#i am the sunlight drenching you
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pov: ortega just showed u his broom closet conspiracy board
#yes i was lazy and repurposed an old sketch but the rest is all hand reared 100% organic home grown doodling#fh: bel#fallen hero#i am the sunlight drenching you#pov u just finished hooking up in his broom closet conspiracy board room but are still somehow flustered by his mere existence#im being nice to bel. for now.#chargestep#sigh. in the trenches.#reaper's rewards
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call it what it is
Jackson! Joel Miller x Female Reader
summary: A disagreement over patrol duty leads to declarations that have been long overdue.
warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. established relationship. HEFTY AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s and joel is 56). ellie and joel are fine bc i said so and they deserve nothing less. reader handles a rifle, joel’s a little too overprotective and almost seems controlling, but i promise he is not. well, maybe just a smidge. arguing, admission of feelings, joel miller says i love you (yes this is ooc, no i do not care bc i need this old man to tell me he loves me). angst, fluff. quite a bit of side character interaction before we get to joel and reader in the second half. the only physical description of reader is that she is shorter than joel. fair warning, i am quite rusty.
word count: 4.2k
a/n: hi hello. i have not shared a wip in over 2 months. i was going back and forth on whether or not i wanted to share a fic with so much going on but decided i wanted to get back to doing what i enjoy. that and ofc that new footage was a boost of inspo. i am sending so, so much love to anyone who happens to see this author note, whether you read this fic or just happen to see this note in passing whilst scrolling. i know things have been tough, but i am here with you. <3
Joel wakes with a gentle start. Yawning, he rolls over from his side onto his back, blinking the sleep out of his eyes as warm, golden sunlight filters into the bedroom through the sheer, white linen curtains drawn over the window. He stares up at the ceiling, his breathing slow, steady, and even. He’s still getting used to it, it seems. Waking this calmly, with a tranquil peace he had been so certain he would never in his life feel again. He knew it couldn’t be a mere coincidence the nightmares had all but stopped tormenting him in his sleep when the two of you stopped doing that awkward little tap dance around one another and began sharing a bed, a home, a life.
No more bolting upright in sheer panic in the middle of the night, heart pounding and drenched head to toe in a cold sweat. No more believing he’s failing in his sleep. No more waking up feeling like he’s lost something.
Even his dreams about Sarah had become so, so much more pleasant. Images of her in that field on that night were replaced by different memories, like watching her teammates dogpile her after she’d scored the winning goal in their soccer tournament, or the big, triumphant grin she’d flashed him over her chocolate milkshake as the pair sat in their usual corner booth at their favorite fifties-themed diner in Austin—much to Joel’s surprise, Sarah had politely declined her teammates’ invitation for pizza once the match ended, choosing to celebrate her victory with him. Just the two of them.
“Y’sure you don’t wanna go with your friends, kiddo?” he’d asked, raising an eyebrow. He had been certain she was approaching the age where she would start spending less and less time with her old man. “I wouldn’t mind, y’know.”
“Positive,” she had reassured him with a smile, looping her arm through his and leading him off the pitch. “I’d much rather be with you, dad.”
Rather than smelling metallic in his slumber, he smells the grass that stained her white and blue striped jersey. Her cheeks are smeared with dirt, not with crimson.
Stifling another loud yawn, Joel stretches his arm out over towards your side of the bed, his calloused fingers seeking the warmth and softness of your naked body—instead, all they find are empty sheets, cold and long abandoned. He turns his head, and as suspected, you are not laying there beside him. That’s hardly out of the ordinary. Out of the two of you, you were the early riser, up before the neighbors’ rooster even had the chance to sound the alarm. Joel knows how much you treasure your quiet mornings lounging on the porch swing he’d built for you as you watched the sunrise with a hot cup of coffee in hand. He often made a genuine effort to get up and join you, but lately, his patrol rotations had been all over the place thanks to a shortage of patrolmen. He found himself sleeping in whenever he had the chance, seeing as he never knew when he might have to work a damn double. Or maybe it was just his age catching up with him.
He checks the time and then rolls out of bed, groaning when his sore knees and his aching lower back protest his movement.
After taking a quick shower using whatever hot water the kid had left for him after her own shower—much to his annoyance, it was not very much—Joel brushes his teeth and gets dressed for the day before pulling on his boots and heading downstairs into the kitchen where he finds the culprit responsible for the cold downpour he’d been forced to wash himself under. Ellie’s sitting at the table, absentmindedly stirring her oatmeal around her bowl with her spoon as she flips through one of her comic books. Just as he’s about to greet her, he spots the clean, empty coffee pot on the kitchen counter and frowns. You hadn’t even made coffee yet?
Now, that—that is out of the ordinary.
“Where is she?” he asks.
“Well, good morning to you too, old man. Oh, I slept great, thanks for asking,” Ellie quips without looking up at him as she flips the page. She mumbles something under her breath he doesn’t quite catch, something like, and you get on my ass about my manners?
Rolling his eyes, Joel snorts in response and pads over to the coffee maker on the counter. He spoons in some of the grounds he’d traded for earlier that week into the reusable filter, pours in water from the tap, and turns it on to brew. He grabs two ceramic mugs from the wire dish rack beside the sink and sets them down on the counter. “She out back?” he questions, yanking the refrigerator door open—he tries to remember the little things, like how you enjoyed your coffee with a bit of milk as well as a dash of cinnamon, if you had the rations, or something to trade for the precious spice. He always made sure that you did.
“Nope.” Ellie shovels a spoonful of oatmeal into her mouth and adds thickly, “She went to get some eggs.”
Joel shoots her a look of disgust over his shoulder. “Jesus, Ellie! How many times do I gotta tell you? Don’t talk with your mouth full. It’s bad manners,” he scolds her, shaking his head. He turns his attention back to the refrigerator. As he reaches for the glass bottle of milk, he pauses and his eyebrows pull together in confusion when he sees the wicker basket on the top shelf. “Wait a minute.” He feels her stiffen in her chair. “Why the hell would she go get eggs when we’ve got a full basket of ‘em right here in the fridge?”
She clears her throat. “Oh, uh, my bad. I got confused. Think she said she was gonna go get more honey? Uh, I used the last of it to make my breakfast this morning and she, uh—she wanted some for her toast. You know, ‘cause she really likes putting honey on her toast,” she rambles before piling more oatmeal into her mouth.
Closing the refrigerator door, he turns to her, his eyes narrowing with suspicion as uneasiness settles deep in the pit of his stomach. “Ellie?”
There’s a momentary pause. “...yeah?”
This time, Joel doesn’t bother to chastise the teenager for talking with her mouth full. “Where is she?”
Ellie nervously swallows her food and holds up both of her hands. “Hey, I already fucking told you, man.”
“Look, I know you like the back of my own hand, kiddo. And I know damn good and well when you’re lying to me.” Joel crosses his arms over his chest. “Now tell me the truth. What do you know that I don’t?”
Groaning, Ellie sits back in her chair. “Ugh. She made me swear not to tell you! She’ll fucking strangle me if I do—”
“Yeah, well, not if I fuckin’ strangle you first myself,” he threatens her. “M’Serious, Ellie. Tell me what’s going on. Right now.”
“Alright, alright! Jesus,” she huffs. “She’s with Tommy. He’s been taking her out of town to do target practice in the mornings, just the two of them. She usually gets back to the house before you get up,” she admits.
Joel’s arms fall back to his sides, his shoulders tense. “And how long has this been goin’ on?” he asks, rigidly. There’s a sudden tightness inside his chest, a feeling he hasn’t felt it in a while, but is still all too familiar to him.
After Tommy spread the word around town that more people were needed for patrol duties, you’d expressed an interest in the role, but Joel had been all too quick to shut you down, telling you he didn’t want you stepping foot outside the community’s gates.
“No,” he’d said. “Not happenin’. S’too dangerous.”
“But Joel—”
“I said,” he lowered his voice. “No.”
He hadn’t offered you an explanation as to why he was against it, refused to give you one good, solid reason as to why it was acceptable for him to risk his own life to protect Jackson, but it wasn’t acceptable for you to do the same.
Joel hadn’t known how to tell you the truth. How he needed you far, far more than you needed him, how the mere thought of losing you, the best fucking thing that could have possibly happened to him since the world ended, made him feel like his heart was going to stop.
A few weeks had passed since then, and thankfully, you never brought it up to him again. You had lost interest in patrol duty. Or so he’d thought.
“How long has this been going on?” he repeats after a minute.
“C’mon, man! Haven’t I already snitched enough?”
“Ellie,” Joel bites out her name. “Tell me. How long?”
She sighs in defeat. “Two weeks? Maybe three?” When she notices the muscle in his jaw tick, she grimaces. “You do realize why she didn’t fucking tell you, right?”
“Don’t,” he warns her, sharply.
“I’m just saying,” Ellie mutters, peering down into her bowl.
Without another word, Joel angrily storms past her and straight out the front door, snatching up his rifle on the way. He heads straight for the stables, trying to ignore the anxiety flaring inside of his chest.
Focus.
Now, breathe in. And breathe out.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Breathe in.
Breathe...
You exhale as you slowly squeeze the trigger.
Y’squeeze it like you love it, you had been told by your reluctant instructor.
The round fires off into the distance and you swiftly grab the bolt handle, bringing it up, back, forward, and then down again. You pull the trigger once more, then repeat and continue firing one shot after the other for a total of five rounds.
The rifle’s recoil nearly sends you flying backwards, but a strong hand on your back keeps you nice and steady. That same hand then moves to your shoulder and gives you three firm taps.
“Alright, alright! Christ,” Tommy laughs. He withdraws his arm from around you and shakes his head. “Fuckin’ calm down, Annie Oakley.”
Picking up his binoculars, he rises to his feet and looks through the lens at the makeshift targets that he’d set up for you, three empty soup cans lined up in a row on top of a wooden fence about twenty-five yards away—your longest shooting distance to date.
“Well?” You don’t even bother masking your impatience as you lower the rifle, carefully propping the weapon up against the tree stump you’re perched behind. Rubbing your sore shoulder, you hope the kickback won’t leave a bruise. You wouldn’t know how to explain that to Joel. “How did I do?”
His response comes in the form of a long, low whistle.
There is no telling if that had been good whistle, or if it had been a bad one. You groan. Now was not the time for him to dick around. “Please tell me I got at least one of them?”
“You got ‘em all, actually.” Tommy replies, lowering the binoculars and peering down at you. There’s a glimmer of pride in his eyes. “Good job, kid.”
Kid? Not exactly a nickname one wants to be called by the brother of the much, much older man that they are romantically involved with. It’d taken Tommy months to accept your relationship with Joel, especially when you moved your things out of your unit and into his over the summer. Part of you wonders if him referring to you as a kid is simply his own subtle way of telling you—no, of reminding you, that he’s still not comfortable with it.
And perhaps he never would be.
After all, you had still been a teenager when you first arrived to Jackson a few years ago, stumbling upon the town just a few months shy of the twentieth birthday you weren’t sure you would survive long enough to see.
You were indeed a kid when you’d met Tommy Miller.
Were.
Scowling up at him, you snap, “I told you to stop calling me that. I’m not nineteen anymore, Tommy.”
Having read your mind, he gives you a small smile and acknowledges, “Yeah, you’re right. You definitely ain’t a kid anymore.” He offers you his hand and hoists you up to your feet. Before dropping your hand, he gives it an apologetic squeeze.
You relax a little and smile back at him. “Did I really get all three?”
Tommy nods. “You sure did. You’re a damn good shot. I gotta be honest with you—I didn’t expect you to be this fuckin’ good,” he admits sheepishly.
Chuckling, you scoff, “Thanks. I think.”
“It’s a compliment, sugar.” He winks and flashes you a lopsided grin. “In fact, I’d say my work here is done.”
“Great! So when are you putting me on the roster?”
His grin instantly vanishes. “Uh, listen. About that....”
He trails off, and your heart sinks a little.
Tommy wouldn’t back out of this now—would he?
“Oh, no. Don’t you dare go back on your word, Miller,” you say, lightly poking him in the chest. “We had a deal. You said if I did well enough, you’d think about it.”
He nods in agreement. “Exactly. Said I’d think about it. And I think that puttin’ you on the roster for patrol ain’t a good idea.”
Your mouth falls open. If he never had any intention of holding up his end of the bargain, then what had been the point of teaching you how to shoot?
You didn’t understand.
“You just said it yourself, I’m a great shot! I’m a good on horseback, too. I’m stealthy. I’m diligent. What more do you fucking need from me, Tommy?”
Tommy’s chest heaves with a heavy sigh. “Joel would fuckin’ murder me with his bare hands if I even thought about puttin’ you on patrol duty. Hell, he’d murder me just knowin’ we’re out here and I’m teachin’ you how to shoot. It’s a damn fuckin’ miracle he still hasn’t caught onto this, y’know.”
Shocked, your eyebrows shoot to your hairline. “This is about Joel? Are you serious?”
“‘Course it is.” He pauses. “Listen, now I know the three of us had our—differences—when he first told me ‘bout you two. Still takin’ me a bit of gettin’ used to, but I can see he’s real serious about you. I know my brother, and I know he won’t risk losin’ what’s most important to him. Ain’t no way in hell. He doesn’t want you out here and you know that as well as I do.” Tommy shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans, shrugging as he shuffles his weight from one cowboy boot to the other. “Unless he’s alright with it, I ain’t gonna put you on the roster.”
For a moment, you’re at a complete loss for words.
Upon seeing the crestfallen expression on your face, he makes a suggestion. “You can try talkin’ to him ‘bout it again if it means that much to you. Ask him—”
“Ask?” You want to laugh. You almost do. “I’m an adult, Tommy. I don’t need his permission to do this. Or to do anything for that matter. Joel doesn’t tell me what I can and can’t do.”
Tommy smiles wryly. “Well then, if that’s the case, why are we sneakin’ around and doin’ this behind his back?”
Your shoulders slump in defeat.
Because the ramifications could be disastrous.
Joel had made his stance on the matter abundantly clear, and yet here you were, deliberately disobeying him.
“Stumped you real good, didn’t I?”
Before you can even start to think about how you can possibly respond to that, you hear the sound of hooves in the dirt behind you, followed by whinny of a horse.
Tommy’s face pales as he glances over your shoulder.
“Shit.”
There’s no need for you to ask. His grimace says it all.
Somehow, you will yourself to turn around just as Joel’s steed comes to a halt beside the mare you and Tommy had ridden out on together. He jumps out of the saddle, grunting at the forceful impact on his knees when his feet hit the ground. His rifle hangs from a worn, brown leather strap slung across his back.
He approaches the two of you looking absolutely livid, and your throat goes dry.
“The hell is goin’ on here?” He breezes right past you, roughly shoving his brother with both hands. “Why the fuck would you bring her out here, Tommy? What the fuck is the matter with you?”
“Joel, c’mon. Take it easy—”
“Don’t fuckin’ tell me to take it easy!”
“Joel!” You reach for his arm. “Wait, it’s not his fault!”
Joel shoves him again, then takes him by the collar of his shirt and pins him against the ponderosa pine tree behind him. “You’ve been bringin’ her outside the gates behind my fuckin’ back for weeks, asshole?”
The panic begins to set in—he’s taking his anger out on the wrong person, and deep down, he knows this too.
“Joel! Stop! Let him go!” Grabbing fistfuls of his jacket, you try pulling him off of the younger man. “Stop it! It’s not his fault! I asked Tommy to bring me out here!”
He whirls around, his nostrils flared, jaw clenched.
You’ve seen this side of him a handful of times before.
But his anger has never been directed at you.
“What?”
Immediately, you let go of him and take a step back. “I asked Tommy to bring me out here and teach me how to shoot so that I can start working patrol,” you explain, hoping, praying, he doesn’t catch the slight tremble in your voice. “This was all my idea, okay? If you’re going to be mad at someone, then be mad at me. Not at him.”
“So you did this after I fuckin’ told you I didn’t want you out here?” Joel seethes. His neck becomes flushed, his tan skin now a deep shade of red.
“Joel—”
He cuts you off. “I had to find out from Ellie? You tried to get her to fuckin’ lie to me? After all the work it took for me and her to—” Stopping mid sentence, he places his hands on his hips and shakes his head.
“Joel. Please.” Behind the anger in his dark brown eyes, you detect something else. A mingle of hurt, concern—fear?
Tommy awkwardly clears his throat. “Well I’m, uh—I’m gonna head back to town,” he says, touching a hand to the back of his neck. “I’ll let the two of you work things out in private.” As he passes Joel, he lightly claps him on the shoulder. “Girl’s a sharp shooter, big brother. I’d reckon she’s almost better than you.”
His effort to lighten the mood fails. Miserably.
Offering you a subtle nod of encouragement, Tommy hops into the saddle of his mare and takes off towards the commune.
Silence falls over the both of you. It feels suffocating.
Unfamiliar.
Finally, you speak. “Joel, please just hear me out—”
“What the hell were you thinkin’? Or were you just not thinkin’ at all?”
“I was thinking I want to pull my weight in Jackson.”
“You already have a fuckin’ job,” Joel reminds you.
“Making sandwiches and serving whiskey at The Tipsy Bison?” You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. “I am capable of more than that, Joel. So much more. Don’t you believe I’m capable of doing more?”
“I don’t want you out here,” he grits through his teeth. “Capable or not, I don’t want you outside Jackson’s walls. I don’t want you on patrol and that’s fuckin’ final. You understand me?” Now it’s him who falters, and you wonder if you’re imagining things, or if that’s really a tear you see sliding down the side of his face, disappearing into the salt and pepper scruff of his beard.
“That’s not your decision to make, Joel. It’s mine.”
“M’responsible for you. It’s my job to look after you—to protect you.”
Something about the way he is looking at you, it feels like a punch to the gut, and it’s at that precise moment when you begin to realize that he’s not angry. He’s afraid.
“Joel, I know that all you want to do is protect me,” you sigh, letting your arms fall down to your sides. “I know you do. But you’re doing me no favors by trying to keep me sheltered. By treating me like I’m defenseless. Don’t forget, I’m a survivor too.”
“You already know how fuckin’ dangerous it is out here. Clickers, raiders—”
“I can handle it,” you insist, stubbornly.
“You’d be puttin’ yourself right in harm’s way!”
You shoot back, “You mean, the way you and so many other people put yourselves in harm’s way every single day for the sake of keeping Jackson safe?”
A frustrated growl rumbles through his chest. “Christ, why are you bein’ so fuckin’ foolish? You’re just askin’ to get yourself killed!”
“I can take care of myself!” You realize your hands are shaking and curl them into tight fists at your sides in an effort to hide it. “Just accept it, Joel! Accept that I can take care of myself, alright?”
That is all it takes to tip Joel over the edge he’s been teetering on. “Then what do you fuckin’ need me for?” he shouts, his voice thundering over the quiet plains of Wyoming. “If you can take care of yourself, what’s the point in us bein’ together? Why are you with me?”
“Because I love you!”
As soon as the confession comes tumbling out of your mouth, you take a step back, your wide eyes meeting his own. Until now, neither of you have ever called this what it is, been bold enough to say it’s love.
Loving after so much grief, so much loss, is daunting. It’s something you thought you would never be capable of doing again, not in this lifetime. Not in this world. It’s happened, though.
You love Joel Miller.
And he loves you.
He’s never told you he does, but he’s shown you.
From the way remembers how you take your coffee in the mornings, to the way he laces his fingers with your own, holding your hand when he’s buried inside of you, whispering sweet nothings into your collarbone every single night.
“You—you what?” Joel’s whisper is hardly audible.
You inch your way closer to him, your voice soft. “I love you,” you declare once more. “I’m not with you because of what you can do for me. I’m not with you because you can take care of me.” Closer. “I’m with you because I love you—because I’m in love with you, Joel.” Closer, until your chest brushes against his, and he can smell the subtle scent of your homemade, rosewater soap. “The only thing I need, and have ever needed from you, is your love in return.”
His throat bobs. Before you can utter another word, he lifts his hands and gently takes your face, cradling it in between his large palms, gently. His eyes search yours, immediately finding the sincerity behind your words. Leaning down, he brushes the tip of nose against your own as one of his hands travels down, his long fingers curling around the nape of your neck. His thumb lightly strokes the column of your throat.
“I love you,” Joel says hoarsely. Three words he hadn’t said to anyone in over two decades—it feels foreign to him, they ring strange in his own ears. He tries it again, clearer this time, and with a little more confidence. After all, he’s only saying what he has known from the very start. “I love you.” His other hand moves to your hip, pulling you even closer to him. “M’gonna love you for the rest of my life, baby.”
He leans in further and presses his lips to yours lightly, at first, but he wastes no time in sweeping his tongue across your bottom lip, silently asking for more.
Your mouth parts for him, and he backs you against the ponderosa, kissing you deeply, greedily, like he’s a man starved.
You whimper into him, your hands sliding up his broad chest and past his shoulders until they’re tangled in his soft, graying curls. He breathes you in, like you are the oxygen he needs to stay alive.
It isn’t until you both hear the sound of rustling behind a nearby shrub that you’re forced to pull apart. “Don’t move,” Joel instructs in a hushed voice. He keeps you pinned against the tree, his hand abandoning your hip. He glances around, slowly reaching behind his back for his rifle. His tense shoulders relax when the both of you see a pair of rabbits dart out from one dried bush and straight into another. Exhaling an amused huff, Joel shifts his attention back to you and rests his forehead against yours.
Smiling, you reach up and softly graze his beard with your fingertips. “Guess it’s about time we called this what it is, huh?”
“Guess you’re right, darlin’.” He lifts his chin, brushing a kiss onto your forehead. “M’sorry for raisin’ my voice to you. For talkin’ to you the way I did. S’just, the thought of somethin’ happenin’ to you out here scares shit out of me.” Taking a step back, he pulls the strap of his rifle from around his shoulder. He chews the inside of his cheek and silently stares at the gun in his hands. After a minute, he meets your curious gaze. “Do you really wanna do this, sweet girl?”
You nod. “Yeah. I really do.”
Joel sighs. “Can I put a condition it?”
“Depends on what that condition is.”
“I’m your patrol partner. Every shift. Every rotation.”
You roll your eyes. “Joel.”
“At least for the first few weeks,” he bargains. “Last thing I need is for you to be paired up with some fuckin’ idiot who doesn’t know what the hell they’re doin’.”
Knowing that would be the only way he’d have some peace of mind, you decide to agree. “Fine. We’re patrol partners.”
“Alright then.” Joel nods and hands you the rifle. He flashes you a small grin. “Show me what you got, baby.”
divider credit to @/saradika 💛
for fic notifications please follow @joelsgreysupdates!
#joel miller x reader#fic: call it what it is#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x female reader#joel miller x you#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller one shot#the last of us fanfiction#tlou fanfiction
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Backseat Driver (Ony)
Ony likes when you beg for a ride in his car.
A/N: Yes, I'm high. Hello. I am about to start posting these Onyankopon ideas I have in my head. This is the first one. Enjoy!
Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content; Vaginal Fingering, AFAB! Reader (breasts mentioned), Oral Sex (F receiving), Cursing, AAVE/Dialogue with Dialect, Public Sex, Overstimulation, Choking, Minor Oral Fixation, Minor dacryphilia (crying kink), Explicit depiction of Sex (p in v); Not beta'd, barely proofread (will update as needed later)
Pairing: Onyankopon x Black!Reader
WC: 3k
“Ony, please!”
Your voice comes out breathless and high-pitched as another orgasm courses through you. Ony lifts his head from your drenched cunt, a Cheshire grin on his face. He slides two fingers inside your wetness with ease and chuckles at the way your walls clamp around his digits.
His car is pulled off into a hidden spot on the side of the road— not easily seen from the highway. He has your bodycon dress bunched up to your waist, the top pulled down to expose your breasts as he finger-fucks you.
Ony takes in your tear-streaked face, the sight going straight to his dick.
“What’s that, mama?” He teases. “I can’t understand you.”
You whimper as his fingers work in and out of you at an agonizingly slow pace.
“You was talkin’ all that shit earlier. Distracting daddy from his business, right? Say somethin’ now.”
Your hand shoots to grip his bicep as the other goes for the car door behind you, nails scratching at it helplessly.
“Daddy, please,” You whine, tears leaking from your eyes. “Let me ride. Need to feel you this time.”
He smirks, shaking his head.
“I ain’t tryna hear that. Them pretty tears ain't gonna faze me, baby. Say you sorry to daddy for distracting him.”
His fingers shift position, finding that spot deep inside that makes you see stars. A guttural moan rips itself from your throat, sounding like music to Ony’s ears. His fingers work faster, rushing you toward another finish.
“Wait, daddy! Wait- I’m sorry, daddy,” you cry, running from his punishing fingers
He yanks you back down using his free hand while his thumb starts to circle your overstimulated clit.
“For what?” Ony demands, his voice low and sexy.
“F-for distracting you on your business.”
His fingers stop moving entirely and you can’t decide what’s worse— the overstimulation or nothing happening at all. You clench around his fingers helplessly.
Ony moves his free hand to your neck, forcing your head up so your dazed eyes meet his.
“And?”
You take a shaky breath, licking your lips. Ony looks delectable, barely breaking a sweat as he tortures you within an inch of your life. His chain glints in the sunlight and the urge to pull into your mouth rolls through you. He tilts his head, looking at you expectantly. You swallow thickly.
“For sayin’ I could find someone else to fuck me.”
His hand around your throat tightens slightly. His gaze is darker, more dangerous than before.
“Why?”
You bite your lip, a soft moan escaping you.
“‘Cause this pussy is yours, daddy.”
“You damn right,” He rasps, releasing your throat.
You fall backwards slightly and watch with hooded eyes as his hands go to undo his belt. He frees himself from the confines of his jeans, pulling you over him like it’s nothing. His grip on your hips is tight as he holds you over his length, teasing your folds with his fat tip.
The sound is lewd and wet as Ony gets himself ready for your creamy cunt. Then, without warning, he pulls you down on his length and grins widely at your scream as he impales you.
Your head swims as you adjust to him, squeezing tightly around his cock. His jaw clenches as he watches your head loll back, overcome with pleasure. Ony grabs your jaw, pulling your head forward.
Your gaze is unfocused as he slides his fingers in your mouth, rubbing them against your tongue. You taste your previous orgasms on his fingers. Your lips close around his digits, sucking without being told to.
“That’s my baby,” Ony groans, barely containing himself.
He pulls his fingers from your mouth, snaking his hand behind your head. He pulls you in for a nasty kiss, his tongue sliding in your mouth easily. He bites your bottom lip as you separate, his eyes lust blown. His free hand finds your ass cheek, smacking hard before squeezing.
“C’mon,” Ony says. “Ride your dick, mama.”
#onyankopon x black reader#onyankopon smut#onyankopon x black y/n#onyankopon x reader#lyv writes#black reader#black y/n#black reader insert#fan fiction for black women#by black women for black women#Brent Faiyaz inspired#My Writing#Ony's Observatory
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elixir of the damned ⇾ bgc. [M]
⎡sun bright, sun light burns the flesh of those that bite. moon’s gleam, night’s scream as shadows linger in lonely blight. but in the dark where spirits wail, a witch will rise— her power prevails⎦
⌁ pairing; vampire!chan x witch!reader (f.)
⌁ genre; vampire au, s2l, some angst, smut, 18+
⌁ word count; 19.5k
⌁ summary; leech, nightcrawler, monster— chris is a vampire aching for sunlight. when he swims to a witch’s hidden island, badly burned, she offers him a secret remedy to survive daylight; he must drink her blood during her cycle, unleashing her true power and binding them for life.
⌁ warnings; graphic depictions and consumption of blood, graphic depictions of severe wounds, dom!chan, sub!reader, masturbation (f.), voyeurism, degradation, slight humiliation, rough sex, period sex, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, rough oral (f. receiving), body worship, spanking, teasing, slight edging, cum eating, blood play
⌁ 🎧 now playing... ✩
𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 prefer ao3? keep reading here
𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 a special thanks to dee ( @awrkives ) for making this sexy banner for me, and to my ride or die beta reader, jen ( @anobodyslove ) for consistently supporting me and reading over all the nonsense i write. i am nothing without you.
𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 please enjoy this final Chantober fic!
On the brink of winter, Elderwood is a haze of greys. Roads are bleak black. Sidewalks are cracked and chipped. Streetlights illuminate no more than five inches in diameter, dim and distant. Seemingly void of life, the little town exhales a puff of condensation as it inches towards November. In a matter of days, the saturated warmth of autumn reds will wither, the cold air frosting over every morning, until all pigment completely fades.
It’s depressing to watch the world around him drain of colour as he wanders the streets. Still, Chris is grateful for the consistency. One thing he can always count on is the changing seasons. He may not be getting older, but the world is.
The wind whips against his muscular frame. It should make him shiver, but he can barely feel the chill, only aware of the wind because of its force. The only time he ever felt the cold was midnight on a particularly wet February two years ago. It was pouring down on him as he walked back to Jisung’s house from the shore. The wind was knocking down street signs. The earth was drenched and cold. Chris felt the chills on his skin, the faint prickle of goosebumps. He inhaled and pretended his lungs worked, filling up with oxygen. Pulling his shirt off, he exhaled and pretended a cloud of air was breathed out. The chills running down his spine made it easy to pretend he was alive.
Now, Chris pretends he can feel the breeze blowing through his muscle tee, still exhilarated by the memory.
There are only two moments when he forgets he’s a vampire. One is when he can feel the cold, and the other is when he’s feeding. The taste of bitter iron and copper staining his tongue makes him feel real . With every gulp, Chris can feel the consumed blood run through his veins, drenching his heart and organs. There is the lightest hue of pink in his skin once he’s done. It lasts for a few hours before it fades and he grows hungry again. As much as it annoys him, Chris looks forward to every meal.
In a matter of days, he will be closing in on eight years as a vampire.
Leech, nightcrawler, monster— Chris cannot block out the voices that chime in every time he thinks about that word. They loop in slow circles around his mind on a daily basis and taunt him between his insecurities and mistakes.
He’s not sure how it happened. He stopped sleeping. It was hard to keep things down. He didn’t like to eat much before swim practise anyways. Even a bite of food would sit like a rock in his stomach. He’d have to excuse himself five minutes into his laps to empty his stomach in the nearest trash can.
“Knocked up?” one of his teammates teased from the pool.
Chris wiped his chin with the back of his wrist. He glared at the diver, eyes wet and red, before clearing his throat, swallowing thickly, and diving back in himself.
Hand on his stomach now, Chris yearns for that disgusting feeling that burned his chest and scratched at his throat. He hates throwing up, but it seems so humane now to get sick, to feel sick.
Once he attempted to starve himself in hopes of emulating something similar to an illness. All it did was make him irritable, almost rabid. He thought it would at least be similar to sleep deprivation but it instead sharpened his supernatural senses for blood.
More than anything though, Chris misses the sun. Every morning, he senses its warmth against the boarded windows of Jisung’s basement. For a handful of minutes, he can bypass his inherent fear of the sun to imagine beams of light cascading over him. He imagines the heat kissing his flesh, returning his admiration, and basks in the feign brightness.
Sand invades his shoes.
Chris opens his eyes to find the sea before him. The waves crash against the shore, inches away from his toes. He inhales sharply. Salt and seaweed plague his tongue. He swallows breathfuls of the scent anyway, chasing nostalgia.
He took his first steps here, had his first kiss by the rocks at thirteen, learned to swim, to build extravagant sandcastles and raced along the shoreline with Jisung and Changbin. How many summers had he guarded the lives of beachgoers? How many bonfire bashes had he patrolled?
Chris gazes out at the horizon. His enhanced vampiric senses have sharpened his sight, refining the mesmerising image of the serene scenery. Even the far island of Crow’s Nest looks clearer. It has been bogged down by heavy fog for as long as he can remember. Sometimes the island seems so hazy, Chris is only reminded of its presence by the crows circling around it. He smiles to himself as he recalls the countless times he, Changbin and Jisung dared each other to swim towards it, each one boasting about how they would be the one to swim the closest only to rush back to shore.
Fuck— it all feels like a life time ago.
The ocean laps closer to Chris’s feet. He surveys his surroundings. Fog settles over the quiet town. Silence replies to his inquisitive stare. He turns back to the sea and considers the horizon. It must be nearing four or five in the morning, dawn slowly approaching. The sky is mostly cloudy too.
He wonders if— No.
His vampiric instincts shudder at the thought. Chris fights through it, resisting the urge to turn around and hurry back to Jisung’s basement.
I have time , he mentally hisses.
The sun won’t be up for another hour or so, and given how considerably cloudy it is, he might have an extra fifteen minutes to collect his clothes and rush back into the safe darkness of the basement. His enhanced speed would get him there within ten minutes anyway.
Chris tugs at the hem of his shirt while kicking off his shoes. He feels the wind push around his muscular torso. He takes a moment to inhale deeply, swallowing the scent of the salty sea, and resists the urge to gag. Determined not to let the suppressed reaction discourage him, he unzips his jeans and pulls them down along with his briefs. For a second, he braces himself, expecting a chill upon his full nudity.
Then the reality of his being sets in.
He huffs an annoyed groan and marches into the water. He’s so frustrated he doesn’t feel it at first. However, as he continues to wade further into the ocean, the water now lapping just above his waist, Chris shivers .
Cold— ice cold. The sea welcomes him home.
Chris chuckles, relief blossoming in his chest. He caresses the surface of the water as another chuckle tumbles out of his full lips. If he was still human, tears would prick his eyes from the sheer relief of finally feeling something. Embracing the biting chill, he dives in.
Under deep blue darkness, the world muffles around him. He points his hands in front of him, the same way he was training eight years ago, and propels further into the ocean. Seaweed dances beneath his feet, the current moves around him. Being undead gives him an advantage as he can remain submerged for longer now.
Twirling, swirling, he swims and swims— faster than he could before his shift. The rush of the waves propel him further into the water, caressing his toned body. Chris suppresses a smile as he watches fish dart and algae float around him.
When he finally surfaces, he lets out a heavy breath on instinct, but he doesn’t care. He pushes his hair back and wipes his nose, heaving anyway because in this still moment, Chris is teetering on the edge of humanity for the very first time in eight years.
Looking back to the shore, he finds that he may have gotten carried away. The mainland is almost a figment of his imagination with the amount of distance he has created.
And Crow’s Nest is completely visible.
Chris looks between the shore and the island, then lets out a full bellied laugh, one he hasn’t been able to muster in years. Changbin and Jisung are never going to believe him when he tells them he got this close to Crow’s Nest .
Not only is it far, but most believe the island is haunted. Townies for years have claimed to witness figures lurking between the trees and flickering lights throughout the night. Someone once swore they saw a figure flying over the island on a broomstick amongst the crows. Throughout the years, many sceptics have tried to travel to the island, only to be deterred by the current and pushed back to shore. Changbin once told him that one person did make it onto the island but was never heard from again.
Chris was not completely convinced by the tall-tales of Crow’s Nest, but he still constantly felt unsettled by its presence.
However, surveying the island now, he cannot remember why he was so scared. Sure, the myths were strange, but they were myths in the end.
Vampires were once a myth , a little voice murmurs.
Stifling the sinister voice, Chris looks to the sky and finds it’s still a swirl of charcoal grey and slated blue. His smile returns before another chuckle bubbles from his eased chest. Floating upon the surface, he lays back, allowing the current to guide him for a moment. He shuts his eyes and focuses on the fading sensation of the cold upon his pale skin.
While Chris knows he has more time to revel in this rare human moment, he cannot help the anxiety festering in the base of his stomach. What if he never feels this way again? What if he has to wait another eight years to feel something, anything again? And yes, this has been a cathartic experience by himself, but some of his favourite human memories are shared with his loud, chaotic friends. He can imagine Changbin complaining about how deep the water is and Jisung making jokily suggestive comments about how naked they all are. He would never be able to convince them to go skinny dipping in the middle of October at dawn. Changbin is too much of a whiny baby to handle the cold and Jisung sleeps as deep as the dead— Chris would know being undead himself.
So, while he may feel a fraction of his humanity again, he cannot forget that he is still alone.
A sense of deep danger surges through him, silver eyes snapping open. Amber light spills across the once frosty charcoal-blue sky.
The sun is rising.
His vampiric instincts rage in his chest, as if scolding him for being so reckless.
Chris internally curses at himself. He’s about to swim back to shore when he notices rays of light shining against the sand, inching towards his clothes.
Fuck .
How long had he been floating? When did time start to move this quickly? The last eight years have felt like eternity, but it’s as though the last two hours flew by within twenty minutes.
Chris lets out a shaky sigh and considers his options. He can try to make it back to shore and sprint home, grabbing his clothes later (if the current doesn’t swallow them). He can try to dive deep enough in the water to evade the sun, but risk drowning over and over for the next twelve hours. Or…
A murder of crows circle the island to his right.
Crow’s Nest.
“ Shit ,” he mutters under his breath.
Chris dives. He uses all his strength to fight against the current. The closer he’s gets to the island, the harsher the ocean becomes. The waves are not forceful, simply persistent with their suggestion to turn back. It’s as if the sea is warning him against reaching the island.
He fights through it still, pushing himself to swim faster.
Though he does not have a pulse, Chris is heaving by the time he can walk onto the shore. He runs a hand through his hair and spits the excess seawater out of his mouth. Leaning on his knees, he takes a moment, for the first time in eight years, to catch his breath.
Vision blurring, hands shaking, Chris mutters a string of vulgar curses. The swim has depleted his energy. Thirst— No, hunger gnaws at his chest, his gut, his very being, tearing through his innate instincts to find shade. His senses instead sharpen for a hunt. The scent of crow, frail and small, immediately overwhelms him. He can nearly taste the thick blood that pumps under their onyx feathers.
“ Ah!” Chris hisses, jolting forwards as the light nips at his ankles.
The sun .
Using the last bit of his strength, Chris dashes towards the trees. However, as he’s about to cross into the safety of the shade, the sun strikes, scorching his skin.
Chris screams, collapsing to his knees. His back stings with a relentless hiss. Scurrying forward, he manages to make it into the shade with only a few more minimal, yet painful welts on his thighs and calves. He chokes back more groans as his pale skin bubbles and burns from the intense heat.
He shifts further into what he thinks is the shade, trembling and whimpering, when the breeze kicks in and rattles the already loose leaves from the trees. Chris looks up, watching a gap form and give way for another attack from the sun.
Bright rays blaze his face. Another fraught scream tears through his throat and he tries to shield his eyes with his arm. Only one eye could be saved, the other feels as though it is melting into his skull.
Pain, pain— aching pain. Chris screams, his voice cracking as he channels that last of his strength and throws himself against the tree stump with unnatural speed.
Hiccuped moans tumble from his wounded, cracked lips. He heaves, voice nothing more than a wheezing shattered mess. His flesh deteriorates, once eternal body now crumbling under the bright light. The rotting smell of his dead body simmers around him, brewing nausea deep in his gut.The sand bites into his burnt skin, like salt on a fresh wound. Whimpering, he grits his teeth and attempts to bear the pain.
It’s not that bad. It’s not that bad. It’s not tha—
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he groans, the pain overtaking his mind. He tries to repeat the phase again but can barely get past the first syllable.
Chris knows he can’t stay here. The sun will move, the light will shift, the fucking wind will betray him. He is not guaranteed safety if more leaves fall and the light seeps through again. Yet, he cannot move. Without blood to sustain his movements or renew his vampiric healing abilities, he might just die anyway.
So, Chris simply stares at the clutter of copper and gold leaves around him and suppresses whimpers. Is this the sickness he was previously craving to feel? Is this the humanistic pain he so badly yearned for? Chris cannot help but curse at himself over and over as his vision slowly blurs.
Is this really how it ends , he wonders. Wet from the sea, hot from the sun, eight years of demonic hell inch to this painful end.
Coughing up bile, he spits it over his shoulder and exhales deeply. Well, at least, he was able to experience a final moment of humanity, even if it was alone. And when he sees Changbin and Jisung again, he’ll tell them all about how he swam to Crow’s Nest and wasn’t immediately devoured by the monsters that they believe lurk within.
And if nothing else , he thinks as the darkness slowly closes in on him, I had one last moment in the sun.
“What have you done to yourself?”
A soft flowery voice caresses him. Chris mentally leans into the feminine allure of the voice, allowing himself to be wrapped in her gentle tone.
Then, the voice suddenly solidifies shattering the warm cocoon Chris found himself giving into, as she repeats, tone firmer now, “Are you insane?”
Chris tilts his head, choking on more bile as a surge of pain ripples through him. A curvy figure dressed in a thin, white sundress rushes towards him. He can barely make out her face, his sight almost completely gone, but her scent— fresh rain, lavender and sage— overwhelms him. For a second, he sees himself strolling through a field of wildflowers after a rainstorm, following the full figured beauty into the warmth of the light.
“Wow, you’re really naked,” she suddenly mumbles under her breath.
Voice raspy, Chris asks, “Are… you an angel?”
Soft hands cup his face; delicate, sweet, and gentle. Chris tries to regain some semblance of his sight, eager to take in her ethereal features but the pain hinders his focus.
And then, all at once, darkness claims him.
Dawn is still. While the sun peeks through clusters of clouds, the sky shifts from pale blue to rose-gold. The wind, once flowing through the small cottage through the open windows, disappears. Even the crows, who often guard your little hideaway, fall silent.
You freeze mid-chop and turn towards the backdoor. A murder of crows still lingers around your backyard, but they seem rigid, as if they are not sure how to react.
Furrowing your brows, you set down your knife and abandon your half-chopped eggplant. You wipe your hands on your apron, making your way to the door.
A loud buzzing rings through your ears, stopping you mid-stride. You furrow your brows, senses finally flaring.
Abandoning the back door, you move towards the front instead. The moment you pull it open, you feel it— the shift in the air, swirling with panic, fear and… pain ?
A loud scream suddenly echoes through the morning fog, taut and sharp.
Chills run down your spine.
You’ve found many injured animals while hiding in Crow’s Nest within the last decade. You’ve repaired broken bones, mended mangled wings and even helped beached sea creatures find their way back into the ocean. However, nothing you have encountered has ever sounded so huge.
Shaking off your nerves, you step out and shut the door behind you. The wind picks up, colder than before. It ruffles through your white sundress, forcing you to wrap your arms around yourself. Another frail scream echoes, this time starling the crows back into motion. Hawthorne, your clingiest crow, lands on your front porch with a concerned tilt of his head, as if coming to check on you. Your face deadpans as more crows settle on the rickety, oak wood and peer up at you.
“You literally saw me from the garden,” you sigh. Stepping around them, you ask, “Do you know where that sound came from?”
Poe squawks before fluttering into flight, and a few other crows follow after him as well. You trail behind them, pulling your wand out from between your breasts. You assume that whatever washed up on your island must be harmless enough for your wards not to alert you upon its arrival. Still, you keep your twelve-inch mahogany wand, the polished ebony wood twisted and glittering like silver stars, steady before you.
Rotten vanilla and burnt, parched oak intoxicate your next breath. The scent envelopes you in despair, as you draw closer to the source. Heaving, whimpering, coughing, the broken sounds of pain become clearer with every step.
And then you see him— extremely pale and teetering consciousness. His face, which might have once been a handsome blend of soft masculinity, is grey and blistering. Arm, shoulder, ribs; the left side of his body is peeling skin, almost as if dusting and rotting all at once. The edges of the wounds are lined with black. It’s as though he’d been charred under open flames.
“What have you done to yourself?” you whisper under your breath.
You draw nearer, trying to make sense of this… being? You’re not quite sure what he is. He most definitely cannot be a human. He should be bleeding and the welts would be blistering, eager to reverse the damage.
His eyes squint open and you almost miss it. The right one is a rich chocolate, purely humanistic and warming. The left, however, is a blinding silver. Swimming with thirst and desperation, even exhausted, that gleaming grey eye conveys more threats than promises.
Vampire .
Dawn, light, burns, it all starts to make sense.
“Are you insane?”
He chokes on bile, resting his head back against the tree trunk.
As he tries to find his voice, you take a moment to scan his frame, looking for more wounds. It’s then that you notice just how naked he is. Guilt and shame fester in your chest at the realisation that, despite the wounds, he does not look so bad, perhaps even… attractive.
Your attention lingers below his waist. The sight heats your face. “Wow, you’re really naked,” you whisper more to yourself than him.
“Are…” he starts, summoning your attention back to his mismatched eyes, “you an angel?”
The question startles you. After a few blinks, you swallow thickly and clear your throat.
Wraith, nightshader, monster— you’ve been called many names throughout your life as a blood-witch. Your previous coven conjured most of the insults, but the mundane town of Elderwood has never been a friend to the supernatural either, despite its mythical origins. Ridiculed for your magic, banished by family and supposed friends, you didn’t think you’d ever meet another paranormal being, let alone be confused for an angel.
Cupping his face, you decide that he’s delirious. Scorched by the sun, thirsty for blood (if his nearly translucent skin is any indication), he probably took one look at your white dress and assumed he was dying.
You gasp as he suddenly falls limp in your hands. You’re about to check his pulse when you remember he’s a vampire. Muttering curses, you stand up.
“Create some shade,” you order the crows. As they cluster overhead, you add, “We need it dark enough to move him.”
More crows fly in to help, clouding over the wounded vampire to shield him from the rising sun.
Deep breath in and out, you centre yourself. Your lungs carry his festering scent, the faint notes of sweet vanilla and sturdy, dry oak soothing your erratic heart.
You open your eyes with a heavy, steady exhale. Holding out your wand, you dig your heels into the ground. Magic flickers from your fingertips and warps into the wand, waiting for your direction. Only, you’re not sure if you’re making the right choice.
Healing animals, saving helpless lives is much of what you do on this little island, besides tending to your magical garden, brewing potions and crafting talismans. You’ve always felt grounded when you’re able to help someone, anyone . The only other time you feel as accomplished and useful is when you update your journal. Keeping a detailed grimoire of new spells, potions, thoughts, and observations has been your only other source of stabilising your sanity amidst such a solitary life.
But, a vampire is not some other helpless animal. You don’t know a lot about the blood-demons, only that they have been damned upon their own moment of desperation. He clearly made naive deals without much consideration of the consequences. And the fact that he wandered out in daylight does not help his case.
He could be recently turned or just simply stupid and desperate. Either way, you wonder if this is a good idea. Moving him would mean inviting him into your home. Is that really the wisest decision? It would mean that he would have access to the little cottage without your permission, even if you reinforce your wards. Your invitation would be enough to welcome him in every time.
Still, you know you cannot heal him out here. The sun will shift and only shine brighter throughout the day. The crows can only fly for so long as well. And while your magic is malleable, it is not infinite. It will not be able to sustain a shield weaved of your powers without an anchor like the hearth of your cottage to truly ground and replenish your strength. The only way to save him would be to bring him into your sanctuary.
Or, a little voice mutters, you can just let him die.
You recognise that internal voice as your mother’s. It carries the same sharpness and disdain for your intuitive decisions. You’re not surprised it has reared its ugly head in a moment of uncertainty and distress. It often has a habit of kicking you while you’re down, or coaxing the worst out of you.
Shoving the vile voice back to the farthest corner of your mind, you wave your wand. The handsome vampire levitates under the allure of your magic.
“We move as one,” you order. “And, be careful.”
The crows mutter amongst themselves, but follow your commands. Together, you slowly move further into the forest.
Once you step foot onto the porch, the cottage anticipates your needs. The windows and curtains shut and candles flicker to life along with the hearth. You push open both front doors to accommodate his broad frame. Guiding him into your living room, you wonder if he was an athlete or swimmer prior to turning. His lean yet muscular figure indicates one or both hobbies.
Shame rises in your chest again. You have no idea what has gotten into you. When did you become so perverted and disgusting? How could you check out a wounded man so casually like that, like he’s not unconscious and on the brink of death?
Swallowing your shame away, you lay him down on your soft, velvet green sofa. He sinks into the comfortable cushions, still and frail. Draping a handknitted, midnight black blanket over him, you notice his skin becoming grey. And even the parts that have not been touched by the sun begin to peel.
You mutter a curse and rush to the kitchen. Rummaging through the cabinets, you look between jars of carefully crafted salves and mud masks. Aloe, honey, shea butter, coconut– what the fuck would heal the undead flesh of a vampire? If he was conscious, you’d give him a jar of blood from your preserves and hope that with enough consumption, he’d eventually heal himself.
The cottage attempts to help you. It pushes open drawers of loose ingredients. Even a few stray crows, who managed to sneak in before the house could shut the door behind you, fly from book to book, trying to inspire you to just look up the information you need. You wave off the house and ignore the crows. You need something quick and complete. You don’t have time to brew something or search through old pages.
Shifting its approaches, the cottage offers salves you’ve already made and saved from different cabinets around the kitchen. It hovers the jars before you, continuously suggesting a variety of creams as you wave them off.
You’re about to wave off the next suggestion when the name catches your eye: Sunveil Balm . Golden yarrow and rosemary oil, lunar lilac extract, white ash bark powder, dewdrop resin, the essence of morning fog and the rare but potent dust of golden pearls, you remember crafting the balm for a bat with scorched wings. It stayed out in the sun for much too long one blistering summer and received several burns. A few generous swipes of the salve repaired the damage within ten minutes.
You snatch the gold-shimmering cream, darting back to the living room. With a wave of your hand, the jar twists open. You dip into the pot and scoop out a good amount before gently tilting his face and slathering the soft, creamy balm over his left cheekbone and temple.
Mismatched eyes of brown and grey snap open. A loud scream tears through his throat as the wound hisses under the golden salve. He instinctively brings a hand up to his face to wipe it off, only for the salve to burn his fingers.
“Shit,” you murmur before shouting, “Get me blood, now!”
The cottage complies, hovering various jars of animal blood in front of you. It’s the human blood that catches your eye, though. You know that if you want him to recover quickly, you have to supply him with your best stocks. Human blood, however, is rare for you. Without a coven of well-connected witches, harvesting human blood from your remote little island has proved to be a difficult and daunting task. You only have about five large jars left.
He trembles into the sofa, choking on his own bile.
You sigh, realising you’ve made it this far. You have already invited him into your home and made the decision to save him. If that weren’t enough, you’ve just deepened his pain with fresh burns.
With another wave of your hand, you twist the jar of human blood open, then snatch it from the air. “Shh, shh,” you calmly whisper, snaking your arm under his head to support the lift of his neck. He tries to swallow thickly, but chokes on the smell of fresh, cold blood. You bring the lip of the jar closer to his mouth and administer small, careful sips.
You watch as his eyes roll back from the taste. Arousal pools between your thighs. You curse yourself three times over for the way your body reacts. It’s been ten years of using your wand as a vibrator or making do with your fingers. You tell yourself that it’s simply pathetic desperation, a chronic need for human interaction that triggers this sort of reaction to him. Shame and regret still tighten in your chest, encouraging the continuation of your internal insults and curses.
A croaky groan echoes within the jar, pulling you out of your thoughts. The vampire sits himself up and takes the jar from you. He starts to down the blood in large gulps. His chest heaves, throat bobs and rogue trails of blood leak from the corner of his lips.
You stand and turn away from him, much too aroused by the animalistic sight. Trying to ground yourself, you take shaky breaths in and out, and focus on the length of your breaths, the sound of the exhale. You don’t realise he’s done until you hear him clear his throat.
Turning back to face him, you find his skin has solidified back to its normal pale, white colour. The black soot around his wounds remains along with a few remaining welts, however life (or lack thereof) has returned to his undead body.
“More?” He quietly asks, voice deep and husky.
You nod and hold a hand towards the kitchen. Another large jar of human blood shoots into your grasp. The vampire blinks as you wave the lid open, and lower the glass down to him. He trades you the empty one, letting his attention drift up and down your frame.
Your shoulders roll back, chest puffing forward under his curious gaze.
You are pathetic , you think to yourself.
Embarrassed by your actions, you leave him in the living room with his meal and return to the kitchen. Hawthorne and Poe perch on the counter by your recipe books. They cast disapproving stares in the dim candlelight as you enter.
You roll your eyes and whisper, “He was dying.” When they continue to silently judge, you add, “I happen to recall a time when two little birdies got into a fight for the fourth time and begged me to help them even when they promised not to let it happen again. So, maybe we shouldn’t be so judgemental.”
Both crows tilt their heads downwards in shame.
“Who are you talking to?”
You squeal, jolting as you turn to face the vampire. He stands in the archway of your kitchen, blanket wrapped around his waist. He clutches the soft fabric with one hand by his hip and the empty jar with the other. You resist the urge to look at his fully healed chest, knowing it will only further arouse you, and fixate your attention on his face.
While the blood has completely reversed the damage of the sun on his skin, his eyes still remain discoloured. You draw closer to examine it, getting within a hand’s reach before remembering that you two are still strangers, he’s still naked and there’s still steaks of blood staining his chin.
He raises a brow at you, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips.
Does he think I’m into him , you wonder as panic fills your chest. You clear your throat and take a step back.
“Your eye,” you start, pointing to your left one, “It’s still silver.”
He reaches up to touch it. Understanding shifts his features from arrogance to self-caution.
“Do you need more blood?” you ask, wondering if perhaps more consumption would help.
He shakes his head. “I’m full,” he replies. Stepping into the kitchen, he holds the empty jar out for you.
You take it and place it on the counter by the other one he finished. You turn back to face him, regrettably letting your gaze flicker down his defined chest again. It’s buff and broad, the perfect addition to his strong shoulders. His waist is slim, toned and narrows down to delicate hips that you are sure have some unforgiving moments. Internally cursing yourself for your lack of self-control, you note that, at least this time, you’re lusting after him while he’s conscious and not in active pain.
He suddenly clears his throat, beckoning your attention back to his face. A shy smile settles on his lip and he raises a brow.
Great , you sarcastically think, now he’s going to think I only helped him because I think he’s hot .
“I’m Chris,” he introduces, holding out his hand. “And I suppose I should thank you for saving my life.”
You bite your lip. Maybe he was tired before or you were just too preoccupied by the gravity of the situation to catch it the first few times he spoke, but he has a thick, lazy accent that comforts your reclusive soul in ways it probably shouldn’t.
You offer your name, accepting his hand. The chill from his skin is all encompassing and it takes everything in you not to shiver. After a couple of good shakes, you release his hand to reach back and grab a clean tea towel. You hand it to him and gesture to your chin. “You’ve got a bit of blood,” you carefully inform.
Chris scrubs his face harshly. You thought the knotting brows and darkening eyes were an indication of embarrassment upon the mention of the little mess he made of himself. However, from the way he drags the tea towel over his newly healed skin, you wonder if he is upset, perhaps hateful.
“Thanks,” he mutters again, catching your lingering gaze.
You take the tea towel back when he’s done and toss it to Poe. The little crow catches the stained cloth and flies it over to the dirty pile. A little amused smile plays on your lips as you watch Chris look between you and the crow. He parts his lips to ask something, but he cannot find his words.
“Let’s have a seat,” you softly suggest, nodding towards the archway. “You must be exhausted.”
Chris nods, letting out a heavy breath. He steps to the side to let you weave around him and lead the way back to the living room. His steps are so light and gentle as he follows. You probably wouldn’t have heard them if you weren’t paying such close attention, sneaking a look behind you.
His gaze focuses around your hips, or rather the sway of them. You catch him biting his lip before turning to face the front again. Letting out a shaky sigh, you try not to let the little gesture go straight to your head. You’ve received quite a few stares when you lived with your coven once upon a time ago. Most would either linger around your breasts or rear. Sometimes it was due to the sheer size of your voluptuous body and very rarely was it done in admiration when it came to staring at your arms or stomach or thighs. Your backside, however, always received that same carefully longing attention.
So, he doesn’t like you , you tell yourself. He just likes what he sees .
You take a seat on the black leather armchair by the fireplace, sinking into the comfortable cushions, and nod to the emerald couch he previously laid on.
Chris sits across from you. Shifting in his seat, he adjusts the blanket to properly cover his hips and crotch. Your eyes meet and, for a brief second, you swear you catch the lightest, faintest hint of pink creeping up his neck and spreading to his cheeks.
Shifting uncomfortably in your own seat, you offer an apologetic smile and say, “I don’t think I have any clothes for you.”
He returns the gentle gesture with a small grin of his own and shakes his head. “It’s fine. I can try to get the ones I left on the beach later tonight.”
You raise your brows at the new information. Leaning over one of the arms on your chair, you attempt to peek into the kitchen. “Hawthorne?” You shout.
Chris looks back at the archway only for Hawthrone to dart out. He flies over head, startling Chirs as he ducks his head to avoid the fast bird.
“Go to the mainland and see if you can find some clothes on the shore for me,” you order once he lands on the arm of your chair. “And take Tenny and Poe with you.”
Hawthorne squawks. He takes flight again, heading to the front door when you tsk at him. He returns to your side, waiting for instructions.
“What do you think you’re doing?” you ask then nod to the back of the cottage, “We have a sun sensitive visitor. Take the back door.”
He caws again and zooms right over Chris’s head. There is a ruffle of feathers, followed by more cawing before the slam of an open and shut window sounds.
Chris swallows thickly, sitting back into the couch. “So you talk to birds,” he says as a way to break the silence.
“Yup,” you nod.
He nods along with you, rubbing the back of his neck.
Your attention falls on his cleanly shaved armpits, the flex of his bicep. You cross your legs and press your thighs tightly together at the thought of being caught in a headlock, or cuddling under his arm and inhaling his thick, sickly sweet scent.
“Um,” he starts, pulling you out of your thoughts. You blink at him upon meeting his gaze. There is a knowing look in his mismatched eyes, and the faintest flicker between your own and your tense thighs. But he does not comment on your suddenly rigid posture. Gesturing to his face instead, he asks, “What was the–”
“Sunburn cream,” you answer, cutting him off. “It’s called Sunveil Balm. I guess it doesn’t work on vampires.”
He tentatively nods. “And what are you?” He registers the bluntness of his question the moment it leaves his full lips, and panic floods his eyes. Quickly, he adds, “No offence. It’s just– the magic–” he cuts himself off, pointing to your hands.
A little smile plays on your lips with a slip of a chuckle. “I’m not offended,” you reassure, shaking your head. “I’m a witch. A blood-witch.”
“What makes a blood-witch different from a witch?”
“What makes a vampire different from a demon?”
Your voice is light and teasing but your playfulness falters at the sight of his concerned features.
“I-I’m a demon?” he asks, confusion creasing between his brows. He looks so lost, you’d think he’d never seen one before. It’s as if he didn’t conjure darkness to trade his soul away.
Perplexed yourself, you nod. “Well, yes. How did you not– No,” you shake your head with a few blinks, then look back at him, starting again, “How long have you been a vampire?”
“About eight years.”
“Eight?”
He confirms with a nod.
What the fuck?
Now, demons are tricky and conniving. They always make a deal that falls more in their favour than their summoner’s, but they have some decorum, especially towards each other. Upon their summoner’s shift into a vampire, the demon must have visited and informed him of his new, undead state. You recall reading about countless accounts of demons shadowing their newest additions and teaching them how to hunt, run and hide in the shadows. It’s common practice.
But more than that, you wonder how a vampire of eight years would miscalculate the rise of the sun and self-inflict such terrible wounds. Given the fact that he used his last bits of strength to find shade, you have to assume it wasn’t done on purpose. But, you also have a hard time believing that he’s naive enough to not know when the sun will rise during this time of year, especially after eight years of being undead. From the few books you’ve read on vampires during your studies as an apprentice, you know that they have a biological clock, an inherent instinct to not only avoid the sun, but fear it.
Chris, pretty eyes round and youthful face uncertain, looks like he woke up one day, never went to sleep again, and was never told why.
“Am I missing something?”
“That’s what I’m wondering,” you reply. “This doesn’t make sense. How did you turn? And why were you out this late, anyway?”
He bites on the inside of his cheeks and averts his gaze. “It’s complicated.”
Furrowing your brows, you’re not sure which question that was supposed to answer. You decide to take it one step at a time, asking, “Did you want to get burned?”
“No,” he immediately replies, meeting your gaze.
Had it not been for the firm eye contact, you might have doubted him.
“So, what is it then?”
“It’s just…” he trails off, running a hand through his damp hair. “Complicated.”
You raise a brow, lingering your attention on his head. Recalling your thoughts about his physic earlier, you wonder if he really is a swimmer. If he perhaps ventured too far out into the sea and exhausted himself in the process. However, noting the way he nervously averts his gaze, you decide to redirect the conversation to something that’s hopefully less complicated.
“You don’t need to tell me why you summoned the demon,” you start, knowing the reason must have been dire for him to turn to the darkness for help. “I just don’t understand how you didn’t know that you, technically, are one.”
His face scrunches in concentrated confusion. He thumbs his nose and tilts his head at your words, and you’re starting to wonder if he’s been cursed or simply a pretty face.
“I didn’t summon a demon. I just…” he trails off, averting his gaze as he searches for the best way to word his transition, “ became a vampire.”
“That’s not possible.”
“It’s what happened.”
“Explain the process,” you order, sitting back in your seat. “How did you know you were a vampire if no one told you?”
There is a twinge of challenge in his narrowing eyes. He flits his gaze up and down your relaxed frame and tongues his cheek. He then leans his elbows on his knees, broad shoulders now on full, flexed display under the warm glow of flickering candle lights.
You swallow thickly and force yourself to maintain eye contact.
“Do you always use that tone?” He suddenly asks, voice low and deep.
Barely above a whisper, you reply, “I’m not sure what you mean.”
He smirks as newfound understanding glimmers in his silver eye. “That’s better,” he says before sitting back into his seat.
You’re not sure what’s more lethal, the way he leans forward, every curve of his muscles contrasted perfectly in the shadows of the dim lights, or the way he leans back, legs spread and chest open. Both are equally as inviting, enticing you to shed your inhibitions and completely lose yourself against him.
“I wasn’t sleeping,” he starts, shattering your focus on his sprawl body. “I was feeling sick for weeks. I could barely keep up with my training, and–”
“Training?”
“I was a swimmer.”
Knew it – Your eyes flicker to his shoulders for a split second.
“I was the fastest on the team. I even had a scholarship,” he says. A faint smile hovers over his plush lips at the memory. “I stopped drinking. I stopped eating. And on the day of the championship, I was terrified to leave my dorm. I nailed wood and bedsheets over my window and hid under the bed. My friends found me at one point, much later in the night, and I…” he pauses, swallowing thickly, “I attacked them.”
You remain still, expression neutral. He watches you closely, as if waiting for a gasp or blink of acknowledgement.
“I just remember being really, really thirsty. I chased them through the courtyard until they talked me out of ripping them apart. And–” he cuts himself off with a little laugh.
You raise your brown trying to fight off your own smile at the sweet, deep rumble emitting from his buff chest.
“Sorry, I just remembered one of my friends’ screams– Changbin. He’s a complete wimp and was squealing the whole time. You’d like him. Everyone likes him,” he explains. When you return his sweet smile, he continues, “Anyway, they talked me out of killing them, helped me hunt a rabbit, which took too fucking long for three grown men, and then made fun of me while I drank it’s blood.”
“They sound like idiots,” you joke, fighting your own laughter at the image he crafted for you.
“They are,” he nods, voice thick with nostalgia. Then, he clears his throat and adds, “Anyway, there weren’t any demons or witches or anyone else. Just us and the internet.”
You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “While that sounds like a terrible disaster,” you tease, much to his amusement, “that’s not really how vampires are made.”
“I wasn’t bitten either.”
“That’s misinformation,” you dismiss. “No one gets bitten to turn. Anyone who has been bitten by a vampire and survived merely experiences more drastic symptoms of rabies then dies. They are bats after all.”
Judging by the constantly confused expression on his face, you deduce he has not discovered he can turn into a bat yet. You hold off on that nugget of information for now, returning to your explanation, “Vampires are the result of humans making deals with some sort of demon. While possessions are common, demons do not want your body. They are always after your soul. Whatever remains is the demonic shift from humanity to deviance. You may still have your body, but your connection to the supernatural is your only thread to the living.”
Chris nods, sitting up in his seat. You regret to find that it doesn’t make you want to straddle him any less than before.
“I can understand that, I just don’t know what that has to do with me. I swear I had no reason to summon anyone from any realm or world or wherever the fuck these things come from.” His voice wavers with sincerity, eyes distressed with confusion. He takes a second to breathe in deeply, trying to ground himself, only to clench his jaw, never exhaling. “I just want my life back,” he mutters.
Me too , you think as you gnaw on your bottom lip.
While your mother discouraged you from being yourself, and so-called friends betrayed you, there was a life back between the Mountains of Cleo that was waiting for you to reach your full potential. Working alongside the greatest witches of the century, charting stars and researching the full scope of potential power within the moon, you were on track to finally securing a position within the Arcane Court , and earning the respect of your family for once.
You wish to return to that moment before everything had shattered around you. Work was stolen, lies were told and reputations were ruined. You never thought you'd be forced to defend yourself against people you loved, people you considered your found family. However, you did expect your biological family to believe the worst about you.
Looking back at Chris, you notice he seems lost in his own thoughts too, gazing at the polished hardwood floors aimlessly. His explanation seems genuine and you really do believe him. He seemed to have the world at his fingertips, on the cusp of achieving all his dreams, before his life ended.
He suddenly meets your gaze. The angle of his head blends his brown eye into the darkness, the silver one gleaming brightly in contrast. You know you should be scared, and you try to find a reason to feel that way, looking for even the faintest hint of danger. Instead, honesty greets you. If you hadn’t known he was a vampire, you would have assumed he was human from that look alone.
“I want to help you figure out what happened,” you announce.
Chris blinks at you. “What?”
“Vampires are made by demons,” you repeat. “If you are a vampire, then you were made. And if you didn’t bind yourself into a contract, someone else must have done so on your behalf. You could be in danger, could even be hexed. I want to help you find out what’s going on.”
His throat bobs, brows knit and he licks his lips before asking, “Why would you help me again?”
“I’m curious,” you shrug. And when his stare does not waver, you add, “And this is the longest I have spoken to someone other than a bird in the last ten years, so I might as well make the most of it before sundown.”
At that, Chris smiles. You notice he has a way of making it look so easy, that gentle, boyish smile. It’s full of intrigue and amusement and even admiration as his mismatched eyes twinkle with delicate notions of mischief.
“I’m going to look into making another salve for some of your scars,”you say, standing from your seat. “The crows will be back with your clothes soon. You can go up to the bathroom and shower in the meantime, if you’d like I mean.”
Chris stands with you, glancing at the stairs. “Thanks,” he murmurs as if he doesn’t trust his voice.
You ignore the heavy emotion laced in his tone, to save him the embarrassment, and continue, “It’s the third door on the right. The house will lead you.”
As if on cue, you hear the soft echo of shutting doors and the whispering squeak of a single door opening.
Chris’s ears twitch at the sound. He swallows thickly and gives you another nod of gratitude before heading up the stairs. You watch his back flex as he rolls his shoulders back. Now that you are going to help him, you really need to stop practically panting after him. The last thing you want is to make him uncomfortable in a tiny house he can’t leave for the next twelve hours.
Letting out a heavy breath, you make your way to the kitchen and wave all your relevant books on burns, salves and blood-beings towards you. But the distant spray of the shower rattles your focus, plaguing you with images of his naked body caught between water and steam. Shaking your head, you force him out of your thoughts.
You have work to do– a purpose to finally follow. And you won’t be deterred.
Despite the brightness of your flowy white dress, which cinches at your waist and beautifully accentuates your curves, your little cottage is a sanctuary of moody shades and warm textures. Chris surveys the polished dark wood floors, adorned with a large, red rug that captivates his attention, on his way towards the stairs. A piece of onyx fur casually drapes over the exotic rug, adding an extra layer of softness beneath his cold feet. Leafy green plants cascade from the ceiling and trail their long vines over the edges of the shelves. They bring a subtle sense of life to the space, even in such dim lighting. The deep violet walls bring out the vivid colours of the flowers—magenta, indigo, and plum. He assumes, based on your determined personality, that each bundle of petals serves some sort of purpose. Between flickering candles, well-worn books, and vials of mysterious substances, you've crafted a harmonious blend of oak table sets and plush, comfortable seating, creating an inviting atmosphere that feels entirely your own– warm and beautiful.
As Chris enters your bathroom, he finds that it is no different. Only, instead of a cosy ambiance of lived-in comfort, you’ve created a refreshing forest oasis. Dark green tiles line the walls, casting the room in deep, earthy hues. The floor is a mosaic of midnight green and jade patterns that seem to shift with the light, an intricate dance of natural tones underfoot. From above, more plants with long, draping vines hang over the obsidian sink, suspended in delicate macrame nets that sway gently with each movement in the room. Chris’s throat dries at the swan faucet poised elegantly above the sink, its neck curved in a graceful arc. In the corner, the shower nestles like a hidden grotto, glossy tiles and rainfall shower head turning it into a misty forest retreat, with aged brass fixtures catching the light. And finally, his gaze drifts to the grand, black bear claw tub—a magnificent centrepiece that seems plucked from a woodland dream.
He swallows thickly, inhaling the subtle scents of eucalyptus and lavender. Upon his exhale, the shower head turns on. He peers around the bathroom again, wondering if the house is watching him. When only the steady spray of the shower echoes against the dimly candlelit walls, Chris rolls his shoulders back and takes a step further into the room.
The door clicks shut on its own.
Chris shakes off his uneasiness and drops the blanket from his waist. He’s not sure why, but his hands shake as he steps under the shower. A part of him hopes to feel stark cold, just as the ocean was a couple of hours ago. But the water is…water– Chris cannot feel much of a temperature, even with litres of human blood spreading through his body. Still, the strong pressure beating down his head, shoulders and back ease the tension in his once wounded muscles.
Suddenly, the water stings with the faintest hint of coolness. It gets colder and colder, nearly replicating the frostiness of the morning sea, before Chris realises that the house is adjusting the temperature for him.
“This is good,” he mutters, tipping his head back.
The house slightly warms the water, silently asking if he’s sure.
“I like it cold,” Chris reassures. A ghost of a smile hovers over his full lips. He wonders if you put the house up to this or if it is simply trying to make him feel welcome. Either way, he’s grateful for the consideration.
Consideration . Chris ponders over the word, mulling over every syllable, every decision you’ve made while he was unconscious. You’re a witch with angelic intentions, that much seems to be clear. But he still cannot help wondering what it was that made you consider saving him? He’s just a stranger, afterall. No, he’s a demon . And yet, you brought him into your home, created salves and offered him jars of blood.
Why do you have stores of human blood, anyway? Is it part of your practice as a blood-witch? Do you conjure spells that include elements of blood? Or do you merely harvest litres of it like a collector of sorts?
Questions lap round and round his mind as he reaches for your honey-infused shampoo. It smells faintly of your wild, flowery scent. Chris cannot help his smirk at subtle notions of rainfall and sage amidst that lavender. With a playful smile and inquisitive, bold eyes, you are the epitome of life and purity– and you smell like it too.
He leans into the faint scent as he lathers his seasalt drenched hair with the silky, sweet soap. After rinsing the suds out, he grabs the matching conditioner and finds it is heavily imprinted with your scent. Perhaps you use it more often, or in larger quantities than the shampoo, but Chris is not all that curious why. He continues to lean into it, moaning softly as he combs it through his slightly curled strands.
You’re incredibly enchanting, and Chris wonders if you’re aware of that. From the sway of your hips to the glint of intrigue in your alluring gaze, you are a vision of beauty. You radiate confidence, even when you’re perplexed and unsure. You stand in your own light, take control of a room and demand answers. Had Chris met you in college, between frat parties or music classes, he is certain he would have pursued you. Bossy, bratty, brazen, you command attention within a few words and a firm tone. And when he tested your limits, correcting your ordering tone with him in the living room, and you yielded to his tug of power, he swears his cock twitched.
Maybe eight years of solitude has made him desperate, or the near-death experience has renewed his connection to the living, but Chris cannot deny that he wants you. He scrubs his body now and imagines your hands over his chest, along the width of his shoulders and trailing down his arms. He imagines your face inches from his and your warm breath fanning over his lips. He imagines your naked body, smirking when he recalls the way your gaze lingered over his in the kitchen.
Do you like him too? Is that the real reason why you’re helping him?
A series of gentle taps rap at the door.
Chris snaps his attention to the black wood. He focuses his enhanced hearing, hoping to pick up your heartbeat in the hall. Instead, a pair of rapid pumps and fluttering wings greet him. He assumes it’s the crows with his clothes and quickly rinses away the soap.
The water shuts off as he steps back out into the bathroom. A soft, grey towel hovers in front of him.
Chris smiles at the ceiling. “Thanks,” he says, accepting the towel and wrapping it around his waist. As he makes his way to the door, another smaller towel gently lands on his head. Chris chuckles and ruffles the soft cotton through his clean hair.
The door opens for him as he approaches it.
I can get used to this .
His clothes lay in a pile on the floor, wet and littered with sand. Looking up at the house, Chris asks, “Um, can you do me a quick favour?”
The candles momentarily shine brighter in reply.
Chris bites his lip. He glances back at the shower, realising that the house has already done so much for him. He might be pushing his luck with another request. But then the lights shine again, as if reassuring him that it’s okay to ask for more.
Throat bobbing, Chris asks, “Could you help me clean my clothes?”
A wicker basket emerges from a door down the hall. It hops over to Chris from side to side, in a manner he can only describe as gleeful. Once in front of him, it shakes as though it is asking him to drop his clothes into the hamper. Chris tentatively bends down and tosses the sandy clothes in. The basket returns to its spot, disappearing behind its door, cheerful and almost giddy.
Chris smiles to himself. The house must have your personality, or perhaps just aspects of it– playful, helpful, thoughtful. You bleed into every crevice of the warm cottage and Chris, for the first time since turning, is delighted.
A quiet chirp from the crows pulls his attention back to them. They caw a couple more times before flying over to the edge of the stairs.
Chris wonders if they are asking him to follow them, looking between them and the cold bathroom behind him.
They caw again, hopping in place.
He glances down at his towel and raises a brow. “I’m not really–” he starts, only for the crows to cut him off.
One of them, Poe perhaps, lets out a long, almost exasperated squawk that leaves no room for refusal.
With a roll of his eyes, Chris follows after the birds. “Alright, alright,” he sighs. “Stop nagging me.”
The crows fly down the stairs and into the kitchen. Chris takes his time, following the scent of wild lavender and sage. He barely makes it to the archway when he sees your dress flowing around you with every step around the kitchen.
You’ve pulled your hair up, neck on full display. Moving around the dark kitchen, you trade your attention between a hovering book and your breakfast on the stove, all while sneaking sips from your steaming cup of tea. Chris detects notes of chai, cinnamon and anise stars amongst hearty eggs, and fresh tomatoes and chives.
It takes you a minute, but you soon notice his tall figure entering the small space. Your eyes don’t remain on his for too long before trailing down his chest and lingering around his waist. He’s starting to realise that you seem to have a habit of that and it doesn’t bother him at all. If anything, he finds himself puffing out his chest and tightening the tension around his stomach under your watchful gaze.
“They haven’t returned with your clothes?”
Fuck, that voice– light, airy and sweet. Chris averts his gaze and bites on the inside of his cheek to hold back a groan.
Clearing his throat, he replies,“No, they did. They’re just dirty. The house is cleaning them for me.”
You flash him a knowing smile and Chris swears his breath would hitch if he would breathe. “Yeah, it likes feeling useful,” you chuckle, taking a sip of your tea. You then nod at one of the indigo stools before your gleaming marble-topped island in the centre of the kitchen.
Chris takes a seat, ensuring his towel stays put as he adjusts it around his spreading legs. As you turn back to your black iron stove, Chris takes a moment to really take in the kitchen.
With deep crimson walls that cradle the space in a comforting embrace, the space excludes warmth. The soft candlelights that hover above cast playful shadows on the deep charcoal countertops, almost mirroring the crackle and pop of the hearth in the living room. Hanging between the candles are clusters of copper pots and pans, adding notions of rustic charm. Chris then realises that this might be the first room in the cottage without plants dangling from the ceiling or over surfaces. Instead, the shelves are lined with jars of spices and herbs and… body parts. He catches pickled eyeballs, dusty toes, fingers–some with matted fur–, and about three cases of teeth.
“They were donated,” you clarify.
Chris blinks his attention back to you, finding a guilty smile playing on your lips.
“Well,” you start again, “ Most of it was donated.”
He teasingly raises his brows at you, suppressing his own smile. “I suppose that makes it okay then,” he jokes, subtly testing your boundaries again.
There is a flicker of surprised intrigue in your gaze. “It seemed okay when it was saving your life,” you shoot back with the same level of teasing wit.
Chris cannot help the excitement in his chest. Do you know how exhilarating you are? Is that why you keep staring at him with those enchantingly mischievous eyes?
He bites his lip, conceding to your wit. “Learn anything new,” he asks, nodding to the levitating book.
You plate your breakfast with a sigh. The stove shuts off on its own as you round the island and take a seat next to him. Chris stiffen, adjusting his towel around his crotch. The once floating book rests on the countertop between the both of you.
“See for yourself,” you reply before eating.
Chris notes the title: Origins of Vampires, Bloodsuckers, and Incubi , then scans the first few paragraphs. Besides accounts for the first sighting of vampires and the fact that they are apparently extremely lustful beings, it does not inform Chris of anything he does not already know from you. A deal needs to be made with the devil, his soul must have had to be traded as payment, and his body begins to reject all things human.
Furrowing his brows and sucking in his cheeks with a little hiss, Chris shifts forward in his seat to get a better look at the book. There is an extremely long passage about consistent erections, and the next page is filled with a list of the best hideouts to escape the sun during the day. Chris is more concerned with the inconsistency of the author than the fact that he has yet to get an erection since he turned years ago.
“Nothing new,” you finally reply after a few bites of your food. “Nothing useful either.”
“May I?” Chris asks, reaching for the edge of the page.
He flips the page when you nod. The list of hideouts takes up the next three pages and Chris resists the urge to roll his eyes. Information about vampiric cycles, peak slumber and feasting times, and tips on how to hunt fill the remaining pages on vampires before moving onto bloodsuckers and incubi. Again, the information is not anything Chris is not already aware of from the sheer experience of being undead for nearly a decade. He knows that around noon, his body tends to shut down and he seeks the darkest, coldest part of the basement to lay still and close his eyes. He’s not exactly asleep but he’s also not exactly awake either. The stuff about peak feasting times does not really apply to him. Just like when he was human, Chris is always hungry and ready to consume something.
With a heavy sigh, he shuts the book. “That was a waste of time,” he mumbles as you finish your breakfast.
You wave your empty plate and cup off to the sink, then shrug at him. “Well, we now know this book is useless,” you say, voice light with hope. “We can cross it off our list.”
Chris raises a brow. “How many more books are on this list of yours?”
Your gaze is shifty and Chris starts to get nervous. He murmurs your name carefully, merely trying to get you to be honest, but then he notices the way you tremble at the sound of his low, deep voice. He can’t help the smirk tugging on his lips.
“Cold?” he teases before he can stop himself.
Your eyes meet his with careful conviction. You lick your lips, as if debating how sharp your response should be. Attention flitting down to his chest momentarily, you finally reply, “Not at all.”
With that, you wave off the useless book and summon two more. One is for salves and creams, the other is an encyclopaedia of vampiric traits and rituals. It sounds just as useless as the last one but if it’s on your list, Chris is willing to indulge.
“You can get started on this,” you push the encyclopaedia towards him, “while I look into treating those scars.”
“I don’t mind the scars,” he shrugs. “They kinda make me feel human.”
When you meet his eyes this time, your gaze is not filled with caution or calculated intrigue, instead they round with empathy. The sincere reaction triggers another pressing question Chris cannot seem to shake.
“Why are you here?”
Your face folds in confusion. “What?”
“You’re here on this haunted island all alone. Why? Don’t you have a coven or something?”
You pause for longer than usual and Chris worries if he used the wrong term, or perhaps merely asked a more personal question than you’re willing to answer.
But then you clear your throat and adjust your posture in your seat. Staring down at the counter, you let out a heavy sigh and say, “I did and now I don’t.” Again, you take a beat lick your lips. “I wasn’t wanted there, so I needed to go.”
Chris scoffs. He doesn’t register the bluntness of his gestures until you glare at him.
“Have something to add?” you question, that usually sweet voice of yours now sharpened.
It really shouldn’t but the sharpness makes his body buzz with excitement. Chris is fascinated by your darker edges. They contrast so beautifully against your usual lightness, enchanting him with supple seduction.
“I think that’s bullshit,” he replies.
“I think the fact that you just so happened to lose track of time is bullshit,” you remark. “But I have the common courtesy to keep my rude opinions to myself.”
“And you’re doing a great job,” Chris can’t help but tease. “But I was referring to the fact that you would ever be unwanted. If you weren’t such a little…” Chris trails off just to watch your nostrils flare and smirks, “ witch , you would have known that.”
A flicker of regret flashes in your gaze, but it doesn’t take long to harden again with a clench of your jaw.
“Maybe you should’ve added that sooner.”
“Maybe you should’ve given me the chance to.”
“How is any of this my fault?” you ask, voice still irritated but a chuckle manages to slip past your sweet lips.
Chris smiles at the girly sound, suddenly feeling… warm?
“I never said it was,” he answers. He keeps his voice tempered and gentle, watching as you bite your lip again.
There is a shift in the air. Chris catches the sudden thickness of your scent, the newfound depth it carries and you shift in your seat again. Furrowing his brows, he leans forward to hold your gaze and asks, “You okay?”
You nod, yet shoot up from your seat. You push that book towards him again and point to the living room. “The house made you a little nook by the fire. Try reading as much as you can. The sooner we find out about you, the sooner you can return home.” Your voice sounds as sweet as it normally does, but carries a certain weight to it. Chris has trouble placing it as you continue, “If you get thirsty or need anything else, just ask the house. It’s happiest when it can provide.”
Inhaling sharply, Chris collects the book and stands. He holds his towel in place with his other hand, the same way he did with the blanket not too long ago, and starts to make his way to the living room. When he gets to the archway, he pauses to glance over his shoulder.
You’re still watching him, captivated by the broadness of his back.
“I think the house takes after you,” he says, turning to face you. “You seem content providing as well. So, I really can’t imagine anyone not wanting you around.”
You shift your weight and clench your jaw. With a thick swallow, you shake your head. “You don’t know me,” you mutter, face contorting with shame.
“And you don’t know me,” he shrugs. “But here we are, a vampire and a blood-witch. Is that a common pair amongst the supernatural?”
You shake your head.
Chris smiles. “And yet you saved me. And you continue to help me. And I might not know you the way the house or crows do,” he chuckles, watching a smile play on your lips, “but I know that I can comfortably go into the next room and not have to worry about you suddenly opening the window and burning me alive. And I think that’s a good sign when you’re getting to know someone, yeah?”
With a roll of your eyes, you cross your arms over your chest. Chris does his best to ignore the way they press together and jut out. “Your bar is way too low for strangers, Christopher.”
He tongues his cheek. “ Chris ,” he corrects.
A mischievous smile spreads across your soft features and Chris wonders if he may have given you some ammunition to tease him later.
“Happy reading, Chris ,” you say.
The way you emphasise his name almost makes him shiver.
“Happy conjuring, little witch.”
A renewed sense of pride blooms in his still chest at the way you shyly avert your gaze upon hearing your new nickname. Chris thinks it has a nice ring to it, and you look absolutely adorable when you’re flustered. He allows himself one last once over of your curves, then pulls himself towards the living room.
True to your words, the house has provided a long, wide chaise of midnight blue velvet. It sits before the fireplace with a soft amber blanket draped over the back. Chris settles into the plush cushions, sinking into comfort and props his feet up. He throws the blanket over his waist to replace his towel and asks the house to dim the fire.
Flipping open the book, Chris starts to learn more about himself, pushing every tempting thought of you out of his mind.
Two weeks go by in a blur and you find that you are no less infatuated by Chris than when you first met him.
He has such an easy way about him, smiling effortlessly. His eyes are still mismatched as if the sun had burned the vampiric silver of his left iris into his retina. No amount of blood has reversed the damage. However, you don’t mind. In fact, you find yourself feeling relieved when his eyes remain the same pair of brown and grey every time he takes a sip of animal blood. You like the twinkle of mischief that seems to glow so brightly amongst the two colours. Its allure is deliciously dangerous with promises of subtle destruction. You especially enjoy how they squint when he laughs or smiles with his white teeth, still gleaming with joy and lightness.
You’ve gotten used to his presence, and you think that maybe he has gotten used to yours too. Just two nights ago, he finally told you why he was out so late the night you met. You instantly empathised with him, knowing all too well how powerful the yearning for connection can be. It’s the reason you promised to help again, desperate for a semblance of real, tangible interactions too.
“And your parents?” you asked, after he told you all about how he hides out in his friends’ basements. “Do they know?”
His jaw set. “They think I died,” he sighs. “Well, they think I’m missing, but it’s been eight years and they bought a headstone so…”
Regret tightened in your chest. “I’m so–”
“My little brother took my old room,” he continued, cutting you off . “I snuck in one night, just to… see, I guess? He still has some of my stuff there, all dusty and untouched. He’s so big now, almost as tall as me,” he chuckled, a small smile settling on his lips. “He plays baseball though. I don’t think I’ve seen any of them go near a swimming pool in years. ”
You bit your lip, unsure of what to say. You wanted to just swallow your previous words, the regret of mentioning his parents wrapping tighter around your heart.
“My mum saw me once,” he said, finally meeting your gaze. A muted sadness greets you, but his little smile remains on those pink-stained lips. “She was bringing groceries in one night and caught me staring behind some tree. She dropped the bag and called out to my dad. I ran before either of them could see me again,” he paused to swallow.“ I still can’t get the sound of her sobs out of my head.”
You blink the memory away, pulling your dusky plum coloured comforter up to your chin. A part of you wishes you had asked him why he never went back to his parents or let them believe he’d gone missing. Clearly, the thought of them moving on without him still weighs heavy on his heart. But you couldn’t find your word at the time, blinking back tears as he hung his head and spoke so quietly. Besides, you are sure, based on his caring, selfless personality, he likely thought he was doing them a favour by shielding them from his new reality. He was practically brimming with self hatred when you met.
And you realised, in that vulnerable moment, it was never about feeling the sun or the cold or even the sensation of swimming again. It has always been about being human . Chris craves his humanity more than he values his life. You both know that he was well aware of when the sun would rise, that he fought through his inherent fear of it for the chance to feel near-human again. He even keeps his remaining sun-scars and winks his mismatched eyes because they are consequences of feeling that pain. And as you read more and more about vampires together, the hindrance of potentially accessing his full abilities does not surprise you. To his core, Chris is human, so he is constantly rejecting his vampiric turn.
That realisation shifted your focus last night. You moved from books about vampires to those about demons. Flipping through pages and pages of information, you found multiple passages about soul-trading. You discovered that some demons demand pure souls in addition to the ones they have already swindled from their summors. This detail, likely lost in the fine-print of most deals, implements a vampiric gene into the summors’ genetics. The variant remains dormant, passing through the bloodline until it finally finds a pure soul to claim.
Chris still can’t believe that one of his ancestors would stoop so low, but you find that reaction in itself is just another testament of his purity.
Smiling to yourself at the thought of him, you stare at your star-speckled ceiling. You enchanted it to reflect the night sky on your first night at Crow’s Nest . Actually, you had enchanted the ceiling of the living room, having slept down there until you were able to slowly build your little cottage and refine your new sanctuary. You were terrified of being found and snatched back for sentencing by the Arcane Court. You’re well aware that blood-witches don’t simply break blood bonds and live to tell the tale. You remember using whatever magic you had at the time to unshackle yourself from the bounds of your coven, hop on your broom with your life magically crammed into a knapsack, and escape into the same dark night.
And as you lie here now, sinking into your silky sheets, you find that staring at a shimmering night sky can still ease your nerves all the same. You try to identify constellations and search for the moon between the clouds. You curse under your breath when you finally catch a glimpse of its glow– waxing gibbous .
Tomorrow is the full moon.
You let out a shaky breath, attempting to get lost in the stars again, but it’s no use. All you can think about is that damned elixir.
“I found something,” you muttered to Chris.
He laid in his little nook by the dimmed fire, one hand clutching a book and the other folded behind his head. Peering over at you, a little smirk tugs on his lips. “A new blood recipe?” he asked, knowing you have been testing out some new blends of spices in his blood.
You shake your head and reply, “A solution . ”
You feel your skin grow hot from the memory of having to explain to him what this solution entails.
At its core, it is simply a recipe for vampiric vitality. And after hearing about his parents and how they have tried to move on from losing him, how he had tried to move on, you remember feeling hopeful. Maybe this could be the key to reclaim his life, to possibly see them again without shame.
However, the summary still gives you pause. It reads:
“The Elixir of the Damned is a rare, potent potion crafted to primarily shield vampires, and other sun-sensitive creatures, from the deadly effects of daylight. By harnessing the mystical properties of a blood-witch's full-moon blood, the elixir enables these creatures to walk under the sun without harm, preserving their strength and powers. Beyond sunlight protection, the elixir grants a surge of energy, reduces the need for frequent feeding, shortens sleep cycles, and reverses their natural nocturnal schedule.
The thick, midnight violet elixir is a luminescent liquid concoction of moonlight essence, ground sage, sunroot and the dust of two diamonds: obsidian and sunstone. The mixture must be thoroughly stirred and refrigerated for a minimum of twelve hours before use. Upon a full-moon, the elixir must be mixed with the menstrual blood of a blood-witch and consumed immediately. For best results, pour and harvest the menstrual blood directly from the source.”
You have the stupid thing memorised, having read it countless times, before finally telling Chris. Though he can’t breathe, you’re certain his breath hitched at the explanation. You remember parting your lips to further explain when he suddenly agreed.
“It’s only weird if we make it weird,” he argued. “I’m willing to keep it strictly professional if you are.”
You swallowed thickly, nodding. “Yeah,” you found yourself replying. “I can do the same.”
And yet you lay here, naked and squirming at the thought of his mouth between your legs because he insisted, and you quote, “If we’re gonna do it, we might as well do it right.”
Do me right , you wanted to reply. Just bend me over the couch and do me right now .
Instead, you continuously agree and nod and pretend that your arousal isn’t sticking between your thighs as your clit throbs for attention.
You cup your crotch now, unable to take it anymore. He’s fucking hot– so fucking hot . You have been trying not to stare but he wears these tight tank tops that showcase his muscular arms all the fucking time. You mentally curse his stupid friends for sending such revealing clothes through the crows. He sent them a letter with Poe a day after you agreed to help them and you wonder if he specifically requested these pieces or if this is his usual style.
Either way, you cannot stop staring. Every ridge and crevices of his buff chest and toned stomach is outlined, completely captivating your attention. You are constantly trying to maintain eye contact, but even that feels too much sometimes. He is always teasing and joking with you, gazing at you with such consuming warmth, you cannot help but feel hot .
A little gasp escapes you as you spread your legs and drench your fingers with your arousal. Sticky, wet, you need him. Maybe it’s been too long without a good fuck, or you are simply obsessed, but it really doesn’t matter. You need a release right now or you might not make it through the night.
You start slow, rubbing circles over your needy clit. It doesn’t take long for you to overheat, however. So you pause your movements to shove your blanket off. Now fully naked and exposed to your cold room, you return your hand between your legs.
A wet squelching sounds as you rub and rub your fingers round and round. You test out rhythms, squirming under your desperate touch–slow–fast–slow–fast, and bite back a whimper.
What would Chris do, you cannot help wondering.
Administering featherlight touches, you know he’d play with you to start. He’d keep his pressure light and quick, wanting to watch you chase after his hand after every fleeting touch. Then, you push down harshly on your clit and bite into your lip harder to hold back a moan. You just know he’d be rough too, forcefully pressing down until he hears you whine his name.
“Chris,” you let yourself whisper. “Right there, baby.”
A quiet moan slips out with your words and you’re not completely mad about it. It was silent enough and you’re certain he’s too busy sipping on the warmed seven herb spiced blood you left out for him to pay much attention to you right now.
As much as you enjoy imagining him playing with you, you cannot stand the anticipation anymore. Your needy hole clenches repeatedly, aching to be filled. You shakily gasp and decide to fully give into your desire. Grabbing your wand, you place the handle against your clit and will it to vibrate. You use your other hand to finger yourself, shoving three ambitious digits in.
“ Oh!”
You bite your lip, panic sprouting in your chest at the sudden spike in volume. Glancing at the door, you’re relieved to find it still shut. You lay back against your pillow and pick up your pace. He’d be unforgiving. He’d be rough and reckless.
Your body trembles at the thought.
“Chris,” you whisper into the room. “Please don’t stop fucking me like that.”
Eyes fluttering shut, you imagine him leering over you, smirking and groaning. You imagine his strong frame ramming into you, his relentless grip keeping you in place. Would he want you to hold his gaze? Or would he bury his face in the crook of your neck to kiss and nibble on?
The pleasure only increases. You tense up. The vibrations rumbling from the hilt of your mahogany wand intensifies. Your fingers eagerly move in and out, tight walls closing in on them.
“ You’re gonna make me cum,” you mutter, breathless and whiny.
Cum for me , baby , a whisper of a voice orders. Be a good little witch and cum all over my fingers .
The sound is so deep and husky, but also murmurous and hazy. If you had time to focus on it, you wouldn’t have automatically assumed it was internal and perhaps investigated. But the constant pleasure is all too consuming. Working you closer and closer to your release, you cannot register the source of any sound besides that of your fast fingers and vibrating wand.
That pretty pussy looks so delicious .
Your orgasm catches you off guard, suddenly rippling through you. You squeal lifting your head from your pillow to almost hunch inwards and cum.
“Chris, Chris, Chris, Chris,” you whisper between whimpers and you rapidly draw every last surge of arousal out. “Oh my god ,” you heave, tossing your wand aside. The stimulation is nearly agonising when paired with your still moving fingers.
After a few more thrusts, you lay back into your bed, heaving. Your hand slides out and up towards your clit. A single brush of contact makes your body tremble. You retract your hand all together, swallowing a moan. Your legs come together, eyes droop from exhaustion and fatigue.
You have no idea how you’re going to remain “professional” tomorrow. The sheer thought of him down there coaxed one of your most powerful orgasms. How will you be able to keep your moans at bay, or your body from rolling into his mouth?
Click.
You snap your attention to your door. It’s shut. Holding your breath, you try to listen for footsteps. When that proves useless, you squint at the gap between the door and floor for movements of shadow. Still, silent, the hallway is empty.
With a shake of your head, you rest back into your pillow and wave yourself clean. You then tug your comforter back over your spent body and shut your eyes. You just need to get through tomorrow. Once the elixir and ritual is complete, he can return home and you won’t have to see him until your next cycle.
Chris stands in your room, arms crossed over his chest. It looks warmer under candlelights than it did last night beneath glimmering stars. Unlike the darkness of the bathroom, or warmth of the living room and kitchen, your room is a collection of cool tones, invoking quiet serenity. The walls are a hazy blue, trimmed with crown moulding around the baseboards and ceiling. One wall of the room is lined with shelves upon shelves of books, plants and a plethora of magical objects, like stones, crystal balls, and the occasional skull. A chestnut vanity, large wardrobe and oval mirror sit on his left side by an open window. Sheer violet curtains dance with the gentle wind.
Underfoot, a thick, handknitted rug of pewter, amethyst and onyx yarn stretches over polished, dark walnut floors. Chris curls his toes into it, attempting to ground himself, as his eyes follow you towards your four-poster bed. It must be a queen– rather fitting for you– since it takes up a substantial amount of space in the centre of the room. The gauzy mauve curtains surrounding your bed part as you approach it. Your matching greyish-plum comforter pulls back, as if welcoming you to silky starlight silver sheets. You wave it back into place then turn to him.
“It’s almost time,” you say.
The slight tremor in your voice draws Chris back to the events he witnessed last night. You keep talking now, gesturing to your bed with one hand, while clutching onto the small vial of a deep, inky violet elixir in the other. He sees your pretty mouth moving, but does not register your words. All he hears are your delicate, fragile moans.
Chris didn’t mean to linger or leer last night. He doesn’t usually go to the second floor when you go to bed, not wanting to disturb you. But he had just come back from collecting some ingredients for the elixir around the island, heard you calling his name and got curious. Once he realised what you were doing, he just couldn’t tear himself away. He remembers the way you squirmed and begged. He remembers the way you worked your fingers in and out of your perfect, needy pussy. He remembers how you held your wand, the one laying on your nightstand right now, and wonders how often you use it for that purpose. How often do you use it thinking about him ?
“Did you hear me?” you ask.
Chris’s eyes widen. “What?”
You tilt your head and give him a serious look. “Chris, do you still want to do this?”
“Of course.”
“Listen, if you’re having second thoug–”
Chris quickly cuts you off with an urgent shake of his head. “No, no, I want this,” he quickly reassures. The eagerness of his statement dawns on him the moment the words leave his lips. Chris immediately tries to save himself from further embarrassment, adding, “I want to feel normal again.”
You nod, inhaling deeply.
Chris’s attention flickers down to your full chest, watching it rise under your silky black robe then fall as you exhale. He meant to meet your gaze again, but he couldn’t stop himself from taking in your frame. From the curves of your waist to the roundness of your stomach and thickness of your thighs, you are a vision of temptation.
Your fingers trace the ribbon of your robe, drawing his focus back to your face. You bite on your lips, nervous eyes peering at him cautiously.
“Are you okay with this?” Chris asks. “It’s never too late to change your mind.”
You swallow thickly. “I want you to feel normal too,” you replied, lips slighting relaxing into a soft smile. “It’s not about changing my mind. I just…” you trail off with a sigh.
Chris remains silent, giving you the space to collect your thoughts.
Rolling your shoulders back, you hold his gaze and confess,“I just haven’t been naked in front of someone else in a really long time.”
One of the things Chris has come to find so admirable about you is how unapologetically honest you are about yourself. You do not mince words or circle difficult topics. You stand your ground and say what you mean, uttering every syllable like you are reciting a declaration of love, sincere and unwavering. He catches the way you fist your hands to keep them from trembling and he finds that defiance all the more endearing.
He tries to bite back a smile at how strong and cute you’re being. Fuck, he’s wholeheartly ready to devour you and show you just how wonderful you are.
Without another word, he tugs the hem of his shirt up and over his head. He can’t help smirking when you gasp at his bare chest. He’s caught you staring enough time to know you like what you see. Unbuttoning his jeans, he pulls them down with his briefs and steps out of them, fully naked in front of you.
“Now, you’re not alone,” he smiles.
Eyes widen, mouth slightly agape, you slowly drag your gaze down his frame. You shift your weight and he catches the way your legs press tightly together. The image of them spread and glistening with your arousal flashes between blinks.
You take another deep breath then untie the knot of your robe. The delicate silk slips off your shoulders, revealing the epitome of supple seduction and plump perfection.
Chris, already salivating, swallows. Your gaze trails back down to his crotch and he’s certain you are seeing exactly how he truly feels. His cock hardened last night the moment he saw you all needy and whiny. He tried to jerk himself off, hoping to soften again but failed– even after cumming three times.
“Does it bother you?” He gently asks, not moving to hide his erection yet.
You shake your head.
“I can put something back on if it does,” he tries again, wanting to be sure you know he is not ashamed of his desire. You’re incredibly hot and you must know it too with the way you constantly tease him with low-cut, form-fitting dresses. It’s partially why he asked Jisung to send him tank-tops and sweatpants when crafting a letter for Poe to send.
“It’s fine, Chris,” you whisper.
His jaw clenches at the memory of your whiny voice saying his name.
A little smile plays on your lips as you toss him half a shrug and add, “It was bound to happen at some point tonight. Might as well get over the awkwardness now.”
Chris glares, but the smirk on his face does not hint towards conviction. “Oh, yeah? Get this kinda reaction often, little witch?”
You bite your lip then teasingly quirk a brow. “Why,” you shoot back. “Jealous?”
He tongues his cheek. “I just wanna know how many members are part of your little fan club.”
You turn towards the bed, displaying your round rear, and reply, “There’s room for one more.”
Chirs suppresses a groan. He tightens his jaw and follows after you. As you lie back into your propped, plush pillows, Chris meets your eyes. All notions of uncertainty have been replaced by carefree mischief. He sits on his knees in front of your legs and offers a small smile.
“I already recited the spell,” you say, holding out the vial. “All you have to do now is pour it over me and… harvest the blood.”
Chris takes the tiny glass bottle, nodding. “If you ever need me to stop–” he starts, only for you to cut him off with the spread of your legs.
A richer, more musky aroma of your usual rainwater, sage and wild lavender scent instantly overwhelms his senses. Laced with your menstrual blood, it evokes the earthiness of damp soil and the sweetness of blooming flowers.
His jaw goes slack, eyes darkening. He can feel his fangs poke out and involuntarily takes a long, slow breath. His lungs do not work, heart still and cold, but he swears he feels them filling from the sheer smell of you.
Your soft voice cuts through his primal desires, as you whisper,“I trust you.”
With that, Chris uncorks the vial. His free hand settles on your thigh. He smiles to himself at the softness, having only imagined the feeling of it for the last two weeks. He knew you’d feel so delicate, rubbing his hand up and down your warm skin.
He looks back at you and meets your confident gaze with a little nod, confirming that he’s ready too. Then, he brings the tiny glass bottle to your blood-glistening lips and pours the elixir. It looks a lot like violet-coloured lube and feels that way too as he uses his thumb to rub it around your pussy.
Your hips stiffen, core clenches at the sudden sensation and Chris darts his attention up to your face again, concerned. However, tentative notions of pleasure greet him. Your brows furrows, and eyes flicker with shy delight. You bite your lip, and that’s when Chris catches the rapid pounding of your heart.
As he continues to rub the elixir over your clit then drag it down to circle your needy hole, Chris wonders if this is what you imagined him doing to you last night.
“I think it’s good now,” you say, voice wavering. “We don’t have all night, you know?”
Chris smirks at your little joke. You have a tendency to be rather bossy and he’s been trying to subtly reign in your sassiness with challenging looks and sharper words every now and again. But then you go and test his patience with shit like this– speaking to him like he works for you. It excites and enrages him all at once.
“I don’t think you’re in any position to be taking that tone with me, little witch,” he warns, applying pressure with his thumb against your clit.
Your breath hitches before you clamp a hand to your mouth.
Chris stifles his laughter. You’re a good girl down to your core. You just need the right person to remind you of that sometimes.
Now that you are behaving, Chris lowers himself towards your delicious pussy. You smell divine, leaking of blood and drenched in the glow of the elixir. He cannot hold back any longer upon another strong whiff. Tongue flat, he drags it between your lips with a deep, full-chested groan. He repeats the slow action again and again, lowering himself further against the bed until he’s lying down on his stomach.
He pulls back to loop his arms under your thighs. Pulling the top part of your pussy up, he dives back in. You taste like the ocean breeze on a sweltering summer day, purely refreshing. His tongue circles around your lips and clit, gathering all the leaked blood, which adds a metalicy sweetness to your arousal. A part of him wishes he was able to taste you without the juicy influence of the elixir, wondering how the flavour of your blood would change.
Chris tongues the entrance of your hole, hoping to ease you into the–what did you call it?– harvest?
However, upon the first real sip of your menstrual blood, something profoundly primal snaps in the depths of his chest. Unbound by his inhibitions, he growls against your core and shoves his long, wet tongue deep into you.
A tiny whimper cuts through the loud sound of his slurps, but Chris pays it no mind. He laps and laps tongue-fulls of your blood, swallowing with eager delight. His fingers press into your soft skin, still Chris does not worry about bruising you. Instead, he shakes his head and lets out a series of pleased groans.
Your hips roll into his mouth and he welcomes the gesture with another slurp of your blood. He can feel the magical substance rush through his body, warming his once cold skin. Every swallow fills another organ and Chris is addicted to that rush of awakening nerves.
Your fingers tangle in his hair, shoving his face further into your sex. Legs wrapping around his head, Chris is only just realising that you’ve been whining and moaning this entire time. He focuses his enhanced hearing on your fragile voice, humming approving groans.
“Give it to me just like that,” you whimper. “Please, please , Chris.”
Again with those little demands , Chris thinks. At least you remembered to say please this time.
A mixture of your arousal and blood pools at your entrance, drawing Chris back to his task. His vampiric senses igniting all over again, he does not attempt to hold back. In and out, he shoves his tongue between your tightening walls, gathering as much blood as he can.
But, it’s not enough. His tongue is only collecting sips. Chris needs gulps .
He adjusts his grip on your hips, now pressing you firmly into the mattress and latches his lips over your entrance. With a deep breath, Chris begins to suck. He suctions his mouth and siphones your blood out. He swallows mouthfuls of elixir tainted blood and arousal, mismatched eyes rolling back at the satisfaction of such unholy hunger.
The more he draws, the darker you taste. Chris cannot describe it well, but he thinks it’s the taste of magic, fizzing on his tongue like sparkling water.
“ Oh, fuck ,” you cry, voice breaking as you cum.
A hint of lightness settles on his tongue upon sucking out your orgasm as well. Chris moans in delight, gulping down two more mouthfuls before finally pulling away with a wet pop .
Your legs are hyper-extended, trembling over his shoulders.
Chris glances up at you, curious to see if you’ll own the fact that you just came on his face or if you’ll get all shy and bashful. Your pleased features are laced with exhaustion as you pant. Tired eyes meeting his lustful ones, you quirk a brow. Chris licks his lips, taking the gesture as a silent question of if he is satisfied.
Physically, Chris is full. He is not sure he can down even the tiniest of sips. Sexually, however, he is just getting started.
“You alright?” he asks, sitting himself up on his knees again.
You nod, but Chris shakes his head. You know better than to respond like that , he thinks.
“Talk to me, baby.”
The term of endearment was not intentional, but Chris also does not hate the way it sounds. It slipped out last night too as he talked you through your orgasm. He can tell from the way your lips part and eyes slightly widen that you’re waiting for him to correct himself, but he refuses to. Instead, he holds your eyes without a notion of panic or regret.
“I’m okay,” you finally mutter between heavy breaths. “I…” you hesitate, attention flickering down to his crotch momentarily. “I need more.”
Chris smirks. “What do you say?”
“Please.”
“Please what?”
Your lips quiver, desperation seeping into your gaze. “Please fuck me, Chris. No– don’t look at me like that. I know you want this too.”
Chris was trying to hide his smug smile, but upon your demand, he lets it take over his features. You’re a fucking brat, and he has extended the last of his generous patience. Before he can think twice, Chris smacks your sensitive pussy.
“When,” he smacks it again, “are you,” smack , “going to fucking” smack , “learn?”
Your hips jolt up with every hit, moans trembling as they tumble from your beautiful lips. Your face is a crumpled mess of pleasure and pain, desperate eyes boring into his.
Cupping you with one hand and harshly rubbing, Chris places his other by your head and hovers over your shaking body. “Listen to me, little witch,” he whispers, nudging his bloody nose against yours. “If you talk to me like that again, like I’m your little pet , I will fuck you even after the sun comes up, do you understand?”
You nod eagerly.
Chris tightens his grip on your crotch, baring his teeth with an annoyed growl. “Use your fucking words,” he orders. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”
“I’m sorry,” you reply, voice quiet and meek.
The little whimpers you subsequently let out don’t do much to ease the throb of his cock. In fact, they only intensify it. You sound like wounded prey and he’s tired of fighting against his instincts. He’s been stifling the beast inside for the last eight years, filling himself with self-loathing instead. He’s done hating the power, fully embracing his new supernatural form.
Releasing his hold on your crotch, Chris immediately aligns and shoves himself between your walls. A loud hiss escapes his blood-dripping lips, fangs on full display, at the tight pressure around him. Fuck, if he hadn’t seen you skillfully fingering yourself last night, he would have believed you were a virgin.
You moan with him, clutching on his shoulders. “Oh, god ,” you groan, enchanting eyes fluttering shut. “ Fuck, fuck– Chris, you’re h-huge. What the actual fuck?”
Chris’s previously irritated resolve wavers upon your squealing voice. He pauses his shallow thrusts to give you time to adjust.
“I’m sorry,” you repeat as your nails dig into his warming flesh. “I-I know you need this too.”
Shifting down to his forearms, Chris buries his face in the crook of your neck, and fondly inhales your scent. “Don’t be sorry, baby,” he murmurs. “I waited two weeks for this. Another minute won’t make a difference.”
You let out a breathless giggle, wrapping your arms around his head. A delighted hum sounds from your lips and Chris feels the vibrations of it against his face. He smiles to himself before licking and kissing your delicate skin.
Your heart is beating so fast. He can feel the thumping pounds against his tongue and can’t help but chuckle. Your skin suddenly grows hot and he realises he has embarrassed you. Yet, instead of pushing him off, you clench tighter around him.
“Please don’t laugh at me,” you whine.
Chris smirks at your tone and wording, glad to see you’re finally following his orders. Still, he decides to test it again, wondering if it’s just a fluke.
“I’m not laughing at you, little witch,” he lies.
Instead of calling him out, you remain silent.
Chris pulls back to gauge your features. Though pouting, you refrain from glaring at him too hard. Filled with pride, Chris kisses your cheek, down to your jaw then up to your chin again.
“Good girl,” he mutters once his lips are hovering over your mouth.
Your gaze flits between his eyes and blood-stained lips. Chris makes the conscious choice not to kiss you, unsure if the taste of your menstrual blood will be as delicious to you as it is to him. For a second, he thinks you might kiss him anyway, panting beneath him even when he remains motionless inside you.
But then you simply arch your back, pushing your full breasts against him, and mutter, “I’m ready now.”
Chris dips his head back down to your neck. He kisses and sucks on your hot skin, gently thrusting into you. He takes his time, with his hips and lips, dragging the process out only to forcefully shove it back in.
You’re already trembling, sweet voice hiccuping moans. Chris scratches his fangs over your collarbone just to hear you whimper his name.
“Please, Chris,” you cry.
He kisses the slightly wounded area and quietly chuckles to himself. “Do you need something, little witch?” he teasingly asks.
“F-faster, please?” you quickly ask. “I’m not telling. I’m asking– begging! Please, please , Chris!”
His cock twitches. He groans at the sound of your desperate, whiny voice, physically incapable of torturing you any longer. With supernatural speed, Chris’s hips snap into action. He thrusts harshly, fisting the sheets beneath you. The bed creaks and slams against the walls over and over again, overtaking the slapping sound of his hips meeting yours.
Your body shakes and jiggles under him, and he is obsessed with how amazing your skin feels rubbing against his. Your nails scratch at his back, before finally sinking into his shoulders. You brace yourself against him, the sounds of your broken, sobbing moans encouraging him to continue.
"You have no idea what your voice does to me,” Chris groans, lips smothered under your jaw. “I could listen to you all fucking night.”
Your legs wrap around his waist. Chris groans even louder, addicted to the way you’re clinging onto him.
“Only you can make me sound like this,” you whimper then warn a thrust later, “I’m gonna cum!”
Chris lets out a low, satisfied growl, relentless with his speed and power. He presses his lips to the shell of your ear and whispers in a deep, breathless voice, “ Cum for me, sweet girl. ”
He can feel the erratic beat of your heart against his chest. Your pussy tightly clenches around him, gripping harshly onto his cock. As you cum, squealing his name like a practised spell, he chokes on his own moans. His hips push deep inside you, tensing as he finally unloads himself. Ropes and ropes of his cum fill you up as he growls in response to your meek moans.
Chris thrusts a few more times, wanting to ensure you’ve exhausted your orgasm. Then, in two swift motions, he lifts, pulls himself out, and rolls off you. He lands on the bed with a little bounce and content sigh. He expects to see the night sky on the ceiling, like it was last night, but instead finds the sea. And there, between the lapping waves, Chris catches your reflection.
Raising a brow, he tongues his cheek and looks at you. “Enjoy the show,” he teases.
You roll your eyes, heat crawling up your neck to spread across your cheeks. “I did, actually,” you definitely reply as a last ditch effort to save a semblance of your self-respect. “You have a great butt, by the way.”
Chris laughs. He throws his head back and lets out a full-chested roar of a laugh. He can’t remember that last time he did that without you around. The last two weeks have made him feel more human than he probably ever had in his life. You’re absolutely remarkable and he’s lucky to have met you, even if it means he had to lose his soul.
Lifting his arm, Chris nods at you, silently ordering you to lean into him. You shift closer and hug his waist without another word, much to his surprise.
“You’re so pretty when you're doing as you're told,” Chris praises.
“I’m pretty always,” you retort.
Chris rolls his eyes. “Just take the compliment,” he chuckles.
“You’re not fucking me,” you practically whine. “You can’t tell me what to do.”
“You’re impossible,” Chris mutters under his breath. But he still holds you close, tracing soothing circles around your shoulder.
You both bask in the silence while he gives you a second to catch your breath. Once he hears your heart beat normally again, Chris asks, “Does it work right away?”
You hum with uncertainty, waving your hand to summon the book. It flies towards you then hovers over your faces. After flipping through the pages, it lands on the recipe for the elixir.
Chris tilts his eyes, brows furrowed in confusion. “Is this the right book?” he asks, as he skims through the paragraphs.
You flip the page, mumbling, “Yeah.”
There are only a few books in your personal library that Chris cannot read, having been written in an ancient language he has tried and failed to understand. However, as he stares longer at the page, Chris finds that he can read every word.
You gasp, sitting up. The book moves with you, hoving in front of you instead of on top of you now. Not that it even matters, since you grab the book from mid-air and pull it into your lap.
Chris sits up beside you. He brushes your hair off your shoulder and asks, “What’s wrong? Did we do it wrong?”
You bring a hand to your mouth as if you cannot believe what you’re reading. “We fucked up,” you whisper.
A smirk plays on his lips. “Does that mean we get to do this again?”
Setting the book down, you rub your face and choke back a chuckle. “No, I mean,” you start, turning to face him. “We really fucked up.”
Chris’s smile falters. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, gently running his hand up and down your bicep. “It’s alright, little witch. Take a breath,” he whispers, making sure to keep his voice light. “What happened?”
Your eyes shut, brows knotting, and lean into him. “There is a disclaimer at the end of every spell, recipe, ritual– Whatever it is, there is always a disclaimer that outlines the side effects or possible consequences to alterations.”
Chris nods, urging you to continue.
“The magic we were using is called sex magic. It usually uses the sexual energy created between the participating parties to harness power. In our case, we were only meant to use it to make you sun-proof, for lack of a better word.”
“I can think of three better words,” Chris can’t help but tease.
You fight off a smile, glaring at him. “Keep them to yourself,” you demand.
Chris pauses, wanting to tell you to behave but he can’t move his lips. His voice has diminished too, like his body is physically incapable of ordering you around.
Guilt flashes in your eyes. “When we had sex, with the elixir and spell tangled in the initial act of harvesting my blood, the purpose of the ritual shifted,” you continue, shoulders tensing. “It may have bound you to me.”
“What?” Chris asks, trying and failing not to sound annoyed. “What does that mean?”
“Witches often have familiars and demons are often serving creatures. They get summoned and must fulfil the summoner's request to be released. The spell has been documented to intertwine the two when more than the required act was performed,” you explain.
What about the crows , Chris wants to ask. He thought they held the role of a familiar.
You shake your head. “They’re more like co-inhibitors. It is their island afterall.”
Chris retracts his arm from you, setting his jaw. He knows he did not say that out loud so how the–
Shit, did I just read his mind?
Your voice is clear in his head. Blinking, Chris swallows thickly. “Is that normal?”
You hesitate. “I’ll look into it.”
“How could you have missed this?”
“I was a little busy trying to find all the ingredients,” you argue.
Chris deadpans. “ I found the ingredients,” he corrects.
You bite your lip, face crumbling with remorse. “I’m sorry, I–” you cut yourself off with a sigh then start again. “Honestly, I was too busy thinking about you eating me out. It’s why I made you go out and get those ingredients last night. I wanted the house to myself to just let out some of my–”
“Temptations?”
“ Frustrations ,” you correct with a playful glare. “I did not mean for this to happen.”
Chris sighs. He rubs his face and slumps back against your pillows.
This may not have been what he wanted, however while he wants to be upset, he cannot find it in him to be disappointed. You’re a great friend, a better lover and he’d be insane to reject you. The only real downside about this newfound connection is his inability to put you in your place. You tend to get a bit too cocky and mouth off when he lets one too many sassy comments slide.
“I don’t want this going to your head, little witch,” he warns, meeting your gaze again.
You try to hide that mischievous smile and not being able to correct it is already driving him crazy.
“No promises,” you tease. Leaning over him, you stroke his chest and add, “But you have permission to keep me in check whenever you please.”
Chris tongues his cheek. “You had to have known that I would hate the way you said that.”
Your little smile is enough confirmation.
Chris shoves you back into the bed with a gentle push of your shoulder. “You clearly haven’t had enough,” he murmurs, stationing himself between your legs again.
“But the elix–”
“To hell with the fucking elixir,” he growls. “I’ll be damned if I don’t fuck your mouth clean.”
The way you shiver at the sound of his voice arouses him all over again. Shifting off the bed, Chris stands at the edge and gestures for you to adjust yourself so your head is hanging off the mattress.
And with a simple tug of your chin, he’s determined to stay true to his words.
You eagerly oblige him.
note; please do not leave hate towards me or any other readers. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work.
#chantober 2024#bang chan smut#chan smut#stray kids smut#bang chan fanfic#bang chan x reader#chan fanfic#chan x reader#stray kids x reader
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pleaseee could you write an abby anderson x weather girl reader where they’re at the WLF base and abby catches reader staring at her hehehe
IM SORRY FOR TAKING 100 YEARS TO WRITE THIS AND THEN DELIVERING THIS MID ASS PIECE. i do hope you enjoy though i love you babe 😚😚
tags: abby anderson x reader, abby anderson x weather girl, EXHIBITIONISM, cunnilingus (r!receiving), fingering (r!receiving), kinda mean abby anderson? idk man, the whole WLF base is probably a lil traumatized
AN: thank you to @insanermin and @f3mme-f4tale for reviewing this for me i’m endlessly grateful for the two of you bless your beautiful souls. credits to my favorite girl for helping me come up with what to write for this request. i love youuuu
it was the crack of dawn, sun just barely peeking its way over the tops of WLF’s buildings, yet the heat was unbearable.
“83 fucking degrees Fahrenheit, jesus christ,” you muttered to yourself, checking the stationed thermometers posted around the perimeter.
the base was, for the most part, quiet. only few unlucky individuals working mindlessly at their respective morning assignments.
you strolled down your usual path, squinting at the streams of sunlight cast on the side of your face, dancing into your vision.
“hey weather girl,” a voice called from behind.
abby anderson. as if you even needed to turn around to recognize her unmistakable, raspy, teasing tone.
you whipped around, watching intently as abby bent out from under a stock-filled tent, arms filled.
“need some help?” you joked, stifling a giggle that arose when abby dipped abruptly to catch a bag of bait between her teeth.
what you wouldn’t give to be that bag of bait, you bit your lip, eyes trained on abby’s busy mouth.
hmphmpsh abby sarcastically laughed against the plastic, snapping you out of your dirty-minded haze and sending a flush across the back of your neck.
you meet her examining eyes, breath hitching as she squints slightly, a smirk etched into her gaze. embarrassed at the thought of her catching you, you open your mouth in attempt to sway the conversation— but she beats you to it, breaking the stare-down a beat later, spitting the bag out into a small pile on the wood deck.
god, you would let her spit bait into your mouth if she wanted.
“so what’re we at today? it’s gotta be at least 90 out,” abby wipes at her forehead, making small talk as she organizes the rest of the stock.
“try 83. though i wouldn’t be surprised if we do reach 90 once the sun is fully risen,” you reply, raising a hand to block some of pesky rays ruining your god-sent view.
“no fucking waaaay!” abby drags out, astounded. “we are definitely at 90 by now, do you see me? im drenched!”
so am i, you think to yourself.
“trust the expert. your body temperature’s just extra high from physical exertion. whoever put you on for outdoor stock at this hour has it out for you,” you comment, eyes dragging as abby lifts the bottom of her tank to wipe her face, revealing a rather impressive display of rock-solid abdominals.
you catch her gaze, this time her having an eyebrow raised, and immediately look away, the flush on your neck spreading to the tips of your ears. as hard as you tried not to stare, abby wasn’t doing much to help, especially not while decked out in a translucent white tank, black bra beneath a stark contrast, begging for your attention.
abby’s dark green cargos hugged her thighs deliciously, highlighting her thick, defined quads as she shifted about.
lifting a large sealed box of who knows what from one end of the deck to the other, she grunted under the weight, leaving your mind to wander yet again to a different sort of situation where you might find yourself blessed enough to hear that pretty sound.
“yeah, whatever- i’ll tru-trust the expert,” she breathes out, voice strained. strands of her blonde— almost golden in the sun— hair stuck to her face with sweat, which glistened perfectly on her skin, making abby look almost angelic as she crossed into the sun’s direct heat.
“yeah,” you exhaled, at a loss for words under the confines of her entrancing beauty. you stood there a second longer, before suddenly snapping out of your daze, clearing your throat. “i’m, uh, gonna head to the station, i think,” you stuttered, despite your usual propensity for word flow heard throughout the WLF base every morning.
“desperate to get rid of me?” abby faux gasps.
you sputtered at her accusation, “no-no, i-“
“shhhh-shhh, i know honey, i know,” she cuts you off, bitable lips curling up into a half-smirk.
traitorous feet already walking their way towards the radio station, you desperately try to recover from your embarrassment, tripping over your words, “i-you, uh,” you try.
abby twists her head over her shoulder in your direction, cocking it in a way that makes your heart twist in your chest and a pulse thrum between your thighs.
“you can come!” you blurt without a second thought. “with me— i mean, to the station,” you add, trying to clarify.
faced with an jaw-dropped confused-yet beautiful abby anderson, you continue rambling, “it’s indoors! i mean obviously, because of the, um, radio equipment, but you know, you’re probably hot— well you are, but- shit- that’s not what i-“
“okay, okay, okay,” abby bursts out chuckling, which you’d enjoy a whole lot more if it weren’t at your sake, “you don’t have to convince me, sweetheart, i’m already there,” she holds her hands up in surrender.
your heart skips a beat at the nickname, brain racing at a million miles per hour when you catch the sight of abby’s built frame sauntering it’s way over to you, small towel slung lazily over one shoulder, braid swaying slightly with every step.
you swallow harshly at her approach, turning promptly around to lead the way in a brisk pace.
abby laughs to herself as she follows, “aw, don’t run, i want to see your pretty face.”
your face heats at the compliment, before proceeding to flush a nuclear red at another comment she mutters haphazardly under her breath, “though i’m not complaining about my view from here.”
she half jogs to catch up with you, though your supposed speed-walk is no competition for what she’d consider a stroll with her long limbs.
you see her looking-no, ravishing- your figure out the corner of your eye, her tongue pressed to the side of her cheek, as you silently yell at your cheeks to cool themselves down.
your eyes can’t seem to deny themselves such an appeasing view, though, darting to the side to steal a glance at abby’s translucent tank, and your attraction is clear, at least to abby.
“want something, honey?”
you cough in response, choking on the saliva you didn’t even notice gather as a physical response to abby’s presence (me), as the two of you, thankfully, arrive at the station at last.
“ladies first,” you joke, swinging the door open with the backwards weight of your body.
“such a gentlemen,” abby quips back, winking at you as she strolls through the opening.
the pair of you let out a collective sigh at the blast of cold air blowing softly from the studio. it’s a vacant space, but the constant flow of electricity needed to notify the base in the face of an emergency allows it to stay up and running.
you make a beeline to your set-up area, tangled wires running along every side of the desks, hooked up to all sorts of peculiar devices: microphones, barometers, fancy thermometers. abby finds herself surprisingly impressed by the sophisticated knickknacks you mindlessly twist and turn to read, as if flipping through a toddler-level picture book.
“where’d you learn how to work all of this?” she asks.
“stole some books off an old lab,” you reply, shooting her a shy smile, “like to read, i s’ppose.”
across the room, abby rests her elbows on the table behind her, crossing her legs and letting her head drop to one side. “smart girl,” she praises, cheeky smile slipping onto her face.
you bite the fat of your cheek, holding back a grin of your own before turning back to finish jotting down the day’s data into a tattered mini notepad.
you grab a sleek broadcasting mic off one of your shelves, shoving some of the wires aside on the main desk to make room for it to rest, before hooking one of the tinier cables into the mic, and twisting around to find an audio interface to plug the other end into.
“what am i doing here?” abby says all of a sudden, breaking your hustling focus.
you freeze, letting the cable drop as you look down. “i don’t know.”
abby pauses. “let me rephrase,” she strolls over, positioning herself lush behind you. she runs her arms down the sides of your arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake in spite of it being blisteringly hot out.
“what do you want me to do here?” she rasps by your ear, your head subsequently tilting to feel the heat of her breath on your neck.
“i-i don’t kn-“
“yes you do. just like i know exactly the mess i’ll find under these itty bitty shorts of yours.” she whispers, “you’re a terrible liar, sweetheart.”
a whimper slips out from your lips, head rolling back onto abby’s shoulder as you meet her sharp eyes with your pleading ones. your legs cross, squeezing shut, humiliated by the arousal that had gathered in reaction to, what, a 5 minute conversation with her? how pathetic.
“don’t think i didn’t notice your ogling earlier,” she continues, tracing her big hands lighting across your stomach, feeling your skin rise and fall with your increasingly rapid breaths. “your eyes give you away. i know what’s going on in that pretty little mind up there.”
your lips part as you roll your head further, almost completing a circle. the way you’re faced, you’re breathing desperate huffs directly into abby’s own mouth. she grazes a hand up between your two breasts, hard and pointed from a combination of the room’s dropped temperature and your arousal, then sliding her grip gently around your neck, holding your face close in place.
“you think you can get away with those slutty thoughts of yours? makin’ everyone think you’re such a good innocent girl, but no, you’re just a fucking whore aren’t you? isn’t that right, pretty?” she presses, tsking at your averting gaze.
“eyes on me, honey. you can’t hide. tell me what you really what,” she says into your mouth, lips just barely brushing over your own, the fucking tease.
you pant, eyes glued to her tempting mouth, desperate to close the distance. but you’ve got a job to do, and what’s fun without a bit of teasing? she deserves a taste of her own medicine, the bitch.
“what i really want…” you whisper back, “is to tell the base how fucking hot it is today,” you say at a normal volume, pushing off her back, and finally plugging the mic into the audio interface.
“duty calls!” you joke, trying to calm your racing heart and ignore the dampness between your legs. you hook the final plug into the wall, hearing a whirring that lets you know everything’s ready to go, before stealing a quick glance at abby to see how she’s taking your unexpected change of demeanor.
abby stands frozen in place, mouth gaping, but tweaked into an almost-smile, evidently shocked. your stomach flutters at the hungry look in her green, now nearly black, pupils, roguish thoughts brewing.
you bring a hand to your heart, dropping your jaw to match hers as you shoot a mocking who me? look in her direction paired with a shrug. winking, you turn back to your morning duties and take a seat, tuning in the frequency.
a click of a switch, an automated voice, and that’s all there really is to it. you’re live.
and your heart’s pounding out of your chest.
and though you’re usually hit with the slightest bit of anxiety over the idea of being listened to by every single individual on the very base, that’s not what you’re thinking about. well, not exactly.
“good morning, WLF!” you chirp, standard lines slipping off your tongue with ease, “hope you all had a great night’s rest! i know i sure did. today is august 2nd, 2038, and boy, you guys in for a sweat today! let’s check in with sophie and see what she has to say— sophie, you’re on!”
shaking out a breath, you click a button to tune in a livestream from the second weather station across the base, sophie’s station.
“hey girl, what’s up?” sophie’s cherry voice comes crackling through.
“the usual. wanna tell us how things have been looking on your end?”
“you betcha! good morning WLF, you heard it from our girl yourselves, it is goddamn hot out! my readings say that…” sophie continues, rattling off her collected data in a long, number-filled ramble.
you tune out, waiting for your cue to list your end’s data as you bounce your leg mindlessly up and down.
“oh you’ve really got everyone fooled, huh?” abby drawls behind you. you jump, temporarily forgetting her presence in the midst of your reporting.
you swivel your chair around to her, smiling cheekily as you press a finger to her lips in silence’s universal sign.
oh? abby mouths. we’re still live? she asks.
you nod your head slowly.
“then you’re gonna have to keep quiet for me sweetheart,” she leans in to whisper at a decibel just barely above zero. “unless you want everyone on base to know how much of a slut you are,” she adds, dropping to her knees before you.
“what are you-?!” you whisper hastily, stopping yourself to mutter lowly, “i’m the slut? look who’s on their fucking knees in a fucking radio station.”
she presses a chaste kiss to your thigh, smiling and shhhhing against your skin, mumbling, “shut up and focus. the base depends on you.”
with even just the lightest brush of abby’s buff frame against your knees, your legs fall open, beckoning her between them.
invisible hands to pulling her into your trap.
“abby,” is all you can get out, panting in need of her touch.
“focus, baby.”
she pulls your shorts and underwear down to the floor with a swift tug, smirk haughty as faced with your dripping mess.
“knew it,” she mouths, looking up devilishly at you. keeping your eyes trapped in her hypnotic gaze, she leans in slowly, tongue out, to catch your weeping pussy in a french kiss.
“fuck,” you breathe out, thighs trembling in resistance to clamp her head between them only just to keep her tongue against you.
she makes out sloppily with your folds, hands gripping your waist tightly to lock your body in place, pressing you firm against the chair despite your incessant squirming.
the point of her tongue traces down in a tease, slipping just barely into your pulsing hole to steal a taste of freshly dripped slick, before running it back upwards to firmly press into your neglected clit.
“ah!” you hiss, head thrown to the ceiling as your nails dig into the arms of the chair, hips attempting to buck further into abby’s warm mouth.
“you there, station one? i think the connection’s a bit warbly today,” a crackly voice interrupts your mind fog.
shit. sophie must’ve finished her report by now. you situate yourself up as best as you can— seeing as how abby won’t let go of your hips, or move away for that matter.
“hey sophie, yes i’m here! sorry ‘bout that, i-uh, yeah. there must be something up with the frequency today,” you sputter out.
“no worries! why don’t you go ahead and share your mornings data with us?” she laughs back.
“yeah, yeah, so my rea-fuck-“
you sharply take in a breath, sucking in your teeth. you look down. god, if that isn’t the hottest sight you’ve ever seen.
abby’s looking up through her eyelashes, your arousal smeared across the bottom half of her face, dripping to her chin. she dashes out a tongue to catch the corner of her mouth, smirk wolfish from her mischievous actions. she lifts an eyebrow, matching your prior who me? mock, as if she didn’t just set every nerve ending of your clit alight.
and while you could be absolutely furious with her for fucking with you on live, all you want from her is more.
“everything alright, station 1?”
you jump. “i-sorry- just, uh banged my knee up.” you mean to shoot a scolding look at abby, but just wound it up to be embarrassingly pleading.
she pouts sarcastically, and without breaking eye contact she bows in again to capture your puffy clit between her lips, sucking softly while flicking her tongue over and over again. it’s downright sinful.
“oh!” you whine, right hand darting to tug at abby’s braid, keeping her moving face moving against the place you need her most.
“um, station 1, i can take over if you’d like?”
your face flames. caught up in abby’s dizzying ministrations, your body’s screaming to say yes. yes, as in, yes sophie please fucking take over. and yes, as in, yes abby right there.
and you almost do, say yes to the first one, i mean. but a stinging pinch from abby tips you the other way.
“i, shit, sorry- i mean, yeah, sorry. sorry kids! don’t listen to me!” you babble, eyebrows scrunched and hips still grinding.
abby continues to torture your clit: her warm, wet tongue lapping up every last drop of your slick and pressing it rhythmically against that swollen button. your cunt tightens around nothing, desperate for something, anything, to fill ‘er up.
shit, you mutter to yourself, thrumming pussy impossible to ignore. “the temp-ah-temperature o-on my end read 83 degrees on my e-enndd-god,” you carry on, breathless, “ahem. we’re looking at clear, s-sunny skies all day, so be sure to wear some sort of- mmph- heat protectant,” you finish off your sentence sounding quite a bit more like a pornstar doing a dirty beach-scene than intended, but you can’t bring yourself to care.
“give me one, uh, one sec-cond to double check the read- readings,” you stumble out quickly.
“no problem! while we wait on our girl, WLF, i’ll tell you about what last minute assignments we still need people for, so listen up…” sophie entertains.
“abby,” you whine, covering the mic with your free hand in attempt to muffle your sounds. you can barely form a sentence with the way her nose nudges your clit while her tongue runs zig zags along your folds.
“i know,” she cooes, chucking, “keep it down, you’re on live.”
you silently will yourself not to cry out when abby stretches your legs further apart, shaking her head left and right to stimulate every crevice of your weeping cunt. back arching off the chair, you whimper out a strangled noise, “i cant, i cant, i cant” you chant.
abby’s drags turn to kisses, watching your legs tremble with an endearing gaze as she makes her way up your stomach and to your face. pressing a kiss against your cheek, then your nose, and alas, your parted lips, she whispers, “this is what you wanted, wasn’t it? so shut up and be good for me, yeah baby?”
you nod feverishly, heavy-lidded and staring intoxicated as abby bites bruises into your neck, only to soothe it a moment later with a flat-striped lick of her tongue.
“mmm god, abby, i need you,” you practically slur out, moaning her name like a ritual.
“you’ve got me,” is all she says. her calloused hand slides up from the bottom of your shirt, squeezing your breast harshly, as if she can’t get enough, needing to completely ravish you.
“here, abby, need you here,” you groan, emphasizing it with the buck of your hips.
“alright, alright,” she shushes you with a kiss, hand sliding back down to cup your heat gently, feeling your desperation. “right here, huh? you aching for it, sweetheart?”
your only response is to catch her lips in a needy kiss, tongue pushing into her mouth, eager to taste yourself on abby.
hmmph abby groans against your lips, fingers dipping shallowly into your coated hole.
“you can scream my name as loud as you want once you finish your report.“
“but-“
“you don’t want to let the base down, do you? how else are we supposed to know how dripping hot it’s gonna be out today?” she murmurs, emphasizing her words with a push of her thick fingers deeper into you.
your eyebrows scrunch, vision dizzy with need as you look up at the sight before you. a pretty pink hue glazing her sun kissed cheeks, abby tilts her head, finding delight in your struggle to come back to reality.
“c’mon, honey, you got it,” she purrs, running a hand to push the hair away from your face.
you narrow your eyes, pushing majority of the fog to a corner of your mind and uncovering your shaky hand from off the mic.
“sorry about that, folks,” you shakily speak up, “-and thanks soph. i’ll be out of your hair in just a second. as for today, we seem to be getting a light breeze coming in from the east at about 8 miles per hour, so it might hopefully provide a little bit of relief from the heat.”
in the meanwhile, abby hoists your figure up off the chair, shorts and panties still hooked askew around one of your ankles. a hitch in your voice signals your end’s confusion, but you continue on regardless, slave to abby’s actions.
she pushes your torso over slightly, having you put most of your weight on the desk as you hover over your mic, hair flicked over one shoulder.
“as for the air quality, it’s testing to be relatively clear. the spores don’t seem to be getting passed over by the wind, so no need to worry with the masks today! i’ll check in in the afternoon to see if that’s cha- nhghh,” you jolt forward, voice breaking and hips hitting the table as abby thrusts two fingers tightly into your heat from behind, twisting them to reach that ridged, aching spot.
“-changed,” you correct, exhaling sharply. your eyes roll involuntarily as abby picks up her pace, curling her fingers on every outstroke, other hand delivering languid circles to your puffy clit. you can feel the burn of her stare down your spine, head turning over your shoulder briefly to confirm, and catching sight of the two of you in the mirror on the back wall.
your flushed face, rumpled top, and trembling, kiltered, bent over position contrasted with abby’s working muscles as she stood strongly gripping your waist was a sight to behold.
“what would you do if i made you scream for me right now?” abby breathes out, grunting. “should we let the base know how much of a slut you are for me?” she asks, “fuck your special spot real good in front of everyone? right here?” she punctuates with a downright sinful massage against your g-spot.
she huffs out a quiet laugh when you rush to stifle a whimper against your forearm.
“nah, i think i’ll keep you for myself,” she says, tugging you by your hair to hiss “you’re mine.”
your legs nearly collapse right on the spot.
“like that, huh? now be good for me baby. you can take it,” she says lowly by your ear, fisting your hair back even more to take in your disheveled state before shoving your head down nose to nose with the mic.
you grip onto the stand in attempt to ground yourself. fucking abby.
“for now you sh-should be okay withou-ooout a mask on hand t-though,” you stumble through your words, racing to finish the report. “our trusty barom-meter indicates stable conditions— so i g-guess that means the- mmph- the world isn’t gonna expl-plode today?”
you fall to your forearms, losing balance with the aggressiveness of abby’s thrusts, walls clinging to her fingers, as if not to let a second by without her magic touch. abby kicks a leg between your two, sliding one to the side to spread you further before her as she slips a third finger in easily. your lips parts in a silent scream, hand racing to stuff it’s knuckle in your mouth to bite down on.
nails digging into the table, and mind begging forgiveness from god for all the fucking sin you’re committing, you speed
through a shitty conclusion, “overall, it’s a g-great day to sweat. that’s all i’ve got for you to-today. stay safe, stay cool, and enjoy the sun! bye!”
you rip the cord out of the audio interface before you can get the entirety of your final word out, loud moans borderline pornographic from being held back for so long.
“aw, you didn’t enjoy having an audience?” abby teases, fingers speeding up to coax more of your sounds out.
“fuck you, abby,” you gasp out, collapsing face-against-the-desk in pleasure.
“it’s okay, honey, your drenched pussy answers my question— i mean, look at you dripping right down my fingers,” she rasps, pinching your clit meanly.
god, you wanted to shove her fucking face into your cunt. at least that would get her to shut up.
“abby, i’m gonna-!” you cry, knees threatening to buckle.
“show me, pretty girl. fucking come all over my hand,” she spreads your sticky folds with a spare finger, swiping at the edges to effectively stimulate every part of your core.
you buck your hips back with every thrust, desperate to finish as you scream abby’s name like it’s the only word you know.
“fuck,” abby curses under her breath, arm curling around your front to hold your crumbling body up, hands busy bringing you to heaven. she wanted to live in this moment.
“ah- god, abs!” you weep, forehead digging into cables as you shudder in ecstasy, cum dribbling out of your overworked pussy, coating abby’s hands in your mess.
“god, abs,” you repeat between gasps, slowly regaining your vision back as abby lifts you up to lean your sweating figure against her matching one.
“so much for escaping the heat, huh?”
~ man oh man i tried guys. hope this satiated your weather girl needs ;)
#wlw#lesbian#tlou#tlou2#the last of us#smut#abby anderson#abby anderson smut#exhibition kink#abby anderson fic#abby anderson the last of us 2#abby anderson x reader#abby anderson tlou2#abby smut#abby anderson fan fiction#exhibitionist abby anderson#ellie williams#ellie tlou#ellie williams smut#abby x you#abby the last of us#abby anderson headcanons#abby tlou#abby x reader#abby anderson is so mf fine#abby anderson x weather girl#request#abby anderson request#seraphicsentencesrequests
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♡The Trickster's Treasure - Felix
MINORS DNI 18+ONLY MEMBERSHIP//M.LIST
pairing: pixie! Felix x afab! reader
summary: In a mystical forest, you venture deeper than usual, drawn by enchanting sounds. Unbeknownst to you, a mischievous pixie observes you from the branches above. He delights in playing tricks, creating illusions and leading you astray with mirages of shimmering paths but soon you become lost...
warnings: hallucinations, mild panic attack, Felix is a little troublemaker
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long, dancing shadows through the forest, your feet were starting to grow weary. You tilted your head up to the canopy of trees and tried to remember how you ended up here in the first place. Look high and look low, will you find me or find madness? You'll never know!
A small, taunting voice reverberated through the forest. Music. Music had been what drew you to these woods. Some kind of mystical, fantastical melody.
But now the melody has ceased and you were left with only the sounds of the forest. As nightfall consumed the flora and fauna, the once welcoming wood had suddenly taken on a very sinister appearance. Where once sunlight filtered through the leaves and illuminated the forest floor, now moonlight drenched the hardened oak trees and jagged rocks that lined your path.
Suddenly, a darkened underbrush opened up and cleared the way to a small path.
This way! Go this way!
That voice again. A playful, mischievous little voice that seemed to come from all directions. You looked around to find no other path available. Against your better judgment, you decided to listen to this mystery voice and walk down the small path.
As you walked, a new melody started up. A soft, inviting sound of harpsichord and piano keys. But where was it coming from? You quickened your pace down the small trail and the music seemed to grow louder. Slowly, your footsteps hastened to a run as the music intensified. Louder and louder it grew. Your ears pounded with the sound but your feet continued onward, determined to find the source of the sound. You covered your ears from the volume when, without warning, it stopped.
Silence. Nothing but silence all around you. Not even the sound of leaves crunching or birds chirping anymore. An ear-splitting silence that filled your eardrums worse than the music you had been following.
“Hello?! Can anyone hear me?!” You shouted. At least, you hoped you were shouting. You fell to your knees, your hands still covering your ears.
Tears started to coat your eyes as your mind raced with all the possibilities of what your life could be now. You couldn't even remember how you got here. What if a witch has cursed you? Your mother had always warned you about witch's curses. About the music they would play at night to lure small children into the forest to eat them. But you weren't a child anymore. What if you fell and hit your head? You could be dreaming now. But your body aches from running. And your arms were scraped up from tree branches. What if the whole world was silent now? What if you had fallen into a horrible, other-worldly dimension filled with unspeakable horribles that you could never escape from-
Yay! That was fun!
You shook yourself out of your spiral and turned your head to find a small, winged creature resting on your shoulder. He giggled playfully as he floated up in front of your eyesight. Your eyes widened slightly as you took in the sight of his wings, their delicate iridescence shimmering in the forest moonlight. You reach out a hand slowly, as if approaching a skittish animal.
“What are you…?”
You kept your hand out in front of him and he perched himself on your index finger. He smiled and tilted his head, seemingly surprised that you didn't know what he was.
“Tell you what, if you play another game with me then I'll tell you what I am.” His grin quickly turned prankish.
“Another game?” Your face twisted with disgust. “I'm just trying to find my way back home.”
The small creature sighed softly, swinging his legs back and forth on your index finger. “Well, that's no fun! You can't go home yet! We were just getting started!” He giggled louder now.
“Don't you remember when I changed the direction of those paths? And you went in circles for hours? So funny!”
Your face turned beet red, your patience now running thin at the sight of this tiny creature and his games.
“That was you?!” You shouted. “Why would you do that?!”
The pint-sized creature held his stomach and laughed heartily. He pointed one finger and continued to giggle and guffaw at your expense, nearly falling off of your finger. Your patience now fraying at the edges, you shook your hand and brushed the tiny man off your finger.
“I'm leaving!” You yelled, stomping your foot for emphasis.
The creature suddenly ceased his laughter and flew close to your face. “Wait!” He waved his tiny arms rapidly. “I'm sorry! Don't go! It's been so long since I had someone to play with!” His eyes were round and pleading. “Just one more game! And I'll show you the way home, oh please!” He pressed his tiny hands together and begged.
You let out a deep, defeated sigh. It was not as though you had much choice but to trust him. There was no way you could find the path towards home on your own. You gave the miniscule creature a firm nod, holding your index finger up.
“First, you tell me your name and what you are. Then we can play a game. Deal?”
“Deal!” He fluttered around your face excitedly. His little wings flapping and vibrating with anticipation. “I'm a pixie!” He said proudly, puffing out his chest as he spoke. “And my name is Felix!”
Your eyes grew large as the realization of your situation sunk in. Faeries and pixies were among the many stories that your mother had told you. You just never thought they would be this much… trouble.
“Alright, Felix. What game shall we play?”
Felix thought for a moment, stroking his chin in deep thought. Then his face split into a devious smile.
“Hide and Seek! You count and I'll hide! Ready?”
You hadn't played hide and seek since you were a child. With work and taking care of your family, there never really was time for games anymore. A smile surprisingly appeared on your lips as you agreed to count while Felix flew off to hide. You start counting, your voice steady despite the urge to rush through the numbers. One… two... three... four... five... six... seven... eight... nine... TEN! You open your eyes and scan the area, searching for any sign of the tiny pixie. You tilt your head back once more, squinting up at the canopy above, searching for any movement among the leaves. You then crouch down, examining the undergrowth and behind logs, your voice growing more playful with each failed attempt.
“Not under here... not behind this bush…” You were actually having fun. You couldn't believe it, you could hardly recognize the sound of your own laughter tumbling out from beneath your own chest.
Felix’s laughter once again echoed through the forest. The sound of his jovial giggling bouncing and ricocheting off every branch and fallen log.
You'll never catch me!
Suddenly you stop dead in your tracks. You feel the stillness of the woods again but this time you are not afraid. Instead you reach your hand back to your left shoulder. You slowly reach back, gently grasping Felix in your large hand. “Ah-ha!” You bring him down to eye level, a victorious grin spreading across your face. “Gotcha!”
Felix laughs playfully once more. His excited squeals make you laugh loudly as well. The sounds mingle together in a perfect childlike harmony that you had forgotten was possible.
“I'll show you the way home now, human. But promise you'll come back to visit me? You're fun to play with!”
You opened your hand and watched Felix flutter from your palm and hover in front of your nose. You smiled and agreed to come back soon. As long as he doesn't trick you again.
“I promise!” Felix answered quickly, his fingers crossed behind his back.
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Washing His Car (Logan)
gif sent in by @groovy-lady a few days ago or so when i'd ask for y'all to send gifs to me.
Summary: Logan watches as you wash his car.
Warnings: playful logan
WC: 590ish
Read on Ao3!
--
The midday sun hung high in the sky, casting a golden glow over everything it touched. Logan leaned back in his chair on the front porch, a cold beer in hand, eyes half-closed as he took in the peaceful afternoon. Well, it had been peaceful—until he glanced over at his car.
There you were, sponge in hand, leaning over the hood of his beloved ride, scrubbing away with dedication. Nothing out of the ordinary, except for one thing. You were wearing his old, cut-up shirt, barely hanging on by a thread, and the tiniest pair of Daisy Dukes he’d ever seen.
Logan raised an eyebrow, amusement curling the corner of his lips. He set the beer down on the small table beside him, arms crossing over his chest as he leaned forward just a little. What the hell is she up to?
You seemed oblivious to his gaze, lost in your task. The water from the bucket was cold, sending shivers up your spine, but you didn’t care. You wrung out the sponge over the windshield, water dripping down in steady rivulets that sparkled in the sun. Logan’s car deserved to look its best, and so did you, apparently.
You straightened, stretching your arms above your head, letting out a sigh of satisfaction. It wasn’t lost on Logan how the hem of his shirt rode up, revealing more of the curve of your waist. He chuckled under his breath, shaking his head as he stood up and made his way over.
“Doin’ a real thorough job, aren’t ya?” His voice was a deep rumble, full of dry humor.
You jumped slightly, spinning around to face him, eyes wide with mock innocence. “Oh! Didn’t see you there.”
“Sure you didn’t,” he replied, smirking, eyes drifting to your makeshift outfit. “Is that my shirt?”
“Used to be,” you teased, tossing the sponge back into the bucket. “It’s got a lot more character now.”
He cocked his head to the side, taking in the sight of you standing there, the sunlight catching on droplets of water clinging to your skin. “And the shorts? What’s your excuse for those?”
You shrugged with a grin. “What? Too much?”
Logan shook his head, stepping closer, his amusement clear. “Nah. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were tryin’ to mess with me.”
A slow smile spread across your lips. “Maybe I am.”
He raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms again. “Well, good luck with that, darlin’.” His tone was gruff, but the amusement dancing in his eyes said otherwise. Logan reached out, wiping a stray droplet of water from your cheek with his thumb. “Looks like you missed a spot.”
Your grin widened as you turned back to the car, grabbing the hose this time. “Oh, I’m not done yet.”
With a playful glint in your eyes, you squeezed the nozzle, and a jet of water sprayed across the windshield. Unfortunately (or maybe not so unfortunately), the spray ricocheted off the car, catching Logan in its path.
Logan stood there, drenched, his expression unchanging for a moment as water dripped from his hair and beard. He looked down at his soaked clothes, then back up at you, arching a brow. “Really?”
You couldn’t contain your laughter, doubling over as you tried to explain. “It—it was an accident!”
“Uh-huh,” he drawled, eyes narrowing.
Before you could react, Logan reached out, grabbing the hose from your hand and giving it a sharp twist. The next thing you knew, the water was aimed right at you, soaking you from head to toe. You shrieked, but the laughter bubbled up again as the cold water hit you.
“Now we’re even,” Logan said, that smirk firmly back on his face as he tossed the hose aside.
You shook your head, wiping water from your eyes. “You really are the best at revenge, you know that?”
He shrugged, stepping closer until he was standing right in front of you. “What can I say? You bring it outta me.” Logan’s eyes lingered on you for a moment before he gave a low chuckle. “You’re a piece of work, you know that?”
“And you love it,” you quipped, leaning into him.
He didn’t deny it, just let out a soft grunt, pulling you closer. “Yeah, yeah. Now c’mon, let’s get inside before you catch a cold.”
“Wait, the car—”
“The car can wait,” he muttered, rolling his eyes as he tugged you toward the door, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “And so can the shorts.”
#logan x reader#worst!logan x reader#worst!wolverine#worst!logan howlett#logan x you#logan howlett#logan howlet x reader
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Amidst the shoreline.
Luffy x Female Mermaid Reader Imagine.
Ending off the summer season with three imagines! I had watched Strong World and I noticed the different islands the monster trio were in before they went into the village.
I’m writing three imagines where reader is a different breed of monster (due to the mutations in the story Y’know?) These are also the last imagines before I continue tending to one more valentine mini and the one sentence stories.
Contains: Writing has a literal slight bit of first person (in Luffy’s perspective) and mostly second person. Reader is a shark mermaid. Reader helping Luffy catch food. Sex on the shore. Fingering. Pussy eating. Gear second. Luffy saying goodbye to Reader afterwards.
“Mmgh…”
Warm soft grains nestled underneath Luffy’s body as he lied there in the hot sun, his body dreadfully rising out of consciousness as he slowly opened his eyes.
So bright. Too bright.
He slowly sat up with a heavy groan and he reached his hand up to block the sunlight from his face while from his vision while his other hand rubbed at his eyes. His eyes slowly skimmed around and he realized that he was along the soft sand of a beautiful beach. The trees of the jungle rustled behind him and a salty sea breeze flew within his hair, causing him to hold his hats still on his head.
I must’ve fell asleep, where am I? God, I have a fuckin’ headache, that fall musta really hurt m’ass. I gotta get back up, ev’ryone must be lookin’ ‘round for each other…
A heavy groan left his lips as he steadily stood up from the soft sands, his body feeling rather exhausted yet dizzy from the fall. He looks down and out along the shore but his eyes froze as they landed on a pair of slitted-pupils staring back at him.
His body immediately tensed up and he shifts just a bit before standing there blankly as he readied himself for whatever was about to come out of the salty water.
You slowly poked your head out and placed your forearms against the dampened grains of sand on the shore before lifting yourself up out of the water, your upper body soaking yet revealing your breasts which was covered by a hand-crafted sea-shell bra.
Luffy eyes softens and he slowly loosened up at the sight of you, his body ploping back down onto the scorching sands while he watched you struggle to crawl out of the salty sea-water.
As Luffy studied your appearance, his brows raise in surprise as he notices a grey fin slowly rising up behind your drenched frame.
Shit! There’s a shark right behind’ ‘er!
“O-OI! BEHIN’ YA!” He shouts out loudly to you as his body unconsciously shot up from the uneven sands before quickly began rushing over to you.
His steps were very unbalanced along the sand as he ran to you, his breaths heavy as he grew worried that there was a shark or any sea monster behind you. You raised your head at his sudden yelling and tilted it in question as you finally come out of the water fully, pulling the rest of your entire body out while your tail flapped about as you did.
Luffy suddenly stopped and trips over his feet, the sand causing him to slip and fall face first into the sand. You stared at him and watched as he pulled his head up from the sand, a few sickening whines leaving him as he spat out sand from his lips and rubbed at his face. You giggled at him which causes him to look up at you and sit there in place.
“O-Oi…You…You are-“
“You’re not from around here…are you?” You asked him, giving him a softening smile while you crawl over to him with your elbows and hands. Sand began to stick to your soaking skin as you scooted up to him, his face blank as he stared and watched you move in closer to him.
He stared down at you for a moment before giving you a bright smile, his eyes occasionally glancing at your lower shark-like body.
“M’not from ‘ere. I fell from th’sky…after m’crew…Nami!” He yells out and looks up at the sky, his body suddenly shooting up from the sand before he stood there and stared up at the sky for a slight moment. You quirk a brow out of curiosity and watched as he waved to you and turned away.
“Ion have time t’talk! I gotta go find Nami-“
Before he’d continue, his body suddenly froze and he groans out irritably as his stomach began to growl. You perk up at the sound of his stomach growling and sat up a bit, sitting up straight while you watched as he began rubbing his stomach. “Are you hungry?” You asked him, your smile slowly coming back across your pretty face while Luffy slowly turned back over to you. A heavy sight left his lips as he stuck his tongue out in exhaustion and nodded.
“Y-Yeah…I haven’ ate in a minute…an’ that fall really got me beat…” He expressed, his voice sounding as if he was running out of energy and falling exhausted. “Ya have anythin’ t’eat? Anythin’ I can munch on?” He asked you, walking over to you before he sat down close to you. You pressed a finger to your chin before humming out, your mind flipping through a few ways you could find food for him.
“I could go back to sea and find something, but I need help getting back to the shore..” You pouted to him, cursing yourself for crawling out so far out away from the shore.
Luffy smiled before standing up, his arms slipping underneath your lighter aquatic frame. A little squeak spills from your lips as you watched him slwoly lift your body up within his arms, surprised that he could carry much of your body in his arms.
“Ah!”
“‘Ere, I’ll help ya!”
A slight blush dusted your cheeks as you felt his strong arms and hands carry you up over the sand, your arms slowly wrapping around his neck as he carried you over to the shore.
As he grew closer to the shore, he slowly kicked off his sandals before setting foot into the cool sea water. He walked in a little deeper and felt himself beginning to grow weaker, a heavy yet shaky sigh leaving his lips as he felt himself losing his balance.
Luffy crouches down into the water and sets you down softly into the waves, allowing you to swim freely back into the ocean. Luffy falls back into the salty water and sticks his tongue out in exhaustion, the water making him extremely fatigued as he rested along the waves. You look back over to him and give him a worried look before swimming back.
“I-I’ll go find you something as quick as I can okay?” You yelled to him before sinking deep into the ocean.
…
Luffy had waited for only a moment and it didn’t even take you that long to bring back food for him. You had came back with a large fish in your arms, a heavy huff leaving your lips as you threw into the air before it fell onto the sands.
“I found something! Are you alright?” You asked, noticing that he was still lying there within the water. Luffy huffs out and slowly crawls out of the water before looking over to the fish you caught for him, his eyes widening as he noticed how large it really was. His body immediately perks up as he ran over to the fish, staring at it as it lied there dead on the shore.
“Woah! This thing is fuckin’ huge! Nice catch!” He praised to you, his words causing your face to turn a deep shade of red while you chuckled nervously. You smiled and watched as he began looking for materials to start a fire, your mind now fascinated with this peculiar human before you.
…
“Mmh! Fuck this is so good!~ Ya chose a really good fish gal!” Luffy hummed with delight as his mouth went chomping away at the grilled fish while you watched him eat to his heart’s content. He slowly looks up at you sitting on the shoreline and noticed that you were looking rather nervous or uncomfortable even.
Luffy quirks a brow as he swallowed his last bite of fish, his hands throwing down the bones he cleaned as he tilted his head to you.
“Oi…Everythin’ okay? Ya should be eatin’ too!…” He asked, walking over to you while you jump at his voice.
You looked away nervously before turning away from him fully, not wanting him to look at you while you sat there on the shore. He makes his way over to you and sits down onto the sand in front of you, giving you a soft smile while you whimper out to him.
“Ya okay?” He asked, his hand reaching out to touch your shoulder. You flinched back and he stops and stares at you blankly before moving his hand away. “I-I’m…I’m fine.” You responded to him, a heavy sigh leaving you as you grew all squirmy and unable to sit still. He lets out a soft chuckle to you and crossed his legs, his eyes focusing on your flustered figure while you sat there in silence.
“Thank ya for th’food. I woulda had t’go huntin’ hungry if ya won’t ‘round. M’name’s Luffy.” He finally introduced himself, his beaming smile spreading across his face as he winks to you.
You whimpered shakily but smiled nervously to him. “I-I’m ________…” You introduced yourself, your body scooting in closer to him while he smiled back. “Well, what’s wrong? Ya look like ya scared ‘bout somethin’…Did somethin’ happen?” He asked you, his body scooting into the shore and over beside you. You look over to him before looking back away nervously, a hum leaving your lips as he stared at you with his derpy blank expression.
“L-Luffy…May you repay me for getting you food?” You asked, the question causing Luffy to fall silent before he’d move in closer.
“Eh?”
“I know w-we’ve only just met but…” You trailed off and Luffy tilted his head with a curious hum leaving him before he smiled all mischievously. “Ya wan’ me t’return th’favor yeah? What is it that ya wan’ me t’do?” He asked, pressing his hands against your shoulders while you whimpered in response.
“Y-Yeah…C-Can you…M-May you…Um…” You struggled to get your sentence out and Luffy stared into your eyes before moving in closer to you, his body inching in to the point where his chest was up against yours.
“Ya wan’ me t’do somethin’ t’ya…don’cha?~ I can return th’favor since ya fed me~ Shishishi~” He snickered to you, his hands up running up against your sides which causes you to gasp out suddenly yet shakily. You shut your eyes softly but nodded in response, a whine leaving you as you felt his hands trailing up along your skin.
“P-Please Luffy…I-It’s a long time…since…since I’ve been touched…”
“Ya wan’ me t’touch ya?~ Or maybe even more than that as a little reward yeah?~”
“Y-Yes please…L-Luffy~” You pleaded to him shakily, watched as his hands trailed down along the upper side of your tail.
Luffy began peppering smooches against your salty skin, your voice unconsciously leaving your throat as you felt his semi-chapped lips smooch along your body. “Mind if I pull this offa ya?~” He asked you, his hands playing at your sea-shell bra while you hum out in response. You nodded and he smiles before giggling to himself, his fingers slowly slipping your bra off and revealing your breasts to him. He begins running his tongue along your breasts before he suckled at your softened buds, humming out while you let out angelic moans.
You run your fingers through his raven curls beneath his hats, a happy hum leaving him as he felt your fingers running through his hair. His hand began pinching at your other nipple, causing you to whimper out while you bit your bottom lip. He pulled your breast from his mouth with a little pop and he chuckles before looking up at you deep in your eyes.
You watched as he slowly climbed on top of you, his body heavy against yours as he set all of his weight onto you. You felt yourself growing hot, the warmth and weight of his body against yours was making you go crazy deep inside.
“Spread ya pussy open f’me dumplin’~” He whispered to you, his body hovering over yours while you mewl out to him shakily. You slowly move your hands down to your cunt before you’d slowly spread your slit open for him, an erotic gasp leaving your lips as your cunt began soaking with your arousal. Luffy hisses out at the sight of your pussy and trails his hand down to your open slit before he ran his thumb along your swollen clit, stealing a sudden moan from your lips. He’s move your hands out of the way and hummed as he stared at your slit in awe.
“Ya soakin’ wet f’me~ Ya wanted it that badly didn’ ya dumplin’?~” He whispered with a little snicker, his thumb running repeating circles along your clit while you squirmed around softly beneath him. Your moans grew all loud and angelic and you squirmed around beneath his body along the sand while he watched you writhe in pleasure. His lips curl up into an even larger smile and he licks his lips before moving down to your cunt.
He chuckled as his thumb continued to play at your clit while he runs his tongue up along your sticky slit, earning a loud gasp from you. “S-So hot~ Y-Your tongue~” You mewled out to him, biting your bottom lip with your sharp teeth while he moans out in response. He wastes no time going into your pussy, his tongue slowly stuffing itself deep inside of your warm velvety walls while you lied there and melted in the ecstasy.
Luffy huffs out shakily as he moved his tongue from inside of your cunt, his tongue sliding up your slit once again before he’d run it along your clitoris. He slowly stuffed two thick digits deep into your sticky hole, a sudden mewl leaving your throat as you felt his fingertips already nudging against your bundle of nerves. He snickers against your cunt and slowly pulled his digits out before stuffing them back in all playfully.
He begins fucking your cunt with his fingers, his fingertips occasionally curling up into your sweetened spot whilst massaging your sticky walls. “O-Oh my~ L-Luffy!~” You moan out his name so sweetly as he fucks your soaking pussy with his fingers, his mouth latched onto your clit as he pulled your hips farther into his mouth. His brows furled tightly as he buried his face within your inner hips, yearning to make you feel more pleasure from his tongue and his fingers.
He groans out into your pussy and slowly removed his fingers, a string of slick spilling after as he stuffs his tongue back into your cunt. You whine out above him and press your hand against your temple, unable to keep yourself composed due to his interest in your pleasure.
His tongue grinds against your velvety walls as he searched for your bundle of nerves, the massage against your walls making you clench your teeth while your face began to scrunch up in ecstasy. “L-Luffy~ I-I feel myself growing c-close!~” You moan out to him, peeking an eye down to him while he hums out in response. His pupils stared up intensely into yours, his breaths heavy as he digs his tongue around in your cunt.
He felt that he could eat and play with your pussy for hours, your pretty voice was like music to his ears which honestly made him even more feral. As he digs around for your sweetened spot, his tongue kissed a spongey spot within your walls causing a sudden gasp to spill past your lips.
“R-Right there! Oh God!~ Right there!~ Please Luffy!~” You pleaded to Luffy, begging for him to continue rubbing and nudging against that spot. He obeys and continued, a little stunned at how he struggled to find your g-spot with his tongue but not his fingers. Your tail begins to flap uncontrollably and you moan out and thrust your hips up against his mouth, gasping out as you felt yourself growing closer on his tongue.
“L-Luffy!~” Your eyes began to cross and your walls tighten around his tongue as you felt yourself growing closer on his tongue. Luffy groans out and thrusts his tongue in and out of your cunt, fucking you while you felt your body begging to release. A heavy moan left your lips and you clenched your teeth once more before throwing your head back in pleasure, your body ready to let loose.
“Ah!~ Mmgh!~ L-Luffy! I-I’m releasing!~” You gasp out heavily as your eyes rolled up, your pussy gushing out onto Luffy’s tongue while your body shuddered heavily with delight. Luffy moans out and pulls his tongue from your sopping hole, his fingers running circles at your clitoris to ride out your high while he breathed heavily.
“There ya go dumplin’~ Let loose on Luffy~” He hummed softly, his eyes watched as your pussy continued to squirt out into his fingers. Your eyes were practically rolling to the back of your skull as your pussy continued to release on his hand, your juices making a mess on Luffy while he smiled and moaned out in delight.
Your orgasm slowly softened and Luffy removed his fingers from your clitoris, a small smile spread across his face as he took pleasure and relished in your slightly broken state. “Feeling good dumplin’?” He asked, his body softly grinding up against yours while you hum out in response. You slowly sit up and stared up into his beady eyes, his eyes half-lidded with lust as he began moving his hands down to his red shorts.
“Now that I’ve helped ya, how ‘bout helpin’ me out too w’that pussy of ya’s?~” He whispered to you, his eyes trailing down to his bulge poking out within his shorts. You hummed in curiosity as you let a heavy exhale, and watched as his hands gripped the waistband of his shorts, your eyes watching as he began pulling down his shorts and boxers together.
He slowly pulled them down a bit and you watched as his cock suddenly pops out, his tip hitting up against his abdomen while he groans out from the pent-up frustration. You moan out at the size of his cock and scooted up a bit before moving your hands down to your cunt, your fingers spreading open your slit once again but wider to reveal your pretty insides to him.
“Please~ Fuck me Luffy~” You moan out to him all seductively, your sweetened tone causing him to shudder and hiss out in response. His hand softly grabs at your hips and he licked his lips as he ran his shaft up along your sticky entrance. He moves in close before giving you a sloppy smooch to your lips, his body now eager to get his cock deep inside of your warmth.
“M’gonna make sure ya stuffed all nice an’ good before I leave~”
You shuddered at his words and watched as he slowly slides his dick deep inside of your tight and sticky cunt, a heavy groan spilling past his lips as he felt your walls enveloping and sucking him in immediately. You moan out and press your hands against his shoulders, your voice all shaky as his thick cock stretched out your insides so easily.
“Such a tight pussy baby~ Ya suckin’ m’dick in s’deep already~” He groans out to you, his teeth biting his bottom lip as he went even deeper inside of your pussy. You threw your head back as your body trembled unconsciously against his, his tip smooching your cervix deeply and filling your cunt up rather easily.
He breathes shakily before giving you a loving smile, his face nuzzling into your neck while he’d give you loving smooches. “Ready f’me t’move?~” He asks you, his hips softly grinding into yours as he grew a little impatient. “P-Please do Luffy~” You mewled out to him, excited and eager to get a good fucking from him after being left unattended for so long.
He cracks a smile and softly began moving his hips into yours, a heavy hiss leaving his lips while a soft moan left yours. You watched as he pulled his hips in and out of yours, his cock continuously thrusting into your pussy and stuffing you repeatedly. You moan out in ecstasy as you felt his shaft slide in and out of your walls, his groans growing loud as your pussy practically sucked him deep inside.
“Ya pussy feel s’good ’round m’dick~ Does m’dick hit all th’right spots f’ya?~” He asked you, biting his bottom lip as he watched his thick cock slide in and out of your small tight slit. “Yes!~ It feels so good deep inside Luffy!~” You moaned, shutting your eyes softly as you relished in your euphoria and ecstasy. Luffy cracked a smile before slowing down, his hand on your hips loosening up which catches your attention.
You hum out and lifted your head to Luffy, your eyes noticing as his skin began to turn a pinkish tint. Steam began to flow off of his skin and you watched at he looked up into your eyes all fiercely. “Hol’ on baby. M’bouta fuck ya real fuckin’ good~” He growled, his hand landing on the side of your body while his other hand gripped your hip. You gulped but nodded, watching as he slowly began to thrust into your pussy once again.
He angled his hips up a bit and nudges into your bundle of nerves, making you moan out all shakily for him while he smiled at your pleasure.
You watched as his hips slowly began to go at an immaculate pace, his cock quickly yet repeatedly smooching your sweetened spot in the process while his cock went in and out of your cunt so quickly. Your moans grew louder as you shut your eyes tightly, your hands holding on tight to his shoulders while your body bounce a bit from the recoil.
Luffy groans out and bites at your shoulder, huffing out heavily while he pressed his body up hard against yours. You moved your hands from his shoulder and wrap your arms around his midsection, your moans all whiney and loud as your tail flapped about in excitement.
“Luffy~ Hah!~ S-So fucking- F-Fast!~” You gasp out, your body already running out of breath as Luffy practically knocked the wind out of you. “Ya like me goin’ fast?~ Ya like my dick goin’ fast inside this pussy? Yeah?~” Luffy moans out, his face beginning to contort in pleasure as he felt his cock twitching deep inside of your warm walls.
You tighten your walls around his cock even more and you pull his lips into yours, moaning out into his lips while he fucked you so fast yet so hard and deep. Luffy breathes heavily past your lips and groans out loudly, his body beginning to tremble while his brows furled from the pleasure. His eyes began to roll up and he groans out heavily, his lips pulling away from yours as a string of saliva tears from your lips.
“Fuck~ M’close~ M’so fuckin’ close dumplin’!~” He moans out, his face giving off a look of ecstasy as he fucked your raw pussy with delight.
“I-I’m close too Luffy~ P-Please! Make me cum!~” You pleaded, your nails scratching at his back while he huffs out heavily into your neck. His thrusts began to lose their rhythm and they grew more sloppy as he grew more closer to his orgasm. You moan out and arch your back, unable to hold your orgasm back much longer.
“Lemme cum inside~ Lemme cum inside of ya dumplinnn’~” He pleaded, his nails practically digging into your hips as he fucked you even harder yet sloppier. You threw your head back once again in ecstasy and held your arms tight around him, pleading for him to just cum deep inside of your pussy without a second thought.
“P-Please Luffy! I-I’m so close!~” You whined out, shutting your eyes tightly as your body shuddered against his. He lets out a little groans and mewls as you give him another deep smooch against his semi-chapped lips.
Luffy whined out and thrusted into you a few more times, his teeth clenching as he lets out a loud and heavy groan of pleasure. “Fuck! Fuck! M-M’gonna!~” He throws his head back and gasps out heavily, his body freezing as his cock finally spurting his thick cum deep inside of your tight pussy while you moan out in ecstasy from the feeling.
You shuddered heavily against him and let out a loud angelic moan as your pussy gushes around his shaft, enjoying the feeling of his hot seed shooting deep within your pussy and coating your velvety walls. You sigh out heavily and watched as Luffy slowly lied his body down against yours, his eyes looking deep into your satisfied ones before he’d press his lips against yours again.
You moan into his lips and watched as his body slowly shifted back to normal, his skin a normal hue as it was before. He pulls away from your lips and you hum out in satisfaction before hugging on to him, holding him close and enveloping in his warm while he did the same. An exhaustive sigh left the both of your lips as your body felt tired yet relieved of your stress.
Luffy slowly sits up and smiled before peppering one last kiss to your lips, his eyes trailing down to the soaking mess you had left on him. “Thank ya, really needed that~ Did that help ya?” He asked you, his eyes still staring down at his cock embedded deep inside of you. You smiled and nodded in response, watching as he slowly took his cock out of your pussy.
A sticky string of cum tears from his tip and your folds, and he chucked before tucking his cock back inside and giving you a tight hug. You hugged him back and your tail flapped with delight before he pulled away, his body slowly standing up before he’d look down at you with slightly saddened eyes.
“M’sorry but…I gotta go now. I promise I’ll come back after I find m’crew…alright?” He said sorrily, his face showing it more than his tone had indicated. You smiled and nodded before slipping your bra back on and slowly crawling back into sea, watching as Luffy began to straighten himself before he’d turn around one last time to you.
You lifted your hand out of the water and waved to him with a satisfied smile spread across your face.
“Goodbye Luffy. Good luck on your journey.” You said, watching as he began to walk away. He waved back to you and smiled widely. “Thank ya for th’food! I’ll be back for ya!” He said, his bright smile warming your heart more than the sea ever could. You watched as he walked away and out of your sight, disappearing into the forest…and leaving you alone to rub your lower tummy with a piece of him embedded in you.
We all know how Strong World ends (at least for those who watched it) but I imagine that he keeps his word and comes back for Reader in the end.
#one piece#one piece smut#one piece fluff#op smut#op fluff#one piece x female reader#dividers -> cafekitsune#dividers -> bunnysrph#one piece luffy#op luffy#luffy smut#luffy fluff#monkey d luffy#luffy x female reader#puddingcupfics#puddingcupimagines
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you're losing me | spencer reid
spencer reid x fem!reader warnings: angst, breaking up w spencer, i hate myself clearly, depressed!reader, insecure!reader, heartbroken!spencer, hateful!reader, suicidal tendancies (?) aka suislide, knowing youre unfit to drive but still driving, not caring anymore, yn is mentioned but less than a handful of times navigation | cm masterlist word count: 1099 words inspired by you're losing me by taylor swift
You sat on the dark green armchair in the corner, watching Spencer's reaction as he sat on the couch.
"I... I don't understand." He murmured. He stared at the coffee table that separated the two of you.
"I know you don't." You said calmly, almost like you weren't bothered. Spencer looked up at you, his hazel eyes watered and he looked absolutely heartbroken.
we thought a cure would come through in time, now i fear it won't
"It's better this way, Spencer." You said, trying to get him to see things your way. Your tone was still calm but your hands were picking at each other, a sign of anxiousness--a habit you picked up as a kid.
"Better this way? Y/N, I-I thought we were getting better..!" He stammered, searching through the files of his mind to see where he went wrong, where he messed up.
But he didn't mess up.
remember lookin' at this room, we loved it 'cause of the light
Sunlight peered through the room. Sunlight. The sun usually means happy things, like birthday parties, or college acceptance letters, not break ups.
Break ups are reserved for storm clouds and thunder. That's what you contemplate while sitting in the corner in the dark. You don't break up with someone during the day, you do it during a storm so you can have a passionate "don't leave me" kiss while getting drenched to the bone.
do i throw out everything we built or keep it?
"We end up back where we started. We always do, Spencer." You said. You had contemplated staying with him but it wasn't working. You were trying to be happy--happy for Spencer. But no matter how hard you tried or how hard you thought about Spencer, you just weren't happy anymore. You were getting tired, rising from the metaphorical ashes and mending all of your emotional gashes.
you might just have dealt the final blow
"No, no this time...." Spencer trailed off, mouth parting. "It was working, we were working!" His heartbroken gaze pierced through you and you couldn't help but feel like you were making a mistake of a lifetime.
"Stop." You whispered, breaking your gaze away from his. "You're losing me, Spencer."
Several beats of silence passed between you two before Spencer whispered the unfathomable words: "Why?"
Your breath hitched as you paused, trying to find the reasons why you were doing what you were doing.
"I woke up angry every morning, Spencer. I was angry at the world, my parents.., you." You scoffed. "I mean, how can you say that you love someone you can't tell is dying?"
Spencer stayed silent at the rhetorical question, focusing on his hands instead.
You continued. "I sent you signals and bit my nails down to the quick. My face was gray, but you wouldn't admit that we were sick."
"You were that unhappy?" Spencer asked.
"Unhappy? Spencer, I was miserable!" You exclaimed. "My pain was always such an imposition, wasn't it?"
Spencer's eyebrows furrowed. "An imposition? Y/N, what? No matter what happened or happens, I will always be by your side."
You shook your head. "No, no, Spencer. I am sick! I am not okay and you can't see that! I can't be with you anymore. I can't..." You hiccupped at tears started falling down your face. You shook your head as you looked at your feet. "I can't. I just can't anymore!"
You got up quicker than Spencer could register and ran past him on the couch towards the door. You grabbed your keys and ran. You ran down the hallway, tears clouding your sight. You needed to get out of there--out of here. Leave. Leave. Leave.
and you know what they all say: you don't know what you got until it's gone
Spencer stood up from the couch and turned to face the door but you were already gone and so were your keys. Spencer had let stray tears fall down his face. He knew something was going on but he figured you would tell him. But you bottled it up, you've always had. Spencer recounted the moments in his head, replaying your hurtful words.
"Stop." You whispered, breaking your gaze away from his. "You're losing me, Spencer."
how long could we be a sad song
Just drive. You had to drive. You need to get out of there--have to. You ran down the flight of stairs that led to Spencer's apartment, your hand ghosting down the old wooden banister. You stormed out of the entrance, feeling a headache emerge at the sudden light caused by the beautiful day outside.
You clicked your keys, listening for the faint beep of your car. You ran towards your car and swung open the drivers side of the door. You knew you weren't fit to drive, not in this state. But the thing was, you didn't care.
You reversed out of the parking space and zoomed out of the parking lot knowing that Spencer could be watching you from his thin windows or even chasing after you but you didn't care. You weren't happy anymore and that was more important.
You were going well over the speed limit, you knew that. You drove to the apartment millions of times to know what the speed limit was but you didn't care.
Even if it meant what the phone call Spencer Reid would get only ten minutes after you left his apartment.
'til we were too far gone to bring back to life?
Spencer sat with his hands clasped together, laying on his knees as he waited for the doctor to come out with news that you were okay. Better, even.
When you arrived to the hospital you were in critical condition and was put in for emergency surgery. The doctors didn't have high hopes for you and neither did Spencer, truth be told.
Spencer looked up as he heard the surgical doors swing open and your doctor came out. But despite Spencer's optimistic thinking, the doctor looked solemn. Spencer quickly stood up.
Before the doctor could get a word out, the world Spencer had built, had fallen. The world you and Spencer had built was gone.
"I'm sorry for your loss, Dr. Reid."
Spencer collapsed on his knees in the waiting room. It was probably unethical to be so emotional in a hospital waiting room but he wasn't at work nor was he on the job and if anyone had a problem with him expressing his heartbroken-ness for his exgirlfriend, they can go to hell.
i can't find a pulse; my heart won't start anymore
IF YOU ARE THINKING ABOUT SU!C!DE, PLEASE CALL THE HOTLINE NUMBER! ITS OPEN 24 HRS
988 Suicide and Crisis Lifeline
#im okay i swear#criminal minds#spencer reid x yn#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid#tw sucidal ideation#tw#youre losing me#taylor swift
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THE AUTUMN COURT (Chapter One)
FEATURING Lucien Vanserra x Reader
SUMMARY These last few centuries you have felt that your home court has become drab and all too familiar. In the rush of a new High Lord, you finally decide to follow your dream, but when meeting a certain High Lady, you're forced to ask yourself whether or not you wish to make your dream bigger than you could have ever imagined. Are you willing to take the risk and jump into the unknown?
CONTENT WARNINGS Beron Vanserra, mentions of newborn/baby, talk of fulfilling dreams, High Lady pushing the reader to accept, themes of deep sadness/loneliness
AUTHORS NOTE it's finally here! The moment we have all been waiting for, the first chapter of the Courts Series! I am elated to start on this new journey with everyone and share Lucien's story. Enjoy ;)
SERIES MASTERLIST
The Autumn Court was beautiful this time of year, with the air crisp and cool, and the trees painted in their prime. Golden sunlight filtered through the branches of oaks and maples, casting a warm glow on the cobblestone streets. It was a land steeped in perpetual fall—burnt oranges, rich browns, and soft yellows painting the landscape like a memory. The soft, steady wind carried with it the familiar scent of damp earth and decaying leaves, tickling the back of your neck as it danced through your hair. You shivered, pulling your scarf tighter around you as you shifted another box of product inside your small boutique.
Once, this season had thrilled you. The constant symphony of rustling leaves, the crunch beneath your feet, the bite of the wind that invited you to stay by the hearth—it had been a comfort. You could recall hours spent as a child leaping into piles of leaves until you were breathless with laughter, the familiar scents of rain-drenched soil and sweet blossoms from your grandmother's flower shop always filling the air. Her shop had been a haven of warmth amidst the chilly autumn, a place of safety and light where you spent countless hours amongst petals and thorns, learning to appreciate every nuance of plant life.
But now, it all felt so stifling. The colors that once enchanted you now seemed too predictable, too faded. The same amber and ochre hues that once held magic in their vibrancy now blurred together into a stagnant backdrop that no longer stirred your heart. Even the wind, once a playful caress, now felt like an insistent nudge, pushing you toward a future you couldn’t quite grasp but longed for deeply. You ached for new skies, new sounds—a world not yet known to you. You had grown weary of the unchanging rhythm of life here. The call of something different, something unknown, thrummed in your veins like a melody just out of reach. It had been growing louder with each passing season, no longer a whisper but a persistent pull.
The soft jingle of the bell above the boutique door stirred you from your reverie, the familiar sound grounding you momentarily. A regular customer stepped inside, casting a casual glance at the display of succulents by the front window. You offered a polite smile, though your mind was elsewhere, adrift in thoughts of the distant lands you had read about but never seen.
When your grandmother had passed the flower shop to you, it had felt like the highest honor. You were young, so eager to carry on her legacy, so full of pride at the idea of continuing the work she had devoted her life to. The plants, with their delicate intricacies and bursts of color, had brought you a sense of peace and purpose then. And for a time, that was enough. The joy of tending to the blooms, of arranging bouquets that could brighten even the darkest of days—it had been enough to anchor you.
But now… the allure of the flowers had dimmed, just like the autumn sun slowly sinking lower on the horizon. What once captivated you now seemed mundane, a pale echo of the passion you once held. The boutique felt like a cage, its walls closing in with every passing day. No matter how many plants you sold, no matter how beautiful the arrangements, the world outside these walls beckoned with a call too strong to ignore.
The end of High Lord Beron’s rule had brought about the beginnings of change, both within the court and within you. His reign had been one of harshness and cruelty, a time when the people sought fleeting joys wherever they could find them—often within the soft petals of a flower or the warmth of a gift from your shop. You had served them, offering beauty in a world that often felt void of it. But with his death came the winds of change, and you felt those winds urging you to move, to leave, to seek out something more.
It had been weeks since Beron’s death, and High Lord Eris had since taken his place. The streets had been buzzing with rumors and hope for a new era. The coronation had come and gone, a grand event that had briefly revitalized business as citizens filled their homes with flowers to mark the occasion. But the celebrations had died down, leaving behind a lull that felt oddly peaceful after years of tension. The new regime promised change—perhaps even for the better—and the anticipation of it only heightened your longing for something beyond the familiar confines of the Autumn Court.
You had spent the quiet hours in the shop planning your escape, meticulously budgeting for your journey across Prythian. You envisioned yourself standing on distant shores, breathing in air that tasted of salt and adventure rather than the scent of damp leaves. You had it all planned—your route, your accommodations, even the smallest details. Everything was ready, and after tonight, you would finally take the first step toward making your dream a reality.
But tonight was a special occasion—a historic moment for the Autumn Court. For the first time, a High Lady would be crowned alongside her lord. You had heard whispers of High Lord Eris’s bride and her radiant beauty, rumors swirling through the court about how she would change things for the better. You couldn’t leave just yet—not before witnessing history unfold before your eyes.
So, you had promised yourself one last night in this place you had once called home. One last event to mark the end of your old life before stepping into the unknown. You would attend the coronation, sneak a glimpse of the new High Lady, and then return to your apartment to rest before leaving the very next morning. By dawn, you would be gone, chasing after the unknown with nothing but a map and your restless heart to guide you.
The evening of the coronation was perfect in the way that autumn nights in the Autumn Court always were—crisp air, the scent of wood smoke drifting lazily on the breeze, and an amber-hued twilight settling over the horizon. The streets were alive with chatter and movement, with High Fae and lesser fae alike flocking to the grand event that would forever mark the history of your homeland. The palace, visible from almost anywhere in the capital, stood like a beacon, its spires stretching toward the dusky sky.
You hadn’t dressed up much—just a simple gown in deep russet, a color that blended in with the landscape rather than standing out. Your hair was pinned loosely at the nape of your neck, a few errant strands brushing against your cheek with every gust of wind. There was no need for extravagance tonight; after all, you intended to leave before the night’s festivities got too far underway.
As you approached the palace, the grandeur of it all made your breath catch. High Lord Eris had spared no expense. The gates were adorned with twisting vines of gold and bronze, their leaves shimmering as they caught the torchlight, and the grand courtyard was filled with guests, all dressed in their finest. A steady hum of conversation and laughter filled the air as guests mingled beneath the autumn sky, the occasional clink of glasses breaking the symphony of voices.
You hovered near the edges of the crowd, feeling like an outsider amidst the lavish display. Your heart wasn’t in it; your mind was already dreaming of distant lands, of leaving this behind in the morning. You had no desire to make small talk or ingratiate yourself with the nobility. But still, there was a part of you—small but insistent—that wanted to witness this moment of change, to see what this new era would bring.
It was then that your eyes caught sight of a figure standing off to the side, away from the throng of guests. She was draped in a gown the color of night, with subtle embroidery that glinted like stars under the light. Her hair—covered in shadow—cascaded over her shoulders in loose waves, catching the glow of nearby lanterns. There was something striking about her, something that made you pause. She didn’t carry herself like the other courtiers, with their practiced airs and stiff postures. There was a quiet grace to her, an elegance that seemed entirely unintentional.
Curiosity piqued, you found yourself drifting toward her.
She noticed you approaching and turned, her eyes—a captivating shade, you realized with a start—meeting yours with a warmth that instantly put you at ease. There was no haughty gaze, no superiority in her demeanor. She smiled, and it was a soft, inviting gesture that seemed almost out of place amidst the opulence of the evening.
“Are you enjoying the coronation?” she asked, her voice smooth and rich, as though she was truly interested in your answer.
You hesitated for a moment before offering a small smile. “It’s… impressive,” you replied, glancing around at the glittering scene. “But I’m not sure it’s really for me.”
She tilted her head, studying you with a thoughtful expression. “I know the feeling. All of this,” she gestured vaguely to the festivities around you, “can feel a bit… overwhelming.”
There was a pause, a comfortable silence that fell between you as the sounds of the coronation swirled around you both. And then, as though the words simply tumbled from your mouth without permission, you found yourself speaking.
“I’ve been thinking about leaving. About traveling beyond the Autumn Court. I’ve always dreamed of seeing the other courts, of experiencing more than just… this.” You waved your hand at the familiar scenery, the landscape that had both enchanted and confined you for so long.
Her eyes gleamed with interest as she listened, giving you her full attention. “That sounds like a wonderful dream,” she said softly. “What’s holding you back?”
You laughed a little, though there was no humor in it. “Obligation. Fear, maybe. I feel like if I stay here, I’ll never know anything else. But if I leave, I’m afraid I’ll lose everything I’ve ever known.”
The woman’s gaze grew softer, more understanding. “That’s the nature of dreams, isn’t it? They demand sacrifices we’re not always ready to make. But that doesn’t mean they’re not worth chasing.”
There was something in the way she spoke, something that resonated with you. She seemed to understand exactly what you were feeling, and you found yourself opening up to her in a way you hadn’t with anyone else. You told her about your plans—how you had meticulously saved and prepared for your trip across Prythian, how you wanted to see the beauty of every court, from the eternal spring of the Spring Court to the midnight wonder of the Night Court. The words spilled out of you before you could stop them, and by the time you finished, she was smiling in a way that made you feel as though she was seeing something in you that even you hadn’t recognized yet.
“That’s an incredibly bold plan,” she said, admiration evident in her voice. “But I think it’s one you’re more than capable of achieving.”
You smiled faintly, though there was still hesitation gnawing at you. “I want to do it on my own,” you murmured. “If I rely on others to make it happen, it won’t feel like my dream anymore. It’ll be theirs.”
The woman stepped closer, her expression turning serious. “But what if you could have both?” she asked softly. “What if you could travel across all the courts, just as you dreamed, but with a purpose? What if you could serve as an emissary—not only for the Autumn Court but for me personally?”
You blinked, taken aback. “An emissary?”
The woman smiled again, though this time there was a knowing gleam in her eye. “I could use someone like you. Someone with a thirst for exploration and a heart that isn’t afraid to dream. You would be traveling across Prythian, meeting with the High Lords and Ladies of every court. And you wouldn’t be alone—you’d have another emissary by your side, someone with experience in navigating these courts.”
“Who?” you asked, curiosity getting the better of you.
“Lucien Vanserra,” she replied, her voice steady. “He’s already serving as an emissary, and he could show you the ropes.”
You swallowed, your mind racing. This offer—it was everything you had dreamed of and yet, it wasn’t. It wasn’t yours. It was tied to duty and obligation, and while the adventure was still there, it wasn’t on your terms. You wanted to be free, to see the world without being tethered to anyone’s will, even hers.
She must have seen the hesitation in your eyes because she stepped even closer, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “You would still be following your dream,” she insisted. “But you wouldn’t have to do it alone. You’d have guidance, protection, and you’d be part of something bigger than yourself. Think of it as a way to make your dream even grander.”
You hesitated. The offer was tempting—more tempting than you wanted to admit. But was it worth the price? Could you achieve your dream without losing the independence that had driven you to chase it in the first place?
Before you could answer, the sound of trumpets cut through the air, and the guests around you stirred. The coronation was about to begin.
The woman smiled at you one last time, her expression softer now. “Think about it,” she whispered before slipping away into the crowd, her dark gown flowing behind her like a shadow.
It was only then, as she disappeared into the sea of guests, that you heard someone speak her name.
The High Lady.
The night was winding down, the celebratory energy of the coronation slowly giving way to a quieter, more intimate atmosphere. Guests were beginning to filter out of the grand ballroom, leaving behind only the most devoted courtiers and a few stragglers reluctant to let the evening end. You had stayed longer than intended, caught in the whirlwind of the festivities and the unexpected conversation you’d shared with the mysterious woman—now revealed to be the High Lady of the Autumn Court. Her offer still lingered in your mind, turning over and over as you tried to reconcile your desire for freedom with the weight of her proposition.
You had slipped outside, hoping for a moment of peace beneath the stars. The cool night air brushed against your skin, bringing with it the familiar scent of autumn leaves and damp earth. The palace grounds were still bustling with the remnants of the celebration, but out here, it felt quieter, as though the world had finally exhaled after the long night.
Your thoughts drifted back to the High Lady. You hadn’t expected her to seek you out, to show such interest in your dream of traveling. And yet, her words had struck a chord within you. You were still torn, uncertain of what path to take, when you heard the soft sound of footsteps behind you.
“Are you always this difficult to find?” The voice was familiar—smooth and warm, with a hint of amusement.
You turned to see the High Lady standing there, her warm eyes gleaming in the moonlight. She smiled, though there was a hint of something more serious behind her gaze.
“I wasn’t hiding,” you said softly, though you couldn’t help but smile in return.
She stepped closer, her gown flowing around her like a shadow, and for a moment, you were struck again by how different she seemed from the other courtiers. There was a quiet strength to her, a confidence that came not from arrogance but from a deep sense of self-assurance.
“I’d like to speak with you,” she said, her voice low and earnest. “There’s something I want you to see before you make your decision.”
You hesitated, but there was something in her eyes that made it difficult to refuse. With a small nod, you followed her as she led you back inside the palace, through a series of winding hallways and up a grand staircase. The further you went, the quieter it became, the sounds of the celebration fading behind you until it was just the two of you, walking in silence.
She brought you to a large wooden door at the far end of a corridor, the light from the torches casting flickering shadows along the walls. With a gentle push, she opened the door and gestured for you to step inside.
The room beyond was a study of sorts, richly decorated with dark wood furniture and intricate tapestries. It was warm, the fireplace casting a soft glow over the space. And there, standing near a large map spread across a polished table, were two figures.
High Lord Eris Vanserra stood tall and commanding, his fiery hair catching the light as he leaned over the map, discussing something in low tones with the man beside him. But your gaze was immediately drawn to the infant in Eris’s arms—a tiny, sleeping child cradled close to her father’s chest as he rocked her gently, his eyes soft as he spoke. It was a sight so unlike anything you had expected from him, a glimpse of vulnerability in a male known for his sharp edges and ruthless ambition.
The other figure straightened as you entered, and it was then that your eyes truly settled on him.
Lucien Vanserra.
The name was known throughout all of Prythian, and yet here he was, standing before you with an almost palpable sense of weariness clinging to him. His russet hair was tied back neatly, his posture composed, but it was his eyes that captured your attention—the vibrant, mismatched gaze of gold and russet, swirling with an emotion that seemed just out of reach. There was a distance there, a kind of guarded detachment that made you wonder what had brought him to this place. He turned to greet you, and for a brief moment, his gaze softened, though there was a sadness lurking behind the warmth.
Lucien stepped forward, his movements graceful and measured as though every action was carefully considered. He bowed slightly, a practiced gesture, before taking your hand in his. His touch was gentle, his skin warm as his lips brushed the back of your hand in a gesture that felt both polite and distant—like a mask he had learned to wear.
“An honor to meet you,” he said softly, his voice deep and smooth. But there was something else there, something that belied the charm of his words. It was as if he was going through the motions, playing a part he had perfected long ago.
You offered a small smile in return, though your mind was still reeling from the sight of him. His presence was magnetic, drawing you in even as he seemed to hold himself at a distance. There was a heaviness in his eyes, a kind of weariness that tugged at your heart, and you couldn’t help but wonder what had led him to become so closed off, so lost.
High Lord Eris glanced up then, his gaze sharp as he acknowledged your presence with a nod. “I hear you’ve been offered a position,” he said, his voice smooth but commanding.
You swallowed, suddenly feeling the weight of the room pressing down on you. “I’m still considering it,” you replied carefully, glancing at the High Lady, who stood beside you with a knowing smile.
Eris hummed in response, his attention already shifting back to the map as he rocked his daughter gently. “It’s a good opportunity,” he said, almost absently. “One that could take you far.”
The High Lady stepped closer then, her gaze locking with yours. “This is where it begins,” she said softly, her voice filled with quiet intensity. “If you take this position, you’ll have the chance to travel, to see every court in Prythian, and to do it with purpose. You’ll be working with Lucien—an emissary with experience in navigating the political landscape of every court. You’ll be learning from him, but you’ll also have your own voice, your own influence.”
She paused, her eyes searching yours. “I know you want to do this on your own, but consider what’s being offered. You’ll have the freedom to see the world, but with the added benefit of protection and guidance. This isn’t about losing your dream—it’s about expanding it.”
You felt the weight of her words pressing down on you. The offer was tempting, far more tempting than you wanted to admit. But there was still a part of you that resisted, that longed to achieve your dream without anyone’s help, without any strings attached.
Lucien, who had been silent until now, finally spoke. His voice was quieter than before, almost hesitant. “It’s not an easy life,” he said, his gaze fixed on the floor as he spoke. “But it can be fulfilling. If you’re willing to take the risk.”
You glanced at him, caught off guard by the vulnerability in his words. There was something in his tone that spoke of experience, of having lived through the hardships and challenges that came with being an emissary. And yet, despite everything, he was still standing here, offering you a chance to join him.
The High Lady placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, her touch grounding you in the moment. “Think of it as the beginning of something greater than you ever imagined,” she whispered. “A chance to make a difference in ways you’ve never considered.”
You took a deep breath, your heart racing as you weighed your options. This could be the start of something new, something far beyond the simple dream you had held onto for so long. And while it wasn’t exactly what you had envisioned, maybe—just maybe—it could become something even more meaningful.
After a long pause, you nodded. “I’ll do it,” you said quietly, the words feeling heavy on your tongue. “I’ll take the position.”
The High Lady’s smile widened; her eyes gleaming with satisfaction as she made her way to Eris’s side. “Wonderful,” she said, her voice filled with warmth as she looked down at their child. “The two of you will leave for the Spring Court tomorrow morning.”
Lucien offered you a small nod, though his expression remained guarded. There was something almost unreadable in his gaze, something that made you wonder what lay beneath the surface of his calm exterior. It was wonder akin to that you felt when faced with exploring the world around you, one that filled you with such curiosity and almost a hunger to dissect and discover.
As you left the study with the High Lady after she said her loving goodbyes to both her husband and child, your heart pounded in your chest. You had made your decision, and tomorrow, everything would change. You were finally stepping into the unknown, taking your dreams by the reigns, and you wouldn’t be doing it alone.
TAGLIATELLE
@littlest-w01f @rcarbo1 @mirandasidefics @thelov3lybookworm @lilah-asteria @megscabinetofcurios
#fanfic#x reader#angst#acotar#acomaf#acowar#acourtofthornsandroses#acosf#lucien vanserra#lucien acotar#lucien x reader#elain x lucien#pro lucien#a court of thorns and roses#elain archeron#azriel#azriel acotar#eris imagine#eris vanserra#eris acotar#eris x reader#eris vandaddy#azriel x eris#autumn court#autumn#fall#fall vibes#autumn aesthetic#autumn vibes#fall season
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Metafiction
Pt 2
Content Warning: 21+,
Smut, nsfw, degrading, abuse, captivity, SA. Fourth Wall Breaks. Unintentional Weightloss, penetration, Angry Sylus.
A/N: Are we going to make it back home? Or are we going to be stuck in the N109 Zone? Safe to say I am having fun putting this all together.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
With no sunlight in the N109 zone you have no idea how long you’ve been cuffed to Sylus’ bed.
You’re still dirty from your last encounter with him. Still exposed to the cold.
You feel like you’ve been hit by a truck. Every single muscle and joint aches. Places begin to hurt that you didn’t think were possible. And the once comfortable mattress now felt hard against your backside.
You haven’t seen Sylus since you told him you hated him. Mephisto would occasionally come and go and you would talk to him. But it wasn’t the same as talking to a person.
Your mouth was sticky and dry at the same time from being severely dehydrated. Your stomach no longer growled in hunger and just hurts.
Was this Sylus’ plan? To leave you to rot away in his bed?
You hear the familiar flap of wings and Mephisto perches himself on your stomach. You keep your eyes closed though, too exhausted to move them.
Mephisto caws at you repeatedly but you honestly could not care. You let your head droop to the side resting on your arm.
“..go away..” your voice barely a whisper. You feel Mephisto take off and once again you’re left in cold dark silence. Maybe you’ve fallen asleep? You don’t know when you do anymore.
Sometime later you hear the bedroom door click open. The familiar sound of sylus’ footsteps echo in the room.
He walks over to the bed carrying a tray. You feel the bed dip as he sits down on the edge of the bed next to you.
“Open your eyes.” He demands. His voice cold like ice.
“Don’t make me say it again.” He threatens.
You muster what energy you have left and open your eyes to look at Sylus. He has a tray on his lap. A bowl, a spoon and a water bottle adorn the tray.
The smell of roasted pumpkin soup tickles your nose.
There’s no emotion on sylus’ face. He grabs the water bottle and unscrews the lid.
“Open up.”
You part your mouth and Sylus carefully raises the bottle to your dry and cracked lips. He gently tips the bottle up so that the water doesn’t flow too fast into your mouth.
Relief washes over you as you feel the water drench your mouth and coat your tongue. It’s so good and you can’t handle it. You start to choke and gag when you try to swallow.
Sylus pulls the bottle away and lets you finish coughing before trying again.
You look at him with teary eyes as he brings the water bottle back to your lips. You’re able to swallow it this time.
After a few mouthfuls he pulls the bottle away and screws the cap back on.
“Sylus… please uncuff me.”
Sylus ignores your request. He dips the spoon in the soup and scrapes the bottom on the edge of the bowl. Making sure it’s not overflowing or dripping.
He brings the spoon to your mouth. You part your lips once again and you let him feed you.
It was the best goddamn pumpkin soup you have ever eaten. Or did it only taste like heaven because it’s probably been days since you’ve eaten?
You keep watching Sylus’ face as he continues to spoon feed you the soup. For some moments you swear you could see something glimmering in his eyes but before you get a chance to figure it out he returns to his stone wall expression.
Once the bowl is empty he places the tray in the middle of the bed and gives you some more water.
“Sylus..please.”
Sylus looks you up and down. Taking in the sight of your violated and bruised body. Again, you think you see something flicker in his eyes but it’s gone just as quickly as it comes.
He leans forward and fear starts to rise with you again. His hand raises and you screw your eyes shut bracing for impact. But it never comes. Instead you feel the handcuffs click. You wriggle your wrists until they’re free and your arms immediately fall to your side.
Your arms so relieved now. And you can’t help but shed some tears. You look up at Sylus, he is still sitting down next to you and staring.
“T-thank you.” You whisper.
You look at your wrists, they are purple and bleeding. You try to stifle some sobs but are unsuccessful.
You then feel Sylus’ arm snake around your waist. He hoists you up in his arms and is carrying you bridal style.
“What are you doing?” You ask but he still ignores you.
He starts walking over to the bathroom and expertly manoeuvres you both through the door without touching the sides.
A hot bath has already been drawn and you’re left wondering when the hell that happened.
“I’m gonna put you down now.” He finally speaks.
Your feet gently hit the floor and you’re immediately wobbly. He wraps an arm around your shoulders to steady you.
“Arms up.”
“I-I can’t.”
He huffs as he removes your shirt off your body with a-bit of difficulty. Leaving you completely naked in front of him.
“Get in.”
You follow his command and he helps you settle into the tub. The water was a perfect temperature. The relief it gave your muscles was indescribable and you can’t help but let out a soft noise of appreciation. Sylus stares at you for a moment. Watching you relax, a small smile playing on your lips. He knew it would help. After all, he put some magnesium in the water to help soothe your muscle aches.
Sylus leaves the bathroom for a moment and returns with towels and a couple of bags. He places them on the vanity.
“Some clothes for you to change into when you’re done.” He disappears out of the bathroom again. Leaving you to have your privacy.
You sink a little further into the tub letting the warm water relax every one of your aching muscles.
Why was he being nice? Honestly it’s enough to give you emotional whiplash. You try not to think about it and focus on cleaning yourself.
As you’re scrubbing your body you notice your pubis is bruised. A Shiver and a wave of disgust flows through your body as you remember why you’re bruised. Under any other circumstances you would have considered that to be one of the best orgasms of your life so far but you can’t. Not with what he’s done to you.
You stay in the tub until the water is cold and your hands and feet are shrivelled and wrinkly.
Regretfully, you stand up and step out of the tub. Still a bit wobbly on your feet but you are able to make your way to the vanity. The towel is soft and fluffy. How can someone so cruel have such nice things?
You stare in the mirror as you dry yourself and you don’t recognise the person staring back at you. Your skin has gotten pale, your eyes look sunken in. Collar bones, rib bones and hip bones all visible now.
A tiny sob starts to form, you hate what you see. You feel disgusting. That one ounce of self love you did have is gone.
But what was the point of dwelling on it though? You brush away your tears before they can fall and look through the bag of clothes.
All he’s provided you were dresses and the sight of it makes you feel nauseous. You find a blue spaghetti strapped dress and put it on. At least it hides your body that you now hate.
You make your way back to the bedroom and you’re greeted by Sylus sitting on the bed reading a book. The top two buttons of his dress shirt were undone and he was wearing glasses. A look you’re familiar with from the game. It was sexy. You curse yourself for going there and shake your head.
He looks up at you and pats the spot next to him.
“Sit.”
“I’d rather stand.”
Sylus sighs and snaps the book shut. He stands up and closes the distance between you and grips your forearm.
“Let go!” You wince out but of course he doesn’t. He forces you to sit on the bed next to him.
“We need to talk.” His face remaining unreadable and you hated it.
“Mephisto told me your little crow story.” Sylus is still gripping your forearm. “He seems intent on believing you. And with what we found at the wormhole site I’m more than inclined to agree with him.”
You sit up straight, does this mean he’s going to let you go?
“But tell me this. You said your world has no evols or “aliens” and that it was all make believe.”
You nod.
“So, why did we find new and unseen protocores hmm? Energy readings that have brought every criminal in the N109 zone and far beyond wanting to find the source of these new protocores.”
“I-I don’t know.”
“Why can’t I read your mind hmm?” Sylus’ grip tightens.
“Sylus I don’t know!” You whimper.
“How did you survive travelling through a wormhole without a ship?!”
He leans in closer to your face, trying to read your expression. It infuriates him the he can’t read your mind.
“Please, just let me go.” You beg.
Sylus scoffs, “believe it or not sweetie, this is the safest place for you right now.”
You shiver at the pet name. “Don’t call me that.”
“What? You prefer pathetic whore?” Your eyes sting with anger.
Before even thinking about it you raise your hand to try and slap him but of course he’s too quick and grabs your bruised wrist, making you groan in pain.
“Scratch that, stupid whore.” In one quick motion he has you pinned on your stomach on the bed.
His hand pressing the side of your face into the mattress.
“Let go of me!” You try to squirm free but black tendrils are holding you down.
You can feel him on top of you, his chest pressed against your back.
“You really are pathetic.” He whispers into your ear. “You disgust me.”
“If I disgust you so fucking much why don’t you just kill me? Get it over with!” You spit back.
He scoffs before pressing your face deeper into the mattress.
“Where’s the fun in that?”
You feel him flip up the skirt of your dress to reveal your bare ass and pussy to him.
“No Sylus don’t please!” You beg.
“You can beg all you want. You know your body wants this.” He grabs your hips and props you on your knees.
Tears start spilling down your face.
“Please Sylus..”
You hear the sound of a zipper and try to move but you’re unable to.
“No! Get away from me!”
Your body freezes as you feel something large poking at your entrance.
You start to sob. He leans down and whispers in your ear. “Relax, no reason for it to be painful.”
If it’s anything like all those fanfics you’ve read you just know it’s going to be huge. Wait, why did you think about that Y/N? Now you’re gonna get aroused.
Sylus slowly inserts himself between your folds he does so quiet easily as you’re all slick and warm for him.
“Fuck..” you hear him groan.
You can’t help but let out a little moan as you feel him slowly enter you. Your plush hot walls clenching and relaxing around him. You can feel sylus’ breath on your face begin to shudder with every inch forward.
In this position he gets himself buried deep within you. You swear you can fill him poking your ribs.
“Sylus please..” you let out a tiny cry.
He nibbles your ear lobe. “That’s it, you’re doing well, relax.”
You squeeze your eyes shut as Sylus pulls back and then thrusts softly back in. He starts off slow waiting for you to be relaxed and welcoming for him. Once you’ve adjust to his substantial size he picks up the pace.
You just can’t help but moan in pleasure, he feels so fucking good. Plus the way he’s grunting and letting out small moans as well makes you all the more aroused and accepting.
The hand that’s holding your head into the mattress relaxes, he slides his fingers down to your mouth.
“Open up.” You oblige and he shoves two fingers in your mouth.
“Get them nice and wet for me.” A tear rolls down your cheek but you do as he says. Sucking and swirling your tongue around his fingers.
“Fuck..that’s it.” His voice is low and hungry. He pulls his fingers out and goes exploring for your clit. Which he finds very easily. With his fingers coated in your saliva he starts massaging your clit.
“Ahh fuck…!” You moan out. With the way he’s fucking you and massaging your clit you feel an orgasm fast approaching.
Sylus can feel it too and he doesn’t change a thing.
“S..Sylus…!” Your eyes roll back as wave after wave of pleasure rolls through you. Your walls vibrate vigorously around his thick cock and he can’t take it anymore either. Sylus cums in your tight pussy. Your juices mixing together and spilling out, down your thighs.
Sylus’ movements still and he rests his head against your cheek as he rides out the last bit of his orgasm.
You start to sob a little as reality hits you again. Sylus scoffs.
“Look at you. I bet you’d let anyone fuck you, you dirty slut.”
“Fuck you!” You start crying. “I didn’t LET you do anything!” Your body is trembling as anger, shame and guilt course through you.
Sylus scoffs again and pulls out. More of his cum spilling out your pussy as he does and you hate the feeling. You feel his Evol release you but you don’t move. You lay there sobbing on the bed.
“I hate you so fucking much.”
“I know.”
After a few moments you pull your dress down to cover yourself and sit up, glaring at him.
He’s already cleaned himself and made himself decent.
“You’re free to explore the compound but don’t even think about trying to leave. You won’t get very far.”
He walks out of the bedroom and you’re alone once again. You wipe your tears and head to the bathroom to clean yourself up and change your dress.
~
After what felt like an eternity trying to get yourself ‘clean’ you decide you will explore the base. After all you don’t want to be in that room anymore. The smell of your sex still lingers in the room.
The place was huge. Long vast hallways and many doors to try. A lot of them were locked but you finally found one that opened up to what looks like a library and a sitting room.
Seriously? How many books does someone need? They’re probably all about guns and weapons.
You decide to go in and browse to see what you can find and you were right. Every book you’ve looked at was about some sort of weapon.
You let out a sigh and find a simple manual about a handgun. You decide to read it. Considering where you are you might come across some guns so it’s probably a good idea to figure out how to use one.
You’re about to sit down and get comfortable to read when Luke and Kieran walk through the door, they’re holding a tray of food.
It smells delicious but you don’t feel like eating after what just happened.
They set the tray down on the desk thats pushed up against a wall.
“Boss said he wants us to make sure you’re getting plenty of food and staying hydrated.” Luke chimes.
You can’t help but scowl.
“I’m not hungry.” You say defiantly.
“It’s really good though.” Luke says in a sing songy voice.
An idea pops into your head.
“Hey.. do you think you guys could get me ou-”
“I’m gonna stop you right there.” Kieran cuts me off.
“We know you’ve had it rough. But we’re not gonna betray the boss for you okay? Get used to it and eat.”
What the hell? They’re so much more friendly in the game. But this wasn’t a game anymore. You feel yourself getting angry.
You walk over to the desk. “I’m not some pet you feed and just forget about.”
“So you can take your food and shove it.” You swipe at the tray and fling it off the table. The food going everywhere.
Luke and Kieran are still for a moment. The three of you in a stand off. You’re just waiting for them to say or do anything. They start to walk out the door.
“He’s not gonna be happy about that.” Kieran warns.
“I don’t give a fuck.” You retort.
You’re left alone in the library. You see the wasted food on the floor. Looks like it was chicken with steamed veggies and rice.
You walk past the mess and sit on the couch. Opening that book you were gonna read.
It takes you a while to focus but you get there. The manual was actually getting interesting and you were so engrossed you didn’t realise you weren’t alone anymore.
“Not a fan of chicken?” A deep voice snaps you out of your concentration.
You look up and Sylus is standing in front of you.
“Stand up.” He demands.
“No.”
“You’re so fucking stubborn.” He says through clenched teeth.
He grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls you up.
“Let go!” You start hitting his arm but it’s not doing anything.
“You are going to eat!” His voice loud and booming. He forces you to the floor where the spoiled food is.
“No! I’d rather bite my own tongue off!”
“Eat!” He shoves you head against the floor.
“No!” You scream back at him.
Sylus growls as he pulls you back to your feet. It feels like he’s pulling chunks of hair out as he does.
He lifts you and slams you onto the desk, you nearly have the wind knocked out of you.
“Fuck off!” You continue hitting at his arm.
“Did you not listen to a word I said earlier?!” Sylus lets go of your hair and pins your arms down flat against the desk.
“Let go of me!” You start twisting your body, doing any desperate attempt to get out of his arms.
“Calm down!”
Angry sobs escape you. He’s immobilised you once again.
In the scuffle your dress bunched up around your waist and something burns inside Sylus when he looks down at you. It’s a desire he’s felt all along and it angers him. He already gave into it in the bedroom. He feels a need to take you again but he tries so hard to ignore it.
“What? Got nothing else to say?” He taunts.
“Fuck.. you!”
Sylus uses his evol to hold you down again. He can’t resist. He brings his hands to the front of your dress and rips it open like it’s nothing but a piece of paper.
“As you wish.”
You try and move your arms but the black tendrils keep you down, again.
Sylus lifts yours legs over his shoulders. And you hear him unbuckling his belt, getting himself ready.
You try squeezing your legs tight but all it does is make Sylus chuckle.
“That’s not going to do anything.”
“I don’t care.” You sob.
Sylus doesn’t prepare you this time. He doesn’t take it slow either. Once he lines himself up he thrusts hard into you, making you scream from the forceful intrusion.
Like usual the tears are streaming down your face but the noises you’re making contradict them. You want to hate this. You want to hate this so fucking bad. But it just. Feels. Too. Good.
The way he’s thrusting hard and fast, hitting all the right spots once again. You can’t help it. And you know he knows.
He can feel it. The way you get so wet for him. The way you open up for him and accept his girthy length. He sees the way your face flushes as you get closer to an orgasm. It intoxicates him..but also infuriates him.
You tilt your head back as yet another orgasm takes hold of you. Your moans fill the air.
“I…hate…you..” you breathe in between moans.
Sylus cums as he feels your walls flutter and squeeze him. His seed spilling inside you for a second time that evening.
“I.. know.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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FALLEN HERO: RETRIBUTION 2.10 EVERYBODY WANTS TO RULE THE WORLD - dir. Malin Ryden
#welcome to your life! there's no turning back!#i have never in my life done backgrounds so this is like. a first#fh: bel#fallen hero#fhr#chargestep#i think im paraphrasing the line bc i didn't want to go look up what it was exactly#i am the sunlight drenching you#i said i would draw this and well. i did!#continuing the screencap theme with the most loaded conversation of all time#might do a few more of these? but uhhhh not rn lol#thinking about doing the scene where sidestep holds all the mf nanovores at bay. that's an insane bit of imagery#im sure i don't need to say it but fhr is an int fic if ur seeing this outside of containment lmao#it is not a real show and these are not screencap redraws#if you think i know what i'm doing i REALLY don't#i just have ideas above my skill level#do not ask me shit about fuck when it comes to the lighting bc i do NOT know how lighting works#reaper's rewards
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In celebration of my anti-Bongle agenda, which I am promoting today, please accept a writing excerpt where dashing young Wyllyam Ravengard pushes the fucker into a lake.
I don't like to toot my own little horn, but truly this is the Wyll content Larian should have considered for his character.
The atmosphere at the inn is bright, and despite the curse being far from lifted, there is an air of sweet celebration as loved ones are reunited and the small seed of hope for Ketheric’s demise starts to bloom into something more substantial.
As you watch the rescued individuals make their way into the inn, drawn to the comforts of the kitchen and bar, your attention is set on one particular gnome who stands out amidst the crowd. Drenched from head to toe and clearly disgruntled, he storms past you with a scowl etched upon his features, his shoulders tense with frustration. Before you can react, he barges past you with a forceful shove, muttering foul curses under his breath. His demeanour is unmistakably hostile.
“Did he fall off the boat?” you ask Wyll, a little concerned for the gnome’s wellbeing.
“Kind of” Wyll said, with a wickedness you weren’t used to hearing from him. You narrow your eyes in suspicion, and he gives a haughty little smirk.
“He was berating the Tieflings, calling them weak and helpless, said if it were up to him he would have left them there to rot. So… I may have slipped and ‘accidentally’ knocked him into the water.”
“Wyllyam Ravengard!” You put a hand to your chest in dramatic surprise. “The Blade of Frontiers! I am shocked! Where is the gallant protector of the innocent and my stalwart moral compass?”
“Oh, he’s still here somewhere. Hiding beneath the horns.” He taps his horns with his finger, and there is a sparkle in his good eye.
“Don’t worry, I pulled him out eventually, despite Astarion’s protests.”
“Sounded like he deserved it.”
“Yes.” Wyll held himself straight, with all the noble posture he could manage, and nodded wisely “He’s a total cunt that Wulbren Bongle.”
The shock of Wyll’s colourful language sparks your uninhibited laughter, and the sound echoes through the warm confines of the inn like a burst of sunlight through storm clouds.
You feel relief that beneath the curses and anxieties, joy and hopefulness hadn’t abandoned you - they were just waiting for patient rediscovery. Turns out, laughter was just a wet gnome away.
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| ◆ ch. vago mundo ⑊ zhongli
--⟢ i. tales passed down for generations | the people of liyue know of many tales…
𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ⬙ 𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ⬙ 𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡
◇ tags ◇ (all tags from the series masterlist), sagau, pure fluff, dragon!li
◇ a/n ◇ yk what i told myself i won't post this until after i wrote the liyue chapter but ✨i✨don't✨care✨anymore✨ hsdlkfjskldjf i have no idea when i'll update universe abound and this has been sitting on my drafts for FAR too long... besides, it can be read as a standalone anyway. now. once again i am here to tell you that dragon!zhongli is love, dragon!zhongli is life. thank you for attending my ted talk-
you stare.
dark brown scales, decorated with shining gold lines seem to pulse under the sunlight filtering through the curtains.
you stare harder.
the long appendage twitches before it shifts to hide behind the man standing right in front of you.
"your grace," morax coughs awkwardly into his fist and upon being greeted with your silence, decides to go back to fiddle with the coat he was halfway putting on before you barged in, "i believe it is still… thirty minutes before our scheduled stroll. is something the matter?"
instead of answering, you blurt out in an amazed voice, like a young child that just spotted their favorite candy, "you have a tail!"
"i… yes, well, considering that i am a dragon, and they do have tails-"
"it's so pretty! why don't you have it out more often?"
the genuine enthusiasm in your voice makes him smile.
"it's- ah, it could be an inconvenience sometimes."
you blink, not understanding the meaning of his words. he gives you a bashful look and proceeds to focus on his garments instead. knowing that he's not going to elaborate anymore, you choose to study the scaly appendage - unlike morax's still body, it's twitching and swaying around where it rests on the floor, almost as if…
….. hmm?
"zhongli."
"yes?"
"i love you."
the sudden confession makes him go still, and you observe his reactions in interest.
"i love you too, dearest."
aside from the short pause and the elegant smile on his lips, the man looks as dignified and unaffected as ever. however, your impossibly wide grin strains your cheeks as you eye the rhythmic thumping of his tail against the floor.
"rex lapis," you gasp, "… are you wagging your tail???"
"ahem. c-certainly not, i don't-"
"oh. my. god. that is the cutest thing ever!"
"............ beloved….."
"no no no no no if you hide your tail then i'm revoking our daily walks and regular kisses!"
zhongli's tail perks up and begins to sway anxiously, and you feel like crying from how adorable this whole thing is.
"now, let us not take such drastic measures, darling. i believe this matter can be discussed, perhaps over some tea-"
"please please please let me pet your tail!"
your lover's cheeks flush pink, and you feel like the happiest deity in teyvat.
people of liyue have heard of many tales. stories about adeptus protecting liyue behind the city itself, of fearsome plains drenched in monster dust as they were struck down by their god, of the stone gate collapsing and effectively cutting off supply routes from the city of freedom - not that it has been used for quite some time now….
people of liyue have seen many things. terrifying disasters almost sinking their whole city into oblivion, their beloved archon appearing once more and taking charge against vicious monsters overrunning teyvat's landscapes, their own creator coming into liyue after continuous years of prayers and offerings…
but never in their life they would have thought the day would come when they see the god of contracts himself - known for hurling stone pillars that now stand as guyun stone forest, vanquishing countless gods in the archon wars, and sealing many divine beasts who have run rampant across the land - stroll about the city arm-in-arm with the divine creator, his draconic tail proudly in full display and gently swaying side to side as the two converses softly, eyes staring deeply into each other's akin to lovers who hadn't seen each other in eons.
they see it, and they think: yes, this tale too, shall be passed down to the younger generations.
© zhongrin | 2023 ◆ no repost. reblogs much appreciated. feel free to reach out to submit suggestions, feedback, comments, or if you just want to talk!
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#genshin impact#genshin x reader#genshin impact x reader#rex lapis#morax#zhongli#zhongli x reader#universe abound#rin writes
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Perhaps Marika's situation is less about 'perpetuating the cycle' and more about reactionary paranoia?
I was thinking a bit more about the reveal what the Hornsent once did with Marika's folks and why (this ( x ) post by drenched-in-sunlight for context) some more!
Like, think about what kind of folks she has been oppressing in her reign past the point of simply taking revenge on the Hornsent! Misbegotten, for one, were also considered sacred due to odds of their contact with Crucible, so were the Crucible Knights fashioning themselves after it. With Fire Giants it was more plainly stated that there was a fear that they might burn the Erdtree once. And who knows if they would? Their fire had it's worshippers and was a godly thing too, and perhaps Fell God was called Fell for a reason? Albinaurics were creation by Nox, people who once angered the Greater Will itself, in their pursuit to have the 'Lord of the Night' and pretty much counter Marika's rule..
The thing I am seeing is not "becoming the very thing she sworn to destroy", but "if some folks believe their kind is blessed in any way this is an instant 🚩"! Because that's the shared link between the species she put under oppression - considering themselves and/or being considered divine. She didn't just take revenge or continued the cycle, she "learned" from her traumatic experience but she learned a bad thing, and now crippling some species believed to be "blessed" before they went "far" is her whole MO. She destroys them before they can even THINK of being purer and better than her! Because really, who is to tell they won't come after her and her family? After all.. the Hornsent did once believe they were divine, didn't they?
I know I compare her with Gwyn often, but whereas he was very cunning and smart in his fear, Marika was more outright oppressive. Marika is like if Gwyn personally obliterated Manus and all Pygmy but one and made humans live in constant humiliation and mistreatment 🤔 Because nothing and no one should be considered sacred besides those she personally blessed, or else it is 🚩🚩🚩. She didn't perpetuate the cycle but attempted to stop it, by solidifying herself and her vision as the one and only thing that can be "divine" or will EVER be divine. Better oppression by one power forever than the cycles of thriving and then being killed by multiple powers! It is the dilemma of being "preventive". You can't be nice about it, but how CAN you take any chances, after having seen what funny thoughts can lead to?
(On the brighter note this makes her/Radagon's alliance with Rennala much nicer because glintstone and moon sorceries were in the contrary with the Golden Order once but merged after marriage (according to Rogier's research, I trust that man lol). She didn't put Carians and other sorcerers under oppression at the end of the war. It means that love was the only thing stronger than paranoia, once ;-;)
#elden ring#marika the eternal#elden ring observation#the trap of reactionary paranoia my beloved gfhfhhfgbjgh#causing misery so to never take another chance again ;-;#these are just my thoughts of course!#her motivation is not genuinely considering herself so much holier but HAVING to play this part#if you see what I mean!#so no one gets 'ideas'
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Could you feel when I burst through? I am the sunlight drenching you
commission drawn by my friend Ferick, uploaded with his permission ❤️
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