#Pit River Falls | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

moonlight-prose · 1 month ago

Text

nameless as a river undiscovered underground

a/n: i really wish october could last longer than a few weeks, because i simply want to keep writing spooky stories and logan fics. i keep posting them late, but i'm doing them last minute (bad i know). this one is more a drabble than a fic, but i loved the idea of logan and his leather jacket. especially the thought of him loving you wearing it.

logan promptober: day eighteen - leather jacket

summary: his leather jacket remained a tie between your love and his. the weight of it, the smell of your intertwined scents, all revolved around a relationship he never thought would happen.

word count: 1.2k+

pairing: logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY!!, p in v sex, reverence, love, fluff, the soft vibes of logan being in love.

You were clad in his leather jacket—swallowed by the heaviness of it—the first time he kissed you. In the rain a mile out from the mansion, beside a broken down car and cell phones that wouldn't work. He'd never seen true beauty until you smiled at him. Drenched to the bone, laughing, and luminant in the dark of a night gone wrong.

At one point in the past, he swore to himself he was safer never falling down that unknown pit. That heart devouring thing that made his insides twist and heart turn inside out. It terrified him. Knowing he could one day lose it all in the blink of an eye—become a shell of himself without the presence of another. Solitude kept him safe, kept him from causing destruction to innocent people hell bent on showing him love.

But then he kissed you.

Mid laughter, with eyes still alight in that angelic glow, Logan Howlett put his heart on the line and pressed his lips to yours. The rain pelted your faces in a cold icy wave of brutal weather. Yet neither of you cared. You dug your hands into his hair matted down with too much water and dragged him close enough to give life to that ache in his chest.

You kissed him without conviction. Instead putting your faith—your entire being—on the steady beat of your heart that echoed loudly in his head. The heat of your mouth, the wet slide of your tongue, killed him on the spot. He was a dead man walking—a corpse without a soul.

All because you decided to steal it away with a grin before kissing him once again.

The leather jacket became a comfort in your relationship with a man who ran hotter than a radiator. He didn't need the heavy weight of it, but he liked it. The color, the detailing, the story encased in the frayed thread that lined the insides.

You still remember discovering the small polaroid kept in the inside pocket, tucked away from sight yet pressed to his heart. It was you. Dressed up for the very first time. Storm took the photo on a whim, Logan stole it from her study two days later. You'd later ask him about the messy heart drawn on the bottom white strip—a scribble of the word sweetheart placed underneath.

He turned fifty shades of crimson the second you brought it up, but the photo still remained in place. Stuck to his body whenever he wore his jacket—a familiar piece of his heart whenever you wore it instead.

Tradition was embedded in the stolen item of clothing. The way he draped it over your shoulders on nights out, the times he spent bundling you up when you conveniently forgot your own sweater in his bedroom. You'd burrow your face in the collar, breathing in the musk of his cigars. He'd drop his head against his shoulder at the fragrant scent of your perfume still stuck to the lining.

Each of you placed your mark on the fabric, intent on leaving small reminders of who wore it last. But his favorite memory still remained in the pocket that still held a little rip on the outer edge—the time he clawed at it to grasp you close until the audible echo of destruction turned pain into laughter.

"You're gonna be the fuckin' death of me," he grunted, fingers sharply pressed into the bare skin of your hips.

You smiled, half lidded eyes glazed over in a cloud of darkened lust. "I thought the Wolverine couldn't be killed."

"That wasn't for you to test."

"Can't say you don't like me like this baby," you sighed, leaning back against the kitchen table placed in your very own house.

A home shared with him.

The cracked groan brought satisfaction right to the top of your chest—love beating its own drum in the depths of your body. Logan came home early to a welcome surprise of you in his jacket...and nothing else on. The plan was to get dinner, go walk the city to find a bit of romance tucked away in the corners of cafes and the lowlights of bars.

Neither of you made it to the car.

"It'll smell like you," he gasped, dragging his cock through your dripping cunt. The head nudging against your clit with each stroke. "I'll smell like you."

"Logan–" You clawed at his shoulders, lifting your hips in the hopes of enticing him to move. To put you out of your misery and slide home.

"It'll drive me crazy." A messy kiss overflowing with the love you felt flicker to life in your chest was pressed to your lips. Messy and needy and filled with the soft moan of his gravelly voice.

You sucked his tongue into your mouth, grinning at the brittle sound that cracked at the base of his throat. "Now you know how I feel."

Sinking into you felt like home. The hot slick grip of your walls clamping down around his cock broke something in the back of his mind. A wire that connected common sense with intellect. He watched it unravel before his very eyes—your lips coated in his spit curling into a grin. A smile that left him breathless and begging for more.

You were rapturous. The embodiment of what he believed hope looked like; the light at the end of his cracked and unstable road.

"So fuckin' pretty," he muttered, his eyes flickering between where he thrusted into you and your breasts covered by his jacket. "Should dress like this all the damn time."

"I'd get cold," you laughed, slinging an arm around his neck.

"You got me to keep you warm."

A harsh thrust sent you higher up on the table, pulling free a high pitched moan that sunk into his skin with a warmth that bloomed towards his chest. He wanted to pour out each emotion and watch you drink it down like the ichor of the gods. The life he led before suddenly felt as if there was a purpose to all the suffering he endured—all the pain that still lingered in phantom wounds long since healed.

You were the purpose he sought.

The person he was always meant to find.

He'd do it all over again if given the choice as long as you were there waiting for him—holding out a hand to bring him home.

You came with a garbled shout of his name, your walls sucking his cock back into you to keep him close. Each stunted thrust lit a fire in his body, his hands gripping any bare part of you he could reach as you fell back against the table. Your eyes glazed over and your mouth parted in a silent scream.

A few more sharp thrusts and he followed you quicker than he expected—practically toppling onto your body as he fucked his cum deep. Enough to have it spilling out and coating the inside of your thighs. He was half tempted to drop to his knees and clean you up, but the tight grip you had on his shoulders kept him in place. The close proximity of his body all you craved in the rolling aftershocks of your orgasm.

"All mine?" you whispered, still gasping for breath.

He smiled, lips brushing across yours. "All yours sweetheart."

This was how he loved you.

Thoroughly, harshly, yet with every part of his being.

#logan howlett x f!reader #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett x y/n #logan howlett smut #logan howlett #my writing #logan promptober

521 notes · View notes

robynhoodwrites · 13 days ago

Text

♡♡♡ The Bond (Sylus x FMC) ♡♡♡

Contains: Mostly smut, little plot. The smut is between Sylus and the reader (a Female Main Character).

Minors DNI! This writing contains the following topics: Evol used during sex, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, creampie, oral sex, slightly rough sex, masturbation, and violence in the beginning. If this bothers you, please scroll.

“If you don’t tell me what you know now, it’s going to get a whole lot worse for you,” Sylus mutters, his hand gripping the chin of the man in front of him. The man is tied to a chair in Sylus’ office, sporting a black eye and a bloody lip. He snarls, sweat running down his forehead in rivers.

“I already told you; I don’t know anything. And if I did, I certainly wouldn’t tell you,” the man begins, before a small smirk begins to form across his cracked lips. “Now, if you bring that pretty piece of ass down here, then maybe I’ll-”

The man doesn’t get to finish, a quick punch to the stomach knocking the breath out of his lungs. “I promise, you don’t want to finish that sentence,” Luke says from behind them, watching the fun while leaning on the windowsill. “Boss doesn’t like when people talk about her,” he says, and Sylus shoots him a dark stare.

“Yeah,” Kieran adds, unaware of the warning from Sylus. “It’s probably because-”

“Keep talking, and you’ll be in the chair next,” Sylus growls, his attention now on the other twin. Kieran just nods, a mix of amusement and fear in his eyes. Luke just shakes his head, stifling a laugh as he gives his brother a small kick in the leg.

The man moves quickly, attempting to headbutt Sylus while he isn’t paying attention. Sylus, however, is faster. He catches the man’s head in his hands, throwing it back into the chair with a loud thunk. The man passes out, his head now lulling against his shoulder and his body limp.

It’s then that Sylus, the calm and collected man he is, feels something deep in the pit of his stomach. He stops, his eyes staring daggers into the wall behind the now incapacitated man. He feels it again, this time grabbing onto the arm of the chair for support.

“Boss?” Kieran asks, his voice laced with concern. Sylus straightens, attempting to cover the fear in his eyes.

“I’m fine. Take him downstairs and alert me when he wakes up,” Sylus mutters with feigned nonchalance, before walking from the room and into the hallway. He steadies himself against the wall, another surge of feeling in the pit of his stomach. He has only had this feeling once or twice before.

Ever since you had absorbed the energy of the Aether core into your own, a bond was created between the two of you. A physical one at first, yes. But that eventually faded, and a mental one formed instead. Now, any time you are in danger or are feeling any strong emotion, Sylus gets a taste.

Sylus panics, his mind filling with ideas of what could be happening to you right now. But you’re here, aren’t you? How could you be in danger in my very own home? Could a wanderer have broken in while I was interrogating that thief?

His footsteps quicken as he rushes up the stairs towards your room, the feeling growing in his stomach. He can’t help but shake how different the feeling is compared to before. What could you possibly be facing to make me feel this way?

You were lying, sprawled out on top of your covers with a hand reaching below your hiked-up skirt. You had spent so many days in his stupid castle and hadn’t had much time to… relieve your tension. The halls seemed quiet, and Sylus and the twins seemed busy, so this seemed to be the perfect time.

You tried to stifle the little moans escaping your mouth, your hand rubbing against your bud slowly. Fuck, I can’t help the fact that he is the only thing I can think about right now. You imagine Sylus lying next to you, his hands doing the work rather than your own. You begin to speed up, a whispered curse falling from your lips.

“Well, you seem to be having fun,” you hear a voice purr from the doorway. You shoot up, pushing your skirt back down to cover your naked lower half.

“Fuck, Sylus. How did you get in?” You exclaim, trying to hide your soaked hands behind your back. “I thought I had locked the door.”

“You did,” he says, not elaborating further. His eyes travel up your figure, finally settling on the hands hidden behind your back. He moves over and, before you can react, he grabs one of your hands and inspects it.

“I could feel you, y’know,” he whispers, staring for a moment before dropping your still-wet hand and locking eyes with you. “Through the bond. I thought you were in danger.”

“W-well I’m not. So, you are more than welcome to leave now,” you mutter, your face burning red as you wipe your hands on the covers beneath you. You break eye contact with him, your eyes staring at the bed beneath you as you wait for him to leave.

“It felt good,” he whispers beneath his breath. Your eyes shoot back up to his, an unidentifiable twinkle now dotting his irises. “I couldn’t tell what I was feeling at first but… it was so good.”

“What?” you mutter, a chill dancing across your spine. You had only felt something down the bond once, and it was when the two of you were in a near-death situation with a wanderer a few weeks ago. It was a spike of fear, certainly not one of pleasure.

Sylus just stares at you for a moment, his eyes beginning to glow slightly red as they look you up and down.

“Carry on, then,” he purrs, pulling a chair from your desk over to the side of your bed. You stare at him in bewilderment for a moment, not entirely sure if he was saying what you thought he was.

“I’m sorry?”

“Keep going. If you want to understand how it works, we need to do some research,” he says with a smirk, sitting down in the plush chair and crossing his arms in front of his chest. Your face is burning red again, your eyes flickering to your hands once more.

Noticing your hesitation, Sylus leans down and lifts your chin up with two fingers. He looks at you differently than you’ve ever seen him look before, his eyes traveling down to your lips once before returning to your eyes. “You won’t deprive me of this feeling, will you?” he asks, a smirk playing across his lips. He’s not used to being deprived of anything, is he? He is the feared leader of Onychinus, after all.

Swallowing back a retort, you nod and slip a hand under your skirt. If you were going to touch yourself in front of him, he wasn’t going to get the pleasure of seeing it. Your eyes still on him, you slowly travel your hand back down to your clit. At first, his demeanor doesn’t change in the slightest. However, when you begin to move your hand in circles, his head leans back a bit in his chair.

His eyes fluttered closed for a second, a heavy breath leaving his mouth. He then opens his eyes back up, staring intently at you as you continue. You feel your own pleasure start to grow; a knot tightening in your stomach as you move slightly faster. His breathing quickens, his head now fully leaned against the back of the chair.

Then, without warning, you stop. You pull your hand out from your skirt, straightening your clothing and sitting up against the bed frame. Sylus looks like he’s been shot, his eyes shooting daggers into your nonchalant figure.

“I figure that��s enough research for you, Sylus. Now we know how it works,” you say, sounding more confident than you feel. You enjoy messing with him, even if you are just as bummed about not continuing.

Before you can react, his hands are firmly pressed against the headboard, trapping you in your current position as his legs rest on either side of yours. “First you don’t let me see your hands as you touch yourself, and then you stop without so much as a warning… Do you truly believe you are the one in charge here?”

He looks intently into your eyes, his Aether core glowing red. You begin to hear your own voice echo in your head, muttering “Keep going, let him fuck you senseless, this is what you’ve been craving…”

Sylus hears it too, his annoyed grimace turning into another one of his stupid smirks. “You want this as badly as I do, darling. My Evol doesn’t lie.”

Your breath hitches in your throat, and he takes the opportunity to press a kiss to your lips. It’s rough, as expected from the leader of Onychinus, his hands leaving the headboard and traveling into your hair. His hand grips the the back of your head, pushing you closer to him. Your lips part to let out a moan, and he seizes the opportunity and pushes his tongue into your mouth. You stay like this for a while, letting the tension that has built between the two of you in the last few days finally be let loose.

He finally takes his lips off of yours, traveling with his mouth down to your neck. You’re breathing heavily, your hands now finding your way to Sylus’ hair as he kisses and sucks on the tender curve of your neck. You let out another moan, and he pulls away to admire the mess he’s made of your skin. A tender red spot has formed, and he runs his thumb over it proudly.

“I want to feel what you felt. Down the bond,” you whimper, leaning into his touch on your neck. His eyes dart up to yours, a smile spreading across his face as he examines the pleading look on yours.

“You need to make me feel good, then. Think you can do that, Darling?” he purrs, his hand moving to caress the side of your face. You feel yourself starting to nod vigorously, your hands traveling down the side of his body and making their way to his belt. He helps you take off the belt and the jeans, now standing before you in just boxers and his button-up shirt.

Without even seeing it unclothed, you can tell that his dick is too much for you to handle. The bulge now fully formed in his pants sends a shiver down your spine, and he lets out a small chuckle at your admiration. You slowly move your hands to his boxers before pulling them down, watching his erection spring up to meet you.

You can’t help it; a small gasp escapes your lips. You hear another dark chuckle rise from Sylus’ throat, his thumb rubbing softly against your lips. “Are you ready?” He asks, his tone dark and raspy from pleasure. You don’t even nod, you just start to move towards his cock.

Your tongue meets the head of his dick, slowly circling it and cleaning off the precum that dots the tip. He shudders slightly, his hand finding the back of your head and pulling lightly on your hair. Before he can even recover, you quickly move further down his shaft. He curses, his hand gripping tighter on your hair as you continue to bob on his cock.

It’s then that you start to feel it; that tightening in the bottom of your stomach. It’s so unusual yet so welcomed, and you can’t help but let out another moan onto his cock. This causes him to curse under his breath yet again, guiding your head with his hand.

That ball of pleasure begins to tighten, almost like you are the one receiving head rather than him. You start to move faster, your hand rubbing along the parts of his cock that you can’t fit into your mouth. He moans deeply, and you can tell that he is getting close to his release. You intend to help him get there, but he pulls away from you before you can continue sucking him off.

That feeling in your stomach dies down, an almost emptiness replacing it. “Why did you stop?” You ask, looking up at him from your spot on your knees. He looks at you through half-lidded eyes, helping you up from your spot on the ground before lifting you up and placing you gently on the bed.

“I got too close, and we have more research to do. I’m not done with you yet,” he says, now kneeling on the floor by the edge of the bed. Before you can react, his tendrils of red smoke wrap around your ankles, yanking you toward where he is kneeling. Your legs are held in the air, your pussy now completely exposed to him.

He snarls slightly, drinking you in with his eyes before lowering his head down to you. His eyes dart up to meet yours as his tongue circles your clit, moaning as he finally tastes you.

“Do you know how long I’ve been wanting to do this?” He mutters, before pressing his tongue back against your bud. Your hands grip the sheets below you, bucking slightly against his face as he slowly eats you out. You suddenly feel a finger enter you, your tight walls encasing it as it starts to pump in and out.

You feel your eyes start to flutter closed, the pleasure too much to bear. “No, look at me. I want to see the pleasure on your face,” Sylus mutters, a tendril of his smoke wrapping under your chin and tilting your head back down to look at him.

“Fuck, Sylus,” you moan, and he just hums in response before adding another finger. You feel that familiar feeling begin to build in your stomach, only now stronger than the ones you usually experience. Is this because of the Aether cores, or is Sylus just that good?

Before you reach that peak, though, he stops yet again. You let out a mix between a whimper and a groan, and he looks at you with amusement as he stands back up. “I’m worried that I won’t be able to stop myself from cumming with you, and there’s still one more thing I want to try before that happens.”

He begins unbuttoning his shirt, slowly undoing each button and freeing the toned skin of his chest. The sight alone is enough to make you want to jump on him, but he wraps more of his Evol around you before you can.

The smoke takes your shirt and skirt off for you, leaving you utterly bare on the bed below him. He just stares at you for a moment, his eyes raking up and down your body with pure lust. Then, he is on top of you. His arms are on either side of your head and his lips meet yours, the kiss even more sloppy than the one before. You feel him bite your bottom lip, a moan escaping your lips as he does so.

You feel his Evol part your legs, the tip of his cock teasing your entrance as you whimper into his mouth. You feel him smile against your lips, the tip of his cock now entering you slowly. Even with so little of him inside of you, you feel better than you’ve ever felt before. Then, without warning, he pushes his whole length inside of you. You whimper, a web of pleasure filling your entire body.

He starts moving, slowly at first, his hands resting on your hips to help guide you onto his cock. His lips are still clashing with yours, interrupted by the occasional moan leaving through his lips. He is moving painfully slowly, and you feel a whimper escape you once again.

“What do you want, Darling,” he purrs, his lips now moving back down to your neck as he creates a new hickey next to the previous one. You can barely form words, nothing but moans coming out of you as he continues slowly thrusting into you.

“P-Please,” is all you manage to say, the pleasure too much for you to handle. This seems to be all he needed to hear, his movements now speeding up as he grips your hips tighter. He thrusts against your g-spot, intense pleasure shooting up through you and into your core.

A loud groan escapes his lips, his eyes locked on to you as he continues to thrust into you. You suddenly feel a tingle on your nipples and look down to see this Evol curling around them playfully. He uses his Evol to massage and play with your nipples, a moan leaving both of your mouths.

The pressure builds in your stomach, now reaching your peak. And, from the way he sounds, you can tell Sylus is almost there, too. The pleasure is unlike anything you’ve ever felt, the bond causing you both to feel each other’s pleasure as well as your own.

“C-Can I-?” Sylus begins, and you don’t need to hear the rest of the question to know what he’s asking. He wants to finish inside me.

“Please!” Is all you can say as you both finally reach your peak. Your legs are shaking, his warm cum shooting deep within you as he moans, crashing his lips onto yours again. You sit like this for a moment, warmth pulsing deep inside you as you both ride out your high. Then, he pulls himself out and lays down beside you, his cock twitching as he wraps his arm around you.

You’re both breathing heavily, chests rising and falling quickly as you make eye contact with each other. He smirks, his fingers tracing your collarbone lightly before his hand finally rests on your cheek. He pulls you in for a kiss, this one soft and tender.

“It’s an interesting trick, this bond of ours,” he purrs, looking deeply into your eyes and pressing his forehead against yours. “We’ll have to conduct more tests on it in the morning.”

All you can do is sigh happily in response, feeling your eyes droop as you settle against his warm body.

Thank you for reading! Please go to my ask if you have any recommendations for other fics/tropes/ships. Also, this is my first time writing smut, so go easy on me in the comments!

Love ya~

#love and deepspace #lads smut #lads sylus #lads x reader #smut #love and deepspace smut #sylus x reader #sylus smut

771 notes · View notes

peachesofteal · 11 months ago

Text

The Pit

COD masterlist Part 1/2 - Part 2

Ghost/Soap/female reader 6.3k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI, dub con, kidnapping, manipulative hurt/comfort, whump, the guys shave you, humiliation, forced orgasm, predator/prey, medical inaccuracies. Clothed males/naked female. The Pit by Silversun Pickups. Horror-ish. Misery inspired.

Winter in the mountains can be cruel.

This is something you’ve always known, even as a child. You were raised with it. Chose to return to it after school, decided to make a go of it, of a life here, as an adult. You knew what you were getting yourself into, long cold winters that felt both bleak and promising, unblemished blankets of snow possessing the ability to be stunning, while also lethal. Winters were dangerous, silent killers that left corpses in their wake and no amount of lupine or paintbrushes, glacier fed lakes or springtime moose calves could make up for the hell that winter wrought. Winter brings most living things to the knife’s edge of survival, forcing most to bow beneath the weight of its fury, backs breaking with the burden of just existing in an environment that truly acts, and feels, inhospitable.

Although, there are those who do more than survive the cold, violent stretch of winter.

There are predators who thrive.

“You closin’?” Your coworker, the new one, asks from where she’s settled across the dark wood bar, two amber Budweiser bottles empty in front her idle hands, eyes wandering to guys posted up by the loneliest pool table in fifty square miles.

“I am.” She casts the only window in the entire place a surreptitious glance, fingers peeling away at a label. It’s snowing, has been for hours, flakes fat and wet, fluffy enough that the density of the snow on the ground is light, but dangerous, as it hides the real risk underneath; packed snow sitting with a slick sheen of ice on top.

“You still trying to make it over Fall River pass tonight?” You nod.

“Yeah. Supposed to see my brother and his new place this weekend.”

“Fall River? Is that even open right now?” Andy, a regular who lives a few streets over from you, chimes in, twisting an empty rocks glass in his fist. You pull the bottle of Jameson from the rail and tip it vertical, honey brown liquid sloshing like a wave until his glass is halfway full, and he gives you a flirty kind of smile, the same one he’s been giving you for a year now. Yeeesh.

“It is. I could go around, but it just takes too long. And it’s Friday. I’m not trying to be stuck on the highway with weekend traffic.” You complain, and they both commiserate your opinion. The traffic is brutal, especially in the winter. Driving in hazardous conditions is considered to be a talent more than an innate ability here, and people often overestimate their aptitude for it, causing crashes and delays that get the highway shut down for hours, or even days, at times. You shrug. “I’ve had my snow tires on for weeks. Might as well get some use out of them.” Andy snorts.

“Like you haven’t been gettin’ good use out of them? First real snow was before Halloween this year.” You nod. He’s not wrong. You did get dumped on two weeks before the end of October, twenty-three inches piling up within two days, before half the area was even ready for it. You throw him a polite smile, one that you hope reads like ‘okay thanks for the concern, we’re done now’ and he sighs. “Well, drive safe.”

Fall River pass, it turns out, is not open. It’s closed by the time you split off from the interstate and start the windy, switch-backed trek in your jeep, flashing orange and yellow lights dotting the top of a barricade just barely visible through the speckled snow flying by in your headlights.

Fuck. You could have sworn the DOT website said it was open. You take a deep breath, quelling the anxiety that roils your stomach. Okay. Not the end of the world. There’s another road. A less maintained option, but… you’ll be fine. You’ve driven in worse.

The other road, a sharp, narrow, desolate path that cuts through a large swath of unmanaged forest just outside the national park, is easy at first. You’ve been driving the same jeep for years, a 2007 two door Wrangler, and you know how it handles like the back of your hand. With snow tires, it could pretty much cut through anything, even unplowed, fire watch roads like this one.

Which is why, after the first few miles, your nerves fully settle, and you allow yourself to relax a little bit behind the wheel, easing the jeep across the dips and slicks in the road as you cautiously build speed, snow falling fast through night, growing thicker the higher you travel into wilderness territory, and the farther you left modern civilization behind.

An hour creeps by, and then two. Long enough that you’ve now realized you’re the only one using this road, fresh snow blanketing the woods around you, topography and vegetation starting to change as you encroach on what you assume must be eleven thousand feet. You’ve seen this road on google maps once, or twice maybe, having noted it for future travel just in case of a situation like this. It runs perpendicular to Fall River, and eventually meets another, one that must be similar, on the other side of the range. The secondary road is one that takes you along the ridge, and then down, you’re pretty sure, although you can’t be one hundred percent certain, because you lost cell reception before you even turned off from Fall River.

Still, won’t hurt to check and see if you have this area downloaded.

You pull your phone from the center console, thumbing at the screen, allowing your eyes to linger too long without looking back up through the windshield. No one else is out here. It’s not like you need to worry about oncoming traffic. The little SOS insignia blinks at the top corner, and you tap on the map icon, hoping it will bring up your geo location so you can glance at the satellite image of the area.

You’re so fixated watching the little circle of death try to load, that by the time you look up and see the tree laying across the road, it’s far too late. You do the first thing you were always taught not to do in winter conditions, and slam on the brake, shoving the pedal to floor, heart rate sky rocketing as you panic and lose total control of the jeep. You spin, shoulders and chest jamming against the seatbelt, headlights flashing off into the woods, illuminating an endlessly dark web of trees, bark and branch scratching across the paint as you careen off the road, tipping too precariously onto two wheels and then rolling.

Time, your life, stands completely still for a moment. You see every individual fiber of the pine needles, every uniquely designed snowflake, every single droplet of blood that floats away from your face and through midair as you crash through the forest, your grasp on consciousness slipping farther and farther away, the jeep finally coming to a stop on its side, your head cracked against the driver’s window, stars and streaks spawning out across your vision, headlights finally blinking out completely, leaving you alone in the dark. Your head spins like you’re still rolling, and the only sound in the dead silent snow is your harsh breathing, frantic terror bubbling up through your throat as pain surges through your body.

It's freezing, but you feel surprisingly warm.

You’re going to die out here. No one knows you took this road, you don’t have service, by the time they find you, it’ll be too late. You’ll be a bled out, frozen corpse, long gone and-

You lose your train of thought quickly. Everything starts to fracture, fissures forming in your consciousness, part of you already losing the battle to the inevitable, darkness pulling over your eyes like a knit hat, lungs heaving just a little harder with each breath.

You could just close your eyes. Just for a moment.

Light sweeps across the ground, flashing across your face. You think, if you were truly with it, in your right mind, you’d think it was too bright. You’d say it was blinding.

But you can’t formulate anything of the sort, mind too busy slipping away, falling into an inky black depth, just barely on the verge when you feel a gloved hand on your skin, the lilt of an accent on the wind.

Sleep.

You’re drifting. Falling through a stardusted, molasses filled haze, your mind ebbs and flows with consciousness; soft and warm feelings contrasted with sharp pain that bites through your body as if it’s slowly trying to eat you, chipping away piece by piece.

There are words, voices. There are hands too, fingers walking across your skin, limbs being moved, arranged, always with pain that’s followed by a hushed whisper of apology, a confusing sentiment in the dark. Your eyes won’t open. Your mouth won’t work. Your head is stuffed with cotton, wispy strands of connections that can’t quite get there, scrounging along the walls of your skull, trying to meet in the middle. You’re drowning, sinking to the bottom of a macabre pool, the one that’s infected your synapses and kept you just inside the shelter of delirium.

You try to call for help, but you can’t.

You try to swim to the surface, but the grisly black of your mind is never ending.

You’re dying, the tiny sliver of rational thought assures. Or you’re already dead.

Despair swells, and if you could feel your face, you’d think you were crying, lost to the sweeping desolation of your pain. It steals your breathe. Your sense. Everything becomes secondary to the obliterating agony that you feel.

Something touches your cheek. Your eyes fight to open, straining against the heaviness that weighs on them, just barely blinking wide enough to let some light in, your vision fuzzily trying to focus.

Wood beams come into view. A ceiling? Where-

You try to turn your head but an electric shock rattles through your brain, forcing you to slam your eyes shut again, world spinning on an uneven axis as something on the edge of your sight shifts. A monster. A man?

Something is said, whispered, and then everything fades away, your mind and body slipping beneath the waves of darkness.

The next time you surface, you manage to cling to consciousness long enough to take stock of your surroundings, realizing you’re tucked into a soft, warm bed almost immediately, something hot near your feet, pillows fluffed beneath you. A hand stitched quilt is spread across the top of copious other blankets and sheets, and your fingertips scratch against the fabric. Flannel.

You’re also awake long enough to truly experience the pain you’re in.

One thousand tiny knives rattle around in your skull, slicing into the soft matter of your brain, tearing you apart piece by piece, everything in you unmoored and off balance. Searing pain radiates up your leg, through your arm and wrist to your head and neck, and when your instinct urges you to try to move, your body screams in protest, the pain so intense that you cry out.

That’s when you see him.

A man steps towards you from the edge of your peripheral, and you freeze in terror.

“Shhh. We’re not goin’ hurt ye. Ye had a terrible accident. Pure luck we found ye when we did, dove. Ye would’ve died out there.” He coos in an accent, inching closer, and you manage to get a better look at him, recognition failing immediately. An accident? An accident… memories come flooding back, broken clips of the jeep spinning, rolling, the woods, the fear. Who is he? Where are you? Brilliant blue eyes look down at you with concern, handsome face tweaked into worry, furrow in his brow partially covered by the long strands of an overgrown mohawk. He’s pretty. “Can ye follow my finger?” He presents one in front of your nose, but it splits into two, and then three, just the attempt to focus enough to make your head throb, and a whimper escapes from your throat. “I know, I know.” There’s a ceramic mug in his hand, and he carefully lifts it to your lips, encouraging you as he tips it back, warm, sweet liquid washing down your throat. You can’t even move your arms to push him away, and when he seems to be satisfied, his thumb wipes the corner of your mouth. “Good love. Well done.” You feel woozy all of the sudden, maybe even a little nauseous, and you think you could be hallucinating when another man appears at the foot of the bed, handsome, but in a rugged way, watching you with honeyed brown eyes, the broadest, biggest thing you’ve ever seen.

“Those bones need setting.” He says, and the pretty one grimaces, fingertips trailing along your cheek.

“Maybe tomorrow. I’m still worried about the concussion.” His thumb cards across your brow.

“It’s been three days, Johnny. Can’t put it off too much longer.” Three days? Your brain latches onto the time. Three days of what? Since when? You’re starting to fade, trying to focus on what they’re saying but losing the battle horrendously when the blankets shift, warmth tucking down around your waist and shoulders, unable to react or even speak when they both press a kiss to your forehead, affectionate and longing touch that startles you until you’re losing the battle to sleep.

It's snowing.

You don’t have to see to know. There’s something about how it hangs in the air, how the world sounds during a snowfall that blankets everything: houses, trees, mountains… your mind.

You love the snow. Even as a child, winter was your favorite. Winter brought you a sense of calm, of peace. It’s what brought you back here, kept you here, even amidst the perils. The feeling of a forest, lying still beneath the soft spun expanse of white, the crisp smell of the air the morning of a big snow, the eternal quiet that exists in the night when everything is dampened by the weight of a million, billion, uniquely crystalized webs of frozen water.

This snow feels different. It doesn’t feel like a velvety white, candy-coated dream world; but a nightmare… one filled with pain, anxiety. Where are you? What’s happened?

And why do you hurt so fucking bad?

“You’re awake.” A deep voice says from your side, and you flinch on instinct, immediately wishing you hadn’t as lightning sharp pain zings through you, your voice breaking with a cry. “Easy.” He cautions, and your head stops swimming long enough for you to realize it’s the brown eyed man, the bigger one. He’s sitting in a chair that looks far too small for his width, watching you with an intensity that makes you feel exposed.

“Where… am I?” You manage to choke out through stiff lips, your head spinning and the world tilting at the same time. It sours your stomach, more than you thought possible, and you try to swallow the burn of bile that’s racing up your throat.

“Are you going to be sick?” He strokes your face, the touch nearly sweet, but confusing, and you hold your tongue, unsure. He sighs, expression shifting into disapproval, and then a frown. “Tell me.”

“N-no, I don’t-“ You can’t even finish your denial before your stomach is heaving and he’s springing into action, shifting you onto your side where a clean bucket sits right next to the bed. You wail in misery, pain shooting through your leg and arm, your ribs, bile and spit leaking from your mouth.

“It’s alright, that’s it.” A hand soothes up and down your back as you dry heave, sputtering on nothing, tears dripping to the wooden floorboards with a splash.

“Nnrgh-“

“I know, I know. Poor thing.” He coos, and it sounds… endearing, so sweet yet… frightening, like the poison of a predatory, a pretty display meant to draw you in before it snaps a set of jaws shut around your face.

Somewhere, nestled inside the last shards of your sanity, an alarm bell whistles, but the intensity of your pain quickly drowns it out, and you cry aloud.

“Hurts.” He rolls you back to your original position, arranging you like a doll. “It hurts.”

“I know it does, sweet girl, I know. We’re going to fix it.” A cloth dabs at your forehead and then down to clean your mouth, just as the man with the mohawk appears on the bed, one knee down, leaning over you, worry rife in his features.

“Poor baby. Were ye sick again?” Again? You blink up at him. What is going on? He presses a glass to your lips, urging you to drink, and then pulling it away after you’ve had a few sips with a gentle “not too much.”

“Who are you?” The water is cold, refreshing, but a ting acidic, and you wonder if it’s well water, maybe?

“I’m Johnny.” He’s setting up something beside you, organizing it, but you can’t turn your head to look, and can’t quite catch it from your peripheral. “An’ this is Simon. Or Si, but ye probably willnae be callin’ him that quite yet.” Quite yet? What? Did they find you? Did they rescue you? Why can’t you remember?

“What happened.” You try again, gritting your teeth.

“Ye had an accident, remember? We talked about it yesterday. Ye rolled off the road, ended up nearly down the mountain, in the thick of the trees. Ye’re lucky the one didnae impale ye.” Impale?

“And you found me?” You're starting to feel tired again, all the sudden, woozy and weird, exhaustion pulling at your limbs. Shouldn't you be in a hospital? Why haven't they taken you to a doctor?

“Aye, we did. Pulled ye out, brought ye home.” Home?

“You don’t have to worry.” Simon, the bigger one, tells you. “We’re going to take care of you.” Take care of who? Everything is foggy, clouded, and you try to shake your head in confusion.

“I don’t… why-“

“Storm is pretty bad. One of those, once in a lifetime types. Pass is closed.” You close your eyes. Of course. The pass is closed. You guess you’re lucky. They could have left you to die, and you could have never been found. You could have frozen to death. Bled out.

“Thank… thank you.” Johnny hums, and then you ripple in shock as he leans forward and brushes his lips against your mouth in a kiss. This… this is not normal? Are Scottish people just… more affectionate?

“Want ye to know, if we didnae have to do this, we woudnae.” What?

“Do what?” Simon casts you a mournful glance, rising from the chair. He’s got piece of leather in his hand, like a cut from a belt, and your eyes dart between them, fear freezing solid inside your pores. Do what?

“Bite down on this, precious.” Simon instructs, placing the swatch against your bottom lip, and you jerk away in protest, pain burning through your body.

“Do what?” You try to sound strong, demanding, but it comes out a little less than timid, and he gives you a sad smile.

“Your femur is broken.” A warm hand rests on your leg, over the covers, and you try to click the pieces together. “And I suspect your radius is, too. We need to set them.”

Oh. Oh no.

“N-no, no, you… you ca-can’t.” You stutter. They can’t. A doctor should be doing that, shouldn’t they? Johnny hovers over you, placing his palm on your belly, stroking upwards to the middle of your chest, the other holding firm across your collarbone. His touch is gentle, but strong, and his thumb rubs in a cautious motion against your skin, lightly grazing the underside of your breast. It feels weird, and wrong… intimate in a way that makes you shiver. “Please. Please, please… don’t-“

“It’s alright.” He shushes you, and the pressure increases against your body as Simon wedges a thick finger between your teeth, slipping the worn leather in your mouth, bracing around your wrist, his other hand holding your elbow. You gasp for air, adrenaline fueled by pain and fear coursing through you, and Johnny coos, telling you ye’ll be alright, that ye’re with them now, and they’ll take such good care of ye.

“Take a deep breath.” Simon urges, and you stare at him, wide eyed, pulse thundering in your ears.

“Ye’ll probably pass out, bonnie. We’ll get the second one done while ye’re down, and I already gave ye somethin’ for the pain.” He assures, like it’s supposed to relieve you, and your nostrils flare as something tightens against your arm. Simon’s grip.

This can’t be happening. This has to be a nightmare. How can this happen? No, nononono-

There’s a crack. A crunch. Burning, obliterating torture rockets up your arm, exploding inside you like a shot. You scream and bite down at the same time, raw misery trying to claw it’s way out of your throat. You think you’re crying, hallucinating from the pain, having a heart attack, fucking dying, all at once. It hurts, it hurts so bad, stop, please-

“We’re sorry, we’re sorry.” Simon soothes, thumb wiping your cheek, but you can hardly hear him, your brain starting to sever itself from reality, floating away as you slip inside the dark tomb of your mind, losing yourself to the fog as they both stare down at you, sickeningly saccharine concern layered overtop the faces of wolves, predators licking their maws in preparation for a meal.

You sleep and wake in a haze.

You sleep. Your dreams are torments, visions of being chased through the mountains by monsters, being pinned to the ground, teeth tearing into your throat with no preamble, or nightmares of drowning, being swallowed by the ocean, lungs sputtering with concrete laden sea water.

You wake. Your vision blurs, mind scrambled by pain, vaguely aware of being moved, carried to the bathroom, held upright over a toilet, gentle touch soothing up and down your back, heavy palm cupping curve of your skull when your head is tipped back and something is dribbled past your lips. You blink blearily with stone weighted lids, taking in the room bit by bit, the wrought iron bed frame, crackling flames sparking in a fireplace, mountain of pillows sagging with the imprint of your body. Your limbs are wrapped and unwrapped, immobilized, and shifted, and the pain is enough to make you gasp for air, tipping you over into the decaying depths of unconsciousness again and again.

You sleep. Restless, chilled. Ice spreads from the nerves in the tip of your nose to your brain, your fingers, and you try to burrow it deeper, seeking the comfort of the pillows, but finding warm skin and muscle instead. In your sleep, it’s lovely. It’s comforting. Even when you’re rolled to your side, something sticking under your tongue, you chase the heady thick heat that seems to roll off the limbs around you.

You wake. There are voices, deep and rumbling, bouncing through the room. Warm water dabbing down your neck, your belly, your legs. You’re too hot, uncomfortable and smothered until you hear a sharp pitched snarl accompanied by a yank, and then there’s a void of emptiness around you.

You sleep.

You wake. The pain starts to change, melting into something that’s consistent, throbbing, but a little less sharp, unless you move, and then it shrieks through your nerves like an electrical shock, vibrating your jaw shut.

You sleep.

You wake. They’re there. Simon is dabbing a cool washcloth across your forehead. You try to flex away on instinct, but firm hands stop you, holding you in place.

“Hey there, dove.” Johnny whispers, smiling. It’s a shy kind of smile, sweet, and the world spins. You grapple with reality, trying to remind yourself where you are, what happened. The fire snaps and pops behind Simon, who stands at his side, massive hand on his shoulder. “Made ye some breakfast. Think ye can eat somethin’?” Breakfast? A steaming bowl of oats sits cradled in his hand, spoon at the ready. Nausea roars, enflamed by the pain in your bones, and you shake your head. “Ye need to eat. Been givin’ ye soup for the past few days, but ye need more carbs.”

“I- I don’t understand.” You try to explain your confusion, hundreds of questions brewing on your tongue, trying to spill out.

“You’ve been in and out consciousness for the last week.” Simon explains, and your eyes widen.

“What?” Panic knots, twisting you up tight, heart fluttering in your chest.

“We had to sedate you. Needed to keep you still through the first part of the healing process.”

“You… you drugged me?” You stammer, and Simon smiles, but it’s not sweet like Johnny’s. It’s severe. It’s dangerous.

“Soft calluses form around fractures, after they’ve been set.” He sits down on the other side of the bed, across your hips from Johnny. “Your breaks aren’t in casts, so we needed to minimize your movement until the calluses could strengthen.”

“Ye willnae be able to walk on the leg, or lift anything with that arm, but we’ll help ye.” Johnny assures. “We’ll be here for ye, as ye get better.” The words don’t compute, and you look at both of their faces, sweeping back and forth, blue eyes to brown, brown to blue, until the only thing that you can think of blurts out of your mouth:

“Where’s my phone?” There’s a flash of discontent in Johnny’s features, but it’s quickly smoothed away, and you wonder if it even there in the first place.

“I imagine it’s somewhere near where your jeep rolled. We weren’t exactly concerned with finding it, considering we were trying to save your life.” Simon’s hands flex in the sheets, and then relax, serious look on his face, and guilt swamps you. Right. They saved your life. You could have died. And the pass is closed. Maybe this is all… as normal as it can be, given the situation. Calm down.

Still…

Didn’t Johnny kiss you?

The spoon clinks against the bowl, jolting you back to the moment, eyeing the scoop of oats as it drifts closer to your mouth, lips parting on instinct.

The first bite is difficult, an insipid, unsavory lump sliding down into your stomach, toothy grin stretching across Johnny’s face as you swallow. The second bite is easier. So is the third, and you manage a few more after that until you start to feel wooly, head fuzzy and stomach sick. “I can’t.” You bleat, and he nods sympathetically.

“Alright, ye did good.” Sleep tugs, insistent again, strong surge of fog pulling at your eyes, and you yawn.

“Tired?” Simon’s already moving, hovering, patiently adjusting your pillows and lazily urging you into them. “You should rest.” You’re too weak, too miserable to argue, so you let yourself fade to black, easily falling back into the webbed slush of sleep.

You drift in and out for days after that. A bright spot of consciousness here and there before it dissipates and you fall into oblivion, and you find yourself embracing it as often as possible, trying to escape into yourself, away from wooden beams and potential predators that flank you.

You’re content to let it stay that way, hiding away behind closed lids for as long as possible, until the morning you feel the washcloth.

“Sh-sh-shhh.” Johnny hums when you garble out a distressed question, tipping a glass to your mouth. Cold liquid rushes across your tongue, and you have no choice but to swallow, confusion webbing across your thoughts. Simon has the blankets pulled away, chilled air nipping and your skin, and you moan. It’s strange, like you’re exposed, half floating like you’re high, and half spiraling through your pain.

“It’s okay, we’ve got you.” They’re repositioning you, arms and legs like a little doll, and you frown. “Jus’ need to get you clean.” Clean? The washcloth coasts across your neck and down to your chest, warm water soaking a trail down your breasts. You’re naked, fully, a hot palm against your hip, skin on skin contact registering as you blink fuzzily, watching the way Johnny focuses on you, concentration shining in his stunning blue eyes.

Water sloshes. Squeezing and dripping, and then the warm, nearly hot cloth is being pressed against you, stroking over your nipples, washing the underside of your breasts. It feels nice, and you whine a little when it pulls away. Simon chuckles.

“Do ye like that?” Johnny coos, reapplying the cloth to your belly. “Does that feel good?” Does it? Is it supposed to? Your vision doubles then realigns, and you stare at the underside of Simon’s jaw, mesmerized by the scar on his chin, the width of his neck. He readjusts you, again, slowly moving your knees apart, spreading your legs, and heat climbs through your bones to your cheeks.

You’re naked. They’re fully clothed.

“We’re goin’ clean this up a bit.” Simon murmurs, a thick finger tracing along your slit, through the soft curls between your legs, and you balk. Clean what? How?

“My… my-“ you can’t even get the words out, too embarrassed, and he nods, sliver flash of a razor twinkling in his hand. The air in your chest sputters.

“Your hair.” Johnny works the washcloth back and forth, water dripping down your skin to the towel that’s been placed under your hips, you can only lay there in mortification when you feel yourself getting wet, tepid arousal roaring to life between your legs. “If you’re a good girl for us,” Simon continues, spraying a big glob of shaving cream into Johnny’s palm, “we’ll give you a treat afterwards. How’s that sound?”

“A treat?” You squeak, and then whimper, Johnny’s fingers creeping down your slit, rubbing the cream across your pubis and labia, heel brushing against your clit. You make a noise of a protest, but it falls on deaf ears.

“Ye’re alright.” He coos, bumping against the swollen bud again, and you try to stop the moan that builds in your chest with no success, slamming your eyes shut and trying to disappear into the pillows. “It’s natural, dove. Ye dinnae need to feel embarrassed.” He leans forward, slotting his mouth against yours, lips soft and fragrant in a pillowy sweet kiss that lasts too long, his eyes blissfully closed in front of your almost crossed ones.

“Please…” you whisper, but you’re not sure what you’re asking for, and Johnny coos at you, bending at the waist to get a better vantage point between your legs. You shake your head, eyes wide with disbelief, with fear, your mind trying to catch up, trying to rationalize what’s happening at the same time as your body is betraying you, slicking the cream that’s lathered between your thighs, clit pulsing with desperate need.

“I- I don’t want you to… shave me.” You whisper. You don’t want them to touch you… there, and the panic that’s pulsing between your ears continues to rise as your protests go unnoticed. Just saying it out loud makes you want to die of embarrassment, and Simon clucks.

“We have to take care of you, sweet girl.” Simon grips your thigh, fingers pressing into flesh, and the cool blade of the razor moves against the grain with a flick of his wrist, drawing back to a bucket for a rinse before a repeat, breath frozen in your chest as he slowly eliminates the curls of your pubic hair. “It will be easier to do that, to see what you need without all this.” He hums, the smile of a wolf coy on his face. “Stay nice and still for us.” They work in tandem, perfectly synchronized, and your unwanted arousal starts to overpower the pain that’s radiating from your broken bones. It’s been so, so long since you’ve been touched by anyone, and your body does not care that you didn’t want this, or agree to it, too eager to be satisfied, to be touched in anyway it can get, and it gets worse, more intense the longer it goes on, the precise movements of their hands, the slow and methodical approach to your cunt. “Almost done.” Simon tells you, and the side of his finger passes over your clit unintentionally, and you whine. “I know, I know. You’re bein’ so good. Such a good girl.” Your good hand is shaking, gripping the sheets, and when he finishes, Johnny wipes you down with a clean cloth, passing over your clit again and again, electric shocks sparking in your belly. You’re paralyzed, helpless, and yet… soaked. Desperate. The warring emotions tear at you, shame and fear and desire rendering you speechless.

“I think ye need some relief, dove.” Johnny hums, looking from your pussy to Simon, both of them tilting their heads to stare between your legs. “Poor thing is so swollen, Si.”

“Do you want to touch her, Johnny? Give her a reward?” Simon asks him, so sweetly, and Johnny shimmies down to be eye level with your pussy, tongue darting out to lick his lips.

Half of you screams no. Half of you shouts yes.

All you can do is watch, helplessly, as they settle themselves between your legs, Simon over Johnny’s shoulder, tempering his frenzied excitement with assured patience.

“Will ye show me how?” He’s eager, and you frown, confused.

“Johnny’s never made a girl come before,” Simon tells you gently. “You’ll be his first.” Oh my god. “Will you help him? Tell him what feels good?” Your brain melts. You don’t know what to say, mouth half open, staring at the both of them, and after a few seconds, Simon sighs like he’s exasperated with you, before ducking back down next to Johnny and murmuring softly to him, probing along your cunt, finger dipping into your hole, swirling in the wetness gathered there and then moving up to your slit. You gasp, eyes nearly rolling back in your head.

“She likes that.” Johnny groans, breath blowing over your exposed flesh, and Simon takes his hand, thumb over thumb, guiding him in small circles around your clit.

“Nice an’ slow at first, when you’re rubbin’ her clit. Feel how hard it is?” He instructs, pressing a kiss to the side of Johnny’s head, and he nods enthusiastically, looking up at Simon with wide, puppy dog eyes, sappy and saturated with love. It’s sweet, and affectionate, like they’re the only ones in the room, in the world… and you’re intruding on a private moment between these two men and your body. Like you’re a bystander. Or a doll. It’s confusing, your brain trying to sort everything that’s happening into neat little boxes that keep overflowing or falling apart, fracturing under the weight of your helplessness, the shock and fear that’s nearly made you dizzy. “See how her little hole is clenchin’ like that? It’s ‘cause she’s empty, needs to be filled up. When she comes, she’ll get real tight.” He explains, your body enflaming in mortified heat. They’re pushing you closer and closer to an orgasm, and Simon increases the speed as your hips jolt.

“Fuck.” You hiss.

“That’s it.” Simon coaches. “Are you close, sweet girl? Gonna come for us?” You shake your head, but even if you wanted to close your legs, you couldn’t. You’re trapped, lost in a sea of wild waves that break directly over your head, one after another until you’re drowning, gasping, muscles so tight they burn, pain in your arm and leg a secondary concern behind the pressure in your belly, the zap of your clit as they drag you too easily to the bottom, before sending you breaking through the surface.

You come with a distressed moan, hips jerking, and then a raspy plea for them to stop, telling them it’s too much, you’re too sensitive, to which Simon wraps his hand around Johnny’s wrist and pulls his hand away.

“We can’t overwhelm her just yet. Gotta wait until she’s healed up, hm?” He murmurs, reaching for the cloth. You blink at the ceiling, drifting, floating away, little boxes in your mind broken up into gnarled pieces that don’t make sense.

What just happened?

You stay silent, blank, as they settle you, cloth cleaning between your legs, blankets being fussed with around your body, pillows plumped. Simon curls some of your unruly hair behind your ear, swooping down until the breadth of his body blocks out all the light in the room, lips brushing over your ear. “What a good girl you are, dove. Did so well, letting Johnny give you an orgasm. So sweet for him.” He tucks you in a little tighter, and Johnny ducks around him, kissing you gently, like you’re made of glass, thrilled smile tugging at his cheeks, unfettered joy the last thing you see before your eyes slip shut.

The next time you wake, Johnny is in bed with you. It’s dark, a flickering orange glow casting shadow across the room, and you startle at the weight of his arm stretched across your chest, cradling you close, half curled around you like a cat. You turn, face to face, his mouth slightly agape, breath blowing over your cheek. You can’t get enough leverage on one leg to slide out from under him, and when you squirm, he only tightens his grip, pinning you to the bed. You’re overheated, and when you peek over his shoulder to get a look at the fire, you see Simon instead, sitting upright in a chair, fully awake, watching you. White hot fear shocks your system, forcing your eyes down in disbelief, surprise, his chair creaking in the night. Your breath stops in your chest, and then there’s a hand smoothing over your forehead, as he leans past you to brush his lips against Johnny’s, and then rough stubble presses against your cheek with a jagged whisper.

“Sweet dreams, little dove.”

#peaches writes #dub con #ghost x soap x reader #soap x ghost x reader #ghoap x reader #john soap mactavish #ghost x reader x soap #simon riley #simon riley x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #Ghoap #soap x reader

1K notes · View notes

rabbitcruiser · 2 months ago

Text

Forest (No. 64)

Pit River Falls And Canyon Vista Point, CA (four pics)

Napa, CA (seven pics)

18 notes · View notes

darkdemeter · 6 months ago

Text

BY THEIR LEASH

⚤ Wanda Maximoff x Werewolf! Female Reader Mafia stuff — mention of death — alcohol consumption (like a lot) — 18+ SMUT, MINORS DNI — Porn with plot? — lesbian sex — threesome — may be some grammar errors and such — slight bondage — little bit of muscle/stomach riding if you squint your eyes, turn your head that way... — I think that's it? ✎ 4.3k

↳ MASTERLIST | ↳ TAGLISTS ────────────────────────

An expensive investment. A broad term to use for a werewolf broken in by the system at a young age. But it’s true.

Alexander Pierce, the finance manager and ringleader as a whole, did all he could to break you in, and to say he did is an understatement. He exceeded the limits you once believed you had and once you were ready, he put you out in the field to garner your reputation.

You had no limits. Ruthless in your endeavour to complete whatever task was required of you, prepared to do whatever it took, your peers could only look at you with both fear and admiration.

When all was said and done, you were given your collar, then sold through the underground hub for criminals: the black market.

That’s when you learnt in the span of the few minutes that the auction lasted for, that you were either a trophy to those of the higher class of crime, or a very wanted source of security and war. From black funding operators that had their hand in the military’s pit on the hunt for a war hound, to the gangster overlords who controlled territories in the differing states and countries, requiring some form of high end security, there was a very rapid increase in the price they were each willing to pay.

At a total of twenty-five million, your collar and services were sold to Mr. Tony Stark. From the sleek fit of a light grey, three piece suit and bright pink tie, Stark had a brighter outlook on the window of his underhand activities. He was the type that lounged back in the severity of his criminal dealings.

Unlike his fellow company who each wore darker palette suits of either navy blue or jet black. He stood out for sure as his auburn tinted glasses did little to hide the one question on his mind: Was his money well spent?

Well, to say at the very least, you wouldn’t be here tonight if you weren’t worth every single cent he spent on you three years ago.

Thinking about the memory now, this is a different tone entirely. Dark and neon is how you remember the black market scene, stalls and cube stores with an assortment of supplies anyone in the business would need, whether that be for the amateurs - which were the usual target customers - or the smaller businesses which belonged to small cluster gangs.

The big time runners had designated storehouses to spare where they obtained their supplies, and ran other dealings and hand-offs in and out of private rooms in the clubs.

Here, the scene is warm, lavish and made for those who seek the comfort in living in marble halls and pristine white pillars, short cut grass and elaborate parties such as this one.

“Shit, this party is awfully chipper for someone who died last week,” you huff, eyes scanning the crowd from the smooth, darkly polished bar, which you incidentally found very comfortable to lean back on when told for the hundredth time, “Just sit tight, just a little bit longer.”

You didn’t have the time nor patience to sit around getting older by the damn minute. Thankfully, Tony put his card behind the bar so that meant an endless river of drinks. Because you needed the alcohol. A lot.

Not a moment too late is your glass refilled with your refreshment. And not too soon after is it halfway downed.

“Please, Y/N,” sighs Steve from your right side, arms folded over his chest, navy blue suit straining just a bit too tightly against his body, “have some respect for the Maximoff family. They lost their only male heir to a deal gone wrong. They need our support.”

Your shoulders rise with a particularly deep inhale before falling lax, you swirl the sliver of whiskey left in your glass and with a jerk of your wrist you finish it. Ice rattles in your glass as you shimmy it, indicating you need another refill and pronto.

“People live, people die. You cross someone and you get shot in the back. It happens.”

“He was gunned down in the streets with a fucking machine gun, Y/N. You consider that a mere shot in the back?”

You shrug in response to Sam’s question with a pout of your bottom lip. “Pietro thought he was the shit. That’s what got him killed by Rumlow.”

Sam runs a hand over his face, now distressed by the lack of sincerity you show for the grieving family. “For fuck sake…”

In the three years of your loyal work to the Stark family and those of his brotherhood - his allies - your colours shone through immensely to reveal a shining personality. Excluding the fact you’d become something of a playful rogue with the women.

You simply chalk it up to your animal magnetism. Something that leaves them wanting more whenever in the presence of your company.

In fact, that was how Tony came to own unclaimed establishments and clubs in the boroughs, ones he wasn’t able to get his hands on before, but after he had you as a playable card in his hand, you provided club goers the relief of being harassed and drinks being spiked. Territorial take over schemes from rival gangs were second guessed when they saw you watching over the joint.

The after hour visits for your libido were just the perks. But you left a lot of lustful and broken little hearts in the wake of your work.

For a werewolf, you were always assumed to be a means of security, and that much was true. Didn’t mean it excluded you from taking on other odd jobs for the families from time to time. Debt collection, assassinations, tailing and blackmail ops, the list is endless.

When Steve casts a hardened stare your way, you mockingly raise your hands up in surrender.

“Alright, I’ll offer my condolences to the heiress, but I ain’t weeping at her feet for her brother who got himself into that mess because he thought he was too big for his own shoes.”

“Just behave yourself, alright? The last thing we need is the entirety of Europe at war with us.” You roll your eyes and salute the captain. “Yessir.”

You bring the glass rim to your lips and draw a small gulpful of your renewed liquor, the fiery taste rolls over your tongue, you savour it to keep your sanity intact lest you go insane from the waiting. Where was the heiress?

“Well, well, I thought I wouldn’t see any of you again. Especially you.” Your head, as well as those of your group, direct their gaze to the new voice. The corners of your lips twitch up and you flash her a wolfish grin, chin tilting up slightly in your relaxed position against the bar. You looked like a cat happily laying in the sun.

“Miss Romanoff,” each of the men greeted with a nod of their heads. You, however, pat your thigh as an invitation for her to sit. “I had work to do the next morning.”

“Mm, that’s what you tell the other girls, I’m sure.” You clap a hand to your chest with a wince. “You wound me, sweetheart. If I had the chance, I would have stayed.”

She hums but it’s obvious she doesn’t believe you by the rise in her brow.

Natasha Romamoff is a hard fish to catch. One of the more established families that control practically the entirety of Europe, alongside the Maximoff family, the two were partners and crafting an empire strong enough to stand on their own without any dire need for support.

Yes, her family had prior dealings with the brotherhood. The Starks, Wilsons, Barnes and Rogers and more, whether to collaborate on a bigger criminal project to the smaller portioned deals. Smuggled goods and weapons, blackmail intel deliverance, international bribery to keep the feds off your backs.

But she never committed to joining forces.

You suppose it’s a good power move on her part. She doesn’t have to abide by any of the family creeds, in the end, you’re all loose ends that may potentially be severed if need be. She had the ball in her court and the mysterious Maximoff heiress.

Even your animal magnetism wasn’t enough to charm her into joining forces with Stark and his powerhouse of families, but they were surely enough to charm her into a wild one night stand.

But as you told her. You had work to do. And now she appears to spurn you with her eyes and cruel words, but still entertains your flirtatious advances and indulges the empty space of your thigh.

For a well respected mob boss such as herself, she definitely liked to play it risky; dressing included.

Last you saw her, she was dressed in a more professional manner. But here at this funeral party, whatever the fuck it was, she chose to wear a black, spaghetti strap cocktail dress that’s short enough to be skimming the mid of her thigh. The slit riding the dress up higher is just plain dangerous.

She’s facing you, back arched and arse resting on the cliff of your knee. Your clawed hand supports her at the small of her back. Her perfume is strong and complimenting, a sweet bouquet of lavender which rolls over the exposed tops of her breasts from her even more exposed neck. Her plump, red lips move in a way that’s hypnotic. “So I hear you’re going to be a bargaining chip for Wanda Maximoff.”

“Where’d you hear that?” you scoff with a flick of your chin.

“I have spies who whisper to me,” she answers with a swift quirk of her brow.

Of course she overheard the news. She then chuckles softly, and all eyes watch her with a level of suspicion. “She won’t take any deal you offer her. She’s determined to steer clear of your little gang wars over in the states.”

“Rumlow killed her brother and he has bases around our territories. Wouldn’t she appreciate the extra hands in catching the rat?” Bucky poses the question with a dark brow angled high and clenched jaw, the muscles in his cheeks flex harder when Natasha offers no affirmative response; a mark to hopefully land you in the door and good graces with the heiress.

“You really think she wants a guard dog?”

“Hey,” you growl with a wrinkle of your nose, fangs on the precipice of baring at her. How she used the term in a condescending manner made the fur beneath your skin bristle. Sam claps a hand to your shoulder, somehow able to sense the seething anger within you.

“We just want to help. Offer support for her loss and bring Rumlow down.”

“No. You want a foothold in Europe. And I’m sorry but…” She looks you up and down, drinking in the sight of you and you know she can see you without your clothes on. “You’re not going to cut it, babe.”

She turns her body to make her getaway but you don’t let her slip away just like that. She gasps and looks to you with a furrowed glare when your arm circles her waist and tugs her back until she’s flush against you, the men in your company watch with trepidation of your next course of action.

“I will cut it because whether she wants to admit it or not, she needs us.”

Natasha’s eyes, true to her fashion, darken with a challenge. “You’re wasting your time. She’ll get Rumlow herself.”

“And if Rumlow plans to get her first?” For a moment you see the doubt cross her face. “That’s where she needs me.”

“Tony Stark.” Each of the men turn to the voice behind them and their once cool and collected selves turn rigid, nervous under the power one woman can hold so absolute, her green eyes scan each of their faces before they land on you.

You finally look and meet her stare, still holding Natasha against you even as she tries to push away from you.

“Unhand her,” the woman commands with an accented tongue.

At first, you wanted nothing more than to play this out a little, see what makes this woman tick. But both Tony and Steve look at you, silent in their order, you sigh heavily and release Natasha. Once you do, she wastes no time in joining Wanda’s side with a bow of her head.

“I hear that you wished to have an audience with me.”

Wanda is the sole survivor of this ordeal. Her parents were assassinated two years ago and now her brother was killed. This is the stressed matter at hand, her empire could crumble to the ground, all that hard work put into the grave because she’s being so fucking stubborn with this deal.

“I will not sign my family, nor any of my shares, to Stark Industries. Enough have I done to keep you out of the hands of law enforcement. I will handle Rumlow myself.”

This isn’t how any of you hoped this would go. The grief has made her stronger than before. It wasn’t exactly you were waiting for the chance for her to have a weak spot and try your luck, but you all had thought she might even be at least a little desperate for extra help.

Natasha’s face says it all: I told you so. You can only roll your eyes and resume with what you’re doing. Refilling your empty glass with more liquor. You’ve yet to scratch the surface of being tipsy.

“Miss Maximoff, we only wish to help you. All we ask in return is that you grant us some territory to work with for our trade deals as payment, for support lent to you to catch Rumlow.” Steve is calm in his approach to reason with her, but if anything, her raised hand indicates her refusal, unswayed by the honey of his words. Your tongue rolls the rounds of your mouth, each time measured by your impatience as you slowly circle around the dealings table, unable to find yourself comfortable against the stiffened wood of your seat.

“You do realise that you’re asking for more than your so-called ‘support’ is actually worth.” You blink several times, the blow of it a downright attack on their egos.

“No, I want something more.”

“And I want alcohol to affect me so I can sleep well at night,” you mutter to the glassy rim against your bottom lip. Wanda’s eyes flicker to you, bearing down a sinister glare. “Excuse me?”

“And we were just about to suggest that very thing!” Tony interjects with a grin, eager to utilise his card, his Ace Wolf as he liked to call you. He gestures to where you stand now at the table’s other end.

She directs her eyes to look you up and down slowly, gaze polished with keen observation. She hums thoughtfully before she looks to Natasha.

“E atât de bună?”

The red haired chuckles and sitting back in her chair, chest heaving with a breathy sigh, she nods.

“Exceptional de bun. Cu o limbă ca asta…”

Bucky shifts in his seat, a hollow whistle on his lips over the exchange of heated words, and you flash a grin at both women. The words of foreign tongue, however, pass over the heads of the other men, their eyes looking to either you or Bucky only to be answered with a shrug, but knowing that look in your eyes, they can take a good guess as to what’s being discussed.

With another passing frame of time, both women pull away from their engrossed conversation. “I’ve been made aware that you intend to bargain your wolf to me,” she says, once again letting her sight fall on you.

“And if that is the case, and what I have been told…” She trails off momentarily, finding to correct herself in the midst of something you can smell very clearly on her - or rather between her legs. “Then I’ll accept.”

Each man present in the room is given pause to revel in the stun before them. Wanda Maximoff, the heiress of Europe’s biggest family, accepts their deal. All at the price of you.

“You’ll have your answer by tomorrow, Mr Stark,” Wanda says, standing from her chair, she beckons you to follow with a kink of her fingers. One by one and following in unison, their eyes turn to you as you shuffle back on your heel with shrug your shoulders and fanged grin.

“Animal magnetism, boys.”

Wanda’s heels bound a steady beat as she wanders over to the foot of her bed, making an elegant show of swaying her hips and drawing your attention to her form. From behind, Natasha slips the dark suit jacket from your shoulders. Tosing it aside, her hands play the form of an enchanting guide, ushering you forward while tracing the hidden curves of your muscles.

“As per courtesy, Miss Maximoff wants the first claim.”

You huff in reply, “And you?”

Natasha hums softly and plucks your belt loose from your trousers. “I have you two, I won’t go unsatisfied tonight.”

Tilting your head to view Wanda who stands idle, fingers playing with the lining of her dress above her breasts, you stalk towards her, her back arching under your touch with a breathless whimper, you trail the zip of her gown down slowly. Falling around her ankles as a fabricated halo, she turns suddenly and your lips collide together in hunger.

She sinks down to the bed, laying back until her hair fans around her, spreading her legs apart. That feverish hunger boils within your blood, running it hold and thick, the fur beneath your skin bristled in your excitement as you take care to roll the sleeves of your skirt to your elbows. To your knees, you’re brought to the sight of her soaked underwear, the dark patch evidently giving away just how badly she required you between her quivering thighs. Natasha’s hands rake through the length of your hair and scratches at your scalp, earning a low purr of pleasure to rumble in your chest.

You lean forward and all it takes is a single inhale and you’re let loose of your chain of control, claws shearing the fabric that dares to confine her awaiting cunt any longer. She gasps upon contact, your lips smothering her moistened, slick lips and she gives a deep-noted moan, arching her hips up, your hands wrap around her thighs to drag her to you more.

She tastes like the fine wines of heaven, a forbidden savour on the tongue that which you greedily lap, your eyes close as you succumb to the wolf’s hunger, tongue lapping heavily at her clit.

She whines and cries, breath hot and light in her lungs as her nails rip into the sheets to no damaging avail. Natasha hovers above, watching on in her own longing and desire. She dips a hand beneath the hem of her dress, aside she pushes her own soaked panties and delicately dances her fingers over the sensitive bulb with a keening breath you hear catch in her throat.

Natasha leans down low until the scape of her breasts brushes against your shoulder blade, lips a tantalising thing and moving sinfully to mouth, “I’m touching myself to you.”

“Watching you please her is making me so wet, Wolf.”

“Make us both cum.”

You growl deeply and Wanda’s body visibly shudders in response to the wild vibrations that course through her abdomen, shaking her whole and off centre, her hips begin to jerk as she nears her climax. Both women mingle in their euphoria and your own core comes to life, sparked by the noises they make in unison, an orchestra of pleasure. Suckling and licking at her core, she cries out and the lips of her pussy shrink around absence and she sighs in bliss. In tandem, Natasha moans loudly from behind and you feel her body press against you as her hand works hard as fucking her fingers into her cunt, the sound of slick and skin melding together addicting.

“You weren’t… kidding, Nat,” she says between laboured breaths.

Slowing your advances, you finally pull away with a sigh, her juices glistening on your lips. Wanda looks at you and her cheeks flush at the sight before Natasha’s other hand forces your attention to her. Her lips connect with yours and her tongue darts over the bottom of yours, tasting Wanda with a delicious sound that you swallow.

After she pulls from you, she then shares a look with Wanda and the two of them grin. “Shall we reward her?”

“I think she’s been a good girl.”

Oh, how the wolf loves that. Praise for a job well done you can hardly suppress your proud smirk. Buu before you can do much else, Natasha pushes you and your knees are knocked out from beneath you, Wanda having rolled to the side only to follow Natasha’s lead as they both halfway straddle you, otherwise keeping you pinned to the mattress below.

Together they peel away your dress pants, giggling and muttering to one another in that alluring tongue, your mind in a haze to catch barely a sentence shared between them but you gained awareness of what they intended when they each stroked their tongues over your stimulated pearl.

“‘Sh–shit!” you hiss sharply and your hips buck, the two women giggling at the sight of you writhing.

They give no further warning as they duck down. Their mouths work together against your clit, suckling it to draw pathetic whines from that deep part inside you dare not let anyone see, their voices trespass the air with betraying praises that speak only of teases and their tongues lap at the slick of your pussy that clenches at the attention. Your hands grapple the sheets and tear hard, the damage unnoted and not cared for.

“Girls– fuck!” you groan at the rise in your core, oh so ready to reach that climactic end that you have been denied for the past several weeks. It’s not too long that your first release has you whining, the nois a higher pitched sound that does slowly in broken notes as you cum, the girls moaning and allowing their lips to graze one another as they lapped and sucked you.

Wanda is the first to make eye contact and move towards you, her leg swoops over to fully straddle your stomach, in her hands is your belt. She rips the centre of your shirt apart, buttons flying to discarded corners of the room to be mere pebbles of disregard.

You see the way her eyes drink in the sight of your toned muscles, the pinky tip of her tongue darting over her wet lips.

She adores the way you tilt your head to the side, a curious whine on your lips. “I’ve always wanted something on a leash. May I?”

You don’t particularly care for the way her question hits a mark submerged deeper into your heart, reaching for something you denied was there. Dignity. Usually people just took from you and you came to accept that. Expect it.

You nod up at her and she fixes the belt around the column of your neck, the leather cool against the blazing heat of your skin, but something inside you flutters. Quickly, you push it down.

Natasha moves into the same position behind Wanda, your larger size very much able to accommodate both of them, Natasha trails light kisses along Wanda’s shoulder as she fastens the belt and gives an experimental tug. A soft grunt hitches in your throat in retort and you flash her a grin, the sharpened points of your fangs perched against your bottom lip.

“The wolf never let me tame her, Miss Maximoff.”

“Oh, she just needed some reassurance,” Wanda replies gently with a smile. For a moment, you wanted to believe her words were sincere. Your hands run along Wanda’s thighs until they reach her hips and with a roll forward, she grinds her pussy against your torso, feeling the defined muscles press and tense against her, bringing her to moan under her breath. Natasha drapes a hand over your own to roll and pinch Wanda’s swollen clit, her eyes finding yours.

“Watch her,” she commands breathlessly and you do so, amber glows in fluorescent pulses as Wanda biomes slick with her arousal. The fine artistry of their bodies moving together as they roll and grind against you, you cannot help but reach a hand up, claw catching the thin silk of Wanda’s bra and severing the contraption into two, letting it fall and reveal her plump breasts; her nipples erect.

Wanda circles an arm behind her and behind Natasha’s head, her back arching to the pleasure she becomes lost in, and you purely enjoy the show above, admiring the glow of sweat collecting on their skin, groaning as their slick covers your stomach as they ride you. The hand working Wanda’s clit speeds up and then slows, teasing the heiress, she gives you a sly grin.

“Do that thing with the claws,” she says and Wanda’s eyes open, as if awakening from her bliss and becoming enlightened with wonderment.

“W-what thing?”

“I’ll show you.”

You sit by the bed, elbow propped up on the chair’s arm with a glass in your grasp, imagination lost in the reverie of last night’s events with a smirk carved into your mouth. Both women lay wrapped together, bodies nude and pressed up to each other as they continue to sleep. You surely tired them out.

Thankfully and mostly dressed when Tony came wandering in, the band of his fellow brothers staying just beyond the room’s threshold, though it still didn’t make to hide the snarl creeping up your throat as the sudden intrusion. You take a sip of your drink as Tony scans the room, gaze flickering between the two women and you who bares an illuminated glare at him.

“What the hell happened last night?”

“We got her affirmative answer on the deal,” you answer with a raise of your glass in cheers before downing the last of your drink.

THANKS FOR READING!

✎ a note from the author, Long overdue, finally knocking this one out before it gets retired to permanent draft status ughhhh... *proceeds to fall face first in tired raccoon*

on this issue's taglist, we've got: @alexawynters @alyciaddict @simpforlizzie @literaturedog @maladaptive-daydreamz @mathxa @blackbirdv98

#headlinesxcomics publishing #female reader #mafia au #wanda maximoff x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #werewolf reader #wanda maximoff smut #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff x you #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x reader smut #wanda x werewolf smut #natasha x werewolf smut #wanda maximoff fic #wanda x werewolf! reader #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff

561 notes · View notes

felassan · 5 months ago

Text

The Slightest Ones bard song:

Arlathan fell so deep onto the ocean floor

Dalish elven lore:

"It is said that the Tevinter magisters used their great destructive power to force the very ground to swallow Arlathan whole"

The Adventures of the Black Fox by Gaston Gerrault:

"The stories all agree that, at some point, the Black Fox disappeared: He and his fellow adventurers voyaged into the heart of the Arlathan forest seeking the sunken city of the elves and never returned"

Solas dialogue:

"Imagine [...] palaces floating among the clouds."

Codex entry: Vir Dirthara: Homecoming

"a city of glass spires so deeply blue they ache. The city's outskirts are wrapped in lakes of mist, and figures stroll along the pearly, glowing strips as if they walked on solid ground [...] other elves walk below a river churning along an invisible shoal in the air."

Tevinter tries to mimic some ancient elvhen magic and Minrathous has a floating castle.

Location in Dragon Age: The Veilguard -

Arlathan Crater: one, two, three

Definitions of "crater":

- a landform consisting of a hole or depression on a planetary surface, usually caused either by an object hitting the surface, or by geological activity on the planet - a bowl-shaped pit that is formed by a volcano, an explosion, or a meteorite impact

Was the city of Arlathan a floating city kept aloft by ancient elvhen magic in a way that was intrinsically dependent on the presence of the Fade, and when the Veil was erected, with that tie severed it crashed to the ground like an asteroid? Did the ground swallow it whole? When Solas created the Veil, in that reshaping of reality was it physically spacetime-displaced deep into the heart of the Fade? When he made the Veil, did it "fall" (warp) into the Deep Roads like the elven library found by Genitivi in Genitivi Dies in the End? Did it fall to the bottom of the ocean? Did it fall into the other ocean, the Fade (the "Waters of the Fade", "the sea of dreams", the "emerald waters", "vast oceans, containing not water, but memories")? The Fade sort've reflects reality and is shaped by dreams, so is The City [by this I mean The Golden/Black City] the Fade-mirror-image or echo of Arlathan as opposed to literally physically it? the wild and fun thing about Dragon Age is that more than one of these things could be true at once.

ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

#dragon age: the veilguard #dragon age: dreadwolf #dragon age 4 #the dread wolf rises #da4 #dragon age #bioware #solas #video games #dragon age: tevinter nights #idk what this post is or what its saying other than excitement hhhh aaaaa #long post #longpost #gpoy

464 notes · View notes

serpentandlily · 1 year ago

Text

Untouchable - Azriel x Reader

Untouchable - Azriel x Rhysand's Sister! Reader ✨

Summary: For as long as you can remember, you have always had feelings for Azriel, your court's spymaster. But after centuries of watching him pine after your own cousin, hoping he'd eventually move on, your wish came true. He moved on-with Elain, your brother's mate's middle sister. Unable to watch him fall in love with someone else again, you flee from Velaris, from him. But things are a lot more complicated than that - more complicated than you ever imagined.

Warnings: angst

➻❥ Part I ➻❥ Part II ➻❥ Part III ➻❥ Part IV ➻❥ Part V

➻❥ Part VI ➻❥ Part VII ➻❥ Part VIII ➻❥ Part IX ➻❥ Part X

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Part I

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Your heart was twisting in your chest, a sick feeling curling in the pit of your stomach, as you hurried down the dimly lit hallways of the River House. You held a hand over your mouth, trying to stifle the sobs that threatened to break loose and the bile that stung the back of your throat. You could do it, you could hold it in. At least until you got back to your room. And then you’d be free to cry and cry and cry as much as you wanted to.

You had spent years trying to bury your feelings for the shadowsinger. What had started out as a harmless crush on your older brother’s friend when you were just a girl had blossomed into true, real feelings since you had come of age. But despite your best efforts, Azriel still never seemed to notice you. Not like that anyways.

Him and Cassian had adored you the moment you had entered their life as just a babe and the sister of their best friend. You had been born during a time of peace, decades after the war. The three of them had been nearing two-hundred. They had watched you grow into the female you were today. Had been there through your toughest years after watching your mother brutally murdered in front of you at the age of thirteen, barely saved before your own life was taken.

It was a good thing Rhys had become High Lord before the time you reached eighteen or your father would’ve had you married off, no doubt for some political alliance. You had hoped your brother would’ve given you a role in his court once you were of age but after almost losing you, he had become increasingly protective.

So instead of being sent on missions, or used as an emissary, you spent most of your time volunteering in Velaris—helping to build the sanctuary into what it was today. You had eventually stopped arguing with your brother to loosen up his hold on you when he had broken down crying in front of you simply at the thought of you never returning if he was to send you out in the world.

And how could you complain when Velaris had been your cage? So you learned to play your role, for him, for your brother. The pretty little sister of the High Lord. Never known for anything but your beauty. The beauty that had males sending your father marriage propositions since the age of ten.

But there had only ever been one person you wished would see you that way. And he never had. You had to watch him pine after your own cousin for centuries. Never once looking your way. You feared he’d only ever see you as that little girl—the one who used to climb all over them at the cabin, the one who had the three males wrapped around her finger since she had been born.

Only ever just a girl in his eyes.

And you had made peace with that, as much as it hurt to be looked over by the one person you wanted the most. It still bothered you to watch his eyes track Mor all the time, to stare at her in a way he would never look at you. You had made peace with that…until tonight.

You couldn’t lie to yourself and say you hadn’t seen the shift in him when he started looking after the middle Archeron sister. You had once believed he only had eyes for Mor, and it had brought you some solace in knowing that might be the only reason he had never looked your way.

But then Elain showed up and those affections shifted from Mor to her. Suddenly he was always with her, spending hours in the gardens with Elain. Staring at her the way he would stare at Mor. Your heart had started crumbling all over again with the realization that he could move on from Mor, could fall for someone other than her—and it hadn’t been you.

You had left your bed chambers tonight to fetch a glass of water from the kitchens but nothing could’ve prepared you for what you would’ve walked in on. You had smelt them before you opened the doors. Azriel’s cedar and night-chilled mist and Elain’s sweet jasmine and honey.

You should’ve left then but something had compelled you to open the kitchen doors just a hair.

And there they were. Elain seated on the counter, Azriel between her legs. Her skirt has been pushed up to her thighs, his hands tangled in her hair, as they kissed like two starved animals.

You were lucky you had spent years learning how to keep a strong mask like your brother, for it allowed you to slip away without them ever noticing you.

You finally made it to your room, shutting the door and locking it behind you. You were grateful for the sound wards you had put up because the minute you stepped over that threshold you collapsed into a heap on the floor as heart-wrenching sobs erupted from your lips.

It felt like you had been stabbed in the heart with a million knives, like someone had gutted you and twisted your insides. It hurt so much to think that Azriel would never want you the way you wanted him. He didn’t want you. He didn’t crave your presence the way you did his. He didn’t want to touch you the way you wanted to touch him. He just didn’t want you.

And he never would.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

“Send me somewhere,” you said, pressing your palms onto your brother’s desk as you stared at him right in the eyes—the eyes you shared. “Anywhere, I don’t care. Just send me somewhere.”

Rhys frowned, his eyebrows pinching together. “What has gotten into you? Did something happen?”

You let out a sigh, collapsing in one of the armchairs. You couldn’t tell him the real reason you wanted to leave. It was embarrassing. “Nothing happened. I’m just…tired of being cooped up here. Please, Rhys. It doesn’t even have to be far—just please.”

“Where is this coming from, y/n? You haven’t asked this in years. I thought you were happy here.”

“I am happy here. But I want to see the world, Rhys. And we’re finally in a time of peace. So let me, please.”

Rhys’s eyes narrowed, taking in your appearance. The slightly swollen eyes, the dark circles, the haphazard way you had braided your hair this morning. “Did…did someone hurt you? Did someone do something to you?”

“What? No!” A lie of course. But what could you say? Azriel had hurt you but it wasn’t like it was his fault. It wasn’t like he owed you anything.

“You know you can always talk to me about anything. Right, dove?” The use of his nickname for you nearly caused the tears you were fighting back to escape.

“Of course, Rhys. But I promise you. No one did anything to me. Please. The war is finally over and I think I’ve spent enough of my life here. I want to see what the rest of the world has to offer.”

Rhys’s head fell in his hands. “I-I don’t think I can let you go, dove. I’m sorry but I can’t bear it…I can’t bear not having you here where I can protect you.”

“It’s not fair!” You shouted, standing up. “I’m not a child anymore—I’m nearly three hundred years old for Gods sake! I’m suffocating here, Rhysie. Please.”

“Rhys,” Feyre said softly, placing a tattooed hand on her mate’s shoulder. “Perhaps it is time you let y/n make her own choices. You promised me you’d always give me a choice—would always let me decide what to do with my life. Why can’t that apply to your sister?”

You shot her a grateful look, hoping she would make him see reason. Rhys stayed silent and you knew he had been struck by her words. “I can go to Mor, on the continent. Then you don’t have to worry about me being alone. I can help her try to form alliances there.”

Still he said nothing but judging by Feyre’s narrowed eyes, you could tell they were having an argument mentally. You wiped your sweaty palms on your dress, wishing that he would listen to his mate about this. If anyone could talk Rhys into something, it was her.

It felt like an eternity went by before your brother finally looked up at you. His eyes were full of sadness and guilt and you knew in that moment, you had won.

“Fine, fine. But you will go to Mor in Vallahan and stay with her the whole time. You will listen to her at all times and never go anywhere alone. And you will write me twice a week,” Rhys growled. “And I swear, y/n, if you even miss one letter, I will come get you myself. Those are my rules—take it or leave it.”

A genuine smile bloomed on your face as you jumped to your feet and ran around the desk to embrace your brother in your arms. “Thank you, Rhys! Thank you! I promise I’ll do as you say. I promise.”

He held you tightly as if he never wanted to let go and you peered at Feyre from over his shoulders to mouth her a small ‘thank you’.

This was it. You’d finally be able to leave this city after three hundred years. Finally see the world! And most importantly: be far, far away from the shadowsinger that had won your heart but fallen for another.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Three months went by in the blink of an eye. You had spent the entire time traveling with Mor from Vallahan to Montesere, where you two had just settled down when Rhys had contacted you both, asking for your return home. Apparently he had big news to share but he wanted to do it in person. So now you were packing up your things, getting ready to return back to Velaris for the first time since you had left.

It had been annoying how much you thought of Azriel still. But it was getting easier to ignore the longer you were away. You hoped those feelings would eventually disappear entirely—but every time you thought of moving on, something in your chest would ache and ache.

That didn’t mean you hadn’t taken lovers in your time here. It had always been hard to find males to mess around with in Velaris considering they all knew who your brother was. The last thing they wanted was for Rhys to come looking for them after sleeping with you. So you’d only taken a few lovers here and there throughout the years.

But on the continent, no one knew who you were. Had no idea that you were the younger sister of one of Prythian’s High Lords. And Mor had been sure to teach you all the ways to have someone wrapped around your finger. You had never felt so confident in yourself as you did now. Finally becoming the female you wanted to be without your brother or the two other bats watching you over your shoulder. It was exhilarating.

But the thought of returning home had dampened some of your newfound joy. You were worried about slipping into your old role—being that sweet, pretty, little accessory they all expected you to be.

You wouldn’t allow that. You couldn’t. Not after having a taste of what it could be like if you became the female you always dreamed you’d be. Someone who knew she was desired for more than just her looks. Someone interesting. Someone smart and witty. Someone brave. You tried to ignore the part of you that hoped Azriel might see those things in you now.

“Are you ready to go, y/n?” Mor asked, leaning against the doorframe of your room.

You took one last look at yourself in the floor length mirror. You were wearing a dress that was typical of what they wore here in Montesere. If you could even call it a dress. It was white, the bodice dipping into a v-shape and clinging to your body with gold embellishments and blue gems decorating it. It had long sleeves that connected to a hood, stitched in glimmering gold. It cut off right under your breasts, exposing your toned stomach until just slightly passed your belly button.

The skirt was held up by two thin gold straps that criss-crossed over the sides of your hips to connect it to the top part of the dress. The skirt itself traveled to the floor and had two long slits on either side to show off your legs. The white color complimented your tanned skin and the kohl you had lined your eyes with made the violet color of your eyes glimmer even brighter.

You had left your hair down in soft curls, only pinning back two strands on either side of your face with some gold pins. More than happy with the way you looked, you turned back to Mor with a grin.

“I’m ready to go home.”

#acotar #azriel #fanfic #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel acotar #azriel fanfic #azriel fic #angst #rhysand sister #acotar x reader #acotar x you #azriel x female!reader #acotar fanfiction #shadowsinger x reader #acosf #post war

2K notes · View notes

blondejellykitty · 1 month ago

Text

₊ ♡ ˚⊹ I'll be there on their side ₊ ♡ ˚⊹

୨୧ multi demigod x goddess reader ୨୧ the goddess of heroes and the protector of demigods was thought to be a mere myth and that was how she preferred it to be, until the time came when she could no longer stay away. a/n: (1.8k words) my first fic posted !! the title is from 'i bet on losing dogs' by mitski. the ending isn't exactly how i wanted but that's okay :)

Mortal children are told myths just the same as demigods. Usually mortal parents will tell them said stories to help themselves parent them like Jack Frost, to remember to put your jacket on or Santa Claus who won't show unless you behave well.

Parents of demigods however tell them for the child's benefit. Many legends aren't told but are taught at camp, once again to protect the demigods. Very few stories are able to be told without alerting any unwanted attention.

The entirety of the fall of Kronos from Zeus' beginning to his victory and the story of his earliest children. All revolving around Zeus in his prime, probably to keep himself ego inflated and unfaded.

Nevertheless this is another story that circulates the young ears of all demigods. The legend of the protector of demigods. Much is lost to time of the story but not even time himself can rip the hope that the lost goddess can give to the young heroes.

Very few things shocked the Olympians anymore, not in this century anyway. Of course Kronos and Gaea rising was one thing and Percy Jackson himself was another but the whispers from their children that after two titan wars sightings of their lost protector was becoming more frequent seemed to truly shock them.

After a few millennia of no contact from the goddess more than a few gods had assumed she simply faded quietly but now it seemed that wasn't the case at all.

It started as a mistaken identity.

With the son of Poseidon, Percy Jackson had thought she was nothing more than a helpful nymph.

Although the poison from the pit scorpion that Luke Castellan gave him was more than enough of a reason for Percy to not fully take in the figure in front of him.

He could faintly make out the outline of her dress but even that went blurry as quickly as he could blink. After struggling to get to the river in the middle of the deserted forest, he called for help, anyone's help.

So she answered.

In a daze of pain he recalls the feeling of being carried much like his mother used to do when he’d trip and hurt himself. He would have felt embarrassed but with a fading pulse he just mumbled best he could thanks to the tender nymph before his vision was lost to darkness.

After he’d recovered, Chiron told him if he'd been found any later he'd have been dead.

Thirty seconds, he thought.

After he had told everyone, everyone meaning Annabeth about Luke, he went back out to said woods to find the nymph who had helped him.

All he found was a few river spirits nearby who told him that no nymph went that close to the border that day. He’d made the river spirits promise to let him know if the mysterious nymph came back, she never did.

But nonetheless Percy remembered, and held thanks to the helpful nymph.

Mistaken identity shifted to a hallucination.

The son of Hermes, Travis Stoll had sworn himself to secrecy under the impression he'd have imagined the whole encounter.

An embarrassing thought he often let himself drift back to on more than one occasion. It had started when he and Connor had been setting up traps in the woods for the next capture the flag game.

They'd been out there all afternoon, they decided to turn back for curfew, best to not tempt the harpies when he'd tripped on a lodged rock in the ground and managed to roll down and crash into a further down tree.

A thick root from the tree he'd fallen against impaled his side making his shirt and the dirt around him to turn a dark red colour. The sight of the root appearing out his side Connor ran towards camp faster than he'd ever seen him run during their pranks yelling for healers and for Chiron.

When he'd think back on it he wasn't sure if it was the quiet of the forest or the numbness of his body but dark spots began to invade his vision and he couldn't help but embrace them without caution.

Until the most beautiful woman came out from behind a nearby tree, rushing towards him in a fuzzy blur. Her elegant hair falling past her face almost making a blanket of warmth and safety around the two of them.

She was the most stunning thing he'd ever seen. Better than the full moon, the sunrise and sunset. Better than the ocean or a flower. He could hear her softly speaking to him but he couldn't make out the words.

He didn't know how long he'd been staring in awe at the woman. Travis was sure he'd be red with embarrassment if all his 'red' wasn't currently bleeding out of him.

He looked over towards where he heard his brother's frantic voice getting closer to him. The sight of him and a few cabin 7 campers not far behind him did well to ease his own worry. He looked back for the woman but she was gone.

He doubted if he'd seen the woman but shook it off as nothing more than pain induced illusion.

Then from a hallucination to a mortal.

The son of Hades, Nico di Angelo should've known better than to assume that anyone who approached him was 100% mortal.

After spending more time in the demigod world he realized that mortals don't ever come over to talk to demigods, or maybe that was just his problem.

Nevertheless even mortals can see some kind of underworld aura around him even if they don't understand what they're seeing.

Which makes it all the more irritating that his younger self didn't realize the woman who helped him was probably not entirely mortal. He could still remember it so clearly, she was after all one of the few at that time that had been kind to him.

He had spent the night searching for an entrance to the underworld, his father had told him in a dream a few nights prior that it was in the area. He also mentioned that it was supposed to be easier to find for children of his.

Well that turned out to be crap.

Nico had spent all day and now late into the night walking around New york city trying to find a specific street corner. He was tired and hungry but most of all angry.

He called off his search once his eyes started to sting. Finding a bus stop bench to rest at. He pulled his knees to rest his head against. Tears stung his eyes more than his fatigue when a smell of food wafted near him.

Lifting his head he saw a woman, dressed in a cozy cardigan, the beige kind a mother would wear. She was carrying a bag, he could faintly make out the logo of the logo of a restaurant he remembered passing on the contains inside.

She never spoke but her eyes almost made him cry, a look of care and worry. one he'd imagined his own mother having from the stories Bianca would tell him.

She leaned over and rested the beg softly on the bench next to him, he could feel the heat from it warming her leg. He asked her who she was and why she'd given him her food but all she did was smile and ruffle his hair like Bianca used to do.

He could feel his tears roll down his neck as he watched her keep walking down the street until she eventually walked out of vision. He was just glad someone was kind to him.

Even if it was just a friendly mortal.

Then from a mortal to a mother.

The son of Hermes, Chris Rodriguez couldn't believe he could see his mother in the middle of the haunted Labyrinth.

It had been Luke who ordered him to go into the traumatizing maze and he'd done it willingly, so eager to help his older brother for the cause of getting revenge, justice, to be noticed.

But as most things in Chris's life it had gone horribly wrong. He couldn't even remember most of the horror he'd seen in there, the human brain forcing him to forget just so that he can move on from it all.

But one of the few things that stuck with him was the memory of his mother. Now, he knew it was completely impossible his mother, who'd died just helping him to get to camp, was in the labyrinth with him but his vivid recollection of those moments left little doubt.

He remembers leaning against one of the ever shifting walls, ready to give up on getting out for good.

When he felt a warm hand on his shoulder, he recalls not even flinching from it because of the calming ease it put him in, he could feel himself slurring his word and frantically almost magically speaking but it wouldn't reach his ears.

He had a light aura around her, and a gentle smile as she carefully lead the way through the twists and turns of the darken maze.

He relives the memory as best he can, he could still hear the faint whispers from her mouth, promising she wouldn't let him go and that it would be alright soon.

In hindsight that was something his mother would never do, his mother cared for him not was anything but emotional.

Part of him likes to think that Thanatos had lost her soul for a moment and she'd come to help when he most needed her.

He was just glad that someone had helped him because he hated the thought of what had happened to him if they hadn't.

Finally from a mother to a mourner.

The son of Jupiter, Jason Grace was the lost goddess' last straw.

Too many had already lost their lives in wars fought in seemingly vain. No matter how she felt for them nor how she longed to help them, rules were rules as the King of Olympus loved to remind everyone.

But when the fate meddled day approached and her sweet kind hero had perished, some rules were to be broken in order to do some good.

The day Jason Grace died was a day every demigod remembers, they felt the sadness draped over both camps and everyone in them.

Even demigods who had never even met the fallen hero were mourning him with such intensity.

The lost goddess knew it was because of her her grief was spilling into their own lives, her sadness swallowing them up with it.

Part of her wanted to stop, knowing it was affecting the little heroes but another darker part wanted it to spur them into action, she wanted it to make them want change.

But look how that had turned out the first time. As much as she wanted to change she settled for a medium, she’d change and she'd do what she was meant to.

Help the young heroes live and thrive, no matter the cost to any other immortal in her way...

#jellydreams #blondejellykitty #percy jackson x reader #travis stoll x reader #nico di angelo x reader #chris rodriguez x reader #jason grace x reader #the olympians x reader #pjo x reader #heroes of olympus x reader #percy jackson fanfiction #pjo x you #percy jackson #travis stoll #nico di angelo #chris rodriguez #jason grace #heroes of olympus

241 notes · View notes

daycourtofficial · 5 months ago

Text

I got cursed like Eve got bitten - part VII

Pairing: Azriel x Rhysand's sister!reader | WC: 400 | Warnings: none

Summary: reports of a rare powered fae popping up in Illyria send Azriel and Rhysand on a journey through the past, unraveling a truth they thought long buried

Previous part | Next part | Masterlist

The two of you sat on the edge of the river bank, watching the water flow. The moonlight reflected off the water’s surface, Azriel’s eyes catching the occasional fish breaking the surface tension. You laughed, shaking your head causing some water to flicker over Azriel. He looked at you, your wet clothes clinging to you, much like his own clung to him. Some of his wet hair got into his eyes, blocking you from his sight.

“I’ll be back.” You whispered, “I have something for you.”

The anticipation ate at Azriel as he waited, the night growing darker around him. He watched the water, the black surface looking almost like a river of shadow. He felt naked, no shadows of his own creation lingered around him. He watched as something floated downstream toward him. He watched it, the shape of a box coming into focus. He stood with urgency, running across the shallow water to get to it.

He trudged through the knee deep water, trying not to fall with his urgent movements. He pulled the box from the water, the box dripping as he walked to the other edge of the bank. It was knotted with a dark blue ribbon, and his heart swelled at your signature wrapping for his gifts.

Pulling the ribbon back, he opened the lid to find your lifeless eyes staring back at him, maggots chewing through the skin of your face.

Azriel jolted upright in bed, his body covered in sweat. His shadows kept prodding at him, bringing him back to the land of the waking. He jolted from the bed, feet landing on the floor as he rounded the bedpost. He darted through the door, stopping right outside your door across the hall after his quick strides. He stood, slowly leaning his head to the door, listening for any sound he could make out.

He tried stilling his breathing, the erratic shuddering obscuring his hearing. He pressed his ear to the door, listening, praying to hear anything.

Thump thump.

His heart calmed at the sound of your own beating, your slow breathing audible through the wood separating you. His arms begged to be wrapped around you, his wings aching to wrap around your own, the two of you forming a cocoon.

But he can’t.

He walked back to his room, feet silent and slow on the wood as he closed the door, a small attempt to shut out the past long enough to ease the ache of your presence.

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main @azrielsmate3 @pit-and-the-pen @durgenyx @dee-writes-smut @chairofchaos @thelov3lybookworm @berryzxx @throneofsmut @kennedy-brooke @prythianpages @itsswritten @acotarxreader @milswrites @the-golden-jhope @hannzoaks @secretlyhers @tothestarsandwhateverend @sarawritestories @chxosangxl

Azriel taglist: @brieflyclassymortal @thisiskaylin @magicstrengthandcourage

I got cursed series taglist: @doodlebugg16-blog @ceoofyearning @saltedcoffeescotch @acourtofbatboydreams @willowpains @anarchiii @i-am-infinite @bsenpai @sstrohma @teenagellamaangel @allthatisbuck1917 @elsie-bells @rcarbo1 @pruvii

Thanks for reading 🥰

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel #azriel fanfic #acotar writing #azriel x y/n #i got cursed like eve got bitten

250 notes · View notes

echantedtoon · 4 months ago

Text

Caught Once Again

For those who were wondering what would happen IF Y/n got caught again. Sequel to my Yandere Demons And Brides posts and my Escaping Yandere Demons post. Some will be shorter than others.

Warnings for yandere themes, scars and illness mentioned, Douma/Enmu/Karaku ARE their own warnings, possibly some innuendos, kidnapping and entrapment mentions, death mentioned, etc.

Daki n Zohakutan are included with Hantengu's and Gyutaro's part but they're PLATONIC Yanderes.

KOKUSHIBO:

-The demon who had taken you hostage for weeks claiming you to be his wife's reincarnation had never left your mind after you escaped. It wasn't easy either. Kokushibo had heightened senses that were beyond human.

-You took the chance to escape one day after he left just before sunrise, making you hug him and greet him goodbye like a good wife should, before he left locking up the door behind him as he went. You took the chance to poke around trying to find any source of outage. A secret basement, the chimney, ANYTHING! Eventually you managed to find a weakened point on a boarded window. Clawing wildly you managed to tear away the wood, and smashing out the glass to freedom.

-You didn't look back. The small cuts you got were nothing as you ran and ran from that cursed house as far as you could until you collapsed from exhaustion. You made it. You were out but you weren't safe yet. You still moved away far away as you could before the sun sets. Kokushibo didn't come back every night so hopefully you'd have a few days to run. You couldn't go back home, that'd be the first place he looks for you so you decided to run along the river. Eventually coming along to and settling into a small fishing town.

-You decided to just lay low here. Getting a job as one of the net weavers and keeping to yourself in fear of being found out. Weeks passes. Months passed. And you were slowly letting your guard down, believing that perhaps you had hidden well enough to never be seen again. But you still didn't go out at night.

-One night though you allowed yourself to stay out, after all the small town was hosting a festival and you deserved to have fun after so long. You were playing a small game. Tossing a ball into a pit to win a prize when you saw it. Six eyes piercing through the darkness and staring at you. You didn't even have time to turn and flee when you smacked into the purple and black clothed chest and two strong hands pulled you against him in a possessive hold as you gaze up into half lidded eyes.

"You made a valiant effort to get away however I believe that it's time you come back home, Wife."

HANTENGU(+CLONES):

-You thanked the gods for how easily trickable the demon was, making it so easy for you to run far away. Right past town and towards the nearest safe point you knew which happened to be a grove of wild Wysteria trees. There's no way any of them would suspect that you'd be there and even if they did, what were they going to do? Demons couldn't survive Wysteria poisoning and avoided it like the plague.

-It wasn't bad really. It was a beautiful place. There was always beautiful trees surrounding you, a nice floral scent in the air, and you even found an old abandoned shack that you spruced up to make it livable. Overall it's not a bad life, but you wish it was more open like before. Your ease falters when fall comes and the leaves on the trees wither away and the flowers die. However they're still Wysteria trees so you don't think they'd dare come around your little grove and with each passing day that you never see then again, your mind believes that.

-Until winter comes to cover everything in snow. You're out one night with only the moonlight to see trying to shovel out snow from your front door, shivering in the cold and hair whipping in the wind. Perhaps that's why you couldn't hear the approaching wingbeats until it was too late. Two giant eagle like hands wrapped around your shoulders and in an instant you were sailing through the air. Shrieking as the ground disappeared beneath you and shrieking more as you looked up into the yellow eyes of an overjoyed harpy demon pulling him tightly against his chest with a loud happy chirping sound. "OH GOOD FUCK!! I'D THOUGHT WE'D NEVER FIND YOU, FEATHER! This game wasn't fun when you didn't come home you know!"

-No matter how hard you struggle, Urogi was too strong for you to break free from as he flies you all back to the others. All seven have varying reactions when Urogi just lands down with you struggling to get away and clawing at his arms. He was supposed to grab them someone for dinner but instead he brings back their missing wife. The first ones to react are Aizetsu and Sekido. The sorrow clone balling into your shoulder with a crushing hug making your shoulder wet. "I'M SO HAPPY YOU'RE OK!! WE'RE NEVER GONNA LET YOU GET LOST AGAIN!!" Meanwhile Sekido is scowling relieved but still raged. "WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN?! DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU MADE US FEEL?!"

-Urami and Karaku have similar reactions to Sekido and Aizetsu. Urami joins Sekido in scolding you. "DO YOU KNOW HOW WORRIED WE WERE!? WHY DIDN'T YOU COME HOME ALREADY?! DID SOMEONE PUT YOU UP TO THIS?! YOU'VE NEVER DONE THIS BEFORE!" Meanwhile Karaku is surprisingly calm actually apologizing if it's his actions made you so mad that you left but he was planning on making it all up to you now. "Don't worry, Baby. We got all the time in the world to make up for lost time."

-In the meantime Hantengu is sniveling alongside Aizetsu as both are crying into your terrified form making your dress soaked. "It's not my fault! It's not my fault!" Is all he can say in defense. Zohakutan is the most annoyed at all. It'll take hours for him to be able to have a moment to talk to you because of how much everyone else is crowding you for their turn but once he does be prepared for the longest lecture of your life. "Sit down! We are going to have a V E R Y long talk!"

DOUMA:

-If Douma's irratic emotional state wasn't enough to scare you away then his cannibalistic demon nature was. From his sudden mood swings to the unstable bout of love declarations he'd give you out of no where, dropping to his knees to shout out it all or just kissing you unprompted. It was all too much but with so many people surrounding you and a powerful demon how did you get away?

-Simple. You hid inside one of the supply crates. Once and a while some of the cult members would leave to try and recruit more members, on these trips they'd take a crate or two of supplies like pamphlets and food. Well Douma had been busy attending to whatever Muzan wanted and there wasn't anyone guarding the crates, so you emptied one out and snuck yourself inside. No one suspected you were inside when they moved the crates outside and down the mountainside for the long trip to one of the nearby towns. And no one saw it coming when you busted out of the crate once you were placed down and RAN. Disappearing into the crowd of people and using the cover of people to get far away from the demon and crazy cult!

-Thankfully the town they happened to stop by had a train station. It was easy to trade one of the many stupid, overpriced pieces of Jewelry Douma always made you wear for a ticket and easier for you to hop on the train and get outta dodge. Relief flooding your systems as the mountain side got farther and farther away from you. And compared to your other Y/n counterparts, it was easier for you to start over. Cutting your hair and dying it, going by a sub version of your name, and selling off what was left of the jewelry on you to gain enough money to buy you a nice warm apartment somewhere random in Asakusa city. Hiding in plain sight sounded like the best idea. And eventually getting a job as a seamtress in a random shop.

-A whole year passed on since the day you escaped and it was almost like it never happened. Never once did you hear about the stupid cult or have people worshipping you weirdly or worst of all having the threat of a demon over your shoulders. All you did was keep your head down and minded your own business. It was good. Life was good. It wasn't until your boss mentioned getting a brand new extremely handsome and rich customer coming in that day did things change. You knew what to do so you already prepared yourself to take measurements and the silk fabric he requested for. Not even paying attention to who it was as you prepared your scissors and measuring tape as your boss guided him into the room with just the two of you with a- "Just let me know if you need anything else!"

-You still don't look up at the frozen figure staring down at you as you just instruct him to stand on the stool and hold his arms up so you can measure his waistline instead you're met with a thud as whoever it was drops to his knees and two strong arms ensnare you in a tight hug. You shout whirling around at the inappropriate behavior but freeze as two rainbow eyes filled with anger, sadness, mad love, and tears spear you straight into the soul.

"Lotus Blossom, I thought I lost you forever there! Good thing we're fated to never be separated. A R E N T W E?"

NAKIME:

-(Apologies if her part is short.) Whelp. You made it out. Running and running and running through the woods to get away from the terrible castle and the woman who self proclaimed to be your 'wife'. You almost made it out of there...Almost. Just before your feet hit the dirt road, a door opens up under you and you fall in. Landing face first with a thud in front of the frowning woman.

"Are you quite done with your childish games?"

ENMU:

-You didn't go back anywhere near trains or stations now that you were free. Screw that mess! You were done with stupid trains and their dumb cars and crazy perverted demons who think that's it's flirting when he let's you punch and kick him out of frustration.

-Nope! You stayed FAR AWAY from tracks in general and just kept yourself at home from now on. So how did he find you again? Turns out HE COULD leave the train body. Not very far away just just far enough to get to your house and wake you up during one of the few times you could actually sleep and then squeal in delight again as you curse him out in his grip and kick him to no avail.

"Oh dear.~ You have no idea how lonely it was to not have you in my arms again.~"

AKAZA:

-With your bad leg limping as you ran for your freedom hearing Akaza's concerned voice shriek out before PLEADING with you to come back. "YOU COULD GET KILLED OUT THERE?! PLEASE COME BACK!! YOU'RE NOT WELL ENOUGH TO BE ON YOUR OWN!!" You don't care. You didn't ask him to 'help you'! You never even wanted him to be near you in the first place.

-Instead of turning back you continue to leg it down the hill you were on cursing the demons that put you in this permanent hurt state. You managed to limp half way back to your family's home before your exhaustion and pain makes you collapse against a nearby tree to rest. It was almost nighttime and yet you were still no closer to home. Panting and heaving, you break off a study stick nearby and use it as a crutch to hop along on your good leg trying to get as far as you can before Akaza can come back for you. If you can make it to the town's temple then you'd be safe at least until the next morning then you can get farther away from him and everything else that could lead him to you.

-You make it to the top of another hill overlooking the town just as it darkens and you can see the first few lights of the houses. Relief floods your being as you hobble towards the town until your stick ends up slipping and you fall over. The wind being knocked out of your body by the first hit before your body starts turning, rolling down the hill painfully as you fall. Hitting rocks and sticks and everything in between until two strong hands grabbed you by the sides. Stopping you just in time before your head could crack against a rock with jagged points. Dizzy you glance up with your spinning vision and feel your stomach drop as worried yellow orbs stare back to you.

"It's too dangerous for you to be without me! Don't you see that?!

GYUTARO(+PLATONIC UME/DAKI):

-You made it out of that gods forsaken hole in the ground. Coughing and in bad shape but alive and well however escaping was another much harder thing to do with your bad sight. Everything looked the same. Blurs, and colors smashed together. Everyone walking bad blobs of color. No one seeming to care about what happened to you as you stumbled around all dirted from climbing out of the hole and begging anyone around you for help only being met with dirty looks and shouted insults at you.

-if no one was going to help you, then you had to make your way out of the E District. You wondered aimlessly. Bumping into everything and anyone. Flinching as people just plain pushed you out of the way knocking you over or leaving you stumbling for balance. Night fell sooner than your terrified mind thought it would. The crowd's became worse, more crowded and so blurry it made your head spin. It made you cry in fear and frustration the longer you stood there in the middle of the street. Eventually turning to leave until you're pulled into an alleyway by a harsh hand. Screaming out before a hand silences you already fearing the worst until a loud familiar yell pierces your ears.

"Helpless without me aren't you?! I hoped you learnt your lesson because this isn't going to happen again. Do you hear me?"

"DO YOU HEAR HIM?! THAT WAS THE STUPIDEST THING ANYONE'S EVER DONE! YOU'RE LUCKY YOU'RE MY FRIEND AND BROTHER LIKES YOU SO MUCH!!"

HAIROU:

-You had one shot and you blew it. It was a long shot anyways. You knew you couldn't get away from him unless you fled in the middle of one of the episodes he had caused by his PTSD hoping that the hours head start you had would be enough to escape him and his hellish hounds. No such luck. You flinch hearing the sounds of gunshots behind you(Hairou shooting himself to clear his panicked mind) but you still don't stop. Just continuing to run and run and not look back.

-As you run through the darkness, you hear them. Howls and the sounds of dogs running behind you catching up to your terrified form to run on either side of you until you're forced to stop as at least five shadow hounds emerge from nowhere in front of your panting form. Growling and barking at your forms getting closer and closer. Backing you up more and more making you scream with every jolt they gave you until your back ran into a chest and an arm suddenly wrapped around yourself.

"That was a cheap trick. Too bad you won't be able to do it again."

GYOKKO:

-You made it out. It was almost impossible for you to escape but you managed to do it. Delayed only by the fact that his vase was turned upside down and it was daylight outside when you ran away. You knew you couldn't return home, that'd be the first place he looked for you. So without any idea of where to go or what to do,you decided to start traveling. Walking down along the road and picking up scraps here and there, stealing a random few dresses off someone's laundry line, and a burlap sack filled with some veggies from a farmer's barn. Now equiped with the items you needed in one bag, you began moving from place to place. Never staying in one place for too long, only traveling during the day and hiding away during the night. This worked out quite well for avoiding him... temporarily.

-You were miserable. Missing the comforts of your home. Missing being able to use your skills and making things. You want to go home, but you can't in fear of the demon still lurking about. Eventually your travels eventually leads you to the dreaded E District. With nothing else to do, you beg the first house master you see for a job any job at wits end. Eventually he does. As a servant. It's not the worst job. You don't have to entertain any guests, only clean floors, bring the ladies food, and help the girls with their clothes and make up if they need it. In exchange you're paid with a small room to sleep in and and one free meal a day. Definitely not the worst outcome. Beats being a demon's 'muse'.

-One day an oirans favorite kimono is ruined. Right before she was to see a special customer too. Well you use your former skills as a kimono maker and offer to fix said oirans dress for free. She's skeptical about it but agrees to let you fix it and is surprised that not only did you fix it but it looked like it wasn't even torn. She's so impressed with it that it starts up a conversation between you two about your skill. You mention used to having a store and making kimonos before misfortune made you lose your job(leaving out the demon art of course). Well she decides that she wants one and so orders you and the house master to get her one that matches her demands specifically.

-You happily agree missing your old job and happily make her one in a few weeks time. She's in love with the beautiful blue kimono with waves stitched on so beautifully that it looks almost real. You're so happy that you don't even realize that the oirans is actually a demon in dequise and she wears her new kimono to a demon meeting. Or that another demon instantly recognizes the work she's wearing. Gyokko compliments and flatters Daki into telling him where exactly she got the kimono and she has no problems bragging about how her new girl made it just for her and no one else. You really shouldn't have been horrified when you retire to your room later that night and is met with a beautiful vade in the middle of the room.

"Really I thought you would've known how tasteless it was to think that you could outsmart me."

KAIGAKU:

-Your first instinct after getting out was to make for the first demon slayer you could find but the problem with that was that you had no idea where you were or where the Haishiras were training. You just dove through the first door you saw leading to the outside and ran. Ran until light peeked into the skies and still you kept going until you came to the first town. Taking shelter in the nearest public room which happened to be a library.

-Naively you thought you were safe there. You were just a healer after all, you didn't know that demons could track by scent. So when you fall asleep amongst the books as night falls, and you wake up two angry hands yanking you up to him bridal style. You can't help but scream.

"Do I look like a dam idiot to you?! You're going to regret being so dumb!"

KYOGAI:

-You had one shot at it. When Kyogai's distracted by an intruder in his house, you make for the nearest room with a window you can find. Opening doors in a panic, eyes looking around wildly for any way you can leave until you see it. A window that's right in front of you and it's open! Without hesitation you run towards it and jumped out. However what you didn't know was that you were on the second floor so when you jumped out, you had a painful landing.

-You didn't break your leg but it was either severely sprained or fractured from the pain you felt. Your pained scream alerting Kyogai to the nearest window to where he looked on in horror as you struggled to get up. It burnt him badly, but he immediately ran out in the sunlight to get you and drag you back inside. He can regenerate in a few minutes, your leg would take much longer.

"That was incredibly stupid of you,Water Beetle."

265 notes · View notes