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sluttysanemi · 8 months

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𓆩. ⛧ .𓆪 — BAR BLISS. xoxo ’

Sanemi Shinazugawa x AFAB!Reader

c/w: out of character sanemi, fluff, pussy whipped sanemi (lol), sexual tension, ass slapping, flirting, smut, sort of fast paced dont bite my head off, oral (f!receiving), spit as lube, unprotected sex, responsible drinking

a/n: repost cuz its jst... not getting posted lol?? 5.2k words, smut at end!

A soft, dimly lit tavern- a warm glow casting a sense of intimacy. The acquainted aroma of ale, and exotic gin stenches the hostelry, followed with a captivating ambience. The inviting atmosphere charmed with lively music rendered the establishment to grow fairly populous.

Perched at the high tables, closely to the bartender, you gazed upon the assortment of drinks displayed within the umber coloured shelves. A pleasant evening it had held; you decide to indulge yourself to a sweetening cocktail. Expressing your polite solicit to the employee, you await patiently; once more engaging in the scenery amongst. You sat with only yourself, pondering idly. Along the valley of tidily arranged stools, none that sat upon particularly captured your interest. Ignoring the mild loneliness that echoed, you rather dwelled on loosening yourself.

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With a short passing of time, your drink was presented. You mumbled a soft gratitude, and took a brief sip. The vibrant, tropical flavor lingering mildly, accompanying a pleasant after-taste. Whilst firming the spherical glass upon the table, a new presence accompanied. His peculiar fragrance of sandalwood, amber, and a savoury trace of tobacco swiftly caught your attention and coated the air with opulent pleasure. As if hearing your trailing thoughts of intrigue, he sat beside, upon the neighbouring stool.

You peered from the corner of your eye. His diverting scent drew a captivating allure.

Upon the abutting seat, a tall man of a lean, muscular build sat. With jagged, ivory hair, resting closely with the purple shade of his eyes. His figure was cluttered with ragged scars, the firm muscles of his body displayed proudly. A kanji meaning "kill", menacing and bold, emblazoned on the back of his long-sleeved haori followed with white buckles and the nature-coloured katana, painted with uneven dashes of white, resembling closely to his personal scars. This was certainly a sight you did not catch often…

He held a solemn expression, his gaze focused in front, though once he caught vision of whom he’d sat beside, it was as if his eyes expressed what his mouth did not. Tranced by your features; What a pretty face, such a gorgeous woman…

He passed a charming smile to you, as though he were silently indicating his interest, and ordered himself a whiskey.

Quickly poured, the amber liquor- settled within a low glass- is placed in front. Clear cubes of ice float highly. He reaches within his green tinted hakama pants, whilst you stared elsewhere.

“Want one, sweet thing?”, he spoke abruptly.

Pointing your sight to him once more, you watched as his sturdy hand held towards you an open packet of cigarettes. You grinned, rather amused by his braze attitude.

“Thank you.”, you replied kindly, plucking the narrow cylinder from the package. He excused himself to one and sealed the box, resuming its place with a lighter.

“Get close.”, he voiced with firm authority. Following, you leaned, noting closely his obscure musk scent. The leading edges of your shared cigarettes met as he held the ochre flame beneath. You stared as the vibrant glow followed towards the tab, silver emissions effused, and the newly invited fragrance of burnt tobacco evades.

Sighing glumly, he inhales deeply of the throat-clogging nicotine. He focuses on you, watching you with a linger of fascination.

“Like ‘yer eyes. They’re a real pretty colour.”, he remarked affably.

You smiled softly towards his admiration. “I like the scars. They complement nicely to your body.”, you replied simply, slowly intaking the flow of tobacco bodying the cigarette.

He sneers, evidently pleased. “Ye like them do ya, sweet thing? My body too?”, taunting you with your own words. You nod.

“You always such a pleasant show off?”, you asked, cocking an observant eyebrow. He swiftly drinks the bitter intoxicant, replying shortly. “For a lovely sight like you, might as well be.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

An invited silence stretches, whilst he shifts subtly- growing closer. “What’s your name then, sweet thing?”, he asks. You answered his query, gaining a soft grunt in his response. “Sanemi.”, he followed.

“Sanemi.”, you repeated, letting his name marinate within the moment. He purrs in response; a groan of approval. “Like the way ‘ye say it, pretty face.”

“You from here?”, you inquired, studying his expression. He watched you subtly, yet closely. You certainly had his interest. He shakes his head. “Not ‘round here. Was only ‘ere for my job. I’ll be gone by the morning.”, Sanemi inhaled from his cigarette once more, an excrement of smoke escaping the shine of his lips. You hummed in reply. “Thought you stood out. Is your job the premise for the katana, then?” He nods.

“Gotta fight really screwed shit with it. It sort of fucks you over. ‘ye’re not the same after.”, his voice somewhat reminiscent.

You watched at his expression momentarily, a comfortable silence whilst pursing your lips along the nicotine-coated cylinder, drawing in another drag.

“Good money?”, you questioned. He snickers, almost in disbelief.

“Real good money, baby. You like a man with cash?”, Sanemi pursued, his voice a sultry tone. You chuckle in his flirtations. “Perhaps. It makes for good compensation.”

He smiled, his grin tempting, as if he wished to glamor you. “Compensation, aye?”, he snickered. “You with a man then?” He inquired, abruptly shifting the subject. Like he was deeply curious to know…

His forward, careless confidence was alluring. You wished to tease him..“Why? Are you interested?”, she purred, purposely avoiding his advances. You were luring him, and tormentingly so… Sanemi rolled his eyes, unamused by the ingenous act. “You’re torturing me… your taunting could drive this man to murder.”, he whined lowly. He leans over and covers the back of your hand with his calloused palm. Sanemi’s skin was firm, almost abrasive. You could feel it softly skimming, caressing. “Do tell, sweet thing… i think ‘ye pretty face is really grownin’ on me.”

“Just my pretty face?”

“‘Ye voice too. Wanna hear it whine my name all night long.”

You purr a soft chuckle at his bold innuendo, though intrigued. “I suppose I’m available.” You spoke vaguely, though your reply struck a pleased grin. His fingers trailed thin circles along your wrists.

Your hand moved to the cocktail promptly forgotten upon the table. As you raise the glass to your lips once more, you observe Sanemi savouring, indulging in your beauty the same manner you had with your drink.

“Never seen a man stare at me so intently.”, you comment observantly.

“There’ll never be a man as worthy as me to do so.”

You laid a hand on his again, your fingers subtly intertwining. He felt warm; his touch delicate. Sanemi takes your dainty hand, and presses it gently to his lips. He presses swift, continuous kisses to the very tip of your middle finger. Your ethereal beauty left him aghast. He’d known there wouldn’t be another woman so entirely heavenly.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Time was clear to be surreal. He delved into the vastness of your thoughts and emotions. He was apparent to want to truly know you, to connect on more intimate levels than shallow conversation.

His clear need for closure was overly evident. His touch vividly intimate.

It had only been so long until he asked.

“Can I take you home tonight, sweet thing?”

His voice oozed with erotic ecstasy.

“Don’t you want me? I wished ‘ye knew how bad I craved you, pretty…”

His thumb would trace over your bottom lip, eyeing you greedily. It seemed as though he was tormenting himself. Awaiting a possibility to delicately press his lips against yours, feel the soft warmth of your skin, and be submerged in your gentle light. An untamed bliss.

It felt unreal as he guided you attentively through the darkened streets, explicitly keeping you close.

It felt of an overwhelming wave of intrigue as he held the door of a swiftly seized cab, observing your body’s sensual movement.

It felt of ecstasy as he sat close to you, tenderly tracing his fingertips across your thigh.

His fingers slid with precision, caressing until the very apex before manoeuvring down. Twisting inward and tracing sensual patterns on your flesh, his touch sent feverish sensations through your spine. The electric experience left you yearning more, as he began to explore every inch of your body with tantalizing detail, skimming into the interstitial crescents within.

Reciprocating his toy, you place the flat of your hand to the side of his face, drawing him into your gaze. You lean into the crook of his neck and begin trailing provocative kisses, leaving lipstick prints to remain. Lust thickens the atmosphere as desire suffocates; need floods your bodies.

Groaning in exhilaration to your temptations, he tightens his grasp around your thigh. Heavy waves of his breath fall from his chest. “Don’t do that, pretty girl…”, he warned, feeling buried in the terror of your beauty. Sanemi had lost himself more in your sight than he ever had in alcohol.

“I think you like it…”, you retort boldly, your tone flows with arrogance.

He rests his palm on the side of your face, lightly gripping. He peered at you closely, undressing you with his eyes. A faint sigh escaped his lips.

“More than you’ll ever know…”, Sanemi answered passionately. His opposing hand runs higher along your leg, drawing you up to his lap. It skims under your clothing to the fat on your rear. He squeezes hungrily before delivering the flesh a soft slap, humming softly at the delicate echo that followed. Your lips in tantalizing close distance, glaring at the other ardently.

The city lights reflected within the car, providing an idyllic setting. All the more incentive to pursue undisclosed desires.

Sanemi’s thumb would trail over your cheek, drawing in the moment. His breath, a stutter. “Fuck, sweet girl… look at’cha baby… your pretty eyes are gettin’ me needy.”, he spoke in slow detail. Your foreheads were held together close, your shared scents harmonizing.He gently cradled your face in his hands, his fingers tracing the delicate curve of your jaw. Their eyes locked, communicating a depth of emotions that words struggled to convey. As he leaned in, a gentle breeze stirred, carrying the scent of blooming flowers.

Time seemed to slow as their lips finally met, a tender connection that sent ripples through their beings. His taste almost stung, strong with liquor, though resolutely appealing. Sanemi’s touch was feather-light, an exploration of the softness and warmth that made your heart flutter. Your eyes closed, savouring the delicate dance of their breaths becoming one.The kiss unfolded like a carefully composed melody, each moment an exquisite note in their symphony of shared emotions. His lips moved with a soft reverence, as if every caress held an unspoken promise. You responded, your own touch mirroring the tenderness you both craved.

The moon bore witness to their silent exchange, a celestial witness to a kiss that spoke volumes of love, longing, and the beauty of connection.Passion bloomed, becoming sinful, and greed infested the tender scenery. He grew relentless, gripping you needily, animalistically, blinded by his cravings. He was straining to remain composed and not strip you in the confines of the vehicle. He parts from your kiss momentarily.

“Tell me ‘ye need me, sweet girl. Drive me wild with that honey voice ‘ye got.”, he voiced, almost pleading.He moves to your neck, following your previous pursuit with firm kisses. He continuously caresses your thigh as well as firmly grasping at the soft skin of your ass.

“Need you, sanemi. Need you so bad.”, you whisper delicately; the words you spoke carry a sense of intimacy and vulnerability, resulting in Sanemi’s heart to ripple violently. He hums a breath of relief.

“Fuck…yes you do, sweet thing.”, his tone is low, caressing the intersections of your body. His lips travel to your cleavage, nipping the skin delicately. Soft prints flushing the skin remained. He glanced up at you briefly, craving. He longed to catch your essence and indulge as much of your elegance as he could. You followed, capturing in his glare. You looked at the gentle glimmer on his lips, the flush on his cheeks, and the sole euphoria expressed in his eyes. You grew enveloped in his luring expression…

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Struggling to leave whole from the confinements of the car, you quickly travel to the hotel, passed to Sanemi’s momentary stay. It held rather lavishly, giving an almost luxurious appearance. He pressed feverishly onto the elevator's control, as if it were a panacea to a speedier arrival. His hand was almost entirely bound to your hip, and he was bitter to move it elsewhere. He was wildly near to seeing your nude grace. If only it would arrive faster… Sanemi grew partially frustrated.

The elevators eventually emerged, much to Sanemi's relief, thus he reacted quickly. He draws you against the room's iron walls, pressing his lips to yours again. The intense atmosphere has heightened. He placed his hand on your cheek, running down your neck. His available hand moves to your thigh and sets it firmly on his hip.

Your fingers are tangled in his silvery curls. Feeling the softness of his hair against your skin; the scent of his shampoo, a subtle mint, fills your senses, enhancing the intoxicating experience. Sanemi’s fingers trail to the inwards, intimate, spaces curved within your thighs. His calloused digits trail to the thin fabric layered over your clit, rubbing attentively; feeling the familiar warmth of arousal pool. He grins.

“Dirty girl…”, his words escape with a purr. His body presses against you more fiercely, the prominent bulge restrained in his trousers, growing in excitement, taunting you. Sanemi grinds his hips subtly, as if attempting to find relief in his heat. He groans aloud in alleviation, yet buries his head against the crook of your neck, trying to conceal his escaping pants of pleasure.

“Sweet girl… gonna fuck your pretty pussy so hard, baby.”

The lift rises and approaches the near top. The door glides open, exhibiting the sexual scenery to the empty corridor. He guides you by your hip to his room, attempting to pry his jumbled keys out of his pockets. With quivering, eager fingers, he eventually fits the key into the narrow gap, clicking it in place and pushing the door widely.

He's leading you into the room, flimsily locking, and conclusively inviting you into his bedroom. Beneath his sheets. He kisses you anew, gently guiding you to the outermost edge of his bed. Now he had time.

And he will make every effort to pursue it efficiently.

He's fervently pressing his pursed lips against your neck and gradually lowering to your thighs. He sits on his knees, taking your leg, and placing it over the firm of his shoulder. The salacious position provides Sanemi easier access into elation. His hands lift the hems of your dress upward, exposing you to him further. Feeling a silent obligation, you part your legs a further distance, eliciting an approving groan from the silver-haired man. “What a sweet mess…”, he coos.

He plants gentle pecks within the flesh of your inner thigh, his palm caressing the outskirts. You grasp the sheets with utmost thrill, watching Sanemi delve into the depths of your body. Your chest languidly rises and falls, attempting to compose. His hold discreetly attempts to press your body closer; his face gently pressing against the supple silk of your undergarments. He kisses the soft slit over the cloth, followed by tender suckling. Maneuvering to the supple inner skin of your legs once more, he continuously developed tension.

"Sanemi...," you pleaded, grasping his white hair again. He was belittling you, and it was harrowing... He peers above at you once again, an illicit smile plastered proudly on his face. “Don’t worry, sweet girl… I'll give you whatever you want."

His thumb links under the linen's corner strings and begins to tug in a slow, tantalizing movement. He peels the enticing attire to the floor and discards it. He delves into the supple flesh gently, trailing his tongue along the sensitive lips carefully. Your grip tightens, as a sudden surge of bliss arises. The pink muscle strays flat, as it caresses constantly over your clit. Maneuvering in a sensual, attentive rhythm. Vulgar murmurs pour as he gathers your arousal.

Sanemi's tongue glides delicately, occasionally delving within. He moves his head, ensuring to act attentively to your needs. Licking sensuous stripes over your slit, exploring various paces. Your carnal nectar developed into a gratifying addiction, which he merely drank wildly.

A slew of his name eludes from your lips, your urgent entail for him eliciting a groan. His voice sent pulses of thrill through you, and your muscles tensed.

His hold tightens upon your thigh, and he puckers his lips, suckling the soft slit delicately. His tongue consistently glides over, providing surplus ripples of ecstasy. He fulfills your carnal wishes, eager to satisfy you. Your sickly whines filled him with elation, feeling the arousal within him swallow him entirely.

His tongue traced along your amorous lips, creating ripples of a wet, erotic echo to follow. He quickly swallowed what he had gathered, savoring its taste. He demolished the thought of breathing while delving between your legs.

He lowers his face farther into your glistening cunt, his scarred hand massaging your outer thigh whilst. He twists his sensitive tongue and thrusts it repeatedly. You imitated his penetrations, grinding desperately against him. Tipping your head slightly backwards, blinded by euphoria.

“Please, Sanemi… please.”, you begged mindlessly.

“Yeah? You like that, pretty girl?” He purred, his voice immensely sultry.

His tongue thoughtlessly plunges into and out sloppily, culminating in shambles of pure bliss. He revered the way your thighs quiver eagerly, your fingers grasping him sterner, more desperately. He drank your sweet chirps of joy as if your voice alone produced ripplets of dopamine. There was not a honey poured in wine more pleasurable than the one produced by your trance.

His rose-coloured lingua traveled into the inner depths of your core, his nose pressed against the very delicate pearl of your intimacy. It squirmed, and twitched within. He broke momentarily, sighing against your fold. He took a moment to breathe briefly.

“Sweet girl...”, he kissed daintily.

You brush your fingers over his pale locks whilst marveling at him. He watched you, almost lovingly. Your fingertips were of silk. His expression softens, and an unexpected pink tinge faintly washes his face.

He grunts softly into your throbbing core, before immersing himself once more. He was an alcoholic in your lust. His pulsing yearning became overwhelming; he needed you. To immerse himself entirely in you and to feel your sweetening warmth envelope him most intimately. He grew gluttonous; hungry to have you to himself.

Your glance, your elegant eyelashes, fluttering so delicately. It drove him mad. You had looked so delectable, it plunged him deeper into thirst. Thirst to hear your voice whine to his name. Thirst to take you to unending depths of happiness, so you'll never find a man more deserving than him. Could there really be? For a woman as ravishing as you? He craves to hear you further.

He continues to fuck you mercilessly with his tongue. His nails, while blunt, sink into the crescents of your thighs and press against your flesh. They leave a tender bruise painted upon your thigh. He groans with deeper delight, content to have left his imprint on you.

His pink muscle is saturated in slick, and he continues to lap hungrily, avidly, greedy to reach you to that high. You became wanting. Thighs clenching, thoughtlessly rubbing. So close to heavenly’s peak. His echoing stimuli urging you towards your climax. You experienced a sensuous pulse string across your body, contracting irrationally. You tugged on his hair, seeking it further. Your breath struggles to maintain a fluent pace.

“That’s it, sweet thing. So good f’me…”

Your back arches, and an indescribable rush pours from you. It immerses you in a familiar sense of utopia, yet only considerably deeper. Out of this world, as if no troubles existed. A sensual warmth trails from your body, which Sanemi keenly tastes.

You take a moment to absorb within this reality once more, observing Sanemi's tongue gliding over his lips, clearing the remnants of your pleasure. He breathes softly into your throbbing cunt before placing a final, delicate kiss.

"D'you want me, pretty thing?" he asked, his face resting briefly on your thigh.

You nod calmly, your fingers caressing him. Sanemi smiles sweetly, pressing a kiss upon your skin. It was apparent that he thoroughly enjoyed you. When you touched, caressed. Even when you spoke. He was overjoyed to finally have you.

He rises to his full height. He leaned over and observed you lustfully. His palm rests on the side of your face, his thumb tracing your cheek. He moves the tips of his fingers diligently across your body. You can feel his touch pulsating within you.

His fingers crook, under the straps of your attire, slowly peeling it from your shoulders. He sighs deeply, unable to suppress his overt excitement. His touch is, however, delicate. His hands glide along your body, as he undresses you carefully. Squeezing the newly found skin with a certain care. He was admiring.

Leaving your garments across the floor, your body was left bare. The moon shone against, giving you a nearly angelic beauty.

“Oh, sweet thing…”, Sanemi whispers, enthralled. He cups your face and leans in to kiss you. The faint imprint of your prior high stays on his tongue.

Whining softly against each other, he quickly grew inflamed. He moves forward and positions himself on top of you, upon the bed. He softly brings you to the plush cushioning at the back, following as you slowly manoeuvre back. His free hand flows to the white buckles around his waist slowly sliding it off. It clicks quietly before it’s thrown thoughtlessly.

You supported him whilst he undressed, stroking your fingertips along his shoulders and slipping his uniform from his sculpted body. Watching as he offered himself to you without a sense of guilt.

Soon, he'd lay in only briefs, which scarcely concealed his arousal as it rubbed against your glistening folds, throbbing uncontrollably. His bare chest, gleaming in droplets of sweat, is marred in piercing scars. With bulging pectorals carved into a definite contour. His back, firm with strong ridges, as if in invitation to be touched. He was the embodiment of beauty. And he was to lay with you.

His hand supported his imposing physique as he breathed idly above. His fingers reached for the band of his boxers. Giving the fabric a firm tug, his heavy cock sprung from the tight confinements. Veiny, and thick, pulsing with demand. Pearly beads of pre, gathering from his rigid tip. He raised his hand in front and briefly spat twice, before pumping his shaft. He slumps forward with a deep groan, lubricating himself as filthy sounds follow.

After a prolonged tension, his dick glinted in his fluids. He reformed his grip at his base, pressing the flushed tip against your folds.

“Hold me gentle girl, hold me…”, he asked softly, his breath wavering.

Following his plea, you wrap your forearms around his broad neck. It held firmly, as did the rest of his body. In a gradual movement, he pushes his shaft inside you, grunting aloud. He surged frantically, teeming in eagerness. You inhale sharply through your teeth, curling your thighs around his waist.

He raised his hand to your upper thigh, caressing gently. “So soft...” “you’re so warm, sweet angel…”, he praises with leisure. He buries himself further into your warmth in a gentle push. He gradually has himself to the very hilt within you, twitching erratically.

He struggles to breathe at a consistent pace. Your enticing cunt fluttered so invitingly, he had difficulties comprehending simple thought. He lays loving kisses across the side of your neck as you acclimatize to each other.

He spread you out, filling you within. His girthy length massaged your crevices, piercing deep within. It's as if he was meant for you; as if Sanemi was designed especially for your pleasure.

He gradually starts to move. Sanemi begins tenderly, rolling his hips gently, his groin lightly slapping against you. His length rocks with ease, creating the familiar sound of skin crashing. He moved his hand to grasp your waist, while his other continually grasped himself upwards.

You felt of a miracle, he had neglected to breathe again. Deep within you, over and over, he knew of heaven. He was conscious that he was vocal, but he couldn't control it. You were too good for his sanity.

You whined aloud, settling your face into the crook of his neck. Your grasp tightens around him, feeling a gradual sensation of ecstasy arise. You could feel his heartbeat, strumming a gentle symphony against your naked breast. A close connection.

His cock plunged into you tentatively, as if you were facile to shatter. Mindlessly rocking and softly pounding into you. His thighs clenched, entranced by the eternal pleasure you offered. You could feel his silky pants by your ear, seeming that even a little of you drove him wild.

He moved, handled and spoke with absolute tenderness. His unending praises are a celestial chorus. He ensured to treat you with nothing but the finest.

But you craved more. His ferocious, animalistic urge, which he promised you in the lift. You wanted him to batter you mercilessly, laying claim to you. You knew he wanted it too.

Traveling your hands to his back, you caressed gently. “Sanemi… faster- please…”, you chirped gently.

He groaned heavily in response, burying his face firmly into your neck. Your voice drove him over, unleashing his wildest impulses. His upholding hand grasps at the sheets, as if a display of him attempting to hold to the last of his humanity. He responds with a harsh thrust.

"Yes, sweet thing." he uttered.

He was quick to follow your demands. His movements grew more brutal, with delicate rolls swiftly developing into animalistic thrusts. His cock plummeted sloppily, reaching unnoticed rises. He used his developed muscles and stamina, his movement appearing unending, ensuring to fulfil your deepest needs.

His breathing became erratic, with groans and grunts against your ear, endured in a sultry tone. He'd babble soothing praises, promising you that no one could fuck your sweet pussy better than him.

You knew to believe him.

You moaned against him, clutching at him desperately. It felt as if he was mindlessly pleasing you, plunging within your innermost soul. It was as if you had only been within his humanity to satisfy him. Your voice grew incoherent, only whispering his name. He tilted his head, succumbing to your idly murmurs with delicate, sensual kisses.

“So good, sweet angel, such a sweet girl.”, he murmurs.

He slides his hand from your hips to your chest. His palm gently rests on your supple breast, kneading the subtle skin tenderly. You arch in answer, forcing yourself against him further.

Even while he stipulated endless erotic sensations, your body desired more. You wanted him completely, and you became greedy. Rottenly greedy. You wanted to be reminded that nothing else in the world matters except him.

Even if he massaged within the innermost spirit, he had to take you completely. Not a portion of your body must be unclaimed

“Please, Sanemi. More- Need it so bad…”, Your voice is a pale melody, though your words strike deeply within him. He grins, doting in your submission.

He catches your wrist and places it above your head. “Oh, sweet thing? You still want more? Hmm? Even with my cock poundin’ you? Ain’t you a dirty girl…”, he groaned. He grips your thighs and lays them over the rigid of his shoulders, almost folding you in half. You could feel every vein along him, pulsing urgently.

“How could I ever deny my sweet girl of anythin’?”, he hums proudly. And as soon as that, he continues moving anew. This time, he is visibly vengeful. His shaft strikes into you rigorously, reaching his very haft in a deep plunge. Filthy, shameful noises pour from your bodies as he pummels your inner depths ruthlessly. His balls smack into your slit diligently, almost causing bruising.

He gazed from above with an almost sadistic look, relishing as he ruined your body, melding your velvet walls for his cock.

Back and forth with a repetitive, harsh manner. Holding vigorous brutality. Yet, it had been exhilarating. A hell had developed into heaven, and it was him.

“So desperate ain’t you? You want this? You want my claim?” he panted eagerly, his chest fluctuating freely. Your hold deepens on his back as you nod in response, mumbling a gentle "please" against him.

You knew not to act irrationally. How could you deny him? After the bliss he had brought you tonight?

Oh, your sweet voice… fervently begging for him. So desperately. You were such a good girl for him.

His hips falter briefly, before he groans profoundly with pride. “Oh, sweet girl.. You’re so good… so fuckin’ good.”, he moans. He kisses your neck needily, craving.

It was shortly until you felt a familiar coil within you. A soft flowering bloom. Your heart raced as the sensation grew stronger, pulsing through every fibre of your body. The anticipation grew excruciating, fueling a burning desire to embrace the intoxicating bliss that laid.

He too felt his climax build, as his coordinated movement grew urgent and eager. Rutting into you, eager to achieve that wave of fulfilment.

Your fingers layered into his white curls. His head is tilted forward, as he plunged endlessly. You grasp your fingers around his face, having him gaze upon you.

And he watches. His entire focus is on your face. His gaze sweeps over every aspect of you, every beauty. He drinks it all mindlessly, imbibing in every detail.

And it ruins him.

His face flushed pink, and he swiftly pressed his face into your neck, absorbing in your sickly scent. His thrusts became frantic, desperate, as he's reminded who he's plunged so deeply into.

“Sweet girl… so fuckin’ pretty… just f’me…”, He rambles incessantly. His grip on your wrist alters, and he soon entwines his fingers with yours. His hands are twitching, and warm, as it pulses with sinful desires.

As you felt the rhapsodic heavens, a white blinded your vision, and you were washed alas with phenomenal delight. You flutter around his shaft, tightening firmly. His hips dragged frantically, and with a quiver of mumbled curses, he finished deeply, too. His dick pulses and spurts ropes of ecstasy, into the warmth of your womb.

He breathes deeply into the silence of the room, prolonging his pleasure with light rolls. He inhaled shakily, his lower lip quivered faintly. After culminating his high to its very end, he gingerly slides your thighs from his shoulders. He rests, laying beside you.

He lazily places his palm on the side of your face. He observed you, holding the same soft stare he had in the bar. He smiles sluggishly.

“D’you think I could… see you again?” He inquired calmly, his thumb sliding over your cheek. You studied him curiously before beaming sweetly at him.

Your breathing synchronizes with that familiar, serene melody, developing a pleasant silence in the room. The moon illuminated your paired beauty as you gazed at each other tenderly.

You felt his warmth, his scent.

And you felt safe.

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ch4singchase · 9 months

Text

The Ballad of Moths | LUKE CASTELLAN

Summary: Eurydice Gaumont receives gifts from her father and one of these proves invaluable as her journey intersects with fellow demigods.

Word count: 4.9K

Warnings: Mentions of blood and Injury, violence, grief, ophidiophobia (since the monster in this chapter is a giant snake), mentions of death, mild language

chapter one, chapter two | series masterlist

chapter 02: I Defend A Bunch Of Kids From A Giant Snake

The rhythmic tap of rain against my bus window played a lullaby, coaxing me into a swift slumber.

Abruptly, I was no longer confined to the bus; the rain had transformed into the hushed serenity of a forest. This was no typical ominous woods of a horror story; its allure lay in a distinct kind of beauty.

Drawing near a tree, my fingers traced the rough texture of its trunk, relishing the tactile sensation. The leaves gracefully danced, swaying in a tranquil wind, as if encouraging a shared nap. Smiling up at them, I entertained the whimsical idea that the tree and its surroundings comprehended my thoughts.

A soft flap of wings echoed behind me, and there it was—the moth that helped me understand where I should go earlier.

This was the same moth, its wings a rich black with subtle brown accents, patiently awaiting my presence in a circular dance.

"Hello, buddy," I greeted cautiously, extending my hand to see its reaction, "How's it going?"

Predictably, the moth remained silent. It alighted on my fingertip and then took flight, leading me along a specific path among the trees, unveiling a concealed trail through the forest. Glancing at the shadows that enveloped the moth's chosen route, a fleeting doubt crossed my mind—was it truly wise to follow?

Without dwelling on the question, I pursued the enigmatic guide, allowing instinct to override rational contemplation.

As I ventured deeper into the forest, the canopy above formed a protective shield against the sporadic drizzle that started. The moth continued its dance ahead, weaving through the foliage with an innate knowledge of the path, as if the trees themselves whispered directions to their winged companion.

Moss-covered rocks and the scent of damp earth under foot marked my journey. The woods seemed to respond to my presence, embracing me in a mysterious symphony of rustling leaves and distant calls of unseen creatures. Nature itself had become my guide, and the moth, my silent escort through this living tapestry.

The path curved, revealing a hidden glade bathed in ethereal moonlight. In the center stood a peculiar tree, its silver bark shimmering in the celestial glow. The moth settled on a branch, and as if on cue, the air became charged with an otherworldly energy.

I looked around, confused. The wind gently brazed my cheeks, guiding some leaves with it and revealing what was hiding in the glade until now.

Moths. A bunch of moths. All joining the one guiding me into a beautiful dance.

Perhaps, when I was younger, I would be frightened, but instead, I was just stunned by it. They were gracious and in an infinity of colors, painting the air like a vivid rainbow in the middle of the night. Even some fireflies had heard their excitement and joined the party, lightning the night in a blink of an eye.

“She’s here, she’s here, she’s finally going home!” They all seemed to whisper, even if I couldn’t understand what they meant by it.

Where was here? Were they following me? Were they the ones who sent the moth to help me?

There were too many questions and no answers.

“No, no,” they all repeated to what sounded like a response, “Our friend did.”

“Yeah yeah,” others agreed, circling around me as they did so, “Your father.”

For the first time since I had seen the moth from before, I ventured to speak up.

“My father?” It was just me repeating what they had just said but, still, it had taken me some type of courage to say so, “He’s dead, how is that possible?”

“Dead?” most of them laughed, as if I had told them a joke, “That’s not possible; he is a god.”

What?

“You heard us,” it seemed like I hadn’t only questioned it in my head, “You’re the daughter of a god.”

I stood frozen for a couple of seconds. A god…?

I recalled what the Cyclops had called me, a Half-Blood. Cyclopes, chimeras, half-blood, all of them were characters that my mother had once told me were tales. Stories in Ancient Greece, myths. Nothing more but stories.

But stories don’t simply come to life. They have to have always been there.

If they were talking about gods, they could only be the Greek ones, right? The Olympian ones and so on.

“How...” I tried to ask... Anything, honestly. But I didn’t even know where I could start; in the end, I was talking to moths, what was crazier than that?

“We can’t tell you everything,” some of the moths mumbled.

“Yeah yeah, he had told us just to help you find your way but we couldn’t stop ourselves,” others complained.

“Once we heard you were still alive, we were so excited,” the moths giggled, holding back screams of joy.

“Yeah, even if one of us ended up saying something about the titan, we wanted to risk a chance,” one in a million of their siblings said, and if almost every one of them were speaking at the same time, I heard it.

Every single one, but one brought my curiosity, “Titan?”

It was all I needed to ask before they went into a deep silence.

The moths hushed as my question lingered in the night air. Their whispering dance seemed to still, and the anticipation was palpable. Then, one moth separated itself from the swirling mass and approached me.

It wasn’t the same one I was already familiar with compared to the others, but its wings fluttered with a measured elegance.

“We should not say anything about it,” the moth said, “It’s just a rumor, a cruel one”

“But the prophecy?” one of the others questioned, daring the one that was speaking for them, “The prophecy says…”

Most of them hushed the little one, giving voice to the same one of before, “As I said, it’s just a rumor. Some things are better left unknown, life must unfold naturally..”

“You said about a prophecy,” I tried to reason with it, approaching the moth, “What prophecy?”

The moth shook its little head, “You must go now, Eurydice Gaumont”

“No” I persisted, stomping my feet into the ground.

But it didn’t matter what I wanted, slowly the scenario around me started to go blurry and slowly the sound of rain tapping returned.

I protested, but the scene blurred, and before waking, I heard the words, "In shadows deep, a reaper's kid must tread..."

Then, I was back on the bus again. Alone.

I looked around, trying to look for something. But despite the sleepy sleepers who snored near me, there was nothing new after the dream. It was still dark, the first sign of sun daring to peek out of their hidden spot.

Sighing, I looked at the sky, searching for an answer. At that point, I wouldn’t be surprised if the answer came in the form of a god of the sun trying to mime what I should do next. Or sing—I didn’t know much about Greek gods at that time, but I was almost sure that the god of the sun in the stories also sang.

What was that I had heard? A reaper’s kid, right?

Now, what did that mean?

Sighing once more at the dawn of that day, every time it looked like things were making sense, my life would get twisted.

A sound of wings caught my attention when I looked at the empty seat by my side. The moth from the convenience store and my dream was my company once more. If it had a face, it would look like regret or shame.

It flapped its wings, as if to call my attention again.

“I’m seeing you, stupid,” It flapped its wings one more time, perhaps it didn’t like being called stupid, “You didn’t talk like your siblings at that forest right, I don’t remember hearing you”

And I truly didn't. For some reason, I could recognize each moth that had talked in that clearing, but none of them was the one that had been with me since Springfield.

This time, the moth flapped its wings twice.

"Alright," I scoffed, contemplating the sanity of conversing with a moth. "Enough beating around the bush; what do you want to tell me?"

Rather than flapping, the moth took flight, turning beneath my seat. I didn’t know how to curse, but what I thought was similar to a ‘what the fuck?’

Leaning forward, I peered beneath my seat, expecting to find the bags from the convenience store—snacks, sweets, water, a flashlight, and some change. Yet, unlike what I remembered, there was also a backpack.

Which, by chance, was not mine.

It reminded me of the backpacks I had seen at the store or some of the other people on that bus wearing, but I didn't have enough money to buy even a fanny pack.

Puzzled, I picked up the backpack and examined it. It seemed lost, probably belonging to another passenger. To my surprise, my name was on a sticker affixed to it.

Was it truly mine?

I opened the backpack, looking for what could be inside.

If my expectations were set on receiving a cellphone, all-star shoes, additional snacks, clothing, or perhaps a map, I would find myself in a perpetual state of hope until the arrival of the non-existent date of February 31st. Alas, none of those anticipated items were to be found.

What I found was, in fact, a leather wristband with a snap button closure, adorned with small stones. Accompanying it were a couple of coins, featuring a peculiar carving that deviated from any standard penny. Doubtingly, I reached in, confirming the wristband, coins… Plus a map.

At least that.

Exhaling deeply, I hoped my godly father, wherever he was, could hear me. Was this his gift? A questionable assistance from a man presumed dead.

Truthfully, I anticipated something more beneficial for survival, perhaps a letter explaining his whereabouts and the ongoing events. It was the least he could offer after all these years.

My mother had portrayed him as a soldier with a calm heart, unwilling to return to duty but aware of their need for a reminder of peace. How every end no matter how it began, would meet peace. She would always remind me that he would be the one to go down in a nonviolent way, with his hand laying on his chest, above his heart.

Would. She never said he was. Because he was a god, a greek god.

Knowing I was aware of his divine status, he chose to bestow upon me strange money, a wristband, and a map. Well, the map, at least, seemed somewhat helpful.

I stowed away the bags containing my purchases from Springfield into the backpack, arranging the snacks and supplies meticulously to avoid any mishaps during my travels—whether it involved catching the next bus or evading a new monster.

The coins and map found their place inside the backpack as well. However, before I could tuck away the wristband, curiosity got the better of me. It was a finely crafted leather piece, elegant and delicate.

Examining it closely, I wondered if my father had crafted it himself. The mere thought tightened my heartstrings.

Looking at the inside of the wristband, I frowned when I found something carved into the leather. Something was written into another language.

I turned the wristband and looked at it closely, words were always hard to me so if I wanted to understand what it meant, I would have to take my time. If I intended to understand its meaning, patience would be crucial. Or so I thought.

As the letters began to weave into each other, a surprising clarity emerged. Instead of becoming a confusing jumble, they started to make sense.

Tenebris.

While it wasn't an exact match to what was written, it was undeniably the meaning it conveyed.

Latin, perhaps?

Gazing at the wristband once more, I opted not to return it to the backpack. Instead, I made the choice to wear it.

Perhaps my father had indeed crafted it. Wearing it became my silent expression of appreciation, a subtle invitation for him to emerge from his hidden shell.

Ultimately, it proved to be a beautiful wristband.

When I looked out the window again, the sun was already rising. We seemed to have arrived in New Haven, recognizable to me from a previous visit. It appeared we were near State St, very close to Yale.

There was a time when I thought I might study there, a distant dream from my younger self. Back then, despite never attending a real school, I held onto the possibility.

Revisiting the city at fourteen, a few years later, doubt crept in.

Knowing what I now knew, it wasn't hard to recognize that the odds were always against me. I never had the chance, not before, and certainly not now.

As soon as the bus stopped and the other passengers started to get off, I did the same. I picked up my backpack and put it on, following the others to the street, deciding to be the last one to get down.

For a moment, I waited a bit before finally getting off, looking inside the bus and waiting for the moth from earlier to appear and follow it. But, it didn't happen.

So, I went my way. If I remembered correctly, there shouldn't be another bus stop so far away, I could eat something on the way while I looked and hope my change would be enough for the next ticket. Or, hope they would accept my dad's weird coins.

As I strolled down the street, I seized the opportunity to approach strangers, concocting a flimsy tale about a new school on Long Island and my ailing parents unable to assist with transportation. However, as they began to provide directions, a sinking feeling crept in.

Clearly, I lacked the funds for the entire journey.

Faced with limited options, I considered potential avenues. One option involved seeking employment on the streets, donning a somber expression and appealing to tourists for financial assistance. Ironically, the more morally questionable choice proved to be the swifter means of acquiring funds.

Anyway, I tried to risk it, at least make it to the bus stop that supposedly was the cheapest one to my journey. Maybe, the driver could take some pity on me and take me to Pennsylvania. If not, I would have start to figure how to gain money for the whole trip, I wouldn’t dare to walk all the way to that fucking camp.

I walked, walked, walked and walked down State St. As I traversed the street, covering only a fraction of the distance, I encountered a Thai Restaurant. The sight of it made my stomach protest loudly; I hadn't eaten in a while, and the prolonged walking intensified my hunger.

However, there was no way I would eat in the middle of the street, under the scrutinizing gaze of strangers. That was out of the question.

Despite mustering all the courage, I hesitated to knock on the closed restaurant's door. Even if a waiter were to appear, what excuse could I possibly give for not wanting to dine outside?

So, I found an alternative. In less than a minute, I seated myself in an alley, extracting a snack from my backpack and indulging in it.

In fact, that was within question.

Ignoring the curious glances of passersby, I continued my impromptu meal. Candies followed, accompanied by sips of water. This brief moment of rest was crucial before resuming my walk under the scorching sun.

I just needed two minutes, or maybe ten… Honestly, a whole thirty minutes were enough for me to restore my energy.

As I rested, I took another look at the wristband I was wearing. The more attention I paid to it, the more I noticed a strange energy emanating from it. It was difficult to explain and even less tangible—an unknown aura surrounding something hidden inside the leather, beyond the engraved letters.

When I opened my mouth to express the feeling, the only thing that came to mind was the night of a day or two ago.

My mother was held in the air by the monster's hand, the only one watching her intensely and impatiently, while all she did instead of fighting was ask me to run. And run was what I did.

Until I heard her scream—a stunning, heart-wrenching scream that froze my feet in place, forcing me to witness her body flying to my side, blood overflowing from her mouth. Her torso seemed broken or twisted enough to inflict severe internal injuries.

Still, she had the strength to ask me to keep running. How could I? How could I run and leave her behind?

I couldn't do that. Instead, I stood beside her, ignoring the disturbing footsteps of the Cyclops approaching.

I held my mother's hands, hoping to somehow absorb her strength. Perhaps I did, for even though I didn't follow her request, it seemed to matter little to her. As if, in the end, she felt no pain.

Tears and sobs dampened my face, but I could swear she thanked me. Ridiculous, considering I should be thanking her for being an incredible mother, sacrificing everything for my safety. If only I had known sooner...

After that, everything was a blur, difficult to understand. Holding her hands, a strange sensation tingled down my spine, adrenaline coursing through my entire body. When I saw my mother attempting to say something but succumbing to exhaustion...

The Cyclops was already beside me, reaching to grab me.

Anything between that moment and the hospital was a haze. Fragments of memories. I recalled his hands trying to lift me off the ground, my palms facing his monstrously large fingers. Almost facing a 5-meter drop but feeling no pain.

When the ambulance arrived and I reached the hospital, attempting to explain what I had understood about the situation at the time, they were most surprised that I hadn't broken my legs or at least sprained an ankle. But I think my exhaustion and grief were enough for them to believe me.

I tightened my lips, holding back tears at the memory. What did my mother's death have to do with my father's gift?

Tenebris—was that really the only clue I had?

Gradually, a shift occurred in the air, and it didn't escape my notice.

Within moments, an unsettling realization dawned – something was amiss. The streets teemed with people running in the opposite direction of my intended path once I felt ready to resume my journey. Fear and confusion etched on their faces left me puzzled about the impending threat.

Swiftly, I rose, stowing away my belongings in my backpack and hoisting it onto my back. Approaching adults warned me of an out-of-control truck menacing pedestrians, urging me to find safety. Some chose the rational path, sprinting toward the police station for genuine assistance.

However, skepticism gnawed at me. It didn't ring true. Something felt off.

My eyes caught sight of the unfolding drama a few streets away, just beyond the dog park on the opposite side of my position.

Initially, I perceived three kids, one notably smaller than the others, sprinting from an unseen threat. The girl in black wielded a makeshift spear, while her companion brandished a golf club. How could such feeble weapons aid their escape from an out-of-control truck? Why weren't they going to a store or going to the sidewalk?

Then, I understood.

At first glance, the runaway vehicle resembled a refrigerated truck, careening down the road with a desperate screech. The driver, concealed behind black-tinted windows, eluded my view from this distance.

However, as I advanced, sidestepping the frantic adults, reality emerged.

It was no truck, but a snake. A giant fucking snake. There was no other way to describe it.

All the sense I was lacking suddenly decided to take control of my actions. My brain, which had previously been unable to muster the courage to stand at the door of a closed restaurant, had now regained enough courage to force my feet to run after that atrocity.

For no logical or plausible reason, from one moment to the next, my rationality was replaced by stupidity.

The monstrous serpent pursued the kids, including the one almost the same age I was when I met Viola. It seemed absurd to consider intervening, given the potential to continue on my way or capitalize on the disturbance to pilfer from unsuspecting pockets. Yet, I couldn't turn away.

Just as I couldn't flee when my mother's cries pierced the air or when she tried to wrench me from Viola's grasp as the Chimera's stinger pierced her chest in the past.

Perhaps it was stubbornness, authentic courage, or sheer impertinence.

It remained unclear where my resolve originated as the idea of confronting a giant snake pursuing a group of children took hold.

The snake, swift and destructive, both hindered the children and itself. Exploiting that and my familiarity with the streets and their shortcuts, I discerned an opportunity to intervene.

I ran like I had rarely ran before, until the tips of the toes hurt. My sneakers had already gone belly-up to that moment, after all the running I have being doing in the past months.

I walked around the streets, without for a second taking my eyes off the scales of that thing. Entering some alleys and following the murmurs and exclamations of the children as they tried to formulate a plan, even though they were at a disadvantage.

Swallowing hard, I took advantage of the shelter outside some buildings to avoid the fragments of asphalt, cement, poles and benches flying everywhere. Gradually but quickly managing to reach that monster.

But that didn't mean I didn’t continue to run, attempting to maintain a good and safe distance between the giant snake and the peculiar trio.

"Hey, girl!" the older girl from the trio shouted, attempting to grab my attention. "Get out of here, it's not safe!"

She wore dark clothes that complemented her short, black hair and extremely light blue eyes. In addition to the makeup on her face, which was almost gone, having been worn away by time for a long time.

It didn't take long to notice her limp, a testament to an injured foot sustained during the chase – or even before.

I just smiled, hiding behind some trash cans and away from the giant snake's senses, hoping it would continue to pay all its attention to that bunch of kids. Which, to be honest, weren't much younger than me, except for the little girl.

"No, you guys go," I shouted back, "Head into the park and blend in with the crowd there. It'll be hard for them to believe that a truck would actually enter a park."

At least, that's what I thought at the time. Nowadays, I know that mundanes would still believe in the idea of an out-of-control truck wreaking havoc, even within a park.

They didn't follow my advice; instead, they halted their escape.

“Aegis,” the girl from before exclaimed, and her bracelet transformed into an incredible shield. She shielded her friends, positioning the protective barrier in front of them, waiting to see my next move. The boy behind her appeared both confused and scared, alternating his gaze between me and his friend as if awaiting an order.

At this point, I was hoping for one too. I had no idea what to do, and I didn't even have a weapon.

However, the giant snake paid no heed. I could distinctly hear its slithering and the destruction of cars in its path. I refused to let fear or my earlier stupidity show on my face.

Instead, I glanced at my wrist, the leather band my father had given me. For a moment, I wished it were a weapon, similar to the girl's shield bracelet.

Despite having the slightest idea of how to handle a weapon, I hoped for anything that could help me assist those three.

Timing couldn't have been worse for it to resurface, but as I looked at a trash can in front of me, the usual moth landed patiently, as if awaiting something.

Perhaps it shared the girl's curiosity about what I would do.

Then, I remembered—the sound of rain yesterday morning, at the funeral, and even at night on the bus, a hostage to "what ifs" that could have transpired instead of my current reality. I remembered the blood, dark red staining my hands and clothes, and how cold it felt against my skin. I didn't care, holding my mother's hands with all my might.

Just like I tried to hold Viola that day, attempting unsuccessfully to move her body away from the Chimera's sting.

The giant snake drew closer, its slithering growing clearer by the second.

Glancing at my wristband again, the carved words caught my eye.

Out of the corner, I saw the snake's scales and its wild eyes. Emerging from my hiding place, a word escaped my mouth like a battle cry before I fully comprehended my own line of reasoning.

"Tenebris!"

A blinding light filled the air, halting the giant snake and diverting its attention towards me. I closed my eyes, feeling the wristband transform within seconds.

Suddenly, something weighed down in my hand, like the sheath of a sword. Its dark sheath matched my wristband's leather, and its slightly curved blade, made of an uncanny bronze material, felt strangely familiar. Bronze. The sword's blade was made of bronze.

As quickly as the light appeared, it dissipated, replaced by a cloud of darkness covering my ankles and part of the street and alley.

The trio gaped at the spectacle. The older girl struggled to maintain her defensive stance, her injured foot hindering her movements. The younger one's wide and curious eyes betrayed a mix of fear and fascination, while the boy among them clutched his golf club with a determined expression that hinted at a desire to help.

Without giving the serpent a chance to recover from the blinding light from before, I surged forward, the newfound sword in hand. The blade cut through the air with a metallic hum, and I slashed at the serpent's scaly underbelly.

It hissed in pain, recoiling momentarily.

In the end, the wristband was a useful gift. I had to remind myself, one day, to thank my dad.

Seizing the opportunity, I circled the serpent, keeping it off balance, continuing to slash its scaly skin. It tried to knock me down with a movement of its body, but before that could happen, I dodged it, cutting its scales once again. But this time I made a point of sticking my sword in, hoping to hit some organ of his, then pulling the sword out.

The boy with black hair, recognizing an opening, sprinted to the serpent's other side, wielding his golf club like a hero facing a dragon from the tales. His fearless determination served as a distraction, affording me yet another chance to strike.

The girl, despite her injury, bravely stood her ground, using her shield to protect us and the little girl. While, said little girl, spurred by a sudden burst of courage, found a dagger in her pocket and joined the fray.

The serpent, now enraged, lunged at us with deadly precision. The older girl skillfully deflected its strikes with her shield, while the boy continued to harass it from the side. The younger girl and I coordinated our attacks, aiming for vulnerable spots between the scales.

As the battle raged on, I felt a surge of adrenaline, my movements becoming more fluid and instinctive. My sword seemed to respond to my will, enhancing my speed and strength. Each strike resonated with power, and the serpent's resistance weakened.

Finally, with a resounding clash, I drove the sword into the serpent's forehead, or what looked like its forehead. The creature convulsed, its massive form thrashing before collapsing to the ground. The dark cloud dissipated, leaving only the echoes of the intense battle.

Breathing heavily, I turned to face the trio, equally exhausted.

They, too, looked weary, particularly the girl nursing an injured leg. Despite their fatigue, they regarded me with awe, as if I had materialized from the pages of a fantastical tale. Given the circumstances, I couldn't blame them.

I didn't blame them, I really had appeared out of nowhere.

"I'm Thalia," the older girl introduced herself, leaning against a wall as her shield reverted to a bracelet. "That's Annabeth," she pointed to the younger dark-skinned girl, now displaying a hint of shyness.

"And I'm Luke," the boy interjected, assisting his friend to stand while keeping a watchful eye on me, still processing the surreal reality of our shared encounter with the monstrous serpent.

"I'm Eurydice," I replied, glancing at my sword and back at them. "It seems like you needed a little help."

“We did,” Luke agreed, looking at me from head to toe, but keeping his eyes on mine while talking to me, “And I think we still do”

Shifting his attention to his injured friend, he examined her leg, revealing a severe wound beneath her baggy jeans. Thalia attempted to whisper something to Luke, diverting his hands away from the injury.

Feeling lost and searching for a solution, my eyes wandered, and I spotted a parked car on a nearby sidewalk—doors open and windows relatively intact. It seemed like an abandoned vehicle amidst the chaos.

"I can drive," I offered, drawing the trio's attention. "I just need to know where we should go and someone who knows how to start a car without a key."

Luke sighed, helping Thalia walk toward me, followed by Annabeth.

"Lucky for you, I know both," the grin he flashed at me while uttering those words hinted at one unmistakable thing: trouble.

#percy jackson fanfiction #pjo fanfic #pjo tv show #pjo series #dionysus pjo #chiron #percy jackson #annabeth chase #grover underwood #clarisse la rue #thalia grace #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x you #female original character

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 years

Text

Unexpected 10

Sequel to Unsolicited

Warnings: non/dubcon, pregnancy, Lloyd being the worst, and other dark elements.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Lloyd says little as he hands over his gibbering mother to his ever stoic father. The elder Hansen is barely bothered by his wife’s state so you assume it might not be all that unusual. Regardless, your wedding night has unfolded to a level of chaos beyond your comprehension. The worst part is your forced sobriety.

Your heels echo down the hall as you languish in silence. Is he angry? Surely you’ll find out when you get back to the room. You can’t worry about whatever’s brewing beneath the surface as your feet scream from the arch of the flimsy shoes.

As you turn the corner, your heel catches on the tacky carpet and you squeal in surprise as the shoe snaps and you’re sent stumbling forward. Before you can hit your knees, Lloyd has his arm around you, holding you tenuously above the bright pattern.

He angles you back to your feet only to swiftly scoop your up bridal style. Another squeak escapes your lips.

“Thanks,” you breathe, unsure what else to say.

“Well, it is our wedding night,” he shifts you in his arms.

“Uh, yeah,” you still find that fact hard to swallow.

“I know you’re fucking elated, sweetheart, you don’t gotta keep up that front,” he says smugly as he marches down the hall, “finally got a sugar daddy to keep you cozy–”

“Ew–”

“You say that now, but I get you on your back and your tune changes, don’t it, songbird?” He taunts as he stops and turns to face a door, “keycard’s in my pocket, dear, be a doll and find it for me?”

You sigh and awkwardly reach under his white jacket, brazing his firm muscles with your knuckles as you slide out the small plastic card. He bends his knees so you can scan it and the beep signals your success. You turn the handle and push the door in as he straightens.

“‘Oh, daddy, please let me play with your balls’,” he mockingly chimes, “‘oh, give it to me. Put another baby in me, dad–’”

“Knock it off,” you wriggle in his arms, “you’re so gross.”

“Baby, that’s part of the romance,” he winks, “you haven’t even seen my surprise.”

“Surprise?” You swallow, recalling his previous ones. That which led to you dangling over the side of a boat and the other to you facing your bloodied ex-husband.

“You’ll like this one,” he passes through the front room of the suite, a red couch with a heart shaped backrest stands center and gives the full vibes of the campy honeymoon retreat, “I think I will too.”

He carries you into the bedroom and you look around at the bubblegum pink walls. This place is ridiculous but what else did you expect from him. If anything, you prefer it to some elaborate church ceremony and hoity toity resort. This is quick and easier, not easy.

He crosses to the bed and lays you down, placing your head against the pillow as his hands trail down your body. You roll your eyes at his groping as he follows your legs to your feet. He lifts them and places them on his lap as he sits. You squint at him as he works at unclasping the strap of your broken shoe.

The wrinkle in his forehead betrays his struggle as his thick fingertips slip down the silver straps. He growls and snaps it instead, tearing it off your foot before swiftly doing the same to the other. You don’t mourn the shoes as you never plan on wearing them again.

You gasp as he pushes his thumb into the arch of your foot. You tense at the relief it sends through your soles and you groan without thinking. You prop yourself up on your elbows as you watch him roll a knuckle against the burning muscle.

“Relax,” he girds as he waves you down.

You hum and obey, still wary. You find it hard to let go. You cross your arms as you ease back against the pillows and try to focus on the pleasure in his touch.

“You’re not mad?” You ask at last.

“Mad?” He frowns and looks over at you, kneading your foot until you murmur. He keeps you from pulling away as he tickles beneath your toes.

“About your mom?”

“Mom? No. Where do you think I get it from,” he shakes his head and chuckles, “dad’s got a handle on her.”

You nod and let your shoulder relax. You lean your head back as he switches feet. You still feel a sense of dread. He’s being nice and that never bodes well. He still hasn’t revealed his surprise and you know damn well it isn’t a foot massage.

“So, Mrs. Hansen, what do we do first?” He wonders just as you start to drift into your mind. After that day, you could sleep then and there.

You stare at him. You would suggest calling it a night but that’s not going to get you anywhere. You shrug.

His hand slowly crawls up your ankle and your leg twitches as he snakes up your calf. You watch him trail his touch with his lips, climbing up to bend over you as his mustache bristles against your skin. He pushes the slit of your dress apart as he reaches your knees, kisses falling in a path over goosebumps.

“Mmm, Mrs. Hansen, I could think of a thousand things to do to you,” he purrs as he grazes over your thigh, pulling them wide as he drags you down to your back, “let’s start simple, huh?”

You let out a breath and bite your lip as he buries his head beneath the top of your skirt. He nuzzles the thin lace thong he chose for the occasion, wetting it deliberately with his tongue. You sigh, an edge of suspicion still set in your spine. You can’t let it all go, you know the final twist is inevitable.

He laps at your through the thin fabric, wiggling his head empathically, growling hungrily. His tongue flicks down to the thin string of the thong and he feels along your cunt with his fingers as he tugs it aside. He delves into your naked folds. You’re already a wet, a delighted hum rolling from his throat and rippling through you.

“Baby,” he pulls back just a little, his head a mound beneath the charmeuse, “let it go… Mr. Hansen’s gonna treat you right.”

“Oh, shut up,” you scowl and grab his head, shoving it down to quiet him. He always has to ruin it.

He lets out a garbled noise but goes back to diligently tending to you. His tongue swipes up and down, drinking you in. He settles and seals his lips around your clit, fingertips rubbing up and down, circling your entrance. He swirls the tip of his tongue around your bud and prods at you firmly.

He dips his thick fingers into you, slowly, stretching you to his bottom knuckles. You moan and tilt your chin up. This man is only bearable when he’s inside you. You bend your legs and keep your hand stretches across the smooth fabric, urging him on.

He slides his hand back, hovering against your cunt as he lines up a third finger. He slips inside again, this time the strain burns in your walls. You croak as you take him, walls clenching around his intrusion. He rocks his hand as his tongue dances around your clit, the heat storming in your core.

He drones against you, huffing in deep breaths around his rampant lapping. He once drags his fingers out and you feel the third poking along the back of your entrance. You gasp as he stretches you around his fingertips, pink to index. Your back curves deeply and you dig your nails into the fabric.

“Ll–”

He forces his way inside and your thighs tense around him. You whine as he pushes your limit, little by little. You whimper as he gets past his first knuckle, his tongue toying with you incessantly. As he wiggles his way deeper, the pressure thrums and burns, surging through your veins.

You gulp and drape your arm over your face. You writhe around him as he fucks you with his hand, keeping rhythm with his greedy mouth. The wet noises permeate through the skirt and bubble in the back of your head. You can’t think as you succumb to the swelling climax.

You choke on your orgasm, bucking as you ride his hand through the peak and tremble into your afterglow. He doesn’t let up as he shoves his fingers into you as deep as he can and smears his mouth up your thigh, pressing his thumb to your clit instead. He raises himself so the fabric falls away from him, shaking his hand inside you as you squirm.

“Come on, Mrs. Hansen,” he growls, “I know you can do it again–”

You hiss and brace your head with one hand, your other drifting to his sleeve as you latch on. You moan and bite your lip, another orgasm building, stronger than before. Your eyes roll back and you groan through your teeth as you chase the release.

You spasm and cum, your cunt clinging to him as a sudden gushes soaks his hand and cuff. He tuts as he guides you through your climax and slows gradually, until you’re twitching around his fingers. You puff heavily as your hand rests weakly on his forearms.

“Oh, peaches, I hope you don’t think that’s your surprise.”

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #unexpected #series #drabble #dark drabble #dark!drabble #the gray man

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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 2 years

Text

The Silver Dragon (10/?)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Original Female Character

Word Count: 2041

Story Summary: Lady Arianwyn Targaryen, the Lady of Runestone, was seeded by her father, the Rogue Prince Daemon Targaryen, in an act of unbridled hatred, and borne of her mother, the late Lady Rhea Royce, as a desperate grasp at revenge.

Ignored by her father, and alone following the death of her mother, she is raised in King’s Landing alongside her cousin, Prince Aemond Targaryen. As they grow, the two find themselves indelibly bonded. But their lives are far from the fairy tales they read, and as tensions in the family rise, they find their paths may diverge.

Will they be pulled apart when the dragons dance?

Chapter Summary: Faced with the possibility of their separation, Aemond joins Arianwyn in prayer.

Warnings: None.

Series Masterlist

Taglist: @thelittleswanao3,@trap-house-homiecide

Prayer

“I think that it is long past time for Arianwyn to come and live with her father – and her sisters. When you leave for King’s Landing in the morning, brother, she will remain here. With me.”

Hearing Daemon’s words, Arianwyn felt as if the very ground beneath her feet would crack open, and swallow her whole into the darkness below.

If only it would.

For this was much, much worse.

After more than thirteen years of cruel silence, punctuated that very day by even crueler words, now the Rogue Prince sought to lay claim to his firstborn daughter?

It was surely not out of love, nor a sense of familial duty. No, Daemon was sure to have more sinister intentions. But Arianwyn had not inherited her father’s penchant for malice – she could not begin to imagine what he might have in mind for her.

All she knew was the fear and rage crackling in her heart like a frost. She allowed the ice to pulse through her veins with every beat of her heart, until it froze even the tears in her eyes. She was so gods-damned tired of crying.

“I will not,” she declared. “You are no father of mine, and my home with never be with you.” Her eyes of silver – the eyes of House Royce – never left her father’s as she spoke. She looked at him with all the hatred she possessed, and still, it was less than he deserved.

But Daemon had seen that same look in those very same eyes before. It did not sway him then, and it did not now. “It has been a difficult night for you,” he said. Though his lips played in a pout of pity, his eyes sparkled with amusement. “So, I will forgive your unbecoming words. You will be coming with me – as your father, I command it.”

Arianwyn shook her head, hand instinctually reaching out to the empty space on her left. But Aemond was not there. He still stood with his mother, her arm cradling him as they both looked to Arianwyn with fear in their eyes. “Help me,” she mouthed.

The Queen stared back at her helplessly. Any goodwill she held with the King, any sway she might have had over him was lost the moment she drew Rhaenyra’s blood. But still, she had to try. She had failed to find justice for her son – she would not allow Arianwyn to face this injustice unchallenged.

“What right have you to command her?” She asked, releasing Aemond from her grasp and nudging him toward Arianwyn. He stumbled as he ran, gripping the girl’s shoulders to steady himself – she held him back with such strength that her hands went white.

“Since Arianwyn was only weeks old, the King and I have been her guardians,” Alicent addressed the gathered crowd as much as she did Daemon and her husband. “Her late mother, Rhea Royce, even as she died in the birthing bed, was more parent to her than you have ever been. Arianwyn stays with us.”

Daemon’s lip curled as he faced the Queen. “And I offer my sincere gratitude to the both of you,” he snarled, struggling to keep the spite from his voice, “for fulfilling my duties in my absence. But having just lost my beloved wife, I have resolved to rededicate myself to my family – including my firstborn.”

Arianwyn was so disgusted by her father’s brazen lies that she could vomit. Surely anyone with even a shred of sense could see through his sickly-sweet façade. But perhaps good sense was less common than she initially thought.

The King, heaving with exhaustion from the unending calamity of the night, once more lowered himself into the Driftwood Throne. He looked to Arianwyn, then her father, then his wife. With a great sigh, he turned to Ser Westerling.

“Clear the room,” he ordered. “I must speak with my brother and my wife. Now!”

Arianwyn was so enraged that she was being excluded from the conversation to determine her fate that Ser Criston Cole was required to carry her from the throne room of High Tide.

She did not make it easy for the knight. She twisted her shoulders in his arms to try and escape, but Cole’s grip held firm. Even when she kicked her legs against his shins, seeking to knock him down as she had watched Aemond do to Jace earlier, he only held her tighter.

“Let me go!” she demanded.

Cole sighed, “I will let you go, but only if you promise to remain calm, and stay out of the throne room.”

Arianwyn cried, “But I can’t let him take me!”

“The Queen will do everything she can,” Cole said. “You are still but a girl. It is not your place to petition the King.”

“I am not just a girl!” she screamed, still fighting to free herself. “I am the Lady of Runestone, like my mother before me!”

Cole at last let her to the floor. But before she could run away from him, he grabbed her shoulders once more and turned her to face him. “You are,” he reached a hand up to cup her cheek. “But you are also a girl. The power of your position will not be yours for years to come.”

She pouted, though she did not fight him. “Boys can claim their titles when they are sixteen,” she whined. “Cregan Stark just reclaimed Winterfell from his uncle, and he is only three years older than me. Why must I be made to wait until I am twenty-one? It is not fair!”

“It is the law of the land,” Cole said, “as it has been since long before Aegon the Conqueror landed in Westeros. It does not have to be fair.”

Arianwyn’s head drooped, for she knew his words were true. She could only be grateful that her thrice great-grandfather had let the old laws of the Vale that allowed her to inherit at all stand.

Cole let his hands fall. “I am ordered to return you to your rooms. But if you promise to behave, and tell no one that I’ve disobeyed my orders, then I will take you to Aemond instead. Let you spend time with him…” He did not have to finish his sentence; she knew how it would end.

While you still can.

Aemond had not been returned to the chambers he shared with Aegon but instead taken to the Maester’s wing where he could continue to be looked after. He laid in a bed that had been brought in for him, with additional pillows stuffed at his back to keep him upright. One of the Maesters had dressed his wound, so Arianwyn did not have to gaze upon the horrid gash. If he was to leave without her tomorrow, she did not want his injury to be her final image of him.

She approached the bed, looking to Orwyle for permission before perching on its edge.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

Aemond grimaced, fiddling with his blankets. “I can hardly feel much of anything, to be honest. The Maester gave me more milk of the poppy when we got here.”

Arianwyn smiled and waved her hand in front of his face. “Can you even see me right now?” she asked, “Or is your vision filled with ghosts and faeries?

He laughed, reaching out to catch her hand. It took him three attempts to finally snare it. “I can see you,” he said. “Though not as well as I would like.”

Of course – his eye. Guilt wrenched through Arianwyn’s heart as she laid their hands between them. “I’m sorry, that was cruel of me.”

Aemond shook his head. “Don’t apologize. It will take time for me to get used to it as well.”

“Will you be able to fly tomorrow?”

“I think so,” he said. “Aegon said the flight home was easy, that Vhagar would not need much guidance from me to find her way back to King’s Landing. Besides, there will be three other dragons for us to follow… I hope.”

Arianwyn sighed. “Hope is all we can do tonight. And pray.”

Moving to intertwine their fingers, Aemond stared deeply into her eyes. “May I pray with you?”

She nodded. “I would like that. You were always better at it than me.”

“I have a lot of practice,” he said, cheeks flushed under his wrappings. “Now, close your eyes.”

Arianwyn obeyed. But rather than clasp her own hands in front of her, she kept her fingers laced with his.

“Father, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Warrior, Smith, and Stranger,” Aemond began. “Grant us all your strength this night – for we have never been in such dire need of your aid. Heal us of our wounds, inside and out. Stitch together our flesh as well as our broken hearts. Help us to leave those who would harm us far behind, and strengthen our bonds with those whom we love, and who love us in return.”

He opened his eye, gazing at Arianwyn’s beautiful face. Her eyes were closed, her brow knitted together she concentrated all her thoughts on the prayer. The thought that she may be taken from him stung sharper than any knife.

“Protect us.” He begged of the Seven, and any other god that might be listening. “Wherever we may be tomorrow and in all the days to come, keep us safe and whole. And no matter how far we may be, let us always – always – find our way back to each other.”

After the prayer, neither child made any mention of what decisions may be made by their parents. They chose instead to talk of simple things. The odd seafood they were served at dinner. The books they were both reading. If Vhagar would like Emrys and vice versa.

They talked for what seemed like hours, though it was indeed only minutes until the milk of the poppy took hold of Aemond, carrying him gently into a peaceful sleep. Arianwyn stayed by his side even then. She lay beside him, running her fingers through the tangles in his still sandy hair.

The Queen arrived just as she finished straightening his silver locks. “You are meant to be in your own rooms, Aria,” she scolded, though her heart warmed to see the girl here.

“Ser Cole brought me here,” Arianwyn replied, “though I was not supposed to tell you that.”

Alicent smiled, “That man’s heart has always been his weakness. Though I have never been able to find fault in that.” She came to sit at the end of the bed, watching her son at rest.

Arianwyn did not want to know the answer, but she had to ask. “What did the King decide?”

Devastation crossed the Queen’s face as she reached for the girl’s hand. “I am so, so sorry, Aria. I tried all that I could. But Viserys would not listen when I tried to tell him what your father did.”

“I cannot believe that he does not know,” Arianwyn spat. “Or at least suspect.”

“I agree. But the King has always turned a blind eye to the crimes of his brother. He has never given up hope that Daemon can somehow be redeemed.” The Queen began to cry, as she cradled her niece’s wounded face. “Now he hopes that you will be his redemption. That somehow, him taking responsibility for you will erase all the evil of his past.”

“It will not,” Arianwyn said. Though her heart was breaking, she had no tears left to spill. “He will always be the man who killed my mother, and left me to rot.”

The Queen, losing the last of her composure, could only nod.

Arianwyn sat tall, trying to summon the strength of her mother. “I have no choice but to go with him,” she said. “But he will never be my father.”

When the sun rose, she would be ripped from her true family – from everyone she ever loved. She would be a prisoner to her own father, entirely at his mercy. But she had faith. Aemond’s prayer would protect her. And though it may take years, eventually, she would find a way to escape from Daemon, and make her way back home.

Next Chapter

#aemond #aemond targaryen #aemond fanfic #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond one eye #hotd aemond #aemond x oc #house of the dragon aemond #house of the dragon #hotd fanfic #hotd #house of the dragon fanfic #aemond x reader

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