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witchywithwhiskey · 4 months

Note

How about Bucky and “what are you going to do? punish me?”

Maybe we want something from our favorite super solider but can’t say the words and try to provoke him instead.

tempting fate in the park

pairing: father's business rival CEO!bucky barnes x female reader

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, fingering (f receiving), handjob, come play, come marking, public play, little bit of exhibitionism, dirty talk, light degradation, praise kink, pet names (darling), unspecified age gap, fluffy ending

word count: 4,000ish

a/n: i realized far too late that i didn't incorporate your premise at all, so sorry about that!!! also for everyone else, this is the fic where i was looking for a trope like 'dad's best friend'. i ended up going with 'dad's business rival' as a trope because it gave me a fun dynamic to play with!! hope y'all enjoy!! ♡♡

tempting fate in the park (part 1)

tempting fate on the terrace (part 2)

tempting fate in the CEO's office (part 3)

It was a beautiful spring afternoon and you were taking a slow, meandering stroll through Central Park, a sly smile on your face as you delighted in the knowledge that you had a secret. Beneath your flirty little sundress—the one you’d worn because the day was bright and warm and gorgeous—you were as bare as the day you were born.

The hem of your dress fluttered around your thighs, the cool breeze wafting through the park teasing you with the prospect of flashing some unsuspecting stranger with a salacious view of your most intimate place. Just the thought of that news getting back to your powerful CEO father had your smirk deepening. After all, it was fun to tempt fate.

But then, your afternoon took a fascinating turn when you spotted a familiar face walking down the same path as you, going in the opposite direction: Mr. James Buchanan Barnes—Bucky to his friends.

But you weren’t his friend, you were the daughter of his business rival. And it was a bitter rivalry.

You’d heard your father rage about Bucky on a number of occasions—cursing out the younger CEO for stealing some business or other from him. You were certain it didn’t help that Bucky was at least 10 years younger than your father, making his slights cut all the more.

Still, that didn’t stop your father from inviting Bucky to all his charity events and galas, always pretending to make nice with the younger CEO before whispering cutting remarks behind his back. It all seemed so ridiculous to you, but you didn’t mind the moments you were able to chat with Bucky.

He was handsome, after all—and single, if the rumors amongst New York City’s elite were to be believed. Plus, Bucky had an impish sort of charm that appealed to you, and you often wondered if perhaps he might be the man of your dreams, if only he wasn’t your father’s business rival.

But your father was nowhere near Central Park on that warm spring afternoon, and as you strolled casually down the path, your eyes watched Bucky closely as he walked in your direction. You didn’t think he’d noticed you yet, so you took the moment to appreciate the older man’s attractiveness.

His brown hair was swept back from his handsome face and styled in such a way that begged to have someone sink their fingers into his soft locks—and you wanted desperately to be that person. Trailing your gaze down his broad and tall body, you couldn’t help but think that Bucky looked distinguished, even with his slightly scruffy beard, and polished in a gray t-shirt, dark jacket and dark slacks.

Your eyes were only just wandering back to Bucky’s face when they snagged on his bright blue gaze. A devilish smirk curled Bucky’s soft lips and you knew you’d been caught gawking at the older man. Heat flamed in your cheeks—and other parts of your body—as Bucky approached you. But you refused to be embarrassed, so you lifted your chin and fixed a playful smile on your face, waiting for Bucky to come to you.

He stopped a polite distance away and greeted you with a nod of his head, his blue eyes sparkling and the edges of his mouth curved in a smirk. You did your best not to appear flustered as you exchanged pleasantries, noting how Bucky kept his eyes fixed respectfully on your face. That is, until he didn’t.

When the conversation lulled, Bucky’s gaze drifted down your body, taking in the way your dress hugged your curves, the neckline dipping low on your chest and the hem riding high on your thigh. The soft cotton fabric was molded to your body in a way that you knew would be obscene if the cut of the dress wasn’t so sweetly innocent. Your body warmed in response to Bucky’s attention and you swayed closer to the older man.

“That’s a pretty dress ya got on, darling,” Bucky rumbled, his voice going deliciously low, luring you in closer so you could hear him.

Your feet shuffled forward of their own accord and you watched intently while he finished his perusal of your body with a lingering look at your plush thighs. When Bucky’s gaze finally lifted back to yours, his blue eyes were sparkling in the bright spring sunshine, and he had a pleased smile on his handsome face.

“Why don’t you give me a twirl,” Bucky suggested, some of that impish charm in his tone. “Let me see how pretty it looks from every angle.”

You were about to do as Bucky said, but then you remembered what was beneath your dress—or, rather, what wasn’t beneath it. Heat rose to your cheeks and your gaze darted around, taking in the sheer amount of people who were in Central Park in the middle of a weekday afternoon. There were a lot of strangers who’d be treated to a view of your pussy if you twirled for Bucky.

It was one thing to go for a walk while not wearing any panties beneath your dress. That was tempting fate and hoping the springtime breeze didn’t make a spectacle of your nakedness. But it was another thing entirely to actually, purposefully, flash the busy city park just to give your father’s business rival what he wanted.

Steeling yourself, you returned your gaze to Bucky. “I don’t think that’s the best idea, Mr. Barnes,” you murmured in what you hoped was a playful conspiratorial voice. You lifted the corners of your mouth in a smirk that hopefully looked more mysterious than nervous, and hid how much your heart was racing.

Bucky seemed intrigued by your refusal and he shifted forward, his eyes dragging slowly down your body as if he was looking for the reason you’d said no. When he couldn’t find anything amiss, he lifted his gaze back to yours.

“What’s the matter, darling,” he asked in a warmly teasing voice. “You worried it might get back to your father that you flashed a peek of your panties in the park?” There was a challenge in his gaze, one you were all too happy to meet, even as your body heated with desire.

“Why, of course not, Mr. Barnes,” you murmured breathily, playing up the innocence in your voice, trying to make yourself sound more sultry. Leaning in, you pressed a hand to his broad chest and pretended you were confiding in him, your head tilting back to hold his gaze. “I’m worried I’d flash much more than my panties if I twirled around in my dress.”

You felt Bucky’s stiffen beneath your fingertips and delighted in the way you felt him suck in a sharp breath, sizzles of desire zinging through your body and making you feel like you’d swallowed a whole bottle of champagne. Bucky’s eyes darkened as they roved over your face, like he was trying to discern whether you were telling the truth.

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying, darling?” he rumbled, his voice low, sending a deliciously dangerous shiver down your spine.

It was difficult to keep the innocent look on your face, but you managed, even if the corners of your mouth fluttered with the smirk you wanted to set loose. Instead of answering Bucky’s question, you cocked your head to the side, pretending you didn’t understand what he was asking.

“Are you telling me you’re not wearing panties?” he asked, barely leashed emotion in his voice. It was deep and dark and you thought it might be anger, especially when he continued on in a voice that was as rough as gravel. “In the middle of a busy park, where anyone could look up your skirt—or touch you?”

A snort left you before you could hold it back. You couldn’t help it, Bucky’s words sounded like a chastisement, which was silly because you were a grown woman and you knew the risks of going out without panties on. So you gave him the bratty response you felt his words deserved.

“What are you going to do? Punish me?” you snarked, giving him a sweetly patronizing smile.

But it seemed you judged Bucky wrong because he only pressed closer to you, looming above you, a wicked smirk spreading across his face.

“Darling, I’m not your daddy, I’m not gonna punish you,” he rumbled, holding your gaze captive while his fingers brushed against your though, trailing up under your skirt ever so slightly. He watched your chest heave as your breath hitched in your throat and slipped his hand between your legs, teasing the inside of your thighs beneath your skirt. “But you might have to worry about a public indecency charge given what I’m gonna do with you.”

“What’re you gonna do with me, Mr. Barnes?” you asked, unable to catch your breath for all the warmth and riotous sensation flooding your body.

Bucky gripped your chin with his other hand, holding you still so all you could do was stare into his sparkling blue eyes. “I’m gonna do whatever I damn well please, darling,” he said in a low, firm voice. Then he ducked down and pressed a hot kiss to your lips that felt like you were sealing a deal with the devil.

Before you could even hope to catch your breath, Bucky had wrapped one arm around your waist and the other around your upper arm, walking you further into the park, keeping his pace quick. Your feet stumbled along with him, and you wondered dazedly what exactly he was going to do with you.

It wasn’t long before Bucky had led you into one of the more wooded areas of the park, finding a path that was deserted before he looked both ways and tugged you into the trees. He pulled you deep enough into the foliage that you were obscured from view of anyone on the path, then turned to you with a look of greedy hunger on his handsome face.

Pressing you up against a tree, Bucky’s mouth descended on yours and he set about devouring you.

His lips were soft, but unyielding, and possessive in the way they plundered your mouth, his hands just as demanding, tugging down the front of your dress beneath your tits so they were pushed up in an offering to your father’s business rival. Bucky accepted them eagerly, groping your soft flesh and plucking at your nipples until you gasped loudly into his mouth.

“Shh, darling,” Bucky muttered with a teasing smirk, “you’re gonna have to be quieter than that.” His free hand wrapped around your throat and pinned you to the tree, a wordless threat in the loose way he held you, but didn’t choke you. Yet.

It made a delicious heat flare through your body, and again, you rose to the challenge in his words. Lifting your chin, you looked Bucky dead in the eye and murmured, “Make me, Mr. Barnes.”

Bucky’s eyes darkened and his fingers squeezed a little tighter around your throat, digging into the sides and making your heart race as you hiccuped a gasp of desire.

“You’re such a filthy girl, darling,” Bucky rumbled, pressing a kiss to the apple of your cheek before dragging his mouth to your ear. “Makes me so fucking hard.” His hips bucked against yours and you felt the truth of his words.

Trailing your fingers down Bucky’s chest, you teased along the hem of his pants, wanting desperately to take him into your hand, but you paused. Catching Bucky’s eye, you let him see the wordless question in your eyes. It was only when he nodded that you eagerly unbuttoned and unzipped his fly, reaching inside and wrapping your hand around Bucky’s cock.

“So big,” you whispered wondrously, stroking his thick cock in your hand. You flicked your wrist, squeezing the tip and watched as Bucky’s eyes fluttered shut, the older man letting out a restrained groan at the feeling of you jerking him off. “Now who needs to be quiet, Mr. Barnes,” you teased, smirking up at him.

That had Bucky’s eyes snapping open and in the next breath his hand slipped between your legs, trailing up your thighs until his fingers brushed against your bare pussy. You were practically dripping for him, and you were certain he could feel it from the way his blue eyes darkened, pupils blowing wide with desire as he cursed.

“Fuck, you really aren’t wearing panties,” he bit out on a low groan, a little bit of surprise in his tone. Still, he seemed pleased by the revelation. His fingers dipped into your slit, his eyes watching your lips part in a soft moan while he teased your hole until your knees trembled beneath you. His expression shifted to one of affection, even as he rumbled, “You’re trouble, darling, d’you know that?”

Heat and pleasure swirled through your body so furiously, you were afraid you might collapse to your knees, even with Bucky’s hand wrapped around your throat and his other teasing your soaking wet folds, but you managed to shrug nonchalantly. “I’m only trouble if I get caught,” you replied blithely, giving Bucky a mischievous smile.

He chuckled, the sound low and raspy and devolving into a groan when you stroked his cock harder, your fist gripping him firmly. He gave you a heated look, then pushed two fingers into your tight hole and choked you at the same moment. It was a good thing he did, because his hand cut off the loud moan that would’ve spilled from your lips at the delicious intrusion of his fingers.

“Let’s make sure we don’t get caught then, darling,” he rumbled, fucking you with his fingers, his palm slapping quietly against your clit as he set a fast, hard rhythm. Pleasure spun through your mind, so sharp and delicious it made you struggle to keep up with the older man, your fist working his cock at the same furious pace he set.

All the while, Bucky held your gaze captive with his own, his eyes every so often drifting down to watch the way your chest heaved with panting breaths, your tits bouncing out of the confines of your dress, or the way your lips were parted as you tried to get enough oxygen to your lungs through his squeezing hand.

You, too, watched your father’s business rival come undone right before your eyes. His handsome face was flushed, his cheeks pink above his beard, his blue eyes darkening even further, and his soft mouth twisting in a snarl of pleasure. When his hips began thrusting into your hand, you suspected he was close, which he confirmed with his heated question.

“Where d’you want me to come?” Bucky ground out through clenched teeth, his hand loosening around your neck to let you speak. But he didn’t stop pounding into your cunt with his fingers and it was difficult to think. You were halfway lost to pleasure, which was your only excuse for the answer that slipped from your mouth.

“Come on my pussy, sir—please,” you begged, your voice husky and as quiet as you could manage with the way a pleasured cry was building in your chest. Rucking up your dress with your free hand, you stared into Bucky’s eyes as you murmured, “Mark me with your come.”

Bucky choked off the moan that threatened to fall from his lips, shoving his fingers deep in your cunt and pressing against a spot that had you seeing stars. Pleasure coiled tight in your core, but when he ground his palm against your clit, you were lost to him.

Your entire being shattered apart as you came on his hand, your mouth dropping open and your body shaking from overwhelming sensation. Thankfully, Bucky choked you hard enough to silence the scream of pleasure that wanted to break free, the restriction of air making you feel the pleasure of your release more acutely.

It was only when darkness began to creep into the edges of your vision and the waves of your orgasm began to abate, that Bucky loosened his hold on you. His hand fell away from your throat entirely and he kissed you fiercely, his lips praising you wordlessly.

You were so distracted by his mouth that it took you a moment to realize his hand had dropped from your throat to wrap around yours. He was guided your fingers up and down his cock, helping you stroke him fast and firm.

Ending the kiss with a low gasp, Bucky pressed his forehead to yours and looked down between your bodies to where he was using your hand to jerk his cock, like your fist was his own personal fleshlight. The sight was so erotic, your pussy fluttered around Bucky’s fingers, which were still inside you.

“Ya want me to come on your pussy, darling?” Bucky huffed, his chest heaving with heavy breaths even as he managed a teasing tone. “Want your daddy’s biggest business rival to mark your cunt with my seed, huh?”

“Yes, sir, please,” you begged in a breathy voice, wanting nothing more in that moment. You didn’t know where the desire came from, but you didn’t question it—only gave into it.

“Gonna make a mess of you, darling,” Bucky rumbled in warning, though his words only succeeded in turning you on again. Your pussy clenched around him again, making him huff a laugh even as he went on. “You’re gonna be dripping with my come for the rest of the afternoon.”

God help you, but you wanted it. You wanted to feel his come splash against your soft skin, you wanted the dirty, delicious knowledge that you were covered in his come beneath your dress while no one was the wiser. You wanted it so badly that you begged again, “Please, Mr. Barnes, please come on my pussy—I want it.”

Bucky closed his eyes like he was in pain, like your words were his undoing, and then he captured your lips, using your mouth to muffle his sounds of pleasure as he came. You felt the warm ropes of Bucky’s come spray against your mound and lower belly, rolling down your body. You kissed Bucky back fiercely, swallowing down every grunt and groan he uttered while he unleashed himself.

When he finally finished, he pulled away and you both looked down your body, watching where Bucky’s come caught in his hand cupping your pussy. He used his palm to rub his seed into your skin, making your cunt even messier than before. Both of you moaned at the sight, your body clenching tight a the debauchery of the moment.

“Fuck, darling, I can feel the way your pussy’s squeezing me,” Bucky muttered, looking up and catching your eye, giving you a charmingly devilish grin. “Makes me think you want me to dump my next load deep in your cunt.”

Your head fell back against the tree behind you and you let out a low, filthy moan of delight, making Bucky’s eyes darken again. But before either of you could say anything more—before you could beg your father’s business rival to come deep in your pussy—the sounds of people walking by on the park trail not too far from where you stood broke through your private moment.

Realizing the precariousness of your situation, Bucky quickly, but gently, eased his hand from your pussy and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping his fingers clean. You were too dazed from pleasure to move yet, but when he swiped it against your belly, cleaning his seed off your skin, you whimpered in disappointment.

“Shh, darling, I just wanna get us out of the park without getting that public indecency charge,” Bucky murmured comfortingly, pressing a kiss to your temple that made you smile and stop your protests.

He pocketed the dirtied handkerchief and tucked his cock back into his pants, then helped you fix your dress. Easing you away from the tree, Bucky shed his jacket and wrapped it around your shoulders to hide the scratches and indents from the bark.

You leaned heavily into Bucky’s side as he walked you back through the park toward the entrance near which you’d first spotted him. It was only when Bucky guided you to the passenger door of a nice looking car that you found your voice again.

“Where are we going, Mr. Barnes?” you asked, a little teasing tone in your voice. When you looked up into Bucky’s handsome face, you wore an impish smirk, hoping he wasn’t done with you yet.

Bucky pushed you gently back against the side of his car, his hands on your hips beneath his jacket and his body looming over yours. A shiver of delight raced down your spine and you reached up, carding your fingers through his soft brown hair like you’d wanted to when you first saw him. Bucky turned his head and kissed the inside of your wrist before pinning you with his intense gaze.

“I’m taking you back to my place, darling,” Bucky murmured softly, a smile on his lips that turned amused. “Did you think a little fooling around in the park was all I wanted?”

You squirmed in his arms, feeling young and insecure all of a sudden under the weight of the older man’s fierce stare. Dropping your gaze to his beard, you avoided his eye as you spoke.

“I don’t know what you want, Mr. Barnes,” you confessed, realizing only after the words fell from your lips that you meant more than just what Bucky planned to do with you that day. Feelings rushed through your body, your heart pounding in your chest and you felt shy in front of Bucky for the first time.

But he seemed to know exactly how to handle your sudden change of mood. Curling a finger under your chin, he tilted your face up to look at him. His blue eyes were sparkling with a warm affection that made you settle a little.

“I want everything you’re willing to give me,” he rumbled in a gentle voice before ducking down and pressing a sweet kiss to your lips. When he broke the kiss, he didn’t pull back far, keeping his face close to yours. “And please, call me Jamie,” he murmured, a tenor of vulnerability in his tone that surprised you.

You smiled against his mouth, finding it easier to tease him again. “I thought all your friends called you Bucky,” you whispered, your body lighting up at his continued closeness. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and pressed your chest to his, enjoying the way your nipples dragged against his t-shirt.

Bucky chuckled and you could feel the sound reverberate in your chest, sending heat curling through your body. “Darling,” he said, his tone affectionately teasing. “You’re much more than a friend, wouldn’t you say?”

At that, you managed a cheeky smile, leaning back to let him see your happy expression. “Yeah, I would,” you said, leaning in to kiss him again. That time, it was your turn to devour his mouth, enjoying the taste and feel of him as you made out against his car.

When you finally pulled away, it was with a sigh of, “Jamie.”

With a pleased smile on his face, Bucky helped you into his car, his hand immediately settling possessively on your thigh once he’d sat in the driver’s seat. You relaxed into the soft leather seat, unable to think of anything else except how content you were with the turn your spring afternoon had taken.

Perhaps you’d been tempting fate by walking around the park without anything on under your dress. But it seemed fate had led you straight into the arms of Bucky, so you couldn’t feel even a little bit remorseful for your reckless behavior.

Especially not when Bucky squeezed your thigh and flashed you a charming smile that had you thinking your father’s business rival might just turn out to be the man of your dreams after all.

tempting fate in the park (part 1)

tempting fate on the terrace (part 2)

tempting fate in the CEO's office (part 3)

#witchywithwhiskey's springtime fun #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #sebastian stan #sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan fanfiction #sebastian stan characters #witchywithwhiskeywork #sgtnightwolfinthetardis

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kira-dofc · 3 months

Text

Mafia boss! Sukuna x Male reader

Notes- This was supposed to be a Gojo fic but Sukuna fitted this shit better its too dark for Gojo :(

Wc- 3055

Warnings: SMUT! NSFW, unprotected sex, dub-con, breeding, omegaverse, top/bottom, sub/dom, bottom male reader, overstimulation

Flashes of orange and yellow flames streaked past you, casting a fierce glow that punctuated the night with a hellish light. The deafening crack of gunshots shattered the eerie silence, bullets whizzing through the air like deadly fireflies. It was 10:00 p.m., and the city that never slept was now cloaked in an ominous stillness, save for the chaos erupting around you. Frantically, you ran, heart pounding like a war drum in your chest, fleeing from the world's most notorious mafia. For years, they had hunted down omegas with unrelenting ferocity, and tonight, you had become their latest target. As the last of your kind, you had been hiding from them for a long time. Unluckily, tonight marked the end of your concealment. You were unique, hailing from a wealthy lineage.

Your family had perished before your eyes, leaving you to carry on the bloodline. It was them. It had always been them. They murdered your family, your only family. And you had been too naive to do anything but hide, bearing all the responsibilities alone. But that was six years ago. Now, you needed to devise a way to throw them off your trail.

Bloodstains smeared almost your entire body. Your legs were limp, and one of your bones was broken. You fled toward the heart of the city, tears streaming down your cheeks as you sprinted away from the terrifying sounds of pursuit. The once-bustling metropolis had turned into a ghost town, its inhabitants cowering indoors, unwilling to risk becoming the mafia's next victim. The streets were deserted, the silence broken only by your ragged breathing and the distant echoes of violence.

Each step felt like an eternity as adrenaline surged through your veins. You could almost sense their presence behind you, a shadow of death closing in. It seemed they were tracking you by your scent. The sweet, floral fragrance that emanated from your body had made this escape even more challenging. Your sweet blood flowed through your veins, each drop hitting the ground and leaving a trail. You pressed your hands against your wounds, trying to stop the bleeding and prevent them from following your scent. Your mind raced, replaying the events that led to this desperate escape. It had begun with whispers, rumors of the mafia targeting omegas, and then the brutal reality struck as friends and acquaintances began to disappear, leaving only bloodstains and unanswered questions. Their actions were inexplicable: Why would they target people like you? You had witnessed countless deaths at their hands, many shot, others thrown into pits of fire. They burned all the bodies of their victims.

The neon lights of the city, once symbols of vibrancy and life, now cast eerie, elongated shadows that seemed to grasp at you. You rounded a corner, your feet slipping on the rain-slicked pavement. The distant wail of sirens was a cruel reminder that help would not come in time. You had to rely on your instincts and sheer will to survive.

Suddenly, a narrow alleyway caught your eye. Without thinking, you darted into it, hoping to lose your pursuers in the labyrinth of backstreets. But as you ran deeper, the walls seemed to close in, and the alley twisted into a nightmarish maze. The sound of footsteps grew louder, echoing off the brick walls, a relentless reminder that they were drawing closer.

Your frantic flight led you to a dead end, a towering brick wall blocking your path. Panic surged through you as you desperately tried to find a way over it, your fingers scrabbling at the rough surface. The wall loomed high above you, an insurmountable barrier that seemed to mock your desperation. You could hear their voices now, low and menacing, carried on the wind.

You turned to face them, your breath coming in short, terrified gasps. Shadows danced at the entrance of the alley, and then they emerged, dark silhouettes against the dim light. There was no escape. Your eyes darted around, seeking any possible way out, but there was none. The realization hit you like a tidal wave – you were trapped.

One of the men stepped forward, his face obscured by shadows, but the cold glint in his eyes was unmistakable. He raised his weapon, and in that split second, time seemed to slow. You braced yourself for the impact, expecting the searing pain of a bullet. Instead, there was a sharp sting, more like a needle prick than a gunshot.

Confusion mingled with the adrenaline, and a wave of dizziness washed over you. Your vision blurred, and your legs wobbled beneath you. You staggered, trying to stay upright, but your strength was failing. The world around you began to spin, the alleyway becoming a distorted swirl of colors and shadows.

With a final, desperate effort, you reached out to the wall, hoping to steady yourself, but it was too late. Your fingers brushed against the cold bricks before your legs gave way completely. You collapsed to the ground, the impact jarring but distant, as if it were happening to someone else. The cold, unforgiving pavement pressed against your cheek, and darkness crept in at the edges of your vision.

The last thing you saw before everything went black was the triumphant, merciless faces of your captors as they closed in around you. Their voices were muffled, distorted by the haze of unconsciousness, but the satisfaction in their tones was unmistakable. As the world faded away, one thought lingered in your mind – this was only the beginning of a nightmare that had no end in sight.

As the cold seeped into your bones, memories of happier times flickered in your mind like a fading film reel. You remembered your family's laughter, the warmth of your mother's embrace, and the security you felt in your father's presence. Those moments seemed like a lifetime ago, swallowed by the darkness of the present. The mafia had taken everything from you, and now they were about to take your freedom, perhaps even your life.

The darkness enveloped you completely, a void that swallowed all light and sound. Time lost its meaning as you drifted in and out of consciousness, your mind a whirlpool of fear and despair. When you finally awoke, you found yourself in a dimly lit room, the air thick with the smell of damp and decay. Your hands were bound, the rough ropes cutting into your wrists, and your body ached from the rough handling and the injuries sustained during your escape.

A single, flickering light bulb cast eerie shadows on the walls, and the faint sound of dripping water echoed in the background. The air was thick with the scent of mildew and something metallic—probably blood. You struggled to sit up, wincing at the pain that shot through your limbs with every small movement. Your captors had taken no chances, securing you tightly to a chair with heavy, rusted chains. The room was bare, save for a small table covered in ominous stains and a single door, which you guessed led to more horrors beyond.

The door creaked open, its sound amplified in the silence, and a figure stepped inside. It was the man who had shot you, his cold eyes glinting with cruel amusement. He approached slowly, savoring your fear, and knelt down to meet your gaze. His smile was a twisted parody of kindness, and his voice was soft, almost gentle, as he spoke.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," he said, his tone mocking. "You gave us quite the chase, but it seems the game is over now."

You glared at him, refusing to let him see the terror that gripped your heart. "What do you want from me?" you demanded, your voice hoarse from disuse and dry from lack of water.

The man chuckled, a low, chilling sound that echoed in the small room. "Oh, it's not me who wants something from you," he replied. He turned his head slightly towards the door, and with a simple, "Boss," he summoned another figure into the room.

A tall, hooded figure stepped in front of you. His eyes were as red as fire, and his hair was a lush cascade of pink, shimmering even in the dim light. His eyes furrowed as he looked down upon you, scrutinizing your scarred figure. His face etched into a grin that sent shivers down your spine. This was Sukuna, the infamous leader of the most feared mafia syndicate in the world.

Sukuna bowed down to your height, his intense gaze never leaving yours. He tilted his head slightly, scanning you as if you were a specimen in a lab. "Let me clear things up for you," he chuckled as he stood back up. "It's not about what we want. It's about what we need. You see, you are the last of your kind, and that makes you very valuable to us. And very valuable to me. Your blood, your lineage, your body."

You squinted your eyes, trying to understand what he was saying. It was hard to focus through the haze of pain and fear, but his words were starting to piece together a horrifying picture. They didn't just want to torture you; they wanted to exploit you, to use you for some nefarious purpose. The thought filled you with a renewed sense of defiance, and you vowed to fight them with every ounce of strength you had left.

Sukuna's voice dropped to a soft, almost affectionate tone. "I want you to be my mate," he said, his words causing a cold shiver to run down your spine. "Consider it a sacrifice; you'll be saving your race, your population. You can save them."

The words hit you like a physical blow. You struggled against your restraints, your mind racing. "Then why did you kill all of them?" you spat out, your voice trembling with rage and sorrow. "Why? Why do it if you just wanted someone? You could have just taken one and left the rest of us be."

Sukuna's grin widened, and there was a maddening glint in his eyes. "Why are you doing this?" you demanded, your voice breaking.

He leaned in close, so close you could feel his breath on your skin. "Oh, I only did this so I could finally get you," he said with a chilling calmness. "I wanted you, and you only. You managed to get away when we slaughtered your whole family. I only did this so I could be with you, my prince."

His words were a twisted declaration, and you could feel the bile rising in your throat. He chuckled as he whispered those words close to your ears, his breath hot and foul. He grazed his hand along your chin, lifting it to force you to look into his eyes.

"Clean him up, then bring him to my room," he ordered the man who had shot you. "I want him clean when I see him again." With a final smirk, Sukuna turned away from you and walked out of the room, leaving you with the chilling promise of what was to come.

The man who had shot you moved to obey Sukuna's orders. He released the chains that held you to the chair, though he left your hands bound behind your back. You were too weak to resist, too weak to do anything but stumble as he dragged you out of the room and down a long, dimly lit corridor.

The corridor seemed to stretch on forever, each step echoing off the cold, stone walls. The faint sound of dripping water followed you, a constant reminder of the dank, underground prison you found yourself in. You were led into another room, this one slightly less decrepit than the last. It had a small basin of water, a towel, and a change of clothes laid out on a table.

The man pushed you towards the basin. "Clean yourself up," he said gruffly. You stared at the water, the reflection of your battered face staring back at you. Every movement was painful, but you forced yourself to comply, knowing that any defiance now would only result in more pain.

You washed as best as you could with your hands still bound, the cold water stinging your wounds. When you were done, the man handed you the change of clothes—a simple, clean shirt and pants. He watched you closely as you struggled to dress yourself, his eyes never leaving you.

Once you were dressed, he grabbed your arm and led you out of the room again. You were taken to yet another corridor, this one even darker and more foreboding than the last. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the sound of your footsteps and the occasional distant echo of voices.

Finally, you were brought to a large, imposing door. The man knocked once, then pushed it open, revealing a lavishly decorated room. Rich tapestries adorned the walls, and expensive-looking furniture filled the space. It was a stark contrast to the squalor of the rest of the compound.

Sukuna was waiting for you inside, seated in an ornate chair. He looked up as you entered, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. "Ah, there you are," he said, his voice dripping with mock warmth. "You look much better now."

You stood there, your body tense and your mind racing. What was he planning? What did he want from you? The uncertainty was almost worse than the pain. Sukuna rose from his chair and approached you, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Come, sit with me," he said, gesturing to a chair opposite his. "We have much to discuss."

You hesitated, but the man behind you gave you a sharp shove, forcing you to comply. You sat down, your hands still bound, and glared at Sukuna. "What do you want from me?" you repeated, your voice filled with defiance.

Sukuna's smile widened. "I told you, didn't I? I want you to be my mate. Together, we can rebuild your race, your people. You are the key to everything."

His words were like a knife to your heart. You couldn't believe what you were hearing. "Why would I ever agree to that?" you demanded.

"Because you have no choice," Sukuna said simply. "Either you cooperate, or you watch as I destroy everything you hold dear. The choice is yours."

His words hung in the air, a chilling ultimatum that left you feeling more trapped than ever. You knew you had to find a way out, to escape this nightmare. But for now, all you could do was sit and listen, and wait for the right moment to strike.

"Leave," He ordered, "I want some privacy." The men in front of the door nodded and leaved in order.

Sukuna walked around the table, his eyes never leaving yours. He leaned down, his face inches from yours. "I can see the defiance in your eyes," he murmured. "It's...exciting."

You turned your head away, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response. But Sukuna grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him. His grip was strong, almost painfully so. "Don't look away from me," he said softly.

He pressed his lips to yours, the kiss rough and demanding. You tried to pull away, but his hand on your chin held you in place. His tongue forced its way into your mouth, claiming you in a way that left no room for doubt—he was in control.

When he finally pulled back, you were breathless, a mixture of anger and confusion swirling inside you. Sukuna's eyes glittered with satisfaction. "See? That wasn't so hard," he said, his voice mocking.

He reached down and began to unbutton your shirt, his fingers moving with a practiced ease. You tensed, every muscle in your body screaming at you to fight, to resist. But the man behind you had a firm grip on your shoulders, holding you in place.

Sukuna's hands roamed over your chest, his touch both gentle and possessive. "You're beautiful," he murmured, almost to himself. "So perfect."

You shuddered, a mixture of fear and unwanted arousal coursing through you. Sukuna's hands moved lower, unbuttoning your pants and sliding them down your legs. He knelt in front of you, his eyes dark with desire. "I want to taste you," he said softly, his breath hot against your skin.

A sudden tug was felt on your shirt, Sukuna lifted you up. Everything went by so fast, your were now on his bed. Your shirt and your pants was tossed to the ends of the bed leaving you bare with your underwear wet as your cock begging to spring out. Your face was flushed between your hands as Sukuna chuckled "You're too cute to handle, boy" He soon unbuttoned his polo, leaving his body bare for you to see.

His body was toned, veins aching from every muscle. His jawline defined, his hands were scarred, veins and bones revealing themselves under the skin of his hands. He moved down to you as he whispered to your ears, "You're mine."

Sukuna groaned as he held your hips with harsh and fast thrusts. Every thrust he makes make you squeal and let out moans. Your body now aching with love bites and hickeys as you left scratches on Sukuna's back. His fast thrusts soon slowed as he leaned on you, "Take all of my pups for me, yeah?" He groaned as he came, knotting your insides as you came on his stomach. Your moans shifted into breathless sighs.

One round turned into 20. Its been 1 hour and a half before his dick throbbed your insides. His shape now taking form of your hole, "Ugh...! N-no Ah..., more....." You moaned as you whispered in his ears. "You don't get to order me," He groaned as he whispered back to you, "Just one more darling. Raise all my pups inside you..." He leaned closer to your face as he planted a kiss on your forehead as he thrusts in and out of you. You hugged him tightly as you felt your climax. One final thrust, his cock spurted out his pups in you for the twentieth time.

You breathed heavily, as your rested your head on the mattress. His hands trailed to your neck to your jaw, moving your head to face him. "I'm not done with you," He says as he kissed you on your neck, through your chin and on your lips. He groaned as he laid next to you. Your head facing his chest as his hands covered your waist.

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erisweekofficial · 10 days

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Fanfic

One Year Later (OC x Eris) by @afandomangel 👑

Until I see you again (OC x Eris) by @mika-no-sekai-blog

Protection (Eris x Reader) by @littlest-w01f 👑

All’s well that ends well to end up with you (Eris x Reader) by @daycourtofficial 👑

yea, though i walk (Azris) by @brunetterebel010 👑

What Could Have Been (Eris x Elain) by @nocasdatsgay

Suffering his Scent (Azris) by @neciebee 👑

Falling For You (Eris x Reader) by @bubybubsters

Hold Me While You Wait (Eris x OC) by @fieldofdaisiies

Bedroom manners (Eris x Reader) by @lady-of-tearshed 👑

Pinky Promise (Eris x Reader) by @pit-and-the-pen👑

Still Beautiful Things by @climbthemountain2020 👑

Pull Me in Deeper Ch 17 (Eris x OC) by @zenkindoflove 👑

Ensnaring Marks (Eris x Reader) by @surielstea 👑

A Bond of Song & Flames Ch 1 (Eris x OC) by @sadiegirl2021 👑

Under the Weeping Beech (Azris) by @chunkypossum

Waiting for You (Eris x Reader) by @mcuamerica 👑

Day 1 - Bonds | Bargains by @clockwork-ashes 👑

A Wound So Deep (Azris) by @acourtofladydeath

An Unconventional Bargain by @hellcat8908 👑

Just Enough Light to Cast Shadows Ch 22 (Azris) by @jules-writes-stories 👑

Of Our Own Devices (Eris x Reader) by @illyrianbitch 👑

Gone Through Enough (Eris x Reader) by @thelov3lybookworm

The Uncertainty of Spring (Eris x OC) by @daycourtofficial 👑

Tomorrow Can Wait (Azris) by @myromanempiree 👑

By Turns by @jon-snows-man-bun 👑

Roots In My Dreamland (Eris x OC) by @lucienarcheron

Always An Angel, Never A God (Eris x OC) by @chairofchaos 👑

Your Scars on My Pulse (Azris) by @shadowsandlint 👑

To Dust or To Gold Ch 2 (Neris) by @queercontrarian

An Exchange in Etiquette (Eris x Reader) by @qwimblenorrisstan 👑

Into the Dark (Eris x Reader) by @prythianpages 👑

Lady Luck (Eris x OC) by @ginandtobacco 👑

Bond (Azris) by @thomasisaslut 👑

Being Seen (Eris x Elain) by @vague-shadows 👑

The Crushing Burden of Those Before Us (Eris x Reader) by @dee-writes-smut 👑

A Page From Another's Book (Eris x Reader) by @readychilledwine

Autumn Leaves (Eris x Reader) by @mirandasidefics

Fanart

Eris' bond with Autumn by @elleybug 👑

Eris x Alexius by @zenkindoflove 👑

Neris Art by @rosesncarnations

Worried Eris by @secret-third-thing

Eris and his mate by @/artbyellat (on instagram)

Azris Art by @moonpatroclus & @cauldronblssd (@lucychanart)

Eris Week, Day 1: Bonds (Azris) by @the-darkestminds 👑

Misc.

day one : bonds ( m o t h e r ) by @spore-loser 👑

Eris Week Moodboard by @fieldofdaisiies

Chopin by @chairofchaos 👑

Vanserra brothers in a modern AU by @wishfulimaginings 👑

Thank you for all your contributions! It’s incredible and almost unbelievable how many stories and creative ideas you’ve brought to life on just the first day!

There was a bit of confusions about the crowns- so sorry for that. If it's your first eris week, let us know! If we missed giving you a 👑, please let us know so we can add it to the masterlist. We'll make sure that all masterlists are up to date before the full event masterlist is released 🧡

(divider by @tsunami-of-tears)

#eris headcanons #eris vanserra #eris acotar #erisweek2024 #acotar #pro eris vanserra #high lord eris #autumn court #autumn court heir #eris

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gortashs-skidmark · 5 months

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Tieflings DnD - variations for the fanfic writers and artists!! -

There’s a lot about tieflings on the internet. THESE ARE CANON, except for one thought i put in.

If you’re gonna do BG3 fanfics about Tieflings, please please please consider adding some spice with origin lore and CANON facts about their race :) it would be SO fun!

Pls I need more zevlor fanfic too.

PLS READ: I don’t believe in censorship or ignoring the subject of people who are oppressed, but be mindful of how you write and use oppression of dnd races on your tav pls.

- Orange; Canon Historical Events, Abilities, Bodily Facts, and Bloodlines. It means i think you should look into it.

Pink: I think it's cute. Red; Warning, Comment Purple; Headcanon (only one of them)

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- Tieflings are prone to bad luck, because of the Curse of Aasimar.

- Planar Proverb “don’t ever make a bet with a Tiefling” hey I already made one with Lakrissa.

- They’re arcanally gifted, most of them. Zariel Tieflings are much better melee fighters.

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- Tielfling Blood; is tainted from the hells so they could have human parents. Be descendants of demon, devils, evil deities, night hags, and succubus!

- i know y’all love aphrodisiac fanfics, succubus spittle is exactly what you need dawg. Someone make me a fanfic including succubus heritage.

- along with that, Tieflings are unable to breed with anyone except humans or other Tieflings. Literally. They can be Tiefling or human.

- Usually there is some tell to if they’re Zariel, Asmodeus, Mephistopheles by birth mark, or traits like cat eyes, or night hags bloodlines have red eyes without pupils or scelaras

EDIT: I thought the flaming pupils were cat-like slit eyes in the game, but Karlach does indeed have regular slits!

- Tieflings can be male, female, or without gender. It is a canon fact. A win for my gender struggling homies.

- They can have green, blue, purple, pink, yellow, red skin tones. With dark hair colors only like black, purple, dark red and blue. I don’t care for this, genes be gene-ing so have any color you want.

Mephestopheles is recorded as to having blue skin, pale blue whites and red eyes, soot black scales, with large wings in the 2nd Manual. BUT in a 3e version he is described having red skin, bat wings, being 9ft, with white eyes, and slick black hair. Both of these are present in Mephestophic Bloodlines in BG3. Raphael is the son, though cambion, is red.

Asmodeus rules the Nine Hells. Mephestopheles being his archduke, only rules the 8th layer. Asmodeus has a humanoid, and a scale-fiend version of himself. He's red, slim, 13ft tall, horned, vibrant red eyes, and a neatly trimmed beard. He is Lawful-Evil.

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The Blood War (where Karlach escaped) is described as a "philosophical war" and which kind of evil would rule. Asmodeus plays a part but didn't start it, it's rooted in ancient Hell conflicts. Asmodeus claimed it was a senselessly bloody conflict from a militia standpoint. He really hates it, he's not a fan of it. INFERNAL POLITICS ARE FUCKING COMPLICATED. look into it :)

Zevlor was a Hellrider or Rider of Elturel! a Cavalry unit for Elturel during the 14th and 15th century. They ride horseback, and use spears and bows. They're well reguarded!! Zevlor should have more pride in himself for his service, being a refugee isn't his fault, or The Descent.

In the late 1400's striving for Paladin Knighthood in the Order of Companion was a rank of Hell rider. Before and after the year 1494, you could be a Paladin and join freely.

The Order of Companions was an Elturel, of Western Heartland, theocratic realm of Paladin Knighthood. It's just a region of Paladins that are highly reguarded. They typically worship Tyr, Torm, Helm, and Aumanator.

They kept order in the high capital of Elturel, preserving local civilization from outer destruction. They're super Lawful Good.

Typically an Oath of Devotion or an Oath of the Crown.

"For a City Guard, they outmatched the armies of the Whole Realm" - Forgotten Wiki Realms

They guard general land, they aren't really police, and can escort as far as Waterdeep if privileged to. It is a job they hold for life. I FUYCKING LOVE HELLRIDERS.

Shortly after Elturel’s descent into Avernus, the Tieflings were blamed for the fall, and expelled from the city entirely. Zevlor and any tiefling hellrider’s title has been stripped from them. Any hellrider’s were arrested at The Gate. And the reputation of tieflings sunk even lower.

Badlurian’s are Elturian’s rivals but Duke Ravenguard was tricked into coming to Elturel for politics and ended up helping and sending in troops to help fight. He’s extra important! I might find Wyll, all though lovely, useless, his father is very brave and noble and amazing for what he does.

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- Tieflings can have feathers! Although rare. They can have fur, scales, or be bald like humans. They can be any variation of sorts!

- A more common portrayal of tieflings, is having solid colored eyes, whites and irises the same color. They can be black, red, silver, gold, or white.

- Tieflings are technically minorities and don’t live in the highest neighborhoods. It gives them an even worse reputation.

- Most of the Tieflings with famous status, also give bad reps. Climbing their way to the top in corruption.

- When Tieflings get nervous, experience anxiety, or are upset. They’re known to wrap their tails around their leg!! Super telling.

- They can use their tail like a monkey, very dexterous about it. It’s about 5-6ft long.

- Their ages, weight, height. All similar to humans. Idk how logical that is with 5 extra feet of meat behind them. Sometimes they can live longer, to about 120-150 years old.

- Tieflings can look just like humans. Though they can have their hellish features, those with strong hellish features are often killed at birth out of disgust.

- They can also have legs of a goat, tail akin to a horse or a lizard.

- Tieflings can be really good at thieving, hiding, and deceit.

- their diet consists of meat, marrow, gristle, fat, and bones. They’re highly carnivorous. They even eat roasted insects.

- Many worship Besheba, the goddess of bad luck, finding similarities in them and their goddess.

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- Tieflings are as sensitive as humans, same hearing. They usually have dark vision. And their body temperatures can be colder or warmer than humans depending on their type of tainted blood. --Mephistopheles blood lines are from the frozen layer of hell, maybe their blood is colder.

- They don’t purr, sorry girlies. They’re closer to humans than Tabaxis or Driders.

- Tieflings don’t regrow horns unless they’re still young, though they do tend to file them down.

- They have a natural unsettling aura about them. Even if their heritage is unknown to others, it makes people uncomfortable. They also can smell of sulphur.

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- There are so many Tieflings bloodlines. I love the Babau Tieflings bc they’re already known as uncanny creatures-- Babau Tieflings are gaunt and skinny, darker skin, and a small horn coming from the back of their head.

- Marilith Tieflings are known to be seductive- more than they already are, and have dark hair. They have snake-like half-bodies and have grey tongues.

- Succubus Tieflings! They’re like the ones you see in bg3, often have a small set of wings.

- Tieflings can have so many fucking variations it makes me dizzy.

- Tieflings can have bat-like wing shaped ears, that perk up and shit. I know yall think about ear movements. <zevlor has this>

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Edit: Ya'll loved this :) I can do another on Tiefling politics if ya'll want. Or more bloodlines and fun facts if you want.

I have built another list of Canon facts about Driders and Kar'niss Headcanons if you monster fuckers are interested!!

Currently in the works; He Who Was Headcanons and Shadar'Kai canon facts and events.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 tiefling #bg3 zevlor #bg3 rolan #bg3 dammon #karlach #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fanart

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a-court-of-fics-and-errors · 4 months

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Keep Moving Forwards: Part 4

Azriel x Reader Fic

Summary: After finally deciding to leave your abusive and manipulative mate for good, you find unexpected companionship with Azriel, the Shadowsinger of the Night Court. As you navigate the aftermath of your traumatic relationship, you struggle to understand where the mating bond went wrong and contemplate your path forward, vowing never to return to the past.

Find other parts here: Master List

To follow this fic, follow tag "Keep Moving Forwards Fic" or comment to be tagged in future parts.

Content Warning: This story contains depictions of extreme emotional manipulation and abuse, detailed descriptions of direct physical abuse, and scenes of men hunting women with implied sexual assault. Please read at your own risk.

Word Count: 3.0K

Author's Note: This is the second part of what I anticipate will be a multi-part series. Unlike my previous works, this fanfiction delves deeper than just fluff, exploring complex emotional landscapes. As I navigate this new writing journey, I kindly ask for gentle feedback. The topics addressed are profoundly impactful, touching many lives with diverse experiences. Please be gentle with yourselves and others. Healing is a journey, and everyone processes it differently. Be kind to yourself. Take what resonates, and leave what doesn’t.

Please continue reading, being aware of the above content warnings, ensuring you are in a healthy headspace. Give yourself time to process and be gentle with yourself.

There was an odd pain radiating from your temple, stretching around your forehead to the back of your scalp, pulsating. What happened? you wondered. As you reached up to press your palm into the epicenter of the pain, you felt a distinct sharp pain radiating up your side from your ribs, spreading down through your back. It was enough pain to justify saying your entire torso felt like it was on fire. A sharp hiss escaped from between your teeth as you finally managed to bring your palm to your temple, the ache still pounding. You ran one hand up your side to find it bandaged, a wooden splint strapped to your side to keep you from bending. Something very bad had happened. You tried to recall events leading up to now, but the memories were foggy. Something about rain and darkness? Your body remembered biting cold, but other than that, you struggled to pull anything from your subconscious. Right now, you were just exhausted, both in mind and body.

When you opened your eyes, you were met with an odd sight. A wooden ceiling, vaulted high above you. You squinted, unsure if the pain in your head was distorting your vision. The roof of your cabin was much lower and certainly didn’t have the ornate carvings lining the beams. You managed to turn your head slightly, your neck sending a shooting pain through your spine as you clenched your teeth. Unless you were dreaming, this wasn’t your cabin.

To your right, there was a small wooden side table with four ornately carved drawers. Atop it was a washbasin with a dirty red rag draped over the side, and a single candle burned down almost to its base, the wick and flame high and flickering. Across the room was a large window with brown curtains hanging from the beam above it. On the window sill stood a series of bottles and candles—perfume bottles, perhaps. Below that was a chest carved with various markings, some of which you could make out as stars. Fighting against the pain, you craned your neck to look at the fireplace, where wood cracked and split as smoke curled up the chimney. Resting next to the mantle was a series of weapons: swords, knives, an ax, all left haphazardly as if someone had thrown them down some time ago and left them to collect dust.

Your head sent another pang of pain through it as you squeezed your eyes shut, your head falling back to hit the pillow again, which was soft, warm, and inviting. You let your hands fall back to your sides, instinctively curling into the warmth of the soft fur at the side of the bed. You let your fingers run idly through it as you tried and failed once again to orient yourself. Thinking too hard sent the pain burning through your skull again, and every breath felt as if someone were dragging a knife down the length of your side.

You must have fallen asleep, because when you next opened your eyes, the light in the room had shifted to the oranges and yellows of evening. Struggling once more to turn your head and look around the room, you noticed the washbasin had been removed and the candle replaced with a taller, newer version. Someone had come in while you were asleep. When you reached down your sides, you noticed the wooden splint had been removed and the dressings replaced with smoother, cotton bandages. Not only had someone been in the room with you, but they had also nursed you.

You tried to sit up. Another blast of pain, and a small inadvertent squeak from your mouth, and your head fell back to the mattress. When you turned your head, you recognized the male standing in the doorway, but couldn't quite place him. Your eyes squinted at him, mouth slightly open.

“You’re awake,” he finally spoke, making his way across the room and setting a basin of clean water on the side table before wringing out the rag within it. He reached across to run it across your temple, and you jerked to the side, causing another roar of pain as you squeezed your eyes shut and groaned.

“You can’t move like that,” he warned, pulling his hand back, the water dripping onto the floor. “You haven’t fully healed, and every time you move, that rib recracks.”

A broken rib. So that was the cause of the pain.

You groaned slightly as he placed the rag back in the basin and took a step back. You gave him a long look up and down. Yes, he certainly seemed familiar. His tanned skin, covered in swirling black tattoos running down his arms and up his neck, barely visible above the collar of his black shirt. His face was hardened yet kind, with hazel eyes meeting yours as you continued to try to decode this familiar stranger. His hair, soft black waves, swooped down over his forehead, and the most familiar part of him were the large bat-like wings protruding over his shoulders, the talons on the top glinting in the light of the fire, now blazing at the foot of the bed.

“Do you not recognize me?” he asked after you seemed satisfied with your visual investigation.

You rested your head back down on the pillow, your neck nearly giving out from the strain of holding it up, which felt as if it weighed a hundred pounds. You choked back a slight gasp as your neck spasmed. “No,” you finally got out. “Should I?”

The male’s brows furrowed, and a hint of concern flashed across his face as he clasped his hands behind his back. “We met a few nights ago, both at the Starlit Stag Inn. You were in the room adjacent to mine.”

You pulled through the memories, recalling your initial interaction, walking in to find him lounging on the chair. Memories seemed to be coming back, slowly.

“You were in my room,” you said, squeezing your eyes shut.

The male let out a light chuckle as he pulled a wooden stool from the wall, planting his large frame onto it. His forearms rested on his thighs as he leaned forward, clasping his hands. “I would argue you were in my room, given I was there first.”

You opened one eye, the other still clenched shut, to look at him. His face was soft, inviting, handsome for sure, but what struck you most was the seeming care he took in looking at your face, which you were sure was battered and bruised based on how it felt.

“Well,” you replied, “I guess I’m sorry about taking over your space.”

He smiled again, his scarred thumb stroking the top of his other hand as he looked down at it. “I was more than happy to share.”

There was a pause as he looked back up at you, now staring toward the ceiling, ragged breaths escaping from you as you tried to peer through memories, searching for what had happened over the last few days.

“What do you remember?” he finally asked.

You blinked a few times. Rain, cold, pain, male voices echoing, saying such foul things, and before that, purple flowers, your mother. “It’s fuzzy,” you finally said, tears building at the corner of your eyes, though you weren’t sure why.

“Seemed like you knocked your head pretty hard,” the male said, gesturing to your temple. “Though I can’t say what happened to the rest of you, you were pretty battered when I found you”

“Found me?” you asked, a tear slipping down your cheek, though it was on the other side, and the male couldn’t see it as you shoved the sadness deep down.

The male nodded. “You were lying on the river bank, soaking wet and freezing. I assume you’d somehow fallen into the river and hit your head. You don’t remember any of that?”

That would explain the blasts of pain.

“What river?”

The male’s eyes furrowed again, apparently you knew less than he thought. “The Frostvale.”

“Frostvale, as in the Illyrian Frostvale?” you clarified.

The male chuckled again. “I don’t think there are many others named that.”

Frostvale was where your mate had taken you one summer, to spend the weekend swimming in the cold water rushing in from the eastern sea. Your mate. Oh gods.

You suddenly tried to shoot upwards, but the pain pushed you back down.

“Whoa, whoa,” the male warned, rising from his seat and rushing over to you.

You screamed as the pain radiated up your side and seemed to erupt from your mouth.

“You need to be careful. Your ribs are shattered,” he warned, pulling back the blankets slightly to check your bandages. It was then that you realized you didn’t have a top on and that the bandages around your midsection barely covered your breasts. You gasped quickly as the male went to adjust the bandage, but you whipped out an arm to push him back, slamming into his chest, pulling the fur blankets up.

“No!” you screamed at him.

He threw his hands up in defense. “Alright, alright” he conceded. “That was fair. But you need to not move so much. You already punctured your lungs twice just while you were sleeping.”

That explained the wheezing, hollow, raspy sound emanating from your chest.

“Half of this week has just been trying to keep you still,” he said.

“A week?” you suddenly realized, your eyes widening.

The male nodded, lowering his hands and returning to his stool. “Yeah, you’ve been out for about four days.”

You gulped down the anxiety growing in your stomach. You’d lost four days, and who knows how many more from the injury. You suddenly ran through how far you would have made it from your cabin, realizing your original plan to escape had altered based off of this slight mishap.

You learned, after more questions, that you’d been away from the cabin for the last seven days. A full week without being found or going back—the longest time you had made it, although the injury certainly aided in that. But what you found strange was that since you had woken up, and the entire time you had been unconscious, the slimy voice of your mate hadn’t wormed its way into your mind. You shuddered at the thought of being unable to get away from your mate's coercion, insults, rages, and any other commentary he might throw down the bond. You silently thanked the Mother for whatever grace had been gifted to you.

The male looked toward the washbasin and then back to you. You followed his eyes. “I need to clean the gash on your head,” he said.

“I can do it,” you retorted.

The male frowned. “You can’t sit up. If you lift your arm above your head, your lung is going to pop, and I’m not even sure you have enough strength to hold yourself up for more than a second.”

You weighed your options, your eyes darting between the washbasin and his face. He sensed your hesitancy and finally responded, “I promise I won’t do anything. I just want to wash your wound.”

He held his hands up again as if in a peace offering. You gulped, still not fully sure why you felt so against this male touching you. Something in you felt incredibly hesitant about those wings, but you couldn’t quite place why.

The male sucked his lips between his teeth and peered around the room, his eyes landing on the fire mantle. He stood slowly as you watched him. You tried to cover yourself more, but pulling the blanket up caused a small fire to radiate through your back. The male seemed attuned to your nerves and said, “I’m going to get up and grab something from the mantle, and then I’m going to come back here and sit down.”

You nodded approval, and he gave a small nod back before he stood, continuing to face you, hands drawn up before himself while he walked slowly to the mantle. Your breathing paused as you waited. He reached up and grabbed a single hunting knife from the top. You suddenly panicked, trying to sit up, in fear of what you didn’t know. He wasn’t coming at you, wasn’t menacingly brandishing the knife, and yet you felt an inherent need to flee. When he saw your reaction, he quickly placed the knife on the floor, standing again, hands drawn up to his shoulders, palms facing you.

“It’s okay,” he reassured as you grunted at the pain. “I’m sorry, I should have told you what I was getting.” He pointed a finger down at the floor. “I was going to let you hold this while I cleaned the wound. You can hold it to my stomach, and if I go too far or you feel unsafe, you can defend yourself.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, confused at his remark. He was willingly giving you a weapon and asking you to stab him with it if you felt uncomfortable. “What?” you asked.

He looked at you, pausing, eyes meeting yours. “I just thought you might feel safer if you had some control.”

You tried to wipe the confusion from your face. He wanted you to stab him. No, he wanted you to have a way to stop him from hurting you. Even if he didn’t plan on hurting you, he wanted you to be able to stop it. You didn’t say anything, just continued to look at him.

“Are you okay with that?” he asked. When you didn’t respond, he added, “Look, I don’t know why you aren’t healing faster, but I’m worried that letting that fester is just going to make it harder and harder or deadly.” A pause. “Plus, I’ve been working hard at cleaning it for the last few days, so having you ruin my work doesn’t seem fair.” He gave you a small smile.

You nodded, and he smiled again, saying, “Alright, thank you. Now, I’m going to lean down and get the knife. I’m going to put it next to you on the bed and then step back until you take it, okay?”

You let out a sound of agreement, and he slowly crouched, one hand descending to grab the blade, the other still held in the air. He stood back up and slowly walked to the side of the bed, putting the knife next to your hand and taking a step back, both hands returning to the air. You quickly gripped the knife, and through the pain, held it up, your upper arm still propped up by the bed.

“Doing okay?” he asked. You nodded.

“Okay,” he pointed to the washbasin, “Now I’m going to grab that rag and dampen it. Then I’m going to run it over your forehead to clean it. It might take me a few rounds before it’s clean, and I am going to want to stop to look at the wound, but I promise I won’t let my hands touch you. Is that okay?”

You nodded your agreement. He nodded back. “I’m going to have to lean over you a bit, so you just keep the knife steady. You can rest it against my stomach.” You nodded again. He paused momentarily, “And please don’t accidentally stab me, if you’re going to do it, make it count.”

He slowly walked forward, grabbing the rag and dipping it into the water before wringing it out. He then brought it to your forehead, wiping it gingerly at first, his eyes focused on the wound. You held the knife to his stomach, pressing the tip gently into his shirt, feeling the hardened muscles underneath.

You gulped a few times, your sight locked onto his face and hands as he tended to you. He spoke the entire time, telling you what he was doing, alerting you when he was going to move, and warning you if things would hurt. At some point, you let the knife fall from his stomach, but you couldn’t decide if it was comfort or fatigue. When he was finished, he tossed the rag into the basin, scrubbing his hands clean and then wiping them on his pants.

“I probably should have opened with my name,” he chuckled to himself. “It just seemed like you were more preoccupied than niceties would have allowed. I’m Azriel.”

You looked at him, your fingers tracing the knife handle. “I’m Y/N,” you responded.

“That’s a pretty name,” he replied, turning back to you.

You smiled lightly, not looking towards him, just tracing the carved woodland animals on the handle of the knife.

“Look, I—” he started, then stopped, pondering his response. “I don’t want to intrude, and I know you’ve got some amnesia from hitting your head, but I just—” He paused again. “That first night, in the tavern, I came into your room and woke you up because you were screaming and—” He stopped.

You gulped, your eyes filling with tears, and you sniffled them away. You didn’t know why this kept happening. Why did you keep allowing yourself to the brink of tears in front of this stranger? He watched as your eyes reddened and lined with silver. “We can talk about it later,” he said, then smiled, picking up the basin and propping it on his hip. He looked toward your torso. “Would you feel more comfortable if a female looked at your ribs?” he asked.

You swallowed the hard lump in your throat that built before you could cry and nodded your head. Azriel smiled slightly, aware of the oncoming storm, and said, “I’ll send a female up here tomorrow morning.” He turned, walking toward the door, his large wings narrowly fitting through the entrance. Before reaching behind him to pull the door shut, he paused and asked, “Do you like berries?”

You nodded again, unable to speak for fear you might sob. He threw you another smile before ducking his head and leaving the room. Then he shut the door, leaving you alone as your tears began to fall and you coughed out long sobs that sent your body radiating with pain. You were stuck here, in a room, unable to move, with a male you didn’t know. You gripped the knife in your fist before pushing it under the fur blanket as your exhaustion hit you again, and your weary body succumbed to sleep.

Authors Note: Thank you for everyone who has been keeping up with the story and interaction and a special thanks to those who asked to join the tag list, it means to much to know there are people out here genuinely enjoying my works!

@thatacotargirl @mcuamerica @lilah-asteria @florabelll

@fightmedraco

@marvelbros-oneshots @mariahoedt @quinzzelx

@romantasyreader28 @minnieoo

@mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf

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call-sign-shark · 1 year

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Day 1: Breathe With Me || Tommy Shelby x Reader

Requested by @runnning-outof-time 🖤

TW: Kinktober prompt- Breathe, rough sex, piv, choking, strangulation, breathe play, unprotected sex, unhealthy relationship, abuse of power, mention of canonical violence

Words: 1K

Notes: Here is the first work of the Peaky Kinktober Event you can find here. Comment on the event post if you want to be tagged in the future works for Kinktober.

“Breathe with me.”

The way his hoarse voice, rendered even more raspy by the pleasure he experienced, whispered these specific three words in your ear fanned the flames of your desire.

With your breath hitching and your whole body burning, you could not help but whine and wiggle under the weight of his body. Tommy’s calloused fingers loosened their grip on your neck in the hope it would make your breath slow down but it didn’t work. You were still a panting mess with eyes closed and pearls of tears caught in your long lashes.

“T-Tommy…” You stuttered, moving your hips back without really noticing. His free hand slipped under you and, without the slightest warning, he brought them close again, with a frustrated hiss. As he did, his hard and swollen cock stretched your walls until the tip hit you in the right spot. Your toes curled in your heels at the electric sensation crossing through your body and it made your legs shook from each sides of his waist. “Aah, Tom!” You lamented, throwing your head back.

“You don’t get to call me like this, Y/N.” His voice snapped, firmer this time, and you could not help but obey. When his dizzying turquoise eyes met yours, the infamous gangster’s lips split with a satisfied smirk, “Good girl, you’re a good girl right?” Words melt on his tongue, “so nice and sweet she’s letting her dad’s boss fuck her ay.” He whispered with a wicked grin as he slowly started to move his hips again now that you had adjusted to his size. Your trembling fingers reached for the back of his head and lost themselves in his dark hair in search for any way of expressing the overwhelming pleasure he gave you.

It was the second time you ended up like this today, sitting on his desk with your lace panties hanging from one of your ankles and your legs open for Mr.Shelby. The second time he unbuckled his belt and thrusted into you after he had rubbed his length against your wet slit while your dad was working downstairs in the factory, unaware of everything that has been going on between the two of you.

Tommy gritted his teeth, his slow movements increasingly faster each time you clenched your throbbing and soaked pussy around him— it felt so good, so tight, so right. “Let’s try again, alright babydoll? Let’s try again and breathe with me.” He growled, cold blue eyes relishing how the pleasure marked your face and how your trembling lips always tried to kiss him in a vain attempt to muffle your shameful moans. You nodded, one crystal tear rolling down your cheek, and moved your hips in rhythm with him in the sensual dance of lovemaking. A pile of paper fell from the desk and scattered on the office floor but Tommy couldn’t care less. How could he when he was busy filling your innocent pussy and wrapping his large hand around your throat? “See, you can do it ey.” He praised, his palm pressing slightly more until breathing became challenging but not exactly painful. Tommy knew far too well what he was doing and to what kind of limits he wanted to take you. After all, you had lost your virginity to him only a few days ago, on his same desk, thus he took it easy. You still needed more of taming before he could use you like he really wanted.

The reason behind your submission was that you wanted to save your father from being killed by a Peaky Blinders following the strike that resulted in Arthur’s murder attempt. The latter had been so enraged that he threatened to bash your father’s head with a hammer — he would have probably done so if Tommy hadn’t intervened. So when you begged for his life in his office ten minutes later, he asked for your age, if you had already been filled by a man before, and at your negative answer, he simply ordered you to take your clothes off right here, right now. That was how this sick game between you and Tommy had started. A game he definitely enjoyed, judging by how his gaze was always wandering all over your body, almost burning you every time your paths would cross in the factory.

My brother wants to see ya right now, cherry pie hm. You better not make him wait eh. Arthur had told you one hour ago, his mustache slightly lifting when he punctuated his sentence with a sadistic smirk, knowing what was awaiting you.

“Sir…” You begged, your voice strangled in your throat as Tommy’s hand choked you. Taking quick and shallow exhales, your heart soon began to drum fast again in your chest due to panic but this time, the gangster didn’t stop. Instead, he gave you one meaner thrust to make you squeal, enjoying the sight of your teary eyes, your gaping mouth, and your reddened cheeks. You looked so weak… So defenseless. But what got him was when he felt your wetness running down his shaft despite your frightened look.

“Breathe with me.” He ordered, but his raspy voice had a softer tone. As he fucked you at the perfect pace, invading your needy but inexperienced pussy, he pressed his forehead against yours and locked you in a stare, “Don’t give in to the panic and just focus on two things: my breathing and the sensation of me cock.” He hummed, his grin fading away and replaced by a serious face. You let out a loud exhale and tried. At first, you did your best to obliterate the way his strong grip was obstructing your windpipe to only focus on the sensations of fucking itself. Each time he pulled out, a feeling of devastating emptiness woke up in you and left you craving for him to go back inside. No matter how ashamed you were of getting used by your dad’s boss like a whore, Thomas Shelby knew how to fill you and you were starting to love it. To need it.

Soon you came to naturally focus on his breathing. One slow inhale. One slow and longer exhale. Deep. Controlled. Comforting. “Breathe in.” His Brummie accent hypnotized you and his musky, expensive perfume made your head spin. You moaned louder — Dad would have heard you if he had been walking near Tommy’s office. “Breathe out.” Your breath melted together and suddenly, the panic of getting choked turned into an arousing experience. His fingers, strong and possessive, were pressing on each side of your throat, right under your jaw where he could feel your heartbeat against his skin. You rolled your eyes in the back of your head, the press of his palm and the lack of air sending your mind into a blissful haze. “Yes, Y/N. Just like this. I’m proud of you eh, my little pet.” He grunted, sinking deeper into your delicate intimacy, “Y/N.” Tommy’s husky voice moaned again and again, chanting your name as if he wanted all the employees of his freaking factory to know what he was doing to you in his office when your dad was working in the basement. As if he wanted them to know what had happened to you the moment they saw your staggering frame leaving his office disheveled and legs closely pressed together because of his cum running down the inside of your thighs.

I’m breathing with you, Mr. Shelby.

We’re breathing together and now

We are one.

Now you could dissect all the delicious cocktail of sensations you were undergoing: your tight pussy forced open, your walls throbbing, a mix of your wetness and his cum leaking from you and dripping on the wooden desk… You reopened your teary eyes, drowning in the cold cerulean blue of his enchanting iris, and parted your lips to talk, barely believing what you were about to say.

“Harder.”

If you have appreciated what you've just read please take the time to reblog and/or comment. Your reactions are the real fuel and motivation of writers.

tags: @emotionalcadaver @peakyswritings @mollybegger-blog @hwangrimi @munson24 @tommyshelbywhore

#Peaky blinders #Tommy Shelby #Peaky blinders imagine #Tommy Shelby x reader #Tommy Shelby smut #Cillian Murphy #tommy shelby x y/n #Tommy Shelby x you #Cillian Murphy smut #Peaky blinders fanfic #Peaky blinders smut #tommy shelby fanfic #Thomas Shelby #Thomas Shelby x reader #peaky blinders x reader #Peaky Kinktober

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scaredyspooks · 7 days

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BG3 Kinktober 2024

Because I'm a perverted conduit that the void speaks through, I'm doing a Baldur's Gate 3 themed kinktober this year on here and AO3. As I publish the fics I'll be updating this list with links to them, and so y'all can gauge your interest here's the list!

Astarion (spawn) - roleplay - what's an innocent magistrate to do when his assistant propositions him when they're staying late at work?

Gale - pegging - growing bored of the wizard's endless accounts of how he and his goddess' bodies once intertwined, you notice there's one pleasure she never showed him.

Shadowheart - sensory depravation - life's greatest pleasures can be found in loss and darkness.

Lae'Zel - leather - peeling the leathers from your lover's body are one of the greatest rewards of battle.

Wyll - chastity - just because he wants to take things slow, doesn't mean you can't torment him a little.

Karlach - temperature play - attempts to cool her down end up having an interesting result.

Minthara - bondage - an interrogation goes south as you try to get to the bottom of the Absolute's cult.

Halsin - olfactophilia - after almost a tenday of not having time to bathe you head to the river, only be blocked off by a large elf.

Mizora - public - shrouded in the cloak of the hells atop a secluded pedestal, only to find it is in fact a stage.

Rolan - electro - someone's ego boost at getting a new tower has him coming out of his shell.

Zevlor - glory hole - the commander and the cleric need a release, things get interesting when the stranger behind the wall ends up being far too familiar.

Ikaron - semi-public - tensions are high in The Hollow, but you think you can help.

Raphael - naked platter - the devil has made a patisserie of you for his guests, though they seem to fade from existence as he grows distracted by the meal he's making of you.

Haarlep - size difference - the succubus is shocked that you want to see their true form, turns out they're a lot bigger than their master.

Rugan - impact play - the Zhentarim seeks to punish you for trying to skip out on your deal, he doesn't get very far.

Gortash - power play - your relationship has always been somewhat of a dance, one that you're determined to lead.

Dammon - edging - the forge's flames illuminate more than the smith realises, but you're happy to "help" once things quieten down.

The Emperor - hypnosis - the ilithid believes he can still get through to you, with one last attempt.

Aradin - hate fuck - your competitor, the thorn in your side, but damn if he doesn't have good stamina.

Abdirak - sado-masochism - two priests of Loviatar aid in each other's prayer.

He Who Was - free use - his ability to travel the shadowcursed lands unhindered has him popping up everywhere, making you pay for his insatiable desires.

Lia - wax play - after the first few drops, it's hard to tell what's blush and what's burn among the giggles in the Elfsong.

Cal - play fighting - a little extra training won't do any harm, though the proximity may prove... challenging.

Gale - findom - what starts as a simple shopping trip to Sorcerous Sundries takes a turn as you drag the wizard to more and more shops.

Astarion (ascended) - biting/marking - your last night as a mortal will be one to remember.

Shadowheart - human furniture - god's favourite princess needs a throne.

Wyll - roleplay - the son of a duke has a duty to mingle at these important events, though it usually shouldn't lead him to a cupboard with a handsome stranger.

Lae'Zel - predator/prey - your heart races, your breathing to quick to catch, and you know the more you sweat the easier it'll be for her to catch you.

Karlach - human ashtray - she's been making fun of you all evening for your drunken confession about her cigars, but once the other's go to bed she's happy to indulge you on the Elfsong's roof garden.

Halsin - breeding - ever the beast of nature, with your perils finally at an end he lets himself run loose with you and you realise it’s going to be a long night until he’s done filling you.

Minthara - body worship - the drow isn't keen onbeing nursed after but with injuries so severe you need to make sure she's alright.

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batbabydamian · 13 days

Text

DC November 2024 Solicitations - Comics Featuring Damian! 🦇

LITTLE BATMAN: MONTH ONE #1

11/6/24

Written by Morgan Evans

Art and Cover by Jon Mikel

Variant Cover by Patrick Ballesteros

Taking place after the events of “Merry Little Batman,” Gotham City finds itself reeling from the Joker’s attack, and Damian Wayne (a.k.a. Little Batman) is eager to get back into the fight. That’s going to be harder than it sounds, as Bruce now wants Damian to put the cowl aside and embrace the value of his secret identity. After a suspicious guest is found lurking around the Wayne New Year’s Eve Party, it’s up to Damian to find the balance between both of his personas and save the day yet again. See Little Batman in a new adventure from the film’s screenwriter, Morgan Evans, after catching the rerelease of the breakout movie in theaters this winter.

BATMAN AND ROBIN #15

11/13/24

Written by Phillip Kennedy Johnson

Art and Cover by Javier Fernandez

Variant Covers: Simone Di Meo, Ashley Wood (1:25), Aaron Bartling, and Guillem March (Creature Commandos Variant)

What should have been a run-of-the-mill charity banquet for Bruce and Damian has, quite literally, gone up in flames—and now, without access to their costumes and gadgets, father and son find themselves fighting for their lives at the hands of the mysterious specter known only as Memento. But who is this new villain who set the blaze that threatens to disintegrate the Dynamic Duo, why does it replicate an infamous, century-old tragedy from Gotham’s history, and what is Memento’s connection to the Dark Knight’s past? Nothing can prepare you for the answers to these questions, so join us and bear witness to “Memento,” part two.

DC VS. VAMPIRES: WORLD WAR V #4 of 12

11/13/24

Written by Matthew Rosenburg and Matthew Manning

Art by Otto Schmidt and Acky Bright

Cover by Otto Schmidt

Variant Covers: by Stephen Segovia and Homare

Gorilla Grodd and Aquaman have had little luck capturing the elusive Damian Wayne, but a mysterious figure arrives bearing a whispered prophecy that could turn the tide of war in their favor. Elsewhere, John Constantine might well be the human resistance’s last hope…just a shame he can’t remember what it was he was meant to be doing. Enter The Spectre to help guide his way! And in the shadows, a new Batman lurks…but what’s his connection to Bruce Wayne?

BATMAN/SANTA CLAUS: SILENT KNIGHT RETURNS #1 of 5

11/27/24

Written by Jeff Parker

Art by Lukas Ketner

Cover by Bernard Chang

Variant Covers: Dan Mora, Dan Hipp (DC Holiday Surprise Rub & Sniff variant), Kevin Wada (1:25), Erica Henderson (1:50)

Horrors haunt the Christmas season as life-drained bodies litter the countryside, each marked with a strange symbol. The Justice League responds—but it’s a trap! The heroes are pulled from our world, but not before Batman helps Robin escape. Now Damian Wayne must seek out Zatanna and the one and only Santa Claus if there’s any hope of saving their friends and family. Santa comes to the aid of the DCU heroes in the crossover-event sequel you wished for! And you must have been extra good because a wintry mix of DC’s wildest characters arrive this time to face a powerful foe… the Silent Knight!

*Clayton Henry Main Cover appearance

ACTION COMICS #1077

11/27/24

Written by Mark Waid and Mariko Tamaki

Art by Clayton Henry, Michael Shelfer, and Meghan Hetrick

Death to the Phantom Zone! Superman and Mon-El are reunited at last, but are our heroes too late to stop the impossible threat of Aethyr?! The mad wizard has breached the realm and begun decimating planet Earth…the Super-Family and the Justice League are holding on as best they can, but this sounds like a job for Superman! Plus, can Kara put her feelings aside and carry out the mission Superman gave her?

#damian waynesday #another late one orz i've been busy but looks like so has Damian!! more cameos!! 🥺#not Damian related but CASSANDRA CAIN BATGIRL SOLO WITH LADY SHIVA!! 11/6!! 😭#also i love merry lil batman dearly but pls no more Damian as Batman promo lol...

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itstheendofthegoddamnworld · 15 days

Text

Swallowed Whole by The Flame (Messmer the Impaler x Tarnished! Reader) 6

MASTERLIST

PREVIOUS | NEXT

Summary: Judgement awaits within the Shadow Keep.

A/N: The first part of the chapter will be in Messmer's POV, during the events of when he's thinking of what to do with you. Then, the second part, cuts to your arrival back at the Keep.

A03 link

Chapter 6: Judgement

Five days ago...

Messmer is used to the darkness, the curse he carries, waiting for a day for the pain to be lifted and for him to return to his mother.

Messmer broods in his throne room, with only winged serpents to calm his worries, whispering in tongues only he knows. He's conflicted, bemused by it all, but most of all, he's feeling betrayed. Years of trusting his mother, believing he is doing all of this in her name, serving her dutifully as any soldier and son would.

So, when some wretched creature enters his Keep, blessed by grace - his mother's grace - he thinks it's all some cruel joke.

He was ready to pluck the seal out of his eye, despite knowing it was Marika who placed it there for his safety. It pains him knowing he could've ended it all and released the base serpent out, only for not his mother to stop him, but you. You, Tarnished, a creature all should hate, and he's been taught to hate, is reluctant to hear your words.

Miquella? What did all of this have to do with him?

You're an intriguing, annoying thing, slicing at him and giving him a mark, and he admits you're a good fight too, though sometimes sloppy, opting to fight dirty than fight him with no healing nor add-ons.

He's tempted to return it to you tenfold, to have his flames consume you as you scream. But where was the fun of having to deal with you coming back to him, over and over again, pleading your case that he so desperately didn't want to hear. He heeds your words, your warnings of his undoing, and he listens, like the fool he is, he listens to the words from the enemy. Why he trusts you is uncertain, that you could already be hoping for his demise and he was accepting it all with some flimsy words from a Tarnished.

It's only that he captures you when he can finally think, though he curses that all you did to him, he will do tenfold. You're locked up, suffering and rotting, but he feels he is the one suffering. Burn her. Something tells him inside. Burn her and be rid of her.

He finds himself alone in the abyss, staring heavily in thought at the scar on his arm, running his nails along the raised skin as his other clawed hand grips the armrest too tightly, cracking in his grasp. He wishes that is what he can do to your skull, but he has restraint. Better to deal with a broken thing than one with their mind still intact.

It's by the third day of your imprisonment that he finally decides to leave the throne room. Dishevelled, lacking sleep and in need of a good bath and decent meal, his body aches from being sat on the throne for so long. Sleep can wait, he needs to be rid of this pain however fleeting it is. The muscles in his back ache with every step he takes, a debilitating pain that gets worse if he does not move around. He curses himself for worsening his physical health, but it matters not when he finally finds his way to a familiar physician.

Ser Aldwin is so focused on his books that he doesn't even notice the demi-god lumber through, only when he hears the faint hiss of one of his serpents does the Nightfolk abruptly stand to full height, bowing stiffly. "My lord. I did not hear you enter. Is there anything I can help with?"

Messmer does not answer, but it is obvious to Aldwin how clear his discomfort shows on his features. "Oh, my Lord. Please, take a seat. I shall ready the medication."

The redhead half collapses to the cot, comically half of the demigod's size as he's crouched rather than sitting comfortably on it, his eye falling downcast in shame. He was a soldier, shaped from youth in his mother's eye to be the very vessel for tyranny, and here he was, doubled over in agony, wishing for it all to be over.

Aldwin is quick, which Messmer silently thanks him for, and he helps by removing his helm and discarding it to his side. He next removes the amour and chest pieces until he is shirtless. He can feel the weight of the snakes coiled around him, putting weight on him as he tries to keep his suffering to himself.

Gathering the oils on the table, Aldwin ushers Messmer to lie on his back, where the healer pours the warming oils into his hand, working them before he begins a deep tissue massage. The relief is almost blinding, and Messmer hisses from both relief and from how sore his muscles feel.

"You are... unusually quiet, my Lord. May I ask what troubles you?"

"The Tarnished," he grunts, shutting his eye as he lets the warmth of the oils soothe him. His skin feels stiff, burning to the touch, but he continues, "I questioneth wheth'r I am being too lenient."

Aldwin hums in both thought and deep in his work, massaging around the areas where the snakes protrude out his skin, and it has Messmer wheezing. "The fate of the Tarnished seems to be on everyone's mind, my Lord. A difficult situation as to whether she speaks the truth or not."

"Rather a thorn in mine side."

Aldwin chortles, in which Messmer casts a brief side eye to him before closing his good eye again. It's difficult to speak when all Messmer wishes to do is cry out.

He thinks about what his mother did, singing to him softly when he cried from the great discomfort. It was easier to control then, but the older he got, the more the serpent grew, twisting in size until it crushed his spine, putting pressure on his organs until the pain grew intensely. With his eye closed, he can still picture his mother's features, from her soft, caring golden eyes, to her flaxen-coloured hair, long and braided. She would tell him about the days of her youth, promising him one day they would go back to it.

Messmer is thankful he is lying on his front, for he subtly wipes a stray tear away.

"Perhaps, my Lord, it would be best to seek a deal with the Tarnished. To see if she is worthy of your trust."

"Mine trust? How?"

"Send her away if you must," Aldwin says, "you have hundreds of eyes on the field, awaiting your very order. If they hear or even see of her return to Miquella and his followers, you know where to find her."

Messmer thinks hard, resting his chin in thought. "'Tis a valorous idea, Sir Aldwin," he murmurs, and correct he is. That is, however, if the Tarnished is truly lying, Messmer doesn't know if he has the strength to be enraged. A tired man, he's almost bored by it all. It would be some tiring game of cat and mouse, one which would not end until one grew bored. Worn from it all, all he wishes to do is sleep.

He sits up as Aldwin finishes off by applying more of the oils to Messmer's chest before bowing his head politely. "I shalt has't her sent to thee, Aldwin," Messmer answers finally, dressing once more as his loyal fire knights address his lord. "Ready the prisoner a visit."

"My Lord." Aldwin bids the redhead farewell as Messmer is crowned with a new purpose, to see if the Tarnished is worthy of his trust. When he visits her cell, he sees she is already awaiting him. She looks as dishevelled as he feels, almost ripped from sleep. When his knights send her off to Aldwin, she walks with some hesitation, wary of what he is doing. It pleases him, to some extent, that she feels unsure of him.

He leaves with his personal black knights back to his chambers, where he asks to have a bath readied. The ointments and bath oils are most handy, especially to dispel any further aches he has. But, the content he usually has in having a bath is wasted when his mind is brought back to the Tarnished, and he thinks whether it is all worth it. His serpents coil around him, their whispers help soothe him, and he leans his head against the tub, calming his mind to calm like ripples in the mightiest of seas.

When she is gone, he is restless, a heap of anger mixed with the endless paranoia that she has gone and done what he dreaded most. How long does it take to travel?! He questions, and his spies have their answers that help calm him. The last he hears is she has made just outside the ruins, having stopped someplace in the woods to sleep with her stead acting almost as her guard dog.

He almost laughs at the motion, but that day passes, and more go past. There is no news of her for some time, and he mentally feels as if he may rip his seal out and hunt her down personally. His anger boils, his winged serpents twisting around his body matching his anger. It draws into something he vows he'll destroy, her body, her soul, her entire being, erased from ever existing.

It's only when his loyal warrior, Commander Gaius asks if he can personally be sent out to hunt down the Tarnished for her betrayal that something snaps in him. "The Tarnished is mine to deal with." He growls, and those of his spies and knights seem to still upon hearing his orders.

His war meeting is cut short when a fellow spy enters the room, hastily rushing to Messmer before remembering the courtesy of bowing in respect. "My Lord, there has been a sighting of the Tarnished. She travels to the Keep."

There are mutterings among his men, some of disbelief, some muttering it a trap, but it is only Messmer's voice whose matters. "Let her through."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

There is an unbelievable coldness to the Keep when you enter through the main gate. There are only a handful of soldiers around who seem to be reluctant in your next moves. Dismounting from Torrent and clutching your side, you hobble your way through, escorted by his men who tell you Messmer awaits for you in his throne room. How odd that he wants you there rather than waiting for you outside the gate. Did they not receive news of your return?

Something churns in your chest, a sickness of nerves you cannot place, but you are silent as you pass the corridors, damp and endless. The Grace sits just outside his doors, begging you to reach for the golden strings of life. You wonder if anyone within the Keep can see it and if Messmer can too. You can feel its warming touch, but you're not close enough to fully heal, rather connect you to it so you don't wake at the previous grace if you die. All you can do is pass alongside it, entering through the doors to be welcomed coldly.

Messmer sits atop his throne, stoically staring down at you, his spear grasped in hand. It is not just him that awaits in the room, but many of his knights, all poised as if ready for you to make the wrong move.

You stand in between them all, looking at every knight before your eyes land once again on the demi-god.

Finally, with difficult footing, you make your way slowly towards him. His knights hold a grasp on their unsheathed swords and spears, holding stances and waiting for you to make a move that could jeopardise all your hard work. The pain in your side worsens the further you walk, certain the wound has begun to bleed freely into your bandages once again.

Messmer watches you with a stony face before he speaks aloud. "Is't done?"

You wonder if he knows you're bleeding, elongating your suffering further as you somberly answer. "Yes," you inhale sharply as you rest a hand on your knee to help lower yourself to the ground, taking a knee, "my Lord."

The room is deafeningly quiet, so much so that you feel nauseous. You keep your head bowed, pride washing off you like sitting by the shoreline, awaiting the larger waves to sweep you away. You've come so far that you cannot take it back.

Your hands shakily move to your bag, still attached to your belt, unclipping it. The bag has soaked to a darker colour, some of the blood as dried yet still some soaks heavily into your already bloodied gloves. You grimace at the texture, before chucking the bag forward, it landing a couple of meters in front, causing a loud, squishy sound to echo when it thuds against the base of the throne.

Messmer seems to have something lifted inside him, his posture has straightened in his seat, looking more amused than uptight. He eyes the bag before he looks back down at you, a small smirk appearing on his face. Go on, his face reads as if he's awaiting more, more of this humiliation to please him further.

You sigh, hands reaching up to your helm, tugging upwards until the clatter smashes to the ground in a thud by your feet.

No one is speaking which makes things worse, and you wish to be swallowed up whole by the ground than face more of this. You eye him carefully, sweat beading down your forehead. The room feels as if it's spinning and with the seconds feeling like minutes or hours, is when Messmer finally does something.

He stands. Slowly and methodically walks down the stairs as he approaches you. Your heart races and the little amount of blood in your body rushes to your head as you look away from him, looking to the ground until he is right in front of you.

Strangely, something holds your chin, so tentatively that it's an odd feeling. Clawed fingers urge you to look up. Messmer has tilted your chin up so your eyes slowly drift onto his face. So close once more in front of you, you mutter loud enough for only him to hear. "I did what you asked of me, didn't I?"

"Thee didst," he coolly responds, his touch still lingers as he accesses you carefully, "the keep is yours to doth what thee prithee. Thee has't mine own protection and alliance."

Good. You can finally breathe from the moment you step into the room. Messmer pulls away from you, his touch lingers on your skin and you falter to almost stand. "I acquire your healer's aid... if I'm allowed?

He looks you over once more, one of his serpents is far too close to you, its thin tongue tasting the air as if it could sense something you could not. Before it could reach any closer, Messmer moves back, turning his hunched back towards you. "Doth as thee prithee."

What Messmer expects is to hear you leave, for him to finally feel some semblance of pride strengthen within him. Rather than that, he hears your fading footsteps abruptly stop, the sound of garbled choking echo through the large room. All heads turn, his including, to see just in time your weakened body materialise into nothing but dust, a pool of your blood soaking the ground.

A/N:

Messmer likely: omfg, did she just fucking die

Imagine Messmer's fear, anger and panic as to seeing you die right in front of him, readying his men to go through a hunt for you throughout the Keep and even the lands, only to see you've popped outside the front doors of his room. Though, if we're keeping to the game, you should pop up by the site of grace WAY outside, but I'll give some wishy-washy reasoning of "Marika was feeling nice and allowed you to pop up again at a site closer in the Keep."

All in all, I love the idea of Messmer slowly growing obsessed in trying to find you constantly. Call it hunting, but this man's paranoia is on high alert.

#messmer x reader #messmer x tarnished #tarnished! reader #elden ring shadow of the erdtree #elden ring fic #part 6 #itstheendofthegoddamnworld writes #messmer fic #messmer the impaler #elden ring messmer

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trashmouth-richie · 10 months

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Series summary: Hawkins Annual Halloween Festival is in town, and this year you and your friends were lucky enough to work the event. But when some of your co-workers are missing, and a trail of blood leads to the woods behind the festival. Your friends work together to find out what’s going on. A killer is on the loose but who could it be? Or is it the town’s spooky secret of what really happened at Hawkins Lab?

ch 1: FLICKER

ch 2: A SCREAM AND A SLICE

ch 3: THE ROCKSTAR AND THR REDLIGHTS

chapter summary: flashbacks provide some insight on our favorite metalhead.

chapter trigger warnings: 18+ only, character death, references to child neglect, upside down references, poor parenting practices, etc, blood, character death, killer reveal.

CH. 4: FAMILY VALUES

1974

The tires on Evil Kneivel’s Stunt Bike trudged through the familiar path of the bare thread carpet in the back bedroom of trailer 8 in Forest Hills Trailer Park. Eddie was on his stomach, ignoring the rumbling noise from the hollow emptiness in his belly, he pressed his lips together to vibrate a motorcycle sound through his mouth, casually blowing dark curls from his vision.

An annoyed huff echoed across the thin walls, “This is boring,” Billy snarled, he was laying flat on Eddie’s bed, feet on the wall, throwing up his stretch Armstrong to himself before tossing it across the room, landing with a splat on the broken closet door.

Eddie pushed himself up from the carpet, the fibers itching through the holes in his jeans and scratching his knees.

He shrugs, running his tongue through the gap of his latest pulled tooth, “wanna see my guitar?”

“No,” Billy huffed, his thumb nail catching along the ridges of the zippo lighter he had stolen from Melvalds, lighting a small flame that he quickly extinguished with the flip of the lid. “I wanna do something fun.”

“Alright then, genius,” Eddie scowls, sitting next to Billy on the brown and burgundy ripped threads of an afghan blanket, “what do you have in mind?”

Billy swings his feet around, landing with ease and standing before his friend, the smirk on Billy’s face was one Eddie knew all too well.

—

Neil and Al didn’t hear the boys sneak out from the back room, too drunk and elbow deep in “work” to notice their sons had pushed the screen outward and hopped down to the ground.

“The instructions are clear, Al,” Neil said, his mouth around a can of Pabst, scrubbing a dirty thumbnail through his eyebrow, “here let me see that.”

Al blows a cloud of smoke into the air, handing over the poorly written note on the back of the Hideout napkin, clad with ketchup stains and spilled coffee. “Don’t know how you can even read this shit.”

“I can read that’s how I can read it dumb fuck,” Neil snapped, grabbing the napkin from him, he looks over the scratchy pen marks, pointing at the instructions again, “see right there, Creel laid it all out for us.”

“Okay wise ass, but it doesn’t make sense. How the hell are we supposed to break int- into that place without anyone seeing us?” Al puts the butt of his cigarette into the overflowing ashtray, blowing smoke around the side of his mouth. “It’s under surveillance and the guards are armed.”

“The guards are armed.” Neil mocks, “Jesus Christ you sound just like a woman, how many cars have we boosted?”

“That’s different, easy. Breaking into a secret government lab? This is above our pay grade, and your skill level.”

“Yeah and your big brains are why you got fired from the mill right?”

“Shit,” Al downplays, “they didn’t pay worth a damn, boosting and dealin’ keep my pockets lined just fine.”

“If only it was enough to keep Liz around right?”

“Don’t say that bitch’s name in this house, I’ll slit your throat and use it for an ashtray, Hargrove.”

“Ahh shit,” Neil quips, “don’t get your panties wadded up, but back to this,” he says waving the napkin around, “the tunnels, that’s our way in.”

—-

Eddie’s van is barreling down the highway like a bat out of hell. Nancy hasn’t stopped crying, slowly wiping her tears, with the front of her shirt, sniffling every so often.

You’re grief stricken, numb to whatever the hell just happened, and what those things even were— and to top it all off, Eddie somehow knows?

Steve is leaning on the center console between you and Eddie, back seat driving and giving him directions on how to get to his house.

At first Eddie had thought about going to his trailer, he knew his dad and Wayne kept their rifles in the back shed, but decided against it at the last minute, hollering over his shoulder for anyone having an idea of where to go.

How safe could he keep everyone if his house was bordering on enemy lines?

—-

1983

The Hargrove’s house was nestled on Cherry. Older but comfortable, a damn sight better than the paper thin walls of the trailer, and the soggy couch that reeked of spilt beer.

Billy was going on and on about his girlfriends, yes plural. The blonde haired Gina or was it Jenny? And Tanya, the rich one who lived by Steve Harrington.

Junior year was different for the boys, where Billy excelled in popularity with the jocks being a basketball star, Eddie fell into a different crowd, the Hellfire Club.

They were still friends, still causing trouble on nights you couldn’t hang out, Billy now refusing entirely to hang out with Eddie when you were around, which you weren’t complaining about.

Eddie takes another swig of Mt. Dew and continues drawing a rogue for one of the older guys, Nico, in Hellfire. He was only half listening to the way Billy was describing the differences between the girls, body type mostly.

“If you want in on the action big boy just let me know, Gina loves hearing Metallica play when we steam up the windows in my car if ya know what I mean,” the cigarette hanging limply from his lips wiggled as he spoke, sending ashes down to his black converse.

Eddie immediately thought of you. He wasn’t sure of his feelings when it came to you but he wondered if you’d be weirded out that Billy was planning to get him a date. How would you feel if he went out with some chick?

The idea of you kissing someone made his stomach turn, and not in a butterfly way.

Instead of listening to Billy bitch about how much he can’t stand you and how you’re holding Eddie back he just went along with it, “yeah man, sounds good.”

“Sounds good?” Billy questions, racking the weights he was lifting with a thud, checking his traps in his reflection, shooting a look over his shoulder, “I’m trying to get you laid, dude.”

Eddie looks up from his seated position in the corner of Billy’s room, his fingers were silvery from shading the lines of his drawing, pinked eraser rubberings littered the front of his new Metallica shirt. “Yeah man, I’m down, what’s her number.”

Eddie wrote the number on the corner of his paper, barely registering what else Billy was saying, his mind wandering to what kind of shit his dad was up to this time.

Al was home for a longer stretch than normal this time, but he seemed to spend every waking minute at the Hargrove’s.

Eddie wasn’t dumb enough to think that his dad actually wanted to hangout with him.

Oh no, Al Munson had his priorities whenever he came back to Hawkins with his tail between his legs, and seeing his only son wasn't the top of the list.

He went to the bar first, picking out the waitress with zero confidence, saying all the right things and tipping her just enough to make her think she was really something. When her shift was over, he’d bring her to a sleazy by-the-hour motel, giving her the ol’ Munson magic and then, when she was in the shower or cleaning up in the bathroom, he’d bolt. Driving to the nearest gas station casino and spending whatever money the waitress had in her purse.

He’d finally crawl back to Wayne’s when he was bone dry, claiming he was home “for good this time!” And how he, “just wanted to hangout with my boy!”

Turns out the “hanging out” was going over to Neil’s and getting shitfaced drunk, bringing Eddie to tag along, to prove to his brother that he was a good dad. He failed to mention that Eddie would end up locked in Billy’s room until dawn.

So no, getting laid wasn’t on Eddie’s mind right now.

“I told Tommy H to leave you alone, told him I’d fuck his girlfriend again if I caught wind of him messing with you.” Billy said, shoving his chest out proudly. Maybe if he helped Eddie spread his wings, he’d stop getting picked on, but in Billy’s eyes, Eddie brought alot of it on himself sticking up for those fucking nerds he always hung out with.

The Hargrove kitchen table was covered in the same paperwork they always were when Al came over. Weird haikus, and riddles that were partly solved, a timeline of when and where everything needed to take place, and lastly, a complete blueprint of Lonnie Byers’ house.

Everything was just about set in stone, the only thing the men couldn’t figure out is why Creel had decided that it had to be Lonnie’s son as the baited sacrifice. And whenever they asked, Creel would say the same thing, “an eye for an eye.”

—

1986

“Right here,” Steve said, pointing his hand in Eddie’s face and out the window to his big behemoth of a house.

The kind of house that belonged to a homeowners society, telling you when, where, and how to water and mow your grass. Not the type of neighborhood that housed the brown piece of shit on wheels that was arriving into the Harrington driveway at record speeds.

Steve fumbled with the door and had to pry Nancy away from the van, she was petrified, her body shaking and tense, beneath his arm.

Eddie turns to you, tapping you gently on the shoulder and when you don’t move he guides your chin towards him, his heart breaking at the sight of your tear filled eyes.

“I’m gonna keep you safe, okay?” His eyes were large and the worry on his face only made you more scared, but he tried to put on a brave face for you, “c’mon, we gotta get inside.”

Steve’s home was decorated with expensive paintings and gold fixtures. The kind of decor that wasn't available at a mall but ordered from some lavish designer in New York. The living room had vacuum lines in the carpet, as if it were never used. The wood floors in the foyer sparkled from the overhead chandelier, it was a catalog home, looking as if it were staged for a photo

shoot rather than people actually living in it.

Nancy’s cries echoed loudly around the empty Harrington home, Steve scooped her up like an infant and carried her down the carpeted steps to the open basement.

Eddie still wasn’t acting like himself, his eyes were clouded over with something you couldn’t pinpoint, plagued with grief? But you felt reassured when his fingers curled into the spaces between yours as you followed Steve and Nancy to the basement.

—

NOVEMBER 9, 1983

“You working tonight?” Eddie asks at your locker, ringed fingers working over the corners of a Polaroid of you and him last summer when he tried to teach you how to skateboard. One of his favorite memories.

“Nope,” you answer from deep inside your locker, looking for the crumbled history notes you swore you still had for todays test, emerging from the locker and hitting your head on the way out, “ow fuck! Nah I’m off tonight, Don closed since Joyce’s son has been gone, why what’s up?”

Eddie shuts your locker and shifts his worn notebook to his other hand, “it’s Wednesday, the Hawk has free popcorn, thought maybe we could see a movie?”

It wasn’t weird for two friends to go to a movie together, you and Eddie had done it multiple times. Completely casual. Even if the heat from his fingers bumping against yours sent flutters to your stomach and he quickly moved his hand like you were a snake that had bit him, a blush forming on his cheeks.

“What time?”

“I dunno, seven? Pick ya up at 6:30, that way we can stop and get snacks to sneak some snacks in to go with our free popcorn.”

His boyish grin was the same from when you were kids, dimple dipped cheeks, and the darkest eyes twinkling with mischievous glee.

The door to Mr. Stanley’s Chem 210 was open and you stopped before going in the classroom to give Eddie your answer, “fine, but I want twizzlers.”

—

“What the hell do you mean it’s not enough? We did exactly what you said, solved each fucking riddle!”

The weathered boards of the Creel House groan as a screaming gust of wind slaps loud against the old home, the late winter storm rattled the wooden foundation and pelted the window panes with ice, pinging loudly with each large gale that forced its way through the cracks of the poorly maintained home.

A small fire crackled in the sunken fireplace, wafting dark plumes of smoke into the living room and ashing soot onto the cobweb covered furniture.

“He makes the rules, I do not, I am simply a messenger, a ves—,” a tattered mitten hand cups around his mouth, acting as a poor excuse for a shield against a barking, wet cough. Lungs burning with each wheeze of oxygen leaving. He clears his throat when the fit is over, wiping his mouth with a moth bitten scarf around his sagging neck, leaving blood behind, “..vessel, I don’t make the rules, Neil.”

“A what?” Al quizzes, shifting uncomfortably from his left leg to his right, “we delivered that kid exactly where you told us to! The whole town thinks he’s dead! Hawkins PD put out the report last night that a body was found by the quarry.”

Creel pokes the fire with the blunt end of his cane, crumbling a reddened log into pieces, adding a wadded mass of newspaper, the face of Will Byers’ missing poster front and center, his cherub smile warping with the heated flame.

“The boy is hiding somewhere. The creatures can not find him, he is convinced that there is help from our side.”

“Impossible,” Al scoffed, rubbing the cold of his nose on his sleeve, “I just talked to Chief Hopper at the Hideaway last night, and according to him it’s a closed case, Lonnie and his former ol lady were making funeral arrangements.”

“What you hear, and what you see, seem different ways to hold the key.”

“Enough with the psychological bullshit!” Neil yelled throwing his beer across the living room, “tell us what he needs from us.”

The blackened tooth smile creeps onto Creel’s face his red chapped lips split and bleed, and he holds back his cough just long enough to whispers the same fallacy he was given only hours before, in another dimension identical to this one.

“A son.”

—

The wind was ripping snow across the streets of Hawkins. The windshield wipers on Eddie’s van had frozen in place, stopping half way in the middle of the windshield, the shitty wipers no match against the freezing, winter rain.

You were certain that the seat belt in the passenger seat had never been used before tonight, but Eddie was insistent that you wore it, foregoing his own with a you’re kidding right? look. The whites of your knuckles shine bright with each overhead street lamp that dances lazily on the windshield, and Eddie looks over with a laugh.

“Almost there Pebs,” he mumbles, his mouth snug around the filter of a cigarette, a half smirk on his lips, “don’t worry.”

The storm foiled more plans than just good driving conditions, apparently The Hawk had closed earlier that day when the windchill dipped down to the negatives, Sal ensuring that his employees had plenty of time to get home before the weather took a turn for the worst. Thankfully Family Video was still open, and Eddie’s trailer was empty for the night, save for a couple of beers in the fridge and the heat from an electric blanket. Apparently the manager of Family Video didn’t give a fuck about the roads, neither did the factory.

You and Eddie were met with the rolling eyes of Steve Harrington as you two shoved each other out of the way to get into the door first, bringing with you a cold gust of wind and chattering teeth. After securing The Poltergeist and two boxes of peanut M&M’s, you and Eddie were tucked into the tin can death trap on wheels, trekking slowly to Forest Hills Trailer Park.

The bumpy driveway was nearly covered by the falling ice and snow, causing Eddie to slide into his parking spot, well the front yard, of trailer 8. Before he jiggles the key out of the ignition, a man’s shadow illuminated the front door, the burning end of a cigarette glowing on a presumed inhale, and Eddie mutters a ‘fuck’ under his breath.

“Stay here, okay?” He says with a shallow voice, his eyes never leaving the front door of the trailer, “I’ll be right back.”

What the hell was his dad doing at home this time? Maybe he was confused, thinking it was Thanksgiving already— probably wondering where the turkey and green bean casserole were.

The door of the van groans as Eddie pushes it open with his shoe, slamming it shut and hearing the crinkle of built up ice breaking away from the frame. Ice was gathering in his hair as he scurried up the steps, the shadow moving away from the door so Eddie could come inside, and once the threshold was breached, he wasn’t surprised to see his dad standing in the kitchen, smoking a cigarette, long fingers wrapped around a can of Wayne’s breakfast PBR.

“There’s my boy,” Al greeted with a false tone of cheer laced in his voice, “only been waiting here for an hour, I need your help with somethin’.”

“Sorry,” Eddie mutters, shutting the door tight and shaking his hair free of the elements, “must have lost my schedule on your flight arrival.”

“Watch it,” Al snaps, his eyes are bloodshot and dark rimmed, voice gravelly, “I’m in no mood for your shit tonight, alright?”

Eddie tuts through his teeth and shoulder checks his old man before walking to the living room, pulling the cord from the wall jack, unplugging the tv. Holding it against his hip to bring it to his room.

“What the hell man, I was gonna watch that!” Al yells as Eddie trudges into his room, shoving shit off his dresser with a sweep of his arm, putting the small tv down he turns to find his dad right behind him, glaring menacingly at him, nose to nose.

“The rabbit ears haven’t worked in months, guess you’ll have to go to Neil’s..”

His insult is cut short as Al grabs him by the lapels of his denim vest, shoving him into the closet door, busting it off the sliding track.

“Listen to me you little fuck…” Al spits, literally into Eddie’s face, “I said I’m not in the mood for your shit tonight, ya got me? I need your fucking help for once in your life, can you manage that?”

“Get off me,” Eddie sneers back, trying to hide the trembling in his jaw as he grits his teeth, “I’m serious.”

I'm serious, Dad! Al mocks, shoving Eddie harder into the closet, the splintering wood busting beneath his shoulder blades. “I ain’t ever asked you for nothin’ in your whole damn life, let you live here with Wayne, no rules no nothin’ and now it’s time to pay up. I need a favor.”

His eyes were shocking in a desperate way, anger riddling his irises.

Eddie thinks fast to his underwear drawer, the wad of cash shoved into an old sock underneath a sticky playboy, “I don’t sell whatever you’re on, and I don’t have any cash.”

“Ain’t about money, or horse, Eddie boy, you remember my friend, the one that lives in the old house on Morehead?”

Eddie thinks back to all the “friends” Al had ever introduced him to. There was Bud the one who owned the bowling alley in Bridgeport that had a fake eye and an gnarly looking scar on his face from a dog bite, Willy Jack who helped take the plates off of the van and scratch up the VIN number when they stole it from that scrap yard north of town, he even painted it any color Eddie wanted, but somehow the friend he was talking about wasn’t registering.

Raising an eyebrow, Eddie shakes his head no. “Doesn’t matter,” Al said all too quick, “his son has been missin’ see, for years, and we need your boys’ help finding him.”

“Who’s we?” Eddie asks, finally wiggling free from his dads hands, straightening his jacket, “and why the fuck do I need to find him?”

A closed fist breaks through the paneled wall next to his chin, “enough with the questions Eddie goddamnit! I need you on this, and you’re not gonna tell me ‘no’ you understand me?”

Eddie had never hated his dad more than he did at this moment. If he were older he’d swing a fist into his gut, knock his lights out once and for all, but he didn’t dare, shoulders slumped and the weight of the world and all its guilt piled onto him. He had no idea what kind of shit his dad was getting him into, only the gut wrenching feeling that something was terribly wrong, and the only thing he could do was nod his head, agreeing to lend his trembling hand.

Across town on Cherry lane, Neil Hargrove was having the same friendly little “discussion” with Billy, but the conversation was different, lighter, happier, and the two Hargrove men seemed to be on the same page for once in their lives.

—

OCT. 1986

The Harrington’s basement was set up much like the Wheeler’s but on a grander scale. Large tv tucked behind an oak cabinet,, a beige leather couch that seemed to stretch across the entire living room area, a surround sound system in each corner, two bedrooms and a full bathroom. Setting Nancy down on the plus couch and covering her small form with a wool blanket, Steve opens a closet door and wrangles out a new set of golf clubs, leaning them against the wall, and running his hair through his fingers, as if he’s trying to make a mental list of household objects that could be used as a weapon.

The phone rings noisily in one of the bedrooms and Steve leaves to answer it.

Eddie still has your fingers between his, his rings leaving small indents but you don’t mind, it’s a comfort. He’s muttering to himself, in a tone only he can hear, biting the nails on his right hand with grinding clicks of his teeth. Looking at you his expression falters for a split second, trying to put on a calming mask, nonchalant-like even though inside he was screaming.

It wouldn’t be long before the Demodogs came, especially if the Demogorgons were out, would he be looking for him? Wondering where he has been? Why he’s been gone?

He guides you to the couch, a grand gesture with his nail bitten hand, grabbing a blanket and putting it around you.

Steve emerges from the back bedroom, a tiny bit of relief in his eyes, “that was Robin, they’re on their way here, I guess they barely made it out.”

You wince at the thought of everyone dead at the carnival, the way Argyle’s body was ripped to shreds, the howling cackle from Creel, the way he stood with his arms in a welcoming hug, just an hour ago you were convinced you were going to kiss your best friend, now the majority of Hawkins was dead.

Steve turns to Eddie, with wide searching eyes, fumbling for the right words but failing, “I need answers man, right now.”

—

Robin hangs up the phone, blood drying on her fingers from when she tripped over the gaping carcass of Tammy Thompson, her face covered with streaks of dirt and god knows what else, “ Let’s go! Everyone’s at St—”

A stinging in her spine brings heat, warm and dripping, then fiery hot, a hand on her shoulder she turns to see his maniacal eyes, the blood from the gash on his head now trickling into his mouth, white pearls stained in ruby.

“I did you a solid Rob, killed that bitch for you—didn’t even think twice about it, because we’re friends,” blood now trickling down her back into the waist of her scoops ahoy uniform shorts, she garbles a breath cusping on the breath of a question.

“shh,” he reassures, wiping tears from her freckles lined cheeks, extracting the knife from the well in her back, he helps her lie down gently, “this isn’t going to kill you, it’s just temporary you see? I can’t have any distractions, I can’t let you get in my way, but don’t worry!”

He moves to rip the phone cord from its hook, “I’ve done so much research on this meticulously studying over books on ways to cut the human body, what would hurt the worst, the least, the angle of the knife was just right, I guess I could be wrong,” he scratches his head, the whites of his eyes rolling as the smell of blood starts to work him up, an ache he can’t scratch, “hmm… take care, yeah? I’ll be back.”

A pool of blood blossoms from Robin’s back, flowing into the blue carpet fibers of her room— in tandem with the slow blink of her eyelashes meeting.

The ignition of his car engine backfires with a gunshot noise, the bloody knife he used to kill the others laid gently on the leather of his passenger seat.

Driving down the desolate streets of Hawkins, he looks in the rearview mirror, and for the first time, Jonathan Byers likes what he sees.

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#eddie fanfiction #eddie munson #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #fic recs #eddie munson angst #stranger things #upside down #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie fanfic

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themotherofblood · 11 months

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chapter 5 | RIVER OF FIRE | blood runs thick | d.t x reader x r.t

masterlist | series masterlist | previous chapter

synopsis: the aftermath of Alicent being wed to Viserys.

~ “Did you think it all true, all these things will catch up to you now.” ~

It truly wasn’t much of a bother, was it. Here you were, threading together a bouquet with gold silk threads and next to you paced Rhaenyra, cursing practically anyone that would dare interrupt her maniacal pacing. Five steps she would walk forward, mutter curses under her breath and then she would turn, walk five more. The antechamber almost grew hot, burning along with Nyra’s ire, the dragon flames within her burnt so bright, you feared for the Queen’s life.

She was just next door, being readied for her wedding by her Hightower cousins, you could hear the rambling and muffled giggling and jangles of gold bangles and necklaces. Her wedding to Viserys - by the gods - even now brought bile to the back of your mouth coating it with bitter thickness. It wasn't unheard of but perhaps when the bride bleeds from so close to home, one might truly weep for her virtue. Even if she were to be the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, a girl and a grieving King. What bore far more pain was that she hid it, for months she hid her ongoing relationship with the King, from you, from Rhaenyra. Being unable to aid Rhaenyra through her grief to which Alicent sewed parts of Rhaenyra back together with such ease. She is wise, truly wise, yet she hid this. Rhaenyra believes her a traitor now, for weeks she voiced the fear of Aemma’s memory fading if Viserys were to remarry, Alicent listened and yet said nothing.

You were pulled from your thoughts as the doors to Alicent’s bed chambers opened, ladies poured out one by one, bowing to you and Rhaenyra before heading for the Grand Sept, the bells had begun to ring, marking the King’s arrival to the Sept.

A girl of six and ten turned into a woman, Alicent stood at the door with a stunning ivory gown, her cape sleeves curving around her figure and intricate gold metal work placed on her shoulders to mimic dragon wings, her beautiful brown hair pulled up. She was radiant as always, you couldn't help but smile at her, it was her wedding day after all.

Alicent’s eyes flicker to Rhaeyra, expecting to find some warmth within the purple of her eyes, Nyra gives Alicent a once over, taking in what had seemed like a nightmare come true.

“You look lovely, your grace” the hint of sarcasm coated thick in Rhaenyra’s voice as she bowed to Alicent before taking her leave.

You pitied her, the smile you gave her after screamed so, the Queen loved by all but the one closest to her. You walked her, reaching out to fix an untucked ribbon and then handing her the bouquet.

“Is there no way that I might mend this?” she sighed, sorrowful and guilty.

“Not today.”

She looked defeated as you fussed with pinnings of her wedding dress.

“Not today, because today is about you, our petty problems will be with us tomorrow too, my lady.” you give her a once over before once more smiling at her “today you become Queen.”

This time she matches your smile, a long breath shaking away the sorrow weighing upon her shoulders. You walked behind her, lifting her long train with both arms as she proceeded to walk.

There was this joy, your friend was being wed, a momentous event but you couldn’t breathe past how terrified Alicent looked, and torn over how perturbed Nyra appeared to mask her strong need to sob. Your lover and your companion, both bleeding from the wounds of court and you could help but one, a side that you had to choose. She had ripped through two dolls, sobbing over the one gown she managed to steal from her mother’s chests. She didn’t want a stepmother but most of all she didn't want to have to lose a friend so cruelly. No matter how tightly you held Nyra through the nights and gave her comforting touches, the dark shadow of doom that seemed to follow never left her, it loved her more than you could. More than the sunshine could cast a shadow, it persisted. At supper and at tea, it pained you to watch her so.

So much so, she wrote to Daemon, begging him to return, to stop this madness, speak some sense into his brother but what was done couldn’t be undone by a banished prince, now could it?

You reached for Nyra’s hand as you stood amongst the people, watching the Targaryen cloak draped over Alicent taunt her. All would be well, all must be well, you prayed. A marriage for the stability of the Realm, even with an heir, the lords never truly seemed satiated.

As Alicent and Viserys turned with their heads held high, the crowds cheered, roared in an out pour of joy. A new Queen had blessed the Realm, soon she would bless the Realm with a son.

A son, you looked to Rhaenyra. The whites of her eyes had gone red, moist.

“She is no Queen of mine.” she angrily whispered to you.

In the vast toll of things, one thing you had expected less. Rhaenyra had charged her ladies to be so frigid to the Queen. You sat with her and her ladies, leisurely pushing your needle through the fabric and then back out, every now and then glancing at Alicent and the growing mound of her belly hidden behind the plush blanket she sat under.

A rabid dog with a mustard collar, that’s what you were to her. Shielding her from the bitch-like behaviour many of these courtly ladies had directed towards her. Loud mouthed wenches, snickering behind her back, most of them had expected to be Queen– now they lick their wounds, playing those half cooked political games to gain Alicent’s favour. Most of all, you shielded her from Rhaenyra’s wrath, raging just as hot as Syrax’s fire, burning all those who might to diminish it, though you– immune to the brunt of it all, both figuratively and literally. The Targaryen in you kept you Valyrian-clad, and Rhaenyra’s lover in you kept you protected.

You looked out the window this time, you were sure she was up there– somewhere so high where if she was to let out rageful screams, she would be the only one to hear. Well– her, Syrax and perhaps a vulture or two. You and her had talked about it at length, while Viserys saw the possibility of a spare, all Rhaenyra saw was an heir, to overshadow her, to depose her before her father sold her hand in marriage to the highest bidder. A castle? Gold? Armies or perhaps a foreign political connection, casting her away. Just as Jaehaerys’s daughters suffered, so would she.

Your mother Daenereys was probably the most fortunate of the lot, along with her sister Alyssa. Both women married the men their hearts desired, Alyssa and Baelon producing the purest of Targaryen children and your mother bringing Dorne into the fold by marrying your father Allyrion Martell. You however bleed Martell through and through, unlike your brother that possessed purple eyes, the ravenous features of a true Dornish woman embraced you as you grew, full lips, sun kissed glow, a distinct head of loose curls, leaving but a few streaks of white, just like Princess Rhaenys.

That was besides the point that even with the macabre tradition of the Dornish and the contumacy of Targaryen traditions, you couldn’t fathom admitting that you indeed wanted Alicent’s child to be a boy, for that little child to be heir so you and Rhaenyra could fly east, just like you always dreamed of, marry and live in a quaint little hold with servants purchased from sold jewellery and a farm of your own. Yet once a prey tastes blood, it can only want for more, Rhaenyra’s purpose was this, to be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, she found power within the title bestowed upon her and just as demanded flaunted his oddities with immunity so would she, you could do naught but follow her, obey her commands and prepare for the day that she would sit the Iron Throne– with a husband on her back instead of you.

You couldn’t give her heirs of her blood, no blood magic nor prayer could change that you too were born a girl, and the unnatural pairing of the two of you would lead to carnage.

“Princess?” the voice of Enorah standing by the doorway tore your attention, you looked at her, momentarily stunned– returning to the world of the living “The Princess Rhaenyra has demanded your presence in the Godswood.”

Demanded

Rhaenyra knew at the cusp at which she played at, your afternoons were Alicent’s by the King’s “suit,” you turn to Alicent apologetically.

“My Queen if I may…”

“Go on, I have my other ladies to keep me company, perhaps I might return to my chambers for some respite.”

You looked around the ladies scattered across the chamber floors before neatly putting away your embroidery ring, you stood, back straight and shrouded in formality. You bowed to your friend before taking your leave.

You knew how you find Rhaenyra in the Godswood, hair mussed— stinking of dragon on the rage of the fourteen flames in her eyes.

“Why must you be with her?”

Something so sacred but irreparable, such a bind of sisterhood never found again. Squandered yet again by what you knew to be the ugly politics of lords in their ivory towers. What irked you the most was the price paid was you— your companions barely old enough to bleed let alone be pawns to whatever bargains were being struck in the Great Halls of the Red Keep.

You remembered the fight they had so vividly, almost envisioning it as you entered the Godswood.

“Rhaenyra, slow down!” You huffed, hiking your skirts to chase behind her.

Viserys had just announced his proclaimation, you stood there. Among the choices he had, along with Laena. Alicent too was— oddly among the lot. It wasn’t a surety until he said her name.

You were sure Rhaenyra felt it harder than you did, right in your gut. A dagger wound, you should have seen this coming. She looked torn, regrettably so, but why? She would be Queen.

Thus you chased out Rhaenyra, down the stairs and to the Godswood where she wiped at her angry tears.

Dear gods

When the realization set it, your closest friend had lied to you, through her teeth. Under the disguise of consolement and wise words of religion and perhaps comfort. She hid her “affairs” with Viserys.

For her sake you wished that she would steer clear of Rhaenyra but such fate was beyond her for she too followed.

“You!” She whipped her head furiously towards Alicent.

“Why? I wept to you, afraid for my mother’s memory and you betrayed me!”

“Rhaenyra truly—“

“You do not speak! You do not breathe near me.”

“Ever again…”

#daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x reader x rhaenyra targaryen #daemon targaryen x rhaenyra targaryen #desiblr #daemon targaryen #got x reader #house of the dragon #rhaenyra targaryen x reader

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posebean · 1 year

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fantasys your alkaloid‼️ ‼️ ‼️ ‼️ ‼️ ‼️ ‼️ ref sheet of alkaloid for my alkakurei fantasy au that i totally didnt abandon crazy:B here (notes abt world+magic system and other stuff on that post)

stuff abt their outfits and etc under read more

hiiro is fresh from his village baby boy left to go find his nii-san with only his clothes and a trusty satchel at his side- he just goes around looking for his nii-san and etcetc idk how long the gap is but he finds tatsumi and mayo and stays with them for some time and during that time tatsun gets him a coat because baby boy literally only has those and hes just been doing work for some guild (idk how to explain bc guilds require education but i guess tatsun pulled strings for him) so he has money to live while also looking for his nii-san and sometimes he has to go to cold places and one time he comes home after a job in a cold place and hes sick and tatsun is like hiiro-san please take this jacket with you :..) so now hiiro has a coat custom-made for him :3! he's good with elemental magic (the 5 core elements water wind fire earth plant) very versatile and a skilled little guy (not as talented as his nii-san but no one is as talented as nii-san!) anyways yadda yadda he gets a message or smth and is preparing to leave tatsun and mayo but (spoilers for meru fic) meru points him towards the town where everyone else is and yea he goes and finds his nii-san and now his goal has changed from find nii-san to convince nii-san to go back home but he befriends everyone else too and i think they do eventually go on some kind of adventure together maybe more the three younger ppl aira hiiro and kohaku

aira is a little silly fellow he dresses nicely (very inspired by fs2 but i cant stop looking at it and thinking damn he french colored......) and loves magic so much he admires all the grand mages and everyone in the upper echelons and loves watching other people cast spells and such unfortunately for him while he has a decently high innate talent, his control is God Awful which results in magic never going well for him- with no control at all, literally negative control, he can try to cast one spell and something completely different will be cast instead- and the skill level varies too it's literally just a roll of a dice for him if he tries to cast a simple flame spell he might end up flooding the room with a wall of water, it's that bad kkshfkj also he acts like he doesn't like it but he actually loves rabuhan-junior so much he secretly spoils the hamster named after him and rabuhan junior loves him back rabuhan-junior likes to sleep in his hat or on aira's head whenever kohaku goes out and leaves rabu-han junior with aira tatsun has very normal clothes bro dresses like a dad (did you know both of his fs have the same color palettes i didnt but using them as reference made me realize, anyways-) his clothes are very comfortable and easy to move around in, especially given his injury from [spoiler event here ]. he also has a cane and his injured leg has pain suppressor sigils and bandages wrapped all over it his leg isn't completely unusable like its not broken or anything its more like. a kind of necrosis like if you unwrapped it there would be a dark mark thats like icky and sometimes it flares up and hurts tatsun so much that he falls over and :( he found the cane one day in the catacomb (wonder who put it there) he added the begonia himself as a reminder of his sin... shiro is his little mouse familiar that he conjured with the help of kaname! she's a sweet little thing, often found sleeping on an open book on tatsumi's desk. she has the tatsumi-colored ears and legs because she was conjured up rather than a pact familiar. regarding magic tatsun is pretty average on both control and power, but that doesnt really matter because most of the spells he uses are passive spells more used for healing/doing work. he likes to garden and has a beautiful garden of all kinds of flowers at the chapel :) he just doesn't dare touch the flowers in the catacomb, because he knows someone else already takes care of those also that purple gem hanging around his neck is a gift from mayomayo it doesn't do anything and has no magic but tatsun still likes it :) mayomayo dresses in all dark colors because he believes that if he always dresses in dark colors no one will ever have to be bothered by seeing his existence he comes from a lineage that practices forbidden magic, not necessarily all dark but some of the more ... interesting spells . something happens in his past and he ends up leaving, taking with him his tome and well. proceeding to get chased by all kinds of monsters out in the wild because for some reason he just attracts all kinds of beasts poor guy magic-wise he does have the forbidden magic from his family but he more specializes in healing and curse removal- he doesn't dare do anything else for fear of (redacted). besides, maybe he'll one day be able to actually save somebody instead of hurting them, maybe his existence would be worth it some day. the ribbon in his hair (the green/teal one) is from tatsun :) he said mayo would look good in brighter colors and mayo disagreed so tatsun gave it to him and now its become part of his outfit and (i combust into a thousand bits ) also because of that mayo feels like he has to give tatsun something back so thats why he gives tatsumi a purple gem he had that used to hang from his spell tome anyways i still love this au very much and i hope you enjoyed now i will proceed to forget about it again /j i still really wanna write kohaku's fic and then maybe one last one for rinne-kun or smth because aghghj there's still so much that's not developed yet but (explodes)

#enstars #alkaloid #hiiro amagi #aira shiratori #tatsumi kazehaya #mayoi ayase #fantasyau #bean art #look at rabuhan-junior he is so small please love him

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crow-raven-crow · 1 year

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𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 (𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬)

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞: 𝐌𝐲 𝐈𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐞

Larissa Weems x Avian f!reader next chapter | series page | masterlist words: ~3.4k 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫-𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬/𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: some fluff, slight nsfw, ANGST, arguments, acting on anger/emotion, betrayal, hurt/no comfort, description of crying, anxiety, snapping, dread

AO3 link in titles above

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

𝐏𝐥𝐨𝐭: There was always much love to go around when it came to you and your favorite principal - you were always found not far from one another when your relationship started to bloom just months prior. The fondness you had for each other was thrown into the depths only to be built back up time and time again, but maybe there was a fall that you wouldn't be able to come back from. With a new monster on the loose and higher stress levels coming into play, is the bond you have with the woman strong enough to make it out alive? Will you continue to move with the forces or will you say hello to death in the process?

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: After a late night call interrupting your routine with Larissa, wild theories and backstabbing thoughts started to rise, filling one of you with sickening worry while the other carried on to protect her reputation. In the months you had been together, things never got too bad.. but sometimes there is a thought that can echo in ones head that goes too far to come back from, carving itself into every waking moment of ones life, until it finally bursts and makes itself known.

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

You cozied yourself under the thick blankets that littered the couch as you closed your eyes and took in the warmth the roaring flames provided you. The lights danced with each other, casting the office in a celebration of golds and oranges while the wood crackled and popped at the heat it was being kissed with.

You took a few moments to expose and stretch out your dark wings, loving the pull of each tendon as the golden light met the large wingspan of each and every feather. You enjoyed these kind of moments you spent in your lovers office, all your walls crumbling and every part of your being allowed to be out in the open, though your other form had yet to come out. You adored that this was a home in which others could learn and welcome themselves in a good light just as you could.

Nevermore Academy was your home for quite some time now, years of being the potions teacher had its perks. Being able to see young ones turn into older teens and getting to know the other professors around the school made it so you could create a family of your own - a family in which turned into a main two a few months ago.

Your love, Larissa Weems, was nothing less than regal. Her stature ran tall, but it didn't stop her from wearing heels which you oh so adored, her hair always was pulled up into an intricate up-do, her signature red lip turning into a smirk whenever you came into view, and her soul was one of the kindest, most passionate ones you'd ever seen. She never failed to put her entire being into her work, something you admired and tried to do yourself, and it always came out to perfection, even if there were some events that had a few mishaps.

The qualifications you had on your application made you an easy hire - your expertise and references coming from several areas around the world that you had stopped at during your travels. The knowledge you had was vast because of this - being able to fly in every which direction and pick up shop whenever you felt like it was freeing as a young adult, though as time began to show its mark, the urge to settle down grew more and more. So you found yourself applying to the outcast school, loving both the scenery and the promises it had to offer, and moved in soon after, giving your students a story from your travels along with every potion you brewed for them.

The amount of knowledge you had caught the tall blondes eye from the start, your interview running into comfortable conversation about the things you knew and how you came to know them. It was easy to talk to the woman, and, as each meeting or run in you had with her grew longer, you couldn't help but find yourself falling for the sapphire goddess that was your boss. Thankfully, after and all too late night where emotions came into play, you found your feelings were returned, and a beautiful romance took its first steps into forever.

Both of you had since made it routine to retire in her office at the end of the week, you waiting patiently for her to get ahead on her work so she could spend all weekend with you without a worry. The thought warmed your heart as you heard her faint typing come to a stop, the sound of her laptop shutting following right behind it. The droplets of rain pattering on the window filled the room as the cold tried it's best to seep in through the glass, though failing after you had compiled garments of warmth that you two would use as armor.

Quiet steps stopped right behind you on the other side of the sofa, before gentle hands ran a featherlight touch over the marginal coverts of the wings that protruded from your shoulder blades, causing a shiver to course through your body and a blissful hum to leave your lips. Arms wrapped around your neck as soft lips met one of your shoulders, your head moving to the side to give your love more access as the kisses continued.

"I've finished, my darling," she whispered, the beautiful accent penetrating your ears as your lips turned into a smile. "I'm all yours for the rest of the weekend."

"I quite like the sound of that.." You replied as you watched her round the couch, kicking her heels off before cuddling into your embrace. You wrapped the thick blanket around her as she nuzzled into your chest, littering small kisses along your neck, before you enclosed her with your wings, wrapping the beauty in a warm, protective hold.

The woman before you had been through a lot, to say the least, so one of the main things you tried to provide her during the course of your relationship was the feeling of safety. After her admission of being fascinated by your wings, you decided to never hide them around her, instead allowing her to use them as a blanket of safety from the outside world as she settled and let every muscle slowly contract and relax into your embrace.

Her small kisses traced up your neck and along your jaw, her hands making themselves known at your waist after squeezing there gently. She moved her face closer to yours causing your hands to land on her shoulders, before her lips met yours.

The kiss was slow and just as electrifying as all the ones that came before this one. Her lips moved in tandem with yours as her warm tongue swiped over your bottom lip, asking for entrance. She took her time exploring your mouth as though it was the first time she had done so. If there was something you adored about your relationship, it's that the flame that was there from the beginning never died out, only growing and evolving to fit the world it belonged in.

You wrapped a hand to the back of her neck, deepening the kiss and making your lover whimper at the contact. Her cold fingertips met the warm expanse of your stomach as she moved her touch under your sweater. You whimpered slightly, the icy touch contrasting the heat of the refuge you built for the two of you and creating goosebumps in their wake.

She broke the kiss, plump lips pressing down your neck and meeting your pulse point. The sound of your heavy breaths ran soft around you as she left a deep, purple mark on your skin, swiping her tongue over it in a sense of pride.

"Riss.. please.." you whispered, pure want dripping from your voice as your eyes met pools of blue. Just as things started to escalate, her office phone rang, blaring the ringtone in the room that was near quiet just moments before.

With a frustrated growl against your neck, she slowly began to detach herself from your grasp. Your wings uncovered her slowly, being sure not to knock anything over in the process of spreading them out as a weak smile appeared on your lips. You sat up, following her movements, and kissed her lips once more, though quick.

"It's okay, my love.." you said softly, watching her move to her desk. "I'll be right here when you finish."

She nodded softly before picking up the phone, raising it to her ear while shooting you an apologetic smile. You'd been looking forward to this for the past few days, but you understood the importance of her job and knew the effort she had to put in to keep this school running. Her emotions soon faded away as her mask of professionalism took over her being, displaying the Principal Weems that ran the entirety of the school.

"Weems.. yes.. oh-" You were only able to hear her end of the conversation, but whatever was told to her on the other line made her gasp and her expression fill with horror. She looked at you for a moment, regret polling in her iris'. There was a trace of something else found there, something you couldn't quite read as it was steeled over quickly. You watched her look around the room, mentally gathering all of her things before preparing to leave. She muttered a few words before placing the phone back down.

"A students been attacked.." Your body filled with adrenaline with her statement as you shot up to your feet. "They found her in the woods and said she'd been there no longer than 40 minutes.. She's recovering, and she's giving her statement and description of what attacked her as we speak.. I'm sorry, darling, but I have to go.."

You watched as she paced around the room, hurriedly putting on her coat and grabbing a student file from the filing cabinet before running back towards you to put on her heels.

"Please stay here and alert the other teachers - they have to know what's going on, and I'll update you with any information I receive.. As of right now, the entirety of Nevermore Academy is on lockdown.."

She gave you a quick kiss, looking over you one last time, before leaving her office and rushing to the hospital to meet the recovering student. You followed after her, though splitting ways to go towards the teachers hall to alert the staff and help gather any student that was found outside the building.

Over the span of two weeks, Weems had successfully thrown herself at anything calling for her attention - meetings, emails, projects, phone calls.. they were all back to back for the woman as she buried herself into her work. The attacks kept happening, the descriptions all pointing to the same entity.

It ran large and had the sharpest claws that anyone had ever seen - so sharp that the pain didn't make itself known until moments after, easily slicing through the flesh of any. It moved in the shadows, barely making a sound as it caught each victim off guard. The smell was compared to something burnt, making anyones eyes tear up at its mere presence alone. Each incident was growing worse as the monster was still on the loose. The more incidents that happened, the less likely it was for you to see Larissa..

It took yourself a lot of convincing to blind yourself into thinking she was okay, leaving her meals and reminding her of breaks so she wouldn't over work herself - a feat that was growing impossible as the days passed. At first, everything was taken in good thanks, but, after a while, it had become radio silent on the blondes end. You wouldn't give up.. though, a part of you didn't want to become a bother to the tall blonde..

These were all signs of.. something, surely. Of which, though, you didn't quite know and couldn't bring yourself to look into for too long. In your time spent at Nevermore, you noticed she only really did this around events - trying to make sure that everything was perfect for all students and staff - but there wasn't anything coming up on the calendar, and you only assumed it was to uphold the safety and reputation the academy had.

You had your good moments still, yes, but it was as though those were starting to fizzle away.. You loved the woman but had yet to tell her - your plans to do so being interrupted by the phone call that started this downhill spiral. You fiddled with the promise rings you planned to give her in your pocket, the matching set being custom made to fit the personality of the both of you. Maybe this would be a step in the right direction, another step towards letting her know that not all of this had to be on her shoulders alone..

or.. at least, that's how you hoped it would've gone…

"Not everything can be fixed so quickly with a small act, okay? It's not getting easier around here, especially with you around." Her voice ran strong and tired, the hours upon hours she had spent at her desk working making themselves known. You could see it in her eyes, behind the flame that burned with anger and.. hatred..

"What's that supposed to mean..?" You asked weakly, her words digging into all the right spots. You were going to talk about how you were feeling after checking in on the blonde, only to be met with nothing in return when your presence filled the room.

"It means that you've done nothing but distract me of everything that calls for my attention, it means that I have let myself become weak and blind to what is right in front of me, it means that you…" She stood from her seat, looming over you as pure disgust radiated from her being. ".. are an issue. An issue that I plan to get rid of.."

The anger was apparent in her features, in her eyes, seeing this side of her was something you never dreamed of.. so being on the receiving end? It hurt more than you were even able to begin to describe.. Her words being thrown at you with that specific look in her eyes were worse than any punishment hell could've thrown your way, you were sure of that now..

"You're a monster that has been causing more issues than I can handle."

oh..

You never knew words could hurt so much, the pain that emitted from your heart was enough to destroy your life and every atom your being contained, running through your veins like sharp metal, cutting your body up from the inside out, causing your functions to fail and rendering you unable to move from your spot as you looked up at her from the other side of her desk..

"Y-You.. you don't mean that-" you mustered out before being overpowered by the voice before you.

"You thought I wouldn't notice?" Larissa's voice boomed throughout the room, leaving no entry for her heart to come into play. "You keep running off in every which direction - you're good at that, you know.. running. Only to come back to me as a distraction form it all.. I can see through you now, Professor.. and I do not like what I see. We're done. Now, get out of my sight."

Her words hit you like a poison, grabbing onto and pulling out everything you had told her about yourself and turning it into items that carved a deep hole in your chest.

Somewhere along the beginning of her rant, your throat felt as thought it was closing in on itself, the familiar burn of raw emotion and dread clawing its way up from your heart to settle there. Your eyes, with tears threatening to fall, burned, just as your veins did, a tired, yet deadly flame coursing through them.

"You know what?" You finally snapped, tears spilling from your eyes out of anger, as you tried to give the blonde at lease a glimpse of your emotions, your sorrow, your heartbreak, your longing, your care..

your love..

"I don't care that you are the principal of this school, but I'd like to consider myself a big part of it as well. And, whether you like it or not, that means interacting with and protecting YOU - even when you let your emotions get the better of you, even when you let these crazy theories run your actions. You have denied yourself of everything good in your life and I thought that maybe, just maybe, that I could be something to change that, to be someone that could be let behind those sturdy walls you keep up…"

Things were going well until that phone call.. that dreaded phone call that sent everything in your reach on a downwards spiral. You loved her, so much so that the emotion rippled throughout your entire being at just the mere thought of it alone.. It pained you to see how quickly things had changed..

"Good to know I've waisted my time, Principal Weems." You say her name as though it's venom on your tongue, the blunt force of her words digging their claws into your skin deep enough that your words flooded out in pain, heartbreak, betrayal..

"But that doesn't matter. Just as you've said that you're trying to protect your Nevermore family, I was trying to do the same.. But I'm done being played with.. I really like you, ya know… I came here to give you an evening you could savor again, to tell you just how much I love you, Larissa. …But it seems as though your can't get it through your head to see that."

You took a moment to let your words sink in, to let them settle in the blondes mind like an image she would never forget.

For a moment, the feeling of dread washed over the older woman. Had she made a mistake? No, surely, she was right.. Everything had lined up to this, and this moment was something that was unavoidable.. but the feeling wouldn't go away.. Her eyes steadied themselves on your figure, taking you in one more time. It stung her heart that even after she had said those things to you, seeing you with tears falling from your eyes, your shoulders tense, your wings hidden, that she still loved you.. that there was still an ounce of love reflected back at her as she looked into your eyes..

You reached into your pocket, pulling the rings into the palm of your hand, giving them one last glance over. The rings were perfect for the two of you.. Dark feathers and sapphire blue crystals concealed in resin as they embraced each other in a piece stuck in time.. One aspect from each of you that fit together so perfectly as they swirled in the next step you were going to take towards forever..

You threw the rings at her, your heart leaving your chest and breaking as they clattered on her desk and rolled to the floor. You gave her no time to think, watching her wide eyed stare as the rings fell to her feet, your next words springing her back into the reality of the situation.

"Don't expect to see me anytime soon." The pain that was etched into the words you spoke was hard to miss. You couldn't even bring yourself to look at the woman as you made your way to the door, pure shock running through you still at the fact that the word 'monster' even left her mouth, that it was directed towards you..

Whether this killed you or not, it seemed as though you meant nothing to the woman.. Your heart ached in what ifs.. For what was supposed to be a lovely, though also anxious, reason to see Larissa.. had only turned sour, leaving a cavernous hole in your chest and a stream of hot tears pouring from your eyes..

You paused for a moment when your hand touched the door handle, still drawn to the woman who had crushed you, still hoping for the one that had captured your heart to say anything to make you stay, to turn around and run to her..

but nothing came..

Your body moved without thought as you walked through the doorway, the only need being to get as far from the woman as possible, to save yourself from your heart breaking anymore than it already had, to save yourself from turning around and giving her every piece of your mind, to save yourself from explaining how you weren't a monster…

As the door clicked behind you, an emptiness filled your heart, locking it up behind the cage you had kept on it for years before this, building up the walls stronger than they ever were before..

When you finally moved, your being a husk of what it once was, you went off to do what you did best:

You ran..

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

𝐚/𝐧: Evey… if/when you read this.. i am so sorry HAAHAH. This hurt SO MUCH to write but i neeeedddeeedd itttttt

welcome to my new series ! It's called Monster due to this chapter alone but there are other forms of inner monsters coming ahead. This series is angst heavy, so i understand if there are some of you that don't want to read it LMAO. there are good things, including the ending, but that's far ahead.

i use the term Avian at the top - it refers to a being that has the characteristics of and/or the ability to change into a bird. I have a post going up soon after this that explains some anatomy and what i think the readers features are like. ill link to it HERE a bit after this gets posted

this series seems like its going to be around 4 chapters, more of less.. let me know if you want to be tagged in future chapters either in the comments or my DMs - same goes for being added to my "all works" taglist :)

i hope you enjoyed this chapter and are excited for whats to come eheh

~ 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐯𝐲𝐧

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

tags: (tagged anyone who asked/wanted to be on the "all works" taglist)

@eveymay @finnja555 @barbarasstar

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

#larissa weems x reader #larissa x reader #larissa weems #principal weems #principal weems x reader #principal larissa weems #principal larissa weems x reader #monster #monster series #crowravencrow #larissa weems x you #larissa weems x y/n #fanfiction #fanfic #wednesday

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bimoonphases · 6 months

Text

@wolfstarmicrofic March 19 – prompt 19: Unbreakable Vow – word count 689

Unbreakable Vow - A magically binding contract that results in the death of whoever breaks it

Sirius knew he could scream all he wanted but his father’s studio was shielded and no one would hear him. Not that the over one hundred guests at the Sacred Twenty-eight Gala would actually care. No, they would probably just admire Walburga Black’s sense of discipline over her household.

He screamed again, every part of his body as if it was on fire, as his mother kept her wand pointed at him, her face twisted with rage.

“You thought I wouldn’t notice?” she hissed.

She lifted her wand and the pain decreased enough for Sirius to notice his trousers were sticking to his calves. He wondered vaguely if all the blood from the Slicing curse would finally ruin his best robes.

“You really thought you could get away with it?” Walburga went on. “As much as it pains me, I am your mother, I know you!”

There were spots dancing before Sirius’s eyes and a small part of his mind was sobbing that for once he had behaved. There had been no pranks, no impertinent answers, nothing. He had kept to himself throughout the reception and the dinner, focusing on the only thought that could get him through it. Moony. Moony and his calm, Moony and his smile, Moony and his embrace. Moony’s arms, Moony’s hands, Moony’s lips.

“Crucio!” his mother shouted.

Sirius screamed again, writhing on the expensive carpet, the office whirling around him.

“You thought I wouldn’t check why you were behaving so well?” Walburga lifted her wand again. “You really thought you could hide those disgusting memories from me?”

Sirius’s heart dropped. With all her duties as hostess of one of the most important events of the year, he hadn’t thought his mother would take the time to use Legilimency on him, especially if he was behaving well. He really couldn’t win with her.

“No son of mine will ever consort with a half-breed!” Walburga went on. “No son of mine will ever have unnatural relations!”

“Then,” Sirius managed to whisper. “I’m not your son.”

Walburga’s features twisted in an evil grin.

“But you are, Sirius,” she lowered her voice. “You always will be. And if you don’t want to, I will make you. Next summer, you will take the Dark Mark and follow the path you’re destined to.”

“Never.”

“You will. You will take the Unbreakable Vow tonight and do as you’re told.”

Sirius swallowed. The most powerful magical pledge you could take, which bound you to your word and killed you if you broke it.

“I’d rather die,” he spat.

“I know you would,” Walburga said slowly. “But you’ll take it with Regulus who will swear to help you keep your word. And you wouldn’t want something bad to happen to your brother, would you?”

She whirled around in a flurry of evening skirts and walked out of the office, leaving Sirius frozen in horror on the carpet. She was right, he wouldn’t make Regulus risk his life. He wasn’t fine with the idea of dying, but better him than Regulus. Always.

He managed to get up, leaning heavily on the fireplace, roaring despite the warm weather, and looked desperately around, locating his wand, which had been confiscated as soon as he had crossed the threshold coming back from Hogwarts, on Orion’s desk. Grunting with each step, he managed to walk there and grab it along with the ornate box his parents kept the Floo powder supply in. There was no time to think it through or hesitate, no time to wonder if there was another way. He needed to run. For himself. For Regulus.

He threw a handful of Floo powder in the fireplace and as soon as the flames turned green he said the first address that came to him before stepping in. James’s.

“I’m sorry, Reggie,” he sobbed, gripping his wand as the flames engulfed him and the fireplace in Grimmauld Place disappeared, the signet ring emblem of the heir of the Black family left glittering malevolently on the carpet.

He had always thought he would run away one day. He had never thought he would need to leave Regulus behind.

#not me writing traumatic shit at work #but yeah here it is #the night Sirius left #also Walburga definitely read her sons' minds she's awful enough #wolfstar #wolfstar microfic #sirius black #remus lupin #sirius x remus #remus x sirius #marauders #marauders era #regulus black #walburga black #walburga's a+ parenting #the marauders #the marauders era #the noble and most ancient house of black #just writing (like i'm supposed to live)

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lysenfeu · 19 days

Text

Devil in the Details •Part 2•

Captain John Prices makes a desperate decision and takes a huge risk to try and resolve his grief.

Rating: Mature

Eventual John Price x Reader

850k words, Slow Burn, Drabble/Short Form Writing

CW: Dark themes, Mentions of death, Grief, Supernatural events, Occultism, Demons, Corruption

(Part 1)

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Price wastes no time, the moment he's home he lays the book out flat on his desk and studies the circle intently. His fingers trace over the black marks on the page, eyes poring over every splash of ink, no matter how small or smudged. Each line and symbol burning into his mind.

By the time he bothers to read the warning printed boldly beneath it, the words are meaningless. A hindrance only to someone who has something left to lose. It does nothing to quell his determination, this is no longer a choice he's making but an obligation. A duty he's been forced to accept by his own pride.

He gathers his supplies, the list is rather short but specific. Red chalk, a red candle, a small knife and a small red dish. He shoves his desk out of the way and rolls up the corner of the area rug, making room on the hardwood floor for his work.

He forces the small tremor out of his hands as he carefully marks out the symbols onto the floor with the chalk. There is no room for error in this, each stroke of the chalk must be exact. He must create the perfect replica of the sketch in the grimoire. He lights the candle and places a dab of hot, melted wax on each of the twelve star points. Careful not to disturb the chalk, he places the dish in the dead center of the circle. His nerves thrum in anticipation as he anxiously completes the last step, pricking the tip of his index finger with the knife, allowing a few drops of blood to splash down beneath him.

Finally, it's finished.

The circle crackles and hisses to life, the red outline illuminating itself as a cloud of smoke quickly rises from the centre.

He steps back, eyes wide with awe.

It worked.

~*~

It takes you a moment to recognize the tug behind your navel and the tickle at the back of your mind. It's been at least a decade or two since someone initiated your summoning ritual, you were starting to forget what it felt like. But now you can feel the magic pulling at you, beckoning to you through the newly forged connection. You let it carry you, twisting and turning your form through time and space as you have no choice but to answer the call.

Dark wisps of smoke curl out and flood the space before you as you rise from the centre of your circle. Small blue flames dance along the edges, lighting you with a flickering, dim glow as they spin and swirl in haphazard patterns.

As the haze slowly clears, you're able to take a better look at your surroundings. The room is a decent size, filled with dark wood furniture and leather accents. Small half-full bookshelves run along the wall, facing a large, well-worn leather sofa. An unusually tidy mahogany desk sits between them, shoved further back than usual based on the imprints left on the plush, wool area rug underneath. Not a single skull or a shred of velvet in the whole place.

Hm.

Not necessarily a worrisome sign, but odd nonetheless. The type who usually summon you tended to be more … overt in their interest in the occult, if not downright predictable. The kind of person who always used to break out the Ouija board at sleepovers and then grew up to spend too much time antiquing, looking for just the right candle holder. More crystals than sense, the lot of them.

You weren't especially fearsome, your abilities were far more subtle than most. You weren’t really suited for great acts of revenge or rampant bloodshed, anyone looking for an imposing or dreadful creature would be sorely disappointed with you. To be honest, you were more of a party trick. Your summoners really just wanted you to put on a show. So you would dazzle them with billowing pillars of brightly coloured smoke, making licks of fire dance before their eyes, a truly theatrical production. It was a simple routine: make a grand entrance, flash a little horn and tail, accept the offering, grant the favour, done.

Simple.

Quick.

Easy.

On the face of it at least.

Really though, that was the true fun of it.

They never suspected a thing.

With the smoke cleared, you take a moment and study the reason you're here, forcibly called to this time and place. A man stands before you, tense but still on the other side of your circle. He’s tall and broad, handsome in a rugged and weathered way. You note that he’s well-groomed in a utilitarian fashion, showing no hint of the usual flamboyance or flair you expect from your usual patrons. Interesting. Oh well.

Showtime.

“Tell me why I'm here, human.”

The man takes a deep breath before squaring his shoulders and meeting your eyes with a steady, even gaze.

“I need to make a deal.”

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(Part 3)

A/N: Surpriiiise! *You're* the demon ehehe 😈

#lysenfeu fics #captain john price #captain john price x reader #cod fanfic #john price x reader

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