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velarisdusk · 2 months ago

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Breathe Out Your Sorrows

Day 28: Captivity | Azriel x Reader word count: 10k author's note: WHEW. this turned into so much more than i intended but i couldn’t stop writing, i loved this dark, sick azriel. LOVED him. this is part 2 to Breathe In the Quiet, my kinktober day 24 fic! you could prob still read this standalone and be fine though :) warning! there are a lot of really fucked up elements in this one. dub-con, knives, blood (this is not cute knifeplay with tiny cuts, this is an actual dangerous situation), manipulation, uhhh i think those are all the really bad ones ✦ . Kinktober Masterlist . ✦

The first thing you felt was the cold. Icy, biting, and unrelenting. It seeped into your skin, clawing at your bones, making you shiver uncontrollably. Your eyes fluttered open slowly, lids heavy with exhaustion, and a wave of disorientation hit you like a crashing tide.

You weren’t in the market anymore.

Gone were the warm lights of Velaris, the bustle of the streets, the illusion of safety. Instead, damp stone surrounded you. The faintest glow from a torch flickered in the corner, casting dancing shadows against the rough, uneven walls of the dungeon. The air was thick with the scent of blood and decay, an overwhelming mixture of damp earth and something far more sinister.

Along the walls hung a collection of vicious instruments, as though they were nothing more than decoration—razor-sharp blades, iron clamps, whips with barbed ends, each more sinister than the last. A wooden rack stood in one corner, its handles worn smooth from countless struggles, while a table along the back wall was littered with tools designed for nothing short of pure agony. But the floor was disturbingly clean. No blood, no stains. An unsettling realization, as if the horrors here were scrubbed away with precision, leaving behind only the lingering sense of suffering and dread.

A dull throb pulsed in your skull, each beat growing more insistent. You reached up to soothe the ache, but as you raised your arm, a sharp, cold sting bir into your wrists, yanking it back. Thick iron shackles clamped tight around your wrists and ankles, bolted to the floor, ensured there would be no escape. Despite the restraints, you still managed to touch the side of your head, feeling a warm, sticky wetness beneath your fingers. You pulled your hand away and peered down at it in the dim torchlight.

Blood.

Panic flared instantly, flooding your veins with adrenaline. Your breathing hitched as you tugged desperately at the restraints, the metallic clink of chains echoing through the chamber. The iron was heavy, and with every frantic jerk, they only tightened around your limbs, the cold steel bruising your skin.

Your heart thundered in your chest as your gaze darted around the room, frantic for any sign of an exit, any hope of escape. But there was none. No windows, no door. Only a narrow grate, no wider than your hand, carved into the stone for the thin wisps of smoke curling from the torch. The walls loomed around you, oppressive and unyielding. And then you felt it—the familiar, suffocating weight of being watched.

His presence curled through the room, heavy and suffocating. You couldn’t see him yet, but you knew. You knew Azriel was there, lurking just beyond the shadows, watching you struggle.

“Finally awake, little one?”

The voice slithered through the room, smooth and ominous. You froze, your blood running cold as his figure emerged from the shadows, stepping into the dim light. Azriel stood there, tall and imposing, his wings partially unfurled behind him, casting long, ominous shadows across the dungeon floor.

He looked like a nightmare come to life. His dark hair was tousled, framing a face that was both beautiful and terrifying in its intensity. He wore a tailored suit, every line of it sharp, perfect. But it was his eyes—those cold, predatory eyes—that pinned you in place. The same eyes that had hunted you, stalked you through the streets of Velaris.

The same eyes that had caught you.

“You look so… delicate like this,” he murmured, his voice a low purr as he stepped closer, the clack of his boots against the stone floor deafening in the otherwise silent room. His shadows curled around him like living creatures, some slipping across the floor to circle you.

You swallowed hard, fear clawing at your throat, but you forced yourself to speak. “Why… why are you doing this?”

Azriel tilted his head, a slow, calculating smile curling on his lips as he crouched in front of you, his face mere inches from yours. His breath ghosted against your skin, sending a wave of cold dread washing over you. “Why?” he echoed, amusement flickering in his dark gaze. “Because I can. Because you’re mine.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs as you recoiled, trying to hurry back, but the short chains held you in the center of the room, your wrists aching as you strained against them. Azriel’s smile widened, a dark, twisted satisfaction gleaming in his eyes as he watched you struggle.

“I’ve been watching you,” he whispered, his voice a silken caress that felt like poison dripping into your veins. “For so long. Waiting. And now…” He reached out, his fingers tracing a slow line down the side of your face. “Now you’re right where you belong.”

You flinched at his touch, cold against your skin, but there was nowhere to go. No escape. You were trapped. Helpless.

Azriel’s hand moved from your face to your throat, his fingers curling around it, not tight enough to choke but just enough to remind you how small you were compared to him, how weak. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he spoke again, his voice dark and wicked. “You feel it, don’t you? That fear? That delicious, sweet terror that’s running through your veins right now?” Your breath hitched, and you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to block him out.

“Look at me!” he bellowed, his voice sharp and dangerous as the hand clenched with terrifying force.

Reluctantly, you opened your eyes, meeting his gaze, and what you saw made your stomach churn. His eyes were filled with hunger—a deep, insatiable hunger, like a panther poised to pounce on and devour a naive, unsuspecting doe. He was enjoying this. Enjoying your fear, your helplessness.

He buried his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent deeply. “I can feel your heartbeat,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your skin as he spoke. “It’s racing. You’re terrified, aren’t you?”

You swallowed hard but didn’t answer. You couldn’t. The fear had lodged itself in your throat, choking you, paralyzing you.

Azriel’s lips curled into a wicked grin at your silence, and he let out a low, dark chuckle. “Good,” he whispered, his voice dripping with sadistic pleasure as he pulled away to look you in the eyes. “I like it when you’re scared.”

His hand finally left your throat, and you let out a shaky breath, but it was short-lived.

Azriel stood from his crouched position and circled you slowly, his shadows crawling over your skin, sliding up your arms, wrapping around your legs—until one slipped beneath your dress. You jolted, hands flying to press the fabric between your legs. This only made him chuckle as his shadows merely circled your limbs tighter. His voice was hushed, a dark whisper, like he was savoring this moment, drawing it out just to watch you squirm.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this,” he began, his eyes darkening with a hunger that made your skin crawl. “How many nights I watched you. How many times I imagined this exact moment. You, helpless. Mine.”

He stopped a few paces away from you, his gaze never leaving yours as he rested a hand in his pocket. “I was patient. So patient. Waiting, watching, until the time was right. Gods, you’d always smile at everyone, walk the streets so innocently, so ignorantly. You didn’t have a clue what was going on around you,” his subsequent laugh echoed with something chilling and unhinged. “So many times I’ve had to kill them. Those males who thought they could have you. Creeping toward you in the shadows—my shadows—thinking you were alone. They had no idea I was watching. None of them ever saw me coming.”

Your blood ran cold. No… that couldn’t be true. You would’ve known, right? But you realized with a sickening twist in your gut that there had been moments—those unsettling, unexplained feelings, eyes on your back…

“I was always so close—taking care of you. And you never had any idea.”

His fingers brushed against something in his pocket, and your heart pounded in your chest as you watched him toy with it. “I could’ve taken you anytime. But where’s the fun in that? I wanted you to feel it, to understand your helplessness against someone like me.” His lips curled into a dark smile as he pulled his hand out—slowly, methodically— and held up a necklace. “Now you’ll know. Now, you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.”

He dangled the necklace from a single finger, and a wave of nausea rolled through you when you recognized it. It was the one you’d admired at the market—only now, the gemstones adorning the pendant had been replaced with ones of the deepest blue.

“You were looking at this, weren’t you?” he murmured, lifting the dainty chain slightly to let the light catch on the dark stones. “I went back and bought it for you. Thought I’d make it… better.”

Your stomach twisted as you stared at the necklace, the weight of his obsession sinking in. This wasn’t a gift. This was a symbol of control disguised as one—a mark of ownership.

Azriel’s fingers brushed over the pendant as he knelt before you and fastened the thin chain around your neck, his touch lingering a little too long, a little too intimately. “It suits you,” he whispered, satisfied. “Like it was always meant to be yours.”

His gaze lingered, dark and possessive, and it was painfully clear—he wasn’t just talking about the necklace. The way his eyes gleamed with triumph told you everything. He believed you were meant to be his.

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. You couldn’t give him the satisfaction.

Azriel seemed to sense your defiance, and his smile turned sharp, dangerous. “Oh, sweet girl,” he murmured, his voice a low purr that sent a shiver racing down your spine. “Do you really think you can fight me? Resist me?”

He reached for your chin, tilting your head up to force you to meet his gaze. “I could break you so easily,” he whispered, his voice soft, almost tender, but the malice behind it was unmistakable. “You’d shatter like glass in my hands, and you’d love every second of it.”

His thumb brushed over your lower lip, and you couldn’t conceal the trembling breath that followed. “You feel that, don’t you?” he murmured, his voice a silken caress that taunted you, that sent a wave of heat pooling in your stomach. “You’re finally beginning to understand just how fragile you are. How the weight of your fate rests in my hands.”

You bit your lip, refusing to respond, refusing to give him what he wanted. But Azriel wasn’t deterred.

“If you submit,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear, “I might be kind. I can make you feel things you’ve never felt before. The good kind,” he added with a smirk, the warmth not quite reaching his eyes.

You shook your head, a soft whimper escaping your lips, and Azriel’s smile widened, his eyes gleaming with dark satisfaction. “Ah,” he said with wonder.

He stood, his shadowy wings unfurling slightly behind him as he towered over you, his presence suffocating. “Don’t worry,” he purred, his voice laced with cruelty. “We have all the time in the world for you to learn your place.”

Your heart thundered in your chest, his words pressing down like a heavy stone. The room seemed to close in around you, the thick shadows at the edges of the chamber whispering as if they were alive.

“Fuck you,” you spat, your voice hoarse but defiant, the words slipping out before you could stop yourself.

Azriel’s eyes narrowed, dark amusement flickering behind them. “Oh, you still have some fight left in you?” His lips curled into a dangerous smile, his hand moving with deliberate slowness, a wordless assertion of his dominance. “I expected this. I want you to submit. I want you to be my well-behaved little angel. But breaking you is when I get my real fun.”

With a subtle tilt of his head, the shackles clicked open, replaced by his shadows that coiled around you like a vice. They lifted you effortlessly to your feet and pressed you against the cold stone wall, stretching your limbs taut against its unforgiving surface. You squirmed in an attempt to break free, to pull away from the wall, but their icy grip held firm, biting into your skin with a chilling intensity.

“You think you can resist me?” His voice was like velvet, smooth and dark. “Do you think defiance will protect you from what’s coming?”

Your lips parted, a snarl forming, but Azriel was faster. In an instant, he was inches from your face, his hand shooting out to grip your jaw with a bruising hold, forcing your gaze to lock with his. The intensity in his eyes sent your heart racing, a sickening mixture of fear and something else you refused to acknowledge settling deep in your gut.

“I know what you want,” he whispered, his voice barely a breath between you, yet it wrapped around your senses like a noose. "I can feel it—the fear, the rage, the way your body responds to me, even when your mind screams at you to fight." His thumb pressed against your lower lip, forcing it to part as his grip tightened. "Tell me... do you hate me for making you feel this way?"

Your breath hitched, the words catching in your throat. You wanted to scream at him, curse him for the torment, for the twisted thrill that pulsed through your veins despite yourself. But he gave you no time to respond before he released your jaw, his hand sliding down your throat to the delicate chain resting there.

“Your silence speaks volumes,” he continued, his voice thick with condescension as his fingers ghosted over your collarbone, trailing the elegant fabric of your dress that clung to your form. “But I’m going to get you to say it, one way or another.”

He stepped back, his wings casting dark shadows across the room as he moved with an unsettling grace. The tension built, thick and suffocating, as his hands came to rest on the waistband of his leathers. His gaze never left yours, a cruel spark igniting in the depths of his eyes as he undid the ties with deliberate slowness.

"I could break you," he murmured, his voice deceptively soft. "It wouldn’t take much. Some pain, just a touch of pleasure." You felt the burn of humiliation bloom on your cheeks, your pulse hammering wildly in your ears as you caught sight of the sizeable bulge forming beneath his pants. "I could have you begging in no time. Soon enough, you’ll forget what it felt like to resist."

You clenched your jaw, fighting the panic that rose in your chest. You wanted to scream at him, to lash out, but your body betrayed you. A shiver sparked at your core, unwelcome and traitorous, tangled with the terror gripping your heart.

Azriel noticed. Of course, he noticed.

"See?" His voice was a dark purr, and he took a step closer, his body nearly flush with yours. "I don’t even have to touch you to get this reaction. You can hate me all you want, but your body… your body already knows who it belongs to."

“Fuck… you,” you managed to bite out, the tremor in your voice betraying the very defiance you clung to.

Azriel’s hands shot out, grabbing the fabric of your dress and tearing it effortlessly, the soft material falling away like paper. A sharp gasp escaped you as the cold air hit your bare skin, and you instinctively pulled back, only for the frigid wall behind you to meet your skin, as cold and unyielding as the look in his eyes.

“Oh, I think that’s exactly what you want,” he growled, his hand tracing the curve of your waist, the lightness of his touch mocking the brutality he’d just shown. “But I’m not going to make it that easy for you, angel.”

His shadows slithered across your exposed skin, cool and teasing, as they wound around your thighs and waist, keeping you completely at his mercy. With a fluid motion, Azriel shrugged off his suit jacket and tossed it aside. You couldn’t focus on how he managed it, what with the wings; all that mattered was how good he looked, the crisp white dress shirt clinging to his muscular frame. As he rolled up the sleeves, revealing his forearms, your breath hitched. The taut skin, adorned with swirling tattoos, made your pulse race, a stark contrast to the darkness surrounding you. Azriel leaned in, his mouth brushing the shell of your ear as his voice turned dark, a silken whisper tainted with cruelty.

“You’re going to beg for it,” he murmured. “And when you do, I’ll decide whether or not you’ve earned it.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, the stubborn fire in your eyes flickering back to life despite the overwhelming fear gripping you. “I’ll never beg,” you hissed through clenched teeth, glaring at him with all the fury you could muster. “Not for you. Not for anything.”

Azriel’s smirk widened, amusement dancing in his gaze. He straightened, his enormous wings flaring behind him as he studied you with a predatory glint, as though your refusal was nothing more than a trivial obstacle he intended to crush.

“Oh, angel…” He purred. The shadows around him thickened, swirling like smoke, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop, a chill creeping up your spine. Azriel stepped back, his fingers flexing at his sides before one hand slowly reached for the hilt on his thigh. “You’ll be begging,” he continued, his tone colder now, devoid of any false gentleness. His hand curled around the handle of a sleek, dark blade, glinting ominously in the low light as he pulled it free. “You will. You’ll beg me to fuck you if only to end the torment I’m about to put you through.”

Your heart stopped at the sight of the blade, its edge sharp enough to gleam even in the dim dungeon light. You fought to maintain your composure, but the icy grip of dread was tightening around your throat.

Azriel twirled the dagger in his hand with ease, the weapon seeming to pulse with the same lethal energy as its wielder. His eyes sparkled with sadistic delight as he held the blade, admired it. “This,” he said, his voice a whisper of silk and steel, “is Truth-Teller. Her name suits her well. She has a reputation for exposing secrets—cutting through lies to reveal what lies beneath.”

He stepped closer, the dagger’s dark metal almost shimmering with a life of its own. You swallowed hard.

“Still so sure of yourself?” he mocked, his voice dripping with condescension. “Still think you won’t break, angel?” He stopped just ahead of you, the tip of Truth-Teller coming to rest under your chin, tilting your head up with a featherlight touch that belied the threat behind it.

“I’ve broken countless souls—people stronger, more stubborn than you.” His smile was cruel, the sharp edge of his sadism glinting in his gaze. “You’ll be no different.”

Your breath came in shallow gasps, your pulse roaring in your ears as the cold steel kissed the skin beneath your jaw. You wanted to fight back, to scream, but the primal instinct of survival kept you frozen in place.

Azriel leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “Where should I start?”

And without warning, he pressed the blade against the side of your neck, just enough to let the edge bite into your skin. A sharp, stinging pain flared as the first drop of blood trickled down your throat. You gasped, your body tensing, but Azriel’s shadows held you fast, refusing to let you move even as the blade moved lower, tracing a slow path along your collarbone.

“You’ll never beg, hm?” he mused aloud. Your mind raced, a storm of panic and adrenaline flooding your senses as the blade dipped lower, grazing the delicate skin of your chest. The shadows around your wrists tightened yet again, your fingers tingling with numbness.

“Azriel—” you gasped, your voice trembling with fear and rage, but he only smiled.

“As much as I love the sound of my name on your tongue… Beg,” he demanded, the word sharp and cold as the blade’s edge.

“I won’t,” you spat, even as the tears burned at the corners of your eyes. “I won’t give you the satisfaction, you sick bastard.”

His gaze intensified, a storm of fury and sadistic pleasure swirling within their depths. “You will.”

Azriel held your gaze as he slid the dagger’s handle between his teeth in a chilling display of confidence. The blade glinted ominously as he leaned closer. With a swift movement, he reached for the delicate fabric of your bra. The sound of tearing echoed in the dim space, sharp and final, as he pulled it apart. You gasped, shock and humiliation flooding your senses as you watched it fall to the ground. His hands moved down to your underwear, and with the same brutal efficiency, he tore it away—leaving your dignity in shreds along with it.

The chill of the air against your most sensitive skin only heightened the horror of the situation, but Azriel wasn’t done. He grabbed the dagger and stepped back slightly, his wings creating a dark silhouette behind him as he admired you with a twisted sense of satisfaction.

“Still so stubborn.” He traced the blade across your abdomen now, a thin red line left in its wake. “A shame, really. All this pride, and no one here to see it stripped away.” He pressed the tip of the dagger into your side, just enough to draw blood, and you couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped your throat.

“There it is,” Azriel groaned, his tone full of sick pleasure. “I love the pretty little sounds you make.” Your breath came in short, ragged gasps, your mind spinning as he pulled the dagger away, your blood staining its dark edge. Vision blurring with tears, the fear and pain radiating through you overwhelmed your senses. You fought against the sob that threatened to escape, biting your lip until you tasted blood, but Azriel was relentless.

He stood flush against you now, his dark wings curling protectively around the both of you, creating an intimate cocoon as he raised the blade once more.

"You can stop this," he whispered, his tone almost gentle as if he were offering you salvation. "All you have to do is beg me. Say it. Tell me what I want to hear."

Your body trembled, every fiber of your being screaming at you to give in, to make the pain stop before it got worse. But even as your eyes stung, even as your heart raced with terror, you clenched your jaw, forcing the words past your lips.

“Go… to hell.”

Azriel’s eyes flashed. “Oh, angel,” he purred, his hand caressing your cheek in mock affection. “I really wish you hadn’t said that.”

In an instant, he thrust Truth-Teller into your thigh, the pain exploding through you like a lightning strike. A choked scream tore from your lips as the cold steel pierced your flesh, a searing heat radiating from the wound. The shock sent your vision spiraling, the world around you dimming as you fought against the pain that clawed at your senses. Glancing down, you saw the dagger embedded shallowly, crimson oozing from the wound and trickling down your leg. You desperately hoped it hadn’t struck anything vital; he likely wouldn’t want to kill you—not yet. Dragging this out seemed far more his style. When he pulled the dagger out, more blood trickled down your leg, the warmth mixing with the sharp agony and flooding your body with a dizzying rush.

Azriel watched you with a dark satisfaction, his gaze never leaving yours as you writhed against the restraints, your body trembling. He leaned in closer, the dagger still gleaming with your blood.

“There it is,” he whispered, his voice a low, dangerous purr. “That’s the sound I’ve been waiting for.”

The agony radiated through you, a white-hot flame that ignited every nerve ending. You gasped for breath, trying to steady yourself against the sharp edge of the pain, but Azriel’s presence only deepened the ache. You gritted your teeth, refusing to show any further weakness. But as the pain began to ebb, something else took hold—an unsettling awareness of him, the predatory gleam in his eyes igniting a twisted sense of anticipation.

With a twisted smile, he pressed the blade lightly against your lips, enjoying the way you instinctively recoiled. “Let’s make this a bit more personal, shall we?” he taunted. “Open up for me.”

You hesitated, but the cruel glint in his eyes forced your mouth open. He wiped the blade clean on your tongue, dragging it along the moist surface before pulling it away, leaving you to taste the metallic sting of your own blood.

“Look at you,” he purred, his voice thick with amusement as his hand slid between your thighs, close but not quite touching. “Trying so hard to resist me. But I bet you’re dripping for me already. If I checked right now, you’d just soak my fingers, wouldn’t you?” His thumb grazed the sensitive skin near your core, and your hips jerked involuntarily, a choked sound escaping your throat before you could stop it, and Azriel’s dark laugh sent a fresh wave of heat through you.

“Oh, don’t be ashamed,” he taunted, pressing his thumb against your clit now, circling slowly, torturously. “You can’t help it. You want this—you want me. As much as you hate it, your body knows what it wants.”

You couldn’t help the desperate whimper that escaped your lips, the humiliation of it sending a flush of heat through your cheeks. You hated him for this, for kidnapping you, for torturing you, for stabbing you; for turning your own body against you, for making you want him even when every fiber of your being screamed that this was wrong.

But that was the worst part—you didn’t want him to stop. You didn’t want the game to end.

Azriel’s lips ghosted over your throat, his shadows slithering their way up your arms and legs, wrapping around you like a dark caress. “I told you,” he purred, his voice as smooth as silk, “I’ll break you. And when I do, you’ll thank me for it.”

His hand slipped lower, and you couldn’t stop the gasp that tore from your throat as he finally plunged his fingers deep inside you with cruel precision. You arched against him, the pleasure overwhelming, but he wasn’t gentle. His pace was brutal and relentless, and you were caught between the pain and the pleasure, your body trembling as you fought against the wave crashing over you.

“Azriel—” His name slipped from your lips before you could stop it, and you saw the dark gleam of victory in his golden eyes as he leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear.

“That’s it, angel,” he whispered, histone one of dark satisfaction. “Say my name. Let me hear you beg for more.”

You bit your lip, refusing to give him that satisfaction again. But he only laughed, the sound dark and twisted, as he pulled his fingers away just as you grew accustomed to them.

“You ignoring me now?” he growled, gripping your chin to force your gaze back to him. The scent of your arousal lingered on his fingers and ebbed through the room.

A twisted grin crept onto his lips, and you could see the darkness swirling in his eyes. “You want me to get a bigger knife?” he taunted, letting the question linger in the air, heavy and menacing.

“No, no, no!” The words escaped your lips in a frantic rush, panic flooding your veins. “Please, Azriel, don’t—”

“Don’t what?” he interrupted, his tone dripping with mockery. “Don’t give you what you deserve? You think I’m being too cruel? You asked for this, angel. You put yourself in my hands.”

“I didn’t put myself anywhere!” you screamed, your voice breaking under the weight of your rage and fear and pain. “You stole me away! This isn’t my choice, it’s yours!”

Azriel’s eyes narrowed, his grin vanishing as something colder, sharper settled over his expression. His grip on your chin tightened. “Choice?” he echoed, voice soft but filled with venom. “You think you’d choose anything different if you knew what was good for you?”

He leaned closer, his gaze holding yours captive, his breath brushing your cheek. “You’ve belonged to me far longer than you realize, angel. There’s no choice in that—no escape.” His fingers traced along your jaw, deceptively gentle, before he wiped his slick fingers clean across your lips and cheeks, smearing it on your skin.

“Keep telling yourself this isn’t what you want,” he murmured, turning away from you, the hint of a challenge in his voice. “I’ll go all the way back to Velaris for a few days, take care of some things. It should give you some time to think things over. How’s that sound?”

All the way back to Velaris. The words echoed in your mind, sinking like stones in your stomach. He’d brought you far enough that he was confident that not a soul would come looking. The High Lord couldn’t have sent for this. He couldn’t know. What would he say if he did? What would he do if he realized that one of his most trusted had taken a civilian, had hidden her away in some forsaken cell beyond reach, beyond hope? All for what—so he could use and abuse you?

“A little quiet now, hm? What’s wrong, angel?” he called over his shoulder, his tone almost casual as he fastened his pants back up.

“...Don’t go…” The words slipped from your lips, barely more than a whisper, fragile and small. You didn’t want him to leave you here alone, hurt and bleeding. The thought of being abandoned in this cold, dark place twisted your insides with fear. What if he didn’t come back? What if you were left to suffer without food or water, trapped in silence with your pain?

Azriel paused mid-step, a smirk playing at his lips as he turned to face you, his eyes glinting with delight. “What was that?” His voice was low and smooth, wrapping around you like a shroud.

You swallowed hard, a lump forming in your throat. “...Don’t go,” the plea escaped you, trembling with desperation.

His smile widened, satisfaction radiating from him as he stepped closer, invading your space. “Oh? A sudden change of heart…” His tone dripped with mockery, and he leaned in, his gaze piercing. “You want me to stay? You’d rather have me keep hurting you than be alone?”

You held your breath, heart racing as you struggled to take your mind off the wound in your thigh. “I—I just…” You couldn’t find the words, your mind a whirlpool of fear and longing.

“You’re helpless without me,” he continued. “Lost, just a little thing waiting for someone to take care of you. Who else would keep you company, hm? Who else would make sure you’re protected and safe?”

“I don’t want you to hurt me anymore,” you choked out against your dry throat, desperation coating each word. “You’ve made your point. Just don’t leave me here. I can’t… I can’t be alone like this.”

Azriel raised an eyebrow, a predatory grin spreading across his face. “Are you sure? You sure you don’t need me to hurt you some more to knock some sense into you?” He casually placed his hand back on the hilt of his dagger, a glint of menace in his eyes.

Your heart plummeted, a heavy stone of dread sinking into your chest as you registered his movement. Panic surged through your veins like wildfire, igniting every nerve ending. You thrashed against the restraints, your breath quickening, pulling against the shadows as you fought for release. “No, no! Please, don’t do it!” The words came out as a desperate wail, raw and fractured, tears streaming down your cheeks as you grappled with the overwhelming fear of what was to come. “I can’t—please! I’ll do anything! Just don’t hurt me again!”

He stepped closer, cradling your face with his hand, his thumb brushing away your tears with a disarming tenderness that twisted your insides. “Easy now, angel. Calm down. It’s alright,” he murmured, his voice a soft lullaby laced with a dark undercurrent that made your heart race in terror and confusion. “You’re safe with me.”

As he spoke, his warmth enveloped you, a strange comfort that made your breathing steady, even as dread coiled in your stomach. You fought against the whirlwind of emotions, struggling to process the truth of his words.

“Now, if you don’t want me to hurt you,” he said, his tone honeyed, “you’ll have to tell me what you do want.”

You hesitated, a lump of shame and fear forming in your throat. “I want… to be left alone. I want you to let me go.”

He shook his head slowly, a mocking smile playing on his lips. “I know you’re lying. The smell of your arousal has been thick in this room since you woke up.” His gaze bore into yours, challenging you to deny the truth.

“Tell me again, what do you want?” he pressed, his tone deceptively sweet.

You swallowed hard, the truth clawing its way to the surface, a torrent of shame and desperate longing. “I want you to touch me.”

His grip on your jaw tightened, rough and possessive, holding you in place as he leaned in closer. “Now, that’s not how you ask for things, is it?”

“Please…” The word fell from your lips, fragile and yearning, but it wasn’t enough to satisfy the monster before you.

“Try again,” he urged, eyes dark with hunger, his anticipation palpable in the air between you.

“Please,” you repeated, your voice trembling. “I want you to touch me. I need you to touch me.”

With each plea, the desperation clawed at your insides. Maybe if you just told him what he wanted to hear… “I want your hands on my skin,” you gasped, shame mingling with need. “I want you to make me feel good—please, Azriel.”

“Please, I need you,” you cried, your voice cracking. “I want to feel you inside of me, I want you to make me feel good. I want you to use me, to claim me.”

“Make me yours,” you begged, each word spilling out in a desperate rush of heat as you struggled against the shadows binding your arms away from him. “I want to feel you, every inch of you. Please, just touch me, fill me up… I want to be yours, completely.”

A heavy silence enveloped you, the air thick with tension as he stared at you, his expression unreadable. Time stretched on, each second feeling like an eternity, and your heart raced, dread and anticipation swirling within you. Just when you thought you might break under his gaze, he spoke, his voice laced with wonder.

“I knew you’d come around,” he said, a dark satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. “I always knew you were a smart girl.”

With that, his hands descended, fingers brushing against your skin with deliberate slowness, teasing the edges of your vulnerability. He traced the outline of your breasts, his touch both electrifying and infuriating, each caress igniting a fire within you. You arched your back instinctively, desperate for more, but he only chuckled, enjoying the game.

“Tell me, angel,” he murmured, his voice low and sultry, “how do you want to feel? What do you want me to do?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat, trapped by the heat coursing through you.

A flicker of impatience crossed his face, and in an instant, his hand connected with your cunt, a sharp slap that sent shockwaves of pain and pleasure through you. “Answer me,” he demanded, voice sharp and commanding.

“Please, Azriel!” you gasped, urgency flooding your voice. “I want you to touch me, to make me feel everything.”

“Good girl,” he praised, his fingers now exploring, slipping between your thighs, brushing against your slick folds. His touch was both gentle and ruthless, a dance of pleasure that made your heart pound. He took his time, reveling in the way your body responded to him, the way you quivered under his touch.

His fingers played with your clit, circling and teasing, drawing out soft whimpers from your lips. “Feel that? This is what you wanted all along.” He watched you intently, his gaze drinking in every reaction, every twitch of your body.

“Now tell me again,” he coaxed, pressing deeper, his fingers sinking into you, “what do you want?”

Your voice failed you as a loud, throaty moan pushed past your lips instead.

“Beautiful, but not quite what I’m looking for,” he said, his tone mocking as he delivered another sharp slap to your sensitive heat, making you cry out. “I need to hear you say it. What do you want, my angel?”

“I want to feel you inside me!” you sobbed, the words spilling out in a rush. “Please, Azriel, I want you to fuck me!”

“There you go,” he murmured, a smile more beautiful than eerie spreading across his face—the first like it that you’d seen from him. His fingers curled inside you, coaxing and pushing you closer to the edge. His other hand wrapped around the back of your neck, holding you steady as your foreheads met, neither of you looking away from the other for a moment. The intensity of his gaze anchored you, making every pulse of sensation feel more profound, more consuming.

He pumped his fingers into you with a brutal urgency, each thrust deep and unyielding. The force of his movements sent shockwaves through your body, the slick sound of his fingers pumping into you filled the air, drowning out your whimpers and gasps as he worked you.

Azriel added a third finger, the sensation igniting a fire in your core that was impossible to ignore. His fingertips pressed against that sensitive spot deep inside, hitting it with punishing precision that made you gasp and writhe.

“Look at you,” he growled, voice thick with satisfaction as he watched your face contort between pleasure and pain. “So eager for it, so ready to fall apart for me.” He quickened the pace, fingers jackhammering in and out of you, but it was his words that pushed you over the edge. A wave of heat surged through you, igniting every nerve ending with a ferocity that eclipsed the sharp ache in your leg. Your body clenched around his fingers, a pulsing rhythm that felt primal and consuming.

He chuckled softly, the sound deep and sardonic as he watched you come down from your high. “Oh, sweet girl,” he tutted, amusement in his eyes. “You’ll learn not to cum without my permission, don’t worry. I’ll be here to train you, we’ll have plenty of time to go over all my rules.”

His words washed over you like a distant echo, the remnants of your climax still vibrating through your body. All you could think about was how you wanted—needed—to touch him, to feel him against your skin. You squirmed against the shadows, desperation clawing at you as you met his gaze, wide and pleading. “Please… can I touch you?”

He leaned in with a predatory glint in his eyes. “Oh, you want to touch me, do you?” The way he said it was almost a taunt, and your heart raced at the thought of being freed from your restraints.

“Yes! Please, I need to feel you.” Your voice was thick with desperation, the aching longing for him driving every word. “Just let me… I promise I’ll be good.”

He regarded you for a long moment, the air between you thick with tension. Finally, he leaned back slightly, fingers still curled around the back of your neck, and considered your request. “If I let you, you have to promise to follow my lead, to obey. One step out of line and it’s right back–”

You nodded fervently, heat filling you once more at the idea of being able to touch him. “I promise! I’ll do whatever you say.”

His gaze locked onto yours, the predatory glint in his eyes making your heart race as he weighed your request. The silence stretched between you, heavy with anticipation. Finally, he made his decision, a smirk ghosting over his lips. With a flick of his wrist, the shadows binding you retreated, and you let out a shaky breath, relief flooding your senses. But before you could fully regain your balance, he caught you, his strength effortlessly cradling you against him as your injured leg buckled beneath you.

“Easy there,” he murmured, his voice mellow. He lifted you effortlessly, carrying you to the table against the far wall. The shadows surged around him, sweeping aside the array of wicked instruments scattered across its surface, clearing the space just for you. With a gentle yet firm motion, he laid you down, the coolness of the surface contrasting sharply against the heat radiating from your skin.

He climbed over you, his body a delicious weight, as he closed the distance between you. The first brush of his lips against yours ignited a wildfire of sensations, overwhelming you in a rush of heat and longing. He kissed you with a hunger that felt almost desperate, devouring you with a need that matched your own. His mouth moved against yours, slow at first, savoring the taste of your lips.

“You’re so sweet,” he murmured against your mouth, his breath mingling with yours. “I can still taste you.”

From when he wiped his fingers over your mouth earlier, you realized. With that, he pulled away and off the table, his dark eyes glimmering with satisfaction. Azriel pulled you closer to the edge of the table, wrapping your legs around his head with a possessive grip.

He wasted no time, his mouth on you like a starved male. His tongue flicked and danced, eager to taste you, and you gasped at the sudden rush of sensation. The warmth of his mouth enveloped you, sending ripples of pleasure coursing through your core. He licked with fervor, his hands gripping your thighs tightly as he pulled you closer, encouraging you to let go, to surrender completely to the ecstasy he was offering.

Every flick of his tongue, every hungry suck sent your mind spiraling, drowning in a sea of pleasure and need. The world around you faded, leaving only the intense sensations as he feasted on you, the sound of your pleasure echoing off the cold stone walls.

“Azriel…” you gasped, the name escaping your lips like a prayer, urging him on as you pressed your body closer to him, craving more, needing more. His name continued to fall from your lips like a desperate plea, each syllable laced with urgency as he continued his relentless assault. You could feel the tension coiling tighter within you, the overwhelming pleasure almost blinding. His mouth worked with an insatiable hunger, devouring you with every flick and thrust of his tongue.

The sensations were electrifying, the way he alternated between teasing and consuming you. He knew exactly how to draw out your pleasure, his tongue dancing against you with skillful precision, making you writhe beneath him. You could hardly focus on anything else, each pull and lick sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body, muffling the pain from your stab wound into a dull throb.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly against your skin. “So responsive. So eager for more.” His breath was hot against you, the sound of his satisfaction fueling your desire even further.

“Please,” you begged, your voice full of desperation and need. “I can’t… I can’t hold on much longer.”

He chuckled softly, the sound rich with satisfaction, and the vibration sent shivers coursing through you. “Good. I want you to let go.” His words ignited a fire deep within you, pushing you closer to the precipice.

Just as the tension peaked, the sensation reached a fever pitch, he pulled back slightly, leaving you teetering on the brink. “What’s wrong? Can’t you take it?” His eyes sparkled with wicked delight, and his face glistened with your arousal.

“Azriel! Don’t stop—please, just don’t stop!” You thrashed against the table, the need clawing at you, the ache for release nearly unbearable.

He smirked, the dark glimmer in his eyes promising more. “That’s better. But you know the rules now. You have to ask nicely.”

“Please, please… I need to cum,” you whimpered, your hands threading through his hair, desperate for his touch. “I want to feel you make me cum. I need you, Azriel. Please, can I cum?”

His fingers gripped your thighs even tighter, pressing down just enough to keep you from squirming. “Such a good girl,” he cooed, and with a wicked grin, he dove back in, his mouth devouring you once more. The combination of his roughness and your desperate need for release was intoxicating, and you felt the pressure build within you again, faster this time, more intense.

As he continued his relentless ministrations, the world around you faded into a blur. You could feel the walls closing in, the sensation of the table beneath you fading into insignificance as you focused solely on him, on the way his mouth worked against you, pulling you back to that dizzying height of pleasure.

Then, without warning, he pulled away again, leaving you gasping and trembling, the edge tantalizingly out of reach. “Not yet,” he said, the corners of his lips twitching upward as he watched you writhe in frustration.

“Why are you doing this?” you cried, the frustration mingling with need, desperate tears prickling at your eyes.

“Because, angel,” he replied languidly, “you need to learn patience. And how to ask for what you want.”

Your heart raced, every fiber of your being screaming for release as you met his gaze, desperation clawing at your insides. You could feel the weight of his dark satisfaction pressing down on you, but beneath that, there was a flicker of hope. Maybe if you asked just right…

“Azriel…” you breathed, your voice soft and trembling. “Please… I want to feel you inside me. I need to cum so badly. I’ll be so good for you, I promise.” You let the sweetness of your tone wrap around your words, pouring all your need into that one plea. “Just let me cum, please. I need to feel that pleasure with you. I want you, all of you.”

He paused, his expression shifting as he seemed to consider your request. The intensity of his gaze locked onto yours, and for a moment, the world outside faded into oblivion. “Such a sweet little thing,” he mused, and the praise sent a thrill of excitement coursing through you.

“Please,” you whispered again, your voice barely more than a breath. “Let me cum. I promise I’ll be good.”

The moment hung heavy in the air, charged with unspoken promises and desires. Then, with a slow, deliberate smile, he nodded. “I know what you’re doing, angel, using your words so sweetly like that. But I think you’ve earned it.”

With a swift, fluid motion, he buried his mouth against you once more, his tongue working with renewed intensity as he coaxed your pleasure to the forefront. The tension built rapidly, spiraling out of control as your body instinctively moved against him, chasing that elusive high.

“Yes! Just like that!” you gasped, every nerve ending alight as he pushed you closer to the edge, his fingers burying themselves into you with a fervor that left you breathless. The world narrowed down to the sensation of him, of the way he moved and the heat building within you.

And then, with a sharp, electrifying pull, the dam broke. Pleasure washed over you in a wild, chaotic wave, crashing against your senses as you cried out his name. Your body shuddered, the culmination of all your need flooding through you, eclipsing everything else until there was nothing but the sweet release and the aching satisfaction that followed.

As the last ripples of your orgasm faded, you were left breathless and trembling, the heat still coursing through your veins. But Azriel wasn’t finished. He pulled back, a wicked smile curling at his lips, his gaze dark and hungry as he climbed over you, positioning himself between your legs.

“Now that you’re warmed up,” he said, his voice thick with desire, “let’s see how well you can take me.”

As the last ripples of your orgasm faded, you were left breathless and trembling, the heat still coursing through your veins. But Azriel wasn’t finished. He leaned back, a wicked smile curling at his lips, his gaze dark and hungry as he slowly began to undress.

First, he kicked off his shoes, the soft thud echoing in the silence. You couldn’t help but drink in the sight of him as he moved, the muscles in his legs shifting beneath the fabric of his pants. He took care in unbuttoning his dress shirt, each click of the buttons amplifying the anticipation thrumming in the air.

Your breath caught in your throat, eyes widening as you took in the sight of him. His chest was sculpted, muscles taut and defined, each movement revealing the intricate patterns of tattoos that snaked over his shoulders and down his arms. The sharp angles of his physique made you ache with want, your gaze lingering on the way the light danced across his skin.

As he peeled away the shirt and tossed it aside, he moved to his pants, unzipping them with a languid grace. The fabric slipped down his hips, revealing the strong contours of his thighs. You felt your pulse quicken, heart racing as your eyes finally landed on the impressive sight of him, bare and completely unrestrained. His sheer size stole your breath, a wave of longing washing over you as you imagined how he would fill you.

You felt a rush of excitement and fear as he climbed over you and aligned himself, the heat radiating between your bodies igniting your skin.

With a low growl, Azriel pressed forward, pushing the tip of himself into you, already stretching you more than you were used to. A sharp gasp escaped your lips, pleasure mixing with discomfort as your body struggled to accommodate him. He pulled back slightly, teasing you, as if savoring the tension.

“Easy now,” he murmured, his breath hot against your ear, “you’ll get used to it.” With each slow push, he sank deeper, relentless and rough, forcing you to adjust to his size, leaving you gasping and craving more. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of ecstasy and pain as he filled you, inch by agonizing inch.

Finally, with a deep, powerful thrust, he bottomed out, burying himself fully inside you. The stretch was almost unbearable, a burning sensation that made you feel both full and utterly consumed. Your body clenched around him instinctively, desperate to accommodate the fullness he brought.

“Look at you,” he breathed, voice low and thick with satisfaction, “taking me like a good girl.” His hips rolled, pressing deeper, and you moaned involuntarily, the mixture of pleasure and pain making your head spin. “I knew you’d love this,” he continued, eyes glinting with a wicked delight. “You were made for me, weren’t you?”

As he began to thrust, each movement was deliberate, the rhythm punishing. “You feel so good wrapped around me,” he growled, his hands gripping your hips, anchoring you in place. He punctuated his words with another deep thrust, your body responding to his dominance, the sensation igniting a fire deep within you. “Now tell me how much you love it,” he demanded, a smirk playing on his lips as he leaned closer, his voice dripping with authority. “Say it, angel. Tell me you’re mine.”

As he filled you completely, your body began to adjust, each thrust pushing you further into a haze of pleasure. You met his gaze, the defiance in your eyes having burnt out long ago. “I’m—I’m yours,” you replied breathlessly.

Azriel thrust harder, forcing a moan from you. “You’ll learn to love this, to love being mine.” His voice dripped with arrogance, and you hated how much you wanted to agree. “See how easy this is? Just give in and let me take care of you.”

With each thrust, he buried himself deeper, filling you to the hilt, and your body began to instinctively arch against him, craving every rough, delicious inch. “You feel that?” he taunted, his voice thick with pleasure. “You were made for me, for this. You’ll come to crave it, just as I do.”

“Azriel…” you gasped, overwhelmed by the sensations flooding your body. He pulled back, almost all the way out, just to plunge back in, the force of him making your breath hitch.

Azriel's voice dropped to a low growl as he continued to thrust into you, each movement powerful and precise. “You’re going to learn what it means to truly belong to someone, to be mine,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your neck, sending shivers down your spine. “Every inch of you will be devoted to me, and I’ll teach you how to crave my touch.”

“Please,” you breathed, desperate for more.

He chuckled darkly, the sound reverberating through you. “You’ll see, angel. From now on, every moment of your life will revolve around my needs and desires. You’ll wake up thinking of me, and when you’re not with me, you’ll ache for me.” He thrust deeper, punctuating his words with each deliberate movement. “You’ll be begging for my attention, begging for me to touch you, and you’ll learn to love every second of it.”

You could feel the heat pooling within you, the way his words curled around your mind, mixing with the sensations he was drawing out of you. “But what if I don’t?” you challenged, your voice trembling with a mix of defiance and need.

His smirk widened, eyes gleaming with a predatory intensity. “Oh, you will. If you don’t learn to beg for what you want, I'll make sure you experience pain in ways you can’t imagine. Trust me,” he added, leaning in closer, his breath hot against your ear, “if you refuse to submit, I’ll make you wish you had. It won’t take long for you to want to please me.”

Your eyes widened at the thought, but you couldn’t deny the thrill that coursed through you at his words. “I do want to please you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, filled with an eagerness you couldn’t hide.

“Good girl,” he praised, his tone dripping with satisfaction. “But first, you need to say it. Say you want me to take care of you.”

“I want you to take care of me,” you murmured after a beat, the confession spilling from your lips as your body responded eagerly to his dominance.

“Now thank me for saving you. Thank me for rescuing you from that sad, miserable life you were living,” he said, his breath hot against your skin as he continued to thrust into you, his hair tousled and damp, clinging to his forehead with sweat.

You swallowed hard, the words heavy on your tongue. “Thank you for saving me, Azriel. Thank you for making my life worth living.”

“See? It’s not so hard to submit, is it?” he taunted, thrusting deeper once more, making you curse as he filled you completely. “You’re going to love every moment, and I’ll make sure you never forget who you belong to.” He looped a finger around the necklace he bought you, eyeing you as though you were a prized possession.

He continued to thrust into you, each movement rhythmic and relentless, his hands gripping your hips, holding you firmly in place. “You’ll learn to follow my rules, to understand your place,” he said, his voice a seductive murmur. “And in return, I’ll give you everything you’ve ever dreamed of. All you have to do is let go.”

“Let go,” you echoed, the words hanging between you, filled with promise and danger.

“That’s right,” he urged, pulling your legs over his shoulders in a mating press as his thrusts grew more powerful. His gaze locked onto yours, daring you to surrender completely. “Let go, angel. Give yourself to me. Show me how much you crave this.”

Your body trembled with a surge of need as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. “I need you, Azriel,” you whispered, your voice raw with desire. You rocked your hips up to meet his thrusts, matching his rhythm, desperate to take him deeper. Your nails dug into his shoulders, urging him on. “Fill me, Azriel. Make me yours. I want to feel you everywhere,” you begged, the intensity of your words surprising you.

You kissed him fiercely, your lips crashing against his, tasting the salt of his sweat. Your tongue darted out, meeting his, and you moaned into his mouth, the vibrations traveling through both of you. Your legs tightened around his waist, holding him in place as you moved together, the friction building into an unbearable heat. “I’m yours,” you panted, your voice breaking with the weight of your admission. “Only yours.”

His eyes darkened with satisfaction, and he growled in approval, his movements growing even more demanding. “That’s it, angel. Show me how much you need this. Show me how much you need me,” he commanded, his voice thick with lust.

Your head fell back against the table as you surrendered completely, giving yourself over to the waves of pleasure crashing through you. “I need you, Azriel. I need you so much,” you cried out, your body shuddering as you reached your peak, every nerve ending on fire.

As you came apart beneath him, you clung to him desperately. He continued to thrust, his pace relentless and punishing. “I’m going to make this pretty pussy mine,” he growled, his voice low and feral. “Gonna pound you whenever I want, and you’re going to fucking beg me not to stop.”

Your breath hitched at his words, the raw dominance in his tone sending shivers down your spine. “Please, Azriel,” you whimpered, your body arching into him.

He smirked, his eyes blazing with possessive fire. “You’re going to learn to love every second of it, to crave it,” he said, his thrusts becoming more erratic, his control slipping. “Every second of the day. You’ll be begging for my attention, begging for me to fuck you, and I’ll make sure you never forget who you belong to.”

With one final, powerful thrust, he buried himself deep inside you, his release hitting hard as he groaned your name. “You’re mine,” he whispered against your lips, his breath hot and ragged. “Always.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Taglist <3

@starlightazriel @nvdax @halo-hanging @paleidiot @kismet27

@mellowmusings @gracielacie @d3ad-ins1de @loviseamms @inkedinshadows

@natasha153 @deathdoordoctor @spacebananabud @secretsicanthideanymore @edance2000

@lorosette @alykatv @honethatty12 @hellabizzy @serena-capella

@acoazlove @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @scorpioriesling @hannzoaks @confusedsezure

@elenapri0502 @anneas11 @mrsjna @lilah-asteria @anarchiii

@randomgurl2326 @scarsandallaz @julesvanslutta @90angiex @fourthwing4ever

#kinktober #acotar #acotar smut #azriel x reader #azriel acotar #azriel smut

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naffeclipse · 5 months ago

Text

Paper Burn

Animator!Reader x Ink Form!Sun and Moon

Commission Info

I'm not normal about @pure-plum requesting a little hurt/comfort moment from my BATDR DCA AU called The Jester and the Tagalong! I also have to thank Plum immensely for teaching me about animating and what a character like the reader in this instance would do with their work! It was a great help and made the fic so much better for it! Enjoy an inky world that you and the jester are determined to endure <3

Content Warning for self-neglect, pain, and angst.

———

Your inky hands twitch after you jot a number down in the corner of the animation page. A cramp shoots a spasm of pain through your drawing hand and you’re forced to lay down your pencil, then catch it again before it can roll off the uneven table—the muscles at the base of your thumb ache. Sucking a breath between your teeth, you slide the pencil into the front pocket of your jumper.

It’s not enough. The sprawling stack of thin paper lies empty and the few pages you dare to spare for a rushed storyboard are almost crumpled in your offhand. You force your fingers to unfurl and slowly, methodically, fold the storyboards into your front jumper pocket. At least you can take a moment to flip what you do have. Inwardly, you cringe at the inconsistencies you’re sure to find among the pages, spurred on by attacks and sudden escapes to another workstation.

This is the roughest you’ve ever done storyboards and animating with pencils. You have no x-sheet, no light disk, and no peg bar. Inking will be an entirely different hill to climb, but you’ve done it before. Ink the lines and paint the colors, and then you’ll need to find cels. This is stepping farther and farther out of your realm of skills, but the robotic jester promises you that you both will find a way.

Desperation and urgency drip into you until panic overflows into your veins. Just the same, weariness fills your bones after animating for the better half of a day—if such a place as this possesses hours and minutes. The sepia and shadowy colors of Fazbear Studios stain every wall and crevice. You’ve memorized the routes through the sprawling building, each department a massive expansion to work and craft a proper cartoon.

There’s another part of this world you and the robotic jester avoid as much as possible. The Mega Pizzaplex. A living realm for the inky form of cartoon characters to stalk through, beings which you vaguely recall, mostly in keynote frames and final animation sequences.

No place is safe. Only safer.

A heavy pounding steadily expands behind your eyes as taut muscles in your neck protest the improper angle at which you work. Moon had found an animator’s desk for you to work at, but the inky monsters that sprawl over every inch of this world with gaping, multiple mouths sliding around their glutinous forms, and violet, piercing eyes with vague shadows of bunny ears destroyed it.

This table shoved into a far, forgotten corner of the studio with cobwebs and spilled ink is as precious as each animation paper you’ve collected in runs for supplies. You need it. You need it as much as you and him need your happy ending.

Exhaustion creeps up your back. You close your eyes, rubbing along your temple once to coax away the pain. You cannot stop. There is no luxury for a break. You aren’t certain when more dark, tacky creatures will spill into your hiding hole and sweep away all your hard work in one breath. Worse yet, you must be vigilant for Vanny and Inktrap.

The former is a dark disciple of the rabbit demon, and she works tirelessly to hunt you and the robotic jester down with the intent to offer sacrifices to Inktrap. The dreaded being also prowls the halls in search of you and your companion.

Nothing terrifies you more than hiding, caught tight in Sun’s arms as he presses you deeper against the shadows of a wall, shielding your body with his as you both hold your breath. The trembling presence of Inktrap stalking near. You fear if he can’t hear your breath, he will sense the drum-like beat of your heart.

But he has yet to catch you and the jester. Both of you will get out of here. The cycle will end.

There will be a happy ending for you both.

Don’t stop, you tell yourself. Keep going. Staring down at the current page, there are three figures scribbled in pencil. Two men and what you think—hope is you. The two men are vague recollections from your dreams, possibly memories. One wears a flat cap hat and the other has wild, unruly hair. You press your tongue to the inside of your teeth, overwhelmed by the many more frames you must capture of their figures. It has to be right. You straddle the line between quality and speed, and you just might fail both.

You want to remember more. Vague visions touch you as if you walked through strings of spider webs, invisible, but there, ghosting over your skin. You can feel it, but you can’t find it.

Tears threatening to push past your eyelashes. No. You swallow down the tightening in your throat and slide your pencil out of your pocket.

The first few lines are smooth, practiced, and settled into your muscle memory, but then the cramp returns with a vengeance. You bite your bottom lip and keep drawing. Another line. Pain spasming through muscle, turning to wobbling waves. Your hand closes in the ache. The pencil almost falls from your fingers.

A creak of hinges announces the door opening to your hideyhole. Your head snaps to the entrance. A tall shadow falls inside. Your hands immediately fly to the stack of animating paper, prepared to stuff them into your jumper and then free the gent pipe from where it hooks onto your waist, but the shadow becomes a sharp-tooth grin. Half dripping in black and stained in sepia, Sun strides into the room. He swiftly swings the door shut without taking his glowing yellow eyes off of you.

“There you are, calico," he says as if he didn’t leave you with strict instructions to remain here until he returns. The sound of his voice calms your nerves. His cords are familiar and strong. He possesses such life and heart to his tenor, and you’ve found he can only manage a stage whisper when he desires to be quiet while speaking. You like that. You like a lot about him.

Sun. One half of the robotic jester who stays by your side, surviving with you.

“Hi, Sunny.” You slowly sink back onto the stool which is a touch too high to sit properly with the table you’re bent over. Setting the stack of animating paper back down, you regard him with a smile that takes far too much energy to summon than you like. “Did you find anything?”

He strides inside, moving one crook of his arm and shifting whatever was stuck underneath his armpit into his two clawed hands. The ink of his mouth is dark and lined with sharp incisors curved into a constant grin. Half of his face drips dark ink. His long, lithe body reaches you in moments.

“Yes, and you won’t believe what I have for you,” he grins, bolstered, even in the depths of this sepia-colored purgatory. “I present dinner!”

Your mouth gapes open at the box, realizing the markings upon it are designated for such an entree. When he lifts the lid, you never thought the constant yellow-ting and black colors would ever look appetizing on food, but the full diameter of the pizza, uncrushed and toppings spared of smearing, triggers salivation to flood your mouth.

“Oh my goodness.” You want to touch it, to hold a slice in your hand, but a cramp returns, and your fingers cringe. Sun’s eyes dart sharply to the motion. Quickly, you lower your hand, “Can you feed me while I work? I don’t want to get grease on the papers.”

Sun’s eyes shift, narrowing before he closes the pizza box and carefully sets it on the table, away from your supplies.

“I have a better idea,” he says cheerfully. He takes your wrist and slips his other arm around you, sliding you gently off of the stool and onto your feet.

“Sun, I can eat and work,” you protest. Vague recollections float in the back of your mind through a fog of memories of late hours and coffee cups. Crunch time. “What are you doing?”

“Come here, sweetheart.” He eases you further away from the table. The room is long and narrow, but there’s enough light from overhead to cast your shadow alongside Sun’s. “You’ve been working really hard and we admire your dedication to the perfect sequence, but you need a break.”

“No, there’s no time.” You try to tug on your wrist but he doesn’t budge.

You watch as Sun takes you by the hand. Gently, he spreads open your fingers as you try to hide the slight ache in the movement. He sets his yellow digit into your palm and begins massaging the pinched muscle. Your eyelids flutter underneath the sweet, almost painful relief from the cramp.

“We will make time,” he declares robustly. His gaze falls over you, softly glowing. “You’re going to save us. The least I’m going to do is take care of you before you run yourself into the ground.”

His fingers begin working over the rest of your drawing hand. His metallic fingertips knead gently into your inky skin, caressing softly over your joints and along the bones of your wrist. The ache calms under the gentle workings of the jester.

Though you long to stay very still and soak it in, you can’t.

“Sunny,” you protest softly. “Please. Let me do this.”

“After some rest,” he says gently but firmly. He boops your nose and then twirls his finger. “Turn around for me, calico. There, that’s it.”

He guides you by the shoulders, softly turning you in place. You do so reluctantly, and with your back to the jester, your eyes fall upon the pages and pages of animation you must fulfill. You must make it perfect. You must make it soon. Your breath picks up in the slightest, anxious, before Sun’s large hands fall upon your shoulders.

The tension in your neck compounds until the pads of his thumbs, careful with his claws, begin digging into the taut cords of muscle bunching along the top of your spine. A soft groan leaves your lips against your will.

“Sounds like I found a tender spot,” Sun chuckles softly, but there’s an edge of concern cutting underneath his tone. “We should have made you stop a few hours ago.”

“I’m fine,” you swear but it comes out tired. You would have lost so much time and there’s no telling when another wave of monsters will slip under the door and attack with yellow fangs and inky claws. Even now, you worry about precious seconds. You can lose all your progress in the blink of an eye. Sun and Moon would have to wait even longer for their happy ending.

But Sun continues unraveling your soreness with rhythmic presses and releases, up and down your neck and over your shoulders. Gently, he turns you back to face him. Your heart beats heavy within you as he takes your hand.

“Sweetheart, if you burn yourself out, you won’t be able to animate, and you won’t be able to make our happy ending.” He lifts one hand to cup your chin. Lifting your head slightly to study you, his glowing eyes miss nothing. He brushes a thumb along the bottom of your lip. You want to sink deeper into his palm until you no longer hold yourself up, but you have to resist. You have to keep going.

“Now, how about some pizza?” He asks in a way that’s not asking as he guides you to the floor. “Come sit on my lap.”

There’s little arguing when he’s made up his mind. You want to fight but the thought of working up all your energy to take on an uphill battle when you’re hungry and exhausted and even the pounding behind your eyes is begging for relief is too much. It’s as if the entire world is against you.

No, not Sun. Never him and Moon. They are always with you.

“You can feed me while I work,” you give but it comes out weakly as Sun’s long arm slides the box off of the table. Settling you into the comfortable fabric of his striped pants, he balances you on his legs and the pizza in the other hand.

“How about I feed you and let you rest?” His voice calmly darkness into something rumbling and sinister. The yellow glow within his gaze vanishes for a brief moment.

“Sun,” you say softly, but watch him go.

Your heart used to clench at such a sight. A constant fear of being left here alone in the never-ending cycle has never quite fled from the depths of your core, but you’ve learned to wait as Sun’s face begins to bubble with thick inky blots. His entire face darkens like a new lunar cycle until out of the melting dark ink manifests a crescent moon face. His pants shift from stripes to stars, and his claws slip lower, wrapping around your hip to hook you in place. A nightcap sits on his head. The end of it drips with ink.

“Hi, Moon,” you say softly.

A low rasp, sinister and dramatically enchanted as if to be upon a stage, drops from the new jester. “Eat. Before the pizza gets cold.”

His voice might scare children, or maybe just enhance how villainous he could be, but to you, his voice is comforting. You feel safe.

“It’s already cold,” you point out. There is hardly any temperature in the food here. Everything edible has sat and turned stale long before either you or the jester can scoop them up for a meager meal later. You’d rather not think about the number of lukewarm Fizzy Fazs you’ve drunk.

Even the prize of a full, un-squished pizza is still little. All the more reason to escape the cycle.

You wonder if Sun and Moon like hot pizza.

Moon uses his thumb to flip open the box and reveal the greasy sliced food. Even at room temperature, the pizza makes your mouth water.

“It’s good for you,” he grumbles gently like you’re a naughty child. His grip on your hip holds tight as he sets the pizza down and tears off a slice. The cheese thickly tears and you spy glistening, wet sauce underneath. A treasure, truly, no matter how old.

Your heart, however, squeezes tight. Emotion cakes your throat and you try to find the right words.

“Moon,” you say, “Let me up. I need to keep animating.”

“No.” He holds up the slice. His head, sharp teeth grinning, dripping ink down faces you. “You will only work yourself to the bone, doll. Eat.”

You push his arm away but you feel the tension underneath his metallic limb, how he only falls back because he lets you push him, not because you truly have the strength to stop him. His eyes narrow further. You hold his gaze, bottom lip trembling.

“You and Sun protect me while I work. You get hurt. You risk your own lives. This is too important,” you whisper. You clench him tighter in your grasp. “I can’t stop until it’s done.”

Moon slowly lowers the pizza back into the box. His hand, slick with ink, cups your chin. You find your hands falling onto him, holding on as if you might fall. The pressure behind your eyes becomes explosive. The few wet drops upon your eyelashes turn everything blurry save for the piercing glow of his yellow eyes.

“Listen to me.” His voice lowers, intimate and sharp, all at once. “It is not more important than you. You are ours. You are what gets us through this. We won’t let you burn yourself out because you want to keep us safe.”

There’s something there, on the tip of Moon’s tongue. You wait for more but instead, he leans back slightly, as if he already said too much.

“We will take care of you,” he says instead.

“But,” your voice cracks, “but it’s not fair.”

“None of this is,” Moon’s voice softens. His thumb softly slips along your cheek and swipes away an inky tear. Even your weeping is stained by this world. “Please. Eat then rest, doll.”

Another protest is on your lips, but the sob filling your throat cuts it off. Moon caresses your cheek. Weakness overtakes you, the threat of becoming extinguished before you can finish all the pages. Before you can animate yours and his happy ending.

You’re so scared and exhausted. It spills out of you in dark streaks that stain your sepia-colored cheeks until Moon wipes them away. He starts humming, softly, sweetly, and you lay your head on his shoulder. He pulls you closer until he cradles you in his arms. A hundred things long to fly from your lips. A promise that you’ll do it. You won’t let yourself fail, and the desire for reassurance. That it is okay to rest, just for a moment.

“It’s okay, doll.” Moon murmurs as you weep into his ruffled collar. “I’m not letting you go.”

“Oh, Moon,” you wail, and it sounds so pathetic. You are wasting time. Yet, you have no strength to pry yourself from his embrace—as if he would let you.

“Shush,” he murmurs and kisses your jet-dark, shiny hair. “Calm down. Breathe. When you’re ready, the pizza will be here.”

You hiccup once. You nod, still hiding against him like a child. He doesn’t seem to mind.

“Will you sing me to sleep?” you ask, soft and breathy.

He pauses once. The tapered yet careful points of his claw stroke down your hair, and he breathes a heavy breath. You think he finds it hard to tell you no, at least when it concerns matters such as these.

“I’ll sing,” he decides, “After you eat.”

You nearly wince, but it’s only fair. Slowly, you straighten, still sitting in his lap. Pushing your hair away from your eyes, you nod. Moon gently catches the remaining tears staining your cheeks. A murmur falls from his constant smile that he doesn’t like to see you sad. You tell him the same.

With a gentle hum, he picks up the pizza slice he left and holds it up to your mouth. You let him feed you, taking a bite and chewing slowly. Moon turns the slice to his sharp-tooth mouth and bites off a chunk. In his harmonic quiet, the two of you slowly eat through the pizza, your energy returning and your mind softening with the comfort of a full belly.

It’s the best pizza you’ve had in the cycle.

His fingertips slowly work against your hip, rubbing the bone softly through your jumper. Before you can consider asking him to let you return to work, your eyelids grow heavy. Moon’s voice lifts to a gentle bass.

He sings you to sleep.

#naff's writing commissions #the jester and the tagalong #ink form!sun #ink form!moon #animator!reader #i loved writing this so much #and bringing in all the aspects of this au like the lost memories and the anguish of being trapped in the cycle #but there's a way out—you will make sure you and the jester get a happy ending #naff writing

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yaut-jaknowit · 1 year ago

Note

Uihoy. cunnilingus, overstimulation, body worship, sappy stuff, lots of fluff

Right Here

Pairing: Uihoy (Male Yautja) x AFAB!Reader

Warnings: Smut, cunnilignus, overstimulation, body worship, fluff, dirty talk.

Word Count: 3843

Summary: Man wants to eat you out and worship the ground you walk on. Let him.

Author Note: I'm slowly making my way through requests. Sorry, it's taking me some time. I'm working a lot at work to save up for new tires and rims for my truck.

Masterlist

Ao3

The lack of clothes adorning your body once made you feel completely exposed and unworthy in the face of either of your mates. Two highly skilled hunters who actively worked their bodies to perfection. All in the name of the hunt. And here you were, a human among gods.

From countless days, weeks, probably months at this point, they’ve slaughtered any doubt that would sprout their ugly head. As a human, it was a natural feeling. The urge to scoop your clothes back from the ground and cover what you had exposed to them was dominating. Your skin prickled as those bright, nearly glowing yellow eyes of Uihoy drank in the sight of you.

Uihoy’s hands twitched at his sides but he was patient. A hunter, born and bred. The picture before him is something he’s seen countless times before. His cock still stirred with pumping blood in its sheath.

Those piercing orbs of his noticed up the slightest tense of your muscles, eyes darting between the clothing you once wore. Fabric Vic’tao and him have collected and crafted for you.

Now, the male takes the chance to step forward and knelt down at your feet. A renowned hunter in a large clan back on Yautja Prime kneeling before a human. His knees cracked at the motion and new position but he stayed. This is where he wanted to be. Before his mate, on his knees, about to worship not only the ground you walked upon but your body itself. He was going to hunt down those despicable thoughts and tear them from your mind.

This new angle had you timidly meeting his gaze. But only for a fleeting second before you tilted your head to the side and more down.

Well-worn hands cupped your hips. The Yautja was now face to chest with you on his knees. He felt the way your body jolted at the touch but otherwise stayed standing.

You placed your palm on his shoulder for support within the raging storm brew inside of you. Purple hands started to trail up, teasing up your sides then moving inward to your chest. Your bottom lip was caught between dull teeth while the only thing you could do was watch.

Massive hands palmed at your breasts. Two fingers gently pinched the outer circle of your nipple. Uihoy leaned forward and let his tongue dart out to flick over the darker skin. Your knees shook at the first touch of the day.

A deep groan started from the depths of Uihoy’s chest. “Uihoy cannot say much within ooman language but pauk, let Uihoy lavish these for hours and will die a happy mate,” the Yautja purred and gave the other breast the same attention. He gently twisted the other nipple in his digits and pulled a stuttering gasp from your torn lips.

Despite knowing those same teeth have shredded throats for the sake of a trophy, he cupped one breast in his bottom mandibles. That hand holding it up drifted to your sides, claws raking over ribs. It went to your back and slid down to grab the globe of one of your ass cheeks.

With a jolt, you tensed at the new feeling. Then, the touch continued a path down your thigh and teased the soft skin that made up the back of them. Your knees wobbled, mind growing faint from all the different fleeting touches. It grew hard to focus on all that he was doing to you. “U-Uihoy,” you whispered the name in the dimly light bedroom.

Uihoy hummed and sent vibrations up to your nipple. You mewled, nails digging into his shoulder for better support. The other hand ran its course through your hair a few times before finding its way into the thick dreads of Uihoy’s grey tresses.

All of his touches tighten on your body. The forked tongue laving at your nipple pressed harder before he pulled away and began the same treatment on the other one.

As this went on, Uihoy took in the thicken scent of your arousal trailing into the air. He could taste it wafting around him in a teasing manner. Yet, the male held strong and kept his slow, steady pace. His prize would wait. The longer it sat, the better the reward would be.

Once the two breasts received the same amount of attention in his opinion, Uihoy pulled back. His hands returned to hold to each one. You whimpered at the lost of contact and tugged on a dread for him to return. Uihoy grunted. Your chest was heaving from the excitement entering your blood stream. He nearly grinned at how needy you looked before him. Instead, he placed his hands behind your knees.

You didn’t know what had happened until your mind caught up. Now, on the ground with Uihoy hovering over you, all you could do was stare dazedly up at the purple Yautja. He took the moment to lean down and lavish his tongue along the column of your throat and up to your jaw. “This body, this mind, little hunter, does so many things to Uihoy. Makes wanna ravish, to love, to bite, to claim forever. Leave no area unclaimed,” he uttered into the flesh of your neck.

Fatal teeth scrapped across your skin. You shuttered, throat vibrating with a high-pitched noise. “This skin is so incredibly soft. It feels amazing against Uihoy. Uihoy loves it.”

Heat flashed across your body, blood beginning to warm. His hands returned to touch at your hips, thumbs rubbing mindlessly. Uihoy left marks in his wake, creating his own art on your body. Blood was drawn to the skin but never dripping down to leave behind red rivets. “And the taste of little hunter on tongue,” he trailed off with a groan that rattle his chest. “Could live off of you alone if little hunter let Uihoy.”

His long, spilt tongue teased behind the shell of your ear. His purple face returned to your sight as he gazed down at your lying form on the shared bed. Those pools called eyes reflected the affection you held to your heart for him.

Mischief sparkling the yellow iris’. You didn’t have a moment to even come up with a single clue on why before he shift the two of you again.

Uihoy grasped at your hips and easily picked you from the ground. The Yautja himself laid down and settled you on his chest. Your hands rested in the transition area between those broad shoulders to his barrel chest. Your eyes were wide while you stared down at him in surprise. He grasped your hips and tugged you an inch towards his face. “Sit,” he commanded and pushed you again.

“On, on your face?” Your brows furrowed at the implication he was wanting. It’s not like you hadn’t let them eat you out before but never had you sat on their face before, let alone another person. Your doubts and insecurities gnawed at the sturdy ground you once stood on.

Dark talons dug into the flesh of your hips. “Tell Uihoy taste little hunter’s cunt. Now, sit.” You yelped quietly, still nervous to move forward before nodding your head to gain courage.

“Just… just tell me if it’s too much,” you warned Uihoy as you crawled forward and hesitated while on top of his throat. Uihoy huffed, tightened his hold then promptly picked you up and deposited you perfectly over his mouth. You tried to sit more up, scared that you were putting too much weight on him. “Uihoy!” But the male just grumbled at the call of his name.

Both of his arms hooked over your thighs and locked down to ensure you couldn’t escape. His upper mandibles were spread wide to curl over your thighs as well. The lower two were pressed carefully to the apex of your legs.

Vibrations rumbled up his throat. You felt them run across your skin and tingle your newly exposed folds. “Look at the sight. No one could pull Uihoy from this. Over dead body,” he snarled.

Your back bent to rest a hand on the ground beside his massive head but Uihoy growled. “Up! Stay up. Wanna see little hunter fall apart from tongue.” You caught your bottom lip between dull teeth.

He saw the way conflict rose in your magnificent eyes. One of his hands reached out twinge your fingers together. Yours slotted between his. Then, Uihoy returned to gripping your thigh. Your other limb slipped your digits under his palm to hold on for the rise. The Yautja purred his praised.

For a second, there is peace within the storm. You are able to relax your muscles. Uihoy squeezing your hand. A smile broke across your features while you stared down at him between your legs.

That peaceful expression was shattered. Your thighs tightened around his purple head when his tongue ran a path between your slickened folds. “The taste. Pauk. This is how Uihoy wants to die. Die happily here, underneath Uihoy’s stunning mate.” You gnawed more at your bottom lip at his words and tipped your head back. It was hard to keep your eyes on him. Embarrassment flooded your system.

A growl pierced the air. “Look down. Look at Uihoy, little hunter!” the male pleaded, claws biting into the flesh of your thighs.

You tilted your head back down to find his eyes. Uihoy purred once more and ran his tongue through your slick again. Your jaw dropped in a low groan, chest stuttering with breaths you struggled to take.

“Good,” he praised and began a alternating pace between your entrance to your clit.

All thoughts of doubt or shame were drowned, mind going blank only to think of the ecstasy building up inside. Your hands gripped his harder for purchase.

For the first time of the night, you bucked your hips to grind down on his tongue. It dipped inside of you. Uihoy felt the your walls fluttered around him at new sensation and groaned. More of your taste dripped down into his waiting mouth. He was going to consume you whole.

The lower two mandibles moved, his tongue halting for a moment. Your pathetic cry, hips rutting for more was a sight to behold. Uihoy tucked his mandibles into your folds then used them to expose every crevice to his sight. Including that little bud of nerves perched above your entrance. His tongue darted out to caress your clit soft.

Uihoy soaked in the sight of your reaction. The way your head snapped back, spin going rim-rod straight, and thighs threatening to crush his head. Your arousal drenched the better part of his mouth and chin, dripping down to soak the sheets under him. A scent he keep forever. And, the male didn’t relent the action. His muscle continuous lavishing at the nerves.

He could care little when you couldn’t look back down at him. The sounds you cried were music to his ears. Enough to make up for the loss of your eyes. The new wave of slick dripping into his mouth made up for the rest.

Between him teasing your entrance, sometimes daring to take a dip inside, and running his textured tongue over your completely exposed clit, you were boarding pain. It was a fine knife’s edge to walk on.

Tears welled up on your lash line, body beginning to shake. “Ui-Uihoy, it’s… it’s too much,” you sputtered, frame unsure on what to do.

In what little thoughts you could produce, you couldn’t tell if you wanted to push off of him or force him to never stop.

“Right here, Uihoy is right here. Gonna make little hunter come, okay? Need treasure to come,” he promised but never relenting his movements on your pussy. Your spin bent. You gaze back down at him, eyes completely glazed over. It was too much for you to handle. For any sane person to hold onto what little shard of their mind had. “Pauk, keep looking at Uihoy. Keep looking. Gonna taste little hunter. Want everything can give.”

From the depths of your mind, you didn’t know if you were going either explode or collapse. The coil in your belly was beyond what it could hold. Here, you were, teetering on the knife’s edge. “That’s it, treasure. Come for Uihoy.”

Down from the tips of your curled toes, all the way to your fuzzy thoughts, your body exploded. Your jaw dropped in a silent scream that would’ve echoed through the halls of the ship. Euphoric pleasure flooded every part of your body, filling up every crevice to the fullest. Your eyes glassed over, only able to focus on ecstasy that took over every thought.

After the peak, it was the fall. You began to drift down, mind calming from raging seas to smooth water lapping at sandy shores. Tears had ran their course down your face and left behind sticky, salty trails in their wake. Your chest heaved for cool air. You couldn’t help the whine that built up in your throat. The pleasure wasn’t fading.

Uihoy wasn’t done with you.

One of his hands, released your thigh and slipped between his face and your soaked cunt. You whined at the lost and weakly reached out to hold it again. Through your tears, you met his gaze again.

As you opened your mouth to speak, you felt a finger tease at your entrance. Your muscles instantly fluttered at the new sensation. “U-Uihoy,” you gasped, free hand coming to rest on the dome of his head.

The Yautja easily used what coated your cunt to lube his finger up before push only the first knuckle in. He relished in the feeling of you tightening around him, trying to suck in more. To which, he relented and thrust the rest of his middle finger in. A purr started up in chest at the feeling of muscles contracting down on him digit. “Treasure feels wonderful around me. So tight.” You panted and tried to jerk your hips for more but the arm hooking around one of your thighs prevented any movement.

When his tongue returned to lavish at your throbbing clit, you hiccupped a cry and shifted wildly on top of him. You didn’t know how to respond, body unsure if it wanted brunt through it or hop off. His name was uttered again like a breathless cry.

He took a moment to pull his tongue away. You believed to get some remorse but he placed his thumb on your clit and placed enough pressed to numb your mind. “What’s wrong, little mate? Uihoy said to take care of mate, did treasure think Uihoy wouldn’t follow through on that?” Unlike of him, he sounded to be mocking you in a caring manner.

Your free hand went to your mouth to bite at your knuckle. Uihoy curled his fingers and hit that spongey spot inside of you. Said limb slapped down on your thigh as you mewled out. “That’s more like it. Wanna hear every pauk-de sound little mate makes.”

The rough pad of his finger rubbing against you g-spot was enough to make you see stars. “I’m… I’m, not goin-ah, going to last long,” you rushed out the last few words.

The fingers intertwined with Uihoy’s dug into his palm for support. “Good.” His tongue returned to ravish your clit like his life depended on it. You keened, thighs tensing as if trying to push off of him. But Uihoy would never allow that. His hold was like steel and kept you trapped at his will.

In your practically blank mind, you cursed wildly and tried to hold on for however long possible. But the male was going to make you come again. Your brows furrowed and lifted as Uihoy pushed you up against the edge of the peak, the top of the world. Your chest shook with unsteady breaths. You tried to hold out, tried ease yourself into the orgasm. Uihoy did not. He shoved over the line with a curl of his finger and harsh lick.

“Fuck!” you screamed out into the empty ship. Tears soaked your cheeks. The scene around you shatter like ice on a lake. Sweat rolled down your back and chest. You licked at the little drop building up on your top lip as you gasped for breath.

You hunched over, hand on the sheets, and struggled to gather your senses. Tears dropped onto the bed below you. The pressure never ended though. Uihoy kept curling, pumping his finger, and licking at your clit. You sobbed and shakily reached for a tress.

Its rubbery texture was ignored while you attempted to pull the Yautja from between your legs. But he was glued, welded. Nothing could take him from this spot now.

The digit inside of you was pulled. You gave a brief sigh of relief and looked down at him through the tears. But the fire in those bright eyes was burning a bright blaze that had yet to diminish. “Uihoy,” you whispered, voice small as if afraid. Not of him but what else he had planned for you.

Instead of one, two fingers prodded at your folds and slowly slipped past to nuzzle deep. The new stretch had you thighs shaking, unable to move much. “I-I, fuck… Uihoy, I can’t. It’s, it’s too much,” you pleaded, knowing one word would stop him but not using it.

Those digits curled and hit that spot only two inches inside of you. Your head whipped back with a sob. “Yes, treasure can. Treasure wants to give Uihoy everything. Let m-me taste another, consume little hunter,” Uihoy rumbled and resumed to overstimulating you. A hunter who was relentless and wanted nothing more to bring you the pleasure you deserved. His mate, through and through.

Your loose hand trembled, not knowing where to go or where it could rest on. Your mind has gone numb, malleable for his hands to form into whatever he wanted. The purple Yautja grinned internally at the sight of his mate in such a state of disheveled. Clearly so eaten out they’ve gone dumb. All he had to do was do one of his favorite things in the world: eat their cunt out.

It was no time at all to feel the late stages of another orgasm roaring up this mountain. Fire had filled your veins long ago, never fully leaving after the first orgasm of the night.

The pain from the overstimulation was harsh at the base of your spine as it crawled up the length of you back. It hurt, but you loved it. Uihoy loved it. He was enamored with all the sounds you were creating. The sympathy you sang to him in praise from croaking noises to sobs when he pressed against that one spot particularly hard. It would make you clench down on his fingers, forcing you to feel how he filled you with just his fingers alone.

Curses flew from your mouth as you stumbled your way to the peak, getting dragged to the finish line. Those are the only words you could get out, too mindlessly to even think of letting Uihoy know. It’s not like he could feel the way your muscles were clenching harder and faster. He knows your body better than you probably know it at this point.

Similar to last time, you were kicked off the edge, hitting your peak softer this time. Your body had little left to give to Uihoy. With a grunt, you were nearly going to collapsed forward onto an arm when massive hands grasped at your sides.

In a daze, you hadn’t realized you had been laid down on the bed. A purple figure hovering over you, seen through your blurry gaze filled with tears.

“Uihoy knows, baby, Uihoy knows. Right here, just breathe,” Uihoy cooed softly into the still electrified air. You gave the softest mewls known to mankind and panted after the marathon he took you through. His hands petted down your slicken skin blanketed with sweat. He leaned down to nuzzle his head against your forehead.

“Did so good, so good. Love when little mate cries for Uihoy. Love the sounds. Love the taste. The feel of tight cunt around fingers…” he trailed off with a groan. The Yautja pulled back enough to peer into your glassy eyes. His fingers reached out and drifted along your jawline. “And these eyes. Want them to look into mine as little hunter falls apart on Uihoy’s tongue again. See the pleasure Uihoy brings little mate.”

With a shaky hand, you reached up and cupped his jaw. “I… I feel like jello.” Uihoy snorted a laugh and shook his head. His forehead was rubbed once more to yours. Both of his arms scooped under your weak body and pulled to his chest. Then, the male stood up and began to carry you over to the attached bathroom.

Somehow, with an unknown talent, Uihoy is able to hold you while he starts a bath. He sits down on the edge, legs hanging over into the filling tub with you cradled to him.

Starstruck and completely enamored with him, you kept staring up at him. The love and passion he just poured into you was, yes, a normal occurrence but not something you got used to. He always uses his words show his affection, to tell you everything he loved about you. Even if it wasn’t a place you cared for.

Once the bath filled to the top, Uihoy settled you down on one of the seats. He left you there to strip down to his bare skin, scars and all. You rested on your knees, arms crossed over on the ledge while you placed your head on top of them to watched the scene unfold. Your mate walked back over to you, body lax. You took note at the fact he hadn’t unsheathed, though his slit was wet.

“Oh baby,” you cooed and reached an arm to him. He had to be painfully holding it back.

The mentioned male raised a brow, head tilted as he got into the tub with you. “What’s the matter?” he questioned and gathered you into his lap to rest in the warm bath.

He positioned you do your back was to his chest. The water made it all the easier to reach back to tease at his slit. “I can hel-“ you were cut off when Uihoy snared your wrist pulled it away. His body went rigid for a moment before eased back down.

“It is alright, little one. Uihoy worn little hunter out the way I wanted. It was all about little mate and those beautiful noises made,” he purred and set his jaw on top of your head. He knew it annoyed you, but you let it happen.

“If you say so.” In the comfort of Uihoy’s protective, loving arms, you closed your eyes and enjoyed this warmth he offered to you freely. A never waning smile on your features.

#yautja #predator #yautja x reader #yautja x you #alien vs predator #predator x reader #yautja x human #predator x you #predator x human #x reader #Uihoy

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katyaromanoffpetrova · 6 months ago

Text

Is this the end? (part I)

Katya is new at SHIELD. When she messes up during her probation, she thinks Fury will send her away. To ease the pain, she distances herself from Nat.

• Natasha Romanoff x Fem!OC • Wordcount: 2.6k • Warnings: angst, mentions of self-harm (not detailed) •A/N: I couldn't fit everything into one post, so there will be a part two in a few day's time :) Masterlist

Do not repost my work as your own or translate my work!!

2007

The Triskelion slowly emerged in the distance. Tall, massive, impressive. A building fit for a strong organization like SHIELD. A statement to scare off their enemies.

It used to intimidate Katya too, back when she worked for that enemy. All Hydra agents were warned to stay far away from SHIELD HQ, unless they wanted to die.

But in the past few months, it had amazingly become her safe space. A place where she could breathe for the first time in her life. A place she eagerly returned to.

Not right now, though.

On this sunny, late afternoon in cold November, Katya dreaded landing the Quinjet on the flight deck and getting out. Her hands shook as she pressed the buttons and flipped the switches, forcing her breathing to stay normal so the SHIELD agent in the co-pilot seat wasn't alerted of her anxiety.

She failed her mission. She messed up. Badly. She let Fury down.

And she was still on probation.

Her boss was very clear; make one mistake and she's out. And Fury always meant what he said. Always.

Katya didn't think she could keep going if she was kicked out of the one place that showed her kindness. If she was forced to say goodbye to the love of her life once more.

That was the worst of it all; her failure would come back on Natasha. Natasha who was responsible for her. Natasha who promised Fury that Katya was fit for duty. Natasha who had faith in her to become a better person.

Not only had Katya let herself, the safety of the world, and her boss down, she had disappointed the woman she loved. And that stung more than anything.

The Quinjet barely wobbled as it touched the ground—at least she could do one thing right—and Katya helped her co-pilot with the shutdown procedure before lifting her heavy body out of the pilot seat.

She didn't want to go out there. As long as she was in the jet, she was safe from being fired. Or she could pretend that she was safe, at least. So Katya took her sweet time collecting her things, triple checking that the Quinjet was ready for its next use before reluctantly making her way outside.

Her anxiety was miles high as she crossed the flight deck. She felt like a pig being led to the slaughter. Every step of her booted feet took more effort than the last. Katya kept her gaze ahead and avoided the scared agents that jumped out of her way, refusing to let them see the fear in her eyes.

She thought about running. It was her first instinct after she managed to escape her mission earlier today. It shouldn't have taken her fifteen minutes to decide to call in a SHIELD pickup, but it did, and she felt so ashamed about it.

That part of her life was supposed to be over. Done. But it tempted her like a line of coke tempted a drug addict.

Being on the run, being alone, it was so much easier. The only responsibilities she had were to herself. The only person she could disappoint was herself. If she messed up on a shady deal, they would be hunting her for a while, but only her.

Having people who counted on her was harder than she thought it would be. Emotions were harder than she thought they would be. Her default setting was to isolate and be alone. To run when things were bad.

But she wouldn't take the easy way out this time. She refused to. With a deep inhale, Katya stepped inside the building.

To her surprise, nothing happened. She expected some agent to materialize and take her to Fury, or for people to stare and gossip about her failure. She had even imagined Natasha standing there, a disappointed frown on her face. But life inside SHIELD HQ went on as usual. They barely spared her a glance.

Without further hesitation, Katya mixed with the group heading for the elevators. Maybe if she blended in, she could hide and avoid having her soul broken for a little longer. Maybe, if she was fast enough, she could make it to her room and hide from Natasha as long as possible.

The agents around her should know how hard her heart pounded as they shuffled away from her. How scared she was. It could be the last time they saw her face. It could be her last day in this building. Her last time riding this elevator.

Katya's throat closed up. The tiny room suddenly felt extremely crowded. Panic pressed on her lungs. When she arrived at her floor, she bumped some shoulders in her rush to get out. As soon as she crashed through her apartment door, she sank to the floor, shaking.

The silence inside her apartment was terrible. The thoughts in her head sounded ten times as loud in the silence. They were overwhelming. The angry voices screamed at her, calling her a failure, a loser, that she would be better off dead.

She wrapped her arms around her knees in search of comfort. Comfort that she didn't deserve from anyone else.

How did she manage to mess up this badly? The mission Fury gave her was so simple, nothing she hadn't done before. Infiltrate a Hydra building—one Katya had marked as one—and steal some information. In and out.

But somehow, they spotted her. Katya still didn't know how. She knew nobody could have heard her, or seen her. But the alarms went off and all the exits were blocked. She was trapped with no way out.

It took her locking herself into a room and hotwiring one of the alarm boxes on the walls, to lift the blockades and escape. She ran for five miles through the hills and hid before calling a SHIELD jet to pick her up.

Now they had seen her face, knew she worked for SHIELD, knew their facility was compromised, and knew what information they were after.

It was the worst thing she could have ever done. She might as well have sent them an email. Fury would not be taking this lightly.

Katya only noticed she was hyperventilating when someone slammed a door shut down the hall that made her jump.

She felt ridiculous, rocking back and forth like a baby on the floor of her apartment, but it was her apartment, her safe space. She felt in her bones that she started to belong here, that this was where she should be. So it hurt a million times more, knowing she herself was the reason she would lose it all.

Katya sat on the floor for hours, digging her nails into her arms until welts started to form. Only when dusk set in did she pick herself off the floor, exhausted and covered in cold sweat. Nobody had come to check on her.

She did her coming-home routine on autopilot. Shower, unpack, turn on her phone that she couldn't take with her on the mission, eat something—even though her stomach was in knots and she felt nauseous.

She had four missed texts from Natasha, each more worried than the last.

Nat (3:44 PM): Welcome back. Hope the mission went according to plan :)

Nat (3:46 PM): Are you okay?

Nat (4:18 PM): Can't get out of this meeting, so I can't check in. Can you let me know if you're alright?

Nat (5:52 PM): I hope you fell asleep. Dinner later? My last meeting ends at 7. If I don't hear anything from you, I'm taking it as a yes.

Guilt started to pile up on Katya's shoulders. She couldn't tell Natasha what happened. She couldn't handle letting her down. She couldn't handle breaking her heart. She couldn't handle having her own heart broken again.

Katya left the messages unanswered. Maybe Natasha would take that as a sign to not come and find her later.

She didn't. When she showed up at 7 PM and knocked on the door, Katya pretended to be asleep. She stayed "asleep" for the rest of the night and never answered the texts in the morning.

This streak of avoidance continued throughout the week. Katya woke up earlier on purpose, so she finished breakfast right when Natasha walked into the cafeteria. She changed her workout schedule from early mornings to the late evenings to avoid Natasha, who trained in the morning. She walked the other way when she saw Natasha in the hallway. She didn't answer texts, or answered very late.

When Natasha did manage to talk to her long enough to make plans, Katya canceled them last minute with some lame excuse.

It stung. It hurt every fiber of Katya's being to ignore Natasha like that. The woman didn't deserve it. She should be getting angry with her, but instead Katya triggered her insecurities too.

When she asked if Katya didn't want her around anymore, the blonde swore she heard her heart shatter.

But this was necessary. Even though Fury still hadn't called her in, Katya knew her exit from SHIELD was close. She needed to create a distance between herself and Natasha beforehand, so it would hurt less when that time came.

"Stop avoiding me."

It was lunchtime, Tuesday, and Natasha had finally managed to corner Katya. Literally. She'd grabbed her wrist in passing and forced her into a random supply closet in the hallway. Her body pressed Katya's against the wall, a fire in her green eyes.

"I'm not. I'm busy," Katya answered with a hint of annoyance, impatiently eyeing the door. She had places to be, people to avoid.

"Don't lie to me," Natasha bit back, vulnerability in the back of her voice. "We're beyond that."

"Nat." Katya tried, avoiding her gaze at any cost. She didn't want to do this.

"What is going on? You better tell me right now," Natasha demanded.

Katya scowled. "Nothing. Let me go."

"Kat—"

"I said, let me go."

Slowly, Natasha stepped back, giving Katya enough space to escape. The brunette eagerly took advantage of that and slipped back into the hallway. They may not be in a good place, but they always respected each other's boundaries.

Natasha was at a complete loss. The only thing she knew was that everything changed after that mission. If she wanted to know why Katya was avoiding her, the key lay at that mission.

The problem was; her clearance wasn't high enough to get any information. She'd tried to get into the system, but it blocked her. The only thing left to try was going to the person who knew it all.

"I need to know what happened. And no confidentiality bullshit."

Natasha stood in front of Fury's desk, her arms crossed over her chest. She was angry. At Katya, at herself, at the secrets. She was tired of the emotional rollercoaster, of being left in the dark. She wanted answers, now.

Fury lazily gazed up at her, unimpressed and calm. "It's simple. Petrova failed her mission."

A wave of nausea hit Natasha. Deep down, she wasn't surprised to hear this. She suspected something like this. But actually having it confirmed was something else. She, too, knew what it meant if Katya failed.

"Lots of us fail our missions."

"Correct. But we've also never had a Hydra deserter join us before," Fury said casually, reorganizing some folders on his desk.

Something clicked for Natasha. She didn't know the magnitude of the mission, or Katya's failure. But if Fury was this calm about it, and if Katya was still here, a week later, something else must be going on. As always, the Director of SHIELD had ulterior motives.

"You set her up," she realized with disgust. "You set her up to fail."

Fury didn't blink an eye at her accusation, only proving that she was right. "Only when they face death do people show their true faces."

Natasha boiled with anger, clenching her fists to keep herself contained. He really sent the woman she loved into a building full of hostiles just to prove her loyalty. "She could have died!"

"I knew she could get herself out of that situation."

Natasha had never felt as protective over someone as she did right now. "Katya doesn't deserve your mistrust. She's been loyal since she set foot inside this building. She hasn't lied about anything."

"Loyalty runs deep. We shouldn't underestimate her ties to her former employer."

Natasha swallowed back some nasty words. To call the Director of SHIELD an asshole was risky, even for her. Maybe especially for her.

"If your goal was to make her terrified of losing everything good she found, then you succeeded."

Fury sharply glanced up at her with his one good eye. "We are not a charity, Agent Romanoff. Petrova needs to understand that her stay here isn't guaranteed."

Natasha clenched her teeth together. What an outrageous way to prove a point. "If she has to go, I'm going with her. Just so you understand that too."

"Message received," Fury said dryly, returning his gaze to the desk. "Loud and clear."

A mess of emotions raged in her body as Natasha left his office and legged towards Katya's apartment. It was false hope that sent her there. Hope that her small, meaningless conversation with Fury would calm Katya down enough to talk to her.

She was still furious at him. Furious for sending Katya into a trap, for mistrusting her, and for being the perfect director. She was angry because she couldn't be angry at him. In his position, it was a logical move to test Katya's loyalty.

But Natasha's love for the woman clouded her judgment. Funnily enough.

"Open up." Her knocks were fast and impatient on Katya's door. "It's me, and I'm not leaving until you hear me out." She was determined this time, willing to kick the door in, now that she knew why Katya acted so strangely.

To her surprise, Katya opened the door. Her body shielded Natasha's wandering eyes from seeing her apartment. She had dark circles under her eyes, pale skin, and a slow way of moving about her. "What is it?"

Natasha pushed past her before Katya could stop her. It had been a while since she had been in the apartment, and what she saw broke her heart. "Why do you have everything packed?" Katya didn't answer. All her personal belongings were in bags. "You don't have to leave. It was a test. And I think you passed it."

Katya snapped her head up, her eyes suddenly wide awake. "How do you— Ты говорил с ним (You went and talked to him)?"

Natasha was taken aback by her sharp tone. "I—"

"мне не нужна няня (I don't need a babysitter)!" The brunette raised her voice. "I made a mistake during probation. He has every right to send me off, test or not!"

"But it's not a fair test if he set you up to fail!"

"That doesn't matter! Failing still isn't an option! Test or not!"

Natasha thought she would be easing Katya's mind. But the woman only saw failure, clouded by fear. Katya was too terrified to lose everything to think rationally. "You're being too hard on yourself," Natasha continued gently. "You're an amazing agent. All your other missions went perfectly."

Katya huffed, raising her arm to scratch her head. "You can save 20 people, but we both know you only remember the one you killed."

Natasha barely heard her words. When Katya lifted her arm, her short sleeve lifted enough to show red welts on her arms in the form of nails. Clearly self-inflicted. Pointedly, Natasha looked at that arm, the spots now carefully covered. "Nothing is worth doing that to yourself."

Katya watched her go with a broken look in her eyes.

#katandnat #katyaromanoffpetrova #forgotten ghost series #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x fem!oc #natasha romanoff fanfiction #natasha romanov #natasha romanoff fanfic #marvel #avengers #mcu

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ssentimentals · 2 months ago

Text

f1 pairings as famous love tropes: george russell x lewis hamilton

fated mates (ABO!AU)

'sun and moon, all of the gods above - they made you for me'

note: event described here is a hunt - annual festival to find a mate. it takes a cruel turn here (where mates can be taken without consent), but nothing of this sort happens between george/lewis. just fyi. (+ also i'm not an abo expert, so excuse any mistakes)

george really wishes he'd taken alex's advice on cardio training in the months leading up to the hunt. all omegas were up and running at an early sunrise, while george was busy collecting plants and flowers for medical and tea purposes. in his defense, he is set to be pack's next healer and george doesn't take this role lightly (he dreamt of it since he was a little pup, staying close to his mom while she helped everyone). his knowledge of plants and different ointments definitely expanded within these months, but his speed remained the same, while all other omegas managed to get faster, which only gave them more chances of escaping unwilling matches with alphas they didn't like. which brings george to his current predicament - hunt starts tomorrow. and george? george is vastly unprepared.

'you can hide,' alex suggests, helping him chop up vegetables for the soup. 'it's not against the rules. you know this forest better than anyone.'

george nods. in reality, this is his best chance at getting through the hunt without a mating mark on his neck and that is his main goal. 'how's logan?' george asks, changing the subject and smiling at the way alex instantly gets shy. 'you two discussed everything?'

alex nods, practically radiating happiness. 'we both don't want to prolong this, so i'll just wait for him at the start. won't run, you know? hunt will start and we'll just run to each other. think it's the best.'

george wishes he had this too. wishes he had someone who'd make him excited for the hunt instead of dreading it. wishes there was someone for him out there, who'd love him, who'd understand his love for his healer work and who'd love this about him as well. someone with a gentle but firm presence, kind eyes, soothing voice. someone with broad frame, blinding smile, caring heart. someone with dark skin that's covered in tattoos, someone who is a leader-

'i heard rumors of lewis joining the hunt tomorrow,' alex drops nonchalantly.

'is he?' george asks, trying to keep his tone casual. 'interesting.'

'very,' alex stops cutting and carefully takes both of george's wrist in his hands, making taller omega stop and turn to him. 'georgie. go talk to him.'

acting dumb has never been his forte, but george still tries. 'why?'

alex sighs and there's pity swimming in his eyes, which makes george cringe. god, he doesn't want pity. 'because you're in love with him, george. and because i think that he's in love with you, too. or at the very least he likes you.'

george closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. 'that's cruel, alexander.'

'no, not when it's true. i really think that he-'

'- is a good, caring leader of this pack, who is nice to everyone.' george interrupts hastily, trying to will his tears back. he can't cry now, it's his turn to feed little pups today, he doesn't have time to wallow in his misery. 'we've been through this.'

'and you never listen to me!' alex hisses out, gripping his wrists tighter. 'you're so in your head, you refuse to see what's right in front of you, what everyone else sees! why do you think everyone calls you his favorite? because it's so obvious how he differently he treats you-'

'because healers are essential to the pack,' george feels like a broken mixtape at this point, repeating the same thing ever and ever again. 'not because he likes me.'

alex opens his mouth and closes it again. he sighs, defeated. 'why are you so afraid, george?' he asks quietly, intimately. 'why are you so dead set on rejecting the mere idea of him being into you as well?'

because it will kill me if it's not true. because when he will find himself a mate, i will die, something in me will break and never be the same. because i never felt anything like this for anyone. sometimes i think that my heart beats for him and him only. george clears his throat and answers with a simple: 'because it's not true, alex.'

'but-'

'not everyone gets to have their happy ending,' george smiles at his friend bittersweet. 'i'm just happy you have one with logan.'

alex looks like he's about to argue but they both freeze up, when footsteps echo and then lewis enters the kitchen. he pauses, his gaze zeroes on the way alex is holding george's wrists - alex lets go instantly, clearing his throat. despite strong smell of the vegetables, potent scent of smoke and amber clouds the air, making everyone tense up. george turns around, blinking fast to get rid of unshed tears; the last thing he wants is for lewis to see him like this.

'i'll be right back,' alex mutters and leaves the kitchen, shuddering under lewis's cold assessing stare.

'hello, lewis.' george greets, gathering control of his voice. he turns and goes for a smile but lewis looks too serious. 'um, i'm preparing-'

'what was happening here?' lewis rarely speaks to him in this commanding tone. with george he is always gentle and soft. 'did he make you cry?'

george blinks, unsure what to say. his friendship with alex is a very well known fact, so to think that alex can make him cry is crazy. 'no, of course not. we were just..talking.'

lewis steps closer and fire smoke in his scent invades george's lungs. he always loved it, found it so fitting to their pack alpha - everything about lewis was strong and commanding, even his scent. george takes a deep breath discreetly and almost chokes on it, when lewis gingerly reaches out for his wrists. he holds them with something akin to reverency and george swallows, ignoring goosebumps that rise up at the touch. lewis carefully inspects his wrists, turns them left and right, his fingers stroke george's skin lightly. 'did he hurt you?' he asks, looking up at omega.

words are so, so hard to speak when lewis is this close. when his breath is fanning over george's chin, when heat of his body makes george's head spin. 'i, um,' george licks his lips and lewis follows that move with his eyes, his grip tightens just a fraction on his wrists. 'no, no. he didn't. alex would never hurt me.' he looks down, hearing water bowling. 'uh- you can let go now. it's my turn to cook for pups.'

lewis obediently lets go, but stays close despite george turning around to continue his task. presence of pack alpha always made george nervous, mostly because he really liked lewis since the moment he first met him. he knows lewis thinks highly of him - he praised him often enough for george to be sure in this, but he never... all those praises were about george's skill. never on his appereance or on his scent or-

'are you participating in the hunt tomorrow?' lewis asks, hovering close.

george nods, grimacing. 'can't escape it this time, i'm afraid. can't call in sick like i did two years in a row.'

'you don't want to participate?' lewis notices how george is struggling with chunking the meat and gently shooes him away, doing everything himself. 'i thought omegas are eager for the hunt.'

'the ones that have a mate are eager. i don't, so i'm not excited to be picked by some random alpha. but it's not like i'm a very desirable omega, so i guess i'm partially safe this year.'

george finishes up carrots and turns to give a sharper knife to lewis. pack alpha looks at him seriously, not smiling and george blinks on confusion. did he say something wrong to kill the nice mood?

'who said that you're not a desirable omega?'

'ugh- i did?' george shrugs. 'it's okay though, i know how i look, so it's all good.'

george is too tall for an omega. he's lanky, his limbs are too long and don't always cooperate well. his eyes are too big and his hands are too rough. he's not exactly charming and nor is he a flirt. george is just george and he's fine with that. lewis, however, looks like he's not fine with it. 'and you?' george asks, needing to get attention away from him. 'you will be participating?'

lewis nods, taking knife from george's hand. 'i'm thinking about it, yes. it's time this pack gets their pack omega.'

it stings. it hurts so much that for a second george forgets how to breathe. image of lewis with another omega, both happy and elated - it breaks his heart into tiny pieces. he puts on a smile though, because he's good like that. 'that's a big decision,' he says, not looking at alpha. 'will make someone very happy, huh?'

'i hope so.' lewis answers and his scent turns acid for a second. they work in silence for some minutes before he speaks up again: 'do you want to mate, george?'

george lets himself dream. of mornings filled with cuddles and sweet kisses. of cozy house where every guest is welcome. of being greeted with warms arms upon his arrival. of being swollen with pups made of big, pure love. he smiles, not realizing that his soft lavender scent bursts in the room. 'i do, yeah.' he speaks quietly in a wishful way.

he blinks back to present when notes of amber intensify in the air, swirling happily with his own scent. george freezes - he's always cautious with his scent and never lets it go that openly - but lewis lets his scent free too and it's...wonderful. lavender soothes the strength of amber, adds flowery notes in it and swallows up the smoke - their scents mellow each other down and mix prettily. when george turns, lewis is already watching him with the scary intensity that makes him swallow. what is-

'i'll see you tomorrow, george.' lewis says, putting knife back down. 'thank you for letting me help you.'

lewis walks away but his scent stays with george long after he's gone.

=+=

'run, george. alex will go to logan but me and lando will cover up for you. we'll be right behind you and then-'

'and then you'll go and hide,' lando interrupts charles, smiling up at george with his boyish charm. 'me and charlie will continue running to the left and we all know that's where everyone will go. it'll give you more time.'

he stares up at his friends and wants to cry from their readiness to help him out minutes before the hunt. george took few vital oils with him that should help to mask scent and shares it with boys - they also don't have alphas and will spend this hunt running away from others.

'i can't believe that lewis is here,' charles mutters, helping lando apply oil on his scent glands. 'think he's in it for you, healer.'

george sputters in surprise and only grows hotter when lando confirms: 'yeah, i think so too. he hasn't stopped looking at you.'

and that is disturbing because it's true. george can't even dismiss this as a lie, because lewis is staring at him and god, why, why? is this some kind of cruel game of rising his hopes up to crush them later? george applies last remnants of oil, itching from the heavy gaze of pack alpha. he takes a deep breath and focuses on the forest ahead of him. omegas have one hour of free run before alphas are also allowed to enter the forest and he needs to make most of it. the second fire goes off, george scrambles and runs off. instead of shifting into his wolf form like majority of omegas - him, lando and charles stay in human form, dashing into the woods. in wolf form it's impossible to disguise your scent, so all three of them chose to stay like this, knowing that all alphas will shift and their noses won't pick up on a scentless omega. faster. one hour seems a lot but knowing how dense and big forest is, it's really not much. go faster. three of them run in one direction until they reach small clearing and that's when charles and lando take left, while george chooses right.

'good luck,' he mutters to his friends before turning away and running up the hills.

george does know this forest better than anyone else. he knows every single secret cave, every single hill or small river - that's his main advantage and despite tightness in his lungs and ache in his legs, he climbs up, up, up until he reaches the river. no one really goes here because bears are frequent visitors here but george knows where to go and where to hide - he easily finds a secluded cave which can be seen only from a certain angle. it takes time to go down by a slippery trope but if he falls into the river then water will wash away oil and his scent will be in the open for anyone to detect, so he takes great care in his steps, knowing that clock is ticking. once george successfully reaches the cave, his knees buckle and he falls, sighing in relief. he's not used to running for this long, he's not used to running in general and his head is a bit dizzy as he moves further up the cave, hiding. safe. his heartbeat is so loud in his ears that george spends next twenty minutes just trying to calm down after adrenaline spike, breathing slowly. there's very tempting idea of just falling asleep right now but he tries to hold on - yes, chances of someone coming here are slim but they are not non-existent. he lets himself relax though, lulled by constant sound of water running down in the river. he thinks of lando and charles and how they are doing right now, hopes that alex and logan are out of this stupid hunt by this time, thinks of lewis. did he already catch his mate? he looked like he knew exactly who he was going for. was he in love with that person for a long time? george curls up in a ball, closing his eyes. lewis probably liked someone very handsome. someone very petite, kind and fragile. someone who is everything george isn't. someone-'

loud howl breaks the silence. it takes few seconds to understand that howl is coming from the clearing up the river and george sits up so quickly, his vision turns dark momentarily. he sniffs the air but no, his scent is not out; maybe there's another omega not far from here? george shivers - he hopes whoever it is, they are not running away from unwanted alpha. he doesn't dare to peek and almost doesn't breathe, straining his hearing for any other sounds. it's strikingly silent at first and then he hears a splash like someone jumped into the river. why-

'george!' no fucking way. 'george, are you in here? are you safe?'

lewis wouldn't be lewis if he didn't inquire about his safety. it warms george's chest and he moves closer to the light. for one crazy second he thought that lewis is here for him, but that obvisouly can't be; lewis is here to just check if he's okay, if he's not being hunted by unwanted alpha. smiling at his kindness, george peeks out - lewis is all wet from crossing the river in a wrong place and generally looks very disturbed by being out here, but when he notices george, he beams at him, waving his hand.

'george!' he calls out, rushing to his side. 'i knew you'd hide somewhere here but hell, george, don't you know there are bears here? it's dangerous!'

george blinks at him in surprise, walking fully out and meeting lewis at the other side. pack alpha is a sight to behold even when he's sopping wet; god, his omega will be so, so lucky. lewis marches forward and grabs him by his shoulders, looking over his form frantically. 'are you okay?' he asks hurriedly. once he realizes that george is indeed fine and wasn't mauled by a bear, lewis relaxes his grip on him, smiling. 'knew you'd be here. i remember how you told me about this river.'

and isn't that...weird. 'i am fine,' george assures him. he then looks around and sniffs air for a good measure but finds nothing. 'there's no other omega here, though.'

lewis tilts his head to the side, confused. 'uh, yes? probably, yeah. no one is as brave as you to go to where bears are.'

george is getting more bewildered. 'i mean, there's only me here. aren't you looking for an omega?'

lewis lets his hands fall off from george's shoulders. he frowns, searching for something on his face and even steps back. 'is that a rejection, george? am i reading this correctly?'

what on earth is going on? george stares blankly at pack alpha, unsure. he feels like he's out of depth to whatever is happening right now that he better keep his mouth shut. lewis waits with furrowed eyebrows, his scent grows acidic, displeasure very evident. when george stays silent, he sighs and speaks up: 'i came here because i knew you'd be here, and when i'm standing right in front of you as an alpha, you're telling me about another omega. if this is not a rejection then what is this, george?'

george tries to grasp the reality and fails. 'what are you saying,' he whispers, eyes wide and mouth agape. 'what are you saying, lewis, you are-' he gulps. 'please don't be cruel.'

george can tell that his scent is pouring out even through the oil due to inner distress he's feeling. lewis feels it too but he stands stoic, watching george closely. 'how am i being cruel?' he asks instead, voice calm and serious.

oh god, he has to spell it out. 'by making me think that- by phrasing your words in a way that makes me think that-'

'that what?' lewis presses.

'that it's me you're looking for.' george finally lets out, ripping his heart out. 'that it's me. your omega.' he sniffs, looking away from alpha. 'this is cruel, lewis. don't do this to me.'

george wants to cry. he wants to scream and shout and curse the gods for not giving him one thing he wants the most - lewis as his alpha. his scent sours and he wants lewis to hug him like he usually does, wants to lose himself in his warmth, but lewis doesn't move. he just stares with lips pursued. 'you know what's really cruel, george?' he asks, not hiding anger notes in his voice. 'this. you thinking that i am looking for another omega. you thinking that it can't be you when it's always been only you, george.'

george breaks. sobs wreck his body and he sways a little, landing right in strong arms of alpha. his alpha. pack alpha, lewis hamilton. it's too good to be true, too unrealistic and yet there hasn't been anything more real than lewis' lips on george's scent glands. george shivers, whining a little when alpha starts nipping on them lightly, forcing more scent to come out. alpha rumbles lowly in approval, tightening his arms around omega, smiling plesantly. 'i'll spend rest of my life making sure you see what i see in you, george,' he promises. 'and then you won't ever have doubts, you'll understand how lucky i am to have you.' lewis leans back, making eye contact with george. 'i do have you, right? george. tell me now. are you mine?'

if this is a dream then george will gladly never wake up. 'being yours is all i ever want to be,' he whispers. 'i never thought that this might be mutual.'

amber and lavender mix together in the most perfect way around them. lewis smiles, staring at george like- like george stares at him. meaning, staring at him like he is the reason sun shines every day.

'my beautiful omega,' lewis says reverently, watching george blush with a smile. 'my most talented pack healer. my perfect pack omega.'

it's a lot. george doesn't think he can take this but then lewis kisses him and oh. it's a lot but my god, he can take it. he can take it so well. 'take me,' george whispers right in alpha's mouth, grinning at a responding growl. 'alpha.'

'do not,' lewis bites back, groaning and hiding his face in george's neck. 'you know i can't.'

as a pack alpha lewis has different customs to follow and george smiles, knowing that he found a new way to tease his...partner. his alpha. fuck, it's real. he lets lewis guide him all the way, lets him hold his hand, lets him announce loudly for everyone that he found a pack omega. alex cheers to the loudest, practically screaming at top of his lungs at the news with logan standing next to him, smiling from ear to ear. when george turns to lewis, alpha is already looking back at him with the softest smile. it's always been you, lewis said. george smiles and looks up at the sky, thanking gods silently. i only ever wanted him, he thinks. lewis, who is kind and thoughtful and fair. lewis, who will fill his mornings with cuddles and sweet kisses. lewis, who build them a cozy house where every guest is welcome. lewis, who will greet him with warms arms upon his arrival. lewis, who will have him swollen with pups made of big, pure love. lewis hamilton, pack alpha, his alpha.

a/n: i love this and i also hate this, i don't know :( let me know your thoughts!! - nini

my other formula 1 works are here

my seventeen works are here

#gewis #4463 #lewis hamilton #george russell #lewis/george #lewis hamilton/george russel #mercedes #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fic

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acciofictionalmen · 1 month ago

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cold

(dean winchester x female!reader)

summary: dean sacrificed everything for the happiness of his younger brother, including you.

warnings: ANGST. alcohol consumption

Hadn't he given enough?

Dean watched you and Sam closely: the way his brother's hand clasped your thigh beneath the table, where they thought he couldn't see. He spited the way you laughed at everything Sam said, wishing he could bottle your laughter and keep it close so only he could hear it- a selfish thought, but the truth. He missed the days when his jokes were the ones that made you laugh the most.

Dean would do anything for Sam, it was true. But this? He shook his head, downing the shot in one. It burned his throat, sparking tears in his eyes. Perhaps the latter part hadn't been from the drink.

He had watched as Sam left for college, leaving Dean behind with John. Sam's absence had condemned him to an eternity of hunting, because Dean couldn't just leave their father alone. He had taken care of Sam when no one else had, his brother, his best friend. Even now, the intensity of their bond crackled as Dean couldn't look at his brother with anything but affection. Only now, that affection was bullied by hot embers of jealousy, igniting anger deep within him. Dean hated himself for it, but sometimes, when he lay down in bed, alone, and could hear the soft giggles leaking from the slight crack in Sam's door, he wondered when he would have sacrificed enough for the semblance of family. For his brother.

Sacrificing you had almost destroyed him.

Dean couldn't stand himself. He revulsed at the way he couldn't sleep- tossing and turning each night, waking up drenched in not only sweat; sweat that reeked with regret and loathing. It was pathetic, he told himself, that he couldn't sleep anymore without you by his side. Some serious chick-flick material, he had muttered. It didn't make a difference.

He had lost the one thing that had made him happier than ever. That had made his job worth it, given him purpose, given him something to look forward to. He had lost that now. Each day blurred together as he struggled to find anything to feel excited for, to care about; it was all the same to him.

Sam was the only person he would ever consider losing you for. And he had.

Dean was reminded of your loss every day. Every day when he passed you by, and didn't lean in to press a kiss to your flushed cheek. When he handed you the salt at the table without that familiar, lingering touch. When he sat next to you and couldn't pull you into his side, breathing in the sweet, seductive scent of your shampoo. When you came into his room not to see him, but to collect Dad's journal for Sam. Arguably the worst, though, was how much Sam had taken your eyes for granted.

The pain throbbed as he recalled the way that now, you refused to meet his eyes. They were always downcast when he chanced a look at you, a simple rejection, painful dismissal. God how he missed your eyes. When they crinkled at his antics- shared moments of laughter after you reprimanded him for messing around with a stake. When they wept and Dean would brush away your tears, pressing you into him as he stroked your hair soothingly. When those long lashes would flutter, his heart alongside them. When every moment of staring into your eyes was underlined by the dread of having to look away.

Had he not given enough?

Even hunting couldn't satiate the loss of you, the hole you'd left in his heart worse because you were in fact there in every respect, just not for him. He slaughtered demon after demon after demon, and perhaps it would offer temporary respite. But once the adrenaline died down, he would crash back to reality. Blood-coated, dirty, cold. He'd turn around to find you anxiously checking Sam for injuries, your soft hands cupping his face the way you once had Dean's.

It hurt. It hurt. It consumed him, the longing for you. The combination of yearning for you fused with his self hatred, because how could he have allowed you to get away? Sam had always been the smarter one, that much had always been clear. Sam had gotten to experience a semblance of a normal childhood, unlike Dean, whose had consisted of fear and death. Sam had gotten to go to college, Sam had gotten to establish a relationship with a beautiful woman, Sam had gotten to have a healthy circle of friends. Things had looked up for Dean when you entered his life- you'd been an anchor to his heart, one that had made him feel secure enough to begin to open up. Suddenly it was okay that Sam had gotten to go to college and had a purpose, because you were Dean's. Dean would have died for you. Dean would die for you.

You hadn't wanted to leave, that was true. The memory lapped at his soul, he would never ever forget it. It was ingrained into his lungs, clamped tightly over every strained breath he took, that look in your eyes. The last time they had met his. That pain. The pain that would forever haunt him, the confusion, as you couldn't understand why Dean would suddenly let you go when only the night before he had held you as though he was scared to. In an attempt to secure his little brother's happiness, he had condemned his own.

For how long Sam had loved you, Dean had never been able tell. But it was clear, clear to everyone but you. His brother, who he had always protected. Sammy, the little boy who had been his responsibility growing up. He fondly recalled the time Sam had taken the last portion of lucky charms when they were both little boys, but had given Dean the surprise gift inside. Now Dean had pushed you away, so that his brother could be with the woman he loved. The surprise gift was supposed to be Sam's joy, Sam's happiness. But Dean could only look upon that joy sourly, because it had once been his.

It was the unfailing effect you had to make everything else seem insignificant- something that was welcome in such a consuming job. But above all, it was the way you saw Dean. Saw him for who he really was, saw what he had sacrificed, saw how hard he loved, how hard he grieved. You had seen him, seen him until he had tugged the blindfold woven with his self-deprecation back down over your eyes, and forced you to look away. Until your view of him returned to the one that everyone else saw: womaniser, rude, uncaring, brutal, and, worst of all, unloving.

"Dean?" Sam called his name gently, snapping him back into the present.

"Yeah." Dean responded gruffly, shifting on the stool as he stared at the pretty bartender, seeing nothing.

Sam frowned, "(Y/n) and I are going to head back to the hotel room."

Dean chuckled, the sound so forced it came out choked, "Yeah, see you. I'll stay here, see if any pretty ladies are served up along with the drinks." He winked in the bartender's direction.

The words stuck to his throat like tar, void of emotion as he flashed one of his familiar smirks.

Sam nodded, his hand settling around your waist as you left.

Dean couldn't help it. He stared at you as you walked away, emotion overwhelming him as he thumbed his refilled shot glass, unsure how many he had even downed. It was in that moment that you turned back to face him, eyes wide with concern when they collided with his.

Dean froze, the rim of the shot glass digging into his fingers as he was rendered unable to move, to breathe, to blink.

It had been so long since you had been able to look at him, and he savoured the moment. A thousand memories flashed before his eyes, and he wondered whether they appeared before yours, too. The eye contact sent something surging through him, he had to get up, had to say something, his legs itched to stand, to chase after you, he had to-

Harshly, Dean's eyes were torn away from yours as you turned to step out the door Sam held open for you. He flinched, the lack of eye contact slamming him back to reality as that one piece of hope deep within him thrashed for survival, then died.

Dean watched as you turned the corner and vanished. Tears danced upon his dark lashes as he downed the shot, that welcome burning sensation warming his stomach. It would take a hundred more to warm him the way your body had.

So he continued into the night, chasing any semblance of that feeling when you had once been close to him.

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x y/n #supernatural one shot #supernatural sam winchester #supernatural #supernatural series #supernatural dean #supernatural dean winchester #spn #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x y/n #sam winchester x you #winchester brothers

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christinebloodwrittings · 1 month ago

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To hunt or be hunted

Alastor x reader x Lucifer

Chapter 4: Warnings: Sexual tension.

(Image taken from Pinterest.)

One year left. You reminded yourself while watching the black snake tattoo that slowly made its way up your arm, soon it would reach your heart and all would be over.

“Ten years, you work for me at my Hotel, and if I can’t manage to convince you to find something good to do with yourself, I’ll set you free” Charlie’s voice resonated in your head, it made no sense, but the true meaning of the deal was that if she could manage to help you find a reason to continue living, you would have a permanent home at the hotel.

If she couldn’t, you would have your soul back, and then the snake takes care of ending your suffering.

A swarming of feelings and thoughts came from thinking about the countdown, “It’s probably the best” who was going to miss you anyways? No one did back at the living world, your daughter died postpartum, your husband died because of his sins, most of your friends at the time left overseas looking for a better life, and there was no family left to mourn you.

Still isn’t.

Your father and your husband were most likely around in hell somewhere, in a hundred years you haven’t bothered to check, probably ended up repeating the same pattern: Gambling, debts, death.

May was a dreadful month, Mother’s day, your daughter’s birth and death anniversary, and just by the end of it, your birthday. Turning 40 is bad, but imagine turning 140 years old, that is worse.

You died at 35 years old in the 1920’s, since that to now it’s been 104 years, plus your age at the time 139, now turning 140. “It’s a blessing that I stayed looking the age I died in, otherwise I would be looking worse” you outlined your hips with your hands while straightening the leather straps around your waist.

‘Y/n, can you come to the parlor please?’ you heard Charlie speak through. You immediately knew what was going to happen, given that it was nine am sharp, and you weren’t summoned to make breakfast.

She either told them, or Angel was going to be fried alive.

Just as you guessed, there was Charlie in front of the fireplace, as the rest, except Alastor, looked rather hurt and shocked, especially Lucifer and Vaggie.

“You called?” The smoke cleared, making yourself appear sitting on the couch next to Charlie. A gasp found its way out of Vaggie’s throat before anyone could say anything. The angel collected her thoughts and then she was able to speak.

“Charlie, what the fuck is the AXE-MAN DOING IN THE HOTEL!” Vaggie didn’t doubt a second to stand before her with the spear pointing at you, “She’s the chef of the Hotel” Charlie smiled weakly, trying her best to stay collected. “Since when?” the feline bartender asked, not minding your presence very much.

“Before it started actually, eight years ago?” she turned to you for confirmation, which you nodded affirmatively. “And you hid this, because…?” Angel’s turn to ask. Charlie was in shambles trying to come up with an answer that wouldn’t raise more questions, but failed, so you interceded.

“We made a deal; we don’t need to disclose the details, but it made her feel guilty” she shot you an unamused look before turning to her partner, her hand softly tracing the outline of her cheek.

“How come you got angry at me for lying to you, but you keep this kind of secret, honey?” seeing Charlie look as trapped as you were amused you, however for the sake of ending the fallen angel’s ranting, you intervened.

“Hey now, whether she wanted to tell you or not it’s her business, but you hid the fact that you are an angel, worse than that a murderer, and no better than us sinners, so don’t act all hurt because now you two are even” your eyes lit up as the staring began to feel more lie a threat towards the fallen angel.

“You knew?” she diminished the distance between her spear and your neck, not earning a single flinch on your part, “One piece of advice, your golden blood leaves a trail, and the stench is very specific, those like me that are used to blood can tell the difference” Alastor nodded in agreement.

“Why didn’t you tell me” Charlie sounded suspicions not hurt, to no one’s surprise really, “Last thing I knew I was a chef, not the gossip press” you took a look back to Vaggie, using a finger to lower the spear with zero effort, “Besides, wasn’t my secret to disclose” you winked an eye.

“Wait hold on, what makes the Axe-man want to work in a place for redemption?” Lucifer questioned, now more relaxed, he was all and hellfire before thinking you had taken her daughter’s soul. “She’s kind of…” her eyes were looking to you for help, “I made her a promise, we fought and came to an agreement” you aided a response, one that was good enough for her not to worry.

Everyone turned to you, “I’m not ashamed of it, I got my ass kicked by miss sunshine here, lost my soul in the process and now I’m the chef” all except you and Charlie laughed, tearing up a little too.

“Charlie doesn’t own a soul, don’t be stupid, she’s lying right, Charlie?” Lucifer watched his darling, perfect daughter image crumble when all she could respond to was a quiet shameful nod.

“YOU own a soul?” The shock was understandable. Possessing souls was not unusual, even lower-ranking demons could do it. The fact was that it was the good-natured princess who wanted to redeem demons. It was too much for Lucifer, he flopped beside you, brushing his hair back.

“Before you all judge her, I was stupid enough to challenge her when Lilith had just left, she was in a very dark place, my timing was terrible” you laughed, making your injuries pang on every fiber and string of muscle in response.

“How dark?” the king whispered your way, “I was her punching bag, even after our fight” he muttered a ‘shit’ both impressed and somewhat feeling guilty. They both had similar eyes when it came to pain.

“The infamous Axe-Man of New Orleans, I presume” Alastor came forward, grabbing your hand and placing a chaste kiss on your knuckles. “Oh, how unfortunate” he knew your name from above, so he lived around or in New Orleans.

“Why would you say that? You made an entire state fear your ax, for years there was nothing but jazz playing in the streets at night, and what’s best, you were never identified nor caught” he pulled you from your seat, hitting his chest, his staff disappearing to leave his hand free to sneak behind your back, keeping you in place.

“Well, I’m not that person anymore” Alastor drank in your scent, the sweetness burning its way down his lungs.

Every fiber, every hair on his body, told Alastor to run. Animal instinct, a deer in the jaws of a lion, a prey in front of a carnivore. Maybe because of the post-battle adrenaline he didn't feel the same instinct when you helped him. What will you feel with him so close? hunger? anger? lust? Curiosity ate him alive, he wanted to know what was telling you your instinct, how would it feel to be eaten by you.

“What made you bury the hatchet?” Angel’s pun made you smile, “Alastor” still in his arm, you felt him shift. “When you made yourself…present in hell, young, power hungry and all that, something inside me just told me that it was time to stop” ‘or else it was going to end with blood’ you thought.

“Also before all this, I had heard about the cannibalistic murderer” you were aware of his aberration to touch, but given his closeness, you had no choice. Both of your hands settled on his hips, mostly for leverage, but also to see how he would react to you.

“What an honor, I must say your performance inspired mine” his smile twitched, especially after feeling your warmth though his coat.

“You’re insulting me, Radio demon” his chest tightened, a growl emanated from your throat, subtle but it made Alastor’s mind cloud a little. Focusing on your dilated pupils at all times to read any sign of warning, he saw nothing, no emotion whatsoever.

“Your act was sloppy, careless. The victim that became the executioner of his aggressors, tell me, do you feel better?” He didn’t understand what you were implying, once he tasted human meat he just couldn’t stop. He never asked himself if he was content, or if the blood made him feel better.

“You only targeted Italian mobsters; I’d say that’s rather sloppy” that’s all he could think, “And yet I didn’t allow myself to be shot in the head” there was a weird aura surrounding you and him.

The situation was charming, two assassins of excellence, powerful Overlords with influence and stigma. Despite their sins, they were beautiful beings full of life and grace. Lucifer couldn't help but feel a tingle on his back watching such a scene. It seemed like they were going to devour each other, and relish in it.

“Disappointed?” your fangs shined with the firelight. “A little” he answered, expecting you to be more sanguinary, just as you used to be. “I’ll make Jambalaya today if that makes you feel better” but no matter what he did, while frozen in place, like a deer in headlights, you couldn’t make him feel less excited, less alive.

“Thank you chérie, what about my work as of late?” reluctantly he let go of you, taking both of your hands in his. Yearning to make you either praise him, or crush his head under your heel.

“Very entertaining” he has a very slim waist, and yet it felt strong under your fingertips, warm. He has his hands and forearm blackened, just as his legs must be. You wondered if the rest of his skin must be of that beautiful cream color. Of course, his chest wasn’t bald, like you he has a thin layer of short and soft fur.

“Ugh, get a room” Lucifer broke the moment, making Alastor’s eyes turn into the demonic radio stare you knew so well, “Funny I didn’t think such a tiny person could have a massive mouth” he then stepped away. Was it normal to be cold? Your body missed his closeness.

“Here he goes again, how about you help me with breakfast munch-king?” Lucifer felt his jacket being pulled off the couch, dragged by it towards the door that led to the hallway to the kitchen, “Did you seriously called me that?” he allowed that, with a smirk he gave Alastor the finger.

“Want me to sing the song too?” you warned with a smile, “You wouldn’t dare-” your arm hugged his small frame into your side as you started to mock him, “Ding Dong the witch is dead!” you started, dragging the king down the hallway, “STOOP!” That was the last thing the crew heard before the door closed behind you.

In the kitchen, Lucifer wandered around, staying a few steps from you. Not because he needed it, but to not seem invasive.

“So, you challenged my daughter?” you hummed a yes, “She took the split a bit bad, huh?” in the corner of your eye you could see him sit on the kitchen island, just a few inches from where his daughter had hurt her hand.

“I’ll send you my medical bill” your sarcasm made him laugh a little, “You don’t look like you belong in the sin of pride, yours must be wrath, isn’t it?” Do demons look according to their sins? You didn’t know, “You tell me, I have yet to allow myself to ponder over what I have done”.

“I think I didn’t introduce myself, please forgive me” you left the kettle under the fire and walked over to him, “My name is Y/n” you extended your hand to him, he took it with a smile. “Lucifer Morningstar, you may call me however it pleases you” his touch was gentle, but firm, you could feel his pulse though his gloves.

A thought tickled your brain, “In that case, would you like sugar or honey in your tea, Samael?” his eyes shifted, his horns grew. Like wood, like wood, his gaze was the same as his daughter's, and yet they harbored both hatred and sadness, both as deep as an abyss.

It shot an intense wave of electricity up your spine. You stood in front of the biggest predator in all of hell.

“Sorry, sorry, I just wanted to get a reaction out of you” he hadn’t let go of your hand, nor squeezed it, “I apologize, my king” your free hand caressed over the fabric.

He pouted, still not letting go of your hand. “If you let me touch your ears, I may forgive you” he turned back, you caught the sight of his tail slithering inside his pants.

“Sure, but please don’t get too close to the inside, my instincts are very strong and unforgiving, I would hate to have your blood on my uniform” You couldn't even finish speaking when he pulled your hand, immediately starting to touch the fur surrounding your ears. His knees settled on either side of your hips, taking advantage of the extra height the furniture provided.

“So soft, it’s so weird, a lion sinner” he was pensative, “Usually it’s a loyal, brave and true creature, heaven material” the sensation made your heart flutter. You felt like a dog, which made your ego bruise up a little, but at the same time his hands were warm and gentle. So gentle, you noticed he took your advice and avoided the areas you mentioned.

“Anyways, you’re forgiven, again, you’re very soft” Another cold feeling due to loss of touch, how annoying. You swallowed a lump of saliva before you could speak again, “Thank you, I take care of myself”.

“Oh and the note, thanks, it hasn’t been easy” he didn’t eased the pressure on your hips, “Marriage ain’t easy, and being apart after thousand years of history must be rough” it’s not like the closeness bothered you, but it grant him a cocky smile and a sense of power over you, that feeling brought back the feeling of looking like a dog.

“I just…I wish I could make it up to Charlie” his hands grabbed one of yours, fidgeting with your fingers and the palm. “If it makes you feel more at ease, the sole fact that you’re here partially does more than enough” the light in his eyes lasted a few seconds, it was a lovely sight.

“Partially?” worried? Understatement. “If I say it you can’t hit me or anything” he made an X over his heart, then his hand went back to yours.

“She lied to you and you just went along with it? Parenting 101, mutual respect: she doesn’t lie and you don’t either” he applied a light pressure to your hand pads, making your claws come out and retract, that seemed to amuse him.

“So I have to…ground her?” his golden gaze went up to your eyes, but you were far too concentrated in his movements. “Well not now, but maybe speaking with her about it might be the right course of action”.

Melancholy, he had a feeling so he went for it.

“You were a parent?” he was right, your pained expression lasted a second but it was enough for him to feel a pang on his side. “For a day and a few hours” your eyes darkened, as if they were lost in thought. The warmth of his hand on your cheek and a soft ‘My condolences’ brought you back.

“I just know appropriate parenting by taking my parent’s example and do the opposite” you masked your pain with a smile and a smart remark, just like him, “Yeah, me too” his response made you scoff, “Where would you’ve sent you daughter for this kind of idea, Heaven?”.

Laughter filled the room. He wouldn’t do such a thing, nothing Charlie did would make Lucifer banish her anywhere, much less punish her like that for trying to help others.

“I had a different perspective of you” your tail stiffened around your leg, “What, a soulless maniac killer and nothing more?” you used to be like that. He laughed, “I mean, soulless indeed” you ruffled the hair that fell on his forehead, “But I’m glad I was wrong, thank you for taking care of my daughter, I see she trusts you a lot” you wouldn’t call it trust, nor she relied on you much.

Now that you think about it, taking care of her was instinctive, “I just grew used to her this past eight years” he smiled, “Thank you” he sensed the shift in you, the situation tensed up very quickly.

“Don’t, and just to be fully open about it, you were the target” you would never show your fangs to anyone, looking like an animal doesn’t give you the right to act like one.

“Wait really?” his lips twitched, almost smiling. “I thought if I bruised up your daughter you would appear, but you saw how that ended” he hummed, rather amused. Your intimidation did nothing to him.

“Are you strong enough?” he questioned it? It felt insulting, “Are you offering?” you looked at him up and down, not a trace of malice. “I mean if that’s what you wanted” he was willing to fight with you? “Nah I knew I wasn’t strong enough, it’s no different now. I just wanted to pass into history as a crazy bitch who died at the hands of the devil”.

‘I’m oversharing, shut up’ you took a deep breath, adjusting yourself in between his legs, “I see” his breath hit your skin, “Now I just do this, and I’m fine with it”.

“I’d say, you’re terrific in the kitchen, no matter if it’s a served cold or hot type of dish, you always make it taste like home” your ears flattened against your head. “Thank you” he then looked up from your hand once again, a tender pink hue adorned your cheeks.

“Anyways” you needed to get rid of his touch, it was just enough to take a few steps backwards, away from the overwhelming warmth for the cold to embrace you again. “I have to make breakfast, and I just pulled you away because your constant fights with Alastor has gotten old very quick” you walked away, taking your white apron off the hanger, then tied a lovely bow on your back with the laces.

“Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah, see you later then” was that disappointment you heard? You didn’t know, and couldn’t care as long as your body remained trying to shake off the excessive heat, and the phantom of his touch still lingering. “Fuck” thinking about it made you cut your finger with a knife.

...

Hazbin Taglist: @mysterypotatoink @sibsteria @cherry-cola-100 @readergirlstuff @phoenixica24 @martinys-world @alientee @jellyroom2 @jewelsrules @zealousllamawolf @kittycat246 @littlebluefishtail

#hazbin hotel #alastor #alastor x reader #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor the radio demon #radio demon #hazbin lucifer #hazbin hotel fanart #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel lucifer

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thewinchestah · 10 months ago

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Strawberry Fields (sonhei com campos de morango) - Alastor X Reader fic

Summary: On a dreadful night, Alastor goes to collect one of his contracts. Something goes terribly wrong. He finds you.

Warnings: fem!reader, Human!reader, smut, 18+, period sex, overstimulation, light cannibalism, blood, A LOT OF BLOOD, general creeppiness, Alastor is in hell for a reason, oral sex, alastor kind of hunts reader down, possessive!Alastor

A/N: Soooo!! This was a long time coming but here it is. This idea has been on my mind for a long time now and I wanted to test the waters before i commit to a long fic. I hope you guys like it, i'm kinda on the fence about it. I'm working on the requests and they should be out soon I PROMISEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE. Also I got a little carried away, i'm sorry. Hope you guys enjoy it. It's always a pleasure to write for you. The visuals and the title for this fic are heavily inspire by this music video. Not the lyrics tho, i always felt like the singer did a poor job with this concept and i wanted to do it justice.

Taglist: @markster666@jyoongim@stygianoir @pepperycookie@fraspent @aether-th3-enby @lady-valtieri @karolinda007-blog @jesi-pinkman@polytheatrix If the tags aren’t working or you wanna be tagged, let me know.

You curse when another sharp stone cuts your feet.

You regret it a second later when you hear the ominous sounds that reverberate through the trees. They are closing in on you.

You don’t know how you got here, you just know now you are running for your life inside these woods now. The only guiding light, a full moon that looks weirdly otherworldly.

Adrenaline burns inside your bloodstream, the forest seems devoid of any living thing. It’s only you and whoever is chasing you. You wish you could hear gunshots, you wish you could hear screams. Anything besides the occasional twig snap or wind caressing the pine trees’ leaves. The eerie silence is deafening, and worse: the eerie silence makes you even more aware of your situation.

It’s incredible how everything gets clearer when you’re about to die.

Maybe you shouldn’t have traveled alone, maybe you shouldn’t have decided to go somewhere where the closest thing to civilization is the village’s old-yet-charming dinner.

You just wanted a little bit of quiet, a place that made introspection inviting. Next time you should go for a beach vacation.

Next time? why does next time sound so… far away? Somehow your feet carry you away from the forest’s well marked path and deeper into the thick vegetation, hiding behind a large tree. You gained a few minutes on them by taking a detour.

Breathe. Remember to breathe.

Right, your mind remembers. You’re being hunted down like prey in the creepy horror film woods, time to focus on surviving again. You can overthink later.

You assess your options: you can keep going into the woods, a deadly game of hide and seek. Zig-zag through the trees, keep them guessing. There’s a good chance you will find wildlife as you go deeper. This could be a problem, it’s too dark to make anything out, an encounter could cause enough of a distraction, you could take advantage of that. Or you could end up mauled. Plus, you are absolutely positive there are bear traps somewhere. If you're gonna die, make your death less dumb. Quite an embarrassing topic of discussion in the afterlife, saying that you died like horror film pretty girls making dumb decisions that you clearly would never make in a situation like that. You just know they are incredible hunters, you need to take them out of their element, expose them.

So yeah, going deeper isn't an option.

Something catches your eye, there’s a big opening in the thick vegetation, there’s a clearing ahead and… sparks? You definitely see a light. You were told by the locals how the population is scattered across acres and acres of practically untouched wilderness, there’s also the park’s rangers stationed on specific places that grant them a visual advantage in case of emergencies. A big clearing is perfect for that. Maybe, just maybe there’s hope.

Of course bolting there will make you terribly exposed, they will know your position all the time, and they can still hunt you hidden by the edge of the trail. Besides there’s no guarantee of what awaits you when you reach the promised land, they could have a partner waiting, there could be nothing at all there. Taking this risk for nothing sounds worse than being lured into a trap. You just have this gut feeling that’s where you should go. Your brain starts to pick the plan apart, this doesn’t sound good. Hesitation can be fatal. But you are all adrenaline and primal flight intistic -

The decision was made for you, you start running again. Taking advantage of the final stretch of cover you still have until you hit the trail again, you take several deep breaths. Oxygen needs to keep coming, so you can make decisions, so your limbs can respond quickly. Your peripheral catches something that’s also running. It’s a stag.

He’s also prey. He’s an omen. He’s your cue.

You leap across some fallen branches and your scratched feet land on the main trial. As soon as you complete your first step you hear movement and hurried voices. They are onto you. “What do we say to the good of death? Not today” you give yourself a pep-talk as you keep running. Maybe thinking this is all fiction will help you survive this, detach yourself from the situation, don’t think about the consequences, just act.

And like that, you don’t stop running. You sing your abcs to focus and stop spiraling. Evolution is truly amazing, the cuts you suffered don’t hurt anymore, precious shooting adrenaline, adrenaline that makes you tunnel vision towards your objective. By now you know where to step, when to dodge, when to slow down and when to go faster. Millennia of sheer force of survival catching up to you.

breathe, remember to breathe.

You inhale a good chunk of oxygen and look ahead. There’s a man on the edge of the tree line and a few meters left. Your mind wants to sing in victory, but you refrain from that, you know better than that it only ends when it’s over-

You’re positively sprinting towards the man right now, like he is your assured salvation. Something inside you screams louder and louder guiding you to him and you follow the sound.

You hear gunshots.

So noooooow they bring out the guns? That’s low.

But that’s a good thing right? If they are shooting they are getting out of time. A single gunshot can take you down and they can smoothly and swiftly carry you away, like it’s a normal hunt. No one will question shooting something they didn’t see getting shot so deep into these woods. But shooting a girl in front of a witness? that’s for amateurs right? So, the man is not a partner you decide.

remember to breathe, you are not breathing.

You are so close now, you see an outstretched hand coming your way only a few more steps

breathe.

You don’t, instead you leap towards your loosely established finish line and take the hand an-

Dirt greets your face as you fall face first into the trail, and you crawl like a zombie that just rose from its grave. You have a collection of new cuts and scrapes now, it hurts and you can’t bite your lip to suppress the pain. Still, you intertwine your fingers with his, your other arm aggressively seeking for leverage, clinging to your flesh lifeline. You blur out a bunch of incoherent things as he effortlessly lifts you up in one swift motion.

“Get behind me, my dear.” he asks. He has a weird voice almost like it leaves something in the air that caresses your skin, an inviting voice nonetheless. You hide yourself inside the crook of his arm, giving you the ability to witness just a little bit of the action there’s about to happen. You never let go of his hand. Your prince charming feels awfully cold.

Alastor waits, rather impatiently, for his clients to arrive. Making a deal with a human is his ticket topside and Hell is still terribly boring, even with the hotel. The Radio Demon was no stranger to contracts with humans, they were a win-win situation. Those who seek him always have a taste for the wicked and deranged, so it’s easy to figure out what they want and twist it for his own benefit. When they inevitably die, be it death by old age or death by occupational hazard, Alastor gets useful men from the moment they manifest in Hell. They always know exactly where they are and why, they are not confused sinners, petty crime or moral crime sinners. They are, most times, skilled killers who take no trouble doing Alastor’s bidding. An accomplished killer in life makes an even better prolific hellish soldier, someone who will continue indulging in their desires without the constraints of society, but eternally tied down by Alastor’s constraints. With the right incentive, they can rise in the ranks and become treasured resources for the overlord. Plus, the camaraderie isn’t all bad. Takes one to know one, they say.

However, humans these days are getting careless, sloppy. This entire display is proof of that, they should be over to kill and cover their tracks alone. The basics, for hell’s sake.

Alastor only takes care of the details. Tampering with some evidence here, getting a victim on the right place at the right time there. The occasional final encouragement to give into the darkness and finally kill, some advice. A self respecting killer should be able to kill and get away with it without the demon’s aid. He’s there for consulting and making sure there are no loose ends.

But never this. Having to intervene in the middle of a kill because his client made a very very big mess that screams “you’re getting caught!” is below him. Amateurs are not worth Alastor's time.

The two men approach the tree line, clearly worked up from the hunt and shocked to see him there. If Alastor is withholding a victim, something went very, very wrong.

“Good night my good fellows!” the greeting leaves his lips in an overly-chirpy tone. Is that static in his voice? Radio static? Is that what’s leaving goosebumps on your skin? The stress and the adrenaline are making you imagine things. You took the “pretend this is all a fantasy and you the main character” too seriously. Because now you are hiding behind Darth Vader’s skirts. That’s impossible, right? right?

“Great.” you can see the sarcasm dripping from one of your aggressors. “You’re here to watch?” the question asked all passive aggressive with an edgy tone. That’s definitely a teenager. What the fuck? you were being chased by a high school kid? This is ridiculous, utterly ridiculous, how can a teen pull this off? And you almost died? What? Your mind starts spirling.

Alastor ignores the son, is the father he cares about. They’ve known each other for years now, and he’s underperforming to say the least. He waits for the father to address him, it’s his mess after all. The older man gives his son a stern look and finally breaks the silence.

“Goodnight. We didn’t expect to see you here tonight, to be honest.’”

The second voice is much older. That doesn’t quiet your thoughts at all. Is this a cult initiation thing? Hunting girls down like they are prey? WHY DID YOU TRAVEL TO THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE IN THE FIRST PLACE??? OF COURSE THERE WOULD BE CULTS HERE, DUUUUH. IF I WAS IN A CULT THIS WOULD BE THE PERFECT PLACE TO HIDE. There are so many voices screaming inside your head now, you are shivering. With anger, anticipation, fear. Your inner monologue overrides your brain and you are not sure you can cope with everything that’s going on. The voices, all the voices, sound wrong. They land weirdly inside your ear and you need to think hard to understand the words, you know how crucial every piece of information is. They could make all the difference when you talk to the police. They could help a conviction when you are on the stand, giving your official statement. You are surviving this. You are going to watch these fuckers get life in prision or worse. You are surviving this right? There’s so much you haven’t thought through. Whose hand are you holding again?

“Oh please. Don’t act all coy now, it doesn’t suit you old friend” Alastor is starting to cross the line from nuisance to anger. He twirls his microphone in annoyance, and makes sure to sink it deep into the moist ground. “Let me remind you about the terms of our agreement. For each 2 kills you make, one soul is mine to take. Or am I wrong?”

“No. You aren’t”. The father answers through gritted teeth. “But I never thought you would want to collec-” Alastor tilts his head, his grin widens and he snaps “Never thought what? That I would claim what I am owed at my leisure? That I would stop waiting patiently for you, acting at your whim? You earned the privilege of killing unbothered by my vigilance. Because you always delivered your side of the bargain with excellence. I can revoke said privilege whenever I want. Especially after this pitiful performance.” The seasoned killer seems to slightly cower at Alastor’s words. Good. He always regarded the demon without fear or trepidation. His work was meticulous, spotless, basically perfect. And that gave him the justifiable confidence for going toe to toe with the Radio Demon during conversations, a bargaining chip during dealings of his contracts. Few could say that.

You feel nauseous. Reality is crashing down at you hard and fast. How many people have these people killed? They are trading lives like it is the stock market, and yet you can’t let go of your prince charming’s hand. There’s no rational thought to justify it, actually rational thought is also being slaughtered like a sacrificial lamb tonight, because despite the gigantic red flags you are not letting go of this man’s hands. Everything about him screams danger, everything about him screams your safety. He’s the type of paradoxical that messes with your primal senses, that makes a moth go to the lights that will kill it.

From the crook of his arm you finally gather the courage to open your eyes. You try to look up to your prince charming, but his face is concealed by the shadows of the night. Actually, everything of importance seems to be conveniently hidden from you. Your aggressor’s faces look distorted, recognizable traits melting together like watercolor painted by 100 shades of darkness, voices and words fuse together creating only cacophony. You hear things, you see things, but you can’t discern them. The three men keep going back and forth, but their conversation seems to dissipate into the air. Everything about this feels like a dream.

Of course you can’t register anything of importance. Alastor makes sure of it. You are a potential victim after all. A liability, capable of making a positive identification. It’s wishful thinking that someone would take your account of what’s happening on this dreadful night seriously.

Alastor has no shame in using the prejudices of your world to his advantage. If you were to tell, everyone would make the assumption that you are “just another hysterical woman, thinking too much about folktales”. You had too much to drink, partied too hard. Hallucinogens are a common party drug and this is the result of a bad trip. At worst, “someone tried to spike your drink, but nothing happened. You should be thankful, not getting in the way of important police work”. Alastor also knows that injustice is no real crime, and yet he decided to spare you. It doesn’t feel fair for you to perish in such crude ways, a practice run for a post pubescent, obnoxious serial killer in training. A precious thing like you should be honored, savored. In the odd chance that your voice was heard, the Radio Demon guarantees that no reliable information will come out of your mouth. His clients might be lacking, but in the dealmaking business your words are your worth and Alastor has a silvertongue. Surely that pretty mouth of yours won’t be a problem.

“I’m afraid I have to insist, my good friend. The pair of you caused enough damage already with these sloppy, impetuous spree killings. Your law enforcement is already on your scent, tracking the pattern and by the looks of it tonight’s mess will send quite a message. A message that I will have to make sure is delivered faultlessly. I will uphold my hand of the bargain, you will uphold yours. The girl will be spared. There’s plenty of prey out there, plus her death would only act as an aggravation, she’s not your type, and trust me, they will know you made a mistake, you will be exposed.” The Radio Demon’s patience is wearing thin. He shouldn’t have to justify his actions to humans. There’s no compromise to be found here, they went to him and the deal is always on his terms. You squeeze his hand really tight during the discussion of your scheduled demise, like a reminder that you are still there. Still afraid.

How cute. Alastor thinks. Your adrenaline is starting to wear off, dissipating into the cool forest breeze and opening space for a strong sense of false security, equally as inebriating. The smell of your sweet fear laced blood is unmistakable, assaulting your savior’s nostrils. Your knees buckle, and you struggle to keep yourself on your feet, clinging to prince charming’s hand for dear life. “Breathe darling, you are forgetting to breathe” He turns quickly towards you, his voice impossibly soft, shooting. You try to look up at charming’s face again, the only new discovery made is that he's awfully tall, and his face is still hidden by opaque darkness. You work really hard on breathing normally again, but you want to keep looking. Their faces are a monstrous distortion, vacant eyes that seem to cry blood. Your entire body tingles, you feel weird goosebumps. It takes all of your willpower to keep standing. You won’t lay yourself at their feat, defeated, like the corpse they would drag from these woods. But you just can’t keep looking, so you shut your eyes and grip the hand that has become your lifeline even tighter.

“You won’t even truly use the bitch, she’s no use for you” The entitled brat opens his mouth again. That’s the trigger.

The Radio Demon grows as tall as the native pine trees, his antlers furiously expanding and casting a shadow so dark over the two serial killers that the moon is completely obstructed. The only source of light in the forest now is the burning red dials of his eyes. The father sees the burning inferno of Alastor’s eyes and for the first time he is speechless. Maybe the realization of where destiny is sending him finally happens. The son sees raw, untamed power for the first time in his life and cowers like a scared puppy. Pathetic.

“Now let’s get something clear here. I’m only tolerating your insolence because of my decade long relationship with your father.” You shut your eyes harder, your eyelids a shield from whatever is about to happen. Foreboding making the forest air too thick for you to breathe. You finally break down and start crying, too fucking much. Alastor’s face meets the son on eye level. His teeth are bared, static picks up around the group to the point both men are struggling to breathe. A clawed hand traps the father’s face, a trail of blood dripping from the older serial killer’s cheek.“He’s as close to a professional as our kind gets. Shame the same thing can’t be said about you. This juvenile outburst does not make you more feared nor does it assert your dominance. It displays how weak you are, inept to succeed on this because you can’t keep your entitled demeanor in check. You are not owed anything in this lifestyle, if you want something you need to prove you’re worthy of it by taking it yourself. Whining like a petulant child won’t get you anywhere” You feel dizzy, the earth beneath your feet quakes, whoever, whatever is holding your hand is sheeting with rage so consuming the ground shakes with the intensity of their emotions.

Alastor’s attention is now focused on the father, the red inferno from his eyes making the man feel genuine fear for the first time in his long, violence-filled life. “Teach your spawn some manners and proper work, otherwise get him out of my sight. This was a courtesy. Fulfillment failings lead to contract termination, and contract termination means a lot of details appearing. You do not wish to make an enemy of me” Alastor delivers his last threat with a snarl. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up at the intensity of his words, you feel a powerful rush of wind, leaves ruffling, hurried steps and suddenly the world is at a standstill. The forest seems devoid of life excluding you, your mysterious prince charming and your two aggressors. All of your senses are assaulted with an overwhelming feeling of wrongness… darkness. Darkness that feels like the most luxurious silky dress on your skin, the most intense look of a passionate lover. It feels dangerously alluring and your will power is being gladly tempted by it.

You feel like you’ve been holding your breath for hours, the rollercoaster of adrenaline inducing hyperventilation and conscious calming breaths making your brain enter some sort of high. Is that what people felt after a battle in ancient times? Is that what It means to stare death in the face and come out victorious? You don’t understand what you are feeling, but when oxygen finally feels normal again, tall, dark and handsome is escorting you deeper into the woods and you don’t even care.

You’ve just slayed the dragon with your bare hands. You don’t care. You just want to bask on the feeling. To fucking feel. To remind yourself that you are still alive.

Alastor is drunk on something that he rarely indulges in. Desire. Pure, raw carnality that makes him antagonize one of his greatests clients. Someone Alastor awaited his inevitable death with anxiety and hopefulness, someone he could actually call more than a partner in crime when in hell. A friend. A friendship born from blood and gore but bathed in kinship and inexplicable understanding of one’s dark nature. And the Radio Demon almost killed the man and his useless spawn and fucked everything up because when he saw your running for your life something ignited inside him. When you squeezed his hand so tightly, with such abandon and trust, like he was an Angel sent from heaven to protect you when reality was the most wicked antonym.

Alastor spared you because you were prey. Beautiful, delicious prey that defied your destiny by accepting the nature of your condition. You didn’t dare to fight, you didn’t dare to think you could stand a chance against your hunters. You just fled. You fled and was perfectly lured into another trap, you doubled the bet when you held his hand and didn’t let go, serving all of your vulnerability on a silver platter to someone you deep down knew was way worse than any serial killer.

Prey, that will chew its own leg to get out of a trap. Prey, that will offer herself to the most ungodly creature around if it means she can survive a few more moments, just to spite those who started the chase. Prey, that now holds his hand completely carefree and all giggles while she is led to a much more final and insidious type of slaughter. Prey that he was now going to claim.

Your wounded feet start to land on soft squishy things, a familiar scent invades your nostris. From the scent of sweat, blood and gore now to the scent of juicy, plump strawberries.

“Hey, are we on a strawberry field?” it’s the first time you addressed him directly. You trail behind him, hurried steps crushing the strawberries on your way. You look up and for the first time you can see open skies. “You don’t need to worry my dear, you are perfectly safe now��

Are you?

You decide that he doesn’t sound like Darth Vader anymore, his voice is impossibly staticy, it prickles your skin and it feels like goosebumps that accompany butterflies on your stomach. He sounds like someone you would meet at a ball and have a cinderella moment with. The blanket of stars that illuminates the clearing you ferociously fought for grants you a better vision of his figure: scarlet red, snug tailcoat, perfectly tailored. Long legs and trousers that fit like skinny jeans. He dresses like the lead singer from a classic emo band. You can’t say you are complaining, you always loved the idea of a tall dark and handsome prince charming.

“So, you have some weird friends don’t you?” you ask him. You can hear him chuckle, it is a very pleasant sound. Suddenly the twirls you, a fucking disney princess’ musical number twirl, and you find yourself in front of very big bed.

With impeccable white sheets, you mind adds. Must be really hard to maintain white sheets in the middle of a strawberry field. Wait, what is a king size bed doing in the middle of th-

“Ah, I don’t really do friends, more like reluctant colleagues” bootleg brandon urie is the melancholic type, then.

Alastor finally takes a good look at you when you take your seat on the bed with a contented sigh. You look marvelous. Your hair is messy and wild, your cheeks and neck flushed red from the effort. Your eyes big and pliant, waiting for his answers. You look so human, so deliciously alive. He desperately wants to be the cause of your disarray, to make the blood rush to your face under his materfully wicked touch. To feel your pulse fluttering when he touches your neck.

You still can’t see all of him though. There’s stars, a big full moon whose light outstretches far, bathing the clearing in ethereal silver. The brightest lights cast the darkest shadows, your savior is always in the shadows.

By now you know he is purposefully hiding his identity from you, but you always liked a game. Plus you don’t really have anything to lose now, you just want to forget everything that happened to you tonight, you just want to inebriate yourself, and charming really looks like someone who could show you a good time.

Either that or you are having a psychotic break after enduring life threatening stress.

Anyway, you decide to bite. One possible psychotic murder, funny, charming murderer is better than two lukewarm ones.

“Do you always take random women to a creepy bed with impeccable white sheets in the middle of the woods or am I just special?” not a chuckle now, a laugh. A beautiful, full laugh. The residual static on your skin making you shiver.

Alastor completely understands what you are trying to do, and it’s truly hilarious. Your petulance and sarcasm towards him means to an end. You’re so precious, talking to him like this, thinking you could take him at his own game. What a beauty! Seeing you think you are succeeding in this only for him to take that conviction away from you at the last minute is going to be so entertaining. He wants you to dig your own grave, lay yourself at his feet.

He doesn’t indulge you, instead he takes a thick, silky strand of your hair and inhales deeply. You smell like sweet innocence and summer. It makes Alastor euphoric.

His head tilts down as he smells your hair. You don’t that’s creepy, it looks creepy, it sounds creepy, but you feel reverence in his action.

And then out of the shadows comes a revelation, you see his horns. You suspected his unhumanity, but the confirmation of it knocks the wind out of you. Your eyes widen, you simply cannot make sense of this night, everything feels too surreal and raw reality at the same time, it’s giving you whiplash.

“Are you the devil?” you ask him without much consideration of the weight of this question. You do your best to keep your voice from failing but it’s impossible. You never dropped his hand, in fact you feel like you are permanently attached to him, like a marble statue. Your fingers open and interlock again and again, reflecting your anxiety, but you don’t let go.

You can’t see it, but Alastor’s grin is as big as a cheshire cat’s.

“Do you seek the devil?” answering a question with a question. Smoke and mirrors. Alastor waits for you to answer, but you don’t. You don’t know what to answer, you try to contemplate if enganding further could mean eternal damnation, or if you are already damned. Is he going to make you an offer you can’t refuse? an offer you aren’t allowed to refuse? Alastor will blame it on lack of patience, but the fact is he can’t wait anymore to taste you, there’s a burning desire inside him, that only gets more and more ferocious as he tastes the inebriating smell of your fear blessing the air he breathes again.

He removes your interlocking fingers, his hand quickly trapping your tiny wrist inside. You hear heavy breathing.

“Or do you seek a taste of the forbidden fruit?” The demon licks the long cut across our open palm. His tongue is sensual and cold, the sensation of it slowly dragging across your wounded skin a soothing balm. You moan, he growls. “Forbidden fruit it is.” he announces, delivered like a sentence.

You are completely free of his touch for the first time since it all began, but it feels like you just suffered an enormous loss. You feel taunted, like someone just dangled a shiny new thing in front of you and took it away. It’s like your entire being has become tunnel vision and you need to get to the bottom of this, whatever this is. Consequences be damned.

You watch closely as your paranormal paramour moves towards the bed, he is completely concealed by the darkness. Darkness deep and palpable, he morphs within it. The visuals are beautiful, it looks like one of the art’s greatest masters is painting a watercolor in front of you. Darkness from absence of light floating and mixing with otherworldly opaque darkness, flowing like a river. You wonder if it would run through your fingers like water if you touch it.

Antlers. He has antlers, not horns.

The not-devil settles himself behind you, back against the headboard. He quickly maneuvers you onto his lap, grabbing you by the waist. You squeal in surprise as more of him touches you, now pressed flush against his hard chest you feel something you shouldn’t be feeling, nonetheless resistance is futile, you spread your legs giving him more access. He has barely touched you, and yet you are completely surrendered to him.

Alastor wasn’t joking when he established that a woman like you should be savored, slowly consumed so he can extract everything you have to offer. He knows your mind is exhausting itself trying to discern what is happening, how the body and the spirit get more susceptible to succumb to desire after surviving imminent death, and he intends to take full advantage of it. Alastor wants to see you writhe under his touch, pain and pleasure. He wants to torment you and make you pay for existing near him, for making him careless. For making him indulge in carnality and arousal. But mainly, he wants to punish you, because you battled so hard for your survival against them. When you should fear him.

The Radio Demon touches your neck, exactly where your pulse is, where he can feel your beating heart, full of life pulsing. Life that taunts him and seduces him. The thump thump thump of your heart beneath his fingers like a moth going directly to the light that will kill it. He holds your entire life, your entire existence under his clawed finger, it makes him delirious.

You feel a sharp sting on your neck, fangs that break your skin and spill your blood, red and ready for his taking. Holding your breath while he sucks the life out of you, your head swims, and you drown on the feelings. You feel pleasure, forbidden pleasure from having something hurting and feasting on you.

“If you are not the devil, are you a vampire?” It might be a dumb question, but it’s the logical one. Sometimes the obvious needs to be said. He laughs again, a full deep laugh,mockery dripping from it.

“Why? If I were a vampire would it make you feel better about spilling your blood for me?” he dodges the question again. Bait and switch. He’s feeding on you and you are enjoying it.. You don’t know what he is, you don’t know his name. It only spurs the burning desire in the pit on your stomach.

Alastor licks the entire length of your neck, his other hand applying light pressure on your pulse point. He bites down on you again, harder, going deeper. You roll your eyes and moan obscenely as he sucks on it. This is going to leave a mark for sure, but you don’t care, because whatever he’s doing to you feels delirious, it’s the best thing you’ve ever felt.

Your blood is dripping from Alastor’s lips, he licks it not wanting to waste a drop. He can taste your eagerness, your fear, your essence, your soul. The red liquid is solid proof of how alive and defenseless you are, completely at his mercy. You keep moaning and melting on his lap at his ministrations, a finger starts tracing your arm, feather light touch that leaves you shivering in anticipation.

He’s gently scratching, teasingly. It’s a claw, you realize. Another part of his unhumanity making you scared and deliciously trembling in anticipation. It’s Alastor’s turn to moan now, his clawed finger comes to torment your clothed nipple, he makes sure to do it tantalizing slow to give you just a taste of what it could be. He wants to hear you ask for it, beg even.

“I’m afraid I’m way worse than the Devil, little doe” his low, threatening tone makes you close your legs together and rub, desperately seeking friction, some relief.

“Re–really? You don’t sound that bad” A lie. You just want to say something back.

Your paramour laughs again, he takes your hand in his and starts making his way downwards.

“How precious are you, lying like that to me” He stops both of your hands on your lower belly, threatening to cross the point of no return. You squeal and struggle on a desperate attempt to raise your hips and get something more, anything.

Delighted in seeing you writhe this badly when he has not even properly touched you, Alastor squeezes your neck tighter, inflicting just enough pain and pressure to make you sing. The Radio Demon finally makes the decision and drops any pretense of moderation, hastily dropping the band of your panties and guiding your joined hands to your slit. “I can taste the fear in your blood, how your sense of pleasure has been forever skewed”.

The two digits tease your entrance that is coated with arousal and something more, his touch is masterful, like he knows the ways of the human body the same way a talented musician knows their way around an instrument. He makes you moan, he makes you sing with only the possibility of his actions. The idea of being taken by something unholy.

At last, Alastor finally enters your tight wet pussy, his finger guides yours as he undoes you in ways that should not be allowed. He pumps your cunt mercilessly, gone are the careful, calculated touches, he wants to make you crash and burn as quick as possible, he wants to make you understand that you crossed the most important line of your life. There’s no going back now, your pretty mortal body is forever tainted by unholiness, by his darkness.

“You spread yourself like this for me, a wanton little thing while I choke and feast on your blood”. Alastor curls the fingers inside you repeatedly making you move your hips in the maniac rhythm he has set. You ride your joined digits, moaning like a whore while your lover’s grip on your throat tightens and releases making your brain short circuits in pure unknown carnal feeling. “You are not the demure, feisty thing like you desperately tried to prove earlier. It only takes the slight touch of something forbidden to make you moan like a common whore” he adds another one of his huge fingers and starts scissoring inside you, the combination of two of his digits and your little one only adds insult to injury. You will never be able to replicate these ministrations, the feeling of being this full and stretched, you had a taste of the forbidden fruit, you are high on it and you will never get another hit on your own.

Alastor alternates between choking you and curling the fingers inside you, your lightheadedness combined with the assaulting pleasure making you feel feverishly delirious. Your body is hot from desire and adrenaline combined, a starking contrast to your mysterious lover’s touch, ice cold. The two of you distinct seasons, distinct stages of existence mixing together, life and death tethering each other, blurring the lines of worlds that shouldn’t exist together.

Orgasm building quickly, you grip the white sheets tighter and tighter and tighter but your fingers feel wet, you look down to see a mess of redness leaking from your core.

Oh fuck, you are on your period. You completely forgot about it. In normal circumstances you would feel mortified about being fingered like this while bleeding, but right now it makes things even more erotic, you’ve learned that your lover may not be a vampire, but he definitely has a thing for blood and something inside you ignites at the idea of letting him feast on your blood, eat you out while you bleed for him.

Your pussy flutters with the fantasy of that tongue working your pussy and with a particularly harsh pinch on your clit you are off. Waves of pleasure spread across your entire body like wildfire, he chokes you merciless making the urge to scream to the universe how fucking good you feel impossible. You want to scream his name, but you don’t know who he is, what he is. You just want more.

While you ride the waves of your orgasm unbothered Alastor takes the opportunity to take fingers from your pussy to his mouth, red with blood and slick with arousal, he moans audibly as he tastes you, the most intimate parts of you. Only a little bit of it inebriates him, this is better than 70% of what he does in Hell. This feels better than closing a new deal, watching the princess of Hell fail miserably at rehabilitating sinners. You taste so sweet, so alive and afraid. He’s hard with the conviction of how scared you are, of how he has permanently tainted something so innocent and pure. How you stupidly threw yourself to his mercy. Perishing at the hand of those serial killers is more merciful than him. And now you will know.

You must have babbled something while you came, about wanting to scream his name and not knowing it, because now you find yourself completely lying down, the bed feels soft like a cloud and you are sprawled like an angel, and he finally reveals something about him of his own volition.

“The name is Alastor, my dear. It has definitely been a pleasure meeting you.” Alastor, now you know, settles himself between your thighs and the pooling redness from your core. You feel him running his claws across the impossibly soft flesh of your inner thighs, you cover your face with your arm.

“Alastor I’ve never… No one has ever…” you trail off, you shouldn’t be embarrassed at this point, but nevertheless you feel your cheeks burning. Is he really going to eat your bloody pussy? fuck.

Alastor’s name on your lips sounds so soft, so pure. He wants to ruin it. He wants to destroy the careful constructed cognitive dissonance that makes you feel safe and comfortable around him. He wants you to be completely afraid and craving being scared of him, disrupting your sense of pleasure so he can ruin you completely, getting you hooked on him and delirious for more, willing to do anything for another taste of the forbidden fruit.

So, he makes you look.

“Look at me” you don’t want to. You feel a lot of things right now, but mainly you feel as if you really take a look at your dark lover tragedy is going to happen. Eros and psyche all over again, but bloodier.

He claws your thighs, you hiss at the delicious pain, but still disobey him.

“Look. At. Me” he snarls, definitely a threat. You feel yourself getting wetter.

Alastor slaps your ass, hard. He’s losing patience, his temper turning quick at the realization that you not knowing who he is isn’t a perfect plan.

You moan from the pain, from the sting. It feels wickedly erotic. You almost want him to hit you again. Since when pain felt so fucking good?

So you do, you finally look at him.

Red. The first thing that your brain fixates on is how much red there is. Scarlet red hair, red blood running down your core and staining the white sheets. Red claws that pierce your skin.

Red eyes. Burning red eyes that entrap you. It’s like you can see the blazing fire that tortures the damned inside those eyes.

If this is why people fall from grace, you totally understand the appeal now.

The second thing, the thing that makes you transfixed at the sight of him is how wrong he looks. His antlers are beautiful, growing from his scarlet hair beautifully adorning ears that look extremely soft, non-threatening, like a crown. His eyes are big and sharp, close together

while he stares at your soul, eyes of a predator in the middle of softness of prey. His grin is completely predatory, dangerous, sharp teeth that hurt and maul, but at the same time bite you just the right way to make you moan in raw carnality. The skin is pale, not in a michael-jackson-thriller-way but in an ethereal way. His voice is static that seems to tickle your skin, sometimes more than others. He’s paradoxical, everything you should be afraid of and the comfort you should seek at the same time. A force you shouldn’t meddle with. Primal and raw.

You may not know what exactly he is, but one thing is certain: he’s dangerously alluring, and you completely fell into his trap. But it hardly matters anymore, because he is about to drink blood from your pussy with that marvelous silvertongue of his.

“Fucking beautiful” you blur out, not realising he’s going to hear you.

One of Alastor’s eyebrows shoots up. He’s not regarded as beautiful often. Alluring, maybe.

He wants to make you pay for all the soft ideas you have about him.

You soon learn how hard it is to hold the gaze of your lover’s eyes, his burning red irises entrap you. It's impossible to look away but overwhelming to stare into.

“If all the mortal men you’ve been with are weak and pathetic enough to decline the dark gift of your bleeding cunt, then I’m honored to be your first” and without much more warning you feel a delicious cold tongue licking your entrance and you are off

Alastor isn’t eating you out, he’s feasting on you like you are his last chance of salvation. His face is completely buried deep in between your legs as his tongue assaults you at a merciless pace. He makes sure not to waste a drop of anything your gushing pussy gives him. His tongue enters you and the contrast between your tight heat and his coldness makes you delirious. Exquisite carnal pleasure, you could cum from it alone.

Alastor is having a hard time navigating this double edged knife: you don’t know who he is what is capable of, which means your aren’t near as scared of being this vulnerable with him as you should be, a literal cannibal delighting in your soft flesh, drinking the warmth of your sacred blood. You must taste delicious terrified. But the silver lining is that the fear he inspires would make any woman who knows more compliant to this, even offering this to him freely. You have no idea about his exploits, he can and he will tarnish you with all of his unholy darkness, wrecking your world during the eleventh hour when you realize what you’ve done, who you’ve so easily corrupted your morals and your spirit for. You’re so beautiful, so naive, so trusting, so alive. You moan “Alastor, Alastor, Alastor” soft ohhhs and aaaahs as he polishes your cunt, every sound you make, every twitch of your legs and roll of your lips reminding your ungodly lover of how delicate and rare you are, aiding him on his mission. Gripping the sheets isn’t enough anymore, you instinctively place your hands on his antlers, the texture indescribable. Again, the contradiction of the softness of his velvet and the sharpness of his teeth, wickedness of his tongue giving you whiplash. You start rubbing them furiously, trying to mirror his ministries on your swollen folds. It definitely is doing something to him because he drags his teeth along your inner tie, breaking more skin, drawing more blood, hissing. You scream at the heavenly pain mixed with unholy pleasure.

Normally, Alastor wouldn’t let anyone near his antlers, arguably the most sensitive part of his body. If worked right, the sensations take him to another level of desire, insane carnality. But you taste so sweet, rich blood mixed with erotic arousal on a soft flesh platter, he consumes your innocence as he coaxes another orgasm from you. You hold on to dear life on his antlers, his velvet shedding and bloodying your hands, running through adding to the painting of reds that connects you two. Something ignites on you and it’s the most intense orgasm of your life, you feel every nerve burning from everlasting fire, that transforms and transforms until it explodes in a supernova. You don’t have the strength to scream, so you whisper Alastor’s name like a filthy prayer.

He looks up grinning like a devil. Something makes you open your eyes as you ride out the waves of pleasure. There’s so much blood, blood dripping from his lips, blood on his nose, blood cascading down his bewitching face mixing in a flowing current of red, it ends in a glistening red pool where you meet each other in immoral sin, so inviting you could jump in. It’s like what would happen if the killers had caught you, but twisted into wicked, ungodly pleasure, it’s almost worse. Because well, if you’re killed you’d be dead and would never have experienced this, but now you have and the ephemerality of this night crashes on you and you feel conned, betrayed.

He licks his lips and stares right at you, a doe caught in the headlights of his eyes, you almost cum again.

Alastor feels delirious from the bloody mess in front of him, carnality so powerful it makes him insane, he needs to finish this. He needs to sink his cook deep into your slick cunt. Pushing himself up, he starts to position his cock on your entrance. He’s so tall, the shadows of his bloodied antlers cover you and hide the welcoming silver lighting of the moon. The stars look so different today, and the welcoming sight of a full moon looks merciless, devoid of warmth and hope.

“Women like you are not meant for mortal men. They cannot honor you, they cannot savor you, they cannot satisfy you. Once you take a bite of the forbidden fruit you understand your place. Pliant and submissive beneath me. To be ravished and tamed by something beyond puny mortality. You are made to me fucked, to be owned by the better man who defied destiny and transcended what the hands of fate enforced on him. You are Helen of Troy, tailor made to fit my cock, satisfy my thirst”

He teases your entrance with just the tip, making you greedly roll your hips towards him, a primal response to the ravishing words. Alastor laughs mockling at you attempt of getting him to fuck you on your terms, your time. You may not be aware of everything but by now you know you can’t outfox and fox on his own game.

“please. please. PLEASE” you scream the last word, you can’t take it anymore. A second without him touching your body feels like an eternity.

“Tsk. You look so pretty when you beg” the condescending compliment lands like music on your ears and he finally enters you. Inch after inch he spreads your tight walls open, practically breaking you. You understand now why people in times before yours had sex after battle. It’s the most rare and coveted feeling in existence, to greet imminent death, escape her fatal calling and then do the thing that undoubtedly proves you are alive. Only to meet her again at the finish line of carnal sensations and no rational thought. Primal need to feel, to live.

Alastor finally bottoms out with an animalistic growl, making your shiver under him. He fucks you at a merciless pace, he fucks you with haste, with urgency and abandon. He knows what he needs and he is going to take it.

“Hoooooly FUCK Alastor” you scream.

“There’s nothing holy here. Everything that’s holy has abandoned you. There’s only me, your wicked god who has you completely at his mercy, to fuck, to break” he takes it all out and enters you at once. You try so bad to look at him, to hold his piercing gaze with adamantine conviction but you can’t. It’s too much, overstimulation creeps on you and everything hurts. You shut your eyes.

“Look at me. Fucking look at me or I will stop” it’s not an order, it’s a threat. You should be scared, you feel scared, but tonight fear is diesel to your desire, and the pain makes you enter a mind numbing stage. The lines of torture and relief blurring together until you can’t discern a thing, you feel.

You do as you’re told. You look at him as he fucks you, thrusting like a mad man, obscene sounds reverberating throughout, you are being so loud you are sure they can hear you back on the village. The village, your cabin. You had a life before tonight. Will there be life after tonight?

You don’t have time to have an existential crisis because what Alastor does next gets your undivided attention.

“You will look at the demon who is ruining you, fucking you. You are no immaculate maiden anymore. You are a common whore for the Radio Demon” your eyes widen at the revelation. He is not a vampire, he’s not the devil. The fact that he is a demon and not satan makes you even more mortified, like you’ve settled for less. Just a little demon is what it takes to completely undo you.

Alastor keeps thrusting at a breakneck pace, feeling vindicated. He did exactly what he said he would do, he took the last fiber of comfort, of dignity away from you. He can see your entire world shattering on your beautiful doe eyes, making you finally feel the right amount of horror on the edge of a rapturous orgasm.

You feel true terror now, there was still a slimmer hope that he wasn’ evil incarnated, that he had a redeeming quality. After all, he saved you. Didn’t he save you? Or did you start something you are not even close to understanding? You feel terrified because there’s a demon fucking you, biting you, feasting on your blood and you fucking love it, you want it every night. You really took a bite from the forbidden fruit and ruined yourself.

“It’s too much, Alastor I can’t” the words leave your lips and feel like confession, like somehow if you admit your complete surrender it will absolve you of something.

“Too. Bad.” Alastor punctuates his point with delicious sharp trust after each word. He finally tainted you with his darkness and made you aware of it. He feels delirious, he feels like victory incarnated. Your moans grow louder and louder, now pleasure means pain, hell means rapture. Things that should not exist together making you feel the best you have ever felt. Tears spill from your eyes, the overstimulation something you’ve never felt before, mind numbing and life-altering.

In an act of paradoxical mercy, your demon lover rubs your clit and you’re out like a light. Your walls tighten around Alastor’s cock, and white hot pain, blinding red pleasure overcomes you. You feel like falling, you feel your literal fall from grace as your body tingles and burns with ineffable, forbidden pleasure. Alastor howls and cums inside you.

You land on silky, comfortable, alluring darkness.

The cool forest breeze greets your abused skin, it stings but feels soothing at the same time. Paradoxical, like everything from this night. Alastor holds you tight, cradling your head on his chest, petting your hair. He draws lazy circles on your hip bone, featherlight touch, careful and coy. You turn on your side to face him.

“Can you see it now? It’s beautiful, he’s so beautiful” your mind asks you. You agree.

You start giggling, laughing. It is also so funny.

“What’s so funny, little doe?” Alastor asks you, genuinely amused. He feels elated from this night. He feels satiated, contented. It’s a very rare feeling for him.

“For a while I seriously considered you are an alien” you tell him, you can’t contain your laughter now. You are so silly. Alastor’s eyebrow shoots up, quizzical. He chuckles and indulges you. “Alien, is so mundane. You could never be an Alien, it’s way too easy”. What your giddy minds means is that now you know Alastor is anything but easy, actually there’s nothing like him. He’s something else. Something entirely different, a delicious mystery that creeps inside your heart, haunts you forever.

You stop laughing when realization hits you.

“Will I ever see you again, Alastor?” you ask him, your voice failing, nothing more than a whisper. You feel the ephemerality of this night, you feel daylight closing, ruthless sun rising that ends this everlasting dream.

Alastor stares deeply into your eyes, he sees your wanton desire, your trepidant expectations. “That depends entirely on you, my dear doe. It’s time to make a decision.” his voice is so soft it fucking hurts.

You look at the fading moon on the horizon, the distant stars judge you, the earliest of birds sing for you.

Yet from those starts, no light but rather, darkness visible.

You open your eyes, you feel impossibly rested. Your bed feels soft and you want to visit dreamland again, but the noise stops you.

Songbirds and blazing sirens mix together a cacophony of urgency. You get up fast, trying to remember little bits and pieces of the crazy dream you had and run to the big window across the room.

You look down, you see ambulances, police cars, lab coats and tall guys in FBI jackets.

Something definitely happened here last night.

That explains it then, the nature of your murderous dreams. The sirens creeped their way into your subconscious making that murderous, dreadful dream. You take a quick look and your hands and see nothing. Perfect, unblemished skin.

It felt so real. Strawberry fields and blood.

Your neighbor from across the street gestures manically at you from her window.

Fuck, it must have been really bad. There’s a lot of people at your doorstep.

Hurrying to put your robe on, you fly down the stairs towards the bustling crowd outside.

You are dying to know what happened. You were always a vivid dreamer.

You reach the hall and open the door, a polite officer starts talking to you.

You don’t notice the old radio on your vanity, or the opaque darkness that followed you from the corner of your room to the world outside.

#alastor x reader #alastor x reader smut #alastor x you #alastor fanfic #hazbin hotel x reader #the radio demon x you #im insaneeeeeeeee #baixaria #im sorry everyone #alastor #the radio demon

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basickabyl · 11 months ago

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youtube

With the last game finished we collect the final sample and finally unlock the vault at the bottom of ARK 2 and learn what this mysterious weapon is. With this episode we conclude our adventures in Dread X Collection: The Hunt.

Welcome to the fourth Dread X Collection! Exploring the theme of indie shooters, this time we have only 7 games but each has been given double the development time compared to previous collections. With names like Torple Dook, Akuma Kira and Mr. Pink as devs and the collection being co-produced by David Szymanski of Squirrel Stapler fame, the hunt promises to be quite the spooky shooty experience.

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Join our Discord server!: https://discord.gg/ZCuEwuEWX3

New lets play videos daily!: https://www.youtube.com/c/BasicKabyl

___

#gaming #gameplay #lets play #playthrough #walkthrough #guide #youtube #video #basic kabyl #dread x #dread xp #dread x collection #anthology #the hunt #Youtube

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fieldofdaisiies · 2 years ago

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Ruhn x Reader | It All Falls Down

type: angst warning(s): coma, near death experience, near loss of a loved one, blood word count: 2.1k words summary: based on this request, but I changed it a little; could you please do a Ruhn fic and maybe she has been his best friend for a long time and she felt the mating bond since she first met him and she waited for him to figure it out but he never did and then he met Lidia; the Asteri injure the reader lethally and he finds her body and the bond snaps between them, he had always hoped that it was her and thought that she was never interested in him, he finds a journal that the reader keeps and it explains her feelings towards Ruhn and declarations on how she wishes she could tell him about the mating bond and Ruhn just completely breaks down and he says that it has always been her……

The phone call that wakes Ruhn is not at all what he expects. At that time it is normally only ever a call from a completely shit-faced Tristan who can’t find his key, or Declan who forgot his key at home, or Ithan who just did not bring a key because someone will open the door for him anyway. A shock rumbles through him when he hears Bryce speak the words, but he can’t really comprehend what she is saying, does not really know what to do with them, how to act, how to react. It can’t be real what she is saying. Your body has been found, he needs to come there, the Asteri.....everything else becomes a blur of words and phrases

Almost like in a trance Ruhn gets up and gets dressed, his heart pounding frantically in his chest, the blood rushing in his ears so loud it drowns out all the other noises. He rushes to find all his necessities, collecting his phone and his gun just in case. In the next moment he is out of the house, jumps into his car, puts in reverse, leaves the parking lot and then heads for where Bryce and Hunt are. Ruhn arrives at the park, at the crime scene, and panic and dread collide inside of him. Your body is lying lifelessly on the in ground. It is early in the morning, only past four, the grass is still drenched in dew, the sun has not yet risen. A fresh moist scent lies in the air when the wet grass slides against his legs and soaks through his shoes. Ruhn is running towards his sister, her mate and you. His knees buckles when his eyes land on the puddle of blood next to you, under you, everywhere around you. There is so much blood, there are so many wounds on your body. “Y/N,” he breathes and his knees give in. He falls to the ground, and it is when is hands cradle our face that something inside of him snaps, something starts to glow and he can feel the bond connecting you to him. But why now? Why did it have to take so long for the damn bond to snap? Why couldn’t it have happened earlier? But would you have even excepted it? That all does not matter now.

“The Asteri,” Bryce says calmly and places her hand on her brother’s shoulder. “We think that the Asteri are behind this.” Ruhn’s head whips to her and he furrows his brows, his heart dipping and cold sweat breaking out on the back of his neck once again. “Why?” he asks and it is Hunt who answers. “We don’t know, we hoped you might know?”

But Ruhn shakes his head. He has no idea. And also does not care about it in that moment. “Did you call an ambulance.” Bryce nods and takes out her phone to take some pictures of the crime scene. Celestina informed them that something has happened from where she knew they had no idea but Bryce and Hunt did not waste a second before heading here and informing Ruhn immediately when they saw who the victim of the attack was. “The ambulance will bring her to the hospital. We maybe need to collect some clothes for her, you know where she lives?” Ruhn nodes, his hand brushing the side of your face, the bond glowing brighter and brighter in his chest. It almost suffocates him, he does not want that now, can’t deal with it now. He wants you to be safe and fit again. And only when you are awake does he want to share the joy of the bond with you.

The ambulance arrives only a few minutes later. One of them cringes at the sight, but tries to act cool a moment later when he heaves your body onto on of the medical bed and brings your to the car. Bryce arranges with them that Ruhn will bring clothes to the hospital.

She drives Ruhn to the place where you live and your roommate lets him in, Bryce and Hunt in tow so they can look around in the flat if their are any hints on why they attacked you and what you might have found out about them. Ruhn does not care about any of it, he only cares about you waking up again. That’s the only things that matters to him.

The little bullet journal falls open and Ruhn really does not want to look but his eyes land on his name and he just has to see what you have written about him. His heart halts, then starts beating frantically at every word he reads. It explains everything, your feelings towards him and small declarations on how you wishes you could tell him about the mating bond… The mating bond.

Ruhn sits down on the ground and smacks his hands over his face, reasling a loud shout. He is rocking back and forth, sobbing while awareness dawns on him. He has been such an idiot. He never realised the bond because he was so caught up in his own world, how he hurt you so many times and he never saw you as anything more than a friend because he thought you would never see him as anything more than a friend. He started dating Lidia, who was a wonderful person, because he thought he would anyway never have a chance with you. But actually he was such a blind and oblivious fool. He hates himself for that, for maybe never getting the chance to tell you. A knock sounds from his door and it makes Ruhn lift his head. It is Bryce. She carefully opens the door and peeks inside. “Her parents just called. They are there now. Have you collected all her things?”

Ruhn sniffs loudly, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs when he looks at his sister through his swollen eyes. “I can’t lose her,” he breathes and the damn breaks once again, tears streaming down his cheeks. Bryce walks up to him and crouches down next brother, slinging her arm around his shoulders. She presses her head against his, his ear piercings cool against the side of her head. “She will be fine, I know it.” But Ruhn doubts that, saw your injuries. And as much as he wants to believe his sister, he can’t.

Flynn and Declan come to pick Ruhn up to drive to the hospital. He is still shaking when he arrives at the hospital, when they arrive in the entrance hall of the hospital, ask for your room, walk past the coffee shop and the emergency department where trauma patients are being brought in on beds or in wheelchairs. He does not pay any attention to anything around him, his whole focus is on you and the hope that you will wake up again. He can’t enter the room immediately, your parents are still inside, wanting to be alone with you. He understands but it drives him mad. Ruhn can’t stay outside your room, he places the duffle bag on the ground next to where Flynn sits in one of the visitor chairs and starts wandering, telling them to call for him when he can go inside.

Ruhn is pacing, walking through the long, maze-like hallways with the bright lighting than burns in his eyes. He has barely gotten any sleep the previous night, was terribly sleep deprived and in panic. He walks past a gift shop, glances inside. There are magazines, toiletries and other small items, as well as flowers and stuffed animals. He hesitates for a moment, but walks in and decides to by you a little bouquet of flowers — he chooses the violet ones, remembering how you always loved to comment on his eyes, how violet and glowing they were. Nothing is left of this glow, Ruhn’s eyes are dim and dull. It is when he leaves the shop that Declan calls for him, meeting him half-way in the corridor to your room. “Her parents are going home now, said you can go in.” Ruhn inclines his head and follows in silence.

His heart stops in his chest at the sight of you — you looks so peaceful, but at the same time like all life had been robbed from you. They probably put you in a coma…

The moments between him standing in the doorway and looking at you and him moving closer become a blur until he finds himself right next to you, his hands shaking, and turning damp from the cold sweat breaking out on his skin. His friends join him in the room, supporting him.

Ruhn sits on the adjustable hospital bed beside you, his hand holding yours. The one with the cannula, the small tube that has been placed into a vein in your arm or your hand in order to deliver your intravenous therapy.

You look like your are sleeping, lying there on the white linens, eyes closed, lips parted a little bit. Flynn stands behind Ruhn, Declan on his other side, keeping his hand on Ruhn’s shoulder. Ruhn is staring at the plain walls, lowering his gaze to the equipment plug-ins. The fluorescent light is still bright in here, but at least a little dimmer. Your chest heaves a little bit, barely visible but it gives Ruhn enough comfort to even his breathing. Through wires your heart is connected to a heart monitor and Ruhn watches the steady line, that does have too big highs. With a loud sigh Tristan Flynn leans against the bedside table with drawers, accidentally pushing one in. “You can go home. You don’t have to stay with me,” Ruhn says, honestly.

“You should also go home,” Declan answers, squeezing his friend’s shoulder, but Ruhn shakes his head. “No, I am staying with Y/N. When she wakes up, I want to be here.”

“But Ruhn—“ “No!” the starborn prince answers loudly. “I am staying. You go home.”

Declan and Tristan decide that it might be best for them to actually go home and leave Ruhn alone, wanting to give the two of you some privacy. It seems like it is what Ruhn needs.

His eyes are trained on the grey garbage can in the corner of the room when he opens his mouth and says, “I am so sorry. I have been such a fool.” His throat starts to ache, tears dwelling in his eyes when Ruhn gives his head a little shake. “I am so sorry.”

His thumb strokes gently over your hand, it feels cold in his one and he his heart squeezes. “I know that I have been such an oblivious fool to not see it, to not see that you like me the same way I like you. To not see the bond. I know I am an idiot… And it feels wrong that the bond snapped for me now, that this had to happen that the bond snapped, I hate myself for it.” His throat constricts, aching when a single tear slips out of his eyes. It falls onto your hand and it is then that your hand makes the tiniest jerk. “Y/N?” Ruhn asks, his voice baffled. He looks at you intensely but no more movement follows. Maybe he was mistaken? Ruhn parts his lips again, they are dry. “I want this bond with you, want nothing more. Well, I do. I want you to wake up. I want to see you smile again, hear you laugh again. I want to hug you, to have sleepovers with you where we smoke a little mithroot and watch sunball or your silly romance movies. I want to cook with you again and I just want to have you in my life. I can’t lose you, Y/N.”

He leans down and kisses your knuckles, more tears wetting your skin. “You are one of the most important people in my life, I need you.”

The heart monitor shows large lines when Ruhn hears a beeping noise and lifts his head to the screen. He does not understand what he is seeing, but a moment later he does not really care about it anymore. You shift a little on the bed, stirring and your hand twitches again.

Ruhn’s eyes widen, his heart stopping, then rapidly hammering against his ribcage.

Your eyes open a little bit, the corner of your mouth lifting when your look at Ruhn through a heavy-lidded gaze. “Your are my mate.” With that your eyes fall shut again, lips opening a little further. Ruhn leans over you, kissing the top of your head and he says, “That I am. Yours and only yours. And you are mine.”

~~~~~~~~~~

tags: @azrielsbabyg @brekkershadowsinger

#ruhn crescent city #ruhn danaan x reader #ruhn x reader #creacent city #crescent city x reader

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cachu302 · 8 months ago

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Gotchard and love languages

Watching Gotchard (and being probably one of the very few fans of the show) got me in the mood to do some more character insight and character study. I really enjoy watching how the characters interact with one another, which is easily one of the main strengths of the main writer, Hasegawa. In particular, the smaller moments and scenes stand out to me more than the bigger plot points, though more so for the students than the adults.

Crap, I sound like Kyuun.

Renge

Let’s start with the Osaka alchemist, Renge. Renge initially sticks out as a receiving gifts kind of person. She’s very upfront about possessions, seeming very comfortable with asking Houtaro to trade two of her on hand Chemies (Energyl and Sasukemaru, the bois!). When Minato moves to mind wipe his students, Renge’s immediate action after escaping is to start discarding her prized alchemy equipment, as Sabimaru points out. Renge felt happy receiving her alchemist tools, because it meant that she could start making an effort to help her family’s financial situation. But now those tools become a reminder of the state of the academy under Geryon’s control.

Around the time everyone resolves to keep collecting (and saving) the Chemies, Renge’s love language shifts to quality time. Some part of her has realized that she’s happier spending time with Sabimaru, Houtaro, and Rinne, more so than when she was all in on learning how to be a big-shot alchemist. Really, all four members of the Kitchen ICHINOSE Alliance seem to gravitate more towards quality time after they meet Daybreak Houtaro. Beyond that, however, Renge’s character moments become more focused on her bond with the others: how she and Sabimaru planned out extracting and transmuting Zukyunpire’s essence as a counter against the Abyssalis sisters as a way of supporting their Kamen Rider junior students. The Ninetail arc in her grandmother’s hometown really sells how Renge is focusing on spending time with her loved ones. Even when the Kyūbi Malgam unearths the hot springs, Renge focuses on how her grandmother’s town is safe, and that she’s still going to be able to visit her, rather than be like, “My Nana’s hometown can make money!”

Sabimaru

In contrast to Renge, Sabimaru starts out as a quality time kind of guy. Given that he’s poor at communication without the help of Isaac, it’s a bit surprising to see that just being around his new junior, Houtaro, is enough to get him excited about Chemy hunting. It’s not about hunting for the Chemies that gets to him, it’s more about how he can now spend time with others who share his interests. And that extends to the Chemies as well. Aside from Houtaro, Sabimaru is easily the next best friend to the Chemies, with how he’s seen playing with them while Houtaro and Rinne are away on their school trip. When he’s invited to the Ichinose Christmas celebration, he bonds with Kajiki about the idea that Santa is an alien. Now he has another friend outside of the academy that he can share interests in.

His brief stint as Dread also further reinforces his need for quality time. The way Sabimaru acts while captured by the Sisters, and his reluctance to fight, despite being strong armed to do so (so much so he breaks his arm trying to resist), it’s clear he misses his classmates. His friends. And when Houtaro saves him with the power of UFO-X, a Chemy he’s been fascinated with, he’s elated. He’s home, he’s back with his friends, he can spend time with them again, he’s not going to die as a pawn of the Sisters. Sabimaru is definitely going to double down on quality time with his friends.

Spanner

Spanner is a bit difficult to pin down, mainly because he’s a jackass so elusive. Despite that, it feels like Spanner responds more to physical touch, which is ironic, since he keeps everyone at arm’s length. Obviously, he doesn’t make many moves to get to know the rest of the gang, especially Houtaro, but it’s more telling when the only one he really lets in is his mother Kyoka. Kyoka is the only one who is shown to be allowed to invade Spanner’s personal space. When Houtaro offers him a handshake, he brushes him off. When he and Houtaro are duking it out over possession of the Gotchardriver, he’s keeping Houtaro at a distance, only striking him with the bokuto. When he takes over Houtaro’s call to Sabimaru, he basically rips Sabi’s phone from his hands (rude). Even Rinne, who we see he’s making an effort to be cordial to, he avoids contact with. When Bolt has her dangling in the air, Spanner ignores her and goes straight for him.

When his parents are revived, it’s one of the few times Spanner is visibly happy. Full smile and everything, not the arrogant smirk he gives the younger students (Houtaro). While he doesn’t physically interact with them, the implications of his time as Kyoka’s ward really start to sink in. Without his parents to offer him guidance, Spanner will lose himself to his black flames. The flashbacks of his adjustment to living with Kyoka show her hugging him, patting his shoulder in congratulations and encouragement, physically interacting with him. He’s not completely happy with her, but his is better than if he were to be left alone. And especially after he returns as Kamen Rider Valvarad, the first thing Kyoka does? She side-hugs him. Spanner, despite the torment and despairing realization he’ll never see his parents again, is content.

Atropos, Clotho, and Lachesis

All three of the Abyssalis sisters start as receivers of words of affirmation, especially from Geryon. Leading up to his appearance, everything is for HIS plans. They don’t really have any other purpose than to start development on the Dreadriver. However, the creation of Dread isn’t as important to them as gaining Geryon’s approval.

Clotho is the simplest of the sisters, at least at first. Receiving the belly warmer power-up to her is evident that she’s received Geryon’s approval. And that seems to be all she needs. Grabbing the Gotchardriver from Houtaro would grant him access to the Door of Darkness, and further their plans. The process of doing so would easily net her more approval, so she steps up her game to seize power. But then Geryon gets yeeted into the shadow realm disappears, leaving her without purpose. Houtaro’s questioning of her purpose, her Gotcha, makes her realize that she craves approval, but also that she wants to keep her sisters, her family, intact. She craves quality time with Lachesis and Atropos, but her pride and rivalry with Houtaro prevents her from admitting so. And with her recent power up, who would need quality time when she can easily crush her rival?

Atropos is very clear cut from the start. She’s easily Geryon’s favorite, so out the gate she’s the only one receiving praise, apologies, and validation. Her specialty in escalating the situation easily wins her most of Geryon’s approval, so she’s content with keeping the situation as uniform as possible. Unlike Clotho, who basically wallows in uncertainty after his disappearance, Atropos doubles down on the scheming and escalating the situation, imagining herself winning more of Geryon’s affection, likely as a coping mechanism. The incident with Tsukumo could also be her attempt to deprive Rinne of her love language, as revenge for the disappearance of her own parent.

Unlike her sisters, Lachesis has rarely received Geryon’s approval. She’s the only one who doubts his leadership and methods. When Clotho tries to overclock the Dreadriver to take down Gotchard at the likely cost of her own life, Lachesis is visibly scared and worried for her sister, realizing that his plans don’t account for the sisters’ well-being. Upon Geryon’s arrival, he basically HIJACKS her body to be used for the Orochi Malgam, and leaves her defeated and alone, if not for Clotho coming to retrieve her. When Geryon creates the Cerberus Malgam, he doesn’t even bat an eye when Lachesis is thrown aside and injured, and only shows concern for Atropos, leaving the youngest sister bitter and envious. And then the tipping point comes when Geryon targets Spanner. Now Lachesis, having been given the short stick multiple times, bears witness to how truly relentless and unforgiving Geryon truly is. Is she going to be tortured like Spanner? Suddenly validation doesn’t seem so enticing when she’s at the risk of being torn apart in exchange.

Now Lachesis understands the hollowness of Geryon’s approval. Why should she try to receive validation when it’s clear he never cared for her in the first place? Her misgivings are further cemented when her own sisters are ordered to eliminate her. Clotho is hesitant, but Atropos is all in. Now she’s been abandoned, so what else can she do? She flees. Joins up with the Alchemists’ Academy as a ward of Kyoka. Lachesis is not happy, and the only love language she’s ever known now seems hollower than ever.

Rinne

I won’t go much into Rinne’s analysis since I did that in my last post. But at the very least, it’s obvious that Rinne is recipient to words of affirmation, just like the sisters. Her self-esteem is lower than that of her peers, though that may be the result of her self-isolation and full focus into her studies and alchemy, so it stands to reason that just hearing encouragement from another person (Houtaro) would be enough to make her feel seen, loved, and happy. Like mentioned above, Atropos capitalizes on this with Tsukumo by creating a scenario where Rinne would be unable to receive affirmation from her greatest connection, Houtaro, though this isn’t the case, since Houtaro absolutely trusts Rinne no matter what. In #4, just hearing Houtaro say that he believes her is enough to convince Rinne to escape the labyrinth. Houtaro believes her, believes in her, and is willing to let her know that as much as he can.

A side tangent: as seen in #14, as well as outright stated by Clotho in #27, the Gotchardriver gains power through cheers, encouragement, and belief. As such, it’s probable that the Alchemis Driver works similarly, only the effect is much more noticeable. Before Minato arrives to encourage Rinne, she’s getting easily overwhelmed by the Mammoth Malgam, enough so that her transformation fails. As soon as her teacher arrives and tells her to, “Fight like yourself,” she’s able to overpower the Malagm right back. And with enough encouragement, Majade is able to synergize herself easily with Platinum Gotchard.

Houtaro

The Gotcha boy himself. Houtaro is definitely one of the happier characters on the show, always surrounded by his friends and loved ones, whether they be Chemy or human. So it would stand to reason he’d be the happiest receiving words of affirmation or spending quality time with others. Yes, that’s true, but Houtaro seems to be at his brightest whenever he’s engaging in acts of service. For him, the simple act of helping someone is enough to make him happy. Receiving affirmation and quality time is also important, but to him, they’re more like smaller goals that help him reach the overall larger picture goal. Fighting against Malgams and freeing the Chemies will definitely make the Chemies happy that they are understood and have someone who is so willing to just be their friend, instead of seeing them as tools or freaks of nature. And if there’s someone who’s connected to the Chemy incident of the week? Houtaro makes it his goal to help them as well. Think of Mr. Asahi, who gave up on pro wrestling, only to be able to live his dream again thanks to Houtaro’s intervention. What about Riku, the boy with an overbearing parent? If eliminating the malice in his father’s heart can help resolving things and bring a happy end to all parties, then Houtaro is all for it. A classmate who wants to revive the drama club? Houtaro is willing to take part in the play just to get more students to join. Who cares if they find his acting hokey, or if Rinne s l a p s him in the middle of the show? As long as Mikuriya’s satisfied, then that’s great! Even at the cost of his well-being (fighting monsters) or striving for his Gotcha, Houtaro aims to make people happy.

Because isn’t that what Kamen Riders do?

His cooking skills also point to him favoring acts of service as a love language. Here, he is expressing his appreciation, his acknowledgment, what have you, of the recipient. Of course, since his choice of ingredients is… unique, the response of disgust and/or dismissal (or insults, in Spanner’s case) would be seen as a refusal or a downplay of his act of service. Rinne’s comment of “Something’s off,” followed by his outburst of “No Gotcha!” shows that he’s upset the other person didn’t understand his feelings. Of course, being Houtaro, it’s not enough to make him give up, and instead, he resolves to better next time. And the next time. So on and so forth. Until his feelings are properly conveyed.

TLDR, I love the character interactions in this show, and I’ve spent so much time thinking about it.

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starrydixon · 2 years ago

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Despair (Part 3)

Part 2

Era: Post-Whisperers Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Pronouns: She/Her Word Count: 3.5k Warnings: language, survivors guilt, anxiety, mild-angst

Summary: When the aftermath of The Whisperers’ destruction upon Alexandria becomes too overwhelming to handle, you’re in need of a little escape outside the walls. Daryl and Dog accompany you.

Just when things were beginning to look up, tragedy after tragedy struck your community; making the feeling of hope vanish in an instant. First, it was the devastating blow of having a handful of your community members become casualties from the harrowing display of intimidation by the hands of Alpha, the leader of the skins who were newly named as ‘The Whisperers’. Then came the dreaded, but anticipated, war against The Whisperers. The battle was long and hard; a lot of community members that you fought beside and befriended lost their lives in order to protect the homes that they’ve helped build for over the last decade. Amid that fight, Hilltop and Alexandria fell due to the massive horde of walkers that were being controlled by The Whisperers, tearing down everything in sight.

The aftermath was devastating, having to rebuild a thriving community from scratch with little to no resources. Everyone was struggling, whether it was not having food to eat, or fighting off rouge walkers that managed to break through the deteriorating walls that surrounded what remained of Alexandria. You did everything you could to help; cleaning up the debris and going out to hunt for the scarce supplies that surrounded Alexandria’s general vicinity. Collectively, not much had been found, but you supposed it was better than having nothing at all.

The endless tragedies that plagued your community took a toll on you. Survivor’s guilt constantly loomed over you; sometimes it was a dull ache, while other times it was almost unbearable. You were amongst your community, enjoying the festivities in the Kingdom when friends were being taken right under your nose. You were in the battlefield with the rest of the community, and somehow escaped death, even though your likelihood of surviving was the same as everyone else. After all the loss and still somehow making it out to see another day, it was a hard pill to swallow.

Daryl could see the guilt, stress, and overall devastation weighing down on you. Even after everything, the archer still knew you better than you knew yourself and could read you as if you were a preschool book no matter how much you masked. There was a fine line between you and Daryl; and he was acutely aware of it. Daryl feared of overstepping the boundaries you had made regarding the reestablished friendship you two had. He felt as if he made a bold move, comforting you in ways he used to, that the refound connection would break. Daryl did what he could: helping you train one on one when you felt the need to polish up your rusty fighting instincts before the start of the war with The Whisperers began, or just by simply being there for you, sitting beside you and offering wordless company.

As much as you appreciated the togetherness of the community you were surrounded with, it could get overwhelming at times. You found yourself in need to seek out some alone time, and were currently walking towards the front gates of Alexandria with the intention of finding some solace within the woods that surrounded the area. You had awoken just as the sun was beginning to peek over the horizon that morning in order to prepare for your journey. You just needed a few hours away from the stress and the profound feeling of loss that haunted Alexandria.

Just as you were nearing the front gates, you heard a familiar friendly bark sound behind you. A smile instantly uplifted the corners of your mouth as you turned around on your heels. You had just enough time to brace yourself before Dog came barreling into your legs.

“Hey!” You greeted the canine with a laugh as you dropped down to a kneel in order to bestow affection on your furry friend.

Your eyes squeezed shut as Dog returned the favor by placing slobbery kisses all over your face. Airy laughs fell from your mouth as you wiped your face dry with the sleeve of your olive green utility jacket. “Good Morning to you too!”

As you scratched Dog’s ears, and cooed at him as if he was a baby, you heard Daryl sigh tiredly from a few feet away. Bringing your gaze upwards, you felt one of your eyebrows quirk upwards at the sight of Daryl’s sheepish facial expression as he walked towards you.

He wore his tattered black poncho and faded black jeans that had an abundance of stitches and open holes in them. His hands that were covered with black fingerless cotton gloves held onto the strap of his trusted crossbow that was slung over one of his shoulders. Although his hair was in its usual disheveled style, you couldn’t help but think that the carmel strands framed his face nicely.

“I swear he’s got manners.” Daryl expressed as a frown caused the worry lines between his eyebrows to deepen.

“Mmm. You say that, but I have yet to see these so-called manners you speak so highly of.” You teased lightheartedly, as you truly never had an issue with Dog jumping onto you in greeting or practically drenching your face in slobber. You were amused when Daryl ran a hand over his face in embarrassment.

“I—uh—we, saw ya earlier gettin’ stuff together…are ya headed out?” Daryl was quick to change the subject once his flustering subsided. One of his hands rose to the back of his neck to rub absentmindedly.

Standing up from your crouched position, you wiped your jeans a few times with your hands as Dog wiggled himself between your legs so he could stand guard. You found Dog’s protective nature over you endearing, and felt honored that the canine had grown so fondly over you since you had grown to adore him as well.

“Yeah…I’m thinking about doing some foraging, see what I can find.” You shrugged your shoulders loosely as your hands slipped into the pockets of your jacket. Of course that wasn’t your true intention; as you had initially planned to head over to a place in the woods you had found a few years ago and read some chapters of a book you had yet to start.

“Ya need a ride? I can get my bike real quick.” Daryl jutted his thumb over his shoulder in the general direction of his place.

“Oh! No, no, I should be alright. I’m not planning on venturing far.” You quickly explained as the tops of your cheeks became a few degrees warmer than the rest of your body due to Daryl’s kind gesture.

“Alright…” The archer trailed off as a pit began to form in his stomach. Just the mere thought of parting away from you so soon caused an unbearable weight of dread to form in the center of Daryl’s chest. “Ya mind if we tag along? Might be good to set up some snares in hopes of catchin’ somethin’ to eat for the little ones ‘round here.”

Despite initially seeking out for some alone time, you supposed that you subconsciously didn’t want to truly be by yourself as you were unable to deny Daryl and Dog’s company. After a nod of your head in confirmation, the three of you stepped outside of the community gates and ventured into the woods.

Dog trotted beside you as Daryl followed your lead. The three of you would stop occasionally so the archer could set up a snare. A surprisingly peaceful silence surrounded you as you listened to the sounds of nature while navigating through the forest. You and Daryl had always been able to be alone with each other; never finding the other’s presence a burden or keenly present. You would be lying to yourself if you had denied the fact that you’ve been yearning for that level of intimacy to return for years.

Wordlessly, you had guided Daryl and Dog to the opposite side of the woods where the treeline stood. When you emerged from the branches that had dead leaves hanging on by a withering stem, a beautiful meadow was now within your sights. Dog excitedly bounded into the overgrown grass, sniffing every inch of the unexplored ground. You sat down on the familiar fallen log and tugged the backpack off your shoulders, placing it on the ground by your feet.

“Where’d ya find this place?” Daryl inquired as he sat down on the other end of the log, being mindful to keep a comfortable and safe distance between the both of you.

“There was a time where I’d just explore through these woods, needing to clear my head, and I stumbled upon this area.” You shrugged your shoulders dismissively as a sense of that familiar feeling of despair washed over you for a fleeting second. You didn’t want to be reminded of the heartache you suffered during that time.

“It’s nice…better than all the places I’ve ever found.” Daryl complimented as a closed lopsided smile stretched over his face for a few seconds.

“I don’t know…that creek with the little waterfall is hard to beat.” You mused as you thought back to when Daryl had brought you there for your first date. You two had caught a few fish before having a little picnic on the riverbank. A small smile uplifted the corners of your lips at the heartwarming memory.

Daryl had been reminiscing the same memory. He had never seen the color of your eyes so bright before as you admired the sight of the trickling water; Daryl was positive you had glistening stars in your eyes that day. With the rising stress of having the so called “ex-saviors” around, it had been awhile since Daryl had seen you so at peace and relaxed. A light but consistent breeze kept causing stay hairs to fall in your face, and Daryl had found himself having to tuck those hair’s behind your ear repeatedly so he could keep admiring the beauty you radiated.

He had to take you back to that creek soon.

Soon, you found yourself engrossed with the novel that now sat in your hands as Daryl focused his attention on whittling the end of a branch he had found. Dog sat between the two of you on the ground, panting excitedly as he observed the natural movements of nature.

The peaceful silence that had been surrounding you got interrupted by the sound of Daryl letting out, what seemed to be, a light scoff. Intrigued, the book that was once in your hands now laid on your lap as you turned your attention to the archer; who’s head was ducked as he fidgeted with the knife in his hand.

“Everything okay over there?” You asked as your head tilted slightly to the side.

“Yeah…just now realizin’ that ya wanted to be alone out here, and I just forced myself in your space.” Daryl’s head shook slightly before ducking a little lower in disappointment. Anxiety bubbled up in his stomach, quickly rising to reside in his chest.

That fine line haunted him, even more prominent as he feared he had broken whatever mended relationship he had with you. A part of him knew he shouldn’t have inserted himself in your plans, but the selfish part of him that wanted to spend more time with you won.

“Oh…” You trailed off, not expecting the sentiment to come out of Daryl’s mouth. Despite his hidden face, his dejected posture spoke volumes.

Sensing Daryl’s distress, Dog jumped up to his paws and bounded over to Daryl; nuzzling his head in between Daryl’s open arm before resting on his thigh. You wet your lips as you struggled to find the right words that accurately expressed what you were thinking and feeling.

“It’s okay, really…if I had a problem with it, I would’ve turned you down.” Nervously, you gnawed on your bottom lip as Daryl’s posture didn’t change; even after hearing your reassurances.

“Nah, I—“ Daryl cut himself off as sudden emotion swelled his throat. He was getting in his head now, fearing that you would want to distance yourself again after having your boundaries stepped over. Just the thought of having caused you discomfort nearly broke him.

“Daryl?” You asked, growing concerned at his silence and the fact that his back was rising and falling rapidly due to the heavy breaths he was taking. Cautiously, you scooted closer to him.

“I just…I don’t wanna mess this up.” Daryl admitted in a quiet voice once he was able to push down the lump in his throat. You could only sit in silence as you let him get whatever it was off his chest. “I’ve been tryin’ to prove myself to ya, like I promised I would…I just don’t wanna do too much and scare ya off.”

Once he felt collected, Daryl sat up and brought his gaze towards yours. Although his face didn’t show it, his blue eyes were filled with a mixture of anxiety and desperation. “I didn’t mean to make ya uncomfortable.”

You were stuck speechless at Daryl’s admission. You knew Daryl was respecting the unspoken boundaries you had set with him, but you didn’t realize just how much he worried and cared about them. Unknown emotion swelled in your chest, causing warmth to spread over you, your heart to pound against your ribcage, and a light ring to echo in your ears. His admission spoke volumes to you. When you thought back to everything he had done for you over the last year or so, and seeing the amount of distress he was currently in when worrying over you, your brain short-circuited for a moment.

Within that moment of fleeting clarity, your body acted impulsively against your accord. In that moment, your lips found their way home against Daryl’s in a blistering kiss.

For a few seconds, the archer was stunned by your unexpected reaction. He only began to meld his lips against yours in a desperate fervor when your arms snaked around his neck and your fingers got lost in his hair. Instinctively, one of Daryl’s arms wrapped and tightened around your waist while his free hand held the back of your neck and head for support.

It felt like minutes, but the kiss only lasted a few seconds. When you registered what was happening, you pushed yourself away from Daryl. Your fingers rubbed at your tingling lips, confused and alarmed by your rash action.

You never thought you would get to that point with Daryl again, and here you were, kissing him with passion you hadn’t had joy in feeling for years.

“I-I’m sorry.” You sputtered out before clumsily gathering your things and beelining into the treeline you had previously emerged from.

“Y/N!” Daryl called after you, practically falling over himself as he tried to chase after you.

Muttered curses flew out of the archer’s mouth as his eyes stayed glued to your retreating frame; which was getting farther and farther away from him.

Dog was also in the midst of chasing you; able to bypass Daryl with his fast strides, but unable to catch up with you. After a few more shouts of your name, and willing his stiff legs to push themselves faster, Daryl was able to grab your elbow and bring you to a stop. When he turned you around, tears were pooling in your eyes and your trembling bottom lip was tugged between your chattering teeth. Seeing you in such conflict broke his heart.

“You got nothin’ to be sorry about.” Daryl spoke gently as he released his hand from your elbow. He hated having to grab you, but it was the only way he’d be able to talk to you.

A lone tear escaped from your waterline as you tried to push down the emotion that swelled your body. Before the salty drop could stream down your cheek, Daryl cautiously brought his hand up to our face so he could stop the tear with his thumb. For a moment, your eyes shut at the feeling of his gentle touch against your skin.

You wanted to give in to what your heart had been yearning for for over seven years. Him. But your brain wasn’t sure if you could trust him.

“H-How do I know that it won’t happen again? I—Can I trust you?” You choked out your concerns while reopening your eyes.

Both of Daryl’s hands were cupping your face now, holding you with so much care that it seemed like you were the most precious thing in the universe. His thumbs caressed over your skin, brushing away the remaining tears that had escaped from the pool that was once in your waterline.

“Back then, I didn’t know that all I needed to hear from ya was that you were gonna stay, even through all my bullshit…and then ya told me ya wouldn’t, and I felt like an idiot. But I know now. I ain’t gonna push ya away again, I got no reason to.” Daryl told you earnestly as tears of his own began to well up in his eyes. “I love ya—I love ya so damn much, Y/N. I’ve never stopped, not ever. Even when I made it seem like you did, you’ve never left my mind, not once.”

Daryl poured his heart out to you, cupping your face with his hands, and letting his eyes flit between yours. If Daryl wasn’t holding you, you were sure your weakened knees would have completely given out from under you. Your hands rested on each one of his wrists, making sure his hands stayed exactly where they were. As you looked deeply into the sorrowful steel blue eyes that stared back at you, you finally allowed yourself to realize what you had known the second Daryl had told you he wasn’t going to stop fighting for you, even after knowing that there was a good chance it wouldn’t end in his favor.

Hope.

There was hope for you and Daryl to mend your relationship and your love. Now, as you stood in front of the man you have loved for nearly ten years, that hope had turned into a reality.

“I think idiot is an understatement…jackass is more fitting.” You sniffled as you removed one of your hands from off of Daryl's wrist so you could tuck strands of his dark hair behind his ear.

Daryl couldn’t help but let out a small and airy laugh. His eyes shut momentarily as a rare open-lipped smile stretched over his face. His head nodded in agreement as his cheek gently nuzzled up to your palm. “Yeah, you’re right ‘bout that.”

Instinctively, you stepped closer to Daryl so that your bodies were touching. Your eyes fluttered shut as Daryl ducked his head so his forehead rested against yours. You felt him remove one of his hands from off your face so he could hold the base of your neck.

“Please don’t break my heart again.” Your voice was barely above a whisper when you spoke. One of your fingers slipped under the sleeve of his shirt so you could caress his warm skin.

“I won’t. I promise ya I ain’t gonna mess up this second chance.” Daryl pledged as his hold on you tightened. Nodding your head, you pulled back just enough to look into his eyes once more.

“I won’t run away this time…if you feel like kissing me.” You proposed shyly. The hand that remained on your face slowly slid down to your lower back as Daryl grinned at you.

The archer hummed vaguely while pulling you even closer to his body, which caused your hand to fall onto his chest for stability.

In an instant, Daryl’s lips found themselves on yours, starting out slow before picking up in a melding fit of passion. Much like a princess in a fairytale, your foot lifted off the ground as warmth coursed through your body.

You would’ve stayed like that until you were turning blue in the face and feeling like your lungs were on fire, but Dog’s excited barks and nose prodding interrupted the blissful moment. Unable to stop it, you broke out into a laugh as you felt the canine attempt to wedge his head between yours and Daryl’s touching legs. In response, Daryl groaned in a mixture of agitation and embarrassment at his Dog’s mannerisms.

“I think he’s jealous.” You pointed out with a beaming grin before kneeling down and bestowing affectionate pets on Dog’s head.

“Nah, I think he’s just tryin’ to embarrass me.”

A joyful laugh escaped out of you again, and Daryl could have sworn he heard bells ringing in the distance, signaling that angels were getting their wings. That had to be the only explanation as to how you were laughing because you found something he said funny. For a while, Daryl was positive that it would never happen again. He never thought he wouldn’t be able to bring you joy again.

You knew there were still a lot more obstacles you and Daryl would have to overcome, but the hardest one was already conquered.

When it was time to head back home to Alexandria, and you walked through the woods with Daryl’s large hand enlaced with yours while Dog bounded happily in front of you, the most amount of hope you had ever felt coursed through your veins and warmed up your body in the most addicting way possible.

Despair and heartache didn’t weigh down on you anymore, and you were optimistic that it wouldn’t ever again.

A/N: Here it is, the final!! Daryl and Reader finally got their happily ever after, and my heart was practically bursting as I was writing this. I hope you enjoyed reading, and feel free to like, reblog, or give feedback! It truly makes my day and keeps me motivated to create and write. <3

Tags: @onlyheretoread2 @dreamtofus

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x y/n #the walking dead #twd #the walking dead fanfiction #twd fanfiction

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