as she’s grateful, she’s clearly afraid of you and Hitoshi.

The entire ordeal has heat pooling between your legs. The fact that is was a real possibility that you could’ve beaten the shit out of Tom, and the leftover adrenaline from your hunt has your pussy clenching between your legs. You really want to rub your thighs together for some relief.

It doesn’t help in the slightest that Hitoshi seems to be just as worked up. He’s drumming his fingers on his thigh as he walks back to you, too restless to relax enough and allow his features to return to what they normally are, and you’re in the same boat.

“She okay?” You ask, fidgeting in place. You swallow a mouthful of cotton, clenching your jaw to root yourself in place and keep from flinging yourself at your long time friend.

“She’s fine, heading to the police now,” he says distractedly, not hiding the blatant way he drags his eyes up and down your body. The tension between you is thick, starting to blaze, and your frigid skin is a bit more flushed than normal.

Two years of pining is clawing at the back your throat, trying to escape. The way Hitoshi looks in the moonlight, looking as if he’s fucked out from the high of hunting, well, it makes your mouth water.

You’re about to pipe up and tell Hitoshi you need to leave. To go home and stuff yourself with your fingers until you cum picturing him, but then Hitoshi is in your space, crowding you and backing you into the brick wall until it scratches at your skin through your shirt.

You adamantly stare at Hitoshi’s blood soaked t-shirt as you become too shocked to move, but he settles one finger under your chin and applies enough pressure to force your head up to see his sly smile.

“I know we’ve been friends for a long time, but I really wanna fuck you right now,” he murmurs lowly, other hand sliding down to sneak under the hem of your shirt and drag sharp nails over your side. “This is probably a terrible time to admit this, but fuck it.” He slips two fingers into your waistband and tugs you close. “I like you.”

The back of your skull knocks into brick when you look up at him with heavy lidded eyes, arousal ringing through your bones and making your gums ache with the need to bite.

“I like you too, Hitoshi.“

“Yeah?” He drawls, voice smoky and hopeful as a satisfied smile worms its way onto his lips. He drags his nail from your chin down to the hollow of your throat, smoothing his other hand up your stomach and slipping beneath the hem of your bra up to roughly squeeze a handful of your tit.

Your lids flutter while you moan, running your tongue slowly from fang to fang, and Hitoshi tracks the movement with a dark hunger in his eyes.

“You gonna fuck me here in the alley Hitoshi? Where anyone could see?” You tease, fisting the front of his shirt with both hands.

The tension between you coils tight. tight. tight. as you slide your hands over his collarbone, up the back of his neck, and tangle in his soft hair. Hitoshi leans in closer, lips parting on a soft groan as he grabs your hips.

“That’s fucking right I am baby,” he whispers, lips barely brushing yours.

Hitoshi presses his mouth firmly to yours, kissing you hot and slick with a newfound desperation as your lips connect again and again.

One of your fangs catches on Hitoshi’s bottom lip and tears the skin open. He moans like a whore, chest rumbling as the blood consumed earlier has now had enough time to circulate through his veins and flow dark red down his chin. The urge to taste consumes you. You push forward to catch the blood with your tongue, lapping it off his chin with a lustful moan.

Hitoshi hisses, gripping the hair at the nape of your neck and yanks until your skull crashes into the wall, leaving a decent sized dent in its wake. You gasp his name, hands flying up to hold his forearms as he tilts your head to this side, the muscles in your neck straining unpleasantly.

Hitoshi makes a sound of understanding as something dawns on him, and he snickers a little.

“You want it to hurt, don’t you? My little masochist,” Hitoshi taunts, pressing the long line of his body against yours, and you whine. His cock is hard and straining against his zipper, digging harshly into your stomach. “Can I have a bite baby girl? Pretty please?” He teases, tongue dragging up the side of your neck and smearing his blood all over.

“Fuck!” You yelp, a sharp fang nicking you. “Please, yes, make it hurt Hitoshi,” you demand, anticipation making your toes curl in your shoes. He chuckles, ripping your shirt as he yanks it over your shoulder, and you have to fist his shirt again to anchor yourself.

Hitoshi holds you by the waist with one hand, tightens his hold on your hair, and presses a tender kiss to your collarbone before sinking his teeth into the junction of your neck and shoulder.

His fangs slice through your skin like a hot knife to butter, and it hurts so. fucking. much.

Vamps are not meant to bite other vamps.

You scream, uncaring who hears, and your nails cut into Hitoshi’s biceps. The pain is hot and it flares brightly, radiating up to your jaw when Hitoshi sucks deeply. He moans and it vibrates throughout your shoulder.

You thrash in his unrelenting grip, a sob welling up in the back of your throat, but Hitoshi doesn’t let you move. Your pussy throbs, soaking your panties and Hitoshi’s cock keeps jerking in his jeans.

“Hitoshi,” you plead, voice hoarse. “I want you, so fucking bad. Please.” Hitoshi sucks once more to force a whimper out of you before retracting his teeth, the slick sensation of his teeth sliding free from the deep muscle inside your shoulder sends a jolt straight to your clit.

Blood pours from the the open wound on your neck, down your collarbone and the metallic scent makes your mouth water. Hitoshi releases your hair, lapping at the raw wound a few times, and leans back to lick his lips clean with a sigh. His chest rumbles with satisfaction.

Your hand sneaks down to cup his cock through his jeans, squeezing and making him gasp in surprise. Hitoshi tilts his head down to leer at the way you slip your hand under the waistband of his pants, sliding under his briefs and all the way down the smooth skin of his shaft. You squeeze his balls and his hips buck up into your hand, a choked off moan escaping him. Hitoshi grips your jaw tightly, forcing you to look up.

“Don’t tease,” he warns darkly, a few more pitch black veins branching out from his underneath his eyes and snaking down his cheeks.

You smile coyly and free your hand, quickly unbuttoning his pants and yanking them, along with his briefs, down to his mid thighs. His cock bobs free, heavy enough that it smacks his pelvis before settling on sticking straight out. Your pussy aches at the sight, and suddenly you need to run your tongue along the underside of his shaft, to gather the precum beading there, or you might die all over again.

Hitoshi reaches for the back of his shirt and slips it off, dropping it carelessly into a pile by his feet. You start to sink to your knees, intent on fulfilling your own desire, when he snatches your wrist and keeps you upright. You whine loudly in protest and Hitoshi grins lazily in return, the corners of his eyes crinkling at your desperation.

“Later, sweetheart. I’ll take you home and let you suck my cock to your heart’s desire, but right now, I’m gonna fuck the shit out of you.”

With that, Hitoshi effortlessly spins you around and forces you to catch yourself with your palms flat on the brick. He noses at the back of your neck and reaches his hands around to unbutton your shorts. He slips his thumbs into the waistband and yanks until all the material falls to the floor.

You instinctively step out of them, sneakers only getting caught once before you kick them aside. Hitoshi rests a hand on your lower back and pushes, encouraging you to arch and show yourself to him. You do so eagerly, breath hitching when the cool night air hits your slick, sensitive pussy.

Hitoshi reaches down between your thighs to place two fingers on your clit, rubbing slow circles into it that have you digging your forehead into the brick wall. The thumb of his other hand comes up to spread you open more, dragging it down to part the soft lips of your pussy.

“Fuck, you are so soft, it’s driving me insane. That feel good baby?” He coos, playing with your clit a little faster as electricity shoots up your spine. You nod, fingers curling into brick and making some of it crumble.

“Yes, it’s so good. Fuck me, c’mon Hitoshi.”

“Say please,” he chides. “You have manners don’t you?”

“Please, fuck me,” you say through gritted teeth.

“That’s my girl,” he teases, the blunt tip of his cock sliding over you. Hitoshi reaches up and cups the wound on your shoulder, pinching the area until blood wells up in his palm.

You feeeze, goosebumps littering your arms when you hear the slick noise of Hitoshi pumping his cock….with your blood. A startled laugh bursts out of you.

“You’re fucking nasty Hitoshi,” you say with amusement, forehead pushing further into the wall.

“Yeah,” he confirms with a breathy sigh, nudging his cock against your tight pussy, a slow press of his hips until the tip pops in. “But you’re the whore who loves it.” Hitoshi buries his cock inside you to the hilt, hips smacking into your ass as you cry out from the burning stretch.

“Fuckk,” you groan hoarsely, bracing yourself on your forearms, and Hitoshi snickers. Slender fingers hold tight to your waist as he pulls his hips back, letting his cock create a delicious friction that has you shivering. Then he shoves himself back inside and starts to build a steady rhythm.

“Your pussy’s better than I imagined, oh my fucking god,” Hitoshi says like he can’t quite believe he’s having sex with you.

Hitoshi, unsurprisingly, can read you pretty well, and so, he fucks you like hates you, but he whispers the sweetest praise in your ear at the same time. The pleasure starts to build pathetically quickly behind your belly button, and you drop one hand down to play with your clit.

Hitoshi catches your wrist, reaches for the other one and then leans back and twists. He traps both your hands with one of his and rests your now immobile hands at the small of your back.

His pace doesn’t falter as he tangles fingers in your hair and wrenches your head back a few inches, pushing forward and slamming the side of your face into the brick as pain crackles across your temple.

The moan you let out bounces off the surrounding walls.

“Cum on my cock, or don’t fucking cum at all.” Hitoshi’s voice is like ice, hips starting to snap shallowly as he repeatedly nails your g-spot.

“Fuck!” You cry out. “Okay, okay! Hitoshi, oh my god, make me cum on your cock!” You can tell that the skin on your cheekbone has torn, more blood leaking down and into your mouth.

“That’s what I like to hear, good girl.” Hitoshi frees your hair and preoccupies himself with smacking your ass, never letting go of your wrists. You breath catches, exhaling shakily when he tugs one of your ass cheeks to the side and spits. He rubs the pad of his thumb over your rim and pushes inside.

Your pussy flutters and clings to Hitoshi’s cock like she never wants to let go, and the knot in your lower pelvis unravels furiously as your orgasm pulses through you. Hitoshi whines, dropping your wrists and hooks his thumb even deeper to tug at your rim as he places his free hand near your head.

“Shit, that’s it baby. You’re gonna make me cum,” Hitoshi manages to say between moans. His breath hitches, and then he’s pushing himself in to the hilt as he cock kicks with his release.

It’s silent as Hitoshi rests his forehead on your shoulder and kisses the back of it sweetly while you come back down to earth. The pleasure fades into oversensitivity, and you’re hyper aware of how full you feel and how sticky you still are with blood. You twist one hand behind you and push weakly at his bare stomach.

“Hitoshi, pull out. It’s getting uncomfortable,” you complain, fidgeting slightly.

He groans, but ultimately he bends to your will and pulls free from you with a slick noise. You sigh gently, feeling your features smooth out, and flip around to lean your weight on the wall. Hitoshi’s eyes have turned purple once again, and he looks far more normal now.

Well, as normal as somebody covered in dried blood can.

You start to giggle when you take in the sight of him. He’s an absolute wreck and he rolls his eyes before joining in your laughter.

It’s then that you notice the sky starting to turn pink and Hitoshi’s expression softens considerably.

“Want to stay at my place?” He asks sheepishly, offering you your shorts and underwear. You take them with a grateful smile, sliding them on and grimacing at the filthy sensation of cum in your panties. Hitoshi finishes tucking himself away and you reach a hand out to him. He grins and sweetly laces his fingers with yours.

“I guess sleeping in your bed doesn’t sound like the worst option available.”

Thankfully, once you get to Hitoshi’s blacked out apartment, you’re able to shower and then flop down in his bed and curl into his chest.

Yeah, being two of the only vampires in town isn’t so bad after all.

#shinsou x reader #shinsou smut #shinsou hitoshi x reader #kinktober #shinsou hitoshi smut #my hero academia #hitoshi x reader #hitoshi shinsou smut #kinktober 2024 #shinsou hitoshi #hitoshi shinsou #shinso x reader #hitoshi shinso x reader #mha x reader

301 notes · View notes

nerdallwritey · 2 months ago

Text

Worth the Peril

Summary: In another life, Astarion would have made a decent barbarian. Despite Karlach’s cheerful demeanor, for the most part, barbarians were known to be violent, brutal, and cruel. All things that Astarion could easily tap into if the situation called for it. And right now, he was entering a rage. OR Upon arriving in the Underdark, you go down in a battle, leaving Astarion to pick up the pieces.

Pairing: Astarion x f!reader Rating: 18+ (no smut) Word count: 15.1k CW: reader gets hurt - violence, severe injury, blood, descriptions of wound, depictions of pain, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, protective Astarion, blind with rage Astarion, soft Astarion, reader is an idiot (and a bard), so is Astarion (not a bard, just an idiot), everyone else sees what Astarion can't Spoilers: Minor spoilers for Act 1 (in-game dialogue, plot points, etc.) Also posted to: AO3 FAIR WARNING: This is PART 5 in my series, "Beauty and the Bard." Find the masterlist here.

a/n: SHE'S HERE!! I am SO excited to be finally be posting the newest chapter of Beauty and the Bard! Thank you so much for your patience as I was sorting this one out. I've always been a huge fan of the hurt/comfort trope and the "Person A gets hurt and Person B loses it" trope, so this is my take on both of those tropes in one! Did I fudge the numbers of the Duergar fight in the Underdark from Act One? Yes. Did I fudge the numbers in terms of injury severity and what's actually possible through magical healing? Also yes! But in a world where a skeleton will bring you back from the dead for $200, OR, simply sleeping a full eight hours will heal you completely, I think I was able to make it make sense. Hopefully. Apologies to anyone working in the medical field who knows I'm a sham. But this is a series about smooching a vampire, so we gotta suspend our disbelief somewhere! There's no smut in this chapter, and for that, I apologize, but it'll make sense why it doesn't. If it helps, my beta says that this is her favorite chapter to date! Woo! Please enjoy. (Thank you to my beta @kermitwazowski for reading! - Also! She just got married! And a tiktok from it went viral! We love her, she's the best.) As a reminder, last time, you and Astarion had a little romp in the river while watching the sunrise.

Taglist: Moved to the comment section, since tumblr hates sharing fun with friends - please let me know if you'd like to be added to the list!

Barring a few dirty looks from Shadowheart and Lae’zel, your return to camp with Astarion - both of you now vaguely damp - was largely ignored in favor of packing up camp in preparation for venturing into the Underdark. So long as you were both there to help with the pack up efforts, it didn’t really matter where the two of you had spent your morning.

Astarion squeezed your hand fondly before sauntering over to his tent to loiter and drag his feet until the camp was mostly all packed away. You knew his game; look busy without actually lifting a finger until it was absolutely necessary. You rolled your eyes before bending to gather and organize the loot in your tent. He was so annoying.

Gods, you hated him.

And you loved him.

Why, of all people, did you have to fall in love with the emotionally stunted, incredibly dramatic, freak weirdo vampire? Wyll was perfectly nice! Shadowheart had a good head on her shoulders! And yet…

Your eyes flicked over to his tent momentarily.

He wasn’t even trying. He was fully looking at his nails. He looked up briefly and met your eye. He smirked before moving his hand to wave at you delicately with his fingertips.

“Pack,” you called to him from across camp.

“What?” He cupped a hand to his ear as if he couldn’t hear you from the relatively short distance away. “You’ll have to speak up, darling! Or, better yet-”

He left his tent and made his way over to yours.

“Oooh, no,” you scolded and pointed towards his tent. “Get back over there and pack, you jackass.”

“Ouch, love,” Astarion squatted beside you. He looked around your tent at the trinkets you’d accumulated and picked one up, rotating it in his hands. A tiny statue of a mermaid, her face sculpted in midsong. “Heavy little bugger,” he said, testing its weight in his hands.

“It’s made of iron, I think,” you said.

“And you’re going to make us lug it into the Underdark? Rather selfish of you, don’t you think?”

You snatched the figure out of his hands. “Can I help you with something, Astarion?”

He spread out his legs and leaned back against a chest you kept close-by. “Not particularly.” He rested his arms behind his head, very clearly trying to flex his arms to keep your attention on him.

You laughed and pushed him, making him fall sideways. “Stop trying to distract me and go pack your own stuff up. I will not help you when you’re inevitably scrambling later.”

“Yes, you will,” he said, using your shoulder to help himself stand up. He squeezed it once before heading back in the direction of his tent.

“No, I won’t!” you called after him, but he turned and cupped his hand to his ear again, pretending he couldn’t hear you. You groaned loudly and continued packing.

“Hate to say it, Soldier,” said Karlach, whose tent was set up between yours and Astarion’s, “but you probably will help him.”

You sighed heavily. “I know.”

~~~~~

It hadn’t been as bad as you thought.

You’d had the foresight to keep your belongings relatively close together, making use of the traveler’s chest you all shared. Once you’d gathered all your possessions and dismantled your tent, you placed everything you couldn’t carry on your person into the chest. Karlach had helped Halsin lift the trunk, full to the brim with everyone’s overflow, into an ox wagon that you all planned on taking with you to the ruined goblin camp and down into the Underdark below. Even Astarion had managed to gather most of his things before inevitably earning your help with a bat of his eyes.

It had taken maybe two hours total, but looking around the area that you had called home for the last few weeks, it was as if your party had never been there to begin with. It was a little sad to be leaving, but you were pleased with the progress you all had made and were ready to keep moving forward in order to get these damn worms out of your skulls.

The trek into the Underdark, meanwhile, was long and frustrating; Gale had to cast Feather Fall on half of your team, the ox cart, and Scratch and the Owlbear cub, while the other half of you used the deceptively long ladder down into the abandoned Selunite outpost below - much to Shadowheart’s dismay.

Much to Astarion’s dismay, you’d actually stumbled upon a colony of Miconids after bumbling through a battle with a pair of minotaurs and looking for a place to rest. It was there that you spoke with the head of their colony, Sovereign Spaw, about eliminating a clan of Duergar dwarves threatening their population.

Which was how you now found yourself smugly walking beside Astarion as Gale and Shadowheart led the way towards the supposed Duergar hideout. The rest of your party had (begrudgingly, in the case of Lae’zel) agreed to help Halsin set up camp close to the Miconids and their beautiful glowing mushrooms, and had stayed behind.

“You must wipe that stupid expression off your face, darling,” Astarion rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “Otherwise you might get stuck like that.”

“I told you they were real.” You waggled your eyebrows in victory.

“And their music was far less irritating than yours,” he teased. “So I suppose that was nice.”

“Bastard,” you muttered. “I’d love to play something with them when we get back.”

“You would.”

“Ass hat.”

“Loud mouth.”

“Would you two shut it?” Gale turned and quietly shouted. “We’re swiftly approaching the Duergar clan, according to Sovereign Spaw’s directions.”

“I still think we should have rested for the evening,” Astarion complained. “A specimen such as myself requires copious amounts of beauty sleep.”

You withheld a yawn, willing the vampire not to see it. You were still tired from your lack of sleep this morning, and your romp in the river. Not to mention the hike to get down here, and the minotaurs you’d already faced. You were able to get a short rest in at the colony, but you were definitely feeling it, and you didn’t want to worry your teammates. Plus you knew Astarion would never let you hear the end of it, given his protests about it earlier today.

“Enough, Astarion,” Shadowheart groaned. “You heard Spaw; the Duergar are a looming threat to their colony. We couldn’t risk a possible ambush in the night. Especially with all the refugees seeking shelter there.”

Astarion sighed. “And, I suppose I must admit, I like the sovereign’s approach. A little genocidal, but effective.”

“Yes, great, you’ll get your fill of blood, now would you hush!” Gale halted, causing the rest of you to stop, too. “Something’s wrong.”

You surveyed your surroundings. Wooden structures stood decaying all around, from bridges, to long forgotten buildings, and nets once used for ladders. It had probably been home to a village of people at one time.

“Looks abandoned,” you supplied.

Off in the distance you could make out a lake through some fog. Boats rocked gently against a worn looking dock, illuminated by purple crystals that populated the area. That must be the lake that Spaw had described. But wait… were those-? Lit torches?

You were about to take a step forward to investigate further, but Astarion held out an arm to block you.

“I smell a trap,” he warned.

Suddenly an arrow shot past your ear and landed in a wooden post behind you.

“That’s quite a sense of smell you have,” Gale quipped, prepping a spell in his hands. “Think you could sniff out where that arrow came from?”

Your eyes frantically searched the area but couldn’t make anything out.

“Duck!” Shadowheart shouted, as a flaming arrow seemed to appear out of thin air and hurdle towards your party.

You hit the deck, lifting your head ever so slightly in the direction where the arrow came flying from. A figure appeared out of nowhere as you watched, taking a step to the side to hide behind a wall. That explained it.

“Our attackers are using an Invisibility spell,” you said quietly. “If we can get them to attack us, we can break the spell and see them clearly before they have the chance to cast it again.”

“Sounds fairly dangerous,” Gale muttered, holding a hand to his chin in thought.

“Do you have any better ideas?” Shadowheart whispered, pulling her shield and morning star off of her back.

“Not really,” Gale said after thinking for a moment.

Astarion, meanwhile, had already unsheathed his daggers. “Let’s spill some blood.” A wicked grin graced his features.

“Let’s think about this for a second,” you said, holding out an arm to block him from getting up and feeling him deflate. You peered around the large rock that you and your companions had ducked behind. Platforms were littered throughout the decrepit village, perfect for you all to spread out. Quietly, you removed your lute and your backpack.

“Now’s not really the time to serenade us with a sappy love song, dearest,” Astarion said, his eyes on your loose lute that he’d recently gifted you.

“Shut up, and take this,” you said, handing him a scroll of Misty Step that you pulled out of your bag. You handed one to Shadowheart as well. “Gale, how are you doing on magic?”

Gale flexed his hands, the purple of the Weave sparking at his fingertips. “Good enough to take out a few dwarves, I’d say. But I have my crossbow if necessary.”

You nodded and turned to Shadowheart. “You?”

She nodded back at you. “I should have enough for some healing if anyone needs it, but I’ll stick to cantrips if I can.”

You nodded again, thinking deeply. “Okay, our magic is running kind of low, so we have to be smart about this.”

Astarion cleared his throat. “Aren’t you going to ask me about my magic, darling?”

Shadowheart laughed humorlessly. “Oh, please. As if you won’t rely entirely on those knives of yours.”

He scoffed. “I’ll have you know, I’m also very skilled with a bow.”

You sighed. “I’m sorry we couldn’t rest more before we had to do this.”

“The life of a hero is not an easy one,” Gale pointed out. “One cannot always put their feet up by the hearth when lives are at stake.”

“Speak for yourself,” Astarion rolled his eyes.

“What’s the plan?” Shadowheart asked you. “We might want to hurry, given they know our location and we don’t know theirs.”

“I was thinking we all cast Misty Step,” you turned back around to look over the boulder and pointed to the various empty structures, “and land on those platforms.”

“Ah, the high ground! Very logical,” Gale nodded in approval.

“But do we want to be out in the open? They’ll shoot at us and we won’t have any cover.” Shadowheart raised a good point.

“I’ll cause a distraction,” you said, “no worries.”

Astarion clicked his tongue. “I hate the sound of that.”

“What do you mean?! I’m great at distractions!”

Rather than responding, Astarion hummed skeptically. Then he leaned forward to kiss you sweetly. “I’m going to go kill some dwarves now.” With that, he unfurled the scroll, recited “inveniam viam,” and you watched as he disappeared and reappeared on a platform hidden in darkness. You lost sight of him as he vanished into the shadows and turned back to face Gale and Shadowheart.

“Be smart with your magic, and be safe.” Both of them nodded wordlessly at you and prepared to cast Misty Step. You picked up your lute and stood up straight. “See you on the other side,” you winked and started descending down a hill towards your hidden enemies.

Strumming a quiet tune, you created a Minor Illusion around yourself to look like a traveling musician, rather than an armored spellcaster. You slung your lute back around onto your back.

“Sorry!” you called, holding your hands up above your head as if in surrender. You spotted an armored dwarf on a wooden walkway up ahead, currently visible, and walked towards him. “So sorry!”

“What?” The dwarf looked surprised by your unarmed approach. “Gehk! Got someone sneaking up on us!”

“No!” you assured. “My band mates and I,” you pointed your thumb over your shoulder towards the area where you’d been spotted with your companions, “we got a little turned around. See, we thought there might be a secluded place down here to practice for our upcoming gig, and well, we didn’t know you were already here, and-”

“Too loud, sun-scum,” came a voice from above you. You looked up to see another Duergar on a platform overhead. He wore an amulet of the Absolute and had a large battle axe strapped to his back. “Could hear you and your mates stumbling. Can hear you blinking.”

“That seems unlikely,” you muttered. Your eyes wandered around, pretending to look for more dwarves in the area, but really checking to make sure your companions were in position.

“Noise gets you eaten down here,” the dwarf with the amulet went on. “Reckon I’ll hush you before something hungry comes along.”

“You’d hurt an unarmed musician?” You held your hands up higher.

The dwarf above you barked out a laugh. “Nice try, bard.” He spat the word. “Saw you lot from a mile away. Your little disguise is pitiful.”

Something seemed off. You felt a chill run down your spine as something brushed against you. The illusion of your plain clothes fell away, revealing your armor. You had a feeling your invisible foes had you surrounded.

“Now,” said the dwarf, “where are your little friends hiding?”

You laughed. “I was just going to ask! Why would you all surround me when my little friends are over there?” You nodded your head towards one of the platforms.

The dwarf’s eyes widened as he spotted Shadowheart, whose hands were poised with a Firebolt spell. “They’re up there!” Before the dwarf could point, an arrow pierced through his shoulder from behind, knocking him forward off the platform. You sidestepped his falling body and made eye contact with Astarion who smirked down at you.

“Attack!” The first dwarf you spoke to shouted, and all hell broke loose.

Light surrounded you as Shadowheart cast Bless, and you were able to out-maneuver the dwarf who’d yelled as the light momentarily blinded him. Arrows flew towards Astarion, who’d been the first to shoot, and with those arrows, multiple dwarves’ Invisibility spells broke. Astarion was able to easily dodge and avoid the onslaught of attacks, thanks to the advantage of being on higher ground. You grabbed your lute and cast Shatter, causing the dwarves around you to fly backwards in a wave of thunder. Gale launched fiery arrows at your foes, and Shadowheart summoned a Spiritual Weapon to fight for you all on the ground below.

“You’re here because of those rotflowers, aren’t you?” The dwarf with the Absolute pendant got to his feet and pulled the arrow out of his shoulder. “You reek of justice and good deeds.”

“Funny,” you said, using the pommel of your rapier to push a now visible dwarf off the platform you were on, “and I just took a bath this morning.”

“Would you classify that as a bath?” Astarion called down to you, mischief in his eyes.

You smiled, but could already feel yourself starting to lose steam, even though the battle had just started. Still, you pressed on and cast another Shatter, scattering your enemies further and buying you some time to catch your breath. “And what would you classify it as?”

“I can think of many things, but we’re in such polite company, I shan’t say.” He shot a flaming arrow down onto the beach and hit multiple dwarves at once in the explosion.

“I don’t like whatever’s happening here,” the dwarf with the Absolute amulet said. “But I’ll make you pay for siding with those mushroom abominations.” The dwarf raised his hands and uttered a spell you didn't recognize, but a cacophony of noise from below caught your attention. The lapse in focus cost you, as one of the dwarves you’d been fending off pushed you off the platform.

You heard your companions yell your name as you landed hard in the sand below. It took you a second to regain your bearings before you realized what the sound had been. Fallen Duergar were now rising, life not returning to their eyes, but risen all the same.

Animate Dead.

You’d heard of this spell; had seen it in action with Mayrina’s husband, Connor. But you had yet to see it used in battle.

Now you were surrounded by undead dwarves, hell bent on tearing you apart.

“Hi,” was all you could manage through the spinning of your head. You blinked a few times before blocking the heavy strike of an axe with your slim rapier. When it was clear that the axe was going to prevail, you rolled out of the way and the axe connected with the sand that had been beneath your head.

“Are you alright?” Shadowheart called after hitting you with a Healing Word.

You squared your shoulders and entered into a fighting stance. “Better now, thanks!” While it was true, you were still exhausted and could feel your magic actively getting weaker. You’d have to remind yourself to get a sturdier sword after this battle. You heard a clang as Shadowheart’s Spiritual Weapon was destroyed by a few zombies that now turned their attention on you.

“Hardly the place, darling,” Astarion called, downing one of the zombies in front of you with an arrow of ice. “Dying down here? Embarrassing.”

“Stop talking and help her kill the bloody things!” Gale yelled, still slinging spells and arrows at the dwarves from up on the platforms.

The undead kept rushing at you, and you were able to keep them at bay with brandishes of your rapier and weaker casts of Thunderwave, but it was getting harder and harder to fight back. Meanwhile, living dwarves had made it to the other platforms and started climbing up to your companions. Astarion’s help began to dwindle as his attention was split between you and the dwarves he had to face head on with his daggers. You could hear less and less of Gale’s magic as he opted fully for his crossbow, especially now with dwarves attempting to climb up to him. Shadowheart was facing the same obstacles, instead swinging her morningstar and shoving her shield to throw dwarves from the platform.

“Guys,” you said, not as loudly as you would have hoped. There was too much going on. Even if you did manage to raise your voice, it would be hard to hear you over the sounds of fire arrows and spells.

“Guys,” you tried again but to no avail. You cast a small Cure Wounds on yourself, but instantly regretted it. You could have saved that spell for an offensive attack, and now you felt yourself completely depleted of magic, despite trying your best to use it sparingly. Which was difficult when you were surrounded by enemies and your companions were occupied with their own battles. You were just one person. This was too much.

The undead dwarves still standing were backing you up against a cluster of boulders in the center of the beach.

This was okay. You were fine! You’d been in tough spots before and you and your team had always come out on top. You could do this. Undead dwarves? Pah! What kind of lethal damage could someone with dead muscle inflict, right? Sure, Astarion was undead and he was a vicious killer, but that was Astarion, and these dwarves had just been resurrected. They were just getting their sea legs! Life…. legs? It didn’t matter. They probably couldn’t even think for themselves. You could handle this.

With a boost of confidence from your mental pep talk, you surged forward, away from the center of the beach, and stabbed a zombie through the chest. The visceral sound of metal entering flesh was loud and oddly satisfying.

“Ah ha!” you shouted as the zombie slumped to the ground.

But the stab had been louder than your slim blade should have been able to muster. You pulled the blade out of the slumped zombie to inspect, but upon looking down, you saw silver glinting with red through your midsection.

Another zombie had come up behind you and cleaved you with his axe. The head of it peaked out through your stomach.

You heard your name roared from somewhere up above.

The metallic taste of your own blood rushed into your mouth as your vision started to blur. You fell to your knees.

“Guys,” you said one more time.

Then everything went black.

~~~~~

In another life, Astarion would have made a decent barbarian.

Despite Karlach’s cheerful demeanor, for the most part, barbarians were known to be violent, brutal, and cruel. All things that Astarion could easily tap into if the situation called for it.

And right now, he was entering a rage.

Red.

That was all he saw.

Red, and the corpses of the dwarves who dared cross his path on his way down to you.

He hadn’t witnessed it.

Had been too caught up in his own hacking and slashing to see the moment when the axe had made its way through your torso. But he had smelled it. Instantly, he had recognized the sweet notes of your blood entering the air. That’s when he’d looked down and saw the state of you. He’d screamed your name, far louder than any of the magic and explosions that were still triggering in the fight.

Shadowheart and Gale’s heads snapped down to look at you, terror in their eyes. And yet they still had to fight. The zombies surrounding your unconscious form began to move away from you and up towards them instead.

Astarion downed dwarves left and right, going overboard in his violence on the warpath to get you into his arms.

“Shadowheart!” he yelled, as if she wasn’t already aware of the situation.

“I know!” she shouted back. “I can try a Healing Word but my magic’s nearly spent!”

“Do it! NOW!” Astarion bellowed as he sliced through the abdomen of a dwarf preparing to fire a spell. He heard a chant of “te curo,” followed by the aqua magic that usually came with a healing spell, but you remained motionless in the sand.

“The wound is too deep and my magic isn’t strong enough!” Shadowheart slung her morning star into the head of a Duergar that had successfully climbed up to her platform.

Gale looked over to Shadowheart and the two shared a brief, silent conversation before Gale nodded and Misty Stepped down to you.

“Don’t you touch her, wizard!” Astarion yelled as he fought his way through what once must have been a house of some kind. “Unless you can bring her back up!” His daggers stabbed through the Duergar with the Absolute amulet; the one who’d raised those dead in the first place. Astarion made sure his death was extra painful with each twist of his knives.

“Be reasonable, Astarion!” Gale yelled back and shot an arrow at one of the zombies still slinking across the beach. He bent and attempted to get you to swallow some healing potion. You’d already lost a lot of blood.

“She’s DYING!” Astarion bellowed before jumping down, out of the house, and down onto the beach. He made a sound of pain as he landed, but stumbled as quickly as he could over to you on his hands and knees.

Before he reached you, however, he spotted an unarmed zombie halfway up a ladder. That must have been the vile creature whose blade was still lodged in you. He made a beeline for the abomination and pulled it down with enough force to rip the rope that made up the ladder it was climbing. His blades were entering the zombie repeatedly before he even realized he’d pinned it to the ground. It stopped moving fairly soon after its first stab wound, but Astarion wouldn’t let up.

“It’s dead, Astarion!” Gale said, trying to bring him back to reality. “Truly dead!”

Astarion finally stopped and breathed heavily. He abandoned the corpse and made his way over to you, sinking to his knees.

“You’re okay,” he cooed. “Help is here.” He gently pulled you into his lap, careful not to touch the axe head. “I’ve got you.”

“She’s still alive,” Gale confirmed. “I gave her some healing potion and checked her pulse.”

Astarion wasn’t listening. He rocked back and forth, wiping matted hair out of your face. “Darling,” he said quietly, “you’re too pretty to die. And look at all the precious blood you’ve wasted.” You shifted a little and he paused.

Your eyes opened briefly. When you realized it was Astarion looking down at you, you smiled.

“Hi,” you said weakly.

Astarion laughed, but it was a choked, mangled thing. “Hello, my love.”

“That hurt,” you said, smiling blearily until your eyes closed again. He brought his forehead lightly to yours.

Gale touched his shoulder. “Take her to Halsin. He’ll be able to help more than any of us at the moment.”

Astarion wanted to argue, but knew that Gale was probably right. Annoying bastard.

“Help me, would you?” He made to stand up and Gale moved to help guide you gently into Astrion’s arms as he stood. The axe rested uncomfortably between the two of you, but Astarion knew better than to try and pull it out without the proper healing implements nearby to stop the bleeding.

“We’ll be fine here,” Gale said, shooting another arrow at a dwarf on his way to Shadowheart. “You cleared most of the sorry mongrels just now, anyway.”

“I don’t recall asking,” Astarion snapped, readjusting how he was holding you.

“Only trying to help,” Gale said sharply. “None of us want to see her suffer.”

Astarion sighed. “I know,” he admitted.

Gale placed a hand on his shoulder again. “Proprae,” he said, and warm magic surrounded Astarion. “Longstrider,” Gale explained. “It’ll get you to Halsin faster. Now go.”

Astarion nodded and took off back towards the Myconid colony.

“You just had to play hero, didn’t you?” He didn’t look down at you as he sidestepped purple crystals and wayward wooden planks. “Couldn’t stay back for once and let someone else handle it.”

You coughed a little and peered up at him. “I do it for the glory,” you wheezed with a joking smile.

Astarion’s eyes flicked to you for a second. “There are better ways to get attention, darling.” He smiled despite himself. “Now stop talking, please. Save that strength.”

Rather than argue further, you closed your eyes again and nuzzled your face into his neck. You were so tired. And cold. Numbness had overtaken your body except for a dull ache in your midsection. You didn’t even realize when you slipped away again.

Astarion felt you go slightly more limp and swore, dodging exploding mushrooms and trying to remember the way back to the Myconids.

“Don’t you dare leave me,” he growled. “Not now. Not you.” He refused to shed a tear. You’d be okay, and then he’d have words with you about your pesky bleeding heart.

Speaking of bleeding, he didn’t like how easily he could smell your blood. Usually he’d be thrilled to be surrounded by such an intoxicating aroma, but right now it was making him sick to his stomach.

“Do you know how selfish you are?” he asked, knowing you wouldn’t respond. “Wasting all this blood. Some of us need a proper meal.”

He hated your silence. Hated that you weren’t strong enough to tell him he could feed from you if he wanted because of course you would. Or maybe you’d come up with some sort of jab about him being selfish for thinking about food at a time like this. He missed your voice.

“How dare you scare me like this, you stubborn clod.”

In the distance, he saw the glowing mushrooms of the colony. He ducked his head and willed himself to run even faster.

“Where are they?!” Astarion shouted to a mushroom sentry at the entrance. The Myconid remained stoic, but flashed a somber song through Astarion’s mind. “Not helpful!” he shouted as he ran up the steps.

There! That halfling woman who’d asked you all to find her bumbling husband.

“You!” he yelled, his eyes wild. “The group I was traveling with! Where did they go?!”

The halfling woman fumbled for words, shocked at the bloody sight of you before her.

“Tell me!” he exclaimed.

“I believe they found a clearing not far off. The druid came by earlier to swap herbs.”

Astarion didn’t respond before booking it again, the Myconids singing a mournful ballad to him as he passed them.

“HALSIN!” he screamed when he left through the other entrance of the colony. “WYLL! KARLACH! LAE’ZEL! YOU BLASTED WHELPS, WHERE ARE YOU?!” He kept running, following along a path of glowing mushrooms.

“Astarion?” It was Wyll.

“WHERE ARE YOU?!” Astarion repeated, recalibrating to run towards the sound of his voice.

“OVER HERE!” Karlach shouted, and Astarion saw Scratch appear from around a corner a short distance away, followed closely by Karlach. Wyll and Lae’zel caught up behind them.

“Dear gods,” Wyll murmured before running into camp and creating a space for you.

“I’ll get Halsin!” Karlach turned and ran.

“Kaincha,” Lae’zel breathed as Astarion passed her.

“Lay her here,” Wyll said, having prepped a bedroll next to the fire.

“Like hells is she going on the bloody ground,” Astarion hissed, looking around for something more comfortable. “Grab my pillows,” he nodded from Wyll to the ox cart.

Wyll nodded and ran to the cart before coming back and beginning to fashion a makeshift mattress.

Lae’zel looked around for Gale and Shadowheart. “Where are the others?”

“Damned Duergars. They’re in a rotting village by the lake southwest of here.”

“I shall avenge our fallen,” she nodded before running to her tent, grabbing her greatsword and taking off in the direction Astarion had come in from.

“She’s not dead yet,” Astarion muttered as Halsin and Karlach entered the space frantically. “There you are!” He addressed Halsin icily. He had yet to put you down.

Halsin ignored Astarion in favor of approaching you and assessing the damage. He held multiple bowls and jars of unknown substances, and his face gave nothing away. “Bring her this way,” he said, motioning for Astarion to follow him. Halsin led him to a giant mushroom cap. “Lay her down here.” He set down the materials he was holding nearby.

“On a damn mushroom? You must be joking.” Astarion held you tighter.

“Astarion,” Halsin said gently, “I’m going to help her. You have to trust me.”

Astarion narrowed his eyes and reassessed the mushroom. It did look soft, and big enough for your whole body to spread out on. He looked at Halsin again who remained calm and collected. Astarion nodded.

Halsin nodded back and helped him untangle you from his arms. “We’re going to lay her on her side,” he instructed, and Astarion did his best to roll you gently onto the mushroom cap.

“How can we help?” Wyll asked, making Astarion jump. He’d forgotten about anyone outside of his current line of sight.

“Fetch my pack, if you would, Wyll,” Halsin said.

Wyll nodded and ran towards Halsin’s tent on the other side of camp.

“And me?” Karlach asked.

“Can you heat up some water?”

“You got it,” she said before rushing to grab a bucket.

Halsin held out his hand, golden magic emitting from his palm. He closed his eyes and hovered his hand up and down your body.

“Well?” Astarion asked impatiently.

Halsin opened his eyes and Astarion caught a flash of panic in them.

No.

“We need to get this axe out as soon as possible,” Halsin explained. “She’s going to lose more blood, but you were right to leave it in on the battlefield.”

It was then that Wyll came back, lugging Halsin’s backpack, along with other supplies he deemed might be useful.

“So get it out and heal her!” Astarion exclaimed.

“I’ll do my best, Astarion, but you’ll have to be patient.”

“Where’s Withers?” Astarion looked around but caught no glimpse of the skeleton.

“He said he’d find us once we’re settled,” Wyll reminded him kindly.

“If we lose her and he can’t bring her back, I’m ending him.” Astarion knew how unlikely it was that he’d be able to kill someone who brought people back from the dead for a living (why Withers needed a living in the first place was still a mystery), but he needed someone to threaten. He was terrified.

“Astarion,” Halsin said, “I’ll need you to help me remove her clothes. Wyll, can you prepare some bandages?”

Wyll nodded and began to gather materials from Halsin’s bag.

Astarion hesitated before unsheathing his daggers to help cut the leather armor off of your body. Halsin helped maneuver your limbs out of it until you were left in what once was a white shirt, now a deep red around your midsection.

“Her shirt as well,” Halsin said. “Your skill with a knife is far more refined than mine.”

Astarion frowned, knowing you’d probably hate being shirtless in front of everyone, but shook off the thought in favor of helping Halsin heal you. He quickly and carefully cut your shirt away from your body, depositing it on another mushroom nearby, and leaving you in nothing but your undergarments. The gash in your back was brutal, and rather than stare at it, Astarion took your hand. It was growing cold, but he could sense your blood still pumping beneath your skin.

“She’s so weak,” he murmured.

“She’s a fighter,” Halsin put a hand on Astarion’s shoulder before moving to mix some sort of elixir he had in one of the bowls he’d brought over. “My magic isn’t strong enough to heal her all by itself, not completely, but Oak Father willing, she’ll make it through this.”

“She better,” Astarion growled, still holding your hand, squeezing it harder than he knew he should.

Halsin smiled faintly, then moved around to your head. He tipped your head back and made you swallow the contents of the bowl he’d just been mixing.

“And what-”

“That should keep her from waking up right away.” Halsin came back to stand behind you and examined the state of the axe.

“So, she won’t feel any pain?” Astarion asked.

“She shouldn’t.”

“Okay,” was all Astarion could manage to say, hoping that was enough to convey his gratitude to the druid.

Halsin nodded and motioned for Astarion to hold you in place. “Wyll, can you help with this?”

“Of course,” Wyll moved around the mushroom to hold you from the other side.

“I’m going to remove the axe,” Halsin said. “She’s going to bleed more, but I should be able to stop it with what I’ve brought with me.”

“Enough talking,” Astarion held you tight. “Get to the healing part already!”

Halsin frowned, but nodded. “Steady now,” he said, placing his hands on the wooden handle of the axe. “Ready?”

“Yes!” Astarion snapped.

Halsin let out a calming breath before pulling on the axe. Everyone held their breath to make sure you didn’t cry out in pain. When you didn’t, Halsin continued, taking the blade out in one smooth motion.

As he’d said, you began bleeding more profusely and Astarion let out a pathetic whining sound. Halsin immediately held out his hands, aqua healing magic surrounding you from both sides. Astarion couldn’t look away as your skin knit itself back together, a clear scar forming in its wake.

The aqua magic faded and Halsin instantly dipped his hand in some sort of salve and began rubbing it along your back.

“Wyll,” Halsin said, handing him a bowl with an identical salve. “Please cover the wound on her stomach with this.”

“I’ll do it,” Astarion said, moving around the mushroom to your front. Wyll handed him the salve and he went to work spreading a generous amount along your stomach.

“Sorry,” said Karlach, running up with a steaming bucket of water. “I was looking for where we packed all our towels.” She held up a few. “I found them.”

“Thank you, Karlach,” Halsin said. “We can start cleaning the area around her wounds.”

Karlach bounced on her feet. “Um… I’ll incinerate her if I try to help with that.”

“I know what you can do,” Astarion said flatly, focusing deeply on globbing enough salve onto your stomach. He lifted his head and nodded towards the axe on the ground behind Halsin. “You can destroy that wretched blade.”

Karlach smiled and cracked her knuckles. “I’ll make it wish it was never fucking born.”

“Blades aren’t born, Karlach,” Wyll said, wiping blood away from your skin with the warm water she provided.

“And yet, this one will die a fiery death,” she smirked, flaring her flames menacingly. She took off, presumably to be as hot as she pleased without endangering others.

“Can one of you help me sit her upright?” Halsin addressed the two men still tending to you.

“Sure,” Astarion said, noticeably calmer now that you weren’t actively bleeding. “How are her, um… her innards?”

Halsin smiled. “If you’re referring to internal bleeding, the potion I gave her and the spell I cast should be enough to have stopped it. But she’s still very fragile. I’d imagine it will take her some time to fully recover.” He once again held out his hand and cast a golden spell from his palm like he had earlier. “Yes, the internal bleeding has stopped. Though I’d suggest not giving into any carnal desires until she’s completely healed.”

“Carnal- I don’t want to have sex with her like this!” Astarion looked offended. “Who do you take me for?”

Halsin chuckled. “I didn’t think you would, but it still needed to be said.”

“Of all the-” Astarion narrowed his eyes but didn’t finish the thought. “You needed help getting her upright?”

“Yes, she’ll need to be bandaged up. It’s possible she’ll bleed again depending on her movements in her sleep and various other factors, but she’ll also need to keep reapplying fresh salves to prevent infection and minimize scarring.”

Astarion nodded as Wyll finished washing away most of the blood on your back.

“Let’s lie her on her back first,” Halsin said.

Astarion and Wyll helped to gently roll you onto your back, and Halsin helped sit you up straight. Astarion came up quickly to place a gentle hand on your chest and another on your back to keep you upright as Halsin began to wrap bandages around your torso.

Though your head was tipped forward in your unconscious state, Astarion whispered encouragements in your ear that Halsin and Wyll politely pretended not to hear.

“You’re going to be okay, my love. Soon I’ll get to look into your pretty eyes again and hear your lovely voice. Everything is going to be okay.”

~~~~~

Everything is going to be okay.

How could that be true when you were drowning?

Surrounded by inky blackness. Floating through nothingness.

Your limbs were heavy. And more than anything, you were tired. So, so tired.

You’d messed up. You’d allowed yourself to fight, even though you knew you weren’t at your best, just because you didn’t want your friends to be upset. Right? They had been people you cared about? And now the last thing you remembered was being curled into someone’s side as they ran, presumably, to find help.

Idiot.

You were an idiot.

The person had looked so scared.

This was all your fault. You hated being the one to cause a problem. You had to be good. You had to do everything right so no one would have to worry about you.

The person who’d held you so close and protectively shouldn’t have to worry about you.

Whoever they were.

You vaguely remembered saying something to them, but you couldn’t recall what it was or why you’d said it. You faintly remember making them snicker, at least.

You’re doing so well, darling. Hang in there.

It didn’t feel like you were doing so well. And yet the words filled you with comfort. Somewhere, a thousand miles away, you felt someone squeezing your hand.

We’re going to move you now, but we’ll be gentle.

That was very kind of them. You were having trouble moving through this darkness.

Easy, now.

Was it possible to swim towards the voice? It sounded like it might be within reach, even though mere moments ago it had seemed incredibly distant and far-off.

You’ll be much more comfortable here, my love.

Though your head was filled with fog, something in your gut told you to go to the voice. You knew it was familiar, but you couldn’t make the connection. With all the strength you could muster, you kicked your legs as hard as you could and pulled yourself along with your arms.

Don’t worry, my sweet, I’m not going anywhere.

Thank you, you wanted to say, but you couldn’t quite grasp the words.

Try as you might to swim towards the voice, it remained just out of reach, a wall of pain shooting through your abdomen whenever you got too close.

I’m here, you tried to tell the voice. I can’t reach you.

Sleep now.

It hurts.

I’ll be here when you’re ready.

Please.

~~~~~

Your sleep was fitful. It had taken about an hour before you’d started thrashing unconsciously and moaning in pain.

“Something’s wrong,” Astarion called, emerging from your tent.

He and the others had moved you onto the makeshift mattress Wyll had created, and built your tent around you, next to Astarion’s. Or what would be Astarion’s; he had yet to set up his space, having spent all his time at camp so far by your side.

Shadowheart, Gale, and Lae’zel had arrived at camp about half an hour after Astarion had rushed in with your unconscious form, all three covered in generous amounts of blood and gore. They had immediately asked after the state of you and were pleased to see you bandaged and sleeping soundly.

Now, however, that wasn’t the case.

Halsin and Shadowheart were quick to check on you.

Shadowheart felt your forehead and frowned. “She’s burning up.”

“Likely fighting a possible infection,” Halsin hypothesized.

“Well, can anything be done?!” Astarion asked, taking his place next to you again and holding your hand in both of his.

Halsin watched him carefully. “Actually, your cooling touch may bring her some comfort, Astarion.” He looked to Shadowheart, who nodded slowly.

“She needs to cool down. I’ll fetch some cold water, but Halsin is correct. You may be exactly what she needs. But don’t let that go to your head.”

“Of course I’m exactly what she needs,” Astarion puffed his chest, “but it’s nice to hear that that’s true in more ways than one.”

Shadowheart rolled her eyes before leaving and muttering, “Why do I even bother?”

Astarion looked to Halsin. “She’ll be okay?”

Halsin smiled softly. “She’ll need water and nutrients to help fight the fever, but with you by her side, I presume she’ll be better in no time.”

“Right then, get out of here,” Astarion said, waving him away and looking slightly embarrassed.

Halsin chuckled. “I’ll prepare some food for her.”

“Yes, go bother someone else with your sappiness.”

Halsin paused in the entrance of your tent. “Being vulnerable is not a weakness, Astarion. It’s quite clear how much you love her, and that’s incredibly-.”

“You need to leave,” Astarion snapped and dropped your hand, physically shooing a laughing Halsin out of your tent. “Be useful, why don’t you?” he called after him coolly as Halsin made his way over to where Gale was preparing tonight’s meal. The vampire closed the flaps of your tent firmly.

Love?

He shook his head. He was worried about you, yes, but that was because he… cared about you. More than he cared about anyone else at this freakish camp. And that was… fine. It was fine that he cared about you because you cared about him, too. And that was important because caring meant safety and protection.

Which is why he’d been so panicked about finding help for you! Obviously! If you weren’t around to protect him, who would? Not Gale, that’s for sure. No, Astarion was looking out for you for purely selfish reasons.

Right?

You made a tiny sound of discomfort and he was by your side instantly, holding his hand to your forehead, and then pressing both of his palms to your cheeks. He felt your body sag and watched the features of your face relax a little.

“There, now,” he cooed. “Doesn’t that feel better?”

He paused and narrowed his eyes in thought.

That was troubling.

He refused to think any deeper on the subject. Instead, he undid all the straps and clasps of his armor, trying to be as quiet as possible as he removed it all, then placed it outside so it wouldn’t take up any of your space. Next, he rearranged some extra pillows that Wyll had brought by your tent to make a space where he could lie next to you. Once he’d done that, he removed his undershirt and laid next to you properly.

“Come here, my darling,” he said quietly, snuggling himself into your side. His body jolted reflexively at how hot your torso was, but quickly moved back into position and wrapped his arms around you as gently as he could. Your face scrunched in discomfort for a moment before settling into something akin to peace.

Astarion watched your chest rise and fall quietly, and let out a silent sigh of relief. One of his hands absently fiddled with the ends of your hair. You’d need a bath at some point. So would he, for that matter. You were both still covered in gore and filth, and some strands of your hair were bound together by enemy blood. Astarion didn’t much feel like licking it off of you or tasting their blood in any capacity, unless he could watch the life drain from their eyes as he drank them dry. But he’d hate every minute of it. He found your taste to be his favorite.

His favorite.

So, you were his favorite. Who cared! He knew it! Everyone at camp knew it! It didn’t need to be any deeper than that.

He exhaled through his nose. Being vulnerable was a weakness. Any of his siblings would tell you that. Show one shred of fragility towards anything and it would be torn away from you and exploited in any number of violent and cruel ways. He couldn’t let that happen to you.

“Can I come in?” Shadowheart’s voice was quiet, but loud enough to shake Astarion from his thoughts.

“Yes,” he answered.

She pulled back the flaps of the tent and paused, taking in the scene before her.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” she said slowly, entering the tent with a bucket of water and a few clean cloths.

“Not at all, I’m simply taking advantage of this furnace,” Astarion gestured up and down your body. “The Underdark gets so chilly at night. Who knew?”

“Uh huh,” Shadowheart nodded and felt your forehead before dipping a cloth into the water, wringing it out and placing it there. “You know,” she began, “and I hate saying this-”

“Do go on, then.”

“Ugh. I really hate saying this, but… she’s lucky to have you.”

“Shadowheart!” Astarion sounded quietly flabbergasted. “Do you mean it? Truly?” He was being overly dramatic and held a hand to his chest.

Shadowheart avoided his gaze and dipped another cloth in the water. “I just mean…” She sighed. “I just mean, you make her happy, in your own annoying way. Even before you both started-”

“Holding hands?” Astarion batted his eyelashes.

Shadowheart rolled her eyes, but continued. “I don’t need to tell you how lucky you are to have her because I think you know that, but… You make her laugh. You encourage her to fight better, you steal lutes for her… And… you get her to be selfish. Which, while I don’t agree with all of your selfish suggestions, does cause her to think of herself every once in a while. Something that’s quite hard for her, as she so competently displayed for us today when she didn’t tell us how tired she truly was.”

“She was a lost cause before I showed up.”

“Be serious for a moment, would you?” Shadowheart placed another cloth along your neck. “That’s something you both need to work on; being serious.” She held his gaze. “We almost lost her out there today. And I don’t think you’ve thought about what that would mean for you.”

“Of course I have,” Astarion snapped.

Shadowheart raised her eyebrows. “Our Lady of Loss teaches that-”

“Oh, don’t start with that,” Astarion said sharply. “She’s fine now. Or she will be, assuming you and the druid are correct in your assessment of her condition.”

“Pain is a part of life, Astarion.”

“Don’t say that to me,” he snapped. “You know nothing of my pain.”

Shadowheart dabbed another cold cloth across your arm that wasn’t currently cradled into Astarion’s torso. “I know that. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then what did you mean?” He was aware that he was mildly flashing his fangs in warning.

She dabbed some cold water over your shoulders. “Don’t be afraid. That's all I mean.”

“And what the hells is that supposed to mean?” Astarion narrowed his eyes. “Afraid of what?”

“You care for her.”

“So what?”

“You’re aware of that?”

Astarion trilled his lips in disbelief. “Of course I’m aware of that.”

“Okay,” she turned her attention to wringing a cloth of excess water.

If his arms weren’t currently wrapped around you, Astarion would have pinched the bridge of his nose. “Shadowheart, if you’re trying to tell me something, just tell me.”

“You’re allowed to love her.”

Astarion felt himself recoil away from Shadowheart, but he still held onto you.

Shadowheart nodded calmly, searching his eyes. “We all see it. You haven’t known each other for long, but she’s changing you.”

Astarion gave her a sour expression but didn’t say anything to argue.

“She’s not what you expected, is she?”

“She-” he hesitated. “She’s not.” He looked at your slumbering face fondly.

“I don’t think she’s what any of us expected.”

Astarion nodded, quiet for a few moments. He was too tired to pretend he was uninterested. “It’s a wonder we all found her,” he brushed a stray hair from your face. “Or, rather, clung to her. And in some cases, attacked her. Or threatened to.”

“It is,” she laughed softly.

“Poor girl.”

Shadowheart smiled. “She saved me, up on the Nautiloid. She and Lae’zel broke me out of my pod. Though it was mostly her. Actually, it was all her.”

“That’s typical.”

Shadowheart laughed. “Very typical.” She shifted to face Astarion more directly. “We don’t know each other very well.”

“No.”

“And probably never will.”

“Fingers crossed.”

“But I know that you’re not the same person who held a knife to her throat a few weeks ago.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“Well, I would.” Shadowheart gave him a piercing look. “A few weeks ago, you would have been fine letting her bleed out on that battlefield. You possibly would have laughed at the brutality of it. Or, you would have written it off as a fine dining experience. But the Astarion I’m looking at right now was ready to burn the entire world before he saw her suffer today.”

Astarion’s grip on you tightened minutely.

Shadowheart sighed. “I don’t like letting others get too close to me either. Partly because that is the way of Lady Shar, and partly because I’m afraid of forgetting. Or remembering. I’m not sure which is worse, truthfully.”

“What does that-”

“It doesn’t matter. My point is, our leader here makes me want to remember. Remember our times together, her kindness… And how she makes me feel.”

“Careful…” Astarion said slowly, narrowing his eyes but smiling slightly.

“She might be the only person I’ve ever considered to be a true friend. I think. But I know she’d do anything for any of us. And I want to remember that.”

“Okay, so commit it to memory?” Astarion was confused about all the talk of remembering. Surely Shadowheart’s memory wasn’t that bad.

“I’ll try,” she chuckled. Then, after a moment of quiet, she inhaled deeply. “All of this to say, Astarion,” she looked him in the eye again, “heartbreak is also a part of life. And while we’re lucky she’s still with us, you shouldn’t be afraid to love her. I think you want to live.”

~~~~~

Darkness.

All consuming and quiet.

But at least the pain had stopped.

It was rather lonely here. Nothing to do and no one to talk to. Whenever you tried to move, the blackness that surrounded you gave little away as to whether you were actually moving or not. There’d been waves of extreme heat, bitter cold, and heavy nausea, and while none of that was particularly thrilling, it was nice to know that you could still feel something in this liminal space of sensory deprivation.

The voice would occasionally interrupt the profound silence to address you.

Come on, my sweet, eat just a little more. I know you can.

What are you dreaming about in there?

Are you going to wake up anytime soon, darling?

You didn’t know. No matter what you tried, it didn’t seem likely that you were close to leaving this place. And just when it felt like you were finally getting somewhere, the pain would overtake you again and stop you in your tracks.

It was exhausting.

You felt someone squeeze your hand distantly.

Brought a book.

Your head instinctively turned towards the voice.

Thought I might read to you. Since you’re doing an abhorrent job of entertaining me.

Something about the tone made you want to argue. You try… whatever this is! you wanted to say.

Thought this one might be fun. “The Curse of the Vampyre.” Maybe we’ll learn something.

Vampire… why did that word send your heart racing?

“Harken close and beware the Vampyr.” Off to a good start. “Beware its cold beauty.” True. “Beware its charm.” True. “Beware its curse.” ………True.

Again, you had the overwhelming sensation that you knew this voice. The sense of comfort that washed over you felt all too familiar.

“How doth one protect from the beast?” When was this written? A pause, as if the voice were investigating. I’ve decided I don’t care. The voice cleared its throat. “Walk not in the blackest night, for the Vampyr loves these nights more than any other.” I was rather enjoying my time in the sun, actually. “If you must walk, do so by the light of our moon and take care.” What kind of advice is that? The moon? The moon and I get on just fine. That wouldn’t protect you, darling. “Carry the blessings and marks of your God at all times.” The voice snorted. Yes, because the Gods have cared so much about stopping my acts of debauchery in the past.

Something in the voice’s airy tone lifted an aching weight from your chest. Yes, you knew this person. You were sure of that. You could listen to them all day. Mindlessly, you drifted closer to where the voice was strongest.

“But remember, your home is your fortress, if protected well.” Hmm. “If you hear a knock in the night, be wary. Let no stranger into your home.” As if we make house calls these days. “If it be a friend, look upon them. Do you find them pallid and wan?” Rude. “See you any mark upon their neck?” Collars, darling. Though, I’ve found that most people don’t pay close enough attention anyway. Especially when you’re distracting them with- Well, you know. The voice exhaled loudly. “See you any dirt upon their clothes?” Yuck. “Unless their need is great, turn all away but the most trusted.” You trust me, don’t you, my dear?

Yes, you tried to say. Of course I trust you.

The voice was growing louder. More clear.

Of course you do, the voice said, though you were sure it hadn’t heard you. Stupid. “And if the Beast finds a way into your home, flee.” I’d say that’s good advice, but unfortunately for you, you can’t really flee right now. And I don’t plan on leaving.

Good. You exhaled, frustrated that you couldn’t speak.

The hand holding yours tightened mildly.

I’m here, darling.

I know. Thank you.

It took a moment before the voice started speaking again.

“Lease love and family behind.”

You felt an indescribable tension as the voice paused once more. Had this passage just said something important? You replayed the phrase in your head.

Family?

Love?

Love…

Oh.

The voice was quieter when it spoke again.

“You will not save them if you fight. You will not see them again. But they will see you, pale and smiling, calling them into the night.”

Astarion.

Of course it was Astarion. How could it be anyone else?

He was here.

With you.

Just out of reach.

Well, that’s a rather ominous passage, isn’t it?

Astarion! you tried to say. I’m here!

Shh shh shh, he tutted. Don’t strain yourself.

Something you had said or done had gotten through to him.

Astarion! you tried again.

Nothing. You were met with silence.

Fuck it. Fuck the pain, fuck this freakish darkness. You pulled yourself towards his voice.

Shall I continue reading, darling?

Yes, keep talking. You winced as a flash of pain pulsed through your middle.

I’m going to skip ahead. I hope you don’t mind.

As long as I can still hear your voice. The pain was becoming more consistent and noticeable.

Ah, this sounds rather interesting: “Vampiric Duality.” Ahem. “Now look, the thing is: your basic vampire has two instincts, right? Feed and make little vampires.” Immediately, a vastly different tone. Is this even the same book? The voice paused again, presumably to check the cover. I admit, I do love to feed, but I’m not sure how much this person knows about vampiric biology. Not that Cazador ever allowed us much research into the subject…

You felt yourself physically recoil at the mention of Cazador’s name and heard Astarion chuckle.

No, you’re right, darling, I won’t mention him again. He hummed and mumbled under his breath. Blah blah blah… “The personality of a vampire has as many facets as a schizophrenic diamond?” What? I appreciate the comparison to a diamond, obviously, but a schizophrenic one? What does that even mean?

You would have laughed if you weren’t actively fighting to get to him. The pain in your torso was almost unbearable, the closer you got to his voice. Tears pricked your eyes, and every part of you hurt like nothing you’d ever experienced before. When the torment started to become white hot and all consuming, you hit what felt like a physical wall.

Ah! Listen to this part, beautiful: “Yet who doesn't adore the darkly romantic complexity of the vampire-”

You did. You adored this vampire. Though you were hurting severely, you reached out and punched against the wall that was blocking you.

Astarion! you all but wailed.

“-the gusto of their love-”

Again, you pounded with all your might, screaming out in agony and rage as the pain physically held you back from reaching out and touching him. You still couldn’t see him, but you felt his presence. So, so close.

“-the wildness of their passion!” You heard him let out a delighted laugh.

I’m here! you shouted, using both fists to bang against this wall of pure suffering.

Oh, my dear, if you were awake, I’d shower you with the absolute wildness of my passion. You could practically hear his smirk. I’d demonstrate the gusto of my… well. My-

Gathering all the strength you had left, you wound back and threw your entire body against the wall. You squeezed your eyes tight as an overwhelmingly bright light spilled in and your ears began to ring.

You gasped for air, sitting up quickly, and immediately regretted it.

You heard your name said softly in disbelief and a book slamming shut.

“Ow…” you whined, clutching at your abdomen and feeling tears roll down your cheeks.

Before you could register what was happening, you felt cool palms on your cheeks and soft lips kissing all over your face. You blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of the situation.

“I’m so mad at you,” Astarion said, still kissing your face, his voice filled with nothing but relief.

“What… happened?” you asked between hiccups of tears.

“Lie back down, precious,” he said, gently helping you back onto what seemed to be a pile of pillows and pulling a blanket over you. “You scared us, is what you did.” He wiped a few stray tears from your cheeks, but they kept flowing. You couldn’t stop.

“Did I… die?” You turned your head to look around. It looked like you were in your tent, your things strewn about somewhat neatly and similar to how it had been at your camp by the lake. A few candles were lit.

“Nearly,” Astarion confirmed quietly. He looked exhausted. “An undead Duergar got you with his battle axe.”

“Ah,” you said, at a loss for words. “That’s not good.”

Astarion stared at you. “‘That’s not good?’ That’s all you have to say?” He held a hand to your forehead briefly. “Your fever is gone, but it’s possible you’ve got brain damage.”

You chuckled, knowing he was kidding, but the action caused a searing pain in your stomach. You let out a pathetic whine, reaching for the hurt area, but Astarion caught your wrist.

“Careful, darling. You’ve got a pretty severe wound there.” He released you and pulled back the blanket that was draped over you. Upon looking down, you saw that nearly your entire midsection was covered in bandages. A spot of red spread slowly, disrupting the otherwise pristine white of the cotton.

“It h-urts,” you sniffled, your voice breaking.

Astarion’s eyes were full of sympathy. “Looks like sitting up quickly may have opened the wound again.”

“Should I go get Shadowheart?” you asked without really thinking about it.

Astarion snorted. “If you think you’re strong enough to fetch the cleric, you’re delusional.”

“Oh,” was all you could say in agreement. “Should you go get Shadowheart? Or Halsin, maybe?”

He shook his head, turning away from you to rifle through some supplies that were out of your line of sight. “Everyone’s asleep, my dear.” He sat back up straight and set out a few items next to you: fresh bandages, healing potions, a salve of some sort, and a small bowl of water. “Besides, I’m perfectly capable of taking care of you myself.”

You almost laughed. “How long was I out? What happened to you?”

He rolled his eyes. “You were out for nearly twelve hours, I’d say. It’s a little before dawn, I think. Though there’s no sun to go off of.”

You nodded, not sure how to feel about this information. Twelve hours was a long time. And yet it felt even longer. Like you’d been out for a lifetime.

“As for what happened to me, well, someone I… care about… nearly died.” He cleared his throat. “Is it so bizarre that I want her to get better?”

You smiled. “I guess not.”

Astarion returned your smile before hooking his arms under yours and helping you sit up. Someone had stacked two chests on top of each other behind the makeshift mattress to act as a headboard, and he helped you scoot back to sit against it.

“Careful, my sweet, the axe entered through your back. Let’s try not to lean and put pressure on it, hmm?”

You nodded, wincing when you moved incorrectly. “When did you become such a medical professional?”

He was busy prepping the new bandages. “Shadowheart showed me how to change the bandages once or twice while you were out, and Halsin provided the salves and potions.” Astarion got up onto his knees and crawled over to you, helping you scoot forward, away from the headboard. “And my sister, Dal. She was a doctor, before Cazador. She’d help the rest of us every once in a while. Especially when things got particularly brutal.”

“That’s much cooler than being a magistrate,” you teased, flinching a little in pain.

“I don’t know, magistrates can sentence people to death.” He squeezed your arm.

“No they can’t,” you laughed. Then paused. “Can they?”

Astarion shrugged. “Can’t remember, honestly.” He leaned forward to reach for where the bandage was tucked into itself on your front. “I’m going to undo this now, okay? Let me know if I hurt you at all.”

You nodded, holding his gaze.

“Oh,” he said before turning to grab a healing potion. He handed it to you. “This should help.”

You took it and downed it as Astarion began to carefully unwrap the bandages. You could feel the unpleasant sting of something having dried beneath the cloth that was now being tugged at as the bandage was unraveling.

Astarion was nothing but complete focus as he reached his arms around you and back towards himself, carefully unwrapping you. You watched him the entire time.

“I heard you, you know.”

He looked at you, the corner of his lips quirking up. “Heard me what?”

“When you were talking to me while I was sleeping.”

He went a little stiff at your words. “What exactly did you hear?”

You raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know. I heard you reading just now.”

His shoulders dropped in relief. “Horrid creatures, vampires.”

“The worst,” you agreed.

Astarion pulled away the last of the bandage and you looked down, your eyes widening at the huge gash along the right side of your stomach.

“And we’re sure I didn’t die?” you asked, cautiously poking the area around the wound. The healing potion had stopped the bleeding.

Astarion slapped your hand. “Stop that.”

“Sorry.”

“No, you’re still here with us. I would have killed Withers if that weren’t the case.”

“You can’t-”

“I know. But he would have gotten an earful at least.” Astarion crawled on his knees back over to the supply area that you previously couldn’t see. Now you could see that there were a few buckets of water with towels and cloths of various sizes. He dunked his hands into one of the buckets and lathered his hands with soap.

“Thorough,” you commented.

“You already fought off one infection,” he explained. “Don’t want to risk another.” He finished washing and drying his hands, then made his way back over to you on his knees, careful not to touch anything on his way.

“I had an infection?” you asked, watching as he dipped a cloth in the small bowl of water next to you.

“Yes,” he said, “or were fighting one off. Like I said earlier, you had a fever, but it’s gone now.” He brought the cloth up to your stomach. “I’m going to clean the wound now. It might hurt.”

You nodded and he began dabbing your skin lightly. He was right, it stung and pierced whenever he hit a particularly raw area and your body jerked despite attempting to stay still. Tears welled up in your eyes again.

“I’m sorry,” Astarion said, reaching up to wipe a tear away.

“I’m the one who got cleaved,” you deflected. “It’s my own fault.”

“Which reminds me,” his face morphed from apologetic to irritated, “why didn’t you tell us you were so exhausted? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I-” you squeaked at a particularly sharp pain. “I didn’t want you all to worry.”

Astarion’s hand paused and he narrowed his eyes at you. “Fine load of good that did, dear.”

“I’m sorry,” you looked away from him. “I didn’t know how involved the fight was going to be.”

“It doesn’t matter how involved the fight was or wasn’t going to be; if you weren’t feeling your best, you should have stayed behind and let one of the others take your place.” He sniffed pompously and added, “Would have given me an excuse to relax, too.” There was a sharpness to his words, but his actions remained careful and kind. You gave him a curious look and he rolled his eyes. “Oh, like I would go out and fight when I could laze about at camp for once.” He was suddenly very focused on not looking you in the eye.

You smiled. “You liiiiike me.”

“I’d have spent the entire time on the other side of camp.”

“Liar.”

“The point is, darling, you have to listen to yourself and what you need. I do it all the time. For myself, I mean.”

“I know you do,” you chuckled.

Astarion set down the wet cloth he was using and got a fresh one, before moving behind you to clean the wound on your back.“Why do you even care what we think?”

“Because you’re my friends, and I value your opinions?”

“No, I mean, why aren’t we allowed to be worried about you?”

“Oh,” you winced and flinched a bit at the cloth pressing against a tender spot on your back. “I don’t know. You all have your own problems to worry about. I shouldn’t be one of them.”

Astarion tsked. “I might be new to this whole ‘caring about someone else’ thing, but even I know how absurd that is.”

You tried to stay quiet, focusing on not moving to minimize the pricklings of pain shooting through your back. Yet despite your best effort, you still let out a few weak whimpers of discomfort.

Astarion sighed and moved away from you, back to the caché of supplies at the end of your bed. He came up with a steaming bowl of stew and reached across the bed to hand it to you.

“Careful,” he warned.

“How?” you asked.

“Halsin made soup. Gale knew a spell to keep it warm. This is the result.” He handed you a spoon. “We were able to get you to eat some while you were unconscious, but Shadowheart said you should eat properly whenever you woke up. I forgot until just now.”

“Thank you,” you said gratefully, shoveling some of the stew into your mouth. It was rich and heavy; full of meat and vegetables. Delicious.

Astarion took his place behind you again and went back to cleaning, but not before sighing dramatically. “Playing nursemaid is so far beneath me. I can’t believe you’re making me do this, you wretch.”

You swallowed some broth then said, “I offered to get Shadowheart.”

“Not a chance,” he growled in your ear, leaning around to kiss your cheek. “But if I ever have to do this again-”

“You’ll kill me?”

“Without a second thought, my sweet.”

“Mmhm,” you hummed through more food. “I think you’re enjoying this, honestly.”

“Seriously? When I could be out killing something? Or drinking from that gorgeous neck of yours? Or thoroughly ruining you? Nice try.”

“Are you hungry?” you asked, suddenly feeling very guilty for not thinking of him.

“This is what I mean, darling.” He sounded annoyed.

“What?”

“You are very weak at the moment. You lost quite a bit of blood from this wound, and you’re still offering to feed me.”

“Because I want to help you! I have something you need and I lo-like you so much.” You caught yourself, but not very smoothly.

Astarion raised an eyebrow. “Flattered as I am, I know that drinking from you right now could be fatal. And I think you know that, too.”

You shoveled some more stew into your mouth shamefully.

“That’s all I mean, pet.” Astarion set down the cloth he’d been using to clean your back and moved around so he could look you in the eye again. “You’re incredible. You always want to help others, which, while I don’t personally understand it, is seen as very admirable to some people. But it gets you into trouble, and I don’t think you care that it does.” He took your chin in his hand to make you look at him. “But I care now. And I don’t want this to happen again.”

“I can’t help it,” you said quietly.

Astarion pouted mildly with genuine sympathy and kissed you chastely. “Try.” He pressed his forehead to yours.

“Okay,” you whispered.

“That’s my girl,” he smiled. “Besides,” his flamboyant cadence returned to make you laugh, “I already drained some poor beastie dry earlier while Shadowheart was changing your bandages.”

“Poor beastie.”

He kissed you again, more deeply this time. “It meant nothing to me,” he teased and you laughed. “It was purely for sustenance.” He nosed along your neck to his favorite feeding spot and kissed you there.

“I may never find forgiveness in my heart for this,” you teased back.

Astarion’s eyes went noticeably soft and a small smile tugged at his lips. His hands came up to your cheeks and he kissed you once more, tugging at your bottom lip with his front teeth. You matched his rhythm, moaning softly, and unconsciously rolling your hips, which made you cry out in pain.

“Bad idea,” you groaned, tilting your head away from Astarion’s eager kisses.

He chuckled and rested his forehead on your temple. “You know, Halsin actually warned me not to ‘give in to any carnal desires’ until you were fully healed. I told him I wouldn’t.”

“And yet you did anyway?” you raised an eyebrow with a smile. “You selfish prick.”

Astarion tsked. “I’m not the needy one rolling my hips, now am I?”

“You bit my lip!”

“Call it… a vampiric sign of affection. Nothing more than that.”

You blew out an annoyed huff, causing a strand of hair in your face to fly upwards.

“I didn’t even draw blood,” Astarion said. “You should be thanking me.”

“Oh, thank you,” you rolled your eyes.

“But of course.”

“I so badly want to strangle you right now.”

Astarion growled from the back of his throat. “Oh, how I’ve missed you,” he said, kissing you again, despite your laughing protests.

“Would you please finish with this?” you asked, pushing him back and gesturing the undressed wound on your stomach.

He groaned loudly. “If I must.”

“I can handle the front,” you said, nodding towards a bowl of salve, but not attempting to lean forward and grab it for fear of accidentally hurting yourself further.

Astarion hesitated in giving you the bowl, but quickly gave in. “Fine.”

“I’ll be careful,” you said.

He nodded once and took his own bowl of salve to spread on your back.

The balm was cool and caused you to jump a little when it first made contact with your skin. Astarion paused his work to make sure you were alright.

“I’m okay,” you assured. “Just cold.”

“You get used to it,” he smirked, globbing more cold substance onto your back.

Delicately, you took your own salve and began to apply a generous amount to your stomach.

The two of you remained silent, locked in concentration as you administered the medicine to your wounds. It stung mildly, but the cooling effect it had became comforting soon enough.

“So…” you broke the silence after you were satisfied with your work, “what did you do while I was… out?”

Astarion exhaled through his nose and didn’t answer right away. “Oh, nothing special. A little of this, a little of that. My world doesn’t revolve around you, you know.”

“Sad,” you pouted, “because while I was unconscious, all I could hear was your voice.”

“Could you, now?” You could hear the grin in his voice. “I was all you could hear?”

“Mmhm,” you confirmed. “Which means you must have spent a lot of time by my side.” You risked a glance over your shoulder and saw Astarion’s hand hovering just above your back, frozen in place.

He cleared his throat and continued to apply the salve. “And so what if I did?”

“Well, it’s just that there’s so much else you could have been doing,” you chuckled. “Like killing, or maiming, or drinking, or stabbing-”

You stopped talking when you felt his forehead press against your bare shoulder. He mumbled something against your skin, but you couldn’t make it out.

“What was that, my love?”

He sighed heavily and pulled back. “I was scared.”

“You… were scared? You?”

“Of course I was scared!” he exclaimed, looking irritated and confused. “I may already be dead, but it’s not your time yet. I would never wish that on you.”

You weren’t sure how to process that.

Astarion.

Scared, on your behalf.

You knew he cared about you, that was obvious by now, he’d told you as much, but that was a fairly recent development. In the past, he’d only cared enough to save his own skin. He’d always watched your back, sure, but there were days where you knew he’d only helped you or another companion because it had been convenient for him in some way. Although, you had to admit, since you two had become… whatever you were, he’d seemed to take extra precaution when looking out for you. Both in battle and out.

“Astarion,” you said slowly when he returned from behind you to grab the fresh bandages, “what happened when the zombies got me?”

He remained quiet, fiddling with the bandages in his hands.

“I carried you here.”

“Where is ‘here,’ exactly?” you asked.

He shrugged. “Not too far from those horrid singing mushrooms. They were no help.”

Your eyes went wide, knowing how far the journey from the Myconid colony to the decrepit village was, and how he must have traveled further than that to get here. You shook your head, banishing the thought. “How did you get to me from your platform?”

Astarion came close and unwound the bandages in his hands again, making sure he had the right amount. “I may or may not have… gone into a blind rage, killed some dwarves, yelled at Gale… It was no big deal.”

“And then you… carried me.”

“Yes.”

“All the way here.”

“Yes.”

“And then?”

“And then I helped Halsin with healing you. Why does it matter?”

“You…” You trailed off and allowed Astarion to start wrapping the bandages around your middle. Your eyes were unfocused on something in the distance and your mind was blank; too overwhelmed with thoughts to think anything at all. You shook your head to bring yourself back into the moment with him.

His voice was quiet. “I’ve been powerless far too often in my life. Seeing you go down, and not being able to stop it, it… broke something in me.”

You watched him carefully.

“If I was powerless in that situation, and you… If I’d lost you, I don’t know what I would have done.”

“It’s a good thing you didn’t lose me then,” you said, attempting to lift the mood while focusing on his hands.

He shook his head and paused with the wrapping. “Shadowheart said I was ready to burn the world. I think she was right.”

“I’m touched,” you joked again.

“I’m serious, darling.” He picked up where he left off with the bandages.

“You were that worried about me? Even though you were also surrounded by enemies?”

“Oh, believe me, I’m not pleased about this turn of events. Normally, in a setting like that, I’d be mostly worried about myself. But lately I seem to somehow be worried about you more.” He hummed as if he were surprised to hear himself say that aloud.

You brought a hand up to gently wrap around his forearm as he continued wrapping you up. He met your eye fondly.

“You give me something to care for. And that’s worth the peril.” He smiled at you for a moment, then pulled on the bandages to make sure they were tight enough. “Is this alright?”

Try as you might to not let him see, your eyes welled up with tears. “Fine, yes.”

“Oh gods, don’t lie, you’re crying!” He immediately began to loosen the bandages and you started laughing.

“No, no, dummy,” you wiped a tear and stopped his hands with your own. “I care about you, too.”

“We’ve established that, darling,” but his eyes went soft. “Let me finish this, you sap,” he gestured to your bandages, still not properly secured, and you released his hands. He once again returned to wrapping the wound and pulled the bandages tighter, but not as tight as before. They were firm enough that they wouldn’t fall, and you could still breath easily, despite the mild ache that lingered in your stomach. He tucked the end into the top of the wrapping beneath your chest. “There now, my sweet. All patched up.” He brushed both hands through your hair before resting them gently on your shoulders.

You smiled at him, but something occurred to you upon hearing the affectionate nickname. “Is there a reason you haven’t called me ‘my love’ since I woke up?”

Astarion looked taken aback. “Erm…”

You were quick to explain: “It’s my favorite. That’s why I call you that, too.”

“Your favorite…” Astarion stared at you blankly for a second and his hands squeezed your shoulders absently.

You could practically see the cogs in his head turning. You brought a hand to cup his cheek. “If I did something-”

Astarion shook his head. “No, darling, you did nothing wrong. Other than almost getting yourself killed, I mean. It’s just that… I’m in the process of coming to terms with how I feel - about you.”

Oh.

He’d thrown “love” and “my love” around so casually, practically the entire time you’d known him. Abruptly stopping their use was incredibly unlikely unless it was deliberate.

Did this mean he was starting to rethink those words? And what it meant to say them to you?

Did that mean he… loved you?

Your heart started pounding as a million jumbled thoughts entered your mind. It seemed like Astarion noticed the change in your pulse.

“If that scares you-”

“No!” You were grinning widely and tried to hide it behind your free hand. “Take all the time you need, my love.” You hoped calling him by your preferred pet name might convey how you felt, but you didn’t want to scare him off. You knew better than anyone how new this was to both of you.

“Thank you,” he said, taking your hand and kissing the inside of your wrist. “Now lie down, would you? You need more sleep.”

You handed him your now empty bowl of stew. “But… I’m not tired.”

Astarion gave you a look as if to say really?

“I’m not! I’ve been sleeping all day!”

“And for good reason, might I add.”

The two of you stared at each other, willing the other to give in. Astarion rolled his eyes.

“Fine,” he said, annoyed. He reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head.

“Carnal desires,” you reminded him in a scolding manner.

“I don’t plan on ravishing you right now, dearest,” he said, a bit of bite in his words. “If you’re not going to sleep, at least lie down with me.”

He moved the medical supplies off of the makeshift bed and blew out a few candles as he awaited your answer.

You nodded, a smile overtaking your features. “I’d like that.”

“I’ll be gentle,” he said as he got onto the pile of pillows and placed his knees on either side of your hips. He took your arms and wrapped them around his neck.

“I know,” you said, using him as an anchor to lower yourself onto your back and further into the pillows.

When he was satisfied with your position, Astarion carefully lifted himself from hovering above you and transitioned himself to curl into your side. You stayed on your back so as to not jostle your wound, but turned your head to look at him. He watched you intently, his hands palm-to-palm and resting under his cheek. You ran your hand through his hair.

“I couldn’t reach you,” you said.

“When?” Astarion lifted his head slightly.

“When I was sleeping. I could hear you, but I couldn’t see you. And it hurt to try and get to you.”

“Oh, my darling,” he said, running a hand along your cheek. “I’m here now.”

“I know,” you repeated, warmth overtaking your chest.

“Nervous it’ll happen again if you sleep?” he asked. When you nodded, he nodded back in understanding. “Nightmares are dreadful.”

“Any tips?”

“Hmm… not really.”

“Thanks.”

Astarion laughed softly and reached for your hand. “I’ll stay awake with you for as long as you need.”

“You need your rest, too.”

He clicked his tongue. “If you think I’m going out with the others tomorrow, you’re a bigger fool than I thought.”

You exhaled an amused breath and turned your head back up towards the top of your tent to sort through some of your many tangled thoughts.

While it was true that you and Astarion hadn’t known each other for very long, it floored you how much of a change you saw in him now versus when you’d first met. Back then, he was cruel, and violent, and prone to laughing at the misfortune of others. Now, he was still all of those things, but there was also this soft side of him that he continued to surprise you with. He’d actively chosen to stay by your side all day, even though he could have let the others handle your care. He probably would have opted for that option just a few weeks ago. He was also making the choice to stay at camp with you tomorrow, rather than venture out with the rest of your party to be rewarded by the Myconids for your efforts, and possibly spill more blood throughout the Underdark. Knowing how much he loved to spill blood, that was a big deal.

He’d also shown you the most tender affection the first night you’d slept together and every heated encounter since; he was showing he cared in the ways he knew how. He was trying his best (for the most part), and that’s what mattered to you. Astarion could take all the time he needed to sort out his feelings.

But you knew how you felt.

“So other than the peril, are you enjoying the Underdark?”

Astarion groaned. “Really?”

“Yes.”

He let out a long exhale, the cool air of his breath tickling your neck. “You know, for all the time I spent lurking in the shadows, I’ve never ventured into the Underdark before.”

“So you’ve told me,” you squeezed his hand.

“Hardly a… luxurious setting, but it definitely has its upsides for a vampire.”

You nodded, still looking up at the top of your tent.

“Or its… undersides? Because it’s - you know what I mean.”

You snorted at his feeble attempt at a pun. “Boooo,” you teased and looked over at him.

“I’ve been awake for nearly 24 hours, need I remind you.”

“Then trance, idiot.” You poked his nose.

“I said I would stay awake with you.”

“I’ll be alright,” you insisted, “though I appreciate the offer, my love.”

Astarion blinked slowly, his eyes suddenly heavy with sleep. It was as if he were finally allowing himself to relax, now that he was able to hear your voice again. He wore a lopsided grin as his eyes drifted closed.

“I really did miss you,” he murmured, his voice soft.

“I missed you, too.” You brought your clasped hands up to your mouth and kissed the back of his hand. “Thank you for saving me.”

He didn’t properly respond, and instead hummed out a sleepy acknowledgement.

“You’re so heroic.”

“Mmm.”

“And handsome.”

“Mhm.” He inhaled and exhaled deeply.

“Thank you for staying by my side.”

This time he didn’t respond. He looked entirely peaceful and his lips were parted slightly.

“Maybe I spoke too soon,” you laughed quietly, brushing a loose hair out of his face. “You should sleep though,” you said more to yourself than to him. “I can’t imagine how tired you must be.”

You watched his chest rise and fall with the unnecessary breaths he still took after all these years. You couldn’t believe that mere moments ago, he’d admitted that he was beginning to care more for your safety than for his own. Much less that he might even love you.

Astarion made a small sound, like a tiny grunt from the back of his throat that you’d come to learn meant that he was likely out cold. He rarely fell asleep before you did, given how little rest elves needed, which only further showed how exhausted he truly was.

“I love that noise,” you smiled.

You turned your head back up to the top of your tent and sighed. “I love how funny you are. And I love how even though you’re incredibly intelligent, you’re the dumbest man I’ve ever met.” You looked back at him. His slumbering expression remained unchanged. “I love your eyes, and your ears, and the annoying way you put your hand on your hip when you think you’ve gained the upper hand in something.” You squeezed his hand ever so slightly and watched to make sure his features stayed even. “I love how kind you pretend you aren’t and how fiercely you deny it when I bring it up. I love your laugh, and how gently you hold me when you feed, and how you think about me when you could so easily think of yourself instead.”

Again, you brought his hand up to your mouth and kissed his fingers.

“I love you, Astarion.”

You couldn’t be sure, but you swore you could see the slightest smile on his face as you felt your eyes flutter closed and you drifted into your own contented sleep.

265 notes · View notes

cryptidghostgirl · 9 months ago

Note

Can I request a part 3 to "unrequited"?

A/N I honestly was not planning another part to this story. I'm just gonna... leave this here. (Pls don't hate me guys. This is so genuinely the only path I could think of for this story that I liked.)

Unrequited pt. 3 (Alastor x Reader)

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Warnings: Um. Alastor is dark/yandere in this part. Uh. Unhealthy relationship. Yeah.

Word Count: 2,094

Previous Parts:

Unrequited (Alastor x Reader)

Unrequited Pt. 2

Master Lists:

Master Lists

Hazbin Hotel Master List

Alastor had cornered her in the hall. The years, the games, the challenges, none of it was fun anymore. It all came to an end tonight. There was no other option, not when she could die tomorrow. The angels were coming, and they were coming for the hotel.

"I don't want you here tomorrow."

"What!?" Y/n exclaimed in utter shock.

She hadn't known what to expect when Alastor had stopped her as she made her way downstairs to the bar. Everyone was supposed to be having a drink together, celebrating their afterlives that there was a chance they might loose. She didn't know what to expect but, she certainly hadn't expected this.

Alastor had been acting weird lately. He was always weird but ever since the day with Husk in the hallway, he'd been weird even by those standards. He was always finding something for Y/n to do that put her near him, always watching. It was irritating. They had been fighting a lot and Alastor still had yet to apologize to Husk.

"I don't want you at the hotel tomorrow. You are not coming near this fight."

"What the fuck, Alastor?" Y/n nearly stamped her foot on the floor, she crossed her arms and glared at the demon, "I... these are my friends. This is my home. I will do what I can to protect it."

"No, you wont. You wont be here." he paused, "I will use our little deal to make sure of that, if need be."

Y/n scoffed. Her anger was a fiery, radiant thing. Alastor found himself thinking she had always reminded him quite a bit of a lioness when she got like this. The thought had been an accident, he couldn't afford to be distracted. Not when these were the stakes. Alastor pushed it away.

"You fucking... literally why? Like, what? I... sorry, just taking me a bit to process this: the demon who tricked me into selling my soul to them is now going to use that contract to take me, a valuable asset, out of a war which we cannot afford to loose?"

"Yes." Alastor nodded.

"Because?" Y/n prompted in irritation after a moment.

Alastor sighed.

"Y/n, think about what could happen if you are here."

"The same thing that could happen to any one here!" Y/n threw her arms up in exasperation, gesticulating her frustration as she spoke, "The same thing you're forcing on Husk and Nifty, have you had this chat with either of them?"

Alastor didn't respond. It was all the answer she needed.

"Yeah, I didn't fucking think so!" she scoffed, "So it's okay for everyone to risk their lives -- it's okay for you to risk your life even, but not me? Its okay for you to force my friends to risk their lives, but you're going to force me to stay out of it? Listen to yourself, you sound ridiculous."

"We don't need your help. You're slow, you will only hold us back."

The comment he had hope would dampen Y/n's spirit, bend her will into submission, only added to her fire.

"I'm... that's bullshit and we both know it. I might be small, but so is Nifty. Everyone has skills they can offer. I know how to fight, how to survive, and we will have angelic weapons for Christ's sake. Like, I really don't understand what the issue your having is here."

"Y/n, just... no." Alastor shook his head, a hand to his temples, "No. You will not be here tomorrow. I forbid it. I'm sending you to stay with Rosie."

"What am I, your kid?" Y/n sneered.

Alastor looked over at her, his hand falling from his forehead.

"Just please, Y/n." he took a step forward, pulling her hands into his. Alastor took a deep breath. "For me."

Y/n's eyes went wide. Alastor could see the conflict, the swirling emotions. Anger turned to grief, mixed with gratitude, and became anger again. A never ending cycle.

His heart pounded against his chest, it fought him valiantly for release. It had been so long. So long since she'd looked at him with anything other than disgust, so long since she had let him touch her like this.

Y/n settled on confusion as her dominant emotion and pulled her hands from his grasp. Alastor mourned the contact, his hands still held up in the air where hers had met them as Y/n took a step away.

"Why."

It wasn't a question. Y/n commanded information and at the end of the day, he may own her soul but she owned his heart. Alastor felt like in some way, she always had. He couldn't bear the thought of loosing her but, he didn't know if he could handle the rejection either. There was no way, no chance, she would believe him if he told her too much of the truth but, lying wouldn't work either. It would have to be a careful balance, a calculated withholding of information. Too much was riding on tomorrow, on tonight, on this very moment.

"Because I don't want you to die."

Y/n's brow furrowed even further, their eyes growing wider still as she stumbled another step back. Her back was nearly against the wall now, there wasn't anywhere else she could go.

Her eyes flitted around the space fervently. Her lips formed words that never left her mouth. Alastor watched, stress eating him alive. At last, Y/n did something. She brought her hands to her head and sunk to the floor, her knees pulled into her chest.

"What are you doing to me." she muttered softly, just barely loud enough for him to hear.

For what felt like the thousandth time, Alastor felt a little piece of his heart fracture off. He didn't know how much more he could take of this before there was nothing left to break, nothing left to loose. She looked up at him, her hands still holding either side of her head and her eyes wet with tears.

"Why do you care?"

Alastor's breath caught in his throat. There was an insistence in her voice, a pleading. He stood in indecision for a moment, frozen by want, by need, by fear. His body took over as he took a step towards Y/n. Alastor kneeled down in front of her.

With great care, with a familiarity and gentleness Y/n hadn't felt from him in years, Alastor untangled her fingers from her hair. He held her hands in his once again and this time, he wasn't going to let go.

"Because I care about you."

Shock at his own bravery emanated from his chest. Alastor held his breath.

"You..." Y/n's eyes hardened, "I wish you'd stop messing with my head like this. Its not funny."

"Y/n, I'm not messing. I am not playing a game, I'm not..." Alastor sighed, letting go of one of Y/n's hands and running his hand through his hair as he looked to the side.

Taking a deep breath, he turned back to face her, grabbing her free hand once again.

"I don't know what I can do to prove it to you, that I'm not. But I will keep you safe. No matter what, you will not be here tomorrow."

"Please, Alastor."

His heart stopped. He couldn't recall the last time she'd asked him for anything that wasn't to leave her, Husk, and Nifty, alone. He couldn't recall the last time she'd seemed to fragile in his arms.

"Please, they're... they're my family. I can't..." a single tear rolled down Y/n's cheek, "I can't just leave them."

"I..."

There was a moment, a split second where he almost agreed. Alastor's eyes narrowed. He dropped Y/n's hands and got back to his feet. She adjusted her position in response, nearly kneeling before him.

"Please, Alastor. Let me help them. Let me do what I can to protect my family. Please. I'll do anything you want... I'll..."

It almost worked. Alastor felt his purpose waver again. Then the fear came back. He had already lost so much. His mother, his humanity, his own soul and free will. Alastor refused to add Y/n to the list of things that were so far out of his reach. He just couldn't. He didn't care if she hated him for the rest of eternity, as long as it meant she was safe at his side.

"No." he shook his head, his heart hardening, "You forget, you already have to do whatever I want. You forget, I own you."

Y/n's scream of anger as the shadows took her was muffled as she was sucked into their portal. Alastor stood, watching the spot she had been in for a few moments and then, he doubled over in pain. It shot through him in spikes, in daggers. It was the first time he had told her that. Not once before had Alastor ever said those three words to Y/n, not even when they had first made their deal. I own you.

The guilt, the regret, all of it underpinned by the overwhelming love. It had been trapped for so long, so sheltered and pushed back in the recesses of his mind that it had twisted. The love had become obsessive, dangerous, hungry.

With a breath, Alastor stood straight once again. Pushing his composure back to the surface, he smoothed his hair and went down to the bar to inform everyone of his decision. He may have forced Y/n to do something she didn't want to, fracturing things further than he'd believed possible, but he wasn't going to blame her for it. Alastor was used to being the villain and hopefully, in this case, he wouldn't have to be. Hopefully, they would understand.

Y/n gasped for breath as she was let out of the shadow portal. Panting on all fours, slowly she brought herself back together. Y/n had met Rosie before, once or twice. She knew she was a kind soul at heart, a reasonable person, and she knew that Rosie's cannibals were the main force of their army tomorrow. All she had to do was convince the overlord to let her join them, and it would be okay.

Taking a deep breath to restore her confidence, Y/n looked up. Her heart dropped.

"No."

She got to her feet, looking carefully around the decrepit old radio tower.

"No. Nonono."

Her breaths becoming panicked, she ran to the door. It was locked. Taking a step back, she kicked it harshly. The firm wood didn't budge.

Driven by adrenaline alone, Y/n ran to the windows and began to hit them with all her might. None of them so much as trembled.

"No!"

She looked wildly around the space and, spotting Alastor's chair, picked it up. Y/n hurled it at the window. There was a crash and for a split second, there was hope. That was until she realized it was the chair that had broken, not the window.

"No! No!"

Turning back to the door, she hurled her body repeatedly against it. Each time, she got the biggest running start she could. Each time, there was no change at all, nothing happened. Fresh tears pooled in her eyes, she was long past panicked now.

"NO!"

After about twenty minutes, Y/n was out of breath and exhausted. Her whole body hurt and her face was sticky with tears. She sat at the door, her back pressed against it and her knees pulled into her chest. Burying her face in her legs, she sobbed.

Everyone was at the hotel, except for her. Everyone was preparing to fight for and protect what they loved, except for her. What would they think? What would they say? Much more importantly, would they make it out?

A sudden fear gripped her, a fist around her heart. Would she ever see any of them again? Y/n's sobs redoubled.

"Fucking..."

She sniffed, her panic and grief quickly fixing itself back in the shape of the familiar anger. She could see him in her minds eye, that moment his eyes had softened, that moment she thought that maybe he had been telling the truth all along, that they really had been friends, that he really did care.

"I hate you Alastor!" she screamed to herself, alone in the dark, "I hate you and I will continue to hate you until the day I fucking die again!"

----

A/N I love an irredeemable villain and doomed, misshapen love. I'm sorry to anyone who wanted this to end up happy.

659 notes · View notes

hoshifighting · 1 month ago

Text

joshua + succubus

— where joshua mistakenly casts the wrong spell when he seeks to change his sin... or the church future.

WARNINGS: +18, smut, may be triggering because of; church setting/frequenters, blasphemy, spells, putting fire in a church, death of the priest, evoking... oral [f & m rec.], overstimulation, handjob, 69, voyeur?

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST

everyone in town grew up hearing about joshua hong like he was a saint. some sort of small-town legend—always knew the way around a bible verse, a songbook, and even the church basement after hours, or so they’ve been told. he had a gift, they said, a pure voice.

but...

not even a choir robe could hide the sharp look in his eyes when he stepped up to the altar, like he had too many secrets crammed into the folds. sunday morning services turned into something else entirely the second he stepped up, like the stained glass started burning in place of the candles, bending light, and casting shadows that shouldn’t exist.

sitting in the pew, you’d see him up there, dressed in his sunday best — button-down, lips pressed together in a way that was almost humble. his head would tilt forward just enough to hide the smirk that played at the corner of his mouth as the old priest—grumbling, worn down, all fire and brimstone—launched into another lecture about the evils of the world. drinking, indulgence, lust—the usual list of sins. but every time that old man leaned into his condemnation, you could see joshua’s jaw clench, his knuckles turning white where he gripped the pew in front of him. it was like he wanted to swallow the whole world in a single bite.

“there’s nothin’ good for a soul in drink,” the priest would say, spitting the words like they burned his tongue. “and lust… that’s a sickness of the mind. devil creeps in, fills a man’s heart with filthy thoughts—turns him against god, the creator.” joshua’s stare never wavered, but you could feel the tension rolling off him, like he was daring the priest to say more, waiting for the words to hit him like stones.

he caught you looking one day, your gaze sliding over to him as he sat a few pews over. his fingers, idly drumming on the wood, froze, and for a second, you swear his eyes turned crimson under the dim light filtering in from the stained glass. he tilted his head, his lips quirking up into a smirk that made your pulse stutter, like it was haunted. your throat went dry. it was almost impossible to look away.

and you weren’t the only one. everyone saw him as the golden boy, the one who could’ve been a priest himself if he’d chosen the right path, but they were blind. they didn’t see the way he held onto that anger, that fire, waiting for a spark to set him off. and one sunday, he snapped.

it was after service, and the priest, tired and cranky, muttered something as joshua passed him on the way out—something cruel, harsh.

maybe about how joshua was nothing but a disappointment.

maybe about how the devil had gotten into him after all.

you saw the moment those words registered, saw joshua stop mid-step, his whole body going rigid. he turned, slowly, his eyes dark, and you swear, it was like he’d finally embraced whatever sin had been simmering beneath the surface all this time.

“you know, father,” he said, with a smile that sent a chill through you, “maybe you should take a look at your own fucking sins first.”

the priest’s face went pale, his mouth opening and closing like he didn’t know what to say. joshua didn’t wait for an answer; he turned on his heel, leaving the church in stunned silence, a chill lingering in the air long after he’d gone.

it was no surprise to see him that night, later, drinking at the town’s only bar, his tie pulled loose, the first few buttons of his shirt undone.

you’d followed him in the shadows, watching him with all the patience of a vulture perched high on a branch. he had no idea you were there, tucked behind the columns, lingering just long enough to see him slip into the priest’s presbytery, his hands loaded with strange things. you counted—bottles, little glass jars, peppers, a bundle of herbs that smelled sharp even from a distance, and the oldest book you’d ever seen in his hand. the leather was cracked, practically crumbling, pages threatening to slip out like secrets waiting to spill.

he moved silently. you’d seen him look confident before, sure and smug, but tonight he was focused, his eyes darting between the shadows like he was hoping no one would see, yet craving an audience just the same.

inside his room, he crouched on the floor, that book already spread open to an ancient drawing. his hands were steady as he sprinkled salt, placing red candles at the points of a carefully drawn chalk circle. he leaned over the candles, muttering words you could barely hear but knew familiarly, words that were older than him, than the priest, than the church itself, than the floor he was kneeling on.

joshua’s breath hitched when he looked down, afraid, but shining bright enough to catch in the candlelight.

“if you’re listening…” he murmured. “if you’re… there… i’m ready.”

you were right there, watching the way his fingers lingered over the edge of the circle, his pupils blown wide, nervous. you’d waited so long for this, so long to hear that, to feel the pull of his words like an invitation. you stepped out of the shadows, letting yourself fall into the circle he’d made, knowing full well he wasn’t expecting you.

probably a red man with a long pointy tail and red short horns.

“finally,” you breathed, your voice curling around him, echoing against the walls. his head snapped up, and you let him drink you in, every inch of you framed in the candlelight, every detail in that sinful burgundy hue. your wings stretched out, soft and dark, each feather trailing a shadow across the floor. your hips were draped in a dark cloth, barely enough to cover you, hanging low like some kind of ancient offering. his eyes lingered on your bare chest for a long second, lips parting as if he were on the verge of saying something but couldn’t find the words.

he swallowed, throat bobbing as he finally met your eyes—fear. “who… who are you?” he asked, voice trembling just enough to give him away, his fingers gripping the edge of the book like it could save him.

you smirked, letting the tension stretch, savoring the way he looked at you. “you called me, didn’t you?” your voice was somehow mean, soft as silk. “shouldn’t you know?”

he faltered, eyes darting to the floor. “i… i was just—i wasn’t really… i didn’t mean—”

“liar.” you leaned in, stepping closer, feeling the power of the circle around you and knowing it did nothing to stop you from reaching him. “you knew exactly what you were doing. drawing symbols. lighting candles. whispering to the shadows.” you traced the lines of his circle with your finger, watching him shiver as you stepped even closer.

his gaze flickered, still trying to hold onto something, even as his eyes betrayed him, wide and unclear. “i… wanted to change things,” he admitted. “to be something… more. something… not this.”

“oh, i know, joshua,” you cooed, your fingers brushing his cheek, making him flinch just slightly before he leaned into your touch, he felt his cheek burn, but nothing that would make him flinch, he drawn in despite himself. “you don’t want to be caged under choir robes and commandments, do you? you don’t want a life spent in confession for sins you haven’t even enjoyed yet.”

his breath hitched, eyes flickering between your face and the empty space behind you, like he was scared to admit just how right you were. “no… i don’t.”

you smiled, letting your wings fan out, blocking the candles light, making the room feel smaller. “then why don’t you tell me what you do want? after all, you went through all this trouble just to bring me here. be honest, and i might just give it to you.”

he hesitated, but only for a second, the words slipping from his lips as if he couldn’t hold them back. “i want… freedom,” he breathed, eyes dropping to your bare skin. “i want to be more than they say i can be.”

you scoff, the sound sharp, almost mocking, and you lean in closer, fingers gripping his jaw, forcing him to look right into your eyes. “only that?” your voice carrying a note of amused disbelief, as if his words were too small, too insignificant, for the significance of what you knew boiled underneath his skin. you study him with a predator’s patience, your eyes gleaming with something he can’t name but can feel—an energy, ancient and alive, running over him like wildfire.

he tries to look away, but you hold him steady, your gaze locking him in place. “no, joshua. i know what you really want.” your tone is cool, as if the truth were something so obvious it barely needed mentioning, yet you keep pressing, your grip tightening just enough to make his pulse race. “so tell me,” you whisper, voice velvet-soft but rigid. “say it. all of it.”

his eyes dart back to yours, wide and desperate, like he’s drowning in something he barely understands. you peer deeper, pushing past the surface, into the mess of memories buried under layers of carefully guarded guilt and regret. images rush forth, spilling over his mind in a dizzying flash—the protests, the shame, the whispering voices that treated him like an abomination, an exile in his own church, those bruises that lined his skin when they dragged him into that freezing back room, candles burning low as they tried to “drive the devil out.” you see it all, his anger, his humiliation, his bruised skin, each memory stoking a spark of rage that had been smoldering inside him for years.

as the memories pulse within him, a sharp surge of anger claws its way to the surface, and when you finally release him, he’s left panting, breath shaky, but his gaze locked on you. his eyes now, raw, broken, and beautiful.

your eyes narrow, the challenge clear. “tell me,” you say, voice soft as a lover’s but hard as steel, “what do you really want?”

“revenge.” the word leaves his lips like a curse, his voice steady, eyes blazing, as if he’d finally named the thing that had been haunting him all along.

your smile is slow, almost indulgent, and you spread your wings wide, casting shadows across the room, a gust of wind kicks up, but the candles don’t go out; the flames only leap higher, twisting and dancing, casting strange shadows across his face.

you rise, hovering just above him, looking down, every inch of you framed in crimson candlelight. “then i will give you what you seek, joshua,” you murmur, your voice echoing like a promise woven in silk and smoke. “but remember, nothing comes free. once this is done, your soul is bound to me, by your own hand.” your wings flare, feathers dark as midnight, and the gusts around him grow wilder. “take your revenge, claim your freedom… but know, when it’s over, you will belong to me.”

and before he can protest, before he can speak another word, you’re gone, the candles flickering wildly before settling, leaving him alone, the silence as heavy as your words.

[...]

the next day, he moves through it like a ghost, his mind still trapped in the events of the night before. he’s haunted, every detail replaying in his mind over and over, the way your gaze had burned through him, the way his own anger had finally tasted like liberation on his tongue. he drifts through work, the town, barely noticing the world around him, his thoughts thick with questions he doesn’t dare to speak aloud. even as the day fades to night, the feeling only grows stronger, a dark anticipation coiled in his chest.

[...]

and then, as he finally makes his way home, the darkness settling over the quiet neighborhood, a strange glow catches his eye—a fierce, unnatural brightness in the distance, stretching across the night sky. his pulse quickens, an inexplicable dread settling in his stomach.

he turns the corner, his steps slowing as he sees it—flames, consuming the church, roaring high and wide, a blazing inferno lighting up the neighborhood in a hellish glow. smoke billows up in thick, dark clouds, the spire silhouetted against the blaze, cracked and crumbling.

people are shouting, gathering around in shock and horror, but joshua stands frozen, his gaze fixed on the church, heart pounding, as the full weight of it crashes over him. the fire devours the building, the windows shattering, flames licking higher, stretching like fingers into the night. he doesn’t need to ask whose hand is behind it. he knows, deep down, who’s responsible, and that knowledge settles over him like a dark, terrible satisfaction.

the flames roar, a searing nightmare set against the quiet night, and joshua stands alone, watching it burn—a vision of destruction, liberation, and a hellish beauty he’ll carry with him forever.

the whispers ripple through the crowd like a dark prayer, people scrambling in horror, voices trembling. “the priest,” someone gasps, “he was inside— hey saw him doing some ritual.”

and there, almost tangible against the hellish glow, a shadow moves—dark wings, massive and stretching wide, the shadow of something that shouldn’t exist. he inhales sharply, the cigarette flaring as he sucks in a long drag, the smoke curling in his lungs before he exhales it with a steady calm. the scene is chaotic, unreal.

he flicks the cigarette aside, watching the ashes scatter, and turns on his heel, making his way back home with each step feeling heavier, a pull calling him to do the thing he’d barely dared to think of all day.

his room is cold when he gets there, shadows draping every corner. the books are still scattered from last night, red candle wax hardening into crimson pools against the floor. he traces the chalk lines he’d drawn on the floorboards, his fingers ghosting over the symbol, all again.

he lights each candle, the flames flickering to life as though eager to obey, casting an ominous glow around the room. he steps into the center of the circle, letting his breaths steady, closing his eyes as he speaks the incantation from memory, each syllable like a stone sinking into dark waters.

“come to me,” he murmurs. “come back to me.”

the flames stretch higher, bending, flickering wildly as if caught in an unseen wind, and a warm gust of air fills the room, carrying a scent of musk and wine, like a forbidden feast laid bare.

and then she appears—you, draped in shadows, eyes sharp and gleaming, lips curved in that knowing smile. your wings stretch behind you, rich, deep wine-colored feathers unfurling like a promise of something darkly seductive. you step into the light, close enough for him to feel the heat radiating off your skin, the thin fabric wrapped around your hips swaying, your chest bare, unapologetically bare.

“couldn’t stay away?” your voice is a purr, you tilt your head, watching him, a smirk tugging at the edge of your lips. “miss me already?”

he swallows, throat tight. “yeah,” he breathes, voice barely a rasp. “guess you could say that. i just…” he stammers, but you don’t let him finish.

“you want me?” you whisper, your voice like silk wrapping around him, pulling him in. “you want to feel what it’s like to be consumed. to give yourself over completely, to let go of all that shame, all that guilt.” your hand finds his jaw, tilting his head up so he has no choice but to meet your gaze, your eyes dark and blazing, pulling him in like a spell. “wnat me to take it all off hm? say it.”

“yes,” he breathes, the words escape, feeling your energy pulling the words from the center of his belly, to the throat to leave his lips. “yes, i want you.”

your smile widens, predatory, victorious. “good boy,” you murmur, pressing closer until he can feel every curve, every inch of you. “that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

and with that, you close the distance, capturing his lips in a kiss that’s hot, literally, his mind shining red in alert, when your feverish lips touches his. he melts into it, his hands finding your waist, fingers curling into the soft, warm flesh.

you break away, lips a hair’s breadth from his, “you know,” you murmur, “i’ll need you to feed me…” your hand slides lower, teasing the waistband of his pants, fingers brushing skin. “…regularly.”

“feed you?” he breathes, almost dazed.

“oh, yes,” you purr, hand tracing circles against his skin, watching as his breath quickens. “you think you can handle that? keeping me satisfied, keeping me fed?” your wings stretch wide behind you, the room seeming smaller. “because once you start, there’s no going back. im asking you.”

he nods, “yes… yes, anything.”

“good,” you murmur, trailing a finger along his jaw, the faintest hint of claws grazing his skin. “then let’s begin.”

you smirked, eyes flickering over him as you let him sink back onto the sheets, his body folding into your grip, already trembling. you settle between his legs, is delicious—he’s yours, and every inch of him knows it. he’s breathless already, eyes wide, that flush creeping up his neck, his chest, as he watches you, his lips part like he’s going to say something, but no words come out; only the sharp intake of breath when you lick a slow, lazy line along his length, tasting him, testing him—he didn't even noticed when he got naked.

“fuck—” he chokes out, voice breaking a little as you close your mouth around him, pulling him deep, deeper, feeling his thighs tense as he fights to keep his cool.

you start slow, drawing him out inch by inch, taking your time , your tongue tracing along every ridge, every sensitive spot. his hands find the sheets, fingers curling into the fabric, gripping like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered.

“shit, you’re—hmpf!—” his head falls back, a hand flying to cover his mouth, but it only muffles the noise, that groan that you feel all the way down your spine.

you pull back slightly, your lips leaving his length with a soft pop, looking up at him through dark, hooded eyes, letting him feel every bit of your gaze. “you’re not holding back on me now, are you?” you taunt, dragging a nail along his thigh, feeling the shiver it sends up his body. “you moan like that, and then want to go quiet on me?” you arch a brow, leaning back in to kiss along his length, your mouth hot and wet against him.

“n-no,” he stammers, voice strained, raw, his hips lifting almost instinctively, chasing the heat of your mouth. “just—fuck—‘s just, good, you’re…” he trails off, words lost as he watches you, mesmerized by the way your lips slide over him, taking him deeper, the wet heat of your mouth surrounding him, making his eyes roll back, half-lidded in bliss.

and then you pull him even deeper, not stopping until he’s hitting the back of your throat, and his grip on the sheets tightens, a strangled noise escaping his throat as he’s overcome. you barely pull back, your throat working around him, swallowing, keeping that pressure right where he’s most sensitive. you let the sound of his moans fill the room, rough and needy, giving into every filthy urge he’s been fighting, every ounce of resistance leaving his body in broken gasps.

“goddamn—oh, shit—fuck,” he moans, and his hands are in your hair, pulling you closer, his breathing ragged as he struggles to keep from losing it entirely. “you’re—fuck, you’re perfect—”

you hum around him, sending vibrations up his length that make his hips buck, and it’s like he’s completely losing control, lost in the heat of you, in the way you take him so well, so completely, each moan and broken word only pushing him further over the edge. he’s watching you, lips parted, eyes darkening with every second as you pick up the pace, sucking him down with a hunger that feels almost endless.

“please, don’t stop—please don’t fucking stop,” he gasps, voice strained, so close to unraveling, to giving himself over completely. you feel the way he twitches, his body tightening, every muscle straining as he comes under you, every noise he makes only pushing you to take him deeper, to give him exactly what he wants, and then some.

as he watches you, the cloth around your hips slips as you wiggle your hips behind you, arched enough for him to see it, falling away, and his eyes widen, the sight of you bare, only fueling the heat that’s been burning in him since the second he called you here. the sight of you, perfect and sinful, is the last thing he needs—he can’t hold back any longer, his body surrendering, his moans filling the room as you take everything from him, leaving him a shaking, gasping mess, and every bit of him completely, irrevocably yours.

you straighten up, hands wrapping tight around his cock, and he’s instantly a mess. the second you touch him, he’s damn near choking on air, chest heaving, already so wrecked he can’t do a thing but let his head fall back, mouth open, that desperate look on his face as you work him over. your grip’s relentless, unforgiving, just the way he secretly craves, even if he’d never admit it. his cock's turning red, sensitive as hell, veins pulsing with every slick, rough twist of your hand.

“been watching you, you know,” you murmur. “always been mine, haven’t you? my boy.”

“shit—fuck—oh god,” he whimpers, his voice cracking as he chokes out a moan, hands gripping the sheets like it’s all too much.

you don’t stop, fingers curling tighter, dragging along his length, making sure he feels every word you’re spitting. “they didn’t deserve you,” you hiss, watching the way his eyes squeeze shut. “had to get rid of them, had to burn it all down.”

he’s reacting to your words—his back’s arching, muscles in his neck strained, veins popping, and it’s like every filthy thing you say just hits him right where he’s weakest. it goes straight to his cock, and he’s bucking up into your hand, practically crying from the overstimulation, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes as he gasps for breath.

“you’re—fuck, i can’t—please,” he’s barely coherent, voice high and desperate, choking out those pleas as he’s pushed to the limit, and you just grin, leaning down to watch his face, relishing every twitch, every gasp, every broken noise he makes.

“aw, poor baby,” you taunt, “thought you could handle this? thought you wanted it rough?”

you smirk, and he’s too far gone to even notice—he’s never let himself get like this, not for anyone else. but the way you’ve got him, held tight in your grip, overstimulated? yeah, he’s losing it, every single sound bouncing back at him in the room, practically echoing in his ears.

“keep it down, baby,” you whisper, running a finger along his cheek, and he nods weakly, but the second you twist your wrist, another choked moan rips out of him, even louder than before. you just shake your head, letting out a low chuckle. “can’t, huh? can’t even stay quiet for me?”

he’s a mess, squirming beneath you, eyes rolling back, face flushed, every inch of him screaming for you. it’s like he’s breaking apart under your touch, and you’ve barely even started. letting your hands leave his cock, you slide up his body, giving him just enough time to catch his breath as you settle above him, letting him take in the view. you straddle his chest, guiding his hands to your hips with a smirk that’s anything but innocent.

“ready for me?” you murmur, watching him nod, his face shifting into something else entirely, his lips parting as you lift your hips just enough to hover over his mouth. “then don’t waste a second.”

you lower yourself down, letting him feel every bit of that heat, that wetness, and he immediately loses himself, his mouth working against you like he’s starved, tongue diving in with a kind of hunger that’s absolutely wild. he’s not holding back in the slightest, he’s good—like he’s been waiting for this, like every touch, every noise he’s making, is just for you.

he’s moaning again, hands clutching at your hips, pulling you down closer, practically burying his face in you—it’s like he can’t get enough. his tongue slides up, swirling around your clit, making your breath hitch, your thighs trembling as you let out a gasp. and the taste of you? it’s got him hooked, that sweetness lingering on his tongue, almost unreal, like nothing he’s ever tasted before.

“you’re…fuck, you taste so good,” he mumbles between sucks, his voice muffled, needy. and he doesn’t stop, doesn’t even hesitate—just dives back in, sucking and licking like his life depends on it, hands squeezing your hips to keep you steady as he works his tongue over you, slow and then fast, like he’s learning exactly how to push you higher.

“yeah? you like it?” you taunt, breathless, your hands tangling in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan, that delicious sound sending a pulse straight to your core. you can feel yourself getting closer, that tension building in your stomach with every pass of his tongue, every desperate pull of his lips.

he’s got his eyes closed now, completely lost, his whole world narrowed down to the taste of you, the heat of you pressed against his mouth. he’s moving almost frantically, mouth working over you like he’s drinking you down, your hips grinding against him as you ride that perfect rhythm. it’s like he’s matching your pace, following every gasp, every moan, his mouth locked onto your clit, sucking just right, and you can’t hold back, the pleasure building, coiling tight in your stomach.

you gasp, hands fisting in the sheets as you let go, your back arching, thighs clenching around his head as he keeps going, milking every last drop of pleasure out of you. you can feel him groaning beneath you, desperate, like the taste of you is driving him insane. and as you come down, catching your breath, you finally look down at him—completely wrecked, lips swollen, face flushed, and those eyes, dark and hungry, locked onto you like he’s still starving, like he’d give anything to keep you there.

“oh, we have a visitor?” you mumble, a smirk creeping onto your lips as you glance back at joshua, who’s gone pale in an instant.

joshua looks behind you, eyes wide as he spots the priest’s soul lurking in the corner of the room, a dark shadow flickering against the walls. the atmosphere shifts, heavy with tension, and you can practically feel joshua’s heart pounding in his chest.

“what the hell, no—get out of here!” joshua stammers, scrambling to cover himself, but you just chuckle.

you laugh lightly, the sound almost musical, and the priest's essence flickers violently, unable to withstand the force of your magic. the priest’s soul wavers, he starts to fade, his form growing dimmer.

with one final flick of your wrist, you send the priest’s soul spiraling into nothingness, the air around you stilling as silence falls. you turn back to joshua.

“i’m gonna be haunted for days, aren’t i?” joshua mutters, rubbing the back of his neck as he glances at the spot where the priest’s soul had been.

you can’t help but laugh. “don’t worry about it. you can be the small spoon.”

he shoots you a side-eye, clearly not convinced.

297 notes · View notes

lucifersruberduck · 8 months ago

Text

Alastor's list of likes from the wiki states he likes playing pranks, so, since its April Fools today just imagine:

Alastor changing every single digital device to play jazz music.

Pickpocketing random things and not giving them back until they give up on searching.

Hiding behind people to see how long it is until they notice.

Painting Lucifer's ducks pink.

Post-its all around the hotel with ridiculous threats written in glitter gel pen.

Stealing Lucifer's hat when he leaves it aside and just wearing it until he notices.

Replacing Lucifer's overly sweet coffee/tea with raw unsweetened coffee/tea and see what face he makes.

Placing the most random/cursed pictures in front of every Vox spy camera he can find.

Prank calls.

Changing the order of things in the bar/kitchen/someone's room/etc.

Randomly shouting dad jokes (Lucifer joined this one, it's now become a competition).

Sticking post-its with jokes in the back of people, Lucifer and Vaggie were too short for this one, both noticed easily when he had to bend 90 degrees to try.

Doodles of the residents all around the hotel, some more wholesome than others.

Pray that if you left your phone unlocked over the table, Alastor didn't see it before you realized.

Glitter, he hates it, but it's not him who's going to be covered in it anyway.

Prank wars woth anyone who gets sick of him after a while.

Purposefully mixing up names.

Stealing Lucifer's staff.

Hiding in Rosie's house making little sounds until she finds him.

Feel free to add more btw.

#Use any of these ideas freely just tag me so I can see what you did :3 #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer morningstar #alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #pranks #Vaggie #april fools #radioapple #appleradio #kinda #I had it in mind as I made this and it's my post so I tag it as I PLEASE #hazbin hotel rosie #hazbin #also #radiorose

416 notes · View notes

jolalibrary · 9 months ago

Text

a debt to pay

frankie morales x f!reader | masterlist

summary: you surprise frankie by coming home earlier than planned, answering the door a-la-fake-porn like, making him drag you to your bedroom.

warnings: smut. established relationship. praise kink. minor (and I mean brief) hand necklace. dirty talk. okay, frankie likes to talk kink. cowgirl riding for iwd. and the pizza goes cold (felt it needed a warning) wordcount: 4.8k an: to the wonderful, amazing @morallyinept - happy international women's day! i hope frankie treating you right is what you had on your bucket list for the day. but if not, just know you inspire me, and i'm grateful for your friendship every day. and ily.

Nothing should surprise him.

He’s seen a lot. A thing some could argue is far too much. In some ways, they’re right.

Frankie isn’t sure people who weren’t doctors should know the exact hue of red that blood is—shouldn’t know the pain from a bullet grazing his shoulder, catching flesh and ruining cloth.

Still, he found himself continually surprised—especially the night he met you.

Falling into him, into his life. Disrupting his days from bleeding into the next, knocking things off their axis. Change should be scary, but it was all welcomed, just not in a way he’d ever thought he’d earned.

Somehow, amidst the chaos you brought with you, you also handed him harmony. You made the corners of his world slot together. Slowly, he even found himself anchoring down to brick and mortar, and calling it ‘home’ for the first time since he’d originally left his for battles and fighting.

In time, even as months became a year, your things found their way to be with his, Frankie had assumed he’d seen everything. Happy to accept it, the routine, the complacency. He looked forward to lazy Sunday mornings with his fingers inside yours, toes curling; Thursday nights in a bar, watching a line appear on your brow as you scoured your brain for an answer to the trivia question.

He liked it, adored it.

And then you opened the front door for him.

Flooding him in golden light that makes him squint, before he finds himself reminded, quickly, he hasn’t seen it all. Not even by a margin.

Because you're not supposed to be here, due back tomorrow.

Your voice on the phone earlier muted, low, "I miss you, Morales," as he stares at your untouched, clean mug on the kitchen counter.

Yet, here you stand. All veiled in barely anything except bits of lace and sheer, a sight his eyes aren't able to tear away from even if he tries. Not even the dryness in his throat or the warmth emanating from the pizza box he's holding (attempting to sear his skin to his palm) is bothering him.

"Bab—"

His words are cut short, ended.

"Oh," you gasp. “Let me take that; and how much do I owe you?”

On registering your words, his eyes narrow, staring.

Doing so from one eye to the next. It taking a while, brain firing, ticking over, taking precious seconds as he remains out in the cold and you stand in the warmth in barely fucking anything, before it dawns on him. Crawls up over him as realises what it is you’re pretending to do, what you're reenacting.

Lips lifting, curling into one of his cheeks he steps in through the doorway. Almost over the threshold, easily able to take another step and close the door behind him.

But he waits.

Fingers twitch at his side, Frankie swallows, eyes dropping, tracing up the bare backs of your thighs as you bend over. Because fuck, you're something beautiful. A thing he always thinks, but finds himself reminded in waves as they crash into him.

Raising his hand, he itches across his chin, scratching along the wiry hair there as his gaze drops to the thin fabric protecting the last bit of your modesty as you and the bits of lace spread across your ass—

“I only have card—unless, I can pay you in another way?”

This shouldn’t be real.

You, like this. Him, standing like this. Not even as he steps inside, eyes trained on you—forgetting what words even mean—as you bend over.

A low exhale escapes, lips remaining parted as he fights to place his palm on the back of your thigh—stops himself from hooking a finger in the band of your underwear and dragging it down your thighs, bending you over the sofa, and burying his—

“I would really like to pay you in some way.”

Your words are almost lost due to the way his pulse has quickened in his ears, thundering, pounding. Feeling nothing but discomfort as his cock hardens against the zip of his pants as you bite down on your lip.

Brain quiet, no thoughts, all rendered silent by your appearance. Only able to shift enough to discard his cap, his jacket—folding it over the back of the sofa, eyes drawing out over you as he takes a step closer. Fingers finding his wrist, pinching, making sure this isn't some dream he hasn't woken up from.

But he can smell the present. The glorious cheese and several toppings, even if devouring the pizza are long forgotten. Because his eyes are raking over you, because how could he not—especially now as you straighten up, softly wiggling your hips.

"Is that so?” his voice rough, words catching. Letters clagging at the back of his teeth as though they attempted to glue to his mouth.

He's aware the three words are stained with want—a small, knowing smile tugging at your lips as you turn to face him, knowing it too.

But then, you always do know. Having long figured him out.

Like always, your eyes meet his in a way he can never explain, no words to articulate, to explain—just shared understanding dancing between the two of you.

“It’s only right,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, your fingers reaching out to trace his wire-stubbled jawline. “It’s bad of me to order food and not have the money to pay.”

He catches your wrist, gently but firmly. Pulling you close, steadying you with the other at your waist. Hearing it, the gasp, the briefest of indications you'd been caught by surprise, as he brushes his fingers against the fabric, all unable to stop themself. Half-needing to know what it feels like, as his thumb smooths out, taking his time—forcing the tension to buzz in the air as he leans closer. The distance you small, minimal—almost non-existent—as his breath hitches in his throat.

“You know what you’re getting into?” his voice a low growl, strained.

His gaze locked on you, watching you bite on your lower lip. “I really don’t like being in debt.”

It’s low, the way he replies. Short, two words: okay baby, before he’s leading, guiding, pecking kisses on your lips that likely leave you disorientated. It thrumming in his veins, the fact he gets to undo you, peel off the thin fabric you’ve likely had stuffed at the back of the closet—or even purchased with him in mind on your trip, thighs pressed together, wondering, finger and thumb stroking it as you imagine if he'd rip it off or slowly slide it from you.

He's not sure himself.

A part of him wishes to snap it from your frame in front of open blinds and undrawn curtains. To place his palm on your ass and taste your gasp on his tongue.

But another, the part which has missed you, wishes to wait. Make you wait. Wants to drag it out as long as humanly possible, have you soaked, wet, needy and desperate.

Because Frankie wonders if you've imagined this. Or, if you plotted it or it came to you randomly.

He gets an answer to it when the two of you are behind another door—one more private, intimate.

And it feels different in the bedroom than it did out in the living room.

The lighting being one of the reasons.

In here, you had opted for a darker shade when you’d both redecorated. Told him you preferred it, and had given him a shrug and a smile as you did. It had been a while later when he’d learned it was for him. For his eyes, for the sleep he struggled to grasp. It’ll help, I think? Saying it to him as though it wasn’t the kindest fucking thing someone had done for him.

But then, you are a waking dream.

A thing which has shaped itself and made itself real right before his eyes. Sculpted yourself from wishes and wants, shaping until you’re nothing but tangible and real.

He’s not afraid to tell you that either. Spends hours whispering it into your skin, pressing it close to your ear, repeating it over and over what perfection you are as you look at him with lust-blown eyes and lips parted around his name.

Frankie doubts it’s enough.

Least of all now, when you’re painted in soft white light, all gentle in how it rolls over you, as it becomes clear you’ve been home for a while.

You've drawn the blackout curtains—keeping out the evening—and you'd flicked the little bedside lamp on, doing its best to illuminate the room.

Swallowing, he traces his teeth over his tongue, wondering if you watched him reverse off the drive as you waited to make your move. Wondering if you're snuck in, trying not to disturb—dress yourself up, even if you never need to.

Because you’re a vision always.

The most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Even angry because he's left his tools out or with disappointment etched into your eyes because he’s forgotten something, you’re radiant, a goddess on earth.

A thing he finds himself reminded of as he steps closer to you. Fingers fiddling at his side as begins to close the small gap.

If not for the way he’s looking at you, he might have missed the shiver running through you from anticipation—and he knows it because of his action, due to the hungry look he's sure he's sporting as he raises his hands to remove his outer shirt. Balling it up, throwing it, a thing already unremembered before it even leaves his fingers.

"Frankie..."

"I know, just keep your eyes on me."

And you do, ever obedient. A thing no one would believe him off outside of these four walls. Not when you hold yourself strong and are quick to bite back, all wit and quick-thinking in addition to your brains and beauty.

He hooks a finger under the edge of his t-shirt, dragging it up over his head as he hears it—that little hiss, that slight gasp you do as though you’ve not seen him topless a thousand times.

It feels good. Makes heat rise up his neck and flood his ears. For a moment, he forgets he’s not all that. Because he’s soft, a little thicker around the middle, it feels like a lifetime ago he was trained in combat. But the way you look at him makes him feel like that is the furthest thing from the truth.

Fuck, you make him hard. Make him want. Have done since the moment you’d given him half a chance.

It’s why he's quick to pull you close, desperate to slant his mouth over yours. All fiery, hungry. Aiming to claim and write out all the ways he’s thought of you in the days since you’d been away. How the hours of you being gone and the amount he’s missed you have all balled up into a thing that is now fuelling him—sketching his wishes and desires across your lips, against your tongue, burying them past your teeth so they sit in your throat.

He grasps. Likely leaves marks of it on the perfect skin that covers your waist—because his palm is calloused and worn. Reminders of holding things not half as soft as you. A flicker of guilt almost bubbles in his, as he moves to rest it on your cheek, cradling your jaw and ear in one hand, as he slides the other up your back.

You whimper against his teeth before fingers find the clasp—finger and thumb, pinging it open before he feels fabric scrape against him—then you moan.

His chest being greeted with nothing but warm, smooth bare skin—nipples pebbling in the cooler air before being pressed against him, before he cups the swell of one, thumb stroking, playing a pattern.

“Do this for all the deliveries you get?”

You snort, it blowing out in a breath. “Only the ones with packages I like.”

In the time you’ve been together, you’ve said worse, but this time makes cock harden more than it already is. It's almost uncomfortable, in how it presses against his zipper, wishing to be released, as his index and thumb stroke over your skin. Taking it on how warm you are, how impossibly soft—distantly feeling the tremors from your heart hammering into your ribs.

"Too good for me, you are." You hum, as he seals his mouth back over yours. “But, I don’t take card.”

Purposefully, he drops his hand, fingers dipping, tracing across the lace that covers your slit—finding damp fabric as his ears take in the note of a quiet escape leaving your lips. It trying to bury itself between your two mouths open, breathing it in.

“Guess you’ll have to swipe something else.”

He snorts, and buries it into your neck, teeth grazing your skin—nose catching the scent of your perfume. And the scent almost makes him dizzy from how his blood rushes south. How the moment he’d dropped you off for your flight, it had lingered in the cabin of his truck. Remaining there for the first few days you were gone, before slowly fading. Leaving.

Just there on the coat you'd hung near the door and the pillows he slept beside.

The ones he rested his head against when he’d heard your voice down the phone, tell me to touch myself, Frankie, I need you. His own hand wrapped around his cock, stroking it as you moaned his name, all those miles away, dripping instructions into your ear.

“You're such a dirty girl.”

You grin in response, fingers tugging at his curls—urging his mouth back to yours.

But, he instead traces his tongue over your pulse, circling it, all defiant in bowing to you as his teeth trace over his path. Instead, his finger dips, traces the crease of your thigh with his gaze never leaving yours.

“Missed you,” you whisper.

His hand slides between your thighs, cupping you—feeling the discernible wetness soaked through.

“Can feel it.”

You scoff, but he kisses it away.

Doing so in a similar way to how he makes you forget, how he pulls you from your mind and brings you to the present. It’s also swallowed by another gasp, one made because of his fingers finding the edge of the lace, hooking a finger underneath, sliding the pad of his thumb against your swollen nerves and slick entrance.

"So wet for me," he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the whine you emit. “Feelin’ needy, querida?”

And he can’t take his eyes off you.

Practically locked in, watching as your lips part, and your hips try to shift for more friction. He’s too fearful he’ll miss it, all of it—a slight curve of a brow or a shimmer on your eyes. All things he thinks over when he dreams, when he wishes for replays of moments until the next day when he makes another that easily replaces a good one.

He likes how you say his name when he slips another finger inside you—how it falls all soft, breathless. So much intention in such a low sound. Even as you squirm, mouth pausing over his; little mewls and moans falling as he drags them in and out, all languorous, teasing.

“Want you.”

His thumb brushes over your swollen clit, a hiss escaping. “I know.”

You gasp his name, stifle a moan, teeth biting down on the underside of your lower lip as your lashes flutter. It’s your nails digging into his scalp that keeps him rooted, that keeps him focused—precise touches and strokes that have you rocking against him and keep him tuned in to you.

“Missed how you sound, baby. You're doing so well.”

You’re close. His words make your perfect pussy clench around him. A chorus of moans escaping as he curls them inside of you, finds that spot, the one which makes you babble and turns your muscles into liquid.

He likes that he can do this.

That he can read you and undo you. That it’s a thing he’s mastered when he’d thought he was far from learning. But then, he’d taken great pride in spending hours studying—in alternating between being on his back and on his knees.

And because of that, he knows when he halt you over the edge. Let you linger, not tipping.

Normally, he’d never tease, never make you want—but, today is a different kind of day as he stops. As he retracts his fingers and allows the fabric to lightly snap back into place.

It’s a different whine that cuts into the room then. It pours out from your lips as your eyes dig daggers into him—but, he knows you.

Knows it’s momentary and nothing he can’t fix. Able to hold his ground against it, digging heels into the floor—all refusing to be swayed by the storm rising inside of you, creeping across the formerly tranquil sea. Instead, his hands move to his belt—undoing it, metal clanging and zip sliding down as your eyes break from glaring to stare hungrily at the outline of his cock.

Watching as you walk backwards, the back of your knees hitting the bed before you’re perching—eyes holding his, tip of your tongue sweeping, tracing, as you move further up the bed. The one you’d picked—chosen.

He’s in a trance.

Under a spell when you hook a thumb on either side of your underwear.

It’s not smooth, it doesn’t glide or remove with ease—there’s even a slight kick out of your legs before it flings from your ankle. But, it makes him tighten the hold on his cock. Because it may not be a thing people ever see on TV or in movies, but then they never feel like this.

They don’t feel real, no rawness, no tangling of his trousers he has to step out of as he strokes himself, eyes flicking down to where you’re bare—where you’re glistening—

“Wanna ride you, Frank.”

He sucks in a shuddering breath, hands gripping the base of his cock.

It’s slow, the way he grazes his teeth over his lower lip. “S’that how you wanna pay me, yeah?”

“All I’ve thought about,” you reply, a soft smile greeting him. “Lemme ride you—wanna look at you, wanna watch you come, baby.”

Fuck. He doesn’t fight it.

Instead, letting you guide him, allowing you to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw when he kneels on the bed and groans—because it’s been a long day, querida; he’s not as young as he once was.

“Still know how to be good, though. Don’t you?” you smirk, open mouth leaving a trail down his neck, eyes flicking up when you leave one in the space above his heart.

Hands behind his head, admiring, doing nothing but watching you place your thighs on either side of his as your fingers wrap around his wrists. You pin him, pressing down—aching cock ignored, left to leak against his hip as your lips press to his, over and over, and over until he’s chasing for the feel of them when you pull back.

You only offer a gentle, "I missed you," against the air before you're lining him up, bearing down, sinking, taking him in as he paints a groan against your collarbone.

There’s a beat, maybe two.

Stillness, enveloped entirely by your walls as his mouth wraps itself around your breast, leaving it wet, coated in spit as he groans when you begin to move. Setting a rhythm, slow.

“Not rushing this, Frankie.”

He never wishes you to.

His hands gripping your hips, guiding you. Head falling back onto the sheets as his breath hitches, the sight of you atop him, breasts bouncing—owning him—is a sight he could never grow tired of. One he also never feels worthy of—but he won’t squander, won’t ruin.

Because you’re perfect, head to toe—pussy made for him as it strokes up and down and breaths leave your mouth in short pants.

“Y’so good to me, Frankie. So handsome.”

And he wants to tell you that it's you who is so good—who is nothing but colour in an otherwise grey world. That you’re sunshine and stars, moon and so much more goodness than he can list buried inside of you.

“Go on, querida,” he grunts through clenched teeth, hands squeezing your hips a little tighter as you move a little faster.

As you take a little more. It makes your eyes flutter, parts your lips—watching in nothing short of awe as you use him, as you lose yourself in the moment.

"That's it, just let go. Make yourself feel good.”

It’s something majestic when he sees you nearing release—when he feels you clench and flutter.

“Feels good, y’feel good inside me baby.”

“You need more?”

And you nod.

The green light—the sign—and he doesn’t wait a moment.

Just canting his hips up, making a rush of pleasure spread up his spine. He’s lightheaded, hot—practically dizzy with how good you feel enveloped around him.

The noises filling the air, your slick walls taking him and the sound of skin slapping against skin. It’s drowned by the noises he pulls from you, making a mess of you as your lust-blown eyes land on him.

It almost steals his breath. Thieves it.

Because you’re so pretty, wild—a fucking dream on top of him. All soft and shimmering with perspiration from how good you ride him as he’s bathed in whines, moans and cries of his name.

“You're perfect,” he says, hand clamping on your hip as he shifts, and angles himself before thrusting up into you—watching your eyes squeeze shut. “From your smile to your tight pussy. You know that?”

Studying you as you try to keep the same rhythm. But, you’re nearing your climax—nails digging into his shoulder and neck, half-moons etched there, and he hopes they take hours to disappear.

“Thought about you all week—”

You moan, eyes meeting his. “Thought about you too—missed you. Missed how good you make me feel.”

“Fucked my fist to the thought of you like this. Never thought—fuck—I’d come home to this, baby. Y’fuckin’ perfect.”

Your chin lifts, neck elongating as he spreads his palm across your side, fingers pressing, grasping.

“Love hearing how much you missed me,” he smirks, watching you—thinking nothing but revolving thoughts as to how pretty you look, what a picture you are on top of him—

Then he hears a slam. Heavy boots. A voice he'd rather not hear at all:

“Fish? You home?”

He stops, realisation slamming into him.

A hand drops to the bedsheets, grasping them so hard his knuckles pale, and throb—the bones in his hand aching as he fights shouting and blowing his load right there and then.

The plans he’d made—the ones he’d put into place because you weren’t supposed to be home—all coming back to bite him. How he hadn’t wanted to spend another night alone, another evening in front of the television until you could call and tell him about your day—when he should have. He really fucking should have.

And you’re frozen, hips halted in place—his other hand remaining on your waist, fingers digging in as you both tense, keeping movements paused.

He considers it, the two choices he has and decides.

Leaning more against you—half-grinning, whispering shh as you look at him full of alarm—suddenly aware of the impending actuality that you could be caught like this.

And, then you clench around him. He feels it. Head tilting and eyes narrowing as he takes you in.

"Dirty girl," he mouths, and you look bashful, shy—a look he rarely sees when you’re split open on his cock and the base of him is covered in your slick.

“Fish, where the fuck are you?”

“Getting changed Ben, be a min.”

Your pussy flutters around him at your shout, as he moves to not shout the words towards your ear—feeling you clamp down, muffling a whimper. Another falls as he lifts up further onto his palm, dragging his nose down the valley between your breasts.

He knows you’re close—teetering, a few more thrusts and you’d have unravelled.

Dropping his voice, low—barely above a whisper, “Shh, baby. Or, I won’t let you finish.”

“Fuck,” you hiss. “Can‘t, Frankie—I can’t.”

He nods, finger and thumb holding your chin because he knows you can. Seen you do so much, and been witness to what you’re capable of—before his hand guides your hips to begin moving, thumb drawing soothing circles on your hips.

“Touch yourself for me, querida. Be good for me.”

And you whimper, something akin to his name.

But he’s guiding his mouth away, shouting, “Beers in the fridge, Ben.”

His mouth presses to your chest, hearing the shout from his friend back, but it’s the sound of your fingers on your slick and swollen clit that he tunes into. That he wants to flood his ears. Watching you shiver, shake, tremble from it as you tighten around him, choking his cock as he begins to thrust in and out.

He could keep you here. Should do too.

One week has already been too long. A need to make up for it—to have you pay for all the times you ask him those questions you wait until the lights are usually out for and he’s about to tip over to sleep; have you press yourself against him, nudging your ass into him as you cuddle, but really you want his mouth between your thighs. He should edge you, hang you over the edge of pleasure and watch your eyes dig into him until your lips whisper the word beginning with P.

But he won’t.

Couldn’t.

He likes knowing he pleases you too much.

Your moan bringing him back to it. Seeing how your eyes are clenched shut, trying to keep it behind your teeth. Failing, expletives dropping in breaths before he raises his hand, pressing it to your mouth, muffling it, the moans you have to release before you shake your head and fold into him.

Suddenly, he wants to move the dresser and lock the two of you in here. Wants to let them watch whatever fucking sports they want out there, and him just watch you in here.

You’re his favourite sight, after all. Especially like this. Free, not overthinking or worrying, just present, feeling as good as you should—as good as he always wants you to feel.

And you deserve this.

Hearing the low please fall before he plants his feet down, angling his cock up into you as you let out a muffled gasp. His palm flat to your shoulder, steadying you, as he feels your fingers slide it to your collarbone, resting it, fingers an inch away from the base of your neck.

You flick your eyes open—smothering him in permission, in radiant sunshine and lust, before the softest fucking smirk graces your lips—as his own mouth chokes out your name.

“Not tonight.”

It’s less words, and more a noise.

Because he’s close too—it having risen close to the top. Toes clenched around the sheets, digging in.

But he wants to feel you come first. And it’s there—that familiar sign. Lashes fluttering, gorgeous mouth going tight, slack as you tighten around him, locking up, clamping down as your hips move sloppily and out of rhythm.

You’re so fucking close.

“Shh, be good for me.”

Fingers, trembling and weak, slide around the base of his neck, tugging on his curls that are likely slick with sweat.

“N‘gonna last—let go for me baby.”

“Please.”

“Come for me.”

Spearing up into you with more vigour as you rasp, groan, and hiss—spit coating his fingers as he slides them out, dropping his hand from you as his knuckles press to the mattress as he fucks up into you.

Your body bucks, a cry you bury into his neck—a drag of nails against his scalp—as you come undone around him. Convulsing. Muffled cries vibrating against his pulse.

Frankie is barely able to contain the low growl as his hips stutter—heat raging through him, joined by rabid electricity. It sparking, ripping through, making him both ache and feel alive.

The sight of you and the feel of you drives him to the edge—and then over. A grip on your hip all tight as he thrusts into you one final time, unable to contain the growl. His chest heaves as he spills inside of you, and you tremble against him—panting, all messy and boneless as he pulls you with him as he rolls onto his back.

"You're incredible," he breathes into your ear, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your neck.

You let out a small laugh, a soft, content sigh escaping your lips. "So are you."

He smiles against your skin, his heart swelling with affection. He may have assumed he'd seen everything, but you—you continue to surprise him, to captivate him in ways he never thought possible. And he wouldn't have it any other way.

Pulling his mouth from yours, feeling you ease him out of you, his hand lightly slaps you on the back of your bare ass.

"I missed you, querida," he murmurs, heart still racing in his chest.

Meeting his gaze, your lips purse. "I know," you whisper, leaning in to capture his lips in a tender kiss. "I'm here now."

“Shame you’ll have to sneak out the back and come in through the front door. Otherwise, you’ll be in here all night—”

His words trail off, a sly grin tugging at his lips as it dawns, rises up over your face and makes your mouth fall open. “Francisco….”

“Shoulda' told me you were coming home. It's boys night.”

Narrowing your eyes, you tick your jaw—spine straightening. “Well, I could stay in here—like this…”

Smirking, he kisses your nose. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, baby.”

Your mouth opens, a smirk gracing his lips in response as he raises a finger to his mouth, moving and pressing a kiss to your knee. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

#frankie morales x reader #francisco morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #francisco morales smut #frankie morales smut #frankie morales x you #frankie morales #francisco morales fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier x reader #pedro pascal characters #francisco catfish morales x reader #catfish morales x reader #pedrostories #frankie morales x reader smut

477 notes · View notes

theragethatisdesire · 1 year ago

Text

three's a... - jean kirschstein x afab!reader x eren jaeger - 18+!!!

i feel like i have mentioned the possibility of giving y'all an erejean threesome way too many times to keep holding out on you, so now that i've finally nitpicked this fic to death, here we are!! literally living my dreams vicariously through this fic. i'm still not 100% happy with it, but eren and jean are sexy here and are doing half of the work of making this worth the read for me lolol. it's also written mostly through jean's pov which was interesting to play with.

pairing: eren jaeger x reader x jean kirschstein

wc: 6.5k

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

CWs: smut, consensual hook-up, threesome, established relationship (eren's ur perfect bf and u guys can't stop having sex with jean lol), unprotected sex, oral sex (male receiving), face fucking, rough sex, vaginal fingering, degradation, biting, dirty talk, penetrative vaginal sex, anal (fingering and fucking), swearing, use of names (slut, brat, pretty girl, good girl, angel), mean dom eren vs soft dom jean, multiple orgasm, dacryphilia/crying, creampie, double penetration, bicurious jean and bicurious eren (tasty, they definitely don't keep their hands to themselves), polyamory implied

buckle up, this was a blast to write and i hope it's equally as fun to read. enjoy <33

Jean should definitely not be here.

He should absolutely not be on his living room couch with Eren Jaeger’s girlfriend’s head in his lap, playing idly with her hair. By all traditional conventions and rules of exclusive relationships, Jean’s fairly sure that letting your girlfriend rest her head on the crotch of your roommate while he strokes her hair is on the no-no list. Not for Eren, apparently, who has your feet in his lap on the other end of the couch, playing with your toes absentmindedly and making you giggle and kick him in protest. Jean should not be here, but you and Eren have made a habit of roping him into circumstances that he would never admit to, not even at gunpoint.

If Jean is brutally, painfully honest with himself, he knows he had gotten himself into this. You were just so cute, wisping around their apartment in a big tshirt and tiny shorts in the mornings, always making sure to save him a cup of coffee. Maybe he had let his lingering glances linger just a little too long, smirked over his coffee mug at you one too many times, come up behind you to help you reach something on the top shelf and leaned a little too close, Jean couldn’t pinpoint exactly what caused Eren to notice his clear attraction towards you, but he did. Instead of getting his ass kicked like he had expected when you and Eren sat down to confront him, Jean had learned something.

Eren Jaeger has a greedy, spoiled brat of a girlfriend.

That had been the first time Jean came in you, fucking into your throat while Eren watched from across the room, palming over the bulge in his jeans. The second time, the two of you had invited Jean out for a drink, which, in hindsight, he should have seen the ulterior motive from a mile away. He had ended up cumming in your pussy, bending you over in the bar bathroom with Eren’s cock in your mouth. The third time had been in Eren’s bedroom as you rode him, Eren sitting behind you and working your hips over Jean’s cock as you wailed.

Jean had stopped his ministrations in your hair as he was reflecting on how exactly he got into this situation, trying very hard not to think too far into the filthy details to prevent propping your head up with an erection. You make a little noise of discontent, grabbing at his hands and urging them back to your hair.

“Jean, don’t stop. Feels good.”

Jean’s mouth tightens into a thin line at your choice of words, words he’s heard from you before under very different circumstances, but he obliges. So much for self control. Eren raises a smug eyebrow at him from across the couch.

“You’re giving her what she wants, right, Kirschtein?”

Jesus, you two are insatiable, still managing to grate on Jean’s razor-thin willpower with all of your clothes on. Jean wonders briefly what the appeal is for Eren, if he gets off on watching you take another man’s cock, bring another man near to tears with your warm, silken cunt. Does Eren enjoy dangling you in front of Jean until he’s forced to give in? Eren’s gaze lingers on Jean’s hands, threading through your hair, awaiting an answer.

“Yeah,” Jean says, not trusting any more words to his loose lips. They’ve already betrayed him three times now, saying yes when they should have been saying no.

“Good,” Eren responds simply, offering a small smile that, to anyone else, looks innocent. Jean knows Eren better than that. He watches as Eren’s hand travels up your bare leg, coming to rest on your upper thigh. You’re affected by it, such a simple touch, such a sensitive little body; he can feel you tense over his thighs.

Jean steels his jaw and forces his eyes back over to the movie. He’s got to stop playing these fucked up games of yours, it’s bad for him and he knows it. He hasn’t dated in months, not since you’d first pulled him into your little world, can’t bring himself to look at anyone else, can’t stand the thought of feeling anyone else’s skin under his fingers. His little crush has bloomed into full-blown lovesickness, and it would be best for him if he just stopped.

All of that ironclad willpower melts away in an instant when you let out a little moan.

Eren’s hand has snuck its way up to your shorts, nudging at the apex of your thighs. His focus is still trained on whatever reality show you’ve put on, completely ignoring the way you sigh under his touch. Jean’s cock twitches in his pants; this is his opportunity to hesitate, to say no, but he stays silent, only watching as you squirm in his lap.

“Eren,” your chastisement comes out as a breath. One of your hands comes to meet Eren’s, trying to push him away, but he simply swats your hand, shooting you a stern look.

“Behave,” Eren warns, eyes dark and dangerous. Jean’s learned that Eren’s mean to you, snappy when you put on your little attitude and fight back, but Jean doesn’t have the willpower. He holds you gently while he fucks into you hard, gives you anything you ask for.

You bite your lip and turn your head back to the TV, one hand coming up to pull Jean’s away from your head, wrapping your fingers around his. Jean’s breath hitches in his throat when you squeeze tight, back arching like you’re holding back a moan; Eren’s worked his way into your panties now, rubbing little circles over your clit.

“Look, Jaeger,” Jean makes a half-hearted attempt to remove himself, pulling his hand from yours and making all the movements to suggest he’s going to stand up, “I should–”

“What?” Eren cocks his head, as casual as if they’re discussing the weather. “Look at her, you really gonna just leave her there like that while I’m teasing her?”

Against his better judgment, Jean flicks his eyes down towards you. It’s a pitiful sight, your eyes already glossed over and staring up at him, wide and pleading, your bottom lip tucked in tight between your teeth.

“Jean,” his name comes out of your mouth, broken and already heady with arousal. That’s what snaps his resolve clean in two. You need him.

“What is it?” Jean hates the fondness in his voice, so glaringly obvious in front of your fucking boyfriend. Eren doesn’t seem to mind, though; he picks up speed, making you wriggle impatiently.

“Wanna kiss,” you whimper, reaching up towards his face.

“Don’t,” Eren stops Jean from leaning down, “she’s been bad today.”

“Is that so?” Jean rubs a thumb over your lips, frowning down at you. He can see the guilt in the way your brows knit together; oh, you have been bad, and you know it.

“Wouldn’t stop begging me for you, wanted to snuggle with Jeanie,” Eren raises his voice to mock you, slapping a hand against your clit and making you jump.

Jean’s face burns; is this it? Is this finally Eren telling him that you’re off-limits, finally deciding that Jean’s had his fill? And he’s going to rub it in his face by torturing you on Jean’s lap?

“Tell him,” Eren demands, another sharp smack landing on your cunt.

“Didn’t want to wait t-til you got home,” your face is already blotchy, eyes clouded with shame, “wanted Eren to text you and make you leave work.”

“And what did I say?”

“Be patient,” your voice wavers, Jean’s heart pounds in his ears, “and Jean would come take care of me.”

“So needy,” Eren tuts down at you, cruelly shoving a finger into your wet heat and instantly removing it, drawing a breathy whine from you, “see?”

Eren’s offering his finger to Jean, shining with slick, eyebrows lifted insistently. Jean narrows his eyes, cocks his head. What game is he playing at?

“What, don’t want a taste?” Eren’s eyes glint in the low light, taunting him. Jean leans forward hesitantly, lets the other man slide a thick finger between his lips. You always taste so good, salty and tangy; Jean feels a groan rumble deep in his chest. The corner of Eren’s mouth curls ever so slightly. Whatever game he’s playing, Jean’s losing. “Touch her, but no kisses. She has to behave if she wants that.”

You pout, bottom lip still wobbling where you’ve pushed it out, but you arch your back a little, straining your tits against your tank top. Jean knows you well enough by now, knows you chose that thin little top and didn’t wear a bra just for him, just to tempt him. You have been bad, but Jean doesn’t care, could never care when you’re looking up at him all sweet and needy. But he knows better than to disobey Eren’s rules, for your sake. Eren will edge you for the rest of the night, make himself cum, and leave you out to dry.

“Jean, please–”

“Sh,” Jean shushes you, sits you up just a little so he can pull your tank top over your head, “I’ve gotcha. Just be good for us, alright?”

You nod and smile drunkenly as he cups your breasts, kneading your nipples between his fingers. They’re one of his favorite things about you; he can’t resist leaning down to place sloppy, open-mouthed kisses along your hot skin, lick around your nipples just light enough to tease. Maybe Jean can be a little mean too.

“More,” you gasp, fingers coming to clutch at his head, “more, I– oh!”

Jean’s eyes flit down your body to see Eren’s now got two long fingers shoved knuckle-deep in you, curling them fast enough to make you cry out, roll your hips up towards him. If he looks closely, he can see a wet patch forming on the crotch of your shorts; it makes his cock throb. He’s never met a woman that gets as wet as you, filthy at the slightest touch.

“You’re so messy,” Jean voices his mind without exactly meaning to, pulling himself from you so he can prop you up against his chest and let you look at the mess you’ve made. You give him a little whine of protest, tilting your chin up towards him, searching for his mouth.

“Please, I want–”

“I know what you want,” Jean thumbs at your lip, “he’s mean, isn’t he? Making you behave yourself when all you want is a little love, isn’t that right?”

“Mhm,” you manage to shoot a scathing glare at Eren that makes Jean chuckle, makes Eren smack your thigh hard enough to echo throughout the room.

“Stupid little slut,” Eren growls, moving his fingers faster, “you’re just all about Jean because he spoils you, aren't you? Someone has to make sure you behave yourself.”

Jean’s eyes widen; Eren’s clearly in a mood today, and Jean hopes it doesn’t have anything to do with his presence. Eren’s a mixed bag most times. Jean’s overheard him making soft, quiet love to you, little praises slipping out from the crack in his bedroom door, but Jean’s also watched Eren edge you to the point of tears, spit on your cunt, spank you until you bruise. Maybe Eren’s jealousy finally is getting the better of him, Jean thinks, maybe he just can’t say no to your insatiable appetite, and he is actually pissed that you had begged him for Jean.

“Jean,” you’re clutching at his shirt, moaning pathetically as Eren sucks harsh bites into your thighs.

“Did it to yourself,” Jean shakes his head at you sadly, “you know better than to make him mad.”

“Shut her up,” Eren nods his head at your mouth meaningfully, “I’ve heard enough out of her for today.”

It takes some awkward repositioning, but Jean’s able to pull his cock out, tap it against your tongue where you’ve already got your mouth hanging open, drool pooling on his lap under your cheek.You shove yourself up with some effort, and take Jean almost to the hilt on your first go, slurping lewdly around him. Jean nearly chokes.

“Oh, you are needy today,” he hisses, threading his fingers through your hair, making sure his view remains unobstructed. “That what you wanted? My cock in your throat?”

You manage a stiff nod around him in between the muffled moans you’re letting out around his cock; Eren’s added his thumb to the mix now, pulling your panties to the side so he can swipe at your clit.

“She was fuckin’ drooling for it earlier,” Eren says, meeting Jean’s eyes with a smirk, “should have seen her, all pouty and sad because her Jeanie wasn’t here. Pathetic.”

In the small part of Jean’s brain that’s still able to think rationally with his cock nudging at your gag reflex, he’s frowning in confusion. Eren is pissed at you because you were begging for Jean, and here he is spurring Jean on in fucking into your throat. It makes no fucking sense, really, but Jean’s getting his dick sucked, and not for the first time, by the woman he’s been pining after for months, so who is he to question it?

“Mmph!” You squeal, mouth too full to form a real sound, hips canting up violently towards Eren. Eren laughs, low and cruel.

“Aw, I think she’s gonna cum soon,” Eren pulls his fingers from you, a tear slips down your cheek. “Pity.”

Your cry of protest is whimpered by Jean standing up slightly, angling his hips to plunge as deep as he can. He’s only had his cock in your mouth a few times, but Jean’s intuitive. He knows how much you can take, knows exactly how far to push you before it’s too much.

“Don’t whine, baby,” Jean huffs, “just gonna make him more mad. He won’t let me help you if you don’t behave.”

“Look at you,” Eren runs his hands along your thighs, leans down to press a chaste kiss over where you’ve ruined your shorts, “being a good girl for us. S’that what it takes for you to behave? Need both of us?”

If Jean’s not mistaken, the garbled sound you make around him is one of agreement. The thought goes straight between his legs, brings him far closer to the edge than he’d like to be at this point. He pulls your mouth off of him, making you pout.

“But–”

“I know, I know, you want it,” Jean rubs an affectionate thumb over your cheek, “but you want me to fuck you, too, right?”

“Please,” you breathe, reaching down to wiggle your shorts off. Eren’s face lights up.

“Wanna show him your little surprise, baby?” Eren’s tugging at your shorts now, ripping them off and tossing them to the sides. He puts his hands under your arms, yanking you out of Jean’s lap and throwing your chest over his shoulders. When Eren’s hands come to your cheeks, spreading them so Jean can see, Jean’s heart nearly stops. There’s a little pink rhinestone glittering where your asshole should be– a plug, keeping you open and ready. Eren meets Jean’s eyes, daring. “She picked it out just for us. Want us both, don’t you? Nasty little thing.”

Eren punctuates his statement with a grin and a sharp slap to your ass that makes you jump, nod desperately from behind him. Jean reaches a cautious hand over, puts two fingers around the toy and pulls lightly, just enough to watch it move in you. You whine; he can see your empty cunt flutter.

“Can she take it? Both of us?”

“Oh yeah,” Eren brushes off Jean’s concern, “been using all her little toys for weeks, making me practice with her. She can take it.”

With that, Jean’s standing, padding into his room and knowing Eren’s following with you still tossed over his shoulder. His head spins; you, his precious little toy, have been stretching yourself out, getting yourself ready to have two cocks in you? The thought nearly makes Jean moan to himself, imagining how tight you’ll be all stuffed full.

Eren’s thrown you on the bed none too gently, stripping as you look up at him, hearts in your eyes. He stops midway through pulling his clothes off to grab your chin, offer your pleading gaze to Jean.

“Why don’t you ask him, hm?” Eren coos, looking between you and Jean with a filthy grin on his face. “Ask him again, see if you’ve been good.”

“Will you kiss me, Jean? Please?” Your voice has that thin, fucked out tone to it that drives Jean crazy, makes him want to make you cry.

“Yeah princess, I’ll kiss you.” He leans down, takes your soft mouth in his, Eren never releasing his hold on your chin. Jean can taste himself on your tongue, smiling appreciatively at the salty tang. Eren rips you away far too soon, pressing his mouth down on you far rougher than Jean had. They balance each other well, Jean thinks, the gentle caresses and the sharp slaps that make you come undone under them in a way neither of them can manage alone.

“On your knees, brat,” Eren sneers, the shred of tenderness that he’d grabbed your face with long-gone, “convince us to fuck you stupid.”

You nod obediently, sliding off the bed and onto your knees, reaching for Jean. He steps forward, letting you hold his cock in your little hand, rub up and down while you take Eren in your mouth. Even your hands are enough to drive him crazy, so soft and supple around him; Jean’s head falls back.

“Fuck,” Eren sucks a sharp breath in between his teeth, “that’s it, baby, take it.”

Something possesses Jean, what it is he can’t be sure, but he reaches a hand down to the back of your head, pushing you further down Eren’s length. He half-expects Eren to chastise him for it, but Eren groans, long and loud, a sound that simmers in Jean’s stomach.

Jean watches the contractions of Eren’s abs, trails his eyes up to where the other man’s strong chest is heaving, a strange, hot sensation trickling through his center. It’s too late to look away once he realizes he’s been caught, but instead of finding amusement when he meets Eren’s eyes, Jean finds something else entirely.

Eren’s looking at Jean the way he looks at you, all lusty and uninhibited. Jean nearly scowls at him, everything he’s internalized over the years rearing its head in his chest, but Eren stops him with a hand wrapped around the back of Jean’s neck. In the blink of an eye, there’s a set of lips on his, a sharp tongue licking into his mouth.

Jean lets out a wanton, strung out moan that Eren swallows, echoes with one of his own. Jean notices that your head has stilled under his hand, and he shoves you back onto Eren’s cock mindlessly, relishing in the way Eren’s mouth stutters against his own when you retch around him. He trails his hand, tentative and exploratory, up to Eren’s hair, grabs the bun at the back of his head and pulls. Jean’s surprised at the heat beneath his palm; he’s always known Eren runs hot, especially after the last few times he’s fucked you. It’s only natural to brush arms, brush legs during the act, but Eren’s skin is scalding, damp with sweat under his touch.

It’s not Jean’s first kiss with a man, not by any means, but he’d never guessed that Eren, headstrong, manly, unreadable Eren, had this in him. Had it been hiding there for all of these years? Was it a spur of the moment thing, that Eren would look back on and cringe at later?

Doubt getting the better of him, Jean breaks first, pulls away with a quiet smacking sound. Eren’s eyes are just as wide as his feel, searching Jean’s face for any sign of regret, of satisfaction, of something. A loud whine from below distracts them both, and whatever odd moment was forming is broken as they look down at you.

Your chin is covered in drool from where you’ve been choking on Eren, gagging around him, and your eyes are glossy and needy. Jean’s cock gets impossibly harder.

“What?” Eren taunts. “You jealous that I kissed your Jeanie?”

“Yeah,” you pout, brows knitting, but Jean can see the arousal written into your features. You liked it.

“Get up,” Jean says to you, voice hard and unforgiving.

You follow his instruction, standing on shaking legs. Jean can see the snark in your eyes before it comes out of your lips. “What, finally going to pay attention to me now?”

As soon as the words have left your mouth, Eren’s hand is around your jaw, wrenching it open for him to spit into your mouth. “Don’t fucking talk back, not if you want to cum.”

“You were doing so good,” Jean rubs a hand over your hip, guiding you to lay on top of him on the bed, “what, are you that desperate for us that you can’t mind your manners?”

“I just–”

“Want both of your slutty little holes filled?” Eren scoffs, kneeling on the bed behind where you’re straddling Jean’s hips. “Yeah, we know.”

You frown and lean down to Jean, searching for consolation, but he shoves you to sit back up, admiring the way your chest bounces with the movement.

“Can’t be nice to you all the time,” Jean’s voice is low, dangerous, “not when you act like a brat.”

He can see the heartbreak on your face, revels in it, but it’s short lived. Your eyes fly open as Eren works the plug out of you, tossing it to the side and wrapping an arm around you to take your neck in his hand. Eren looks down at Jean, exchanges a conspiratorial smirk with him.

“Why don’t you ask Jean if you can sit on it while I work you open, hm?”

Your eyes glisten pleadingly at Jean, but something’s come over him. He realizes he likes drawing those begging moans out of you, likes holding you over the edge between the tips of his fingers. Jean shrugs.

“Show me how bad you want it.”

While Eren reaches over to scrounge around for the lube in Jean’s bedside table, you start to work your hips over Jean’s cock, slicking it up with how wet you already are. Jean grabs you by the back of the neck, pulls you to him to drink down the little whimpers and moans that escape your lips.

“Jean, please,” you sigh into his mouth, “I need you.”

Jean’s resolve wavers, but he stands firm. “Beg.”

“I–” hot tears of shame are welling in your eyes now, Jean wants to lick them from your cheeks– “please, I need it, need your cock in me, please, Jean.”

“What do you think, Eren?” As Jean asks the question, it strikes him just how often he refers to the other man simply as “Jaeger”, not by his first name. In his mind, ‘Jaeger’ is his friend of many years, and ‘Eren’ is the man that he had just inexplicably, passionately kissed. “Think she’s earned it?”

“Let’s see how she takes my fingers,” Eren replies, slicking his fingers up with lube and forcing two into your already-stretched hole with ease, making you squeak in surprise, “oh fuck, she’s already so stretched out for us. Yeah, give her what she wants, let her warm up to it.”

“Thank you, t-thank you,” you stammer, out of your mind with want as Jean slides the head of his cock into you with a long groan.

“Shit,” Jean growls, holding onto you tight to prevent your hips from pushing down on him too fast, filling you up too quickly with Eren’s fingers hard at work in your other hole. Maybe he is the nice one, after all. “So fucking tight for me, aren’t you?”

“Mhm, for you,” you hum, lip tucked in your teeth.

“Think she likes you more than me,” Eren smirks from over your shoulder, working a third finger into you and making your jaw drop. For his part, Jean bottoms out, hissing as you pulse around him. He can feel Eren’s fingers scissoring through your walls, eyes rolling back into his head at the sensation.

“You okay? Is it too much?” Jean notices one of those tears that had sparkled in your eyes earlier threatening to fall, grabbing your face and forcing you to look at him. You look beautiful, all stretched around him and fucked out, mind blank.

“It’s a lot,” you nod, sniffle, “but I’m okay, I can take him. Want to, want– need you both.”

Eren’s eyes darken, and Jean can feel him remove his fingers, feel the accommodating stretch of your walls able to breathe again. Jean takes your hips in his hands, rolling you along his cock to grant both of you some of the friction you desperately need. You mewl, leaning over to wrap your arms around his shoulders. Eren’s lining up behind you, running a soothing hand over your back.

“Deep breaths, baby,” Jean instructs you, holding you to his chest. You sniffle and nod into his shoulder, muscles tense and twitching.

“Tell me if it’s too much, alright angel?” Eren leans over to press a surprisingly tender kiss between your shoulder blades and gives Jean a signaling nod, which Jean returns.

Jean can feel it the moment Eren pushes in, feel your body stretching itself to accommodate both of them. You squeal into the skin of Jean’s shoulder that you’ve taken between your teeth, and it hurts, but he lets you, rubbing circles on your lower back.

“Doing so good for us, baby,” Jean hums, pressing his lips to your ear, “too much?”

You shake your head, whimpering as Eren pushes in further.

“God, she’s– shit, it’s so fucking tight,” Eren growls, jaw clenched and a little vein protruding in his neck from the effort of holding himself back, reining in the part of himself that just wants to snap his hips forwards into you.

“Yeah, she is,” Jean chokes out, feeling suffocated by the way you’re pulsing around him, by the pressure of Eren’s cock shoving at him. He’s not sure where he ends and where the both of you begin, if there’s even any separation between his skin and Eren’s and yours anymore.

“Feel so– full,” you hiccup, nails digging into Jean’s shoulders. Your watery voice makes Eren pause, rub a hand over your back.

“You doing okay, baby? How you feeling?”

“Feels….” you take in a deep, heaving breath, “good. Feels so good.”

Eren grins, something feral. “That’s our girl. So good for us, yeah?”

“You like being full, hm?” Jean can feel a smile mirroring Eren’s on his face.

He doesn’t miss Eren’s choice of words. Our girl. And you are their girl, you love being full of them. Of course you do. You’re their insatiable little plaything, so good at taking them in each of your holes. You love it, you love them.

“It’s– fuck, I’m in,” Eren’s staring at where you’re all connected. Jean wishes he could see, but the tightness of you around him is enough, the way he can feel Eren through your thin walls, pressing against his cock. Eren pumps his hips experimentally, and all three of you moan in sync.

“Pl-please move, Jean, fuck- no, Eren, just–” you’re babbling nonsensically, music to their ears.

“We’ve got you,” Jean hushes you, fucking his hips up into you and cutting you off, “just sit tight and be our good little girl, alright?”

“Oh g-god.” Your words wrench from you in a sob, jolting with the thrust of Jean’s hips up into yours. It takes some work, but soon enough, they’re pumping in and out of you at the perfect pace, synced up so you’re never empty, not for long. You’re wailing, voice scratchy from all the crying you’ve already done that night, clutching onto Jean like he’s your last lifeline.

“Feels so fucking good,” Eren grits out, digging his fingers into the flesh of your hips, “so good for us.”

“Not gonna last long, not like this,” Jean agrees, sitting you up so he can see you, see your wet cheeks and your open mouth, “so pretty like this, aren’t you? All stuffed full?”

“She loves it,” Eren growls over your pathetic, shaky moan of agreement, landing a smack on your ass, “fucking loves us, don’t you baby? Tell us, tell us how much you love it.”

“I-I love it,” you manage, voice wrecked, “love you— fuck- love you both so much.”

Jean’s eyes widen, roll back in his head a little. You’re so perfect, obedient and willing to take both of them, let them abuse your holes. The thought makes him bite down on the inside of his cheek, not willing to be the first to break and ruin this perfect moment.

“Jean, I– shit, I’m gonna cum soon,” Eren pants, pupils blown wide and mouth hanging open when he meets Jean’s eyes. “Make her cum.”

Jean nods determinedly, somehow finds the presence of mind to slide a hand in between your slick bodies, swiping at your clit insistently. Your body blooms for him, back arching as you throw your head back against Eren’s shoulder. He feels you clench violently around him, knows you’ve already been on the edge since they started with you, knows you won’t take much goading to break for them.

“That good?” Jean forced out through his clenched jaw, trying to keep pace with Eren amidst your vice-like grip on him.

“Yes, so fucking– oh my god, J-Jean, I’m– Eren,” you’re babbling, close to the point of hysteria, eyes blank and teary. Jean’s free hand wraps around your hip, grabbing hard at the flesh there. He’s so gone he barely catches it, just barely, but he notices Eren’s hand. Eren lays his palm over Jean’s, deliberate and steady, grabbing onto the other man’s hand and squeezing down. Jean meets Eren’s eyes, fucked out and hooded.

“Come on,” Jean rubs faster, harder, his eyes flitting back and forth between yours and Eren’s, “show us what a good fucking girl you are for us.”

Whatever was tethering you to your sanity falls away, and you cum harder than Jean’s ever seen, mouth hanging open in a silent scream as your muscles lock up, legs trembling on either side of Jean’s hips. He grips your hip harder, trying to maintain a pace so you can ride your orgasm out on top of them. Eren follows quickly behind you, biting into your shoulder with a loud, long groan. When Jean feels Eren’s cum leaking out of you, feels the mess they’ve made between your legs, he falls over the edge too, slamming your hips down into his and grinding up into you with a moan.

The three of you collapse into a heap of limbs and sweat and stickiness, chests heaving and muscles twitching. Jean can feel the burn of Eren’s skin and the slick, plush give of yours, enveloping him from every angle, and for the first time in months, he lets his eyes flutter shut, letting himself enjoy the simple pleasure of touch.

But nothing is forever, and after a few minutes, he feels you begin to stir between them, mumbling about needing to go to the bathroom. Eren reluctantly rolls off the bed to help you to the bathroom to clean up, leading you out on shaking legs. Alone again, Jean throws his hands over his face and sighs, deep and hefty.

He shouldn’t be here, he should have never let you both goad him into this.

It occurs to Jean that he needs some air; the apartment feels suffocatingly small knowing that both of you are only a few layers of plaster and a door away. He pushes through regret and self-doubt, pulling his sweatpants back on and scrounging around in his laundry basket of unfolded, clean clothes to find a shirt.

“What are you doing?” Eren’s suddenly in the doorway, scowling at him.

“Going out.”

“You worked this morning. What, do you have plans or something?” There’s a clear note of annoyance in Eren’s voice, but Jean’s too exhausted and shaky to look into it.

“Jean?” You, Eren’s shadow as always, peer around his shoulders, a cute little furrow of confusion between your brows. “Where are you going?”

Jean nearly growls in frustration, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Out. I’m going out.”

He hates the way you flinch, grab onto Eren’s hand for stability in the wake of his snapping at you. Eren speaks next, but Jean doesn’t recognize his tone; it’s firm, but somehow, it’s lacking Eren’s perpetually angry intonation.

“Sit.” Eren’s got one finger pointed to the bed, ordering him as if this isn’t Jean’s own room. He drags you over behind him, plopping on the bed as if you all do this every day. Jean glares at Eren, softens his eyes at the way you’re looking up at him invitingly.

“We just want to talk a little,” you pat the comforter, smiling softly. That breaks him, and against Jean’s better judgment, he’s sitting where you’ve indicated, t-shirt still fisted in his hands.

“About?”

“We don’t want you to think– well, this…” Eren gestures his hands between the three of you, frowning deeper, and eventually sighing, “I don’t know how to say it.”

You pick up for Eren, smiling at him. “We don’t want you to feel like you’re out of place here, that’s all.”

Jean cocks an eyebrow. “In my own bedroom?”

“No, asshole,” Eren rolls his eyes, “with…with us.”

“What does that mean?” Jean’s heart nearly stops. A small, soft hand over his makes his breath catch in his throat.

“We’re not, like, experienced with this, so maybe we’re doing this whole thing wrong,” you look to Eren anxiously, who nods at you reassuringly, “but…we have room for you. If you’re open.”

“Like…” Jean barely trusts his voice to carry above a breath, “in what sense?”

“It’s not just sex,” Eren mumbles, flushing pink, “to us, at least.”

“We like you,” you clarify, smiling again, “and however you want us, if you want us, at least, you can have us.”

Jean blinks stupidly, looks to Eren to see if his face betrays anything, anything that could explain the conversation taking place, if it’s a joke, if he’s unsure. To his surprise, Eren looks up at him, green eyes earnest and burning into his, and takes the t-shirt out of Jean’s hands, giving one of Jean’s hands to you and taking the other for himself.

“It works,” Eren says, finding some conviction, “whatever you want to call it, this works.”

“For both of you?” Jean can hardly believe his ears, can hardly fathom the feeling of your soft, delicate little fingers and Eren’s calloused palms wrapped around his hands.

“For both of us. But…does it? For you?” Your voice wavers, your nerves betraying you.

“I mean, I don’t know what it is. I don’t understand it,” Jean admits, positive that his eyes are comically wide in the face of this new information.

“Me neither,” Eren shrugs, “but we don’t have to be so serious about it–”

“Not for now at least,” you smile at Eren encouragingly, nodding and urging him to press on.

“Not for now,” Eren agrees, squeezing Jean’s fingers ever so slightly, the smallest, most tentative reassurance, “we can figure it out later.”

“If you want it,” you bite your lip, looking up at Jean through thick lashes, “want us. We won’t be upset if you say no. No pressure.”

Jean thinks for a moment, thinks about everything you’re offering him. You, who he’s pined after for months, so beautiful and sweet to him. He thinks about sharing coffee with you in the mornings, holding you tight to his body and drifting off to sleep, letting you play with his hair. He doesn’t know if he loves you, but whatever he feels is pretty damn close to it, close enough to drive him crazy and keep him up at night.

And Eren. He’s been friends with Eren for near a decade now, known him for as long as he can remember. What this agreement means in terms of his relationship with Eren, Jean hardly dares to press, knowing how Eren is: flighty, argumentative, brash. None of that is written into Eren’s features now, though; Eren’s watching him intently, earnestly, chest stilled as if he’s holding his breath, waiting for Jean’s answer.

Something old and something new mixed together into something entirely unfamiliar.

“We don’t have to put a label on it now, or even go through the semantics,” Eren’s voice is spent, nearly breathless.

“We’ll give you some space if you need–”

“No,” Jean cuts you off, looking between you both, “no, it’s– it’s just a surprise, that’s all.”

Eren snorts. “How many times do we need to fuck you before you get the hint?”

“Eren!” You slap his arm, looking between him and Jean meaningfully. “Not really the time for jokes, is it?”

“I mean, fucking in the bathroom of Scout’s isn’t exactly wining and dining me,” Jean rolls his eyes. Eren laughs at that, unintentionally tightening his grip around Jean’s fingers and making Jean’s heart thud a little in his chest.

“You two are beyond annoying,” you huff, crossing your arms over your chest. Eren and Jean exchange a wicked smirk.

“Regretting this already?” Eren teases you, digging his fingers into your side and making you giggle.

“Get over here,” Jean pulls you onto his lap, feeling emboldened to press a quick succession of kisses to your jawline, to your cheek. God, maybe he does love you, the weight of you in his arms feeling almost perfect. Eren leans over and tackles you both, tickling you wherever he can reach, Jean pinning you to his chest despite your protests and thrashing.

That’s what’s missing, Jean realizes. It’s not about you and Jean, or you and Eren, or he and Eren. He understands Eren’s bluntness earlier: the three of you just work, regardless of the weirdness of it all or the awkward conversations that lay ahead. It works, and for now, that’s enough.

Eren relents in his torture, scooting up the bed and dragging you with him, pulling Jean’s covers over you both like he’d done it a hundred times. Jean’s last little inkling of self-doubt perseveres, and he hesitates, until Eren tosses the covers on your other side back, patting the sheets meaningfully. Jean swallows his pride, swallows his insecurity, and pulls you into his side, very mindful of Eren’s arm tossed over both of your shoulders, of Eren’s fingers weaving absentmindedly through the hair at the nape of his neck.

And in the morning, when Eren mimics Jean’s loud snoring and you’re playfully throwing little crumbs of toast at them over the counter, the little voice in Jean’s head that had warned him to keep his distance will be completely silenced for the first time in months.

#eren jaeger x you #eren jaeger x reader #eren jaeger smut #jean kirschstein x reader #jean kirschtein x reader #jean #jean kirstein x reader #jean kirstein x you #eren yeager x reader #eren yeager smut #eren yeager x you #theragethatisdesire

1K notes · View notes