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moonselune · 5 months ago

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Dark!BG3 | Found you !

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

For: Conqueror!Minthara, MotherSuperior!Shadowheart, God!Gale, Ascended!Astarion, Naturist!Halsin

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

CW: Controlling, manipulation, murder, arson, coercion, forced memory loss,

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

After hiding from your lover due to the person they've become, what happens when they finally find you?

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Conqueror Minthara:

The tranquility of the small, secluded village had been a balm to your wounded, broken soul. Hidden deep within the forest on the surface, it seemed like the perfect place to escape the chaos and bloodshed of the Underdark that had come to define your life with Minthara. For months, you managed to lived in peace, and the horrors of the Underdark and Minthara's ruthless conquest slowly became distant memories. But peace, you learned, is a fleeting, foolish, illusion.

It was a quiet evening when she found you. The sun was setting, casting shadows across the village square. You were tending to a small garden, your hands deep in the earth, when the first screams pierced the air. Your heart lurched, a cold dread settling in your stomach. You looked up to see villagers running, their faces twisted in terror, as dark figures emerged from the surrounding forest.

You immediately recognised them to be Minthara's soldiers, ruthless and efficient, and spreading through the village like a hideous plague. Houses were set ablaze, and those who resisted were cut down without mercy, their bodies quickly put on brutal display, their home, their burning pyre. Panic seized you, and you turned to flee, but it was too late. She stood before you, a dark, imposing figure against the backdrop of burning homes.

"Did you really think you could hide from me?" Her voice was a chilling blend of amusement and anger. "There is no place you can go that I cannot find."

Her eyes, once a source of fascination and allure, now bore into you with a cruel, predatory intensity. She advanced slowly, savoring the fear that radiated from you.

"You disappoint me," she said, her voice a venomous whisper. "I thought you were stronger than this, more loyal and that your standards were extraordinarily higher than this."

Minthara gestured with disgust the small homestead you had made for yourself. You tried to speak, to explain, but words failed you. The memory of the person she once was clashed violently with the reality of the monster before you. She reached out, her fingers brushing against your cheek in a mockery of tenderness.

"I gave you everything," she continued, her voice soft yet seething with underlying fury. "Power, purpose, and a place by my side. And you ran away."

Her hand moved to grip your chin, forcing you to look into her eyes. "Now, you will watch as everything you tried to build without me burns to the ground."

With a wave of her hand, she commanded her soldiers to bring forth the villagers who had been captured. They were dragged into the square, their faces marked by fear and confusion. You knew them, they had helped you, taken you in, wanting nothing but to see you smile. You struggled against her hold, desperate to help them, but Minthara's grip was unyielding.

"Look at them," she hissed, her lips close to your ear. "They suffer because of you. Because you dared to defy me."

Tears of helpless rage filled your eyes as you watched the villagers, they were killed slowly, painfully. You watched the light drain from their eyes, their pleas for you to do something resonating in your skull. Minthara moved closer to you, her lips trailing up your neck, the touch both intimate and suffocating.

"You will stay with me," she murmured, her voice a dark promise. "You will learn that there is no escape from my will. And in time you will love me."

As she kissed your neck, a gesture that once brought warmth now filled you with a chilling dread, she pulled back and looked deep into your eyes. "Do you see now? You belong to me, and no matter where you go, I will always find you."

The village continued to burn, the flames casting flickering shadows on Minthara's face. She smiled, a cold, triumphant smile, and you knew that your fate was sealed. In her eyes, you saw the reflection of your own helplessness, a stark reminder of the power she wielded and the chains you could never break.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Mother Superior Shadowheart:

The moon hung high in the sky, casting an eerie glow over the dense forest. You had been on the run for months, trying to escape the clutches of Shadowheart, the Mother Superior of the Sharrans. Her cruelty towards others had finally driven you away, you didn't believe your own excuses for her anymore, and you couldn't bear to see the darkness that had consumed her heart. But no matter how far you ran, you always felt her presence lingering, a shadow that refused to let you go.

One night, while you were sleeping in a small, hidden cave, the best you could do without risking interaction with civilisation, you awoke to the sound of rustling leaves and the feeling of an oppressive force drawing near. Panic surged through you, but before you could react, you felt a cold hand cover your mouth, stifling your scream. Shadowheart's face emerged from the darkness, her eyes glowing with an unnatural light.

"Did you really think you could hide from me?" she whispered, her voice a chilling mix of anger and possessiveness. "Did you think I would let you go so easily?"

Tears welled up in your eyes as you struggled to free yourself, but Shadowheart's grip was unyielding. She muttered an incantation under her breath, and you felt a wave of magical energy wash over you. Your body went limp, and your vision blurred as the world around you faded into darkness.

When you awoke, you were back in the Sharran temple, bound to an ornate chair in Shadowheart's private chamber. The room was dimly lit by flickering candles, casting long shadows on the walls. Shadowheart stood before you, her expression unreadable as she looked upwards, muttering incantations, channeling the power of Shar. Her hands glowed with dark energy as they moved and flicked, as you came to you realised the strange sensation in your mind, as if memories were being played and plucked from your consciousness.

"You left me," she said softly, as she looked down at you, her voice filled with a mix of hurt and determination. "But I can't allow that. I won't allow that."

As the spell took hold, the memories of her cruelty and your subsequent escape began to fade. You tried to resist, to hold on to the truth, but the power was too strong. The love you once felt for Shadowheart, the passion and devotion, surged back to the forefront of your mind, overpowering everything else.

"You belong to me," Shadowheart continued, her eyes fixed on you. "And I will do whatever it takes to keep you by my side."

Your head swam with conflicting emotions, but the magic of Shar twisted your thoughts until you could no longer remember why you had left in the first place. Instead, all you could think about was your love and adoration for Shadowheart. The memories of her cruelty were buried deep within your subconscious, replaced by a distorted version of reality where she was your everything.

Finally the darkness fully enveloped you, seeping into every corner of your mind, erasing the memories that had driven you away. You felt your resistance slip with it, replaced by a warm, all-encompassing love for the woman before you.

When you awoke again, you were no longer bound, and you were in Shadowheart's arms, both of you tucked under silk sheets in her lavish private chamber. She was holding you close, her fingers gently stroking your hair. You looked up at her, confusion and love warring within you.

"Shadowheart," you whispered, your voice hoarse. "What happened? Why do I feel... strange?"

She smiled down at you, her eyes soft and filled with love. "You had a bad dream, my love," she said soothingly. "But it's over now. You are safe with me."

You nodded, the memory of the dream already fading. You were with Shadowheart, the woman you loved more than anything. How could you ever have doubted her?

She kissed your forehead, her lips warm and comforting. "Rest now, my love," she whispered. "We have each other, and that is all that matters."

As you closed your eyes, the last remnants of your fear and doubt melted away, replaced by the warming love and trust you felt for Shadowheart. She was your everything, and you would never leave her again.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

God of Ambition Gale:

You step into your quarters, the familiar, sacred tranquility enveloping you like a comforting shroud. The moonlight filters through the window, casting a silvery glow over the room. As you close the door behind you, a chill runs down your spine—a sensation that is both foreign and unnerving in this place of sanctuary.

Then, you see him.

Gale stands in the center of the room, his presence as imposing and magnetic as ever. His eyes, once filled with mortal passion, now burn with the intensity of a god. He claps slowly, the sound echoing ominously in the silence. "Well done," he says, his voice a smooth blend of admiration and something darker. "To turn to Selûne, of all deities. Clever. So very clever."

You stiffen, every muscle in your body screaming at you to flee, but you force yourself to meet his gaze. "Gale," you begin, your voice steadier than you feel. "You shouldn't be here."

He laughs, a sound rich with amusement and irony. "Shouldn't I? You think you can hide from me, even with the Moonmaiden's help? Oh, my dear, it only made me love you more. The cunning, the defiance. It's intoxicating."

Your heart pounds in your chest, each beat a frantic plea for escape. "I don't want to return to you," you say, the words rushing out in a desperate torrent.

His expression softens, but there is a steely resolve in his eyes. "You don't have a choice. I've carved out a place for you in the heavens, a place by my side. It's where you belong."

Panic surges through you, and you turn, racing for the door. But before you can reach it, he is there, materializing in front of you with a god's effortless speed. You crash into him, the impact jarring, but he remains unmoved, his arms encircling you in a grip that is both tender and inescapable.

"I've missed you," he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear. "And I know you've missed me, too."

You shove him, your hands pushing against his chest with all the strength you can muster. He staggers back, not from the force of your push, but from the sheer surprise of it. And then he laughs again, the sound filling the room like rolling thunder.

"Is this the game you want to play? So be it." he asks, his eyes alight with a fierce, unholy joy. His power surges, the air around him crackling with divine energy. "Maybe I can show you a bit of godly wrath,"

You back away, your mind racing for a plan, a way to escape the inevitable. But even as you retreat, you know that this is a game you cannot win. Gale's love, his obsession, is a force of nature, and he is determined to claim what he believes is rightfully his. The room darkens, the shadows deepening as his power swells, and you realize with a sinking heart that there is no sanctuary left for you—not from him.

The room trembles as Gale's godly wrath unfurls, the very air around you becoming charged with his immense power. The ground beneath your feet shudders violently, and you can feel the tremors spreading far beyond your quarters. Objects rattle and crash to the floor, and outside, you hear the distant, terrified screams of innocents caught in the wake of his fury.

Lightning arcs across the sky, its blinding flashes followed by deafening cracks of thunder that shake the walls. The cries of the people intensify. You rush to the window, your heart sinking as you witness the chaos unfolding below. Bolts of divine lightning strike indiscriminately, setting buildings ablaze and sending people scrambling for cover.

"Gale, stop this!" you shout, turning back to him, your voice barely audible over the cacophony of destruction. "You're hurting them! Please, stop!"

But his eyes are fixed on you, burning with an intensity that leaves no room for mercy or reason. He steps closer, and the tremors grow stronger, the ground splitting open in jagged fissures. You can feel the raw power emanating from him, an unstoppable force driven by his relentless ambition and obsession.

"Gale, please!" you plead, your voice breaking with desperation. "You're killing them! Stop!"

He seems not to hear you, his focus unwavering, his expression unyielding. The room continues to shake, the walls cracking, pieces of the ceiling starting to fall. You drop to your knees, the weight of the situation crushing you, and tears stream down your face as you beg. "Gale, I'm begging you. Stop this madness. I'll go with you. Just please, stop!"

For a moment, the earth stills, the roaring thunder quiets, and the flickering lightning halts. Gale's expression softens as he looks down at you, his eyes filled with a mix of triumph and tenderness. He steps closer, his hand reaching out to gently lift your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"There," he murmurs, his voice soothing but laced with satisfaction. "Was that so hard?"

Tears stream down your face, your body trembling from the emotional and physical strain. The cries outside have lessened, but the damage is done—buildings lie in ruins, and lives forever changed. He helps you to your feet, his touch surprisingly gentle.

"I never wanted to hurt them," he says softly, his eyes searching yours. "But you needed to understand. You belong with me. And now, you see that."

You swallow hard, the weight of his words sinking in. The power he wields, the destruction he can cause—it leaves you with no illusions about your fate. With a heavy heart, you nod, resigned to your destiny by his side.

"Good," he says, his smile returning. Placing a tender kiss to your forehead, as if hadn't just thrown a deadly tantrum. "Let's leave this place behind. There's a place I've prepared just for you."

As he leads you away, the ground beneath you begins to heal, the tremors fading into memory. The devastation left in his wake serves as a grim reminder of the price of defiance, and as you take his hand, you know that your life will never be the same.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Ascended Astarion:

The tavern was alive with the chaotic energy of revelry—a madness of laughter, music, and clinking tankards that seemed to drown out the troubles of the world. You had sought solace in its bustling atmosphere, hoping the crowd would shield you from the relentless pursuit of your ex lover, a man you used to call your world, now a godling born of malice.

For months, you had managed to elude him, slipping through shadows and distant towns, always one step ahead. But tonight, fate had caught up with you. As you mingled with the merry throng, trying to blend into the sea of faces, a shiver ran down your spine—a sensation you knew all too well.

There he was, leaning casually against a pillar, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that sent a chill through your veins. Astarion, now ascended to a dark power beyond mortal comprehension (or so he kept telling you), exuded an aura of dominance and danger. He wore a smirk that promised both pleasure and pain, and it chilled you to the bone.

You tried to slip away, to disappear into the crowd, but he moved with an unnatural speed, cutting off your escape route effortlessly.

"Running again, my dear?" His voice was like velvet over steel, laced with amusement and a hunger that sent a jolt of fear through you.

Before you could react, he pulled you into the swirling dance of the tavern. Around you, oblivious revelers spun and laughed, lost in their own joyous abandon. But your world narrowed to the commanding presence of Astarion, his touch igniting a familiar fire of longing and dread.

"You won't get away this time," he murmured, taking your hand in his cold, firm grasp. As the dance continued, his grip tightened, his fingers tracing delicate patterns along your skin. "You've made me chase you for so long," he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. "But tonight, you are mine."

Before you could respond, he dipped you low, his lips finding the curve of your neck. The world spun as his fangs sank into your flesh, a sharp pain followed by a heady rush as he began to drink. The room seemed to blur, the sounds of the tavern fading into a distant hum.

Your strength ebbed away with every pull of his lips, the life draining from your body as he fed. When he finally withdrew, his eyes blazed with triumph and possessiveness.

You collapsed into Astarion's arms, the sensation of his cold embrace the last thing you felt before darkness claimed you. He held you close, cradling your lifeless body with a tenderness that belied his monstrous nature

"She’s had a bit too much to drink," he called out to the concerned onlookers, his voice tinged with faux amusement. "Don't worry, I'll take care of my darling fiancée."

The tavern erupted in good-natured cheers and applause, the patrons none the wiser to the sinister truth. Astarion carried you towards the door, the night air cool against your skin as you drifted in and out of consciousness.

He leaned in close, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, "Did you really think you could escape me, little love? You belong to me forevermore. The gift I am about to give you will ensure that."

His voice, filled with dark promise, was the last thing you heard before the world went black.

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Naturist Halsin:

The rhythmic clattering of the factory machines was your lullaby and your solace. The industrial din was a constant reminder that you were safe, cocooned in the heart of Baldur's Gate, far from the forests and nature that had once felt like home. Now, those same woods were a nightmare, haunted by the shadow of the man you once loved.

Halsin had changed. His belief in the balance between nature and civilization had twisted into a dark crusade. What had started as a noble cause to protect the wilds had turned into an extremist vision, with Halsin determined to return the world to a primal state at any cost. You had watched in horror as he resorted to violence, razing villages, and leaving a trail of destruction in his wake. Unable to reconcile the gentle druid you knew with the monster he had become, you fled.

Baldur's Gate was your sanctuary. The bustling city, with its stone buildings and cobbled streets, was the furthest you could get from the greenery Halsin now worshipped. You threw yourself into your work at the factory, rarely leaving its grimy confines. The city's heart was far from the forest's edge, making it the safest place you could be.

You awoke in a jostling wagon, the familiar scent of the city replaced by the earthy aroma of the countryside. Panic surged through you as you realized you were on the outskirts of the forest. The attendant, a kindly old man, noticed your distress but dismissed your fears, assuring you that everything would be alright.

"No," you rasped, your voice filled with desperation. "You don't understand. It's not safe here."

The attendant patted your hand, his smile meant to be reassuring but only deepening your sense of dread. "The healer is just a little further. You'll be well taken care of."

As the wagon continued its journey, every rustle of leaves, every whisper of the wind set your nerves on edge. You knew Halsin would find you; he always did. The wagon eventually came to an abrupt halt. The attendant frowned and stepped out to investigate, despite your urgent pleas for him to stay.

"Please," you begged, your voice trembling. "Don't go. It's dangerous."

"Nonsense," he replied with a chuckle. "I'll just see what's blocking the path."

He vanished from view, and the silence that followed was more terrifying than any noise. Seconds stretched into agonizing minutes, each one a reminder of the peril you were in. You strained to hear anything - footsteps, voices, anything that could tell you what was happening.

A sudden rustle outside the wagon snapped you out of your thoughts. You turned just in time to see a massive figure emerging from the trees, cloaked in green and brown, a silhouette that was both familiar and terrifying. Halsin. Your heart pounded in your chest as he approached, his eyes dark and intense, the very embodiment of nature's wrath.

The attendant's scream was brief, cut off by a sickening crunch. You felt a wave of nausea, but there was no time to dwell on it. You had to get away. The door of the wagon creaked open, and a towering figure filled the doorway. Halsin's once gentle eyes now burned with an intensity that made your blood run cold. His presence radiated raw, untamed power, and the forest seemed to respond to him, the trees whispering and shifting as if alive.

"There you are," he said, his voice a deep rumble. "I have missed you."

You shrank back, pressing yourself against the far side of the wagon. "Please, Halsin, don’t do this. I had to leave. You’ve changed."

"You shouldn't have run," he said, his voice a dark, velvet caress. "You belong with me, in the wilds."

"No," you whispered, tears streaming down your face. "Not like this, Halsin. Please."

He cupped your face in his hands, his touch surprisingly gentle. "The world must return to its natural state," he murmured. "And you will be by my side when it does. I won't let you go, my heart, not again."

You tried to pull away, but your injuries and his strength made it futile. He wrapped you in his arms, cradling you as if you were the most precious thing in the world. You felt a mix of despair and a twisted sense of comfort in his embrace.

"You’ve been hurt," he murmured, more to himself than to you. "I will take care of you."

You wanted to fight, to scream, but your body betrayed you, too weak to resist. As he carried you into the forest, you looked back at the wagon, the nice old man lying lifeless beside it, plants already making their home in his corpse. Tears blurred your vision. You knew there was no escape now. You were back in Halsin's world, a prisoner of his love and twisted vision for the future.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Something a bit different, but enjoyed writing it, let me know if you want more dark bg3 ! - Seluney xox

P.S Polite reminder that inbox for requests are closed but if you want to just drop in and say hi that fine!

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apalestar · 8 months ago

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That tremor of fear. Her reluctance. Yet, Karlach still came to him. Seated herself in his lap just as he commanded. What a lovely, lovely creature she was. "Good girl." Astarion praised. His claws scratched lightly through her hair, down her spine.

"You sit nicely in my lap. A fetching look." His touch ceased right above her tail. His arm coiled around her waist. A possessive look in his eye as he contemplated. "Improved only if you were naked." He paused letting the silence stretch. His free hand lifted the goblet to his lips, sampling the wine. Let her wonder if he would command it of her. Let Karlach squirm at the thought.

A clank resounded as the goblet returned to the table. "Next time. I promised you a reward, didn't I?" He pulled her closer still until he claimed those lips of hers. Held her there whether she wanted it or not. Fangs bit into her lips just enough to draw her blood for him to sample. His tongue darted out to clean the remnants when he pulled back. "And well behaved consorts are rewarded."

"You will accompany me to the garden to enjoy your time in the sun." Follow her he would if she went. The parchment he was reading from tucked into the pocket of his well tailored attire. A specter at her side. He didn't much care for the flowers there, but watching her made it worth his while.

Karlach's features we still, patient. Yet internally she felt at war. This did not feel right. Is this not what she wanted? She was free of Avernus, living in Faerûn with the one she admired most and yet...the nausea would not ebb away. The disdain eating away at her bone marrow - an antipathy for herself and for him...

She wished she could meet his stare just as resolutely but it flickered. The crimson gaze analysing every part of her no longer held the charms it once did, it held only his unpredictability.

A gaze she followed from his face to his lap and back up to his extended hand. Following her orders, she stepped forward, her tail quivered slightly and only for a second as a giveaway of her distaste but her face didn't portray it. Karlach took his lead and perched herself on his lap, albeit rather stiffly.

Had they sat like this before? She could barely remember. It seemed a lifetime ago now.

#iron-hearts-ablaze #verse: ascended #queue #// feel free to have her move to the garden.

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anatay004 · 7 months ago

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𝐈’𝐦𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 | 𝖥𝗂𝗇𝗇𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝖮𝖽𝖺𝗂𝗋 (18+)

𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘍𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘬’𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

𝘍𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘫𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘳𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘗𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘢. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘱𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘰𝘧𝘧. 𝘚𝘰, 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬. 𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥…

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐲, 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐨𝐫’𝐬 “𝐢𝐦𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤”

𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘐'𝘮 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘶𝘵

𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦.

YOU FOUND IT FUNNY.

Hilarious, actually.

How something so simple — so harmless, could make Finnick's jaw tick with anger. At first, you chose to dismiss it, cataloging his behavior as something as silly as him just being an asshole. But then you began to notice it more often until the ticks in his jaw were death glares and backhanded comments.

And, surprisingly, it all started with a compliment. Back when the lovers of District Twelve won their games President Snow had thrown an enormous party in their honor. As a Victor, you'd been forced to attend the event alongside Finnick Odair; whom the people of Panem loved to interlace you with. Yes, he was from your District. And yes, he was gorgeous.

But, curiously enough, you both detested each other.

Perhaps, it had something to do with the fact that he lived right across from you in the Victors' Village. Or that you'd been mentoring tributes with him for years. Or that he loved to step on your garden on his way home just to make you knock on his door and watch you throw a fit about it.

The list could go on — infinitely.

But, on that particular night, when you were forced to interact with the lovers of District Twelve; Peeta's eyes caught your attention amidst the conversation.

"Your eyes are beautiful." You'd said, harmlessly, as you tilted your head to scrutinize his features curiously. Peeta simply blushed and mumbled something along the lines of, "Thanks. You are very beautiful yourself."

But that was enough to send Finnick fuming.

And, simultaneously, you'd managed to piss off Katniss too; who more than often tended to get under your skin for various reasons you didn't care enough to list. So, in your personal opinion, it was a win-win situation for both of you. You pissed off Finnick. And Peeta pissed off Katniss.

At first, you did it for the fun of it, but then the aftermath of the interaction set ablaze your skin in the most pleasurable manner you'd ever experienced before. Seeing Finnick so pissed — so angry, was a mercurial high you'd never experienced before. Its bone-deep effect was enough to turn you greedy and that greediness eventually turned into a routine.

So, when you were reaped for the Seventy-fifth Hunger Games and left with no choice, but to be stuck with Finnick again; you tried to make the best out of the situation. So, you entertained yourself by flirting with Peeta, which was the easiest and most effective way of pushing down on Finnick's bottoms. You flirted with him in the elevators, in the training room, and — sometimes, even in the rooftop.

Anywhere near Finnick sufficed, really.

It was the highlight of your day.

And it was easy to keep the act with Peeta; he was surprisingly good at toying with words. And the best part, in your opinion, was that neither of you took the game seriously enough to build something more beyond that.

So, it was fun — until one day it was not.

The day before the games, when you were waiting for Finnick to finish his interview with Caesar Flickerman backstage, was when your own little game ended up hitting you in the butt. Under the limelight, you could appreciate the green hue in his eyes as you watched him through the screen. He was gorgeous, you couldn't deny that, and it almost irked you how much he knew that as he smiled at the camera; dimples creasing.

Naturally, the audience cheered for him.

"You're drooling, sweetheart," Peeta's voice broke into your reverie and, almost instantly, you threw him a glare over your shoulder. "Careful, I might just think you want him too.

"Who?" You asked, feigning innocence.

"The tall, blonde muscular man in front of you."

"Oh, him?" You turned back to face the screen, trying to act nonchalant. "I don't know him."

Peeta scoffed, incredulous at your indifference.

"Well, for someone you don't know, you sure seemed interested enough to piss him off." He acknowledged, shifting closer to your frame.

"Guilty?" You quipped, allowing the warm skin of his arm to brush against yours. "Besides, you love pissing Katniss off. And trust me, she's way worse at hiding her dislike toward me than Finnick is."

"She's not." Peeta quickly objected, and you rolled your eyes. "Besides, she's different."

"She tried to shoot me once."

"I said different, not sane."

"Besides, she looks at me like she wants to hunt me down and eat me." You confessed, subconsciously sweeping the brunette a glance. To your luck, she wasn't paying attention to you; too preoccupied talking with Johanna about the wedding dress she was wearing and whatnot.

"I could eat you." Peeta suddenly grinned, and it took everything in you to not let your mouth fall agape. "Sorry, old habits die hard."

"I knew you weren't as innocent as you pretend to be," You laughed, completely oblivious to the words Finnick had just blurted out on stage. "What?" You asked Peeta when you noticed a shift in his expression. "Did I say something?"

Peeta swallowed hard. "No, not you..." He trailed off, and you instinctively followed his gaze back to the screen. "But your boyfriend just did."

"My what?" You exclaimed.

"I can't believe it!" Caesar suddenly gasped, relishing the way the audience loudly cheered for something you'd just missed."Finnick Odair and (Y/N) (Y/LN), ladies and gentlemen, are officially our lovers from District Four!"

"What the fuck?" You cursed, trying to dismiss the heat that was traveling up your cheeks as you took in this new information. Peeta, on the other hand, found the situation quite entertaining to watch.

"How long were you planning on hiding this from us, Finnick, huh?" Caesar confronted, and the audience naturally laughed along with him. "Tell us, what more are you hiding from us? We are dying to know, aren't we?"

The audience cheered loudly.

It was so swift, the faint smirk that itched Finnick's lips as he thought about his next words carefully (as if he hadn't planned them out already). But the expression had been there — for a split second, and you'd caught it. Fuck me, you thought, when you recognized the malice behind the familiar gesture.

"We are expecting a baby."

No, you weren't.

But you should've seen their faces.

The statement alone was enough to make you falter on your spot. For a moment, you watched as the audience stood up from their seats and erupted into an inconsolable mess. Demanding answers and, surprisingly, even for the games to be stopped — for the sake of your child. His child.

"Congratulations," Peeta remarked, and you almost forgot he was standing next to you.

"I'm not pregnant!" You hissed, throwing the blonde a look. Belatedly, catching the teasing smile that curved his lips as he raised his hands in defense. To his luck, your attention was quickly redirected to Finnick, who'd happened to step back into the room with a nonchalant expression on his face.

You made sure to waste no time in confronting him.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" You venomously hissed, pushing him back in evident anger.

"Are the pregnancy hormones hitting you already, sweetheart?" Finnick deadpanned, relishing the way the skin of your face flushed.

"You bastard." You spat, almost throwing daggers at him, before realization quickly flitted across your face. He'd just labeled you as his on live television; he'd just made you his ally and forced an act to fall upon you. "Oh, fuck me."

A grin stretched across his lips. "I thought I did." He said, just loud enough for Peeta to hear.

But he only blinked in response.

"Wha — no we didn't!" You argued, dismissing the looks that you were starting to receive from the Victors. What the hell was wrong with him?

"You should relax," Finnick dared to suggest, and it took everything in you to not slap that grin off his face. "It's not good for the baby.

"You fucker —"

" — okay, separate." Haymitch suddenly interjected, forcing you to step back from the blonde. "Whatever this is, you need to keep it together, and — you, sweetheart, are about to step on stage in front of all those people. So, I suggest you cool it down and follow along with his little act if you want to stay alive. We are in the games, honey, remember that."

You supposed Haymitch was right; the damage had already been done. The least you could do was take advantage of the situation, but that; somehow, managed to piss you off more. Now, you were stuck in a fake relationship with Finnick — scratch that, you were stuck with Finnick and his baby.

You clenched your jaw tightly as you tried to quench the fire that retaliated in the pit of your stomach. You hated this; you hated Finnick, but more importantly — you hated not having the upper hand in the situation.

"(Y/N) (L/N), you're up next."

With a knot in your throat, you managed to collect your thoughts and follow the directions you were beckoned to. But not before pushing past Finnick on your way upstage, "I hate you."

He grinned. "Break a leg, baby,"

A few hours later, you found yourself inside an elevator. You were on your way back to your floor, where you were hoping to get a much-needed rest. Today, as you could tell, was not your day. Most of the tributes were already back in their rooms by the time you'd stepped inside the elevator and you were thankful for that. So, you threw your head back, shut your eyes, and leaned against the wall to enjoy the fleeting and rare bouts of silence.

Until the doors parted.

"Oh, fuck me!" You audibly groaned, when you opened your eyes and caught sight of Finnick's figure.

A smirk stretched his lips. "What's wrong, baby?" He deadpanned, pressing the number to your floor.

You rolled your eyes. "Fuck off."

"Mhm," He clicked his tongue, stopping just in front of you. Establishing a dangerous short distance between you two. "That's not the way to talk to me."

You raised an eyebrow at him. "Excuse me?"

He gave you a one-shoulder shrug. "Given, you know, the fact that I'm going to be the father of your child."

Irritation alongside anger shoots down your spine; forcing your body to visibly vibrate. Or, perhaps, it was the electric tension in the elevator that made you shake— the small gap between you and Finnick. Whatever it was, you tried to dismiss it. "I'm not pregnant!"

Finnick watched you for a moment; without a word, simply examining your features. After a minute, when you were almost certain he was going to back off and leave you alone, he added. "But you could be."

You froze on your spot, trying to keep your head from reeling as you thought about his words. He must be joking. "You think you're funny, don’t you?"

"Think about it," Finnick suggested, taking a deliberate step closer. Instinctively, you fell back a step. "We could get you pregnant. Take all the sponsors. Make the Capital love us," Your back hit the wall. "And that could save our asses in the arena again. Easy win."

Inwardly, you found yourself considering his suggestion — for a split second, before reality (and embarrassment) washed over you. "That would never work." You said, matter-of-factly, before straightening your posture and looking at him in the eye.

"Want to test it?"

The elevator stopped.

"You're sick." You hissed, taking advantage of the opening of the doors to exit the situation, but before you could even take a step out — you were pulled right back in. Within a blink of an eye, your back was pressed against the wall and your arms were pinned over your head as Finnick Odair looked down at you with evident amusement on his face.

"What?" He breathed out, ignoring your loud complaints and attempts to escape him. "Can't handle a taste of your own medicine?"

Incredulous, you blinked. "What?"

"I know you do it on purpose." Finnick elaborated, and your eyebrows knitted together; unsure of what he was referring to. He must be losing it, you thought.

"What the hell are talking about?"

"I know about the game you play with Peeta."

Oh.

Your face dropped.

That game.

Then you frowned as you belatedly realized he was getting back at you. Well, two can play that game.

"Is that a fantasy of yours or something?" You tried to change the subject elsewhere, dismissing the way Finnick rolled his eyes as you played dumb. To your luck, you couldn't quite fool him or escape him.

"I could ask you the same thing,"

"What is it to you, anyway?" You questioned, narrowing your eyes at him. Suddenly remembering you could easily take the upper hand in the situation. "What I do or don't do with Peeta?"

Finnick's jaw ticked.

"Oh, I see," You teased, puffing your chest out; trying to gain advantage. "It bothers you, doesn't it?"

A chuckle escaped his lips; low and humorless, as his eyes traveled down to follow the movement of your chest. "You think I'm threatened by lover boy?"

Your lips twitched. "Admit it."

Finnick's lips suddenly stretched, dimples creasing as he looked down to stare at yours. "You're crazy."

"I can tell when somebody wants me, you know?" You toyed with him, trying to keep your voice as steady as possible when his eyes suddenly darkened with a shade of green you couldn't put into words. Jesus, you thought to yourself, he's stupidly gorgeous.

Finnick's eyebrow raised. "Is that so?" He dropped his voice to a whisper, leaning deliberately closer to your face until his breath was pressing against your skin.

And it was then; in that moment, when it suddenly dawned on you that you had to make a choice. The choices were simple — no-brainer: curse him out, flip him off, or take him back to your room.

"What's wrong, baby?" Finnick chuckled when he noticed the sudden shift in your demeanor. "Nervous?"

Pick your poison, babe.

"You wish." You retaliated, a little faintly, trying to keep yourself from giving in. "Asshole."

"God, you're incorrigible," Finnick whispered, but before you could open your mouth to answer back, his lips crashed onto yours. The kiss was rough and it clouded your head momentarily; you don't think anyone had ever kissed you like this before. But it didn't matter because you reciprocated with equal fervor — to no one's surprise, and quickly followed his lead.

Heat retaliated in the pit of your stomach when his knee parted your legs, sliding his thigh in between yours as he deepened the kiss. Your arms eventually fell to your sides when he let go of them; putting his hands to better use as he ran them down your body. Down your neck, your chest, your hips, your ass.

But you didn't attempt to escape him this time.

"We're in an elevator." You reminded him, breathing heavily as he slid his hands underneath your dress.

"Mhm," Finnick hummed, dismissing your comment as his mouth trailed down your neck. As if he almost didn't mind the inconvenience; the morality wrong misconduct. "I'm in the middle of something."

Take him back to your room.

A small chuckle escaped your lips. "Come on, we're not animals." You beckoned him, ignoring his audible groan as you dragged him out of the elevator. But before you could step out — you abruptly stopped in your tracks, making him stumble right into your back.

"Jesus, you want it here or there?"

"Shut up!" You shoot him a glare over your shoulder, trying to hide the faint hues of pink that tinged your cheeks. "I still hate you, by the way."

Finnick's laugh ricocheted off the walls; warm and almost contagious. He knew it wasn't true.

"As long as you have my baby, sweetheart."

#finnick odair #finnick x y/n #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair drabble #finnick odair x reader #peeta mellark x reader #finnick x reader x peeta #hunger games finnick #enemies to lovers #finnick fanfic

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jobean12-blog · 1 month ago

Note

Up for a little game?🤭🤭

How would you meet:

Mob!Bucky, Vampire!Bucky and/or Barista/Baker!Bucky

And how would they ask you out. Or would you ask them out?

Bloody Kisses

Pairing: Vampire!Bucky Barnes x female reader

Word Count: 1.4K

Summary: Bucky finally makes you his.

Author's Note: SYDNEY! I've had Vampire!Bucky on my mind with all these new pics of him looking so yummy and then you sent this and I was like eeeeeeee here's my sign! So this is how you would meet and he would definitely be the one making all the moves. Vampire AU is an absolute favorite of mine so I can never get enough of it! Thanks so much for thinking of me and sending this little thot in! Hope you've had a lovely weekend and you enjoy this! HUGS!🥰❤️🥰Thank you all for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy!

Warnings: Bucky is irresistible in every way and he wants you. Mentions of blood, tension, some softness.

You’re mid conversation when you sense the change. It’s as if the stale air has been sucked away and replaced with something more tangible, something seductive.

Natasha’s eyes are focused on whatever is beyond your shoulder, toward the entrance of the hall.

Everyone around you seems to be looking in the same direction, so you place your drink down and turn.

A man stands just inside the arched doorway, his black jacket draped over his shoulders, the garment fitted perfectly and accentuating their broad width. His long fingers splay against the lush fabric, a gold ring glinting under the light of chandeliers, and his covetous blue eyes focused on you.

“Do you know him?” Natasha asks.

“No,” you breathe out, nearly swaying on your feet. “But I’m going to make sure I get to know him.”

An inexplicable awareness races across your skin coupled with a heat only he can set ablaze. He approaches and your pulse quickens, the urge to run into his arms something you need to fight against.

He wears all black, from his tight-fitted turtleneck down to his shined shoes and his strong jaw is shadowed with dark hair but his skin, it glows, smooth and soft.

When he walks toward you, he moves with such a sensual purpose that you notice the other women around you swooning.

But he makes no sign that he notices. His eyes stay trained on you, hungry and determined.

Without removing his gaze from yours, he takes your hand in his and brings it to his lips, turning it over and kissing the inside of your wrist, savoring the rapid pulse of your blood.

His lips linger there, his eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment before they open and he smiles, turning your hand over to kiss your palm and then finally, each of your fingertips.

“You taste divine,” he whispers.

Your breath catches in your throat at the forwardness of his words.

You barely hear Natasha’s gasp, this man’s very existence consuming your every thought and somehow you know it’s the same for him. He’s oblivious to anything but you.

He speaks his name, hushed and soft along the shell of your ear, before he pulls you away from the crowd.

“Walk with me?” he asks as he leads you toward the glass doors at the back of the room.

You nod and fall into step beside him, taking his offered elbow.

The fragrance of the night hits you the moment you step outside, the lush gardens on the estate in full bloom and the full moon bright and silvery in the dark sky.

“The stars are beautiful tonight,” you muse as you look up.

“Mm,” he hums, and you bring your eyes back down, feeling the weight of his stare.

It’s hard to look away and you easily fall deeper into an intimacy that you can’t seem to recover from.

“And yet you shine brighter than any,” he murmurs, tucking you closer and brushing his thumb across your bottom lip.

You tremble in his arms, the feeling heady and addictive.

“How come I’ve never seen you before?” you ask as you walk deeper into the gardens.

“And yet it’s as if I know your heartbeat better than any melody that has touched my ears.”

You would swoon if you didn’t have the strength of his arms around you, but some part of your head still remains clear enough to say, “that didn’t answer my question.”

He just smiles and plucks a white flower from the nearby plant as you pass it and holds it under your nose.

“It smells amazing,” you whisper.

“Queen of the night,” he explains. “It only blooms under the cover of darkness and often wilts with the rising sun.”

Your mouth dips into a frown as you look down at the beautiful flower. “So, we can never see it bloom in the sun?”

He takes the stem from your hand and tucks it into the breast pocket of his jacket.

“No,” he says, tucking two fingers under your chin and bringing your gaze to his. “But the night offers so much to be in love with and yet, never asks for anything but our company.”

You let his words sink in and a small smile teases your lips.

His fingers trace their outline, his touch delicate but completely consuming.

Your lips part with a gasp and you feel his body tense against yours, his gaze wandering over your face and down the delicate column of your neck.

His fingertips fall, slowly tracing the outline of your throat and his thumb presses against your wildly beating pulse.

“Are you scared?” he asks, lifting his dark lashes to look you in the eyes.

“No,” you whisper and press yourself closer.

He releases you and pulls you further down the path, bathing you in the shadowed recesses of the overgrowth of plants.

Your back hits the stone wall, the feel of the cool leaves brushing along your skin.

His features look stronger here in the shadows, hard, thrown into sharp relief under the obscured glow of the moon. His cheekbones resemble carved stone, his eyes dark, his lips lush and exaggerated.

He gives you no time to hesitate, gripping your neck, his palm cool and steady while his thumb presses to the hollow of your throat.

It’s possessive and sends a silent thrill up your spine.

A smart girl would push him away. Pretend she’d rather be somewhere else and run for the safety of the light, the safety of the crowded party. r

Instead, you lift your chin and meet the slight dip of his head, your noses brushing and your breath catching.

“I don’t usually meet men like this,” you say. “I hardly kiss on the first date.”

You swallow and close your eyes, opening them again to find him smiling down at you.

“I know,” he says, unbothered. Undeterred.

He licks his lips before he kisses you, innocent and soft. You moan into the kiss, swallowing his mumbled whispers of praise.

Your skin tingles and a heat builds inside your chest, pushing down into your belly where it pools low, down between your legs. You want him so badly you feel restless and urgent, a need you can’t explain clawing in your throat.

You dig your hands into his hair, holding him to you, barely letting him move a breath away.

But it’s all a ruse. He pulls free of your grip easily, the power he holds undeniable, and looks at you with a passion burning in his eyes.

“I have waited a lifetime for you,” he murmurs against your mouth, trailing his lips along your jaw.

Your head falls back against the wall, exposing the soft skin that flutters violently over the flow of your blood.

He kisses softly under your ear, once, twice, and then slides his mouth lower, sucking on your skin until you’re arching into him. The first pierce of his fangs is nothing but euphoria and when he begins to gently suck you cry out his name.

The sip is barely enough to satisfy him and with a great effort he pulls away, lips stained red and blue eyes anchoring yours.

“And all the lifetimes we’ll share will never be enough.”

His words make little sense to you now, your entire existence being slowly devoured by his every touch.

When his large hands grip your hips and he drags you into him again, you go willingly, the sharp sting at your throat setting you ablaze.

This time he doesn’t hold back, drinking you in until your pulse slows, and your eyes begin to dim. You fall limp in his arms, and he gently releases you, trailing a delicate finger along your cheek before he cuts into his wrist and holds it above your parted lips.

“Drink,” he whispers.

You’re weak at first but with his gentle coaxing you suck harder, your strength returning as the taste of his blood moves through you. Revives you.

A feeling like you’ve never experienced before fills all your senses, throbbing in your lips and fingers, in your very skin. And when you meet his eyes once again it’s with new sight, his long fingers reaching up to trace your cheek.

“You,” he whispers, brushing his bloody lips along yours, “are mine for eternity.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #vampire!bucky #vampire!bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x female reader #sebastian stan #vampire au

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kquil · 9 months ago

Text

DIVORCING ORION BLACK | CHAPTER TWO

02 : SHOPPING (1/2)

CHPT. SUM. : life isn't easy in the Black Family household, you need to get out, you also need a new wand. Sirius does too as well as a few other things; time to go shopping.

LENGTH : 5.8k

TAGS. : hurt/comfort ; tantrums ; fluff ; sirius needs a hug ; regulus needs a hug ; original walburga can eat shit ; orion can eat shit too ; reader being an amazing mother ; walburga deserves to get bullied ; floo powder travels ; diagon alley shopping time~ ; stupid wands ; arson ; goblin OC ; sirius being a sneaky baby ; regulus follows in his older brother's footsteps ; misbehaving things ; Ollivander cameo~ ; please excuse any grammar or spelling mistakes for now, this wasn't really proofread (╥﹏╥) i'll go back over things later on!

← PREV. | 01 : ARRIVAL | SERIES M.LIST

7th August 1971

It didn’t take you long to uncover the upsetting affairs of the ever proud Black Family.

There was nothing to be proud of. It sickened you to witness the blatant disdain Orion had for his own two sons, neglecting them by leaving for work early and returning only to lock himself up in his home office. The bastard even overlooked his sons when he was present at home on the weekends and the few words he spoke when addressing them dripped with cruelty and ignorance. The only positive thing you could take from his absence, however, is the fact that the boys didn’t have to tolerate his silent callousness for long periods of time.

But that meant seeing the effects of Walburga’s despicable conditioning of the two boys, which was far worse.

It was clear that Regulus wanted to be favoured and compiled to his mother’s whims, desperately seeking her approval. Whenever his small, pale hands reached out for you, no matter how miniscule, you accepted with open arms and a warm smile. His precious look of surprise, and shy happiness at your unexpected acceptance, never failed to make your heart shatter, even more so that his reaction never seemed to let up.

Before every apology, before every small request, before every word he breathed in your direction, there was an evident hesitance, a slight fear in his motions that made him freeze up for a moment. It was a consistent action that you hoped, with time, would disappear for good. You love having Regulus for your son but you don’t want him to do things just because you said so. In your previous life and before your dreams were shattered, the one thing you looked forward to about having children was the development of their own personality, the becoming of their own individual person. That’s what you want for Regulus, and Sirius too. But you know that Regulus was the main son who was deprived of that pleasure in the original timeline so you wanted to give him that extra bit of care. It was your responsibility, now, to give him that happiness.

Sirius was the same. He wanted approval too, you could see it so very clearly in his piercing grey eyes – it’s an innocence he shares with his younger brother. There’s a glimmer of hope in his grey pools, hidden behind the need to protect Regulus and the mix of anger and sadness fostered by the horrendous parents he had the ill-fate of having. You want to bring down those walls but you know it’ll take some time. Nevertheless, you clung onto the hope present in his eyes and used it to cultivate your firm resolution, like a garden to the foundation of a new life and a new future. It was needed, especially when Sirius lashed out, his fury, dangerously ablaze like a forest fire set on destroying everything in its wake.

It was no secret that the original Walburga expected nothing but excellence from her only two sons, so it didn’t come as a surprise to you that she had hired private tutors for them leading up to their official education in Hogwarts. They were to study French, Etiquette, Literature, Cursive/Calligraphy, Maths and all of the wizarding basics. All taught by private tutors that delivered material like stale bread on a plate and leaving them with the terribly tedious assignments in the most ridiculous amounts. You understood why Sirius worked himself up to such a tantrum. However, he was not setting a good example for his younger brother, who clung onto the long flowing skirt of your black dress and pressed himself against your legs for comfort.

Tenderly, you combed your fingers through Regulus’ neatly permed hair, lightly scratching at his scalp while the two of you waited for Sirius to lose energy and simmer down enough for you to finally get a word in. It only took a few minutes but Sirius was soon left heavily panting, his expulsion of rage gone but still evident in his harsh glare and aggressive stance.

Silence took over the room as you continued to hold his gaze, determined to handle the situation calmly but firmly and without any interruptions – you hope to God that your amateur imperturbable charm worked on the door of the room; it was the weekend, meaning that Orion was at home and he wouldn’t take too kindly to his equally hateful wife being screamed at by his disobedient son.

“...it’s not fair…” Sirius grumbles under his breath, pouting defiantly as his small hands ball up into clenched fists by his sides.

“I know it’s not fair, Sirius,”

“Then—!” Sirius cuts himself off when you raise a brow at him, your mouth pressed into a tight, thin line.

Some part of you understands why Sirius would lash out so aggressively; he was practically drowning under the workload he was set by his individual tutors, drowning under the expectations the original Walburga had set on him and he didn’t know how to express his frustrations. Along the way, you’re sure he’s bottled up his emotions and tried to get on with things, evident by the littered chaos of papers at his feet, marked by his neat handwriting. Such beautiful handwriting for such a young and troubled boy. With his deadline fast approaching and his assignments piled up to his ears, Sirius lashed out in the violent and wrathful way he’s been exposed to since birth. You want to be soft and comply with his demands but you know that’ll foster bad habits in him. Conceding now will only teach him that it’s okay to become violent when he’s frustrated and that it’ll work to help him get what he wants. But that is a false reality. And you will not perpetuate the illusion for him.

He’s your son now, he’s your responsibility and you’re going to teach him well. So you stand firm but composed. You’re setting an example. It isn’t until you sense the fear of what may happen slowly seeping into Sirius’ much smaller frame, that you step forward and take action.

In your slow approach, Sirius flinches and snaps his eyes tightly shut. His clenched fists slowly come up to shield his chest as his shoulders tense despite the visible shiver that runs up his frame.

A small voice calls out behind you, “Mother–”

“Regulus, this is between me and your brother. Please don’t interfere,” Regulus bites his lip into silence but watches on with fearful eyes. He wants to step in and hold his brother close, the same way Sirius has done to help comfort him many times before but, no matter how strong his will, Regulus didn’t move. Why? Was it the fear or… was it something else?

Once close enough, you kneel down and gently grasp Sirius’ small shoulders. You try not to wince when he falters from your touch and tries to withdraw but your grip keeps him securely in place. Inhaling deeply and slowly, you begin to speak in a stable voice and with strength. It’s best to start from the beginning.

“Sirius…” you wait until he meets your eyes, hesitant and afraid but stubbornly brave, “what’s wrong?” he sends you a look of exasperation, you can read him easily ‘why are you asking him that when he’s been screaming at you about it?’, “I will not listen or engage in any conversation with you if you ever speak to me that way,” you set the boundary and pause to make sure he processes your words clearly before continuing, “I will only listen if you talk to me like a normal person, if you just scream at me like that then I can’t help you,”

Sirius wants to scoff at your words; how could he possibly trust you to help him if you’ve never been worthy of his trust? But he glimpses the image of his worried, younger brother over your shoulder and bites down on his sharp tongue. Regulus has grown a small but reluctant trust for you ever since the day you fainted. It was naive of him but Sirius could never fault his younger brother for anything. He’s always been the one with the softer heart between them so it was natural for Regulus to be more trusting. Deep down, Sirius wants to have that same level of give within him too.

But it was hard. It’s hard to trust…

…that didn’t mean he didn’t want to, however. One prolonged look at his brother was all he needed to have the courage to put that trust forward.

“It’s unfair,” he repeats, clearly this time.

“What’s not fair?” you prompt, your features softening along with your tone as Sirius wills himself to continue. You haven’t lashed out at him yet, you haven’t even threatened to launch a curse at him, that was a good sign.

“All this work…” he gestures to the scattered papers he had thrown to the floor in defiance. Now, he looks towards them in shame and quickly diverts his gaze from the mess.

“I see,” you hum as he looks onto you with eyes of wonderment, unable to comprehend that you were taking in his complaint so graciously – he isn’t used to this type of gentleness but he likes it… “I’m sorry you’re under so much pressure to do this much work,” Sirius holds his breath as hope builds up within him, its light is radiant but he tries to ignore it, “I’m sorry it’s been so hard for you–”

“––I tried to do well!” Sirius defends, his eyes desperately searching your own for some form of understanding. It was your warm smile that eased his panicked heart… in some sense, he’s beginning to understand his younger brother; his mother looks far prettier when she’s smiling.

“I know,” you cup his face with one hand and lovingly caress the skin of his cheek with your thumb, “you’ve worked so hard. Thank you for trying, Sirius,” you watch tears pool at his eyes and coo comfortingly as you bring him into your arms and tuck his face into your shoulder, “I’m so sorry, my darling. I promise to talk to your tutors about the workload,” your gentle assurance and unfaltering promise eases his worries and Sirius allows himself to melt into your embrace. You’ve never called him that before. And never in such a loving or warm tone. It makes his heart feel lighter and his breath stutters in disbelief.

Can he keep you like this? He wants you to be like this forever.

Sirius doesn’t know how long he stays wrapped up in your kind embrace but he’s brought back to his senses when he hears shuffling and quickly feels his younger brother being brought into the hug too. Lighthearted and optimistic about the world’s goodness, Sirius brings an arm around his brother, who reciprocates his actions, and the three of you stay there, basking in each other’s warmth and comfort. This is nice.

“Regulus,” Sirius feels his brother stiffen up beside him, but only for a moment, it almost goes unnoticed before Regulus tucks himself further into your arms, “I’m sorry for the burden of work on you too,”

“I-It’s okay, mother,” alas, his younger brother is too forgiving but Sirius knows it’s a trait that he loves his brother for.

“Do you like the amount of work you’re doing?” you question, doing your best to keep your tone neutral and only slightly peaking in curiosity.

Regulus pauses for a moment, contemplating his answer, “I wouldn’t mind less work…”

His answer makes you laugh, the sound feathery and light, it makes the two brothers stare at each other in wide-eyed disbelief. They’ve never heard their mother laugh before. It was obscure and strange but a pleasant sound, something that they want to hear more often from you.

“Then it’s settled, I’ll be having a word with your tutors,” the two boys release a sigh of relief and you feel Sirius melt a little more into your arms, “so you can leave your work alone for next week entirely,” their shock doesn’t go unnoticed but you continue, “I’m so proud of both of you for working so hard,” you didn’t want to rush things but you couldn’t help yourself. Slowly and gently and with all the love you could muster, you lean forward and press a kiss to Sirius’ forehead and then do the same to Regulus.

They were stunned into silence as a pink hue rose to their cheeks, their wide, unbelieving eyes staring up at you in the most precious way. They look so adorable; you want to capture this image of them in a photo to keep forever. You can practically hear their racing hearts trying to beat out of their chests as their eyes swim with a child-like astonishment and wonder. They’re just two precious little boys who deserved better than the miserable, tragic fate J.K fucking Rowling wrote for them. And you were going to stop at nothing to make sure their futures were happy.

Warm with happiness, your soft smile remains as you gently usher the two into the living room to settle down and relax for the evening. However, the little bubble of merriment you had cultivated with the two boys was promptly ruptured by the sour, disgruntled face you happened upon as soon as you opened the door.

Tucking the boys’ suddenly tense frames into the folds of your skirt, you address the intruder, “Orion–”

“What was all that racket?” he demanded, his voice booming and frightening enough for Regulus to begin shaking faintly against you. It made anger spike in your chest but, thankfully, Sirius was there to reach out and immediately begin comforting his younger brother. You made sure to keep the boys out of Orion’s gaze but it was no use, “Sirius! I know it was you! HOW DARE—!”

“We’ve already settled the issue so there’s no need to talk about it further!” you interrupt through clenched teeth, chest puffed out angrily as you hold the boys’ tense but trembling figures into your legs, hoping to calm them as best as you can. Curse that imperturbable charm! And curse that stupid wand! You haven’t been able to cast a single, functioning spell with it and your excitement for the world of magic had quickly dwindled into abhorrence, stemming solely from the stubbornly disobedient wand, “I’m sure you have a lot of work to do so excuse us!”

You hurriedly lead the boys away from Orion and to the living room as Orion snarls, outraged at being dismissed so flippantly but confused over your sudden change in demeanour. For now, he settles on observing the changes no matter how subtle and returns back to his office.

“THAT WAND ISN’T WORKING FOR YOU BECAUSE YOU ARE NOT IT’S TRUE MASTER!” Walburga screams in your head and instantly makes you clutch your temple in distress. Settled in the living room sofas, Sirius and Regulus observe you with worry. Walburga doesn’t seem to know any other way of communicating than screaming and it has led to multiple black outs and fainting spells. It also meant that you kept having to drink the same disgusting healing potion over and over again and you were sick of it!

Seeing the same symptoms again, the two boys fidget in their seats, wondering what to do to help, “Are you okay mother?” Regulus asks as you muster a small smile.

“I’ll be alright, Regulus, thank you,” your response isn’t enough to convince Sirius and he whispers something in his younger brother’s ear as you set to deal with the annoying bitch stuck in your head.

‘Shut up you insufferable bitch, is inducing a headache your only talent?’ Your words and foul language make her sputter pathetically and it makes you laugh under your breath. Your moment of joy and satisfaction is short lived, however, as Regulus summons Kreacher just as you fall into darkness once more.

The fucking bitch…

8th August 1971

Because of that evil bitch stuck in your head, you had to ingest another phial-full of that horrendous healing potion. Not only that but the stupid wand still isn’t working for you.

“How can I survive this hell hole if I can’t even use magic?” you grumble into the open air as the evil bitch cackles resembled the sputtering and coughing of a broken-down car, mixed with the discordance of an off-tune violin, erratic, grating and screeching.

‘Can you shut up?!’ you shout in your head, already fuming, ‘Your laugh sounds like it could kill someone! No wonder you’re so miserable and your only sons hate you!’ that finally got her to shut up and you could think clearly again. Even though the situation was annoying, It made you snicker. Being able to bully Walburga into silence made those awful healing potions worth it. You’d drink a hundred healing potions if it meant delivering justice for you two boys.

Now that she’s silent, you observe your desk. Thankfully, you also had your ownhome office. The previous Walburga had a planner specific for Sirius and Regulus’ studying plans, diet and calendars full of ‘X’s with small notes beside them on disobedience and the subsequent punishments. It was sickening and you wanted to burn the thing but you resisted. If you want to act convincingly in front of Orion and plan slyly, you need to know as much about the original Walburga as possible so you keep all her planners, journals and scraps of paper intact. You’ll study their contents thoroughly in due time. You still have some major planning to do and you need to note down important dates to keep track of before you forget them. The start you’ve made has been decent, however, you know you need to rely on magic at some points and you wouldn’t be able to succeed in the current state of your wand. And it isn’t as though you weren’t able to cast magic; the first time you tried to cast a simple spell – the well-renowned ‘Wingardium Leviosa’ – you had set the flowers in the vase on fire.

You need an excuse to go out. As the Patriach of the Black family, Orion had the key to the Gringotts Black Family vault so you can’t just go out haphazardly. You also weren’t comfortable with leaving the boys home alone so you need them to come with you if you can.

With a sigh, you slump into the rigid desk chair and set about occupying yourself with mundane tasks. Perhaps if you indulge yourself in other, simple activities, you can come up with something creative. Stacking your messily scrawled notations of future plans, you begin to rummage through the desk drawers for a stapler or paper clip but come up unproductive. Nothing. Did wizards and witches not use basic stationary?... They had magic, yes, but surely…

Your internal ramblings come to an abrupt stop when you spot a famed crest sitting above a deep red seal. The crest features four familiar beasts, a lion, a badger, a raven and a serpent; at the very centre was an ostentatious ‘H’ — it’s a letter from Hogwarts. And you were just beginning to suspect its potential contents. The seal has already been broken and the letter slips out easily.

Words on the page read with nostalgia, it was as if you were watching the first Harry Potter film all over again and cheering at Harry’s liberation from his toxic aunt, uncle and cousin.

‘Dear Sirius Black,’ it reads and your heart stutters in both excitement and anxiety, ‘We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.’

“Term starts on September 1st,” your eyes snapt to the desk calendar, which had automatically crossed off the days. It’s a little early but that just means you’ll beat the academic year rush. With a smile, you take out the separate list of necessary school supplies and pair it with a small list of your own.

Perfect, you have your reason.

9th August 1971

Before travelling by floo, Kreacher came up to you and cast a simple dirt-repellent spell on you and your two sons. You were grateful for his foresight and thanked him graciously for doing so. Much like all the times before, your unexpected kindness makes the grumpy house elf falter clumsily but adorably as Regulus grins at your side and Sirius huffs with an exaggerated pout on his lips. He’s still ever so stubborn about the house elf but you’ve observed how Regulus has put in the effort to push the two together. You join in the gentle prodding through leading by example, treating Kreacher kindly and with respect. Bit by bit, Sirius has been following yours and Regulus’ lead. He’s not fully there but you smile at the little progress he’s made. It’s only been a few days after all and the results are optimistic, it makes your heart flutter and you look forward to the future with brighter eyes. Sirius had been buzzing with silent excitement all morning and Regulus was quick to join his older brother’s enthusiasm when you informed him that he was welcome to come and join you.

You set off to travel by floo first so you can wait for the boys on the other side and so they’re not on their own not for too long. “Diagon Alley,” you announce clearly and without a shake of nervousness in your voice, only feverish anticipation. In moments, you’re engulfed by green flames. The world whirls around you in a dizzying blur of colours and sounds, the sensation both exhilarating and disorienting.

Unlike Harry and the Weasleys, you appear out of the subsequent fireplace without a spec of dirt on you and smile as you stumble out to await your two sons. The adrenaline rush of it all makes your fingers tingle and your head feel light headed but your smile only brightens. You still can’t believe you’re really here, sometimes.

Sirius came next and then Regulus. However, despite their earlier excitement, it appears as though their spirits were dampened just before travelling. Now, they stand before you with pouting lips and downcast eyes.

“What’s wrong boys?” you ask softly, kneeling down to their level, it was purely out of instinct now. You meet them at their comfort as an equal rather than the other way around. It usually does the trick of consoling them enough to speak to you but this time is different. Their lips are tightly sealed.

“We’re okay,” Sirius says in a tone that makes it seem as if he was trying to convince himself that. You want to press further but relent with a nod. It would be better for you to let them talk at their own time. Hopefully, being outside with so many charming shops dotted around, they’ll ease up and smile again. Pressing a brief kiss to their temples, you lead them out to the cobblestone streets of Diagon Alley.

The street was bustling with magic and mystery as you observe the scene with bright eyes. The atmosphere of the wizarding alley didn’t compare to the movie adaptations. It was much more charming and wondrous to observe in real life. And wasn’t nearly as claustrophobic as it was depicted to you. However, that may be due to the fact that you hadn’t left the school shopping too late and so the streets weren’t as congested as when Harry went school shopping for the first time. Nevertheless, your heart didn’t stop pounding in elation as you held hands with your two sons and set forth to your first destination.

“Our first stop is at a very important place, okay?” on either side of you, Sirius and Regulus nod, still silent as you lead them through the streets. The air was thick with the scent of potion ingredients and freshly baked treats from the nearby shops, a symphony of sounds and smells, it was a little overwhelming but you couldn’t complain, the tenor of the climate was still very addictive.

As if summoning your first destination, your eyes were drawn to the towering structure of Gringotts, the goblins' bank. Its grandeur was a stark contrast to the quaint shops lining the street, making it stand out like a uniquely different gem amongst a cluster of little treasures.

You walk forward with purpose now but still keep your strides short for the boys. Looking down you observe how they take in the environment around them, dressed like little princes with perfectly permed hair and glittering diamond eyes. Sirius had familiarised himself with the routine of the day, the first stop would be Gringotts to withdraw money to buy all of his school supplies, the second stop would be to retrieve his wand and after that, it would just be a matter of going down the list. It was a different plan to the usual fixed outline his parents were strict to follow in usual outings. Sirius would have been more enthusiastic if his father hadn’t forcibly pulled him and Regulus aside after you’d first disappeared by floo.

‘Don’t even think about dirtying the Black family name while outside. If I even hear a single word of your misbehaviour, it’ll be an entire day spent in the vault!’

His father’s threatening words echoed menacingly in his head, his mind like an empty cave except for the haunting remarks that bounced off its despondent walls. The only way for his father to hear of any misbehaving is if his mother told on them but… Sirius chances a brief glance up at you, only to be met by your kind smile. Quick as lightning, Sirius looks away with a clench of his hand around yours. His mother isn’t like that now, though…right?

As the three of you pass windows displaying cauldrons, brooms, and a myriad of magical trinkets, Sirius’ mind raced with possibilities. What spells would he learn? Who would he meet? And would he make good friends with them? What house would he be sorted into? He hopes not Slytherin, it was what his entire family had been sorted into but he doesn’t want to be like them – never like them. Would he be able to play Quidditch, his mother always used to say that it was too violent and rambunctious of a sport to be associated with. Will he like his teachers? Will he enjoy his classes? The future was a mysterious, unopened book, and Sirius, although slightly hesitant, still bound to expectations, was ready to turn the first page.

As you step through the towering bronze doors of Gringotts, a shiver of awe runs down your spine. The splendour of the entrance hall was breathtaking, with gleaming marble floors and towering pillars that seemed to reach up into the heavens – as opulent a building should be that holds secure a multitude of treasures and ancient artefacts whilst being guarded by a ferocious dragon.

Goblins, sharp-eyed and meticulous, worked behind large, ornate desks – tall and domineering. Their long, dexterous fingers moved swiftly as they counted coins and scribbled in large ledgers, busy but happily so when surrounded by so much gold. The air was filled with the clinks of coins and the soft murmur of transactions, bank-speak, typical and not too far from the banks of ‘muggles’. High above, the cavernous ceiling was illuminated by shimmering crystal chandeliers, casting a golden glow over everything, fitting for the amount of gold glittering beneath it. It was a complimentary union, one that oozed lavishness. Even the air smelled rich and you wondered if gold dust was dancing in it too. The atmosphere was one of ancient power and impenetrable security, safe and anchored. As you walked further in, you could feel the weight of centuries of wizarding history envelope you, it was unmistakably a place where secrets and fortunes were both hidden and revealed.

Approaching a vacant desk, you steady your breath and quickly recite your introduction in your head before elegantly performing it. You first drop into a low but graceful bow and repeat your greeting from memory, “Greetings Master Goblin, may your gold prosper and your enemies fail against your blade, I am Madam Black,” with bated breath, you wait for his reply, hoping that uttering your family name was enough.

“Madame Black, I am Filgus. What can I do for you today?” the goblin hid his surprise well. It was unusual to receive such a polite and formal greeting from the Matriarch of the infamous Black family. The surprise was pleasant but also carried with it a fair share of warning. Odd behaviour never bode well. Filgus was determined to not let anything pass, his pride as a Goblin demanded it be so.

“I would like to withdraw from the family vault,” you explain and hand over the key Orion had

“Very well,” Filgus accepts the key and moves to dismount his desk, “follow me to the carts,” you’re immediately reminded of the movie scene, where the speed and twisting passage of the cart made Hagrid sick, even as a half giant.

“Is it safe for the children?” you fret instinctively. Maternal instincts, a previously dormant part of your nature now expressed in the most spontaneous but opportune ways.

Filgus snarls in offence but bites his tongue as best he could, “I assure you Madame Black that Gringotts is one of the safest establishments to exist in the wizarding world,”

Not wanting to offend the goblin further, you nod with some hesitancy and keep your boys close. The fact that you worried for them made their little hearts flutter as their cheeks heated into a delicate pink hue. It was unusual for them to experience such care and worry but it still made them feel good. Turning to each other, they observe their identical reactions and bite their lips to keep from grinning too widely.

The journey to the vault was as winding and twisting as you remembered in the films. It was equal parts frightening and thrilling. The experience was exactly like that of a rollercoaster but without as strict of a regard to safety. If only the path was better lit, maybe that would have made the journey a little more pleasant.

“Here we are,” Filgus announces, stepping off the cart and politely asking for the lamp. You oblige and slowly follow him out of the cart, steadying yourself before you help Sirius and Regulus out too, “your key, Madam Black?” Filgus sets about opening your vault door as you turn to the boys and check their welfare.

“Are you alright, my darlings?” you ask in a soft whisper, kneeling before them.

In all honesty, Sirius had enjoyed the ride down, the twists and turns and perilous speed made his head spin in the most delightful sense but he’s grown to like you worrying for him more than that temporary thrill. So, with a pitiful look on his face, he shakes his head ‘no’ and slowly begins to stretch his arms open.

“It was scary…” Sirius whispers, taking advantage of the cold underground temperature to make his voice shake in ‘fear’.

“Oh darling,” you coo softly and bring him into your arms, “it’s okay, you’re okay,” Sirius smiles into your shoulder and allows himself to cling onto you like he’s always secretly dreamed of doing. This feeling of safety and security was one he didn’t ever want to let go of. Over your shoulder, Regulus gapes at the affectionate scene and, although it goes against his moral code of lying, he musters up the sly courage his older brother so easily displayed.

“M-me too, mother,” Regulus calls for your attention in a bashful whisper, “I was scared too,” your kind, understanding smile eases his nerves Regulus jumps into your arms as soon as you open up to accommodate his small frame.

This didn’t count as misbehaving, right? Only they knew whether or not they were truly scared or not…

The bell above the door tinkled softly, happily announcing your arrival as you pushed open the creaky, unassuming entrance into Ollivander’s, the most renowned wand shop in all of Diagon Alley. It made you giddy just thinking about getting to meet the whimsical shop owner and wand artisan.

Inside, the air was thick with the scent of wood and magic, a combination that seemed to tickle the very edges of your senses. Your fingers itched to grasp at wand, your nose scrunched up at the pleasantly ancient scent permeating the air and your eyes surveyed the room with an eager gleam. The shop was narrow and cramped, yet it felt infinitely deep, with towering shelves that stretched up into the shadows. Each floor to ceiling shelving unit was crammed with thousands of slender boxes, their organisation questionable but fitting for such an antiquated establishment. Dim light filtered through the dusty windows, casting a mystical glow over everything. The walls seemed to whisper secrets of ancient trees and magical cores, each wand holding the promise of a unique bond, waiting to be discovered and pledged to its chosen master. The air was thick with anticipation, and you could hear Sirius’ heart pounding with the thrilling but nervous realisation that among the wondrous collection of boxes, one held a wand that was meant solely for him. It would be special and unequalled to anything else – an incomparable affiliation

Mr. Ollivander, with his pale, incisive eyes emerged from the shadows like a wisp of memory, his movements as silent and fluid as a ghost, a jolly ghost supporting a fanciful smile. His gaze takes in your sons, to which he gives a thoughtful hum before fixing his stare onto you.

“Madame Black…” Mr. Ollivander observes you with open curiosity, peaking the interest of your two boys, their diamond grey eyes watching the interaction silently and with overflowing intrigue, “having trouble with your wand?” his quick deduction makes your breath hitch and your shoulders tense. The impish gleam in his eyes almost going unnoticed by you, “it’s very peculiar for a wand that has already chosen its master to change its mind, especially from a wand that’s so loyal,” he ponders aloud as Sirius and Regulus inch closer to your sides, clinging onto the fabric of your dress skirt as they heed Ollivander’s nebulous words with a hint of caution, “curious, very curious indeed... I could only think of one reason, an abstruse but entirely possible reason for such a contingency in a world of magic…” Ollivander leans forward and looks deeply into your eyes, his own dancing about in their search, for what, you don’t have a clue. But it feels as though he can see into your soul, the flicker in his eyes detecting the presence of another. He shakes his head, almost in disbelief but laughs merrily, easing the tension built up in the air, “not one, but two, I see…”

Your heart shudders in your chest. Did he know?

NEXT. | 03 : SHOPPING (2/2) → | SERIES M.LIST

A/N : i would like to say that i was planning to delay this chapter update for a day or two since i was an absolute muppet to myself and decided to switch up events in the plot and oc introductions last minute but, thanks to @urmomw4ntsme (amazing username btw (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ )) and their message about being excited for the update, i was lovingly and innocently pushed into getting the update out on time ৻( •̀ ᗜ •́ ৻) so thank you, my darling haha! i appreciate your perfectly timed, kind message. i hope you darlings enjoyed the read and forgive me for splitting this chapter up into 2 parts - i suppose i planned for too much in one chapter hehe~

TAGLIST : @katdahlali @skepvids @agent-tempest @timhalamet @lovelybaka @cherrysxuya @ttulipwritezz @ireallywannasleep127 @cloudlst @fortheeeefics @younmey @googie-jeon @unstablereader @cassie6392 @kneelforloki @enamoredwithbella @arcanumofthestars @bookworm124 @sonics-atelier @yours-truly-maya @honkravenous @theunwcnted @venuseuripedis @fredsbetch @iciel @anuncalledbridge @melinajenkins @aastonishment @until-i-found-you @corp0real @celestcies @lovelydoveval @inlovewithremusjohnlupin @calums-betch @futurecorps3 @hihihi1112 @simpingforthe80s @yrluvjane @chaosofmanyfandoms @storyofaromance @loving-and-dreaming @somewereinthegalaxi @ashreblogsficshere @cassandra-nerezza-black @stray-bi-kids @ttkttt @notasadgirlipromise @desikudisworld @volturissideslut @arilxup88 @fallencrescentmoon @topaz125 @xxrougefangxx @starchaser-lily @probablypossesedbysatan @agent-tempest @veryberryjelly @th3-st4r-gur1 @sousydive @delusional-4-fake-people @linaax

#sirius black #regulus black #marauders era fanfiction #marauders fic #marauders #harry potter fix it au #marauders era fix it fic #orion black #walburga black #sirius black fanfiction #regulus black fanfiction #sirius black fluff #regulus black fluff #divorcing orion black series

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hibiscuswrites · 10 months ago

Note

Hi I really love your Rio headcons and I as wondering how he would react when him and the reader are arguing bout Beth and she brings up how she shouldn’t even be mad about them hooking up when they weren’t together since she hooked up with another guy herself

You're in danger girl 🫣

"She don't even matter to me, why can't you understand that?"

Rio was exasperated with you, tired of having this conversation

You didn't like Beth

That much was clear and understood

To a certain extent, he couldn't either

But he still had a business to run, and she was part of that

So by default, he still had to deal with her

It was always strictly business

Never any interactions past that

He was never even really alone with her

He wouldn't even interact with her himself unless it was absolutely necessary

But that didn't matter to you

All that mattered was that he had slept with her while the two of you were on a break

And that was enough for you to never want her near him again

But that just 'wasn't possible' according to Rio

And while he had been understanding and patient in the beginning, you still were on about it months down the line

"It's business. I have to talk to her. Thats the way this works. I barely even see the lady. Chill the fuck out."

You huffed, fingers coming up to pinch the bridge of your nose in anger and frustration

"Whatever. It's whatever. You don't get it and there's no possible way for me to make you get it. Who gives a fuck. Shouldn't even let it get to me. I fucked that dude when we were split anyway so I guess we're even."

You turned away from him, anticipating that the argument was over

You were talking more to yourself than him after all

You walked into the living room and plopped yourself down on the couch, expecting that he would follow you and come sit beside you

But when you turned, he was still standing in the exact same spot

Head tilted

Eyes ablaze

"........What the fuck did you just say?"

Your eyes widened slightly before they narrowed

"Oh please. Don't even start. We just had this whole argument about how it doesn't matter what happened on the break, so spare me."

You crossed your arms over your chest and leaned back into the couch, bringing your legs up to cross them as well

Rio's steps were slow as he approached you, head tilted

"I know...I didn't hear what I think I just heard."

You kept your eyes on him silently as he made his way over to you

All the way until his knees were against the sofa and he leaned down

Hands pressing into the couch on either side of you

Eyes dark as night as he stared at you

"You fucked who?"

You swallowed, mouth open for a few seconds before you actually spoke

"Just some guy. Met him at a club. It was nothing."

Rio nodded, anger rolling off of him in waves

"Tell me about this him. What was his name?"

And your rebuttal didn't help

"I know you're not about to sit here pissed that I slept with someone I've never even seen again, when you fucked Mrs. Better Homes and Gardens and you see her ass every week."

His jaw ticked but he said nothing, knowing that you were right

Standing up straight, he kept his eyes on you, fingers pointing threateningly as he came to sit down beside you

"Let me catch that motherfucker."

Rio taglist

@belle82devart @thickemadame @aria725 @glimmerglittergirl @tashawar @myaloveee @feelingsandemotionsnotexplored @smoooore @woahitslucyylu @browngirldominion @hopefuloperaangelnerd @lillict @namjoonwatcheshentai @sesamepancakes @thelimited-unlimited @myeverythingisyourstruly @pinky-kitty @nintendhoe8 @laylasbunbunny @lovesanimals0000

General taglist

@titty-teetee @vibranium-soul @ateliefloresdaprimavera @glimmerglittergirl @hatterripper31 @lilac-tea-time @krysiewithak

#rio x reader #headcannons #rio good girls #nbc good girls

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scorchrend · 5 months ago

Text

the gardens ablaze desecrate the mementos of you

#gardens ablaze #axis 014 #axis model 014 #uty axis #axis uty #art #the knight's testaments #undertale yellow #uty

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krysalla · 3 months ago

Text

rack of his / pound of flesh

thomas hewitt x f!reader

word count: 5.1k

read on ao3

warnings: 18+ MDNI, cannibalism mention, blood, pregnancy mention, baby trapping (?), bad sex :(

It’s one of those insufferable days. The clouds are brewing in the sky with the sun still blazing behind them, creeping its heat into the moisture in the air. Even with the clouds, nothing stops the temperature from rising. What is it that they say about the frog in the pot? If you slowly turn the heat up, the frog won’t notice that it’s being boiled to death until it’s too late and its muscles are cooked away until they are of no use to him anymore. You wouldn’t be surprised if one day, you would share that same fate thanks to the Texas summers. Though, maybe it would be your own fault, you choose to be outside, rain or shine, to work the laundry. It’s easier for you, even if your hair and clothing are soaked in sweat and your whole body burns from exhaustion. You get to be on your own with only Luda Mae’s eyes glaring out the kitchen window, trying to drill a hole in the back of your head.

Out here on the back porch, there is no bickering, no staticky TV to set your head ablaze, no one to answer to and no one to make cruel, lecherous comments about you. Sitting on the porch swing, a bucket of water between your feet, the chirping of the birds and your own singing is as close to paradise as you can get in the Hewitt farm. They all sequester themselves inside, hiding themselves away from the rest of the world in this decaying house. Out here, you think of your life before. You wonder how long it took for your mother to report you missing when you didn’t show up on her doorstep like you had planned with her. Has your sister noticed a gap in between her ribs, like you do, where you always kept a piece of her? You can’t remember what color your kitchen cabinets were or if your bedroom window faced east or west. You can’t remember the title of your thesis paper. Maybe you didn’t decide on one before you took off for the holidays. Did your advisor like your last submission?

It’s easier not to think of before and focus on the now.

You have a garden that you keep and a perpetual workload of laundry to do.

You’ve been working on one of Tommy’s shirts for the last five minutes, trying to rub the blood out of the cream fabric, but no matter how much you scrub or how much soap you use, the stain just won’t come out. You’d been hoping to save this one, it’s his best shirt. You sigh and drop it into the tub with clean water. It’s hopeless to even try and make anyone in this family look presentable. A sheepskin does little to make a wolf look friendly.

“Baby, come ‘ere!�� Luda Mae shouts from the kitchen.

“Coming, mama.” You wring out the water in Tommy’s shirt and lay it flat on the seat next to you.

You heft yourself off the swing and make your way inside.

The air is just as thick, heavy and miserable and dank as it is outside. At least outside, there was a breeze. The air in the house is stagnant and reeks of sweat and blood and the scum of years worth of build up when Luda Mae had felt too hopeless to clean, before the Hewitt’s had come into their own. Now, it seems as though there is no way to get rid of the filth. No matter how hard you scrub the walls or how much bleach you use, the yellow tint won’t wipe away.

Luda Mae stands with her back to the counter, a large knife in hand. Behind her, you can just make out a cutting board and vegetables pillaged from your small garden. So much for a bountiful harvest. She pulled the potatoes and carrots from the ground too soon.

“Almost done with the laundry?”

You wipe your hands down the apron wrapped around your waist. A nail snags on a loose thread. Your hands are all dried and eaten up from the detergent. “Yes, mama. Just gotta finish wringing out the water and put ‘em out to dry.”

“Don’t bother putting them out on the line. A storm’s coming in. You’ll have to string them up in the family room.”

You tighten your jaw and quickly glance out the doorway leading to the room. Monty and Hoyt are out there watching TV. They make it so much harder to get anything done, especially Hoyt. Monty for the most part leaves you alone unless you block his view of the television or upset that pitiful dog that he keeps on his lap, but you can feel his eyes on you nonetheless. Hoyt will get in your face for no reason at all, just to scare you for his own kicks.

You don’t school your twisted expression fast enough. She catches the contempt curling on your lip.

“What’s the matter, baby?” Luda Mae smiles with that wolf grin, laying out her trap for you.

“Nothing, mama.”

She comes close to you, knife still in hand, and even though you’re taller than her, she still has the presence to have you shrinking in on yourself. This little, old lady has just as much of a proclivity to violence as the men. She’s mean and cruel and you can’t help but wonder if she’s always been this way.

“You think you too good for this family, girl? Don’t insult me with ‘em lies of yours. All I gotta do is snap my fingers and my boys will fall right in line. You think you’re here because of my boy? I am the be all and end all of this house. Just one word and you’ll be next on the serving platter. No matter how much my boy thinks he loves you, you ain’t family.”

You hang your head like a scolded child, “‘M sorry, mama.”

She coos and sets down her carving knife on the counter. It’s a complete one-eighty that leaves your head spinning and stomach knotting. Luda Mae holds your face in her hands and tilts your head back to face her. Gone is that terrifying look in her eyes. Now, she treats you with the tenderness of a mother with her child.

“I know you’re sorry, baby, but you gotta know the way it works. Don’t want to lose the only daughter I ever had.” Luda Mae runs her hands down your shoulders, over your arms, squeezes your hands. She can be very affectionate with you when the mood strikes her. Your skin crawls as she clicks her tongue. She chucks you chin. “Now, give mama a hug.”

You wrap your arms around her back and push your face into her shoulder. You can feel the sting of tears, hot and angry, in your eyes and you will them to go away. You hold onto her tighter and she rocks you from side to side on your feet, cooing and shushing you with a spindly hand stroking over your hair.

“I love you, baby,” she says when she breaks the hug.

“I love you too, mama.”

She kisses your cheek. “Now, go bring Tommy in from the barn. I’ll have dinner done soon.”

“Yes, mama.”

---

Anxiety is coiling deep in your stomach and you’ve only got until you reach the barn to shake it off. No matter how much he might worry and fuss over you, you know Luda Mae is right, at the end of the day if she wanted you dead, Tommy would follow her orders. He is a dutiful son after all and family–blood– comes first. Tommy is dangerous, but not to you, not without Luda Mae pulling his strings. There’s no way you make it out of this alive without her complete and total confidence or until she is rotting six feet deep.

What bond can compare with a parent and their child?

You look up at the sky. Luda Mae is right, there is a storm coming. The clouds are darker now and the breeze has started to pick up.

The barn doors are wide open. It’s dark in the barn, cluttered with rusted over farm tools intermingled with suitcases and mountains of car parts and an engine that someone in the family had the intention to put back together again. It looks better than the last time you were in here– though it was much darker then. There aren’t so many hiding places. You wonder if Tommy has found your suitcase yet.

“Tommy?” you call out.

You hear a rustling from the back of the barn followed only after a few short moments by Tommy and his heavy footfalls. He looks subdued, as close to looking happy as he gets, his shoulders are relaxed and his pace lazy as he makes his way to you. You watch him carefully. As much as you might hate it, you care about the man that has taken you captive. It’s wrong and you know that deep down, once you break free from this family, you will no longer have any tenderness for him. He’s treated you well enough since you stopped fighting every second you could. He keeps an eye out for you, always keeping you out of trouble, and when he has no work to do, trails after you like a lost puppy imprinting on the first kind soul to reach out to him.

There’s one other way to make it out alive.

You know what your saving grace will be, what will solidify you as a Hewitt and give you the reins to control Tommy, to end the ever present danger he presents to you. A child. You will give him a family of his own, one of his making and one that will come willingly. You will give him everything he has been denied. You will become mother and wife, madonna and whore, prey and predator. Luda Mae will have her reckoning.

“Hi, sweetheart.” You reach up on your toes to press a kiss to the leather covering his cheek. “Look how much work you got done. Very impressive.”

He huffs, quick and short, and bows his head in an almost bashful manner. You hem and haw and lay it thick with compliments as you walk around the mostly cleared out area. You really play it up for him and maybe just a little bit for yourself just so you can glean a smile out of him, no matter how small, and make blood flow to his cheeks. It will serve as an opening.

There’s a smudge of dirt on his forehead and that just won’t do. You lick your thumb. He gently swats at your hand, grunting low in displeasure, but you pay it no mind— he’s only pretending not to like your gentle fretting.

“Oh, quit that bellyachin’ of yours. I wanna be able to see that handsome face of yours.” That earns you a small victory. You catch the crinkles at the outer corners of his eyes, right above the cut of his mask. His guard is down.

The wind picks up outside. You can hear the drops of light rainfall.

“Do you love me, Tommy?” you ask quietly. You brush his hair out of his face, clearing up his eyes so you can see his answer.

Your question takes him off guard, shoulders stiff and eyes wide. He looks around the barn, looking for something, someone. The Hewitts don’t talk much about before when you’re around, something you will never be privy to, but you can guess why he’s looking around for someone to come out from the thick, wooden beams to laugh and point and mock at him. Big, stupid, ugly animal. He’s not the average man and in a small town, you can only imagine not fitting into the norm can only have meant one thing for him: cruelty.

“It’s just you and me, Tommy.” You look conspiratorially around the barn with a sly smile. “I love you. Don’t you love me too?”

His eyes go wide, and you’re sure he believes you when he nuzzles his cheek into the palm of your hand. Maybe one day it will be true. For now you’re playing a game of survival. He pushes your hands away from his face and pulls you by your wrists until your chest touches his. Large hands pet over your back, your shoulders, down to the wide breadth of your hips and back up over your face. He creeps over you like a spider. He must be craving this, he’s never been particularly touchy with you, no thanks to Luda Mae who watches you like a hawk when the two of you are together. I won’t have any hussies in my home, she said to you when she stripped you bare of the clothing you arrived in. She threw your denim shorts and tank top and anything else in your suitcase she deemed inappropriate into the fire.

You take a deep breath and slide your hands down to his chest and push him away from you. There is no force on earth that could get Thomas to move unless he allows it. He takes a small step back and whines, brow drawing down in hurt betrayal. You ignore his whining and make your way over to the cluttered workbench. The table top surface is a little too high for you to be able to push yourself up on, but you’re sure Tommy will be able to help you out here.

You pick up the edge of your dress and pull it up, giving him a view of your leg, and crook the index finger of your free hand to him. “Why don’t you show me how much?”

His nostrils flare and his eyes widen as he follows the curve of your calf. The display you make of yourself makes him look hungry. You catch his tongue peek out from his lips and lick over them, there’s a sharp glint of teeth in there too. His steps are heavy as he approaches you and your stomach turns over. There’s no going back after this. You are making a permanent home in the belly of the beast. He won’t let you go after this, not when he will have everything he has been denied– love, affection, a warm, wet cunt to stick his cock in. You may not escape, but it will guarantee survival, especially if the fruits of your labor begin to show.

His hands fall on your hips and he lifts you clear off the ground. You shriek, holding tight to his shoulders. You’d been expecting it and yet it still surprised you. The strength of his arms give you something no man has been able to do for you. Even after he sets you on the table, you still cling to him, heart pattering in your chest from the anxiety of being dropped. He heaves you up as if you weigh nothing to him.

He seems pleased with himself.

It’s gotten so warm, it’s crept under your skin, crawling throughout your body.

You grab the wrist of his left hand and bring his fingers to your mouth. He tastes like sweat and grime. You lap your tongue around his index and middle finger, gazing up at him through your eyelashes. You suck and and suck, and you can feel saliva falling from the corner of your mouth as you work his fingers. It slides down his fingers, into the creases of his palm and to his wrist where your hand wraps around him.

“C’mon, big boy.” You suck in a breath and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “Show me how bad you need it.”

He grabs your thighs, his short nails bite into the fat of your thighs and he pries them apart, pushes himself further into your space, crowding you until you’re overwhelmed with him, hips aching as you accommodate his sheer size. Anything you were going to say, even if you could work out a word, is snatched from you when you catch his heady gaze, eyes dark and unwavering, waiting for any slight movement or any tell of yours.

You force his hand between your legs, fixing his fingers beneath your panties and rock against him. You moan loud and exaggerated, just to break him out of whatever spell you’ve got him under and get him to make a move.

He curls his fingers into the crotch of your panties and yanks at them. He tugs your underwear off, the cotton stretched out and the elastic useless. It gets caught around the tops of your thighs and Tommy manhandles you, moving your body like a doll to pull the offending garment down your legs and flip your skirt up for his own viewing pleasure.

You don’t have time to scold him. Underwear is invaluable around here, especially pairs that fit. Tommy drops down onto his knees and lands with a loud thud. It’s the last thing you expected of Tommy– you had a suspicion he really wouldn’t know what to do except to ram himself into you from behind like animals do. He must have seen this on one of the many gutter trash pornos Hoyt has on video, the fucking pervert.

There is no technique or finesse to what he’s doing. He just tears into you with teeth and tongue. He’s making a sloppy mess of you.

You take the reins, knotting your hand in his hair and pulling him back from your cunt. “Fuck, just a little less teeth, Tommy.”

You push his head back into you. He listens. He drools against you, the only source of wetness that you’re sure you will need in time. You’re too stiff, too on edge to feel anything. There’s no grace in his movements, his tongue completely misses your clit and his lips are too rough against you.

You grip his hair as hard as possible and yank him away. “That’s enough. I need you.”

With one hand, he does his belt and tugs his pants down enough to free his cock, and the other to pull your neckline down to expose your breasts. You look down at him. Your heart skips a beat and your lungs struggle for air. It’s a fucking beast, a lead pipe that will split you in two. You’ll die before you even get a chance to see your plan through.

There’s no consideration on his end or he simply doesn’t know. He pushes into you with no warning and you cry out. The wind washes out the sound.

You feel like you’re on fire, burning from the inside out with how he stretches you open. The pace he sets is brutal beyond belief. You lean forward, one arm draped loosely around his shoulder and push your face into his neck. It hurts with the minimal lubrication you’ve got, just his messy display of eating you out. You try to smother your grunts of pain against the thick column of his neck, you close your eyes and clench your jaw, trying to find anything pleasurable in this act. There’s nothing you can do now.

He doesn’t sense your discomfort, just continues pushing through it. He pulls you closer, big hands pawing at your back, fingers catching in the fabric of your dress, before he remembers your chest is exposed. His hands come circling around and even his hands are not big enough to hold your breasts in full. You look down at the flesh spilling out between his fingers and you moan. The sight turns you on more than it should.

The way he looks, hungry and wanting more, makes you act. You tear the leather mask from his face, your nails scratch his cheeks from the force of you fitting your fingers under the mask. He grunts. His face is ruddy and pockmarked from both his skin condition and his own self mutilation, his nose rotting away. His brow is heavy and thick and his eyes the darkest shade of brown you’ve ever seen. He’s beautiful and your heart lurches in your chest when the thought comes tumbling through you. It’s sick and you lash out against him, this is all his fault and you will make him pay.

You lay into him and bite down on his shoulder. Hard. Warmth overflows in your mouth, the tang of iron on your tongue and a bit of flesh stuck between your teeth. You smile into the wound you inflicted on him and lap at the blood pouring out of him. You’ve gotten your pound of flesh from him.

He fumes, glaring down at you with a deep frown set into what is left of his lips and snarls, showing off the glint of yellowed, sharp teeth. You push your fingers into the bite you gifted him with, collecting the blood and smear his over his mouth, fearing no repercussions as he nibbles on the finger that breeches his mouth. He could very well bite it off, but he won’t. He won’t bite because to Tommy you’re family now and family ain’t meat. Meat is mean and angry. Meat is filth and stink and lesser than. Meat is a corpse wasted on a walking, talking sack of shit. He loves you and being loved makes you family. You are family, so you are better than meat.

He picks up his pace. The sound of flesh smacking is almost too much. You can feel yourself grow wetter and feel the ease he thrusts with. You choke out a moan. He pushes you down by your shoulder onto the messy workbench. Something digs into the middle of your back. You squirm against it, but he pays you no mind. He is busy positioning you exactly how he wants— your ass close to the edge of the bench, your legs wrapped around his waist, his weight resting on his forearms, leaving no room for you to escape. As if you could.

Outside, the rain begins to pour with fervor.

It’s all starting to become too much. His weight, the heat, the thick of him splitting you open. You clench down, hoping to encourage him to finish. You can’t take it any longer. There’s no room to breathe beneath him, what little air you can manage is punched back out of you with each thrust of his cock. The guilt and fear rearing its ugly head again. It’s been too long, you need him out of you, off of you. You dig your nails into the flesh of his back, scratching as hard as you can, leaving red welting lines down the planes of his shoulders. He grunts louder. He likes it, you think.

This is sick, this shouldn’t be happening. You should be at home bickering with your roommates about who’s turn it is to do the dishes or tucked away in the library, scouring through the library catalog to find just the right book for your thesis. You would have already graduated if Tommy hadn’t yanked you by the back of your shirt out of your car. Your future was bright and full of potential and now you’re here, crushed under the weight of a man who kills without remorse, trapped by a woman who wants a daughter but will not value you the same as a son, and planning a pregnancy that will inexplicable tie you to this family, to this chapter in your life until death. You cry out.

He comes soon after and you feel disgusting.

He pulls out and his spend leaks out of you onto the dirt. You wipe your tears away and piece yourself back together into the character of hopelessly in love with the man who has taken your life from you. There’s no time to feel sorry for yourself.

You grab your ruined panties from beside you and clean yourself up as well as you can.

His blood has started to coagulate around your bite. He gingerly puts his button up over it, careful not to disturb the bite mark and start the bleeding over again. The last thing you need is Luda Mae questioning why he’s bleeding and what exactly you two got up to in this rundown barn.

Thomas offers you his hand, ready to help you down off the workbench, but you press your dirty underwear into his palm instead. He takes them eagerly, stuffing them into his back pocket. He’ll sniff at them later, keep them under his pillow and when he finally can’t smell you on the fabric, he’ll finally give it back to you for washing. It’s not the first time he’s hidden a pair of your used panties around for his own private pleasure. You’d found your blue panties mixed in with his clothing. The fabric was stiff and coated in white.

You brace your hands against the edge of the bench but before you can push off, his hands encircle your hips, gently lifting you up from the bench to avoid scraping the back of your thighs or your ass along the wood, and sets you down on the ground. His hands pet over you again, mussing up your hair in an attempt to smooth it, his fingers too big and gentle touch unpracticed. His fingers get caught in your hair and he frowns. You pull him apart from the nest he’s made in your hair with delicacy.

Are you supposed to hate him or love him? He’s the reason you’re here, why you are under the constant threat of butchery, but he treats you with such care even after he destroys you.

“C’mon, your mama will be wondering where we went off to,” you murmur.

The sky has turned dark blue, almost black, with heavy storm clouds. Hail the size of nickels and rain pelts down from above you—it takes only a moment before your dress is completely soaked. Lightning splits open the sky. The storm rages, wind blowing so hard it sends the rain horizontally.

Tommy looks down at you, the skin around his eyes crinkling, and he presses his forehead against yours. You close your eyes. It’s so nice to be treated like glass after such rough handling. He takes your hand in his and your heart shatters. Why are you letting a few gentle touches turn you upside down?

You are guided back to the Hewitt residence but the light flooding out of the kitchen window.

Luda Mae is full of accusations when you come back through the door, her eyes narrowed at you–always the first to be blamed. “What took you so long?”

Under the weight of her stare, you feel like she knows exactly what happened, like she can see it on your face. You feel something trickle down your legs. You’re not sure if it’s rain water or cum. You hope the rain has washed away the scent of sex and sweat on your skin.

You let go of Tommy’s hand and duck your head in supplication to Luda Mae. “Sorry, mama. Tommy was showing me all the hard work he did today.”

“That so?” Luda Mae turns to Tommy and her whole demeanor changes. She smiles so wide and reaches up to cup his face. “You’re such a good boy, Tommy.”

“Go on and set the table, baby,” she directs you. “Let Monty and Hoyt know it’s time to eat. After that you can finish hanging the laundry. You gotta finish your chores if you wanna eat.”

You breathe deeply before giving her your best smile, “Yes, mama.”

“Now you go and sit down, Tommy. It’ll only be a minute.”

---

You’ve long stopped thinking about the implications of this child’s conception, it’s less than moral reasoning. They will not be born out of want, but of need for your own survival and assurance of your status as a Hewitt. You will have a leg up for giving Thomas a child and Luda Mae a grandchild. While it might not provide you with the status of matriarch, you will hold more sway over Thomas. Besides, Luda Mae can’t live forever. Once they are all gone, it will be easier. You will take the child with you and hope that they are young enough to forget about the Texas heat and the stench of blood.

Tommy presented you with a ring not long after that day in the barn. It didn’t fit right, nothing here does. It hangs around your neck on a delicate gold chain. Hoyt had hooted and hollered and went out, drunk as a skunk, with his shotgun and shot off two rounds. Luda Mae had been as happy as a clam–her boy was finally getting everything he deserved.

You wear the ring, biding your time.

Luda Mae has let you move into the same room together. Privacy has given you more chances to try for this hypothetical child.

You wash out the blood in your underwear in the sink. It will catch one day and when that day comes, you will no longer be at the bottom of the food chain. You will be a prized bitch for breeding. What an honor to carry on the Hewitt name!

You will suffer the sickness, the distortion of your body both temporary and permanent. You will endure hours of labor, blood and mucus membranes spilling out from you by the buckets, the shifting of bones and tearing of skin for a child that will come out too big for your body. You will put yourself through the wringer for just a taste of the power that will come from it.

Tommy has no idea about your intentions. It’s sweet almost how he doesn’t sense what you're doing and you almost feel guilty for using him this way, letting him soak up all the physical attention he’d been denied by other women, but he will be overjoyed at the results. Tommy will be a good father. He will teach them how to pluck a chicken clean, how to suck the marrow out of a bone, the proper way to cut an artery to drain an animal of blood, how to use every piece of livestock so nothing goes to waste–all the same things he taught you. He will love them fiercely as he loves his mother. He will be a protector. You’d never planned for children yourself and you have no warm or soft feelings at the prospect of your future child. This child is just a means to an end. Maybe one day you will grow to love it. Until then, you have other things to worry about.

There is food to grow and laundry to do.

#thomas hewitt x reader #tommy hewitt x reader #x reader #slasher x reader #my writing #thomas hewitt x you #tommy hewitt x you

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apas-95 · 7 months ago

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A botanist, a biologist, a chemist, and a physicist were chatting together, as is known to happen, when the botanist stated: "Some people have the gall to say botany isn't a real science, just gardening."

"Well," says the biologist, "it is just applied biology.

"If we're being strict..." butted in the chemist. "Biology is just applied chemistry," followed immediately by the physicist:

"... Which is just applied physics!"

A mathematician, inexplicably not under the effect of stimulants, called from across the room. "Which itself is applied mathematics!" they said, before returning to their paper on the fuzziness of balls.

The physicist, incensed, stormed off, and returned a moment later with an oscilloscope, spirited away from somewhere, and which they plugged into something. "Have a look at this! This fundamental physical constant of the universe, this frequency, is something knowable to all intelligent life - your axioms and systems? All abritrary," they said, somewhat undercut by the oscilloscope picture being so misaligned as not to show anything at all.

A stranger leans over, to fiddle with the oscilloscope: "They're right; it's actually engineering that's applied mathematics. Physics," they said as they flicked the big, obvious, automatic gain control button on, "as plainly can be seen, is applied engineering." They stood, the image on the oscilloscope clear as day

'Ugh, who let an engineer in here?' every other person present thought in unison.

"And if we're being strict..." the engineer continued, "historically speaking, because of the social, political-economic reasons for the development of advanced number systems... it's actually mathematics that's applied botany."

Immediately, the fire alarm went off, because their coworkers had meanwhile been arguing over fire extinguishers while their office was ablaze.

Note: given random chance, the above tale has a statistically significant likelihood of being true, but contains one obvious factual inaccuracy: the absurd notion that an engineer could be in the room without immediately making sure everyone else knew it.

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strawberrysnoopy · 2 months ago

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ACT ONE: The Photoshoot, Part Four of Four.

warnings: tobacco, smoking, alcohol use, briefest mention of using alcohol as a coping mechanism, mentions of infidelity (as always), ada slander at times (sorry), texting for a while, leon's a bit of a perv, sex, pussy, balls, dick, yeah you get the gist.

(a/n): sike bitch you thought.

FINAL PART OF ACT ONE: THE PHOTOSHOOT.

Your husband was on the dining room floor, groaning in pain, with blood spattered across the kitchen tile from spitting the drips of blood that fell down his throat from his nose. Leon had fucked him up, hard and good. His nose was broken, he had a black eye, his lip was busted open like a button on a shirt, and he had some beginnings of a cauliflower ear. Jesus, Leon gets the damn job done. That must be why he's deployed all the time. "We should..." Leon pauses, wiping some blood from his own unbroken nose with a sniffle. "...take him to the emergency room. I fucked him up pretty good." You nod in agreement, placing your hands on your hips as if you're looking at some new problem that you found in your garden. Like some field mice have been getting into the blackberry bush again. Whatever. You've seen him in worse cases. I mean, there is that time where he tried to kick someone's ass for not playing pool the right way off of three obscenely large tall boy beers. You should've left him then, but now he's on your kitchen floor with his ass beat and his hot ass friend looking down on him. "We should. I think that'll be a good idea. Are you okay? Any impairments?" He shakes his head, loosely gesturing to the black eye that had begun forming, his eyelid peppered in tiny red spots and a smear of a maroon red near the tear duct. The kicker? He wore it so strongly too, like it hadn't bothered him at all, and let's be honest, it hadn't.

You near the front door of your house, pulling the noisy keys out of your pocket to unlock the door. Leon was behind you, hands awkwardly stuffed in the pockets of his denim jeans and tapping his feet. He looked out of place to be awkward. Black-eye clad with dried blood in the nooks and crannies of his skin. "Never realized how pretty your house was, sweetheart." There was a sudden flush in your cheeks at the nickname, not used to people calling you such names of endearment besides the photographers or shoot directors in a weak attempt to get you to pose correctly. You thank him quietly, unlocking the door and pushing through. You waltz over to the kitchen in a spent fashion, noticing little droplets of blood on your kitchen tile. You know you should be mad. A satisfied wife would be furious that someone had laid hands on her husband. You? You were giddy. Like someone had finally understood what a cunt your husband could be and did something besides laugh it off. You expected Leon to tell him to fuck off or make some snarky remark in defense of you, but telling you that he'd fuck you? God damn, it made your head spin. Yes, you've been replaying this thought in your head for the past few hours and the little flashes in your mind of Leon defiling your loyalty had your panties all twisted up. And he beat up your husband over some little thing like he had been waiting for his opportunity his entire life.

Capital H Hot.

You go through the rounds of patching him up, making silent conversation to ease that burning in the pit of your stomach. The conversation had been chock full of apologies from Leon, saying how he was sorry on saying he'd fuck you. "I'm sorry." He begins, and you raise your hand up to stop him from saying anything more.

Sorry? Why on god's green earth would Leon be sorry in saying he'd fuck you if your husband wasn't doing the job correctly? If anything, the statement had set your skin ablaze with salacity and your mind buzzing with impure thoughts of him fucking you against their marital beds. "Don't apologize." You spoke, eyes accidentally shown to be half-lidded, hiding it behind the "fact" you're looking down at the splat of blood on his cheek. "If that's what you truly mean, say it. It's not a crime to find someone attractive, the only thing wrong is if you act on it." His mouth is left open for a few beats before making the two parts of his jaw meet again. He couldn't tell if it was an admission that you had been feeling the same turmoil he'd been feeling. Those sleepless nights. Staring at the ceiling next to your spouse while they sleep, desiring what they cannot have in another bed. Your patience was pinching, the thirst through your thighs turning into a ticking time bomb, and to rephrase the previous points, your cunt was in unbearable need to get fucked. "Then I guess I want to fuck you." There was no dancing around it. No I'm attracted to you in a friendly "that's the way it is" type of way. Straight to the point. I want to take off my goddamn clothes and fuck you. I want to be intimate with you in the most perverse ways possible. You should slap him. You shouldn't have tended to his wounds. You shouldn't have let him into the comfort of your home.

But you did. Because you want the same thing as Leon. Sex. Not the cheap sex your spouses have been trying to give you for your entire relationship. Sex.

Your hand strays from his face, sucking in a breath when you wipe up the rest of the dried blood. He hopped off the counter, his finger subtly swiping against you hip to stave off that insatiable beast in him that wants to fuck you.

"Come to my room." You whisper, your chin barely brushing over your shoulder, clad in the bland cardigan you wore to keep yourself warm from the chilling night thus far. And you sound like you're inviting him for sex. And he doesn't want to fucking reject you.

"Is this okay?" You hold up an old college t-shirt to him, bringing the fabric closer to his still clothed chest. The shirt was one of your husband's from long ago. You had honestly thought about tossing out the shirt in a yard sale but never had the time or will to do so. "Should be." He pulls off his shirt in a languid motion, slipping the ratty tee over his head instead. Your eyes catch Leon's trail of hair, well groomed and cut down not too long ago judging based off of the short stubbly hairs on his abdomen. "Rude to stare, silly girl." You mumble out a quiet "sorry" to him while leaving the bedroom, presumably changing into your own pajamas. But before you can get two feet out the door, he's tugging on your wrist. "Stop." His voice is quiet, lustful with that slight demand. Your eyebrows knit together in confusion, wondering where he's suddenly getting the gall to tug on your wrist like this when he was just begging for forgiveness so much earlier. Your confusion unwrites itself on your face when he takes off your husband's shirt. He's shirtless again, the long scars and fading bruises and cuts from missions he's taken a few weeks prior visible on his skin. Your eyes don't fail you when they settle on the happy trail you were drooling over moments ago. "Why are you looking at me like that, hm?" He asks, moving closer by a smidge, you wouldn't have noticed if your senses weren't already heightened by the arousal you've been feeling since he first came over for dinner. Damn him, keeping you wound up like a clockwork toy and expecting you to prance over like some whore. "You're married. I'm married." He's getting closer, lips tracing towards your cheekbone and getting closer to your ear. "Honey, has anyone ever told you how wrong that is?" You swallow down so goddamn hard, your esophagus might as well have been torn to shreds. "Leon—" He interrupts you, pulling away from your cheek and letting his eyes flit over your body, tutting his tongue as if he's disappointed you're not naked already. "I'm not finished, sweetheart." "Do you know how torturous it is? Looking at you while you're married and you don't even have a fucking clue as to how bad I want to fuck you against every surface of the home you share with your husband? Even though I cannot have you? You're such a fucking tease, making me want you like some goddamn degenerated pervert." His lips tease the skin near your jaw, breathing in your essence like he was stealing it for himself. "And Ada. Oh, she's no fucking help. Treating me like I'm some whipped dog for her. Even when she's never there. She doesn't know I dream of you every time she's away."

You can't even speak. This was such a far cry from the Leon you knew. This was the same man who always had snarky comments and sarcastic one-liners that made you laugh, who respected you, who talked to you like you had known each other since birth. Then again, yearning is an insane drug and Leon's a loyal addict. "Say something before I go insane, sweetheart." He whispered, nudging your head to the side, allowing access to your pulse, rapidly beating under sweaty skin. You don't say anything. Your hands just weave themselves into his hair, tugging and pulling him closer when he's brough into a passionate kiss. Your hands are about to reach for his belt when his phone buzzes. The first time, it's ignored in the heat of the moment. Maybe just some old friend asking to meet up later this weekend. You're in the middle of pulling the belt off, his hands greedily grabbing at your tits and ass when the phone buzzes again. "Need you." He whispered, biting your cheek like some wild animal. The buzzing of texts eventually turn into a consistent vibration of a phone call. Pulling out his phone, Leon realizes it's something he can't just ignore for some pussy. "We need to stop." You murmur back to him, trying to wean yourself off of kissing him. Stop, stop, stop. Even though you don't want to and the only thing you'd enjoy is having him bust your head in against the headboard while telling you how much he loves your pussy.

But he pulls away, stopping the kneading on your ass and your tits, much to his displeasure. For a minute, you're left panting and with the ever lingering feeling of his strong calloused hands all over your skin. You stare down at the emboldened caller ID. Ada. You rewet your eyes by blinking, eyes going dry by staring wide-eyed at his phone. Is he gonna answer that? You hope not. You want him to finish what he started and especially after all of those admissions of lust to you as well, there's no going back. He sighed, picking up the phone while you walked out of your own bedroom. You feel sick. You're supposed to love your husband but your pussy is fucking throbbing at the way another man's hands explore your body. His best friend, no less. He's supposed to be the strong and outspoken man yet he's on a leash for his wife who treats him like shit. And for the first time, you finally mutter a fuck you to Leon you mean with your full chest.

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#leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #leon smut #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you #resident evil #leon s kennedy #leonscottkennedy #leon kennedy x oc #resident evil x reader #resident evil 4 #leon resident evil #leon kennedy fanfic #re4 leon #re4 remake #re4r!leon kennedy x reader

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konigbabe · 1 year ago

Text

SHRINE

Pairing: Choso Kamo x fem!reader Word count: 1.3k Tags/warnings: no y/n; smut; soft!dom!choso; female body worship; fingering; cunnilingus (oral sex - f!receive); little religious imaginery; female gendered anatomy Summary: He just wants to please you. Part of my JJKS2 writing week.

event masterlist • masterlist • navigation • faq • AO3 • ko-fi

The room’s dimply lit, shadows dancing along the walls, casting a solemn ambiance that hangs heavy in the air.

You can’t take it anymore.

He’s taking his time. It was supposed to be just a quick foreplay.

Time slips away, swallowed by the abyss of pure, primal and raw pleasance.

And Choso isn’t done yet. The weight of his touch – rough and relentless – presses against your flesh as if he’s seeking to sculpt you into something more than human. Something he can worship, pray to – his own shrine. Hands, calloused and weathered, navigate the curves of your body with a fervor that both unnerves and enthralls.

Drawing docile moans from your throat. He takes a long lick; collects your juices. Swallows it all; an intoxicating concoction of metal and salt, a confection so sweet it spreads warmth through his starved body, sets his senses ablaze; a humble acolyte.

Like a serpent in the Garden of Eden – each drop glides down his throat, a symphony of flavors that dance upon his palate.

Christ, how much he has missed you.

His hands gingerly skim up your curves, exploring every inch of the silkiness of your flesh. Fingertips apostles baptizing your skin with trails of reverence, dancing across your thighs, treasuring the way your legs open to accept him; to embrace his expansive frame.

Choso lapps at your throbbing nub, tongue hot and wet, making broad, leisurely strokes that almost cause you pain. He brushes his lips against you then pulls away, not wanting its taste to end too soon; pushing his tongue inside your pussy, stroking the slick walls until they squeeze and tighten around him; the muscles inside you clench even tighter as he flicks your clit with his tongue.

"Choso–mmpmh," his name a mere mewl, "please, more," you sob out, drawing Choso’s eyes up, the color for penitence and mourning – a pleading glance, and he’s aware. Knows what you want, what you plead for.

Heart swelling with the desire to please, silently adoring you. For an eternity, wants to taste every inch of your body – to devour you.

Still, he refuses to give it to you. Wants to prolong this hour to eons, hear you beg more.

One hand slides away from your thigh, his thumb triggering an uncontrollable shudder as it flicks over your clit, circling the bud; he pulls back, lips tracing the curve of your navel. Teeth biting into the soft, pliant flesh before he murmurs against your quivering form, "Words, baby. I need words."

A plaintive whine breaks free from your shaky voice, every nerve in your being gets set on fire as the wet tip of Choso’s tongue traverses the expanse of your bellybutton, meandering towards the tender hollow of your sternum before his face rests in the crook of your neck – a hand enclosing the fat of your breast, thumb stroking over the nipple.

"What do you want?"

The heat of his breath spreads over the slight curve of your clavicles, making the skin tingle. The hand that’s been toying with your nub now fully cupping your leaking pussy, hot and ready; waiting.

"Want your—ahh," his tongue licks the curvature of your neck before his teeth nip at the damp flesh; the pressure of his hand between your legs intensifies, yet it stays still, "Choso–"

Breath hitching, Choso's middle finger teases your slit, running over your entrance tantalizingly slow as he waits.

You grip his hair, legs spreading wider apart, offering yourself up to him more. Hand sneaking over the contours of his shoulder; feeling the play of muscles and tendons underneath your pads.

"Your fingers," you whimper out, heels digging into the mattress as you push your hips against his hand.

The sight of you – spread open, aching and so desperate for his touch, for him – draws a curse from his lips, cock twitching in his pants.

"Christ–," he kisses you then. Wet and needy. His middle finger pushes forward, feeling you grip him, suck him in as you writhe underneath him, swallowing the strained cries, "you’re so beautiful. So perfect."

He takes his time. Adds another finger, stretches you out.

Sinking his fingers deeper inside you, exploring the tightness of your walls in search for uncharted territories, tasting your pleasure and the way your body moves on its own accord. His thumb brushes against your clit with each thrust, setting off mini-explosions within you as his mouth latches on your breast, a hand kneading the other one.

With the flat, wide expanse of his tongue, Choso licks the fullness of your breast, seeking out and taking in your nipple. He circles it until it’s a hard peak and then, ever so slightly, takes it between his teeth. Eyes staying glued to your face, watching the blissful abandon as your eyes close.

Curling his fingers upwards, putting blunt pressure onto your weak spot and feeling the slickness of your heat drip onto his hand, Choso pushes you closer; feeling your pussy contract, walls quivering around him, he doesn't slow down.

Instead, he pushes harder, with greater intensity, his fingers working you in and out, shameless sounds of your juices squelching fill your ears – send heat to your chest, cheeks; only fueled by the feel of his mouth never leaving your breasts.

"Choso–m’gonna–uhh," words incoherent, consciousness consumed by a rapturous trance, "Choso–ahh–fuck–"

He hears you, captures the sweet melody of your voice. Thumb drawing eights, stroking the pulsating nerve, coaxing you; he smiles, a gentle curve that caresses the tender skin of your chest before his lips meet the hollow of your sternum. Each press of his mouth against your skin ignites a holy rhapsody of overwhelming ecstasy, the warmth of his breath mingling with the softness of his touch

"I know," his lips move upwards, "doin’ so good for me," until his breath scorches your cheek, meets the curve of your earlobe, lips tracing the arc of the cartilage, "cum for me, love."

You feel it then – the waves of pleasure washing over you, growing increasingly stronger until you’re shaking beneath him. Every nerve in your body on fire, you surrender and let go, feeling as if you’re floating away on a cloud.

His gaze lingers on your face; burning the image into his mind – the indent between your eyebrows as you furrow them together, the way your eyes are tightly shut, the fluttering of your lashes, and the trembling of your lips as they part to release a cry so raw and pure and blissful that it almost makes him cum.

Choso doesn’t stop.

Fingers plunging deep into you, the white heat of pleasure radiating from your core. His thumb toying with your aching clit; you can feel the heart beating between your legs when Choso moves down, the tip of his tongue drawing a straight line from your chin to your abdomen before he draws his fingers out. Puts them in his mouth instead and sucks them clean.

You watch the way his eyes flutter shut; how his lips curl into a satisfied smirk as he licks away the evidence of your latest orgasm. Then his lips find their place back on your pussy, licks another stripe. Arms supporting your legs, keeping them wide apart with hands gripping your sides.

Your hand sneaks into his hair, messy and flat, sticky with sweat, "Choso–" you whine, twisting under his grasp in an attempt to get away, "can’t–can’t do another."

"Just one," his breath scorches your skin, tongue sneaking its way up your inner thigh, pasty with your own cum, mixed with his saliva lapping at the sweat dripping from your trembling body; he already made a mess of you, "just one more."

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moonselune · 5 months ago

Note

Even a crumb more of the Dark!BG3 Found You, me lord, if it pleases you?

It does please me, it pleases me very much

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Dark!BG3 | Found you ! (Only Just)

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

For: Conqueror!Minthara, MotherSuperior!Shadowheart, God!Gale, Ascended!Astarion, Naturist!Halsin

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

CW: Controlling, manipulation, murder, arson, coercion

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Your lover has you cornered, let them relish in these moments

Prequel to this

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Conqueror Minthara:

Minthara stood in the shadows of the forest, hidden from view, her eyes locked on the small, secluded village that had become your refuge. She had spent months searching for you, her rage simmering just beneath the surface. The news of your location had come from a reliable source, and she had wasted no time in assembling her soldiers and setting out to reclaim what was hers.

The village lay before her like a tranquil painting, a stark contrast to the chaos and bloodshed of the Underdark that she was accustomed to. The sight of you, kneeling in the garden, your hands deep in the earth, made her blood boil with a mix of fury and dark satisfaction. You were blissfully unaware, completely absorbed in the simple act of tending to the plants, a stark reminder of the life you had abandoned.

Minthara's grip tightened around the hilt of her sword as she watched you. You looked different, softer somehow, as if the months spent away from her had dulled the edges of the person you once were. She hated and relished it at the same time. You had no right to this peace, to this semblance of a normal life, not after everything you had shared and everything she had given you.

"Foolish," she murmured to herself, her voice barely a whisper. "Did you really think you could escape me?"

She took a step forward, her presence as silent and deadly as a shadow. The soldiers behind her remained still, awaiting her command. She was in no rush; the moment was too perfect, too filled with delicious anticipation. She wanted to savor this, to relish the look of shock and fear that would undoubtedly cross your face when you realized you were trapped.

Minthara watched as you paused in your work, wiping the sweat from your brow, your gaze lifting to take in the serenity of the village around you. A small smile played on your lips, a smile that made her stomach churn with a dark, possessive rage. That smile should be for her, should be shared in the moments of conquest and power, not in this pathetic, mundane existence.

She could see the villagers in the distance, going about their lives, completely oblivious to the storm that was about to descend upon them. It was almost too easy, the way they had accepted you into their fold, taken you in, and allowed you to forget who you truly were. Minthara's fingers twitched with the desire to lash out, to make them pay for their naivety and for the comfort they had provided you.

Her eyes returned to you, and she felt a surge of dark satisfaction. You would see soon enough. You would remember. She would make sure of it.

With a final, decisive nod to her soldiers, Minthara stepped out of the shadows, her eyes never leaving you. The screams started almost immediately as her soldiers spread through the village, ruthless and efficient in their destruction. Houses were set ablaze, and those who resisted were cut down without mercy.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Mother Superior Shadowheart:

Shadowheart moved silently through the dense forest, her senses honed and her steps light, barely disturbing the underbrush. The wretched moon hung high in the sky, casting an eerie glow over the landscape, illuminating her path just enough to keep her quarry in sight.

She had been tracking you for months, her anger and possessiveness growing with each passing day. The betrayal she felt was a sharp blade that twisted in her heart, and she was determined to bring you back, no matter the cost.

She stopped at the edge of a small clearing, her eyes narrowing as she spotted the hidden cave where you had taken refuge. The entrance was barely visible, obscured by a curtain of vines and shadows. A twisted smile curved her lips as she realized how close she was to reclaiming what was hers. You had been a fool to think you could hide from her.

Stepping back into the cover of the trees, she knelt on the forest floor, her hands coming together in a gesture of prayer. Her eyes closed, and she began to murmur an incantation, her voice a soft whisper that carried through the still night air.

"Dark Lady, Mistress of Loss, I offer you my gratitude and my devotion. You have guided me to this moment, to the place where my wayward love hides. Grant me your strength and your power, so that I may reclaim what is mine and teach them the folly of their defiance."

As she prayed, she felt the familiar surge of Shar's power flowing through her, a cold, dark energy that filled her with purpose and resolve. The shadows around her seemed to deepen, and the moonlight grew dim, as if Shar herself was answering her plea.

"Thank you, Mistress," Shadowheart whispered, her eyes snapping open, now glowing with an unnatural light. "I will not fail you."

Rising to her feet, she moved with renewed determination, her steps guided by the dark energy that pulsed within her. She approached the cave entrance, her presence a silent, oppressive force that seemed to make the very air grow colder.

Inside the cave, you were sound asleep, unaware of the danger that loomed so close. Shadowheart paused for a moment, her eyes drinking in the sight of you, peaceful and vulnerable. The sight stirred something within her, a twisted blend of love and rage. How dare you leave her? How dare you think you could find peace without her?

She moved forward, her movements as silent as a shadow, until she was standing over you. Her cold hand reached out, covering your mouth before you could scream, her grip firm and unyielding.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

God of Ambition Gale:

Gale stood in his divine realm, high above the mortal plane, his eyes fixed on a single point far below. From this vantage, he could see everything—every movement, every flicker of light and shadow. His gaze was locked onto you, hidden in the sanctity of your quarters, blissfully unaware of the doom that had been set into motion. The celestial surroundings of his domain shimmered with an ethereal light, but his focus was unwavering.

A smile curved his lips, a blend of satisfaction and anticipation. He had achieved what few could even dream of—bending the will of a goddess. Selûne, the Moonmaiden, had been reluctant at first, her affection for her chosen followers evident in every word, every gesture. But Gale's threat had been clear, his resolve unshakable. The lives of her beloved daughters, the Selûnite priestesses, hung in the balance. In the end, even a goddess could be coerced when the stakes were high enough.

The memory of their confrontation played out in his mind, a triumph that fueled his ambition. He had approached Selûne in her celestial domain, his power radiating like a dark star. Her refusal had been strong, her protection over you absolute. But Gale had known how to break her resolve.

"Release them," he had said, his voice a commanding echo that reverberated through the heavens. "Or I will ensure that every one of your little Aasimars perishes in agony. Their screams will be the hymn of your failure."

Selûne's eyes had flashed with anger and sorrow, but in the end, she had yielded. She may have been an old god of great power, but she was a wise one. The pact she had made with you, granting you sanctuary and protection, was severed with a single, reluctant nod. The divine shield that had kept you safe from Gale's grasp dissolved, leaving you vulnerable once more.

Now, as he looked down upon you, his heart swelled with a dark, possessive joy. You were so close, so tantalizingly within his reach. The thought of reclaiming you, of binding you once more to his side, sent a thrill through him that even his godly power couldn't match.

"You think you can hide," he murmured to the silence, his voice a deep, resonant whisper. "You think you can find peace without me. But you belong to me, and there is no place you can go that I cannot find."

With a wave of his hand, he summoned a vision of you, an illusion that hung in the air before him, granting him more detail of yourself that looking down upon you could not. You were tending to your quarters, the mundane act filled with an innocent grace that made his heart ache with longing. How unaware you were of the storm that was about to descend upon you.

Gale reached out, his fingers brushing the illusionary image of your face. The vision shimmered and dissolved at his touch, and he felt a surge of possessive need. He couldn't wait any longer. The time had come to bring you back to where you belonged.

A portal opened before him, a swirling vortex of dark energy that connected his realm to the mortal plane. He stepped through, his godly form shrinking and adapting to the confines of the human world. As he emerged into the night, the air around him crackled with residual power, the very ground seeming to tremble in anticipation of his arrival.

As he approached your quarters, he could feel the last remnants of Selûne's protection fading, the final barriers crumbling under the weight of his will. He stood outside, his eyes glowing with the intensity of his divine power, his smile widening as he sensed your presence just beyond the door.

"You think you're safe," he whispered, his voice a dark promise. "But you are mine, and I will have you."

With a single, decisive movement, he stepped into your quarters, the moonlight casting a silvery glow over the room. The chill in the air, the sense of foreboding—it all made perfect sense now. The predator had found his prey, and there was no escape.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Ascended Astarion:

The night was thick with the scent of rain-soaked earth and distant wood smoke as Astarion approached the tavern. His steps were deliberate, his eyes glowing faintly with the predatory hunger that had come to define him. The tavern door swung open with a creak, and the cacophony of revelry hit him like a wave. The noise, the heat, the press of bodies—it all would have overwhelmed a lesser being, but Astarion was not so easily deterred.

He glided through the room with a grace that belied his purpose, his gaze sweeping the crowd until it landed on the bartender, a burly man with a grizzled beard and a worn apron. Astarion approached the bar, leaning in with a charming smile that revealed the slightest hint of his elongated canines.

"Good evening," Astarion said, his voice smooth as silk. "I was hoping you could help me with a small matter."

The bartender looked up, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in Astarion's immaculate appearance and the aura of otherworldly confidence that surrounded him.

"What can I do for you?" he asked, wiping his hands on a rag.

Astarion leaned closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "I'm looking for someone. A woman. She frequents this place. She has a certain... presence about her. Have you seen her?"

The bartender's expression shifted to one of curiosity and wariness. "I might have. What's she to you?"

Astarion's smile widened, his eyes flashing with dark amusement. "Let's just say I'm a concerned party. She's been running from something, or someone, and I need to find her."

The bartender's eyes flickered with recognition. "Aye, I know who you mean. Comes in when we're packed to the rafters. Keeps to herself mostly, but I've seen her. She's running away from some deranged lover, or so she says."

Astarion laughed, a rich, velvety sound that sent a shiver through the bartender. "Is that what she told you? How amusing."

The bartender's brow furrowed. "You know her, then?"

Astarion's expression shifted, the laughter fading to a cold, predatory intensity. "Intimately," he replied. "You see, that deranged lover she speaks of would be me."

The bartender's eyes widened in horror, but before he could react, Astarion's hand shot out, gripping the man's wrist with an ironclad hold. "Now tell me everything you know about her."

Under the compulsion of Astarion's dark power, the bartender's resistance crumbled. His voice was a strained whisper as he revealed the details he knew—the times you frequented the tavern, the way you seemed to blend into the crowd, the fragments of conversation he had managed to glean from you.

"Thank you," Astarion said, his voice a dangerous purr. "You've been most helpful. Now, be a good lad and drown yourself in that keg."

With a flick of his wrist, Astarion compelled the bartender to drown himself in the nearest keg. The man's eyes glazed over, and he turned mechanically, walking towards the large barrel of ale at the end of the bar. As he began to submerge himself, Astarion turned away, his focus now entirely on you.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Naturist Halsin:

The forest was alive with whispers, the gentle rustle of leaves, and the soft calls of nocturnal creatures. Halsin sat cross-legged in a secluded glade, deep in meditation. The moonlight filtering through the canopy cast an ethereal glow around him, enhancing his already imposing presence. He had become a figure of legend and fear, his crusade to restore the natural world to its primal state leaving a trail of destruction in its wake.

A sudden flutter of wings broke the stillness. Halsin opened his eyes, their deep green hue glinting in the moonlight. A small bird, a nightingale, landed gracefully on his outstretched hand, its tiny eyes filled with urgency. Halsin listened intently as the bird chirped and sang, conveying its message in the language of the wild.

"You've seen her," Halsin murmured, a note of hope breaking through his usually stern demeanor. "She's on the outskirts of the forest."

The bird chirped affirmatively, and Halsin's brooding expression melted into something softer, something resembling bliss. He gently stroked the bird's feathers. "Thank you, little friend. You've done well."

As the bird flew away, Halsin rose to his feet, a determined look replacing the softness. He moved through the forest with the fluid grace of a predator, his senses attuned to the sounds and scents around him. The trees seemed to bend and part in his wake, acknowledging their master.

He reached the edge of the forest, his keen eyes spotting the caravan in the distance. Halsin crouched in the underbrush, watching intently as the wagon bumbled along the uneven path. He could see the small figure of the old attendant sitting at the reins, oblivious to the danger lurking nearby. His gaze shifted to the back of the wagon, where he knew you would be hiding.

A faint smile tugged at Halsin's lips as he murmured to himself, "I knew you would come back to me eventually. The city was never your true home. You belong here, with me."

His heart swelled with a twisted sense of joy. The thought of you returning to his side, of reclaiming what he believed was rightfully his, filled him with a dark satisfaction. He moved silently through the shadows, positioning himself just ahead of the caravan's path.

As the wagon drew nearer, Halsin's anticipation grew. He watched the attendant slow the horses, likely puzzled by the sudden stillness in the air. The old man dismounted and began to walk towards the front of the wagon, his steps cautious but unhurried.

Halsin stepped out from the trees, his massive form emerging from the darkness like a vengeful spirit. The attendant froze, his eyes widening in terror as he took in the sight of the druid-turned-extremist.

"Who are you?" the old man stammered, his voice trembling.

Halsin's smile was cold and predatory. "You don't need to know my name. Your part in this story ends here, but you have played your role beautifully."

With a swift, brutal motion, Halsin grabbed the attendant by the throat, lifting him off the ground effortlessly. The old man's scream was cut short by a sickening crunch as Halsin's grip tightened, snapping his neck. He dropped the lifeless body to the ground, his attention now fully focused on the wagon.

He approached the back of the wagon, his heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and longing. The door creaked open under his touch, and he peered inside, his eyes finding you instantly. You were huddled in the corner, your face a mask of fear and exhaustion.

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